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Chapter Text

Gotham was safe, though no one was quite sure for how long. The best anyone could do was gather up all of Gotham's finest and haul them off to be sent back to prison. Some did not make it, either because they had evaded the eyes of the law after the death of the Dark Knight, or, in the case of the late Poison Ivy, they had died. In others, they had flat out escaped. Slade Wilson and Azrael were both gone by the time the GCPD went to go fetch them for transfer and no one wanted to say how they got out. The isolation chamber had been broken from the inside, and some officers were left injured from Kirk Langstrom regressing back into the Man-Bat and flying off into the horizon.

Those deemed still sound, like Simon Stagg and Oswald Cobblepot, were sent to a remote prison just outside of Gotham, and the dying husk that was R'as Al Ghul was sent into hospice to pass away in peace as what little life he had left drained from him.

For now, everyone was set up nicely in their cells, all nice and white and padded. It was supposed to invoke comfort. But nothing was curing the last of them to be admitted.

He was curled up in a corner, breathing quickly. His eyes were red from tears and lack of proper sleep, and he wasn't eating properly. He shivered despite the room being warm, mumbling incoherent words. His pupils looked around wildly, and what was a clean room to everyone else was hell on Earth to the eyes of Jonathan Crane. A long time ago, Bruce Wayne had given his five days for the toxin to wear off. That was three months ago and Jonathan was nowhere near being recovered.

The white walls were grimy and narrow to him, the world outside pitch black instead of sterile and bright, and the ambience of asylum staff and inmates had warped into the distant screeching of bats. His heart was racing faster than it ever had.

From the opposite side, Harley Quinn leaned on the bars of her own cell. The black and red dye in her hair was starting to fade and the clown makeup was gone, per the asylum dress code. "Oi, Professor!", she hollered at him, bored and not wanting to talk to Riddler, who was next to her. Unfortunately, her loud yell spooked the thin man, who clamored over to the nearest wall with a gasp, shivering. She rolled her eyes. "Ugh", she groaned. "First I lose my chance at gettin' a new Mistah J, and now I can't even get a decent conversation goin'..." "Ah, quit bitchin'", barked her neighbor, Harvey Dent. "You're lucky you even get to talk to anyone. This place hasn't changed for a second." And he wasn't wrong. The new staff were still dismissive and incompetent at best and assholes at worst. The bad apples were usually the guards, as they got to carry batons and stun guns at all times.

Harley sighed. "Maybe. But I finally see my old teach after alllll these years and he's gone more cuckoo than usual... I dunno if I like that, Harv." "Get used to it, sweet cheeks." Harley rolled her eyes at the nickname, though she kept a concerned look on her ragged colleague, who was now hiding his burlap face in his hands. That fear toxin was gonna wear off. Right?

The yard was cleaned up a bit, it seemed. The botanical gardens were cleared out, all the overgrown plants chopped up easily without Ivy to interfere. The cemetery was moved to a more hidden away place to protect the tombstones from the inmates, and it seemed that they added more equipment and more enforced walls. Jonathan was seated on a bench, looking up at the towering walls, which stretched beyond the sky in his mind. Fake bats littered the sky, their screeching filling his ears. Even though everyone told him he was dead, Scarecrow knew better now. The Dark Knight never truly died. He was hiding, waiting for Crane to let his guard down. And then he'd feast on the doctor's squirming form.

No. Never. Never! He'd never let the Bat take him to hell with him! Never! His nails dug into his arms as he hugged himself, drawing a bit of blood. Yes. Yes, he'd be fine. He just had to stay on guard. But being hopped up on toxin tended to dull the senses, as Crane would discover, as he felt a strike to his back, sending him toppling to the ground. He gasped and wheezed as air left his lungs at the force. "Well, well, well! Looks like Dr. Crane's back in the office."

All around him, Crane could see them. Their flesh to him was writhing and rotting, teeth gangly and sharp. In truth, they were just people. People that he had had as 'patients' in the past. But in this state, Crane recognized none of them. All he saw were demons from hell coming to claim him. "Stay away from me!", he screamed, scrambling on his hands, desperate for safety. "No! No!"

They all laughed at him. The once maniacal doctor that had made them inhale his toxin and see their worst fears with no remorse was no panicked and running away from them, small and feeble, like a child. "You ain't looking good, Doc", teased one. "Maybe it's time we treat you!" A foot slammed down into his chest, and Crane let out a strangled yelp as he felt a rib strain. "Broken leg, Crane?", another asked, tapping his bad left leg with a piece of plywood. "Maybe we ought to break the other one. See if Arkham is wheelchair accessible." Any other day, Jonathan would have spat in their faces at such weak prose. But with the toxin in his system, all he could feel was genuine terror as he struggled to push the other inmates off. "No! No! Stop it!! Stop!"

The plywood tapped his other leg, and then raised, aiming to fracture. And it probably would have, had the earth not started to shake. The inmate that was preparing to swing looked around, confused. "What the fu-"

That was all he managed before a massive scaly blur smacked him aside, sending his body flying across the yard with a roar. The others screamed, abandoning their torment on the thin man and bolting. "Shit! Its Croc! Run!" Crane sucked in a breath and quickly tried to get up but was stopped by that same hand grabbing his waist. "No! No, no, no no, no!!!"

"Shhh..."

Waylon let a breath of air leave his nostrils. He knew Jonathan was afraid of him. That he was probably seeing him as more of a monster than he already was. But all Croc saw was Jonny, his Jonny. So he pulled the cowering man close to him, despite the other's fearful protests. Some of his fellow inmates looked over at him only to immediately avert their gaze when Waylon shot them a possessive glare. His large hands rubbed Crane's shivering back, trying to soothe him. He had seen it from the GCPD televisions. How close Crane had gotten only for Bruce goddamn Wayne to grab his hand and jam the doctor's own toxin into him. Crane had stumbled into his camera and knocked it down, obscuring the view, but the audio worked just fine. Waylon's instincts lit up when he heard Jonathan screaming from the speakers, and it pissed him off knowing he had failed to protect him. Well never again.

His face nuzzled Jonathan's head, and he heard a whimper. "Please...no." "Not...not gonna hurt you, Jonny", Waylon whispered. "Promise."

Normally it was against the rules for asylum patients to fraternize like this. But who was dumb enough to get between Croc and the person he loved?

Chapter Text

"It's fine. Got you. Safe with me. Jonny?"

Jonathan tried to escape but failed as his back hit the wall. It was here again. He recognized Waylon's inflections but this thing... There was no way this was Waylon. Was it? The beast's rough scales glistened in the dim light, as if it was always wet with swamp water. Sharp teeth were slick with drool and Crane wondered if the beast desired to consume him.

