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doctorbitchcrxft · 17 hours

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Scarecrow | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 5402

A/N: SURPRISE!!!! I've decided to start updating twice a week!!! I would not be cranking these out like I am if it weren't for y'all's support. Thank you so so much for everything, my lovebugs. See y'all on Saturday!!! New update schedule:

Wednesdays and Saturdays @ 3 PM CDT

Series Rewrite Masterlist

Series Rewrite Playlist (surprise!)

You awoke to the sound of your phone ringing, and were shocked by the voice on the other end of the call. “John?!”

“Hi, (Y/N),” he answered. “I know you’re with the boys. I need you to do something for me.”

“John, what the fuck? How did you get my number?” you questioned. “Why didn’t you call Sam or Dean?!”

He sighed. “Because I knew they wouldn’t just let me go. Listen, I need you to take down these names for me.”

You wrapped a jacket around yourself and headed to the boys’ room next door. You banged on it loudly, still talking to John. “Look, sir, I’m sorry, but I have to let them know you called me.”

Sam opened the door.

“(Y/N), no! It’s too dangerous!” John responded, his voice gravelly.

“Too late,” you told him.

Sam had apparently heard his dad’s voice and ripped the phone out of your hands. “Dad? Are you hurt? We’ve been looking for you everywhere. We didn’t know where you were, if you were okay.”

Dean began to wake up with all of the commotion.

“We’re fine. Dad, where are you?” Sam continued.

Dean shot up when Sam said “dad.”

Sam scoffed at something his father said. “What? Why not?”

“Is that Dad?” Dean asked.

“You’re after it, aren’t you? The thing that killed Mom,” Sam said softly. “A demon? You know for sure?”

“A demon? What’s he saying?” Dean’s voice became almost frantic.

Tears suddenly welled in Sam’s eyes. “You know where it is?... Let us help… Why not?”

Dean extended his hand to his brother. “Give me the phone.”

“Names? What names, Dad— talk to me, tell me what’s going on,” Sam pleaded. “No. Alright? No way.”

Dean grabbed the phone out of Sam’s hands. “Dad, it’s me. Where are you? Why’d you call (Y/N) instead of one of us?... Yes, sir… Uh, yeah, I got a pen. What are their names?” He began writing on the notepad next to his bed.

Sam shook his head, tears still in his eyes.

Dean hung up the phone and handed it back to you. “How’d he get your number, (Y/N)?”

“I have no idea; I changed it since I met you guys,” you told him. “That was after your dad disappeared.”

“Why would he call her and not us?” Sam asked his brother.

“He said he knew you wouldn’t just let him go,” you explained. “Said it was too dangerous for me to let you know I spoke to him.”

“Well, thank you for not listening,” Sam told you.

You gave him a lopsided, sad smile.

***

Later that day, Sam was driving you toward what you thought was your next hunt. Couples had been going missing through the same part of Indiana every year on the second week of April; which just so happened to be this week.

“So, Dad is sending us to Indiana to go hunting for something before another couple vanishes?” Sam asked.

“Yahtzee. Can you imagine putting together a pattern like this? All the different obits Dad had to go through? The man’s a master.” You could tell Dean really respected his father. You had that same respect for your dad when he was alive; you understood completely.

Sam seemed annoyed, though, and pulled over to the side of the road. He turned off the car.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“We’re not going to Indiana,” he responded.

Your eyebrows shot up. “We’re not?”

“No. We’re going to California. Dad called from a payphone. Sacramento area code,” Sam explained.

Dean shook his head. “Sam—”

“Dean, if this demon killed Mom and Jess, and Dad’s closing in, we’ve gotta be there. We’ve gotta help.”

“Dad doesn’t want our help,” Dean protested.

Sam’s voice rose more. “I don’t care!”

“He’s given us an order!”

Sam’s voice was suddenly quieted. “I don’t care. We don’t always have to do what he says.”

“Sam, Dad is asking us to work jobs, to save lives, it’s important,” the older brother argued, incredulous that this was even a conversation.

“Alright, I understand, believe me, I understand. But I’m talking one week here, man, to get answers. To get revenge.”

“Alright, look, I know how you feel—”

“Do you?”

You were shocked by Sam’s tone.

“How old were you when Mom died? Four? Jess died six months ago. How the hell would you know how I feel?”

“Sam!” you scolded.

“Dad said it wasn’t safe,” Dean continued. “For any of us. I mean, he obviously knows something that we don’t, so if he says to stay away, we stay away.”

Sam scoffed humorlessly. “I don’t understand the blind faith you have in the man. I mean, it’s like you don’t even question him.”

“Yeah, it’s called being a good son!”

“Both of you, stop it!” you ordered.

Sam angrily got out of the car. You looked to Dean who couldn’t meet your eyes before the two of you got out as well.

“You’re a selfish bastard, you know that?” Dean spat. “You just do whatever you want. Don’t care what anybody thinks.”

Sam bit back, “That’s what you really think?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Well, then this selfish bastard is going to California.” He shouldered his backpack and started walking in the opposite direction.

“C’mon, Sam, get back in the car,” you called to him.

“No, (Y/N), stay out of this,” Sam responded.

“It’s the middle of the night!” you protested.

“Hey, I’m taking off, I will leave your ass, you hear me?” Dean roared.

Sam stopped walking and turned around. “That’s what I want you to do,” he replied coldly.

You watched with bated breath as the two brothers sized each other up.

“Goodbye, Sam.” Dean slammed the trunk closed. He went to get in the car and drive away, but you stopped him.

“Just wait a second, please?”

He nodded.

You sprinted to Sam, giving him a tight hug. He returned it with his free arm. “Bye, Sam. Be safe, please,” you told him.

“What, you’re really gonna stay with him?” he scoffed.

“I don’t have much of a choice—”

“You do, though. You said you were gonna help us find our dad. I’m going to find our dad.”

You backed away from him. “I believe we will find your dad. I think he’s too smart to stay in Sacramento after calling us.”

Sam shook his head. “This is about more than that, isn’t it? You just wanna stay with Dean.”

“No, Sam, that’s not the point—”

“Then come with me.”

Your voice softened considerably. “No.”

The brunet scoffed again. “Goodbye, (Y/N).”

He walked away from you. You hurried back to the car and slammed the door to the passenger’s seat shut. You slumped against the door, and you nor Dean talked for the remainder of the drive to Burkittsville, Indiana.

***

When you arrived, you saw Dean take out his phone and scroll to Sam’s contact. You silently prayed he would click it, but he never did. Alternatively, the two of you got out of the car and made your way over to Scotty’s Café.

Burkittsville was a sleepy little town full of mom and pop shops and not a chain restaurant in sight. The people seemed just as quaint and perfect as their town appeared, including the man on the porch of the café.

Dean gestured to the sign above the man’s head. “Let me guess. Scotty.”

Scotty looked up at his sign and nodded curtly. “Yep.”

“Hi, my name’s John Bonham,” Dean smiled, “And this is—”

Scotty cut him off before he could introduce you. “Isn’t that the drummer for Led Zeppelin?”

The younger man was taken aback. “Wow. Good. Classic rock fan.”

Scotty’s face was unchanging. “What can I do for you, John?”

Dean took out the Missing Person posters of Holly and Vince Parker, the couple that had disappeared last year.

You stuck the fliers out to Scotty. “We were just wondering if you’d seen these people by chance? They’re friends of ours, and we just really wanna find ‘em. The cops haven’t done much, and we figured we’d take the investigation into our own hands. We already asked around Scottsberg and Salem—”

Scotty cut you off and looked to Dean. “Does she always talk this much?”

You were offended. “Sorry, I just, I really wanna find my friends.”

Scotty sat back in his chair and huffed. “Haven’t seen ‘em. We don’t get many strangers around here.”

Dean nodded. “Scotty, you’ve got a smile that lights up a room, anybody ever tell you that?”

Scotty eyed him strangely.

“Never mind. See you around.”

The two of you walked away from the man and the café.

“That was awkward, you mumbled. “The fuck was his problem?”

“He was right about one thing, sweetheart, you do talk a lot,” Dean gibed in response.

You shoved his shoulder. “Fuck off.”

Your next stop was the Jorgeson General Store; another one of those mom-and-pop shops. You spoke to the woman behind the counter and her husband about the Parkers’ disappearance.

“You sure they didn’t stop for gas or something?” Dean questioned.

The older man before you shook his head. “Nope, don’t remember ‘em. You said they were friends of yours?”

Dean nodded.

A young girl bounded down the stairs carrying some boxes. “Did the guy have a tattoo?”

You looked at her surprised. “Yeah, he did.”

The blonde put the boxes on the counter and looked down at the missing posters you were holding. “You remember?” she asked the older couple. “They were just married.”

The old man seemed to remember suddenly, “You’re right. They did stop for gas. Weren’t here more than ten minutes.”

