Fic: Georgian Nights (5/?)
Title: Georgian Nights
Universe: Heavy Nolan with influences by others
Characters: Dr. Jonathan Crane, Bruce Wayne, Jeremiah Crane (Kid from the Narrows), Dick Greyson, Original Female Character, Original Male Character
Pairing: Jonathan/Bruce
Rating: NC-17 (full story)
Warnings: Graphic medical procidure, Romance, sex, snark, mentions/descriptions of psycological disorders, graphic depictions of animal testing.
Word Count: 12,603 (as of curent chapter)
Summary: Three years after the events of The Dark Knight and Bruce finds Dr. Jonathan Crane somewhere he least expected...Georgia.
Previous Chapters: Chapter I, Chapter II, Chapter III, Chapter IV.
Chapter Five: Keep Calm and Freak Out
"Show me a sane man and I will cure him for you." - Carl Gustav Jung (1875-1961), founder of analytical psychology
"And this was supposed to be my new clinic," Jonathan muttered, pushing the sleeves of his shirt up nervously, before finally shoving his hands into his pockets to keep the um-conscious movements still. It had been two weeks since Bruce had first shown up at Jonathan's house and he was finally giving both Bruce and Dick a tour of the still rather run-down house.
"Supposed to be?" Dick asked, blowing a bubble with his gum, ignoring the disgusted look Bruce gave him at the action.
"We ran out of money," Jonathan said with a shrug. "The house was in worse shape then I expected and ended up costing quite a bit more. He took a seat on one of the hospital beds, drawing his knees up to his chest, arms loosely wrapped around them.
Bruce noticed the way Jonathan's long legs kept twitching, eyes darting around the room before settling on them again, apparently, the other man still had problems with his nerves. "What were you planning to do with the clinic?"
"Normal stuff, urgent care, general check ups..." Jonathan trailed off for a moment, head tilted, staring past Bruce before shaking his head violently, almost twitching as he pressed the heel of his hands to his eyes. "Uh...what was I...oh, some emergency care," he added, answering Bruce's question.
"Doctor Crane?" Dick asked softly, standing. When Jonathan didn't answer, he looked at Bruce before moving towards Jonathan.
"Get away from me!" Jonathan screamed, lashing out, sending Dick flying towards the wall. The teenager bounced off of it, landing in a crouch, confused as to what was going on.
Bruce stood, glaring at Jonathan. "Don't touch him," he growled.
Jonathan laughed, a broken, harsh sound. "So protective of your little bird, I bet he tastes so sweet, with all the care you give him." Jonathan stood, movements awkward and broken, as if he were a puppet whose strings were tangled.
"Dick, get out of here," Bruce said softly, moving in front of his ward, blocking Jonathan.
"Bruce!"
"Yes, little Robin, go fly away, shoo," Jonathan said, waving a hand at Dick. "Daddy Bat is too busy to play with you."
Dick hissed through his teeth in frustration, but seeing Jeremiah out of the corner of his eye he conceded, heading for the door, pulling Jeremiah upstairs, just as Bruce kicked Jonathan's feet out from under him.
Jonathan's instincts kicked in, and as Bruce kicked, he leapt, screaming as his flipping twisted his wrist oddly, before landing on his feet, crouching as he stared at Bruce, a wide grin on his face before he raised, body shifting to kick out at the larger man.
Bruce blocked the kick, grabbing Jonathan's ankle, driving his shoulder into the other man's knee, intending to break it. Jonathan caught on a moment before Bruce connected and kicked up his other leg, throwing off the balance so that Bruce missed, the momentum turning the pair. Bruce released Jonathan's ankle, sending the man flying. Jonathan turned, hitting the wall with his back instead of his head, before leaping at Bruce again, jabbing out with his hand, landing a nice hit into Bruce's stomach.
Bruce doubled over at the pain, only to find a knee in his face, blood coating his nose and mouth. He stepped back, and just missed the foot to the groin, spitting out the blood that had filled his mouth, before grabbing for Jonathan, managing to snag the man's shirt, only to have the smaller man squirm out of it, ducking the punch to his own face.