Meanwhile, in reality, Croc was struggling to get his precious one to relax. "Jonny...", he pleaded. "Wanna... Take care of you. Please." "Don't", Crane rasped. "What the hell are you? Just leave me alone! I have nothing to give you!" Waylon sighed. He could still smell the toxin in Jonathan's system. Damn that Bat. He got as close as he could and watched in vain as Crane started crying. Crying. Jonathan rarely liked to be seen this emotional. "No... Please stop... Leave me alone..." "'m takin' care of you. Nice." In hindsight, being a literal mutant crocodile monster and being sweet and cuddly tended to mix like oil and water, but Waylon was willing to do anything to make sure Jonathan had a steady recovery.

So he pressed on, shoving his face into the smaller man's chest, trying to nuzzle the distress away. Jonathan's hands grabbed his skull, unable to push the beast away. He could only stare at the ceiling, sobbing uncontrollably as Waylon tried to make him comfortable. "Mm..pretty...boy", Waylon grumbled, trying to use his old pet names to calm the other. "L'il birdie. Catch you every time."

All Jonathan heard was barely understandable, distorted ramblings.

Lunch in the asylum changed a lot, Waylon realized. Usually the food looked inedible, smelled like ass, and tasted like garbage. Now it just smelled like ass and tasted like garbage. Not that Croc would know, as he always got his helping of two freshly butchered cows. What had surprised him at first though was the fact that instead of being permanently confined to his cell to eat, Waylon got to be in the cafeteria. Granted, he was still in his own, closed off space, with just a thick sheet of bulletproof glass and concrete in the way and a speaker so he could talk to anyone that wanted to eat with him for whatever reason, but it was better than having to smell sewage while trying to enjoy his meal.

But as he looked around, he realized someone was missing. Jervis Tetch was there, pestering Harvey, probably about white hares or whatever it was Jervis talked about. Harley Quinn was by herself, sulking over Joker no doubt. Edward Nygma was trying in vain to get Firefly to understand something that was probably above the pyromaniac's pay grade, and that Deacon Blackfire guy was currently surrounded by guards that were trying to get him to stop using the table as a podium to preach some religious nonsense. And yet in spite of the chaos, Waylon could tell Jonathan had once again not made it in time for lunch. Dammit.

Waylon huffed as he looked down at his plate. Though the staff gave him a nice healthy serving of animal carcasses, they were also trying to get him to eat more 'human' food. As such, included with his usual was a stale bread roll, a bucket of water (he was far too large to drink from the normal cups), and what smelled like potato soup. It'd have to do. Besides, he was only here for the meat.

He dumped the water out onto the floor and tossed his soup in before hiding the roll in one of his pockets. The bucket itself came with its lid today, so he sealed it back up and shoved the thing into his mouth, but didn't chew or swallow. If the guards were smart, they wouldn't dare try prying his mouth open, lest they turn into the next Aaron Cash. As soon as they escorted him out of the cafeteria, Waylon was allowed a bit of free time. Good.

The recreational center was a bit different compared to the rest of the asylum, being more like an indoor gym. And in the corner, away from prying eyes was Jonathan, hiding from everyone else, a frightened look in his eyes. Croc carefully approached him, crouching a bit to seem less like a threat, which was easier said than done. Now that he was out of sight, he let the little soup bucket spill out of his mouth. Definitely a bit gross, but it was better than letting the already thin man starve. "Jonny", he whispered. Crane stiffened and tried to crawl away, but he had nowhere to go. "Leave me alone already", the frightened wretch begged. "Please, I just want to be alone!" "You're fine", Waylon cooed. "Didn't eat today, did you? Not good. Hold still." He tore the bucket open and tried to get Crane to drink some, only to be greeted by the other scurrying away. "Get it away! Away, I said!"

Waylon didn't know it, but all Jonathan saw in that accursed vessel was the most vile thing in existence. Red, sticky liquids drenched over what looked like bone, with something still writhing underneath. And for whatever reason it was breathing. The doctor visibly retched. "Get it away, dammit!" Waylon growled. As much as he didn't like being forceful with Jonathan, he was running out of options. A large hand clamped onto the ragged man's face, eliciting a panicked yelp. "No! Stop it! Let go of me!" Nails scratched pitifully at the hard scales. But Crane needed food.

Waylon tipped the pail over and let the creamy soup spill into his love's mouth. He grimaced as Jonathan gagged and nearly choked, but he did his best to keep Jonathan from spitting the meal out. With no way to spit the bile out, Jonathan had now choice but to gulp down the concoction. Only then did Waylon finally release him and it took Crane all he had to not vomit. Tears streaked his face and he was breathing heavily from not being allowed to breath through his mouth. Waylon stroked his back, not able to ignore the flinch that came as a result.

"It's okay, Jonny. My...Jonny. Jonny."

Crane didn't want to look back. He didn't want to look at it. To have to take in that sickening visage, because he knew he'd probably throw up if he did, and then the beast would be angry. The coarse fingers caressing him only made him feel worse. "Safe with me, Jonny", it bellowed and God, it felt so wrong to hear his nickname be said in that voice, so guttural and monstrous. "Why are you doing this to me", He pleaded. "Just leave me alone... I'm begging you."

"Not hurting you", it hissed, its jaws creaking as it spoke. "Won't hurt Jonny. Won't bItE. JOnnY..." Waylon sighed when Jonathan resumed his mental retreat, curling into himself like a baby, crying pitifully. He'd free Crane one day. Just not today, it seemed. At the very least, Jonathan wasn't going to be hungry. As he turned to leave, he saw some of the other patients staring at him. A single growl made them look away. It wasn't any of their business. If they wanted to assume he was tormenting Jon, fine. But they had best be smart enough to not get in his way...

Unfortunately for Waylon, and even more so for Jonathan, not everyone was willing to respect boundaries.

Chapter Text

Damm it all.

How could this have happened? He was so close, SO CLOSE, to killing everything Wayne held dear in one night. But not only had he been locked in a ault for a whole night, he was also sorely bitter because he'd never get the chance to truly break Bruce himself ever again. Naturally, Tommy was pissed off. Damn everyone. Damn Bruce, damn the GCPD, damn Gotham... And damn Scarecrow.