“You remember anything else?” Dean asked, You could tell he was suspicious of these people; as we you.

“I told ‘em how to get back to the Interstate. They left town.”

“Could you point us in that same direction?”

***

“I’m telling you, those people weird me out,” you told Dean as you drove down the old man’s directed route.

“Yeah, no kidding,” he responded. “WASPs.”

“Oh, for sure,” you giggled.

You were cut off by a sound coming from the backseat.

“The fuck?” Dean mumbled at the sound. “(Y/N), care to investigate?”

You nodded, leaning over the backseat and rummaging through Dean’s duffel bag. You pulled out the EMF meter, which buzzed frantically. “Pull over,” you instructed him.

***

The two of you walked through a pretty apple orchard. It was quite large, as were the trees. You had no doubt it stretched for hundreds of acres. You and Dean crunched leaves under your boots and followed the strengthening beep of the EMF meter to a frightening scarecrow. It wore dark clothing; its eyes were hollow and its mouth was sewn shut. The hair it seemed to have was straggly and wild under the brim of its hat.

“Dude, you fugly,” Dean jested.

You giggled, but something caught your eye. The scarecrow held a sickle, and your eyes trailed from it to a design on its arm. “Dean, look.”

He seemed to notice the same thing you did and grabbed a ladder. You held the bottom steady while he climbed up to the scarecrow’s eye level. He adjusted its sleeve to fully reveal the design on its arm. You pulled out Vince’s flier and handed it to Dean. He compared the two, but you already knew the designs would match exactly.

“Nice tat,” Dean told the scarecrow.

“Alright, get out of its face before you piss it off,” you told your friend.

He chuckled. “Yeah, right.” He climbed back down the ladder and you headed back to Burkittsville to investigate further. Dean drove you to the gas station next to a car repair shop where you noticed the young girl from the general store was working.

“You’re back,” the blonde smiled.

Dean replied, “Never left.”

“Still looking for your friends?” she asked.

You nodded.

Dean noticed the nameplate necklace the girl was wearing. “ You mind fillin’ her up there, Emily?”

She grabbed the pump and obliged.

“So, you grew up here?” Dean asked.

“I came here when I was thirteen. I lost my parents. Car accident. My aunt and uncle took me in,” she explained.

“They’re nice people.”

“Everybody’s nice here.”

“So, what, it’s the, uh, perfect little town?”

She nodded and sighed. “Well, you know, it’s the boonies. But I love it. I mean, the towns around us, people are losing their homes, their farms. But here, it’s almost like we’re blessed.”

You nodded. “Hey, you been out to the orchard? You seen that scarecrow?”

Emily shivered. “Yeah, it creeps me out.”

Dean laughed. “Whose is it?”

The girl shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just always been there.”

You nodded toward the red van parked by the garage with its hood up. “That your aunt and uncle’s?”

Emily shook her head. “Customer. Had some car troubles.”

“It’s not a couple, is it? A guy and a girl?” A look of concern crossed Dean’s face, and Emily nodded.

And with that, you thanked Emily, paid her, and headed off to find the town’s next victims: that poor couple. You found them in Scotty’s Café.

“We’re famous for our apples,” Scotty said as you walked in. “So, you gotta try this pie.”

“Oh, no. It— please,” the girl shook her head. The couple’s table was already full of plates.

“It’s on the house.” Scotty’s disposition was much different than the one he’d presented to you and Dean previously.

“Oh, hey, Scotty,” Dean grinned. “Can I get a coffee, black? Oh, and some of that pie, too, while you’re at it.”

You and Dean sat at a table next to the couple. “Mind your manners, please,” you mumbled to him.

“I got it,” he answered. “How ya doin’?” He leaned over to the couple, who waved back and smiled. “Just passing through?”

“Road trip,” the girl replied awkwardly.

“Hm. Yeah, us, too,” Dean said.

Scotty came back over to refill the couple’s drinks. “ I’m sure these people want to eat in peace.”

“He’s just making conversation,” you defended.

Scotty glared at you and walked away.

Dean was clearly reveling in Scotty’s agitation. “Oh, and that coffee, too, man. Thanks.”

“So, what brings you to town?” you asked the couple.

“We just stopped for gas,” the girl explained. “And, uh, the guy at the gas station saved our lives.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah, one of our brake lines was leaking. We had no idea. He was fixing it for us,” the man replied.

Dean seemed concerned. “Nice people.”

You didn’t know the first thing about cars, but from the look on Dean’s face, you could tell he knew something was fishy. “So, how long till you’re up and runnin’?”

“Sundown,” the man answered curtly, taking a bite of his food.

“Really.” Dean pondered for a minute. “To fix a brake line?”

The man nodded.

“I mean, you know, I know a thing or two about cars. I could probably have you up and running in about an hour. I wouldn’t charge you anything,” Dean said, chuckling awkwardly.

“You know, thanks a lot, but I think we’d rather have a mechanic do it.” He turned back to the table.

Dean paused. “You know, it’s just that these roads. They’re not real safe at night.”

The couple exchanged a look.

“I know it sounds strange, but, uh, you might be in danger,” Dean tried.

“Look, we’re trying to eat. Okay?” the man responded, annoyed.

Dean seemed disappointed. He turned to you. “Sam could just give him that puppy dog look and they’d just buy right into it,” he lamented.

Your heart was saddened; both because you missed Sam and felt for Dean. The bell above the door jingled, and Scotty came out from the back.

“Thanks for coming, Sheriff,” Scotty told the man who had just entered.

You were beginning to get incredibly agitated with Scotty.

“I’d like a word, please,” the sheriff told you and Dean.

“Come on. I’m having a bad day already,” Dean grumbled.

“You know what would make it worse?”

And with that, the sheriff escorted you to the outside of town; making sure you kept driving outside of Burkittsville.

You and Dean were stubborn, though, and returned to the town later that night. You headed to the orchard where you knew the couple was about to become scarecrow food.

You always had your pistol on you, of course, but Dean had you carry a shotgun loaded with rock salt, too. He grabbed one for himself, and the two of you trekked into the orchard, quickly trying to find the couple. You had seen their car broken down on the side of the road and knew they couldn’t be far.

“Who’s there?” you heard the man from the diner call.

You and Dean broke off in the direction of the voice. You jumped in front of the couple just before the scarecrow could reach them.

“Get back to your car.” Dean ordered, aiming his shotgun at the scarecrow. “Go! Go! (Y/N), follow ‘em!”

The couple took off running and you stayed close behind, occasionally looking over your shoulder to make sure it was far enough away. You watched as Dean shot the scarecrow, which stumbled, but kept walking.

You took out your pistol and aimed at the thing. “Dean, look out!” You took a shot at it, too, but it still persisted.

“What the hell kind of thing is immune to rock salt and real bullets?!” you yelled to Dean.

“Go! Go!” He responded, pushing you and the couple forward and out of the orchard. When you turned around for the last time as you had reached their car, the scarecrow disappeared. Even still, you and Dean kept your guns pointed at the orchard’s entrance.

“What— what the hell was that?” the man from the diner panted.

“Don’t ask!” you told them.

While you stood guard, Dean fixed up the car for the couple and escorted them out of town. The next morning, you and Dean decided to find a local history professor from the next town over to get some information.

“We should call Sam,” you told him.

“I know,” he mumbled.

“Oh-kay, then what are you waiting for?” you asked.

He said nothing in response, but pulled out his phone and dialed Sam’s number. You weren’t surprised when Dean didn’t address their fight at all.

“Yeah, I’m tellin’ ya,” Dean told Sam on the other line. “Burkittsville, Indiana. Fun Town… No. We can’t cope without you, you know… No, it’s more than a spirit. It’s a god. A Pagan god, anyway… The annual cycle of its killings? And the fact that the victims are always a man and a woman. Like some kind of fertility right. And you should see the locals. The way they treated this couple. Fattenin’ ‘em up like a Christmas turkey… Yeah, (Y/N)’s thinking a ritual sacrifice to appease some pagan god... Yeah, yeah. She’s fine. She’s here.”

You smiled at what you knew was Dean responding to Sam asking about you.

“And the scarecrow takes its sacrifice. And for another year, the crops won’t wilt, and disease won’t spread… No, not yet… I know. We’re actually on our way to a local community college. I’ve got an appointment with a professor. You know, since I don’t have my trusty sidekick geek boy to do all the research.” Dean’s tone shifted. “I’m not hinting anything! Actually, uh—I want you to know….I mean, don’t think… Sam. You were right. You gotta do your own thing. You gotta live your own life.”

You eyed Dean curiously as he continued.

“You’ve always known what you want. And you go after it. You stand up to Dad. And you always have. Hell, I wish I—anyway… I admire that about you. I’m proud of you, Sammy… Say you’ll take care of yourself… Call me when you find Dad.”

