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You are an intern at the GCPD, 18 years old. You go with Jim Gordon to Gotham Asylum to take down Scarecrow.
"Be careful, [Y/N]. Even if Jonathan is just a boy, he's still dangerous." Jim warned you, and you nodded, scanning the halls carefully. "So, what's this kid's deal?" You'd been transferred to the GCPD only a year ago, so you had no idea the events that occurred. Jim sighed, looking down at you and then pulling his gun out with a hand, holding a flashlight with the other. You followed.
"A couple years ago, my first year at the GCPD, we found a man who was tied to a chair and strapped to the edge of a building. He had his adrenal glands removed. We followed the case until we found Gerald Crane, a deranged maniac who was obsessed with curing fear. So much, that he even tested it on his son, Jonathan. However, his father dosed him with too much of the toxin, and he became terrified of a scarecrow figure, it appeared everywhere for him and tortured him. And then a bunch of criminals busted him out, made him create fear gas, and here we are." Your eyes widened. Jonathan seemed to be just a kid. Maybe around your age, and his father tested on him? That was barbaric. Jim seemed to catch on to your looks. "It's a sad story, but this is Gotham. I doubt we would even be here if it weren't for Penguin." You knew that Oswald Cobblepot was an enemy of Jim's, but they used to be friends. It was an odd story, but you didn't question it now.
"You check the warden's office, I'll check for guards." Jim instructed, and you nodded, curtly. "Shoot anything that moves." And with that, Jim was gone, leaving you with eerie instructions and a pit in your stomach.
"Shoot anything? A little derogative, Jim." You muttered, kicking the door open with a booted foot and pointed your gun. "Warden?" You asked carefully, not wanting to give your position away to anyone who could be hiding in the room. You took a few more steps in when a blunt, rusted weapon came down on your gun-holding hand, forcing you to drop it and yell in pain.
A figure stepped over you, with raggedy potato sacks draped over their face and two holes cut into the mask, outlining two, bright blue eyes. "You're not Gordon." The figure- who you now figured out was Scarecrow- hissed, angry that you weren't his chosen prey. "Yeah, no shit." You said, doing your best to hide your fear. You slid your leg out, tripping the boy, and he fell to the ground and grunted. You jumped up, and grabbed your gun, and pointed it at the maniac, who raised his hands. "Mask off. Now. I don't want any games." You growled, and surprisingly, Jonathan obliged. He raised his hands and lifted his mask up and off, so it hung on his back. Your eyes widened, and you looked at his face in disbelief.
"You're just a boy..." you uttered, and he copied your words. "That's right, I'm just a boy, a little kid, like everyone says. Just scared little Jonathan, a sad little boy,poisoned by his father." He hissed, and stood up, and grabbed his scythe. He was taller than you, by a few inches, and his bright blue eyes stood out in the dark room, as if they were looking into your very soul. You shivered.
"Do you know what I saw when my father dosed me?" Jonathan asked, his voice somewhat softer than before. You nodded, but didn't answer. He smiled grimly. "You know. A scarecrow is what I saw. Now, let's see what you're afraid of." He reached out towards you, pointing the toxin sprayer at your face.
"Jonathan, don't do this." You said with a somber look, knowing that he wouldn't listen. He looked at you, and that harsh, pointed look came back to his face. "I'm not Jonathan." The boy said, emphasizing every word.
Before he could spray you, Jim ran through the door. Jonathan quickly pivoted and dosed him with the fear gas, and the cop fell to the ground, shaking. Jonathan smiled cruelly and leaned down to face Jim. "Tell me what you see, Detective." He cooed, slamming his scythe on the ground by his feet. "What scares you the most?" Since Jonathan was a little busy egging on Jim's fears, you carefully stepped behind him and knocked him with the back of your gun. "If only every villain didn't monologue, they could get so many things done.." You sighed after you smacked him over the head, and looked over at Jim, who was clutching your legs. Now, you were faced with a dilemma.
He kept muttering about Lee Thompkins, making you sigh. You know about Jim's obsession, although that was an unhealthy way to put it. He loved Lee, even if she could never love him back. It pained you, in a way. You felt for Jim, and you could remember the way you felt about him the first time you showed up at the GCPD. However, that was some time ago. So, you placed your gun in your pants, kneeled next to Jim, and slapped him.
It took a few tries, but finally, he came back to you. "It's about time," You murmured, getting off of Jim. He grunted and you helped him up. "I got Crane. Let's go." You said, throwing the unconscious boy's arm around your shoulder. You and your partner idled out of the asylum, together.
As you were walking out, Jim felt his face. "Did you... did you slap me?" You froze for a second and glanced around the asylum, trying not to look at Jim. "Noooo..." you dragged out the vowel and he snorted.
A few hours later, you sat by Jonathan's bedside in Gotham General. He was handcuffed to the bed, because the doctors were worried he could try to harm them.
You felt bad for the boy, he wasn't exactly misunderstood, but he was just too young to be caught up in Gotham's garbage. You threaded your fingers through his hair, it was oddly soft. He tossed and grumbled some, and then woke up. You pulled your hand away, and started playing with your own locks.
"Where... am I?" He asked, his voice was gravelly and soft. It was like a bedtime voice. One that you felt comfortable listening to. "I knocked you out after you gassed Gordon. I convinced him to let you stay here if someone watched you. And I guess that someone is me. As punishment, I assume." You smiled wryly, and Jonathan sat up. He frowned at the many various tubes coming out of his arms. "Sedative." You explained, pointing at the bag which held clear fluid. "You're probably not used to it." Your finger grazed his arm, and he drew it back. "Sorry," you mumbled, glancing down at your lap.
"Why did you do this for me?" His eyebrows knitted together. You shrugged, and crossed your arms, shifting on the edge of the bed. "I guess I like you." You blushed immediately after you said this. "I-I didn't mean it like that. I just feel bad for you is all. You're too young to get caught up in all of Gotham's crap." The shadow of a smile ghosted his face. Jonathan stayed silent for a second, before looking up at you with confused eyes. "I'm too young? What about you? You look younger than me." You sighed. "I get what I deserve, I suppose."
Out of nowhere, Jonathan grasped your wrist. "What's your fear?" He asked, and you perked your eyebrows, intrigued. "My fear? That's a good one." You pursed your lips, fingers tangling with his.
"We'll save that for later. When you get out of here, okay?"