Sitting in his cell, Hush stewed in his irritation, with only the drabble of mindless doctors to entertain him. He had nothing else to do but carve doodles into his walls with a plastic knife but even that was starting to get on his last nerve. He needed to blow off steam, one way or another. And then an idea walked past him

Escorted (somewhat forcibly) by two doctors was one Jonathan Crane who was fighting for his life. "No!! You can't make me! Let me go!! Let me go!!"

"Please, Mr. Crane!", pleaded one of the staff, ducking her head to avoid Crane clawing at her face. "You haven't properly bathed in days! That's not good for you! We're trying to help you!" The disgraced villain screamed bloody murder as he was dragged out of the holding cells and likely to the showers. It was amusing, but short lived for Elliot. But he had taken the liberty of memorizing Arkham's schedule, down to the exact minute. Right now, it was still free time. After that was a roll call, then supper, and a final free time before it was lights out. Meaning there was still a window for Hush to get a hit in.

Thomas grinned deviously. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. Besides, who would stop him?

A viscous cycle, through and through. That's all this was for Jonathan. Dragged into that place and sprayed with whatever liquid that was, force fed something that couldn't be called food, and now hiding under his bed, the only safe haven in this labyrinth. He gawked at the 'inmates', trying not to retch at their ghastly visages. He wasn't even sure if he was looking at his former associates anymore. Many times they had approached them, the most frequent visitor being Harley, or the thing that called itself Harley, a puppet shambling with broken strings, its puppeteer dragging lifelessly with it, rotting away. Its smile stretched wide though it looked in pain. Such macabre was plentiful in this transformed asylum.

But he felt one was watching him. Maybe more intently than the beast that stole Waylon's name.

It was always changing faces every time he saw it, but he knew it was the same one by the voice, all deep and full of spite. The staff called him Thomas, Mr. Elliot, and Crane recalled the surname, being the one plastered on the Elliot Memorial Hospital. While the Elliots were no Waynes, they were still big names in Gotham, and thus, Crane heard of them, and of how the father of the family had passed in a car accident, with the mother surviving thanks to Bruce Wayne's father.

But this thing was not Thomas Elliot. This was an abomination playing pretend, like the others. And in its shifting eyes, a cold leer. Crane had to look away. He couldn't stomach it anymore. Maybe if he ignored it, it would leave him alone. God, leave him alone... "Hi there, Crane." Oh God no... He wanted to keep looking away, but the obnoxious sound of a spine snapping into place made it impossible. "Don't be shy, Doc. I just wanna have a nice little chat..."

"Get away from me!", the man screamed, a hand going to push Tommy away, but his wrist was seized before the impact. "Oh, I don't think so, Jonny Boy", Hush hissed. "You look a little scared. Good. It'll be more fun. For me anyway."

Waylon lifted his head from where he was laying down in his cell. His spine tingled. Something was wrong. Very wrong. He had heard it, so distant, but 100% Jonathan. A scream, distressed, panicked, and afraid. And yet in his current state, Croc wasn't able to help. Several floors below, under slabs of concrete, practically chained into the room. He growled in frustration. "Jonny", He howled. "Jonny!!!"

A helpless roar tore through his whole cell block, rage filling the air.

The second breakfast came, Waylon was scanning the entire area for his little birdie. Unsurprisingly, Jonathan was still not attending the cafeteria. He growled in frustration as he tried to eat his breakfast, but found himself unable to. He huffed, looking down at his plate. It consisted of a freshly butchered horse, another bucket of water, the driest looking strips of bacon he'd ever seen, and what he refused to believe were eggs. The only not garbage thing was a single stale biscuit with a packet of honey to compensate for what was probably going to dehydrate someone. It'd have to do.

But as he put the scraps aside, he was surprised to see someone walk up to him. Joker's little psycho ex.

"Quinn", he huffed out in greeting. "Hey there, scales for brains", he replied, and annoying sing-song tone in her voice. "Rumor in the loony bin is you and the professor are all buddy buddy, hm?" Waylon growled. "Who said?" "Me. No one believes me though. Or at least, they're too afraid to admit the truth." Waylon's gaze narrowed. "What you want, whore?" She just shrugged. "Well, since the big dragon wants to protect his ragged prince so badly, I'll tell ya. I dunno if ya heard it, but I sure did. Poor professor's in the nurse's office-"

A fist smashed into the glass separating him from everything else. "WHO?!?", He barked. Harley shrugged again. "I dunno. Didn't get a good look at 'im. But whoever did it musta been reeeeaaaal mad at Mistah Crane." Waylon felt blind rage build in his chest. He fought to suppress it. He had to see him. To know how bad it was. No matter what.

The second he was allowed to leave for some free time, Waylon made his way over towards the medical offices. He used to be banned from this place, and granted, he was often the lead cause of guards ending up there. But it seems the rules allowed him now, albeit surrounded by guards. He leaned down to peer into the tiny window and immediately wanted to kill someone. 

Just his luck, Jonathan was in the cot placed perfectly so that one could look into the room at him. And Quinn had been telling the truth. Jon looking worse for wear. His already damaged leg was propped up and wrapped with more braces, his eye had a patch over it, bruising visible, and cuts were still getting treated on his arm. But all Waylon could focus on was the tears. Jonathan was just sitting there in the bed, head low, body shivering, and eyes wide as tears streamed down from his face. He wasn't just scared. He was mortified. Waylon once more tried to get a scent. And this time he caught something. In the air, alongside Jonny's smell and the stench of the asylum staff, was an unfamiliar scent. It smelled of medicine, a hint of metal, old gauze, and fading cologne. Easy to remember

Waylon narrowed his eyes. Whoever this was was a very dead man...

Chapter Text

"And you're here because why again?"

"Someone...hurt Crane. Hunted the weak...the scared... pathetic. Need to kill him."

"You don't need to pretend, Croc. It's blatantly obvious why."

Nygma had long since deduced that Waylon and Jonathan were an item. He was disgusted by it, not because they were men, no. If that were true, then Eddie would have been a hypocrite. Rather his issue was the fact that Crane chose to date a literal monster, but to each their own. He sure wasn't going to make fun of them while the dangerous one in the relationship was right in front of him.

"Right, so describe the smell again?", the Riddler sighed.

"Like bandages", Croc explained. "Old blood. Metal. Some fancy smell, like cologne. Fading though." Edward hummed. "Well, if you can still smell cologne, then they'd have to be a new admission", Edward surmised. "Hm... With the extent of his injury, someone was likely very cross with him. But I don't know who would be. Even I don't have such a grudge. Having one is petty and unnecessary regardless. Our best lead is Crane himself and he's hallucinating every minute of his life."