You took the phone from Dean. “Hi, Sam. I miss you,” you told him.

“Hey, (Y/N/N), I miss you, too. I’m sorry about what I said,” Sam responded.

“Yeah, me too. Be safe, kiddo.”

Sam laughed at your nickname for him. “I will.”

***

You and Dean talked with a sweet, old professor about the pagan god you could potentially be dealing with; feigning that it was for a research paper. He flipped through a large book on the different Norse pagan gods and goddesses, until a scarecrow in one of the drawings caught Dean’s attention.

“Wait, wait, wait. What’s that one?” Dean asked.

“Oh, that’s not a woods god, per se,” the professor answer.

“The V-Vanir?” Dean read off hesitantly.

The professor nodded.

You read the page aloud. “ ‘The Vanir were Norse gods of protection and prosperity, keeping the local settlements safe from harm. Some villages built effigies of the Vanir in their fields. Other villages practiced human sacrifice. One male, and one female.’ “ You pointed to the picture. “Kind of looks like a scarecrow, huh?”

The professor looked at you strangely. “I suppose.”

“This particular Vanir that’s energy sprung from the sacred tree?” Dean questioned.

The professor seemed confused, but answered you none the less.“Well, Pagans believed all sorts of things were infused with magic.”

“So what would happen if the sacred tree was torched? You think it’d kill the god?”

The old man laughed. “Son, these are just legends we’re discussing.”

“Yeah, yeah of course. He knows that,” you said. “Thank you for your time.” You shook the man’s hand.

“Glad I could help,” he responded.

Dean was the first to hit the door, only to be knocked in the head with a rifle when he opened it.

“Hey!” you yelled, drawing your gun. The sheriff pointed his back at you.

“Carrying a gun on a college campus,” the sheriff tsked. “That’s not a good look for you. Why don’t you put that down and come with me.”

You hesitated, but knew he was right. You put it back in your jacket and raised your hands.

The sheriff aimed his gun at you while two other men he’d brought with him dragged Dean’s passed-out body back to Burkittsville.

The sheriff’s deputies threw Dean’s body down into a cellar beneath one of the houses near the orchard and shoved you down with him.

“You motherfucker,” you told the man. “So what’s the plan? Huh? Keep us here ‘til nightfall, then, what, let us loose in the orchard? You know that thing won’t be able to catch us.”

The sheriff chuckled at you. “Don’t you worry. We’ll take care of you.” And with that, he shut the cellar doors above your head; blocking the majority of the light out. Your eyes slowly adjusted to the bits of sunlight still peeking through the cracks in the boards. You shoved the cellar doors with all your might, groaning as you did. You tried to get it open for hours with the few objects down in the cellar.

“C’mon!” you cried, frustrated. Nothing you tried worked.

Dean’s groan in pain from behind you caught your attention. You rushed back down the stairs and over to him.

You sat down on the floor beside him, gingerly brushing your hand over the wound on his head. “You okay?”

He propped himself up on one elbow and touched the spot on his forehead with his other hand. “Super.”

“Just try to relax,” you told him, “I wanna make sure you don’t have a concussion.”

“What are you, Nurse Ratched?” he grunted, trying to push away from you. “I’m fine, (Y/N), seriously.”

You huffed. “Will you just let me help you? Please?”

Hesitantly, he obliged. You shuffled closer and positioned your knees under his head. He leaned back into you, and you could have sworn some of the tension left his body when he came in contact with you.

You brushed his short, spiky hair back with one hand and held a finger over his face with the other. “Follow my finger, please. Without moving your head.”

He did. His eyes tracked your motion well.

“Okay, now, where are we?” you asked, still stroking his hair.

He scoffed. “What does that have to do with me having a concussion?”

“Just answer the question, asshole.”

He scoffed again, but obeyed. “Uh… some kind of cellar. I’m assuming in Burkittsville.”

“Okay, good,” you said. “Why are we here?”

“That bastard knocked me out at the community college. Fuckin’ professor must’ve called him or something,” Dean grumbled.

“Okay, I think you’re fine,” you told him.

He sat up from your lap, and you missed the feeling of him against you. “Where’d you learn that stuff from?” he asked.

You laughed nervously. “I, uh… this is gonna sound stupid, but I was planning on going to school for nursing the year my parents died.”

“Really?” he asked.

“Yeah. They, um. They died without ever knowing I was gonna go to school that fall.” You looked down at your lap.

“So why didn’t you just leave this all behind and go to school? You could’ve been normal, (Y/N).”

“Honestly?” you replied. “Screw normal. I knew that even if I left hunting, I’d never truly feel safe ever again. Besides, the white picket fence isn’t really my style.” You gave him a lopsided smile which he returned.

“What would you have done? If you weren’t a hunter, I mean,” you asked.

He sighed. “I don’t know. I haven’t given it much thought.” He paused and looked off. He thought for a minute before turning back to you. “I think I would’ve been a mechanic. Maybe a marine, like my dad. When I was a kid, though, I wanted to be a fireman.”

You smiled. “I can totally see that for you.”

The warmth that had settled between you was dispersed by the cellar doors opening. You and Dean scrambled to your feet.

“It’s time,” the woman from the general store said.

You shot Dean a nervous look. You could tell he was doing his best to be brave.

The sheriff really liked using the butt of his rifle to hit things. He’d been using it to urge you and Dean forward about the last half mile into the orchard.

“Do you feel powerful with that thing? Manly?” you asked the sheriff. “You can probably do more with it than you can with your dick— Ow!” You were cut off by a sharp whack to the back of your head.

The sheriff sat Dean down and tied his wrists to a tree.

“How many people have you killed, Sheriff? How much blood is on your hands?” Dean spat.

“We don’t kill them,” was all the sheriff responded with.

“No, you just clean up after,” you broke in as the couple from the general store tied you to a tree next to him. “I mean, how many cars have you hidden, clothes have you buried?”

The sheriff shot you a glare before walking away from you and Dean.

“Try to understand,” the woman told you, somehow still smiling. “It’s our responsibility. And there’s just no other choice. The town needs to be safe. The good of the many outweighs the good of the one.” She turned away from you, and led the other three men away.

“I hope your apple pie is freakin’ worth it!” Dean called after them.

“So, what’s the plan?” you asked.

“I’m workin’ on it,” Dean responded.

You leaned your head back against the tree stump. “I can’t believe I’m gonna die like this.”

“(Y/N), do not talk like that. You are gonna be fine. We’re both gonna make it,” Dean responded.

“No, dude, be serious. Neither of us have a plan. We’re toast.”

“I told you, I’m working on it,” he assured you.

***

Hours passed. You tossed ideas back and forth about how to escape, but nothing was working. You couldn’t get through the zip ties around your wrists without scissors or a knife; which neither of you had on you. The sheriff had frisked both of you of all your weapons. Before you knew it, night had fallen.

“Can you see?” Dean asked. “Is he moving yet?”

You craned your neck, trying to see around the tree stump. “I can’t see.”

Leaves rustled. You and Dean began frantically pulling at your bindings.

“You hear that?” you squeaked.

“Yeah, I do!” Dean strained against his binds.

And then, Sam emerged from the trees behind you.

“Sam!” you grinned.

“(Y/N)?” he responded, stooping down to you. He immediately set to work untying you.

“Oh! Oh, I take everything back I said.” Dean sounded relieved and overjoyed. “I’m so happy to see you.”

Sam moved over to Dean next.

You rubbed at your wrists and rolled your neck around as you stood. “How’d you get here?”

“I, uh— I stole a car,” he answered sheepishly.

Dean laughed. “That’s my boy! And keep an eye on that scarecrow. He could come alive any minute.”

“What scarecrow?” Sam questioned.

You peeked around your tree to see the scarecrow was missing from his post. You and the brothers exchanged nervous looks, and broke off running in the other direction.

“There’s some kind of sacred tree we have to find,” you explained to Sam as you jogged along.

“It’s the source of its power,” Dean added.

“So let’s find it and burn it,” Sam replied simply.

“Nah, in the morning. Let’s just shag ass before Leather Face catches up,” Dean said.

The three of you reached the clearing, only to find yourselves surrounded by flashlights and the townspeople.

“This way!” You tried to lead the boys in another direction, but there were more people flanking you from the back. The three of you put yourselves back to back, facing the numerous guns and flashlights that clouded your vision.

“Please. Let us go,” you begged.

The old man from the general store spoke to you. “It’ll be over quickly, I promise.”

“C’mon, man, please!”

The man shook his head. “You have to let him take you. You have to—”

All of a sudden, the scarecrow’s sickle poked out through the man’s stomach. The woman next to him screamed as the scarecrow began dragging the two of them away. The rest of the townspeople began to flee the scene at what they had just witnessed.