Jonathan used the duck to shove Bruce back away from him, shifting to the side to avoid the kick to his own stomach. He was tempted to grab Bruce's leg himself, but dismissed it considering his own recent escape from such a hold. Instead, he turned into Bruce's kick, elbowing the other man in the sternum, following with the kick to the groin Bruce had avoided earlier.
As Bruce went down in pain, Jonathan straddled the man's chest, still grinning. He licked his lips before reaching down, wrapping his hands tightly around Bruce's neck, squeezing hard.
Bruce gagged, scratching at Jonathan's hands, praying that the last sight he saw wouldn't be Jonathan's dilated eyes and flushed skin. As darkness closed in on his vision, Jonathan suddenly toppled sidewise, crumpling like a broken rag doll.
Bruce coughed violently, pulling himself into a sitting position, staring at his ward who stood there with a heavy metal pot from the kitchen.
-
It was Jeremiah who had noticed the problems first, calling an ambulance before Bruce could even stand, clutching at his father's wrist, counting the beats under the skin. Now, Bruce sat in the too cold hospital room a day later, wondering how he had missed the fact that something was very wrong with Jonathan, rather then simply reverting to his default of beating first and asking questions never.
"Mr. Wayne?" a doctor said, poking her head into the room, gesturing for Bruce to step outside.
He stood, taking a look at the nu-conscious man before following the woman down the hall, leaning against a doorjamb as she joined him. "How is he?" Bruce asked, wondering how badly he had screwed up.
"Stable, for the moment." the doctor said, flipping a few pages in the chart she held, frowning. "His serotonin levels are dropping and the seizures have completely stopped, the tranquilizers should wear off soon and we should be able to get a clearer idea of what we're left with. I just don't understand how any reasonable or sane doctor could think of prescribing so many conflicting medications..."
Bruce fought the urge to snort, having a good idea that the prescribing doctor was neither sane nor reasonable...though it still didn't explain why Jonathan would poison himself either, considering psycopharamacology was his specialty. "It would be nice to find out," Bruce muttered.
The doctor shook her head, clearing it. "Anyway, we've cleared out most of the drugs from his system, though some traces remain, not enough to do any harm, so once he wakes I will have a psychiatrist down here to evaluate him."
"Of course, thank you, doctor."
"I'm just glad we got to him in-time, serotonin toxicity isn't something to play around with. Please keep an eye on him after this, another case of it and Mr. Crane might just not recover,"
"Doctor," Bruce corrected automatically, before biting his tongue.
"Excuse me?"
"It's Doctor Crane, he's very...specific about that,"
"Quite," the doctor said with a smile, knowing the type herself. "I'll check in on him in a couple hours if he doesn't wake sooner,".
"Thank you again," Bruce said, shaking the doctor's hand before returning to Jonathan's room.
-
Ice blue eyes slowly opened, blinking at the world around him for a moment, before closing again, body shifting as it tried to work out the kinks of being in the same position for too long. Bruce looked up from his book at the sound of flesh against the sheets, marking his place with a batarang before setting the book aside. "Jonathan?"
Jonathan's eyes opened again, taking in Bruce, before Jonathan sat up, a stiff movement that reminded Bruce of all the creepy zombie movies he had watched as a kid. Jonathan raised his hands, staring at them, before suddenly reaching over and ripping the IV from his wrist, blood speckling the wall as the overly hydrated blood found a new path. He started pulling the EKG leads from his chest, ignoring the blood dripping over him.
"Stop that!" Bruce yelled, slamming his hand against the nurse call button, grabbing Jonathan's wrists.
Jonathan let out a broken, gasping cackle, fighting against Bruce's hold, causing the other man to fall into the bed. Jonathan started kicking and Bruce used his knees on Jonathan's thighs to try to hold him still.
"Always knew you would want to be on top," Jonathan panted. He bucked up against Bruce's hold, loud, keening cry spilling from his lips.
Two nurses appeared in the door, one running to help Bruce, while the other called for a restraint board before helping Bruce and her fellow nurse hold Jonathan down, trying to keep him from hurting himself or Bruce.
Security arrived within moments, carrying a large black board between them. Two of the security guards helped hold and lift Jonathan, while another slid the plastic board under him, the five holding Jonathan fighting to get his arms, legs and torso into the straps.
