Doctor Jonathan Crane (nightmareserum) wrote in newalliance, @ 2012-05-02 21:33:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | scarecrow |
avoid the tacos before bed
Who: Jonathan Crane and Scarecrow
Where: His Bedroom, Edward's Lair
When: May 2, 2012, late at night
What: Jonathan dreams of Scarecrow
Rating: R: Abuse, bad language
Jonathan curled in a small ball, sobbing as the crows surrounded him, pecking at his flesh, tearing strips off for their feast. Scattered around him were the remains of their previous meal, a lone crow still plucking at one of Harley’s eyes, trying to pull it free from her skull as it attempted to devour the organ.
“Stop...” Jonathan cried out, curling up tighter, desperately trying to get away from the birds, body shaking as he cried, screaming in pain as another strip of flesh was torn off of his body.
“ENOUGH”
The voice roared over the field Jonathan was in and the birds tood flight, startled from their meal, landing in the trees surrounding the scene, beady black eyes staring down at Jonathan and the intruder.
There was a sickening crunch as Scarecrow stepped on Edward’s dead body, the bones of the man’s neck crumbling under his foot. Scarecrow reached down, grabbing Jonathan, jerking his head up, hand gripping the other man’s jaw tight enough to bruice, forcing a whimper from Jonathan’s lips.
“So weak,” Scarecrow hissed, shoving Jonathan away from him, following the tumbling body before giving it a kick, a smirk curling over his lips as Jonathan sobbed. “Fight back, you pathetic little whore!”
“Can’t,” Jonathan gasped, forcing himself up, only to be kicked gain, pain blossoming in his chest.
“Won’t, not can’t,” Scarecrow corrected, aiming another kick, this time at Jonathan’s head, only to have his ankle grabbed and jerked, stumbling over himself before he landed in the dirt next to Jonathan, a laugh spilling out of him.
Jonathan glared at his alter ego...other half...whatever you wanted to use to define the bundle of straw and burlap laying next to him. He yelped, as his wrist was suddenly grabbed, Scarecrow twisting it until it felt as if every tendon and bone would shatter.
“Stop crying, weakling,” Scarecrow ordered, using his grip on Jonathan’s wrist to pull himself up, before shoving the man away from him, watching as Jonathan hit the ground face first. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” Jonathan muttered into the dirt, coughing as it puffed up, coating his tongue.
Scarecrow snorted, reaching over and grabbing Jonathan’s neck, gripping tightly as he pulled Jonathan up, ignoring the man’s whimpers of pain. He gripped Jonathan’s chin again, fingers digging into already forming bruises, grinding his fingers into the bones. “You’re becoming such a worthless little toy,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over Jonathan’s lips, watching as they cracked and bled. “All these...emotions and feelings, all this utterly disgusting crap that you allow yourself to endure to feel human.” He jerked on Jonathan’s jaw, dragging the other man closer. “You think that if you’re polite and sweet and nice someone will actually give a damn about you, Johnny? You disgust them, they’re using you, just like they always have and always will...you are nothing, not even worth the time to kill,”
Jonathan’s eyes widened, a low whimper escaping him and he tried to shake his head, to deny Scarecrow’s words. Edward and Harley weren’t...they wouldn’t.
“They are,” Scarecrow breathed, his breath hot against Jonathan’s lips and the doctor forced his eyes closed, tears slipping out. “No one cares for a poor little broken bird...you are nothing, my dear Jonathan,”
“Nothing,” Jonathan whispered, mind forced back to when he had first dreamt of the man clutching at him, when he lay broken and dying in an abandoned church, forgotten by even the woman who had put him there.
“Such a beautifully pathetic waste of space,” Scarecrow whispered, pressing his lips against Jonathan’s, biting harshly on the already tender flesh.
Jonathan jerked away, yelping in pain as the top layer of his bottom lip was ripped off by Scarecrow’s teeth. “Get off me,”
“So you do have some fire left, pity you seem to have wasted it all on these pathetic little scraps,” Scarecrow said, turning and looking at Harley and Edward’s dead bodies. “Are you that needy that you have to prostitute yourself for some scrap of affection that you don’t even receive?”
“What are you...” Jonathan started, only to be interrupted by a hand impacting his face, his head snapping to the side.
“You’re a whore to that clown and hacker and they don’t care about you! You’re wasting yourself, your...feelings chasing something that you can’t have, that you will never have! And when you realize that, you sit and mope and cry to yourself because no one loves poor little Jonathan Crane. WAKE UP, Johnny! Of course they don’t love you, who on God’s green earth would love some stupid, idiotic, worthless boy?!”
“You love me,” Jonathan whispered brokenly.
Scarecrow sneered, standing. “No one loves you, Jonathan. You’d do better to forget this nonsense,” he hissed, before reaching out, his hand plunging into Jonathan’s chest. “Time to wake up, Johnny,”
Jonathan jerked awake with a scream, clutching at his chest, panic racing through his body, squeezing on his heart. Scarecrow’s words kept running around in his head and he clutched at his hair, pulling on it, tyring to use the pain to banish the thoughts.
Scarecrow was right, however. He was worthless, allowing such emotions to gain control of him until he screwed up his entire life over them. Ever since he had met Harley again, his life had gone to hell, all because he tried to grasp at some chance at humanity.
He would be better off if he locked himself away, dismissing the world around him in favor of his toxin, his plans.
The hurt would fade away...in time.