Imagines For Me & You

Double Dead: Dr Jonathan Crane - Nolanverse

A/N: The doctor just stands around doing nothing for a while. This is dark...
TW: Graphic depictions of murder, just straight-up murder. 

The lights of the Asylum flickered in the basement. Paint peeled away from the walls, cracking from the lack of upkeep. Dirt covered every inch of the dark, dismal halls. In order to walk around without constantly inhaling a ton of dust, you had to wear a mask or helmet.

Dr Jonathan Crane, the acting chief psychiatrist of Arkham Asylum, didn't wear either because it'd be a damn shame to cover up that face. At least, that's the opinion of most of those he worked with. In all actuality, he simply didn't think to bring one.

Assistant DA Rachael Dawes accompanied him as he walked through the basement of the Asylum. She wanted to cough, hack really but didn't out of fear of seeming rude. Repulsed by the state of the lowest floor, she looked around as if expecting something to jump out from the dark corners.

Dr Crane had a sly smile on his face, leading her to her doom.

Little did either know, someone else besides Batman was watching and waiting, biding their time. They wouldn't leave anything to chance, especially not the death of the annoying assistant DA who always had to stick her nose in places it doesn't belong.

They waited, their scythe ready to be used, gleaming from being sharpened. The black leather-clad individual was covered head to toe, even wearing a motorcycle helmet with a black-out visor and gloves.

Standing at the corner, they listened for the heavy breathing of Rachel Dawes. They prepared themself and held their scythe high. Soon enough, they heard it. But, still, they waited for a moment longer. As Ms Dawes approached the corner, holding onto the edge of it, they swung, cutting into her stomach. Ripping it across her body, Ms Dawes' intestines fell out and she fell to the floor gasping for air and gagging on the dust. Blood pooled around her as she lay dying. She began choking on her own blood, desperately wheezing for air.

The scythe lowered. Dark, crimson blood dripped onto the floor and displaced the dust. The scythe wielder leant down and picked up Ms Dawes' coat, wiping her blood off their scythe with it. They didn't react, not even behind their helmet.

Scarecrow neared, smiling slightly behind his. Though disappointed he wouldn't get to gas Ms Dawes, he was still pleased to see she was dying. Her annoying investigations would no longer be an issue.

"I'll have someone clean this up," he said. "How about we get dinner? I'm starving."

They collapsed their scythe. "I could eat."

"How about pizza?" Scarecrow said. "I don't feel like going out tonight."

They shrugged, uncaring. Slipping their scythe back into place, they walked towards Jonathan, then past him.

•

Soft creaks came from the ceiling as someone jumped from rafter to rafter. Barely audible but enough to alert those who paid attention.

The scythe wielder grabbed their scythe and stood ready.

"Quit the chit chat, we've got pest problems," they said.

Jonathan donned his mask once again. "I thought you had them taken care of?"

"I only dealt with the rats, not the bats," they said.

Following the sounds as best they could, they turned, scythe at the ready.

Chuckling, Scarecrow said, "I suppose we'll have to deal with it ourselves."