"Jonathan, stop!" Bruce hissed, fighting against Jonathan's struggles, trying not to instinctively break the man's wrist to get him under control.
"Jonathan's gone away," Scarecrow sung, before giggling manically.
The doctor finally appeared, reaching around the nurses and security to jab Jonathan's thigh with a syringe, holding the flailing limb until the sedative took effect, body going limp and allowing them to finally get him strapped to the board. "What the hell just happened, Mr Wayne?" she hissed, glaring at the billionaire over Jonathan's prone body.
"I will have his full records transferred from Arkham," Bruce muttered, grabbing his coat and fleeing the room.
-
"You can stop staring at me," Jonathan hissed, glaring at Bruce over the rim of his glasses before reaching up and pushing them further up his nose. He winced and reached down, rubbing his sore wrist, trying to hide the action from Bruce.
"Your doctor asked me to keep an eye on you, thus staring." Bruce said, wrapping an arm around the other man's waist as Jonathan started lilting to the side.
Jonathan jerked out of Bruce's grasp, almost falling over before Bruce grabbed his upper arm, steadying him. "You don't need to stare, I'm not going to suddenly leap on you," Jonathan muttered.
"You'd be surprised," Bruce said with a sigh, steering Jonathan towards the bench in the small garden they were walking around, forcing the man to sit. "How do you feel?"
"Why do you fucking care?" Jonathan snapped, before clamping a hand over his mouth. "That wasn't what I meant to say," he said, looking slightly fearful.
Bruce took a seat next to Jonathan, fishing in his coat pocket for something. "Your medication is still leveling out, agitation is normal." He glanced around before offering Jonathan a slightly squashed pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
"You're trusting me with something flammable?" Jonathan asked, but accepted the offer, even being polite enough to move over to the furthest end of the bench before lighting the cigarette, a moan of satisfaction spilling from him as the first rush of nicotine hit his system.
"You haven't tried to kill me in a week, figured you deserved a treat," That, and perhaps the drug would keep Jonathan from scratching his arms all to hell every time he had a craving. He watched the pale gray smoke as it spiraled out over Jonathan's lips, taking perverse pleasure in watching as Jonathan lifted the brown filter to his lips again, tongue flashing out to wet them before he took another drag, cheek bones standing out as he sucked.
He waited until the cigarette was almost finished before leaning over, plucking it from Jonathan's lax fingers, taking the final drag, holding the smoke in his lungs for a long moment before blowing out, the smoke passing over Jonathan's lips as the other man inhaled the second hand drag.
"I thought you hated smoke," Jonathan whispered.
"I do," Bruce's lips were just a hair from touching Jonathan's lips when a cry ran out from behind them.
"Papa!" Jeremiah yelled, and Bruce moved back just in time for the boy to throw himself into Jonathan's lap.
Bruce went to flick the cigarette away, only to find it missing. He glanced up and watched as Richard pointedly ground it into the cement until it was nothing but a smear, glaring at his guardian. Bruce raised an eyebrow at the teenager's attitude, before leaning back against the bench, one arm behind Jonathan to tug at his shirt when he leaned too far to the side. He smiled as he watched Jonathan listen to Jeremiah's ramblings about how his week with Susan and Richard had been, before turning his attention to the sky above them, watching the clouds.
-
"I never did say thank you," Jonathan said softly, leaning against the doorjamb to the guest room that Bruce had stolen when they brought Jonathan home from the hospital. It would still be another month before he could fully be trusted alone for longer then a few minutes and it had just seemed easier for Bruce and Richard to move into his house, rather then spending that month in a nursing home.
"You don't have to," Bruce said, dropping his keys and wallet on the dresser, before moving closer to Jonathan. He reached out, brushing his fingers through the long bangs that fell into Jonathan's eyes, wishing he could remove the pain that shadowed them more often then not these days.
And then he wondered why he even cared.
Jonathan turned his head slightly, following the touch of Bruce's hand, before blinking up at the other man. He licked his lips, debating for a moment, before surging up, pressing his lips against Bruce's, fingers clenched in the taller man's shirt for balance.