“Come on, let’s go!” Dean ordered, and the three of you broke off running again.

You heard a noise and turned, but the scarecrow and the elderly couple were gone.

“Alright, let’s light this sucker up and get the hell outta dodge,” Dean remarked, picking up a large stick from the ground. The three of you walked a ways before finding a tree marked with Vince’s tattoo design.

“There!” you pointed at it and took the stick from Dean. Sam poured lighter fluid all over it and you lit the end of Dean’s stick with his zippo lighter.

Dean threw the stick at the tree, and the three of you watched it go up in flames. “So long, fugly scarecrow.”

You and the boys walked back to the college where the Impala was left. It took hours, and you were exhausted, but the sight of that car had you grinning from ear to ear.

“And the rest of the townspeople, they’ll just get away with it?” Sam asked, seeming unsatisfied.

“Well, what’ll happen to the town will have to be punishment enough.” Dean turned to his brother once you had reached the car. “So, can I drop you off somewhere?”

Sam shook his head. “No, you guys are stuck with me.”

You smiled. “What made you change your mind?”

“I didn’t. I still wanna find Dad. And you two are still pains in the ass.”

You giggled.

“But, Jess and Mom— they’re both gone. Dad is god knows where. You, me, and (Y/N). We’re all that’s left. So, if we’re gonna see this through, we’re gonna do it together.”

You could sense a witty remark coming from Dean any second.

“Hold me, Sam. That was beautiful.”

‘There it is.’ You laughed again.

Sam smacked his brother’s shoulder. “You two should be kissing my ass. You were dead meat.”

“Yeah, right. I had a plan, I’d have gotten out,” Dean responded.

“Oh, sure you did,” you chimed in. “They were just all crap.”

Dean shoved you playfully toward the door of the backseat. You got in and settled down, allowing yourself to be sucked into slumber.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @thepocketverse @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @here-for-the-extravaganza @seninjakitey @berarenado

Quite a few tags were broken :(( so sorry!!

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural series rewrite #spn series rewrite

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summercourtship · 9 months

Text

stay to burn (only to drown instead): chapter six: karma [part II]

masterpost | ao3 link

jonathan crane x reader; bruce wayne x reader; edward nashton x reader | warnings: canon typical violence, sexual content | word count: 6355 words

DISCLAIMER: these chapters are not meant to be read alone. not every chapter has content for one of the three pairings listed. this is an ongoing fanfiction that I am cross-posting here on tumblr, not a series of one-shots.

chapter one |previous part

“Aren’t scarecrows supposed to be like… nice? Getting rid of birds, helping crops, you know?”

You were sitting in the hallway of a university building you were rarely in, waiting for the door to open to your next class which had been relocated for the day, when a conversation a few feet away from you drifted down to you.

“Maybe it’s ironic? I dunno, he might’ve not come up with it himself. I mean, the mask, sure, but maybe the newspapers came up with his name.”

“Well, I was reading this thread-”

“On Twitter? Or Reddit?”

The silence that followed the girl's question apparently said it all, if the other girl’s disgusted scoff was anything to go off of. Of course, Twitter should be the only source of reliable information.

You rolled your eyes, but kept them trained at your notebook, your hand paused above the paper, any thoughts of writing dashed as you focused on your eavesdropping. You doubted either of them had any information you didn’t already have, especially if the only two sources they could think of were social media sites. But you wished they would just talk about it so you could know if they were even worth eavesdropping on!

“Anyway, I was reading this thread and it pointed out that all of the places he has targeted are Gotham’s largest suppliers of dopamine. He’s even been able to get shipments as they’ve arrived in the harbor, before they’ve gotten to the warehouses.”

No, I know that. Give me something new, something concrete, something else I can look into.

“Maybe he’s just really sad.” Her friend sounded incredibly disinterested. You held back another scoff, because while you hadn’t exactly done the best in your high school chemistry class, you had done enough research now to know that dopamine by itself wasn’t used to increase happiness, even though it was known as the happiness chemical.

“It scares me, though. Anyone stealing chemicals…” Her voice drifted away from you, the girls obviously packed up and started to move away to sit somewhere else in the building, though you’re sure she was going on about Sarin gas attacks or anthrax. The usual examples when people talked about biological weapons and terrorism.

But something she said set off an alarm bell in your brain, the offhand comment she had made about the situation scaring her, something in it reminding you of something else. Only for the thought to be dashed by the loud clang of the door banging against the wall, a stream of students filing out as their class had ended. Quickly, you wrote what she said down on a scrap of paper before ripping it out of the notebook and slipping it into your pocket.

You stood up, putting your notebook back into your bag. You went through your normal classes like you were in a trance, turning in your assignments on time and getting your usual decent grades but never rising above it. No, you were well aware that you were saving your energy and good work ethic for Dr. Crane’s class, even though you didn’t have much to do anymore. It wasn’t like you were doing the assignments and he’d stopped having you grade them two weeks ago.

Well, at least I’ll have Arkham to focus on soon.

It wasn’t necessarily a happy thought, but it was something. The approach of another new chapter in your life was nerve-wracking, especially one that you had no parameters for what to expect. You had no expectations for what the job would be like, due to Jonathan still not giving you much information besides “it’s a secretarial job”. Which would be fine, if you had any outside experience for what that entailed, but your knowledge of receptionist/secretary jobs came purely from film and television, and that’s not saying much.

When you returned home that night, you put the scrap of paper from your pocket on the wall of your living room on the few previously blank feet of space beside the balcony door. You’d felt a bit like a mad woman when you’d started it, but stepping back and looking at the clippings from the newspaper and printed articles, pictures and your handwritten notes gave you a sense of satisfaction you hadn’t felt in a very long time.

In the center of it all, pinned to the wall with a clear thumb tack, was the wrinkled list you’d made the morning after your first encounter with the Scarecrow.

Yes, you’d told Jonathan that you wouldn't look into the Scarecrow. But once the idea had planted itself in your brain, it was impossible to uproot it. At least you hadn’t moved on to the next stage of your research, which you’d been toying around with. You were, admittedly, tired of just scouring the internet and newspapers for information. You wanted to go and find it yourself.

But you held off, having enough self-preservation to keep you safe in your apartment. For now, at least. After all, it was the same urge to find the information yourself and not second-hand that led you to the mayor’s funeral and the election night party at Gotham Square.

You were examining the collage when you noticed out of the window the familiar warm light of the Bat Signal, bright against the dark sky. There was no moon tonight, something you noted passively. They say that the full moon makes people behave weird. But in your experience, it was the new moon that made them bold.

Pulling the thin curtain over the door shut, your mind couldn’t stop itself from wandering to thoughts of the Batman. Mainly, you wondered what he was doing, who he was fighting. Because if the signal was lit, he was surely out there fighting and trying to make Gotham safer, even if it was ultimately a futile effort. If it was lowly criminals like robbers or vandals, or if he was going after a real villain, the kind that would haunt your nightmares. You wondered if he had any encounters with the Scarecrow, what he thought about it all. Surely, he must’ve at least looked into it, stealing chemicals was a big deal, right?

Tugging at the sleeve of your cardigan, you tried to ignore the pit in your stomach as you thought about whether you’d ever see him again.

“I’m applying for an internship at Wayne Enterprises.”

Jonathan’s pen stopped scratching against his paper for a moment before continuing as if it never stopped.

“Why there?” Jonathan didn’t look up from his desk. You were splayed out on one of the leather chairs in front of his desk, your knees hooked over the arm and your head hanging over the other side. You held a book over your face, which wasn’t even one you needed to read for a class. It was a familiar title, one you’d read a few times before and had come to think of as a comfort book.

Jonathan was working on something that he hadn’t felt the need to tell you about, but he hadn’t given you anything else to grade or look over. But since you’d begun to see each other more often outside of a professional context, it felt weird to not attend your office hours with him, even if you had nothing to do.

Hence, your book.

“They had one.” You shrugged, still not looking at him but from the corner of your eye. “And there was one as a records assistant. Personally, I think they’re still scrambling after the Renewal money-laundering shit was blown wide open. I know there’s been a few statements from Bruce Wayne saying that he’s starting from the ground up with that whole project, but who knows how long that’ll take. But the internship would be a good experience, even if my hands aren’t actually getting dirty in the files.”

While you were speaking, Jonathan had put his pen down and shut the folio he was working in with an air of finality before getting out of his chair and crossing around the desk to stand by you.

You rested your book down on your chest, looking up at him.

“Hi.” You smiled. “Are you sure there’s nothing for me to do?”

“I can think of something.”

You swung your legs down from the arm, sitting up properly in the seat. Your book fell to your lap, and you’re not even sure you remembered to mark your place. But, ultimately, it didn’t matter. Because he was right in front of you, looking like a carved statue of a man. Picturesque, unreal.