"Can still piece it together. Not that hard. He still hears names." "Then I'll visit him", Edward offered. "For a price that is..." "Can sneak ya a file or something", Croc grumbled. "Or you just bored?" "Nail file is good. I expect it by tonight." Croc merely huffed and turned away, letting Ed return to his reading. If this transaction went through, the Riddler knew one thing: he was gonna watch the massacre live.

After one night and a nail file dropped discreetly, courtesy of Harvey Dent, with a flake of green scales, Edward found himself inside the medical wing under the guise of checking in on an old friend. As expected, Jonathan was still a sorry sight and he immediately tried to get away upon seeing Eddie. "Why do you all keep bothering me?!", Jonathan wheezed out. "Just leave me alone! What did I do to you?!"

"Relax, you sentient horror movie antagonist", scoffed Ed. "It's just me. I'm here to ask a little question and you just got to answer me. Simple! So much so even someone with a rotted brain like yours can do it. Jonathan shuddered, shaking his head. "I don't know! Please, I don't know anything..." "That's a lie and you know it, Doc. Now let's start with it's look." Edward felt a bit off. He wasn't used to being the one on the therapist side of the conversation. But then again, he wasn't having a bad trip 24/7. "Maybe you can describe your attacker's face? Much appreciated."

Jonathan's breath grew heavy. "Always shifting, always twisting. Like the flesh itself was mere clay...it's... I don't know what it is. Such a vile glare too.."

A shape shifting hallucination? Given Basil Karlo was still in a jar locked away in the depths of Arkham, he was obviously not the perpetrator. Edward tried to think. Someone who Jonathan interpreted as able to change their face, and smelled of faint cologne. The gears turned in his head, and then a name came to mind. The Identity Thief. "Was it perhaps Thomas Elliot?" "That's not Elliot", Carne whimpered. "Its not Elliot. Nothing is anyone." Well at least Croc would have his answer. "Thank you for the cooperation, Doctor Crane. Happy recovery!"

Jon yelped as Nygma gave him a condescending head pat.

"Elliot? Ya sure?"

"Positive. Shape shifting face? Elliot performed surgery on himself to appear as Bruce Wayne. Cologne? The Elliots were a very rich family. I know I'm right." Croc felt a bit skeptical. Did that rich ass really have it out enough for Crane? He admittedly didn't know Elliot very well, but if it was true... "Believe me or don't", Edward continued, "But I don't know who else would fit the bill. Now if you excuse me, I have a book to read and an escape plan to form."

Croc let the scrawny bastard go and soon found himself by the concrete wall outside. He could probably climb it in a single bound, but given he was constantly under supervision, he'd probably end up not getting far. And even if he wasn't, he refused to abandon Jonny while the little crow was hospitalized. As he was about to move away, he could hear a fight.

"Give it back, Elliot! Now!"

"Make me, Dent!"

Ah, the trust fund babies were fighting. Typical. At least it was free entertainment. A circle of inmates gathered around to egg the fight on and a few guards tried to break their way in to stop the disgraced surgeon and ex-DA from killing each other. Harvey grabbed a fistful of Thomas's hair, pulling it back and making the other grimaced and grunt in pain. "You lookin' to fuck up the other half, Dent?!", Hush spat. "I can do it, free of charge!" "Piss off, ya fuckin' ungrateful brat!", Two-Face hissed back, throwing Elliot to the ground. "I'll be the one doing the carving here!"

As the men continued to punch each other, scratching and clawing at each other's faces, Waylon caught some scents. The first was blood, which was expected. The second was the faint scent of gunmetal and a chemically stench though it was faint, likely Harvey.

But then the third one caught his attention.

Medicine. Faint traces of metal, more akin to knives. Old gauze. And cologne.

Waylon felt something burn in his chest as his breathing started to get rough and his throat let out a low growl. Eddie was right. It was him. This was the man that hurt Jonny. Waylon wanted to ask why, but the guards and orderlies finally broke the fight up and dragged Two-Face and Hush away before he could do anything. But now Jones was angry, no, pissed. How dare he... How DARE he?! To put his filthy hands on Jonny! HIS Jonny! HIS little birdie!

As the rest of the patients were escorted away, all Waylon felt was murderous rage.

Tick tock, Tommy...

Chapter Text

This is bullshit, thought Hush as he was at last brought out of solitary confinement. It may have been only for a few days, but he still hated it. And now he was under close watch by the entire asylum until they could trust him near knives again. Great. His jaw still felt sore from where Harvey Dent had slammed it into the ground. He'd pay for that.

But now Hush was even more stressed out. Isolated, pissed off, and revenge unfulfilled. He'd have to take it out on Harvey later... Alternatively...

Elliot smirked as he remembered his latest punching bag. Crane's screaming was euphoric, the sound of someone suffering like music. Not it wasn't the same as doing it to Wayne, but he could managed. Hell, I'm a way, it was Jonathan's fault. Had the doctor not unmasked Bruce Wayne, the Manor would have not been a target for an attack. He should have known better, revealing the identity of the man that the entire criminal industry hated with a burning passion. So naturally, he was just giving Scarecrow his just desserts. He probably could have done it sooner but Croc seemed to always hound the ragged man like crazy, almost protectively. Crane was valuable to the mutant clearly, and so Hush had elected to stay away. But upon realizing that Croc wasn't always around, Hush realized he could probably get away with a few punches, right?

Right now, he was in his cell, looking up at the ceiling, laying as comfortably as he could on his shitty cot. Free time was almost over, then he could get lunch. Not that he wanted it, but at this point, it was better to eat garbage than to starve.

Dong-Do-Dong Dong... Good afternoon, Arkham Asylum. It is now mealtime. All patients report to the cafeteria for your meal. Thank you for your cooperation.

Elliot sighed as he got up. Time for some grub...

...

Why was he staring?

Elliot felt uneasy as he felt eyes drilling into him as he ate. He traced the sensation back to the little side room on the opposite end. Behind a wall of glass, Waylon Jones sat there with his own meal, staring Tommy down from a distance. The beast's eyes narrowed a bit, nostrils flaring. He was glaring. The fuck is his problem?, Elliot thought. He wanted to ask, but decided against it. He had better things to do than deal with Croc. Thomas quickly slurped down the poor excuse of a soup and got up, ready to be escorted back to his cell until the next free time. But as his guards rejoined him to take him away, he saw Waylon leave his personal room as well. Tommy frowned. 

No, no, surely it was a coincidence. Maybe... Despite this, Hush felt like he was being watched as he was taken down the hall, heavy footfalls nearby. Croc was following.

Tick... Tock... Tick... Tock.