Universe: Heavy Nolan with influences by others
Characters: Dr. Jonathan Crane, Bruce Wayne, Jeremiah Crane (Kid from the Narrows), Dick Greyson, Original Female Character, Original Male Character
Pairing: Jonathan/Bruce
Rating: NC-17 (full story)
Warnings: Graphic medical procidure, Romance, sex, snark, mentions/descriptions of psycological disorders, graphic depictions of animal testing.
Word Count: 12,603 (as of curent chapter)
Summary: Three years after the events of The Dark Knight and Bruce finds Dr. Jonathan Crane somewhere he least expected...Georgia.
Previous Chapters: Chapter I, Chapter II, Chapter III, Chapter IV.
Chapter Five: Keep Calm and Freak Out
"Show me a sane man and I will cure him for you." - Carl Gustav Jung (1875-1961), founder of analytical psychology
"And this was supposed to be my new clinic," Jonathan muttered, pushing the sleeves of his shirt up nervously, before finally shoving his hands into his pockets to keep the um-conscious movements still. It had been two weeks since Bruce had first shown up at Jonathan's house and he was finally giving both Bruce and Dick a tour of the still rather run-down house.
"Supposed to be?" Dick asked, blowing a bubble with his gum, ignoring the disgusted look Bruce gave him at the action.
"We ran out of money," Jonathan said with a shrug. "The house was in worse shape then I expected and ended up costing quite a bit more. He took a seat on one of the hospital beds, drawing his knees up to his chest, arms loosely wrapped around them.
Bruce noticed the way Jonathan's long legs kept twitching, eyes darting around the room before settling on them again, apparently, the other man still had problems with his nerves. "What were you planning to do with the clinic?"
"Normal stuff, urgent care, general check ups..." Jonathan trailed off for a moment, head tilted, staring past Bruce before shaking his head violently, almost twitching as he pressed the heel of his hands to his eyes. "Uh...what was I...oh, some emergency care," he added, answering Bruce's question.
"Doctor Crane?" Dick asked softly, standing. When Jonathan didn't answer, he looked at Bruce before moving towards Jonathan.
"Get away from me!" Jonathan screamed, lashing out, sending Dick flying towards the wall. The teenager bounced off of it, landing in a crouch, confused as to what was going on.
Bruce stood, glaring at Jonathan. "Don't touch him," he growled.
Jonathan laughed, a broken, harsh sound. "So protective of your little bird, I bet he tastes so sweet, with all the care you give him." Jonathan stood, movements awkward and broken, as if he were a puppet whose strings were tangled.
"Dick, get out of here," Bruce said softly, moving in front of his ward, blocking Jonathan.
"Bruce!"
"Yes, little Robin, go fly away, shoo," Jonathan said, waving a hand at Dick. "Daddy Bat is too busy to play with you."
Dick hissed through his teeth in frustration, but seeing Jeremiah out of the corner of his eye he conceded, heading for the door, pulling Jeremiah upstairs, just as Bruce kicked Jonathan's feet out from under him.
Jonathan's instincts kicked in, and as Bruce kicked, he leapt, screaming as his flipping twisted his wrist oddly, before landing on his feet, crouching as he stared at Bruce, a wide grin on his face before he raised, body shifting to kick out at the larger man.
Bruce blocked the kick, grabbing Jonathan's ankle, driving his shoulder into the other man's knee, intending to break it. Jonathan caught on a moment before Bruce connected and kicked up his other leg, throwing off the balance so that Bruce missed, the momentum turning the pair. Bruce released Jonathan's ankle, sending the man flying. Jonathan turned, hitting the wall with his back instead of his head, before leaping at Bruce again, jabbing out with his hand, landing a nice hit into Bruce's stomach.
Bruce doubled over at the pain, only to find a knee in his face, blood coating his nose and mouth. He stepped back, and just missed the foot to the groin, spitting out the blood that had filled his mouth, before grabbing for Jonathan, managing to snag the man's shirt, only to have the smaller man squirm out of it, ducking the punch to his own face.
