Who: Dr. Crane, Dick Roman (borrowed posthumously with permission), and Derek Hale Where: Leviathan HQ When: Backdated to the week Derek disappeared What: This is to give an insight on some of Crane's background and his um work during the leviathan invasion. Also, for those that know about Derek's scar: This is how Crane weakened him enough for Dick to really mess with him. Warnings: Torture, Crane's thoughts, etc.
If there was one thing that Jonathan Crane knew, it was that people often had a tendency of underestimating others to the point that it sometimes became their downfall. He could recognize the signs, and he could capitalize on that little detail surprisingly well. That was how he had managed to conduct his experiments back in Gotham, when people still believed he was just another psychiatrist. Even after they had locked him up in Arkham the guards had known that he was dangerous, and that he was a flight risk considering how many times he was able to weasel his way out of his cell, but they always thought he was just another one of those poor bastards that had lost their mind. And Crane let them believe it, of course he did. He let them think that he was just another patient in the asylum, because it was fun to watch it all unfold. He would toy with them, he would get under their skin, and then he would find his way out and away from Arkham so he could terrorize the city. People were his toys, his guinea pigs, and they were all just another one of his experiments. He was always the one that ended up winning.
There was one boy in New York that had managed to get under his skin, though. A billionaire that had begun as just a toy, because Crane refused to believe that anyone could get the upper hand on him, but he had somehow managed to do it anyway. It hadn't been perfect, and it had all ended too fast and too tragic because not even the control freak that was Jonathan Crane could stop death, but there hadn't been a chance to grieve before the world began to end. Not that Crane would allow himself to grieve, not really, but his focus became one thing: To survive. At any cost, through anybody and anything, and instead of the zombies getting in the way Crane just saw the world as his playground once more. The people that were fighting to survive became his test subjects. His toys. His guinea pigs.
That had been how Dick Roman had found him. During his travels Crane put together makeshift versions of his fear toxins that he would randomly experiment on people he encountered on the road before he watched them fall apart and get eaten by zombies, and Dick Roman had made him a proposition. In exchange of his work, he would allow him a chance to play with as many subjects as he wanted to. Crane didn't trust Roman - he didn't trust anyone - but despite his fun on the road he was sick of sleeping in tents or holed up in the middle of nowhere. Roman offered him something that he would be stupid to turn down, even if Crane knew that it might end up in his own death anyway, but he was cocky in his own way. Crane was a survivor. He was a schemer, and he let Roman believe that he was using him, when Crane also used him to get what he wanted. He got a lab, and materials that he didn't even think he could obtain anymore. His work and experiments that had been rudely interrupted by the world ending were able to continue, even if Roman liked to remind him of one rule - to not kill his subjects. Not unless he was told to do it and, while Crane wasn't used to following orders, he listened. He listened, because his consolation prize was to play and destroy people's minds as much as he possibly could.
Today it was his turn again to visit one of their test subjects. Crane watched from behind the glass of the room where the victim was, and kept an eye on the reactions that Roman managed to get out of the man that was strapped down to the examination table in the middle of the room. No, not man. Werewolf. He seemed strong and proud, and he seemed to be focusing hard on not showing how much pain he was in thanks to some of the drugs that had already been used on him to block out his supernatural abilities, but Dick Roman had a way of knowing which strings to pull. He used knives and hot pokers to physically tear him apart, and Crane smiled to himself each time there was a grimace, or a scream, or he noticed the way that his eyes became glassy and unfocused as the pain threatened to pull him under. It was beautiful, to see that pride and that determination fall apart, and he made it his goal to tear it to pieces completely. Because he was trying, he could tell he was trying to still cling to that strength and that pride of his. The mask that Crane was holding in his hand would help him in his goal, and as soon as Roman gave a nod in his direction, he slipped it on so that their victim wouldn't recognize him. Not that he believed he would, anyway.
"Wake up, Derek," Roman taunted as another man that was also in the room dumped a bucket of ice cold water over him. It washed away some of the blood that his body was covered in, but it didn't stop it from oozing out of the wounds that Roman had been inflicting on him. The purpose of it was to wake him up, though, and as a second bucket of water was dumped over his face he managed to wake up as he choked on the water that had managed to get through his nose and his mouth since the shock of the coldness had made it impossible to not gasp. "Oh, good. I wouldn't want you to be rude to our guest."
Derek looked towards the man in the mask, as if this was the first time that he had noticed him there, and despite his coughing and his attempts to not wince as the pain returned, he rolled his eyes. "Really? A mask?"
"We all have our masks, Mr. Hale," Crane said through the mask, his voice deeper as he approached him and Roman took his place behind the glass. "The difference is that you can just manage to shift into yours. How is that working out, by the way? Can you shift into yours now?" Derek's jaw clenched at the reminder that he couldn't shift no matter how hard he tried, but he lifted his chin up as much as he could, as if defiantly daring him to do whatever the hell he was in there to do. It made Crane smile, and grabbed his neck tightly. "I didn't think so. Now, you and I are just going to talk for a moment. And you are going to listen very carefully, understand? I want you to tell me one thing." Letting go of his neck, he leaned down to be closer. "Is there anything you fear?"
Derek looked at him in a mix of annoyance and incredulousness, as if it was the most ridiculous question he had heard. Because, despite the pain and the incredibly fucked up situation that he was in, the question wasn't one that he was willing to answer. "No."
"Liar. But, that's okay. I have a way to find the truth." Walking over to a small cart that contained all the knives and weapons that Roman had been using to torture Derek, Crane retrieved a needle that was already prepared with the serum that he had been working on recently. A modified version of his fear toxins. "What I truly wonder, though, is how much you can actually withstand before you lose your mind. You see, this formula is quite special. I think you will appreciate it." Once he stood back next to Derek, and he pressed the needle into his vein, he tilted his head curiously. "Do you believe you can last longer than your sister did?"
Whatever pain Derek had been in, whatever could have been crossing his mind at that moment was forgotten, and Crane noticed the rage and desperation in Derek's eyes. He noticed his eyes beginning to take a red hue, but it dulled out within seconds before he began to writhe as the injection kicked in. The binds were making it impossible for Derek to move, but Crane just smiled behind his mask. Especially as the rage in his eyes disappeared, and in its place there was only terror. Pure and perfect terror that he could almost taste.
"What do you see, Mr. Hale? Do you see your sisters? Your mother?" He reached for one of the hot pokers, and pressed it against the werewolf's skin. Crane had always liked research, and it came in handy that his employer had been able to provide him details of his new patient. The heat of the poker was enough to elicit a reaction out of him, garbled words that couldn't even be made out as he tried to get away, but that wasn't enough. Crane stabbed his side, digging in the poker just enough to hurt him and make him writhe in agony even if the binds were holding him down tightly. Whoever and whatever Derek was seeing in his drugged haze was making him panic, the horror clearly written all over his face and pulling him under.
As the effects of one vial were ending, he used a second one, but before he could administer the third, Roman walked back into the room. "Not yet, doctor," he reminded him quietly as Derek talked feverishly under his breath, not even noticing them anymore. "Besides. You have more patients to see, I believe."
Crane turned to him and just stared at him for a moment before making his way out so he could prepare a new dosage and prepare for the next patient. Dick Roman may be in Everett to take it over, but in due time Jonathan Crane planned to make the city his own, in his own way. Using some of the residents of this town for now was just a start; letting Roman believe that he had the upper hand was just the beginning, and as he pulled off his mask he just smirked to himself.
All in due time. It would all come together with just a little bit more time.