He plucked the book off of your lap, examining the back.

“I didn’t take you as someone who’d like this kind of book.”

“Well, I’m full of surprises.”

“That you are.” He handed the book back, leaning over you to place it on your lap before bracing himself on the arm of the chair, his face right in front of yours. “So, have you put in your application for this internship?”

“It was due two days ago, so yes.” You looked at his lips but didn’t make any moves.

“I’m a bit disappointed you didn’t ask me to look over it.” He returned the favor.

“You’ve seemed so busy lately, and I didn’t want to add to it.” You shrugged, your voice barely above a whisper. “Besides, it was pretty basic.”

“I see.”

“I’ll let you know if I hear back from them, don’t worry.” You didn’t add that you didn’t think you would hear back, that internships at Wayne Enterprises were highly coveted amongst upperclassmen and recent graduates alike. An internship there could give you powerful connections for the rest of your professional and personal life.

He seemed to sense your resignation about the position, frowning slowly. Whatever bubble that’d been building between you popped, and you were brought back to the reality of the moment- you were in a stuffy office and posed awkwardly in an uncomfortable chair.

“They would be lucky to have you.” He straightened up, moving away from your chair again. “But don’t overload yourself with work.”

“Do you expect Arkham to increase my workload?”

“Not at all. But it is stressful, at times.”

“I’ve been working retail for the past year. I think I can handle it.”

He only smiled, which was a relief because you had meant it as a joke and weren’t sure you could handle a lecture from him right now about how retail was actually nothing like working in an asylum. Not at all.

Because you were just going to be Jonathan’s assistant, the hiring process had been simple. So simple it didn’t quite seem legitimate. But you filled out the same tax forms as all the other jobs you worked, so at least you were employed in the eyes of the IRS. And that was legitimate enough for you.

Scanning over the contract for employment with Arkham, you didn’t miss how it was for one full year of employment. When you’d pointed it out to Jonathan, he simply shrugged and said the asylum was understaffed and needed to ensure they’d have enough people for at least a little while. When you asked if you needed to sign the contract that held you in that job for a year, he said it was non-negotiable. You knew that signing it didn’t mean they would force you to stay at the asylum if you wanted to quit, but it was enough to give you pause.

It meant that you had no easy way out if things should go south, that you couldn’t just up and leave like you had your last job. It would mean actually discussing leaving with Jonathan before you left, the prospect of which was slightly terrifying.

But with Jonathan standing over your shoulder, you quickly got over it and signed.

Taking your papers, Jonathan entered his office, leaving the door open behind him, an obvious invitation to follow. You entered, ignoring the ridiculous feeling that you had just signed over your soul and were now in the Devil's Den.

“I’ll get these returned to the hiring manager later. Today won’t be your first official day here but I’ll give you a more in depth tour of the building than the one you received last time.”

“Right.” You bit your lip. “And when will my first official day be…?”

“We can discuss scheduling when we get back to my office.”

With that, you left his office, passing by the sad desk that would become your new workspace. You already had some vague ideas of what you wanted to do with your area, items and decor to make it seem more home-y.

“Most of the places I will show you are necessary for you to know, at least their locations. If I need you to run papers around the building, it will be important for you to know where exactly you’re going and the most effective way to get there. And Arkham can be a bit… labyrinthine.”

An SAT word, nice. You think it to yourself jokingly, but he was right. The hallway layout of the hospital made no sense, especially not when you considered that these buildings had been renovated so many times in their history which should have made it more accessible rather than less.

“And paperwork will be the main part of your job.”

You walked quickly through the halls, down a single flight of stairs to the main atrium. He brought you through the hall into a large room that was separated into smaller blocks of space by half-walls and windows. On one of the exterior walls were a series of signs, too small and dusty for you to make out from your spot by the entrance of the room. Above all of them, painted on the wall, was the word INTAKE. One of the smaller areas was filled with boxes and clothes hanging on racks. When you passed it, the musty scent of clothes that have been sitting undisturbed for a very long time wafted into the walkway.

“It’s rare but sometimes we do release our patients back into society.”

Staring into the small area, you noticed that a lot of the boxes had undisturbed cobwebs connecting them to each other, that the clothes were full of holes from moths. From the looks of it, no one had been released in a long time.

You continued wordlessly through to the end of the room, not venturing into the interior of the room further. Jonathan simply pointed out where the guard working intake sat, the one currently on duty obviously fighting the urge to fall asleep at his desk.

Jonathan took you to the rec room, which was empty, and the cafeteria, also empty. Both rooms were large and dreary, much what you expected from them, with no lights except for the emergency lights that always stayed on. Both had the lingering smell of mold and something gone sour, whether it was body odor or food. Again, he pointed out where the guards and aides would be stationed when inmates were in the rooms.

You hoped, for your sake, that you would rarely have to step foot into either of the rooms.

As you walked on from the cafeteria, Jonathan wordlessly opened a nondescript door. Inside was a narrow cement stairwell, the metal railing rusting underneath chipped black paint. You turned to go upwards before you realized that Jonathan was already making his way down into the bowels of the asylum. Groaning internally and unable to stop yourself from wondering what exactly you had gotten yourself into, you began to follow him down.

But you couldn’t stop your small groan when he opened the door to the first level of the basement (the rest of the staircase down was blocked off with a metal gate, and when you peered over the edge you only saw the stairs slowly descending into darkness).

The basement of Arkham was initially like the rest of the building. In desperate need for some TLC but still presentable. But as you walked further into its depths, the less maintained it was. The floor became dull with questionable stains while the tiles on the wall were chipped in more places than not. The lights turned from a sterile fluorescent white to a dim yellow, the light bulbs buzzing above your heads as you walked past mysterious metal door after mysterious metal door. A majority of the door’s tiny windows were blocked out, rendering the interior of the room safe from your prying gaze.

“Where exactly are we going?”

“You’ll see.” He turned to look back over his shoulder at you. “Don’t worry.”

Finally, Jonathan stopped in front of a door that was identical to the others you’d passed on your way down here. The metal door creaked as he opened it, revealing a modestly sized office space.

“Here is my second office, the one I take most of my appointments in.”

You walked in, slowly taking in the space.

Oh, this is awful.

It was certainly different from his office upstairs or even his office at the university. This office was smaller, with black file cabinets along one wall, thick binders lined up along the tops. It obviously was a space with a purpose, the chairs in front of the desk worn with barely noticeable grooves from fingernails in the wooden arm-rests.

Looking down, you frowned. On the floor were small scratches, clearly from furniture being moved around and scraping against the tile. Something about them made you uneasy. His entire second office made you uneasy, but maybe it was just the claustrophobia from being below the surface of the island and in a tiny dark room.

Luckily, he also wasn’t eager to linger in the room, allowing you to peer around for a few minutes before opening the door again- it automatically shut behind the two of you- and leading you back into the dim hallway.

“Further down the hallway are Arkham’s records.” Jonathan pointed down the other side of the hallway, which was lit by a singular yellow light that flickered every few seconds. Somewhere in the distance, the ceiling was leaking, an audible drip-drip-drip that gave the entire hallway the smell of stagnant water in addition to the dank, earthy fragrance of mold.

You turned back to Jonathan, eyes lingering on every crack in the cinder-block and the cobwebs on the low ceiling. You’re honestly surprised anyone is allowed down here in the first place, let alone patients. For what it was worth, his office at least didn’t smell as bad as the hallway.

“Do you spend a lot of time down here?”

Jonathan smiled. “Not if I can help it.”

“Good. It’s horrifying.” You truly meant it, even if you smiled as you said it.

“I know.” He smiled back.

He led you back through the hallway, opening the same door into the stairwell. From the other side, it was also identical to every other door.

God I hope I’m never down here alone.

“I have one last thing to show you for today.”

You nodded, before affirming vocally after realizing that he couldn’t see you as you walked up the stairs. You continued past the first floor landing onto the second floor, where his office and your new workspace were located. But when he opened the door, he did not take you in the direction of his office but rather the opposite, into a part of the asylum you hadn’t been yet.

Finally, after a few minutes of silent walking as you took in every inch of your surroundings (even though most of the hallways in Arkham started to blend together, they were all so similar- you didn’t even think you had a good mental map of the layout, it was so confusing at times) he stopped by another metal door.

“You’ll rarely come back here, don’t worry. But there may be the occasional errand that sends you down this way, though I try to do those ones myself.”

Jonathan slid his card into the small keypad by the door, the heavy click of the lock unlatching following as his card exited the slot. Turning the handle, Jonathan pushed the rusted door open to reveal a long line of cells.

“Shit.” You didn’t realize the word escaped your mouth until you saw the quirk of Jonathan’s lip. If he wasn’t about to guide you into one of Arkham’s cell blocks, you might’ve delivered a swift slap to his arm at his blithe reaction to your distress. Might’ve.