Jonathan used the duck to shove Bruce back away from him, shifting to the side to avoid the kick to his own stomach. He was tempted to grab Bruce's leg himself, but dismissed it considering his own recent escape from such a hold. Instead, he turned into Bruce's kick, elbowing the other man in the sternum, following with the kick to the groin Bruce had avoided earlier.
As Bruce went down in pain, Jonathan straddled the man's chest, still grinning. He licked his lips before reaching down, wrapping his hands tightly around Bruce's neck, squeezing hard.
Bruce gagged, scratching at Jonathan's hands, praying that the last sight he saw wouldn't be Jonathan's dilated eyes and flushed skin. As darkness closed in on his vision, Jonathan suddenly toppled sidewise, crumpling like a broken rag doll.
Bruce coughed violently, pulling himself into a sitting position, staring at his ward who stood there with a heavy metal pot from the kitchen.
-
It was Jeremiah who had noticed the problems first, calling an ambulance before Bruce could even stand, clutching at his father's wrist, counting the beats under the skin. Now, Bruce sat in the too cold hospital room a day later, wondering how he had missed the fact that something was very wrong with Jonathan, rather then simply reverting to his default of beating first and asking questions never.
"Mr. Wayne?" a doctor said, poking her head into the room, gesturing for Bruce to step outside.
He stood, taking a look at the nu-conscious man before following the woman down the hall, leaning against a doorjamb as she joined him. "How is he?" Bruce asked, wondering how badly he had screwed up.
"Stable, for the moment." the doctor said, flipping a few pages in the chart she held, frowning. "His serotonin levels are dropping and the seizures have completely stopped, the tranquilizers should wear off soon and we should be able to get a clearer idea of what we're left with. I just don't understand how any reasonable or sane doctor could think of prescribing so many conflicting medications..."
Bruce fought the urge to snort, having a good idea that the prescribing doctor was neither sane nor reasonable...though it still didn't explain why Jonathan would poison himself either, considering psycopharamacology was his specialty. "It would be nice to find out," Bruce muttered.
The doctor shook her head, clearing it. "Anyway, we've cleared out most of the drugs from his system, though some traces remain, not enough to do any harm, so once he wakes I will have a psychiatrist down here to evaluate him."
"Of course, thank you, doctor."
"I'm just glad we got to him in-time, serotonin toxicity isn't something to play around with. Please keep an eye on him after this, another case of it and Mr. Crane might just not recover,"
"Doctor," Bruce corrected automatically, before biting his tongue.
"Excuse me?"
"It's Doctor Crane, he's very...specific about that,"
"Quite," the doctor said with a smile, knowing the type herself. "I'll check in on him in a couple hours if he doesn't wake sooner,".
"Thank you again," Bruce said, shaking the doctor's hand before returning to Jonathan's room.
-
Ice blue eyes slowly opened, blinking at the world around him for a moment, before closing again, body shifting as it tried to work out the kinks of being in the same position for too long. Bruce looked up from his book at the sound of flesh against the sheets, marking his place with a batarang before setting the book aside. "Jonathan?"
Jonathan's eyes opened again, taking in Bruce, before Jonathan sat up, a stiff movement that reminded Bruce of all the creepy zombie movies he had watched as a kid. Jonathan raised his hands, staring at them, before suddenly reaching over and ripping the IV from his wrist, blood speckling the wall as the overly hydrated blood found a new path. He started pulling the EKG leads from his chest, ignoring the blood dripping over him.
"Stop that!" Bruce yelled, slamming his hand against the nurse call button, grabbing Jonathan's wrists.
Jonathan let out a broken, gasping cackle, fighting against Bruce's hold, causing the other man to fall into the bed. Jonathan started kicking and Bruce used his knees on Jonathan's thighs to try to hold him still.
"Always knew you would want to be on top," Jonathan panted. He bucked up against Bruce's hold, loud, keening cry spilling from his lips.
Two nurses appeared in the door, one running to help Bruce, while the other called for a restraint board before helping Bruce and her fellow nurse hold Jonathan down, trying to keep him from hurting himself or Bruce.
Security arrived within moments, carrying a large black board between them. Two of the security guards helped hold and lift Jonathan, while another slid the plastic board under him, the five holding Jonathan fighting to get his arms, legs and torso into the straps.