Tommy rolled his eyes. Seriously? The hell did he want? Unless he misunderstood. But as soon as he and his escorts went right, so did Waylon and his guards.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Elliot didn't like this. Why was he doing this? He didn't do a damn thing to him! Unless... Did he find out about Crane? Did the dragon know it was him that fucked up his ragged prince? No... No, there's no way. Scarecrow was so out of it that there was no way he'd be able to snitch without sounding like a complete lunatic. Well, moreso than he already was...

Tick tock. Tick tock.

Waylon sounded like he was walking a bit faster. Unless that was a trick of the ear. Elliot felt his feet pick up a bit of speed too. A low growl emanated behind him.

Tick tock tick tock.

The air felt heavy. The growling grew louder and louder. "Hey, keep it cool, Croc", barked one of Waylon's guards. "The hell are you getting pissy for?" Elliot knew the answer.

Ticktockticktockticktockticktockticktocktick-

A roar.

Teeth gnashing at bare flesh. A shock collar that did jack shit. Skin torn from muscle torn from bone. The alarms blared. Tommy's screaming swiftly became gurgling as blood filled his throat, as he was shaken like a ragdoll, as his skull was slammed into concrete, as his vision blurred and his ribs snapped. He felt a sharp sear in his leg as a femur was crushed and another in his arm. A claw swiped at his face...

"This...for...Jonny!"

And it was nice and quiet.

Chapter Text

Right. Nail file. And then what? Eddie pondered over it for a moment. The answer was obvious, file his bars. But then what after that? He COULD just run for it. But it was risky. He was but one man and despite his superior mind, his body was not built for physical activity. In the event the brainless apes running this place got him, he was screwed. So then he'd need a distraction... Like another breakout. Or several... Edward grinned. Yes, that would be ideal. In fact, why stop at one or two? As long as he had cover, he was a free man.

That being said, it's best when everyone knows what to do, since it seemed he was the only one here with a few screws still in his brain. And what better place to start than to inform the dumbest person in the asylum? The problem was Croc had indeed attacked Thomas Elliot as Edward had anticipated. Damn animal. But because of that, it meant that Waylon was now stuck in solitary confinement for a good while, making communication difficult. But there was a way...

If he could disable the security cameras in the cell block, he could, in theory, give himself the opportunity to coordinate with Waylon, or at the very least try. Yes, that was a lot easier than breaking Croc out and faster than waiting for the punishment to conclude. With a plan in mind, Nygma started phase one. First things first, steal a key card. He recognized each uniform worn by the Asylum staff, all the way up to the security guards, so getting the right one was a breeze.

Second, shut off the cameras. Hide himself and his trail from view. He'd have a short window of time, but it'd be enough. Third, use the vents. As much as he'd rather not be reduced to crawling like a helpless baby, drastic measures would have to be taken in order to reach the mutant in his little hidey hole. And finally, plan the escape. Once Croc was informed properly (which would likely take time thanks to the animal's deteriorated mind), Edward would move to inform the rest of the patients and finally enact his escape.

Now all he needed to do was hope he'd have to take no detours.

Key card? Check. Cameras off? Check. Good. He was ahead of schedule, as expected of him. He was getting dirty in the vents but he'd manage. Eventually, the slight stench of the sewers hit his nostrils and with a turn and a kick, the flimsy vent cover fell off, letting Eddie slip inside of the solitary confinement chamber.

What a fitting position for Croc indeed, chained up to the teeth, muzzle over his mouth to deter biting, and the overkill decision to put shock collars on not just his neck but also his wrists and ankles. Arkham never really changed. "And how are we today, my reptilian compatriot?", Edward asked as he carefully approached the beast. "Comfortable?"

"Die", was Waylon's response. "No can do, my friend", Edward chuckled, a smug grin plastered on his face. "Now listen, and listen carefully. I'm going to say this verrrrry slowly so even your feeble mind can comprehend it. I am going to launch a daring escape! And you and all of Arkham is invited! So, what I need for you is make a scene. I'll see if I can break Bane out as well, in case that's too hard for you. Still can't believe they dragged him out of Peña Duro..."

Waylon exhaled sharply through his nose. But then he had a thought. "Everyone's comin'?" Edward shrugged. "Only those that can run out the door in a timely manner. Those that cannot or refuse to participate will sadly be left behind." Waylon's eyes narrowed. "Even the hurt?" "I presume you mean our friends in the infirmary. Yes, they'll have to wait for a rescue I'm afraid-"

"Then no."

Edward paused, annoyance filling his expression. "Excuse me?"

"Not goin'", Waylon huffed. "Not... Without Jonny." Edward stuttered in dis belief. "What?! CRANE??? That's the only reason you have for delaying freedom?! You'd rather sit on your arse waiting for some man high on toxin to get out of his hospital bed than leave this hellhole?!?" Waylon growled in response. "Need to protect Jonny. Wait." Nygma huffed. "Make me, you... You genetically impure troglodyte!"

There was a tear. And before Edward had knew it, he had narrowly missed getting his face bitten clean off. The muzzle was now on the floor, useless and ripped, their task of making Waylon's mouth no longer a threat failed. That was clear enough. Nygma held his hands up in surrender. "Alright! Alright! I'll wait until he's out of medical! Now stow it, animal..." Eddie stifled a growl as Waylon smirked.

"It's okay, Mr. Crane. No one is here to hurt you. Come on. Let's go back to your cell. Nice and easy."

"No, no, no, no, no, no!"

He didn't remember how long he's been in here, in this narrow room, strapped down to the bed. Too long, for sure. The pain had dulled significantly, but he was still unsafe here. "Mr. Crane, it's okay. I'm gonna move slowly, so please calm down." Gangly sharp fingers curled around his forearms, sickeningly loud crackles sounding off as they did so. Jonathan felt like throwing up. Eventually he was pulled out and dragged outside of the room, back into the grimy dark halls, or at least they looked that way.

The screech of the metal bars mixed with the imaginary bats in the ceiling and he was pushed inside. He stumbled as he caught himself on the edge of his bed just as the door shut behind him. Jonathan whimpered as he immediately ran to the corner, hunkering down. He hated it here. All he could see were monsters with caricatures of people he knew as masks. He felt eyes on him on all times. Where they the monstrous orderlies or the Dark Knight himself, watching him from afar?

"Oh good. You're back."

