Mad Hatter - Jonathan Crane X Reader

Chapter One

Guilty, is the word that haunted me every night. Guilty of something I had never done, or had I done something wrong. I don't know, my brain could be slowly manipulating myself into believing I had done nothing wrong. Deep down I knew I had done something wrong, my brain just couldn't remember where I had messed up so badly.

Recently I was declared mad, crazy, bonkers. Whatever you wanted to call it, but my brain was officially fucked up. I had to be moved, moved from my high-security cell to the most vicious and violent asylum in all of Gotham. Arkham Asylum. Every night screams echoed down the long dark hallways, screams of fear and madness. For days on end, I wouldn't talk to anyone else, only the daily psychologist and were always changing. Nobody here was sane, not even the ones trying to fix you were sane. Half of the psychologists were ten times more mad than me, threatening to cut you in the middle of the night, or that's how my brain remembered it.

My cell was hardly big enough for a child, let alone a twenty-year-old woman. Padded walls surrounded the metal frame bed, there was no natural light, only a neon fluorescent light that half hung from the ceiling. You could never tell if it was day or night, apart from the controlled lighting that would turn off when it was time to sleep. No entertainment, nobody to talk to, nothing. If I weren't already mad enough, this place was almost causing me to rip my eyes out of my skull.

To make matters worse, I was drugged up to my eyeballs twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Arkham Asylum was hell, hell on earth. Gotham itself was hell, but here, here was the deepest darkest part of hell, the pits of hell.

Resting in the corner of the cell, my head lay against the padded wall of the cell. I had kept track of how long I had been here by scraping a mark on the floor for each day I had been here. Scraping away the pieces of concrete off the floor till it made a small mark, small enough to see only if you focused on the far corner of my cell. I would probably be put down or something if any of the psychologists or doctors found out I was still clinging to that very little last bit of my sanity. Twenty-eight marks, it had almost been a month, only another two life sentences left. Twenty-eight days. Felt like an eternity, god knows what it will be like in another twenty years. If I haven't already be put down like a dog. Maybe I had killed myself by then, a toaster in the bathtub seemed more appealing every second I was stuck in this cell. I would just have to find a toaster...and a bath-

My intrusive thoughts were rudely interrupted by an aggressive knock on my cell door. Knocking? Nobody ever knocks, usually, they barge in, drug me and I wake up in the office of some psychologist. Another aggressive knock banged on the heavy metal door. Next, I heard the rustle of keys before the door was heaved open. Two guards barged in, pinning my arms with their knees to the cold concrete floor. A tall, slim, dark figure emerged from behind the two guards.

The first thing I noticed was his eyes, although they were behind glasses, they could look right through you with how blue they were. Icy, cold and cruel. The next thing I noticed was his highly defined cheekbones, looked like he hadn't eaten a proper meal in several days. His hair was dark, just like his plain simple black suit. He could've been any age between twenty and thirty-five. His voice was a deep raspy American accent, not too soft, but not too harsh

"Miss- Alexandra Grey," He read from his clipboard, "I am the head psychologist of Arkham Asylum, I'm here to assess you're current mental state,"

The guard's weight slowly began to cut off all circulation in my arms, my fists clenched from the pain, I noticed the psychologist was watching my body language with his icy blue eyes from behind his glasses.

"Leave," he snapped his fingers at the two guards, "If I need your assistance I shall call you,"

Slowly they both stood up, and blood streamed back into my dead-feeling arms, "But what if she gets aggressive?" the smaller of the two guards asked.

"Do you have a degree in psychology?" His voice grew harsher and cold.

"No, but....." The shorter guard's voice trailed off.

"Then I can assure you, Miss Grey is perfectly calm right now and-" he continued, "if she shows any sort of aggressive behaviour I will give you a shout!"

The two guards were too stunned to speak, slowly left the cell while the taller guard murmured, "Fine it's your death wish Dr Crane,"

Rolling his icy blue eyes, he slowly rubbed his chin before facing me, who was still lying on the floor trying to get any sort of feeling back into my arms.

"So... Alexandra, how have you been finding Gotham's highest-level security asylum? " He smugly asked, crossing his arms over his chest, "it says here on my clipboard, that you brutally murdered five men...? " he slowly clicked his pen, in and out, in and out. "Your weapon of choice... a butcher knife, " a sly smile spread across his face, "so that's where the tabloids got the nickname the butcher girl,"
I knew exactly what he was trying to do, trying to annoy me so that I would attack... Be declared even more mad and be moved far-far away. Out of his hair.
"My names is Doctor J Crane," his sly smile grew warmer, as he held a hand out for me to shake.
Reluctantly I shook his hand, "So what does the J stand for mister? "

Cranes smile grew wider, "Jonathon, Jonathan Crane, "