"Jonathan, stop!" Bruce hissed, fighting against Jonathan's struggles, trying not to instinctively break the man's wrist to get him under control.
"Jonathan's gone away," Scarecrow sung, before giggling manically.
The doctor finally appeared, reaching around the nurses and security to jab Jonathan's thigh with a syringe, holding the flailing limb until the sedative took effect, body going limp and allowing them to finally get him strapped to the board. "What the hell just happened, Mr Wayne?" she hissed, glaring at the billionaire over Jonathan's prone body.
"I will have his full records transferred from Arkham," Bruce muttered, grabbing his coat and fleeing the room.
-
"You can stop staring at me," Jonathan hissed, glaring at Bruce over the rim of his glasses before reaching up and pushing them further up his nose. He winced and reached down, rubbing his sore wrist, trying to hide the action from Bruce.
"Your doctor asked me to keep an eye on you, thus staring." Bruce said, wrapping an arm around the other man's waist as Jonathan started lilting to the side.
Jonathan jerked out of Bruce's grasp, almost falling over before Bruce grabbed his upper arm, steadying him. "You don't need to stare, I'm not going to suddenly leap on you," Jonathan muttered.
"You'd be surprised," Bruce said with a sigh, steering Jonathan towards the bench in the small garden they were walking around, forcing the man to sit. "How do you feel?"
"Why do you fucking care?" Jonathan snapped, before clamping a hand over his mouth. "That wasn't what I meant to say," he said, looking slightly fearful.
Bruce took a seat next to Jonathan, fishing in his coat pocket for something. "Your medication is still leveling out, agitation is normal." He glanced around before offering Jonathan a slightly squashed pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
"You're trusting me with something flammable?" Jonathan asked, but accepted the offer, even being polite enough to move over to the furthest end of the bench before lighting the cigarette, a moan of satisfaction spilling from him as the first rush of nicotine hit his system.
"You haven't tried to kill me in a week, figured you deserved a treat," That, and perhaps the drug would keep Jonathan from scratching his arms all to hell every time he had a craving. He watched the pale gray smoke as it spiraled out over Jonathan's lips, taking perverse pleasure in watching as Jonathan lifted the brown filter to his lips again, tongue flashing out to wet them before he took another drag, cheek bones standing out as he sucked.
He waited until the cigarette was almost finished before leaning over, plucking it from Jonathan's lax fingers, taking the final drag, holding the smoke in his lungs for a long moment before blowing out, the smoke passing over Jonathan's lips as the other man inhaled the second hand drag.
"I thought you hated smoke," Jonathan whispered.
"I do," Bruce's lips were just a hair from touching Jonathan's lips when a cry ran out from behind them.
"Papa!" Jeremiah yelled, and Bruce moved back just in time for the boy to throw himself into Jonathan's lap.
Bruce went to flick the cigarette away, only to find it missing. He glanced up and watched as Richard pointedly ground it into the cement until it was nothing but a smear, glaring at his guardian. Bruce raised an eyebrow at the teenager's attitude, before leaning back against the bench, one arm behind Jonathan to tug at his shirt when he leaned too far to the side. He smiled as he watched Jonathan listen to Jeremiah's ramblings about how his week with Susan and Richard had been, before turning his attention to the sky above them, watching the clouds.
-
"I never did say thank you," Jonathan said softly, leaning against the doorjamb to the guest room that Bruce had stolen when they brought Jonathan home from the hospital. It would still be another month before he could fully be trusted alone for longer then a few minutes and it had just seemed easier for Bruce and Richard to move into his house, rather then spending that month in a nursing home.
"You don't have to," Bruce said, dropping his keys and wallet on the dresser, before moving closer to Jonathan. He reached out, brushing his fingers through the long bangs that fell into Jonathan's eyes, wishing he could remove the pain that shadowed them more often then not these days.
And then he wondered why he even cared.
Jonathan turned his head slightly, following the touch of Bruce's hand, before blinking up at the other man. He licked his lips, debating for a moment, before surging up, pressing his lips against Bruce's, fingers clenched in the taller man's shirt for balance.