As you entered the cellblock, you looked up at the second floor of cells. Large skylights let in the dim natural light of Gotham, though it was lost somewhere in the sterile lighting of the hospital. A thin staircase led up to the catwalks that served as walkways for the upper-level, their grates rusty and in need of a good dusting. But Jonathan walked right past the stairs, so you lowered your gaze and examined the first floor.

The corridor of cells was wide, the walkway separated by a railing. Arrows on the floor indicated which direction you were supposed to walk on each side. At both ends of the block were offices for the guards, their glass windows smudged with fingerprints. The cell doors themselves were made of metal and glass, with thin holes in the door allowing the inmate to speak out into the empty space for no one to hear.

And speak they did. The hallway was filled with the cacophony of voices, some more intelligible than others.

As you looked down the cell block, you saw him.

Edward was waiting by his window, his face pressed against the glass as he watched your slow approach, like he had been expecting you. It would be funny if you weren’t terrified. Not just because of him, but all the other inmates were free to leer at you as you were escorted down their hall, their first entertainment in a long time.

Is this how Clarice felt as she came up on Hannibal’s cage?

You didn’t realize that you had stopped in front of the cell until Jonathan started walking back to you, apparently only just noticing that he was alone. The inmate a few doors down from Edward made a low comment to Jonathan, which he ignored, with the only indication that he had heard him was a quick flick of his piercing eyes to the side.

Edward had taken a step away from the door, no longer pressed against it but still close, staring at you with the same expression as two weeks prior. Like he was smug, though you had no idea what he had to be smug about, especially not when it came to you.

Then he spoke.

“I know you.” His voice was light, conversational. Like his mind was stuck somewhere else and he wasn’t all the way with you. But his words still shocked you, even if you weren’t sure he knew exactly what he was saying.

“What?” You take a step backwards like he’d broken through the glass and slapped you in the face. He wasn’t talking about… “No, I was here a couple of weeks ago, you might’ve seen me then and-”

“No.” His voice was firm, startling you with the sudden change in his demeanor from airy to almost domineering. From disoriented to completely in control of his surroundings. “You were there in City Hall.”

As the words left his mouth, you remembered him, where you’d seen his face before, plain and unassuming as it was. Why hadn’t you placed his face when you’d seen his picture on the news, why had it taken until this moment to remember that you’d seen him before?

“It is karma, really.”

Marie was leaning on the railing, looking down at city hall’s ostentatious interior. You whipped your head around from where you’d also been looking down, but the movement caused you to stumble backwards into the person behind you. You mumbled an apology without even looking back at them, eyes focused on Marie.

“You really shouldn’t be saying things like that at a funeral.”

“You agree with me, you said the exact same thing the other day! You know I don’t care about this shit, you’re the one who’s been talking about it nonstop!”

You inhale sharply, trying to avoid the embarrassment of being around someone so shameless at a funeral, the shame of being ousted like this in public. Though you're sure no one was actually listening to your conversation.

“But you shouldn’t talk about it like that at the funeral of the guy!”

“You didn't have to drag me here.”

You furrowed your brows, suddenly more annoyed than you wanted to admit. You asked her to come because you were nervous. Nervous about the direction your paper was taking, about how it seemed to be morphing into a project based around the criminal and not the victim.

“It's for my project! Besides, I didn’t want to come al-”

Someone cleared their throat behind you, the same person who you’d knocked into. You looked back at them, realizing it was just an ordinary guy, a tense but polite smile on his face. There was no other way to describe him. Taller than you, but not in a way that was intimidating. The kind of man your eyes would slide right over on the street. Background noise.

“Am I in your way?” Why did you ask that? It was a general attendance, standing room only event for the public. You arrived three hours ago to get to this spot. He should have planned better if he wanted a better view. But still, you moved to the side, giving him space to look at the memorial.

“Thanks.” He muttered, shuffling past you to the railing. Marie gave you a wide eyed look, as if to say that you were a fool for moving from your spot, or at least that the guy was a weirdo. You returned with your own exasperated stare, tired of her judging someone she’d never met.

“You’re too nice to people.” She muttered, a bit too loud if the turn of the man’s head was anything to go off of. You shushed her, resisting the urge to apologize to the man. Maybe he just liked the mayor and wanted to pay his respects (doubtful, but you never know).

And then you completely forgot about the entire encounter moments after you found another spot to squeeze yourself along the railing. If other things hadn’t happened that day, maybe you would’ve thought back on it as a missed meet cute, but you were quickly distracted by the DA’s appearance in a collar bomb and the chaos that followed as you were escorted out of the building and told to go home.

No, you didn’t even remember the man when his face was on the news, his photo plastered on the screen with the headline RIDDLER APPREHENDED AND IN CUSTODY.

“Oh my god.”

“Karma, right?” He cocked his head to the side and a shiver ran down your spine at the thought of him listening to the conversation that you’d had- about him, no less, when he’d been at the scene of the funeral to watch the chaos that he’d planned unfold.... “How’d that project go?”

“I never-“ you stopped yourself, remembering that he didn’t need to know you never turned it in, that the anarchy that he caused at Gotham Square Garden put you in such a state you didn’t want to leave your apartment for fear of being shot at, targeted by faceless monsters in the night. That the only reason you passed the class was because you were lucky enough your professor was understanding and pulled some strings with the weight of other assignments. Besides, even if you had finished it and were able to turn it in, it would’ve been insensitive considering that it was about the terrorist who'd just attacked the city. “It’s really none of your business.”

Edward stared at you for a moment, unblinking, before the smile slid off of his face, his attention diverted somewhere down the corridor. You’re too busy watching him to realize what he was looking at, but his eyes slowly return to you, his eyebrows raised.

“What has a long neck, a name of a bird, feeds on ships' cargo, but is not alive?”

For a moment, his words didn’t sink in. When they did, you groaned internally. A riddle? You were well aware that it was his thing but you didn’t expect to actually be given one. Really, you never expected to be having a conversation with him like this.

Still, you wracked your brain for the answer, watching Edward watch you figure it out while looking at whatever caught his attention down the cell block. You realized the answer just as Jonathan returned to your side, his arrival obviously what Edward was watching.

A crane.

“Edward.” Jonathan placed his hand on the small of your back, a movement that Edward obviously noticed. His eyes dragged from where they’d been switching between you and Jonathan to where his hand was hidden behind your back. You could feel the chill of Jonathan’s palm through your thin shirt and cardigan. Jonathan gave Edward your name, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “This is my new assistant.”

You whipped your head around, giving Jonathan a wide eyed look. Why the hell would he introduce you?

Edward repeated your name. Slowly. Drawn out. Like he was testing how the individual sounds formed on his tongue before he put them together to create your name.

“We’ve met before.”

Jonathan was quiet. You could feel his eyes on you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from Edward’s cell.

“I wouldn’t call that meeting.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t.” He was smug again, and you knew that there was something else he wasn’t telling you, that you were missing a piece of the puzzle. And then you had a sinking, suffocating, drowning feeling that you did, actually, know what it was (though it was more of an embarrassment than anything but it could certainly cause more of a stink in your life than you’d like if it was revealed).

The man in the cell beside Edward laughed, high and reedy, cutting through the cacophony of noise the other inmates created.

You finally turned to Jonathan.

“Can we leave now?”

Jonathan gave you a quick nod, not looking at Edward or any of the other inmates as he turned and began to lead you back down to the other exit of the cell block.

As you left, before you could stop yourself, you looked back at him. He was watching you leave, his hand raised in what might’ve been a goodbye wave. You didn’t return it, content to simply turn back around and ignore him.

“He remembered me.” You whispered as you left the cell block, more to yourself than to Jonathan, your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to figure out why.

“He remembers everything. It stops being impressive when you realize how much of it is useless.” Jonathan responded as if you had been having a decent conversation and he hadn’t just overheard what you whispered to yourself.

Despite yourself, you bristled at his tone. Both at the implication that Edward was wasting his time remembering everything (like he could help it) and that once again, Jonathan was reminding you that you were unimportant in the grand scheme of Gotham.

“I’m sure it was important to him.”

“You shouldn’t feel bad for him.” He turned to look at you, stopping in the middle of the hallway. A nurse scoffed and rolled her eyes as she had to reroute herself around the two of you, her clogs smacking against the floor. “Do I need to remind you that everyone here is a criminal? These aren’t just people with mental illness. These are rapists and murderers, sadistic pieces of work that don’t deserve your pity. Don’t try to humanize them.”

“I’m not-“ You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to remember what he’d done. That Jonathan was right and you shouldn’t feel bad about how Jonathan spoke to or about him. It stung, but you pushed your apprehension down. “Will I have to see the patients often?”

“Rarely.” But as he said it, he looked away from you, turning and continuing to walk down the hallway, and you didn’t find yourself too confident in his response. Still, you began walking with him again.

