Ficlet: Hypegiaphobia
Title: Hypegiaphobia
Pairing/Characters: Arnold Wesker, Scarface
Continuity: Batman: The Animated Series
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None required
Summary: Arnold Wesker can't be held responsible.
Word Count: 600
He isn't responsible. Arnold Wesker is not responsible for any of this. The craziness, the violence, the crime--it's all Scarface's doing. Arnold Wesker is a good man, he knows it. He doesn't get angry, he isn't violent, he's as meek as they come. Scarface's murderous moods, his vicious temper--they frighten Wesker. Being angry is dangerous, he knows. It calls attention to yourself. Wesker doesn't like to be noticed. In this madhouse, it's so much safer when no one notices him. So much safer.
Except sometimes, sometimes late at night, he'll get thinking about things. Like how Rocco Romano joked about the shine off his balding head alerting the cops. That didn't seem very nice to Wesker. In fact, as he lies in bed and remembers the sneer on Rocco's face, the way the other thugs laughed...he feels his stomach clench and hot anger pour through him, terrifying and vast. Sick and shaking, he closes his eyes tight and tries to think good things, kind things, pleasant things, but it's no use. He can't control it, it seems to seize his body like an evil force that could shatter the world, he's lost inside it, white noise pounding between his ears. He feels his fists curl, fingernails cutting his own skin, and for a panicked moment he fears he might do the unthinkable and leap from the bed, might rush from the room and yell obscenities, might try to break something, might even throw a punch at someone.
Those are the times that Scarface helps him. Scarface understands him. Wesker only needs to see his stern, glaring profile in the glow of the night light to be reminded that Scarface is all that he is not. Scarface is a man of action; Wesker is a man of thought. Scarface is cruel and Wesker is always polite. They're so different. Sometimes reflecting on those differences is enough to calm him.
And when it's not enough, that's when Scarface takes action. He lays his hard, rough hands on Wesker and Wesker can feel the rage inside him being drawn off like poison, filling Scarface with its malign energy, leaving Wesker limp and exhausted and drained. Sometimes he bursts into helpless sobs as Scarface shows him just how weak he is, how unable to handle the filthy red anger that chokes him. Scarface takes it all and leaves Wesker nothing, an empty vessel, scrubbed clean of all volition. Numb.
Helpless.
He can sleep then.
And when Scarface shoots Rocco the next day for some random slight, a bright red stitching of bullets across his chest, Wesker is shocked and appalled, but he doesn't have to feel guilty. Because he never breathed a word to Scarface, not one word. That was all Scarface's choice, Scarface's will. Wesker is a good man, a kind man, and he tries so hard not to get angry.
That night, Wesker remembers the look of hurt surprise on Rocco's face at the last second, and he almost feels ashamed. But a remorseless grating voice echoes in the room: Don't you dare, Dummy. Don't you dare get thinkin' you got something to say about any of this. I didn't kill that bozo for you. I killed him for me. And you get uppity on me, I'll kill you too. You're weak, see? Just a weak little sniveling nobody who can't do nothin' to stop me. I'm in charge here, so you'll keep your lip zipped like a good Dummy and let Scarface call the shots.
And Arnold Wesker knows, with mingled sorrow and relief, that it's true. None of this madness is his fault. He is not responsible.
Sometimes, he thinks, remembering that is all that keeps him sane.
----
Hypegiaphobia: Fear of responsibility
Pairing/Characters: Arnold Wesker, Scarface
Continuity: Batman: The Animated Series
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None required
Summary: Arnold Wesker can't be held responsible.
Word Count: 600
He isn't responsible. Arnold Wesker is not responsible for any of this. The craziness, the violence, the crime--it's all Scarface's doing. Arnold Wesker is a good man, he knows it. He doesn't get angry, he isn't violent, he's as meek as they come. Scarface's murderous moods, his vicious temper--they frighten Wesker. Being angry is dangerous, he knows. It calls attention to yourself. Wesker doesn't like to be noticed. In this madhouse, it's so much safer when no one notices him. So much safer.
Except sometimes, sometimes late at night, he'll get thinking about things. Like how Rocco Romano joked about the shine off his balding head alerting the cops. That didn't seem very nice to Wesker. In fact, as he lies in bed and remembers the sneer on Rocco's face, the way the other thugs laughed...he feels his stomach clench and hot anger pour through him, terrifying and vast. Sick and shaking, he closes his eyes tight and tries to think good things, kind things, pleasant things, but it's no use. He can't control it, it seems to seize his body like an evil force that could shatter the world, he's lost inside it, white noise pounding between his ears. He feels his fists curl, fingernails cutting his own skin, and for a panicked moment he fears he might do the unthinkable and leap from the bed, might rush from the room and yell obscenities, might try to break something, might even throw a punch at someone.
Those are the times that Scarface helps him. Scarface understands him. Wesker only needs to see his stern, glaring profile in the glow of the night light to be reminded that Scarface is all that he is not. Scarface is a man of action; Wesker is a man of thought. Scarface is cruel and Wesker is always polite. They're so different. Sometimes reflecting on those differences is enough to calm him.
And when it's not enough, that's when Scarface takes action. He lays his hard, rough hands on Wesker and Wesker can feel the rage inside him being drawn off like poison, filling Scarface with its malign energy, leaving Wesker limp and exhausted and drained. Sometimes he bursts into helpless sobs as Scarface shows him just how weak he is, how unable to handle the filthy red anger that chokes him. Scarface takes it all and leaves Wesker nothing, an empty vessel, scrubbed clean of all volition. Numb.
Helpless.
He can sleep then.
And when Scarface shoots Rocco the next day for some random slight, a bright red stitching of bullets across his chest, Wesker is shocked and appalled, but he doesn't have to feel guilty. Because he never breathed a word to Scarface, not one word. That was all Scarface's choice, Scarface's will. Wesker is a good man, a kind man, and he tries so hard not to get angry.
That night, Wesker remembers the look of hurt surprise on Rocco's face at the last second, and he almost feels ashamed. But a remorseless grating voice echoes in the room: Don't you dare, Dummy. Don't you dare get thinkin' you got something to say about any of this. I didn't kill that bozo for you. I killed him for me. And you get uppity on me, I'll kill you too. You're weak, see? Just a weak little sniveling nobody who can't do nothin' to stop me. I'm in charge here, so you'll keep your lip zipped like a good Dummy and let Scarface call the shots.
And Arnold Wesker knows, with mingled sorrow and relief, that it's true. None of this madness is his fault. He is not responsible.
Sometimes, he thinks, remembering that is all that keeps him sane.
----
Hypegiaphobia: Fear of responsibility