After enduring a life of suffering, The Scarecrow's given everything to make his mark as the God of Fear. Taking pity on Killer Moth, he takes him under his wing to show him what true terror entails. Little does he know, this personal project will serve to remind him what he's worked so hard to forget. He's only human.
A short exploration of how Jonathan Crane's feelings for Drury Walker evolve over time. Partially character analysis.
READ IT HERE!
With this, the Jonathan Crane/Drury Walker fic tag has officially been created!! 🎉🎉
I'm so happy to finally be creating SOMETHING substantial about these two, and sharing it with the world! I hope to show others why I find the potential between Drury and Jonathan so compelling, and a bit of my original verse in action. 🥺💖
The fic will be fairly short, and the two posted chapters so far are the more character analytical bits, but next up will be the real meat. ^_^
If you choose to check it out, I hope you enjoy! 🦋💖🎃
TW: medical malpractice, chronic pain, vibes of self harm
The metal creaked as I carefully lifted myself onto the chill medical table. I rubbed my arms and held my elbows. My hairs stood at alert.
The pictures on the wall were always the same grassy hills I’d never had the pleasure of visiting. I stared at one as if meditating on a single blade of grass would push away the ache in my joints.
Salad and Biryani for lunch. Fish with cream sauce and a potato boat for dinner. I’d been too tired to remember the menu each day even though our nutrition regimen remained stable, so I kept a food calendar on my desk. I ran the list over and over in my head like a memory game. Sometimes I remembered to update it at the end of the week. Years ago I could remember things like my best childhood friend or what I went into a room to grab. Now I do good to crawl out of bed, bones popping with each step. The doctor always states that the most important thing is rest, but my knees stayed restless through sleep.
As if I could stay asleep with the amount of appointments and noise, anyway.
I could walk. That was good. Many lost the ability to use their legs. For me, it was just my arms. Just my arms. I could still go and see and take myself to the bathroom. Yet what was I supposed to do once anywhere? Books fell from my grasp, spoons unsteady. I held them, anyway, in exchange for the swelling throbs that squeezed the life out of every nerve within my upper limbs.
I could live. The catch was living in pain. So what was the point of living at all?
One of the scabs on my arms oozed between my fingertips. I stopped the anxious rubbing and cursed.
Two knocks on the door. I sat straighter.
“Good day. Sorry to keep you waiting. How are you today?” The depth of his voice rang through the metal table.
“Fine.” The small talk ropes pulled my voice box. Get through the appointment. Get through the appointment.
Except Doctor Dottore wasn’t a fan of weather talk.
“Well, you wouldn’t be here if you were fine,” he deadpanned. For some medical staff, it could count for a joke. With Dottore, I was never sure. “Now, you know how I dislike pattering and conversation with no sustenance,” he went on as he took a seat. “I can’t help you when you do that. How are you? How is your pain?”
I shrugged, which upon doing the action I realized how childish that sort of response would look. The man made me feel as if I were a scarab. “It has been better but it has been worse.”
“I see. Your temperature has been stable the past week.” He flipped a page in his journal. “But it seems your food intake has gone down. Any reason for that?”
“I haven’t really thought about it.” Every day felt like slogging through the mud. How was I supposed to count every crumb? “I guess I just feel full faster.”
His pen clunked. “Any stomach pains? Bloating? Constipation?”
“No.” I shook my head.
“Have you had anxious thoughts? Getting along with everyone at home?”
My eyes jumped to his for the first time. They held not a hint of mirth. “I mean, I get along just fine. I’m sure you see me around.”
“I do.” He pointed his pen my way. “But I’m asking you.”
“I do get along with everyone.” My feet swung and tapped the table. Showing any sort of mental breakdown could result in an even busier day or worse, therapy. No, they didn’t put one in solitary confinement unless there was harm to another person. But they’d certainly be keeping a greater eye out. And I liked taking a shit in private. “I’m just more tired than usual.”
“Are the pains keeping you up at night?”
I took a deep breath. “A bit. Sometimes.” There was no use lying about it, he’d probably see the scabs, anyway.
“Hm. And you were practically scab free one week ago.” His eyes scanned the notes in his lap during an uncomfortable lingering silence.