Realistically, you shouldn’t see the inmates ever. You shouldn’t have even been allowed in the cell block today. But you, and everyone else with a brain in Gotham, were well aware that Arkham Asylum was severely underfunded, even with charitable donations from people like Bruce Wayne. Portions of the Renewal fund were supposedly allotted for the hospital, but obviously that was no longer the case now that Bruce Wayne was overhauling that whole system.

You wondered, briefly, who or what the money was funneled to instead.

Either way, with the hospital not having enough funds to ensure there was enough staff in the hospital at any given time, you’re sure that you would end up being shoved somewhere you weren’t qualified for just so the ratio of patients to supervisors was intact. And, despite yourself, underneath the fear you had about the prospect was excitement.

Jonathan stopped at his office again.

“How did you meet him before?”

“Oh.” You winced, embarrassed that Edward had felt the need to mention it again. “I guess we ran into one another at the mayor’s funeral. I’d forgotten all about it until he mentioned it. It wasn’t the sort of encounter that sticks with you.”

“I’d assumed as much.”

“But I also-“ You stopped yourself, unsure if you wanted to continue. But Jonathan had been moving as you’d spoken, and appeared to not have heard you. Taking it as a sign, you kept your confession inside, though it was burning in your mind.

But I also found my way into one of his streams and I think he knows it.

“I’ll have to come back up here but I can take you to your apartment.”

Your bag was slung over one shoulder, your phone clutched in the opposite hand. You had no notifications, which wasn’t too unusual, but you did note the lack of reliable service in the asylum, even as you were walking out of the doors. You’d expected to be required to lock your phone away but if there was a requirement, Jonathan hadn’t told you about it. Still, you had kept it in your bag the entire day, which in turn was locked in Jonathan’s office while you were out touring the building.

“Are you sure?”

“How else would you get home?”

Briefly, you reflected on the fact that you had accepted a job on an island when you didn’t currently own a car. Jonathan had, of course, been seemingly happy to offer to be your ride every day and yet it had you feeling… trapped. But you shook it off, reminding yourself that this job was a good opportunity and having a car in Gotham was more trouble than it was worth.

“You’re right.” Though your question had been meant to see if he really had to come back after taking you home. But you also were well aware that Jonathan had more work at the asylum and it wasn’t the kind you could just shirk off if you weren’t feeling like doing it.

Outside, the day was bright even though the clouds covered the sun. You could tell that it was going to rain later from the ominous clouds in the distance but it was blessedly dry as you walked through the employee parking lot to Jonathan’s car.

As you sat in the passenger seat of Jonathan's car, you looked at his slender neck, thinking back to the riddle Edward had given you earlier.

What has a long neck, the name of a bird, feeds on ships' cargo, but is not alive?

Obviously, it meant the machines, which were littered around Gotham as beacons for abandoned projects and attempts at bettering the city, not Jonathan himself. But two out of the four applying to him was a bit humorous, though you’d never tell Jonathan that.

You leaned over the railing of your balcony/glorified fire escape, your phone pressed against your face as you listened to one…two…three rings. Even worse, the person you were calling picked up and you scrambled mentally, trying to remember what you had wanted to say.

“Hi, Marie?” You couldn’t stop tapping the fingers of your unoccupied hand against the railing. “It’s me. Yeah…. Me.” You sighed, a bit lamely. Exactly how should you come back into someone’s life after over a year of radio silence?

“It’s nice to hear from you but… why?” She sounded wary, and you didn’t blame her. After Gotham Square Garden, you had shut her and your other friends out, trying to cope with the sudden increase of your anxiety without involving them. It had seemed noble at the time, but by the time you realized the damage that isolating yourself from your support system had done, it felt like it was too late.

You faltered for a moment in your resolve to tell her about your discovery, that the two of you had met the Riddler and not realized it, afraid that it would seem the past year of your life was only defined by him and that night.

Which it had been, at least until it became defined by Dr. Jonathan Crane.

“I hope it‘s not too late to fix some burned bridges.”

Marie chuckled, though there wasn’t much humor in it. But it wasn’t mean, and that’s all that mattered.

“It’s never too late.” She said. Even though she could be brash and horribly unsentimental, you were glad you called her first.

“Do you want to get coffee sometime?”

next part

#jonathan crane x reader #edward nashton x reader #scarecrow x reader #the riddler x reader #stbotdi #my fanfiction #my writing #my fic #the batman #batman fanfiction

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winged-wolf-s-collection-of-arts · 4 months

Text

pinned post! latest edit: April the 10th

Howdy!!! I'm Doc, or Wolfy, or whatever name you want to use. Any pronouns are fine!

I have an unreliable sleep schedule/forgetful/message notifications don’t show up- so if you need me uhh keep yelling until I notice? Aaahhh...

Not a system! I have a dozen sonas/fursonas (not sarcasm) (I hope you plural peeps have a good day-)

I put reblogs in a queue or schedule!! If I like an art post of your but don't reblog, don't worry, it'll be out in a week or so.

Tag list, ordered by most common to least common in each category. Starting with my personal tags, then general navigation tags.

Art tag: wolfys art (my art), 2022 artchive (specifically my art from 2022)

Cool art by pals: grand showcase of arts

Doc says something: wolf chats

All art month challenges: Just Here To Have Fun

Kiley and co stuff (commonwealth setting): little wastrels

NOTE the au is getting rebooted so old stuff is not canon.

second fallout au (island setting, custom location for an rp): badlands crew

My main story stuff, not fallout: Split Fates au

posts that vaguely relate to my ocs: jeanposting, jerposting

Other aus- SCP Jailbreak!, museums monsters n marvels, voidspace crew, When Multiverses Collide, eternal spring

I kind of hit my story with a hammer and it shattered into a million pieces. oops

Misc fandom tags: fallout, whump stuff, bg3, doctor who, ace attorney, hermitcraft, qsmp, warrior cats, good omens

Misc common tags: described (posts with image or video ID), michaelnordeman (his animal photography), birds, food

important tags: reblogging for future reference (general tips), promo (friends news), boost (donation posts), flashing, eyestrain, psa

"You have to reblog!" And similar phrases: rebait

Subcategories of tips tags: drawing tips, writing tips, fave (personal favourites), cooking tips, health tips, tech tips. (more to be added soon)

Note- these are not tagged reliably: ghouls, zombies, blood, skeletons, suggestive, insects, spiders, guns, drug use, smoking, all caps, partial nudity, death

Characters that frequently appear are... ( updated 10 April, more descriptions to be added soon, please hold!)

Rabbit: A human-sized anthro rabbit! Light grey and white fur, green eyes. Usually in a grey suit with a green tie and gold scarf- or in white robes with gold jewelry. Sometimes drawn with long curved gold colored horns.

Wolfy: A cartoony anthro wolf, exactly five feet tall! Medium grey fur, has oval mirrors (with two shine marks) in place of eyes, and has grey and purple wings and a bird tail over his wolf tail. Always in a medium grey suit with a purple tie. Sometimes drawn with deerlike antlers.

Parsure: Looks like a blonde and light skinned human dude with dull blue eyes! He has shoulder-length hair with jagged bangs, and has a goatee and mustache. Always wears jeans, a white t shirt, red converse shoes, and a leather jacket. There's a large red bullseye on the back of the jacket. There's patches on the left sleeve: A red X symbol, and a night sky with a black stripe down the right side. On the right sleeve: A yellow axe symbol, and grey hexagon with a blue and orange background.

Jerome Drew (should be updated to Jerome Heulwen, I'll get to it soon), <- my main guy :D

Rev -(belongs to hollyrosecheeks),

Vince: A were-snow leopard! Um. Imagine a snow leopard, but with gold eyes.

Jodie: A were-pine-marten! Like a ferret but bigger, brown furred with white patches on the face and chest.

Kiley: (new oc, aaaah- I will redo my reference soon)

Jean: (probably) human dude with short brown hair! Wears a full mask that looks like a crow’s face. Usually wears a white shirt, grey vest and tie, grey slacks, and brown dress shoes. Sometimes wears a simple black jacket. Or a scarecrow's hat and black gloves.

Psst if you have a spare dollar can you pass it along to my pal Fern!

Cashapp: cash.app/$AustinToach

PayPal: paypal.me/AustinStidham

Venmo: venmo.com/u/Austin-Toach

uh if you show me you've donate something I'll draw you a doodle-

End of the post! Have a good day, wahoo

#pinned post #ocs should have names capitalized in the post tags!#some characters' names change depending on au and time. uhhhh don't worry about it :]#pulling a “that's not my neighbor” and switching up “always” and “usually”- it's lore important ahaha

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bangsinc · 11 months

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Are we allowed to ask for some BTAS!Scarecrow x Reader? That character definitely deserves more love! But I totally get it if we can’t!

