Rest and Recover
Gotham ||| Jonathan Crane/Danny Fenton ||| long fic |||
POV Jonathan Crane
Words: 606
The room is quiet.
Not the kind of silence that feels oppressive, heavy with unspoken threats. It’s different—softer, almost empty. There is no distant laughter of men who think fear is something to toy with. No heavy footsteps outside the door, waiting for me to slip up. No muffled cries from behind locked doors. Just… quiet.
I haven’t left the room since Danny brought me here.
I could.
He told me I could. He said I could do anything I wanted here—leave the room, wander the house, even walk right out the front door if I wanted to. He said he wouldn’t stop me. The idea should terrify me, make me think of all the ways this could be a trick, a test, another twisted game. But it doesn’t. Because for some reason, I believe him.
That alone unsettles me.
I don’t understand him. Danny Fenton is an enigma, someone who shouldn’t exist in a place like Gotham. He’s dangerous—I know that. He didn’t hesitate when he got rid of Grady. He came back with blood on his face, and he didn’t flinch, didn’t act like it was anything significant. And yet, when he looks at me, it isn’t with cruelty.
It isn’t with pity either.
I don’t know what it is, but I don’t fear it.
The bed beneath me is too soft, almost unfamiliar. I sit on the edge, my hands gripping the sheets like they might disappear if I let go. It’s been a full day since I arrived, since Danny gave me this room and told me to rest and recover. He didn’t demand anything from me. He didn’t push me to talk. He just… left me here, told me I was safe, and walked away.
I expected him to return quickly, to check on me, to see if I was behaving the way he wanted. But he hasn’t.
That, more than anything, throws me off balance.
No one has ever given me space before. No one has ever given me choice. I was always being shaped, controlled, pushed into something I didn’t want to be. But Danny—Danny doesn’t seem to care what I do.
The air is warm here, but I still wrap my arms around myself. My body remembers what it’s like to be cold, to shiver through nights locked away. Even now, with a blanket beside me and a bed I could sleep in, I haven’t let myself sink into the comfort of it. It feels too much like a trick.
A quiet knock startles me. My head snaps up, heart jumping into my throat. The door doesn’t open, though. Danny’s voice filters through the wood, calm and patient.
“I’m heading out for a while,” he says. “There’s food in the kitchen if you want it. You don’t have to come out, but you can if you want.”
I don’t respond. I don’t move.
He waits a moment, then, with a quiet hm, he adds, “I’ll be back later.”
His footsteps retreat down the hall.
Then I hear the front door open and close.
He’s gone.
My chest is tight, but I force myself to breathe slowly. He left. He actually left. He didn’t give me orders, didn’t set any rules, didn’t lock the door behind him. I don’t know how to process that.
I glance toward the door, half-expecting it to burst open at any moment, but it doesn’t. The house remains silent.
My eyes flicker to the window. I could leave. I could.
But I won’t.
Instead, I stay where I am, gripping the blankets tighter. I don’t understand what’s happening, or why Danny is like this.