Jonathan recognized that voice. He sheepishly peeked over where he was hiding and took in the unholy visage of... Hell he wasn't even sure. Its cranium had burst open, leaving a mass of flesh trailing behind, it's head barely able to keep it up. Tattered green cloth drug on the floor. It was that thing that called itself Riddler, but there was no way this was Edward. It was impossible. "Well, if you are healed, then be prepared", it bellowed, a voice sounding distant emanating from its squabble body. "I've been planning the best escape from this godforsaken penitentiary for ages. Hopefully you are well equipped. I'm guessing not though, as you're clearly senile and debilitated."

Crane hesitantly approached the bars, ever so slightly closer to 'Edward'. "This is a trick", he whispered anxiously. "You're just waiting for me to step out of this cell and do God knows what to me. I'm not falling for it, monster. Just leave me alone."

A scoff. "Fine. Rot in there. Your participation is not a requirement anyway." The freak scooted along the floor, dragging it's swollen head with it. Jonathan stepped back and resumed hiding. He didn't know if it was lying or not. But either way, he was afraid to find out.

Chapter Text

Waylon had no regrets.

Thomas Elliot was still in the medical room. Unfortunate. Croc wanted to finish the job. His normal cell was as grimy and scratched as ever, no one bothering to even try and clean it. Once upon a time, he'd be trying to goad a guard into coming in to try and subdue him, only to become a meal. But not today. 

The second he had come out of solitary, he had ended up passing by Jonathan's cell, and was relieved to see him there, albeit still high on toxin. A day later, Edward had once again snuck in to see him and finally got to make an escape plan. It was simple. Start a riot and run. Hard to mess up. Edward just had to keep his head in the game and his ego in check, which in hindsight was probably asking a lot of him. Despite this, Croc waited patiently. Edward had gone to enact his plan an hour ago, so Waylon had been left staring at his door the whole time. Then again, he didn't put it past Riddler to just bail on everyone.

He growled as he continued to wait, growing impatient. Just the thought of finally taking Jonathan out of here and into his care was getting to him. As such, he'd have to come up with a plan before the floodgates opened. 

Gotham was no longer a safe harbor from what he had heard. A bout of eavesdropping on guards revealed that someone, or something, was taking the place of the deceased Batman. A ghost, demon, or just some guy, no one knew who this freak was. Even so, they were leaving their victims utterly terrified, so they were already a danger to Jonny. As far as he was aware, their reach did not extend past Gotham. So perhaps he and Jonathan could go to the next city over?

Metropolis was an instant no. The super freak protecting it would send them both back within the day. Keystone was also out thanks to some speedster calling it home and Croc was not in the mood for fast food. After running through the list, he settled on Blüdhaven. From what he heard, it was essentially just Gotham with a different coat of paint. Same high crime rate, same corrupt cops, same slums, same nasty odors, and the cherry on top was a vigilante patrolling the rooftops, though Nightwing seemed less likely to trigger an episode out of Crane than Batman. At least for now.

Just as he made up his mind, he heard an alarm blare out of nowhere and his door made some mechanical noises before unlocking and slowly opening.

Warning: Reports of disorder in multiple cell blocks. All security personnel be advised. Shoot to kill parameters authorized.

About damn time. Waylon yanked off his shock collar, growling as electric currents shot through his veins. It came off with a crunch and was tossed to the side so that he could push the door open. The alarms grew louder as he left and he saw red dots litter his body as guns became trained on him. "Stay right where you are, Croc! We'll shoot!" Oh would they now? The bullets felt like flea bites as he ripped the men into shreds, getting a few limbs down his gullet. He was a little banged up but overall still able to run.

After ripping another metal door open, he was treated to the very satisfying sight of inmates in a mass breakout, a few guards already dead on the ground. From the sheer amount of destruction and the distant yell in Spanish, it seemed Edward had indeed released Bane. Waylon darted through the halls, not really caring if he trampled someone on the way. He sniffed the air and caught the whiff of burlap that led him right where he wanted to be. He slowly approached the cell and crouched down. "Jonny."

Jonathan Crane was hiding under his bed, having been there since he heard the alarm. He was breathing quickly as tears of fear fell from his eyes. He looked up at the green beasts, meeting those yellow eyes. It leaned down to him, forcing them to lock gazes. "Leaving", It grumbled. "Get up." Jonathan shook his head. He could hear he riot outside the screaming and the screeching and the cracking of bone.

"Please don't make me", he begged. Waylon sighed. "Not gonna hurt you, Jonny. Please. Leaving. Not safe here. Take you somewhere safer. Please come with me." A large hand nudged against a smaller one and Crane flinched. His mind was racing. He did not trust this beast to not devour him at the first possible second. But at the same time, the madness here was unbearable, with the slightest touch registering as an attack.The claws moved slow, carefully taking him by his shirt collar and trying to pull him out. "Jonny..." Somewhere, an explosion rang out, likely someone hitting a generator.

Shaking violently, Jonathan crawled out from his hiding spot, much to Waylon's relief. He pulled the smaller man up and close to his chest, and only now just realized how tiny Crane was in comparison shaking like a newborn welp. He made a small and low hushing noise as he tried to soothe his little birdie before turning tail and taking off down the hall. Someone had been kind enough to blow a hole in the concrete, leaving an opening for Croc to slip into. But he and Jon were not out of the woods yet.

He could hear gunshots, some far away, some close by. Not wanting Jonathan to accidentally become a target, Waylon immediately began looking for a way out. And that's when he spotted the docks. He recalled being forced back into Arkham on one, getting dragged in chains off a big rig and onto the island. And there was a fairly decent boat parked just by the pier, begging to be 'borrowed'. It would have to do.

"There's Croc!", he heard someone shout. "He's escaping with Crane! Fire!" Shit.

Croc held Jonathan close as he narrowly avoided the bullets. They mostly just pinched but he knew that if one hit Jonathan, he would be less likely to walk it off. Meanwhile, Jonathan was in full panic. His fingers cling to the beast in spite of his distrust of it and the gunfire sounded even louder in his current state. The screeching of bats filled his ears and he tried to swat one away, though to anyone looking in, he was just swiping at air. "Make it stop!", the doctor begged. "Make it stop!" "Got you, birdie", Croc growled. He took a leap and landed just by the boat, swiftly climbing on. Now came the hard part: starting the damn thing. He set Jonathan down in the lower deck and fought to start the damn thing. Unfortunately, Croc had never operated a boat before. He swore loudly before noticing a key hole. So this piece of crap needed a damn key. Wonderful. He didn't see one up top though. Under the flurry of bullets, he called out to Jonathan.

"Jonny! Need key! You see?!"