🎃More Scarecrow x Reader (HCS)🦴

UHMMM YES! I’m gunna be super honest, I’d much rather write for BTAS than Spider-Man.. this makes me very happy :3 I love Batman.. he’s my meow meow,,

Also I agree! Nobody writes for him (I kinda wish someone wrote for a goth reader w him too ngl)… no warnings! Also I wrote a lot,,, sorry. I GOT SO EXCITED TO WRITE ABT BTAS

Jonathan Crane was a man of many faces. He’d been a professor, a villian, but.. never a lover. He’d never dabbled in the dating scene for many reasons. He’d never been considered attractive for one, and additionally, his chosen profession, age, and introverted nature seemed like major obstacles in the pursuit of romance.. To think he could still make someone swoon for him was.. flattering? He’s not sure what to make of it initially.

After the initial first meet, he can’t seem to stop thinking of you. Your memory lingers in his mind like a song stuck in his head. Your voice was a melody only he felt he should be able to cherish, and your apperance was almost ethereal. It’s not that he felt out of your league but.. he really did.

His mind, and morals seem to get the better of him in this situation. He truly has no man or woman he can turn to in a time of desperation, as he’d disclosed himself off from mostly everybody. His own mind became a mentor, and he decided to follow its adivce well.

He begins, slowly, to go out of his way to see you. He’s quiet and especially awkward, not used to being on the giving end of starting a conversation. Many other professors almost look in shock if they’re able to see such a display of subtle affection. What had gotten into this man?

His students for the most part notice his change in demeanor. He’d been a good professor for the most part, quiet and honestly a bit too interested in fear to their liking.. but never outright happy? He was an older man, who’d they’d figured lost the spark he initially had in his job.. they think of themselvs as wrong from that point foreward.

The more your newly found and unexpected friendship progresses, Jonathan finds himself unintentionally opening up to you more and more, spilling facts about both him and what interested him in his profession. He keeps this side of him hidden at first, worried he’d regress to his younger years and scare you away.

The most suprising part about this new friendship is how much he trusts you, however. He’d initially thought of himself as closed off, and if anyone were to try and come close he’d simply push them away. But.. he does let you touch him playfully, nudge him, tease him.. he doesn’t mind it one bit, even though if it was anyone else he’d be bound to lose his temper.

Side note but I would imagine it being funny if you were unintentionally pushing him around slightly, like you bring him into a hug and he literally is so fucking fragile he just can’t breathe 😭

Might offhandedly ask you for your fears, and while he initially imagines what would become if he were to see you in a state of fear.. he somehow stops himself. This was the one actually good thing to become of his life in a big time. Sure, the obsession with fear was a lovely distraction, but what he needed the most was a connection with someone.. so, from that point foreward, he made a little vow to try and keep you away from any of his harmful hobbies.

A confession with him could go many ways. If he were the one to confess his feelings, it would take years. He’d need to know truly know you and your character. Your personality thick and thin, your downsides and upsides, your interests and hobbies.. hed need to be able to recite anything about you from memory, and have an almost spiritual bond in that sence.

A setting for him would also be rather specific. He isnt fond of the rain unless a thunderstorm is in its wake, a common fear, and he certainly isn’t a fan of sunny and warm weather.. fall would be perferred. Perhaps a rather warmer day of fall, the leaves a golden brown and bright yellow. Perhaps he’d take you to a park, or maybe you’d both find someplace nice and isolated to sit. The sun would barely shine over the pearly white clouds, creating a slightly dim atmosphere. An atmosphere he felt the most comfortable in.

Hes not exactly a poetic type, and feelings for him have always been complicated and hard to come by. For Jonathan, gestures say more than words, but obviously he would need to do more to confess his feelings twoards you.

He’d be more.. gentle the day he confesses to you. He has no intention to go on a mindless rant, and he looks incredibly nervous and uneasy. He wasn’t used to feeling nervous, if anything he had figured those emotions were something he controlled and could control on others.

—————————————

🎃Post Confession:

You wouldn’t be reading this if you rejected him, so let’s just go to the dating Headcanons! I have a lot for post scsrecrow jon too, don’t worry this all isn’t going to be professor crane lol.

He was undeniably a sentimental lover, his emotions in a constant state of flux. He’s very doting, very gentle and.. very touchy. It’s rather difficult for a man shunned affection in his early years to keep his hands off of someone willing to provide him with such a gesture.

Constant, maybe even unintentional touching. A hand on your thigh, or one on top of your hand as you sit together. There seems to always be a contented smile on his face in moments where it’s only you. He’s not a grumpy, reclusive man, and doesn’t feel the need to be.

Of course.. he wouldn’t have become the Scarecrow if he didn’t get fired from his previous job for his malpractice. The initial reaction was of course fury, and while he tried to contain the pent up emotions and bitter hatred he held for the Dean of Gotham university after the confrontation, he needed someone to talk to.

His initial reaction is to go straight to your home, not without multiple texts and calls, him frantically panicking and shouting about how all of his hard work and research was spent at a place he wasn’t appreciated at.. he was leaving details out, yes, but what you didn’t know surely wouldn’t hurt you..

If you two live together, he’s most likely going to hurriedly drive back to your shared apartment/house a complete and utter wreck, not even able to speak as his anger fuels all of his emotions.

Either way, he’s got his mind set on one goal now. He’s going to make the university pay, and he’s finally going to do what he loved. You were the only person he could trust, the only person he could count on. You try and be there to lend a loving hand in such a time of desperation, but he’s too far into his own world now. He still tries to be as loving as he can, but something seems off.. he’s definitely keeping a secret, and the more he seems to be hiding the more a sort of trust is broken between the two of you. A big factor as to why he did keep it a secret in the first place was the fear of you being hurt in the process of his own endeavors. He kept reminding himself that what you didn’t know would keep you safe, from the police, from his experiments, and from himself..

He comes to the realization that, if he does want this to work he’d need to let you in, even if you’d be upset over the initial anger he’d been living a double life. Of course, you probably were, but that slightly dampened trust was thankfully built between the two of you again. So what if you were going to date an aspired villian? You loved him, and he did kinda make good cinnamon muffins when you were sad.

His first mission (This would be taking place during his debut episode in Batman the Animated Srries!) was a simple one, sabatoge something, perhaps Gotham university. It was a widely spread crime, one that nobody was sure there was a motive for.. but there was.

I’m the span of his first two crimes, before his first robbery and getaway, he’d aqqired some goons. With the goons came a small name for himself in Gothams underworld, and with that came the need to form an alter ego. All of it was one game of dominos, fueled by revenge and desire. During these events, he’s.. awfully clingy, suprisingly. You’re the only person he can rely on, espically while he’s building a name for himself. He thinks his henchmen are dimwitted dropouts, and that the other criminals would never understand him like you do.

His goons are practically on your hand and foot, wether you like it or not. He’s made it very, very clear two his two main henchmen that your problems were his problems, and that he was never one to let his darling suffer. So.. congrats, you’ve gained two butlers, who work for free..

His goons were so, so suprised he cared about someone other than himself and his goals. The way he talked about you was a drastic difference from the way he talked about them, or anyone else for that matter.

Jonathan isnt shy to boast about his significant other, and many would think you two were an older married couple with the way he presented himself in your company. He’s the master of fear now, and you’re his Mistress/Beau.

Maybe it’s my own bias speaking, but your love would definitely shift into a more gothic and meloncholic undertone. Dates are eerie and poetic, and he serenades you the best way he can.. telling you about how you and him are to rule the world. You and him are two lovers destined to make the world bow at their feet as you both dance on the debris of a destroyed civilization.

His words are sincere, his devotion seeping through every sentence.

“People shall be screaming Hosannas in our name. They will kiss the ground we walk on, hand in hand, my love.”

He’s.. very overdramatic. But he does mean it.

Now when he robs banks, despite his initial claims that he’s not in it for the money, he does end up pocketing some from his goons. Now he does have someone he could be supporting, and at this rate in both of your lives, you either are living together or he’s living at your place so the police can’t catch onto him as easy. He’d like to make your life a little easier, anything for his little raven.

Strangely domestic, as if you two had been married for years. He gives you nicknames in a large supply, his favorites ones that most would deem to be ‘spooky’ or unconventional. My Raven, Adrienne, my flame, etc… might be a sucker for pumpkin too, both being called it and calling you it. You hardly get called your name the more and more you’re together.

You’d fallen in love with a villian, a villian willing to destroy cities in your name, you scare and terrify those who try to get in your way.. congratulations ;)

#the scarecrow #btas scarecrow x reader #btas scarecrow #batman the animated series #batman x reader #batman #btas batman #bangsinc #btas #dc scarecrow #bangs x scarecrow canon #scarecrow #scarecrow x reader

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