Crane flinched at the sudden yell. A key? They needed a key? "I... I'll look...", he called back. This place was dark. For a boat that wasn't too big, the inside stretched forever. His ankles didn't register dry old wood but a partially flooded floor as he searched. His hands felt around the tattered walls, though he flinched constantly at every bolt, thinking he was about to be grabbed by some unforseen entity. He could hear the screeching getting closer and the beast yelling again. "Jonny! Hurry!"

Crane gulped and started looking faster. His legs were rocking in panic as he tried to find something, anything. His chest hurts as he started to have a breakdown. "Come on... Please... Not like this... Not like-"

Dink

He flinched as a small metal object hit the ground. Jonathan looked down and saw the cause: a keyring, with a single silver key attached to it. Was this it? He hoped so. Taking it, he hurried back up to where the beast was, staying low to avoid getting shot. "Is this it?!", he yelled over the noise. Waylon took it. "Better be." In his other hand, Waylon chucked a crate at the security officers before turning back and trying to put the key in. But alas, his hands were too damn big. "Jonny! Turn it for me! Smaller!"

Jonathan froze. He wanted to help. But as the bullets whizzed over his head and the imaginary bats swarmed above, he found himself unable to do anything. Waylon hissed and grabbed him, the other yelping in shock. He set Crane by the console and handed him the key. "Put in hole and turn!", he instructed. "Cover for you! Fast!"

"Okay, okay", Jonathan breathes out. It was a bit hard to put the key in as his arm wouldn't stop shivering, but eventually, he saw the teeth disappear into the metal. He turned it and jumped as the engine roared to life. Okay, now what? Waylon looked back and assessed the situation. He pointed to a lever. "Push it forward", he suggested. "Okay..."

Jonathan did as told. All the way. The boat lurched forward as it instantly gained speed, making them struggle to keep balance. Jonathan tumbled backwards but he was caught in Waylon's massive hands. The craft sped away as more bullets were fired at it, but after a few minutes, the firing ceased. Croc doubted they'd be getting chased soon. He saw most of the other inmates hijacking the police boats. He looked back down at Jonathan, who was breathing a little too fast. "Easy", he murmured softly, bringing a claw up to the other's face. "Okay?"

Jonathan gasped when the finger made contact, thankfully on the sides where they weren't sharp. His eyes squeezed shut as he felt in caress his face, the slow movement letting him consistently register the scales on Waylon's hands. His breathing gave way to whimpers, a shaky hand grabbing the larger man's wrist but being unable to push it away. "I... I want... W-want to go... Go h-home..." Croc held him close, wiping a tear away as the boat sailed off to it's next destination. "Heading home now. Home..."

The waters were calm.

Chapter Text

The sounds of splashing water and the beginning of rainfall were all Waylon heard as the boat floated along the deep water. He had managed to rejoin Jonathan in a canopied corner of the boat, curled up around the shaking man protectively. Jonathan was still scared, shivering and looking around anxiously, but thankfully he seemed to have given up on trying to run. It had taken them both a second to get the boats engines from full speed to slow and steady as Jonathan consistently froze up at even the slightest raise in Croc's voice, but now they were at a leisurely sail. For the most part, they were running on the wind and current, but Waylon was ensuring that they were actually heading to Blüdhaven and not some random island in the middle of nowhere. Though a fog had rolled in at some point during the journey, the watercraft had thankfully been built with a spotlight and they were able to see a few feet in front of them.

Croc curled in closer to Jonathan, tail instinctively wrapping around the lithe frame, earning a flinch from the other man, eyes like deer in headlights. Crane stiffened. He still didn't trust the beast completely, but at the very least, he was no longer a prisoner. That being said, the sea looked even darker and deeper to his eyes, more like oil than water, and something his mind conjured up seemed to be lurking deep beneath the murky water. Additionally, the fake bats were still circling above like vultures, as if daring him to step even a single foot outside the cover of the canopy. With all that combined, being near the monster was the safest bet, for it has yet to truly harm him.

He hesitated for a second, lower jaw opening then closing. It...looked a little like Waylon. It acted close to Waylon too. It sounded like him and even felt like him. It just had so much that was different that he refused to believe that it was indeed Waylon. But if it was, then it explained why the thing seemed to be willing to go so far as to escape Arkham with him.

"...Waylon", he whispered at last. The beast raised its head to look at him. "Mm?" Another second of hesitation. "Where are we going?" "Blüdhaven", Croc gruffed. "The plan at least. Never been. Didn't need to go. Now we gotta." That made some sense at least. Jonathan looked back out over the dark water. "Do you think Batman will follow us?", he asked meekly. Waylon snorted. "Batman dead." "No he's not. I can feel it, Waylon. He's watching. Waiting... He could be anywhere. Anyone." Waylon just rolled his eyes. He admittedly thought maybe Batman was alive, just a little bit. But no, he was more convinced the Dark Knight was as dead as a doornail.

"He's going to follow us," Crane said with an air of finality and anxiety. "Him and his little soldiers. To make us all suffer. Break our minds and our bones and-"

"Jon. Quiet." The doctor immediately closed his mouth daring not to aggravate the beast further. He simply stared at the floor, shivering intermittently. Eventually he grew drowsy and closed his eyes, finding himself falling asleep.

Waylon woke to a slightly odd smell. Another sniff made it clear that it was Gotham's scent, but with something off. He raised his head and was greeted to the silhouette of an unfamiliar skyline. His eyes widened. He looked over at Jonathan, who was still sleeping. He looked so peaceful for once but Waylon needed to wake him.

"Jonny. Jonny. Up. Up now!" His hands nudged Crane a bit and eventually the doctor woke up himself with a small yawn. "What? Waylon, where am...I?"

He froze up at the towering spires in front of him. The bats weren't there but the aura was all wrong. "What... Where am I?! Waylon-" "Blüdhaven", was Waylon's only response as he got up. "Come with. New home." As Waylon started getting up, Jonathan just stared up at the spires of Blüdhaven. Somehow, the sky looked more hellish, and ravens were already beginning to circle overhead, their incessant squawking distant, but oh so audible. He couldn't stop staring, and his pulse started to quicken until Waylon cleared his throat. "Jonny. Over here. Grate. Gonna pull open." The shrill groan of metal getting ripped out of concrete was palpable. Waylon climbed out of the boat and into the dark and damp tunnels. "Come on."

Jonathan hesitated. He couldn't see more than a couple feet into it and he was hearing whispers that weren't there. Each one told him to turn back, but the beast kept waiting for him expectantly. Shaking, he approached the tunnel but failed to summon enough strength to hoist himself up, forced to rely on Croc to help him up. Waylon bent the grate back as best he good before descending into the tunnel. It was a bit cramped, but not too bad. Heavy footfalls splashed in the shallow stream of water in the grimy floors. Slowly, the sound of rushing water became audible and the duo found themselves in the sewer system. Croc sniffed the air. Yeah, it was about the same as his old lair in Arkham. He could make this work.

Hands absentmindedly rubbed the small man's back as Croc took him deeper in. The beast stopped when he found a rather cozy looking alcove in the walls. Looked like it was barely walked around too. He gently set Jonathan down on his shivering feet. "This is home now", he told him. "We stay here. Lie low. Won't be found." "They'll find us", Jonathan whispered, leaning onto a wall and letting himself sit down. "They'll always find us. No one is truly safe." Croc rolled his eyes but help back his frustration, knowing Jonny wasn't really in the best state of mind right now.

"Jonny, you hungry?", he asked. "Can go get food for you. Hungry too..." Jonathan whimpered. "But... Is it safe down here even?" "No one down here. Is fine." The large scaly hand caressed the burlap face gently before Waylon turned to try and find a way up to the surface. Jon wanted to pursue him but the darkness off the tunnel felt suffocating and he instead stayed where he was.

For the first time since he was a little boy, Jonathan Crane prayed for mercy.

Let's see...

He beat down a few thugs tonight. Stopped a bank heist. Knocked the teeth out of a mugger. Yep. Good night so far.

Nightwing stood over the edge of an apartment building, looking down below his city. Seems some of Gotham's bastards came over here fearing... Well whatever the hell was going on in Gotham. Something about a ghost or demon? Honestly, Dick would not have been surprised if he found out Bruce had somehow managed to transform into some supernatural entity, especially after what happened.

He sighed. "Damn it, Bruce", he swore. He had to leave for Blüdhaven after Bruce helped him take down Penguin, but maybe he should have stayed, because now his former mentor was either dead or an eldritch horror haunting an entire city. Hell, a lot of crap happened in Gotham that night that he probably didn't know about. At the very least, all the big threats were in Gotham. Or at least he hoped. But no, things can't just be simple.

Because the very next second, Dick heard a loud noise, like a wall getting smashed down, coupled with screaming civilians. Welp, back to work.

Nightwing leapt from his spot into another building, scaling walls, and flipping up to a higher vantage point. As the noise grew louder, he swore he felt the ground shaking. "...What the..."

Fleeing a store that has gotten its front completely wrecked was the ugly bastard himself, Killer Croc. He seemed to be carrying something in what was probably the cloth of an awning. A robbery, then, though that seemed a bit tame for the mutant. But more importantly, what the hell was he doing all the way out here in Blüdhaven? He seriously came out all the way from Gotham just to be a menace? Not on Dick's turf. As soon as Croc slipped into an alleyway, Nightwing made his move, landed right in front of the beast.

"Gonna need to see a receipt for that, sir", He quipped, spinning his escrima sticks in his hands. Croc growled. Not now, dammit. Waylon didn't have time for a fight. Aside from the fact he needed this food, Jonathan was waiting for him back in the sewers and there was a good chance the former professor was having an anxiety attack. "Bat's pet bird... Go away!" Dick clicked his tongue. It was mainly to ease his frustration. Batman was still a fresh wound. "Sorry, buddy. If you can't pay, I gotta take those back and send ya home-"

He ended up getting cut off when he had to dodge a tail swipe. Game on then. Waylon refused to drop his haul, so it unfortunately made hitting his target harder as he was unable to get on all fours to charge. The best he could muster was a single-handed swipe and that was about it. But Dick was a lot more agile, bounding over the claws and striking back. Slowly but sure, Waylon felt himself getting more and more frustrated. He didn't have time for any of that crap. Jony was probably freaking out right now and this stupid bird keeps getting in the damn way!

Then Nightwing messed up, jumping onto the beast's back. In that split second, Croc found a window. With a roar, he ran backwards, and slammed into the nearest wall. Dick hadn't moved in time, and so felt all wind leave him in an instant. Something was probably broken too, probably his ribs. When Waylon moved, Nightwing fell ungraciously onto the concrete, coughing and groaning in agony. No more stalling. Waylon immediately ran away, disappearing into the dark alley. "W-Wait-", Dick called out only to cough up a tiny spot of blood. Damn it... With a reluctant sigh, he dug for his communicator. Still intact, thank God. He dialed a number and waited for the other person to pick up. 

"...Hey, Tim... Listen, I know we don't really talk to much... But is the Batwing still good? ...yeah? Why? Uh... Well, funny story..."

"Jonny? Jonny, you still down here?"

The beast's voice cut through the darkness. For Jonathan, it was oddly comforting, something familiar in a strange world. "W-waylon...", he blurted out, trying to get his companion's attention. The scaly head peeked around a corner before fully emerging, tons of food in hand. He dropped the cloth he was carrying onto the ground between them. It was mostly boxed foods, some stuff that had been refrigerated but could be eaten right away. A few would require them to get a fire going, but not much else.

"Food. Need to eat? Got lots for us. For you." Jonathan hesitated. He swore he heard something moving in those damn boxes and he didn't like it. Even then, he was starving a bit. Waylon sensed the hesitation and picked a box at random. Looked like crackers. Good enough. With his teeth, he tore the box open and got a few of the things out. "C'mon, Jonny. Eat now. Hungry." Jonathan hesitated. The box looked nastier than it actually was. But with the Croc staring at him expectantly, he felt like he didn't have many options. He shakily took the crackers, the grainy exterior feeling coarse in his palms. He forced himself to shove one in his mouth, desperate to get this over with. And yet he still felt his body trying to reject it, as if he believed he was being poisoned.

Waylon watched closely to make sure he was actually eating the food when he noticed crumbs continuously spilling out of Jonathan's mouth. Right, Jonathan had had his face completely mangled and didn't have lips anymore, and his teeth had been either knocked out or made crooked. Meaning that the doctor could not keep most foods in his mouth. In an attempt to help, Waylon tried to use his fingers to make a sort of seal to keep the crumbs in.

Jonathan winced at the feeling of fingers grabbing his face. They feel sharper than they actually were and with the combined mix of toxin and the dark environment of the sewer tunnel, the view of Waylon sitting in front of him, eye contact never breaking, was more disturbing then it had any right being. Waylon let out a rumbling sigh. "Gonna be okay, Jonny", he mumbled. "New home for us. New life. Safe here." Absentmindedly, he rubbed a thumb against his little crow's cheek.

Jonathan whimpered.