Doctor Dottore did not care for decorum. He would ramble or stay silent for as exactly long as he needed. While the rambling was much to keep up with, at least I could pick out a few words rather than having to pick his brain.
He stood and straightened the cuffs on his lab coat. “Hold out your arms, please.”
I did so, and the scabs shined and cooled in the air.
“You must stop picking them,” he muttered as he held one arm in his grasp and had me do a few hand exercises. His hands were fucking freezing. He struck my elbow with his irritating hammer.
I jumped.
“Your face contorted in pain just now,” he commented, feeling and pressing and squeezing my muscles and joints. “Noticeable inflammation. Do you feel this?”
He lightly tapped each of my fingers. I nodded each time. He repeated doing so up and down both arms.
“How about your legs?” He struck my knees one at a time, causing each to kick forward. “Any cysts?”
“Just a scab behind my knee.” I pointed. “It kinda numbs the leg at night.”
He lifted my calf and studied the scab. “Have you had them on your leg before?”
“Rarely. They usually heal up quickly.”
“Fascinating.”
Fascinating?
“When do you usually break out on your legs?”
“My, uh, my period.” He was a doctor so discussing such anatomical diversities was normal, but with him holding my leg in the air, I didn’t really know whether to laugh or feel gross.
“Perhaps hormones play a role in your stability.” He continued analyzing the scab a moment before setting my leg down. “Do you mind if I take a closer look?”
I consented. He pulled on a pair of gloves and knelt. His head leaned mere inches from the table. Had his hair always been so blue? Maybe the man was greying after spending time in the desert.
He pulled out a stirrup. I put my foot in and let him pull and tug around the scab. His fingers were merciless yet gentle enough not to break the skin. Why would he check the leg scab first? When there were enough arm ones to frighten a military?
“I won’t remove it since it should heal as your cycle moves forward, but if you have any trouble with it, come back to the office.”
He helped me settle my leg back down and immediately dabbed my arm with wipes. It stung a slight bit, but it wasn’t unwelcome. Kind of like scratching a place I couldn’t reach.
“Your shoulders are extremely tense.” He squeezed one to prove the point. “You know this doesn’t help your condition.”
“Probably just the stress,” I mumbled. “Just a little more than usual. It happens.”
For the first time, a look of concern robbed his brows. Or maybe it was irritation at hindering his research on the disease. Mental health was not as easy to control as inflammation or diet. And when inflammation was caused by mental health, it created more layers. I was frustrated with it at least.
“Stress often doesn’t just happen.” He sighed and let go of my shoulder. “Have you tried your meditation techniques? Stretches? Walks?”
He went on with the interrogation. I answered each truthfully. Despite the pain, I went through most days doing my duties. What else could I do?
“Maybe it’s time you spent on something…more leisurely, like a hobby.” He crossed his arms. “You do have those, don’t you?”
When was I going to have time to figure out my fucking hobbies? “I enjoy reading.”
“Well, we’ve plenty of books. Do you need more?”
“Maybe.” I didn’t know. I just wanted the pain to stop.
“I will order you some more.” He reached into one of the cabinets. “For now, I suggest you massage your shoulders nightly to loosen those muscles. You might try it on your leg as well if it is disrupting your sleep.”
How would I massage myself if I couldn’t even use my hands most days? Laughable.
Buzzing. Whatever mechanism Dottore held whirred to life. He held what seemed to be a handle and pointed the flat end towards me.
“Use this so that you do not tire your hands. Though I suggest having a friend help."
As he set the device in my hand, the skin on my palms tingled. I stared blankly at him. Was I supposed to just put it on my shoulder? I awkwardly set it against my shoulder. My skull reverberated. I quickly dropped the thing, causing it to clatter to the floor and shake violently.
The doctor tsked and knelt to pick it up. Though his brows furrowed, he held the glint of a smile, almost a fondness for whatever the thing was. “This must be the first time you’ve ever encountered such a contraption. The medical community has been using such devices for generations now, though their origins are…a tad deviant.”
I had no desire to place anything deviant upon my body. While many patients had it worse being subject to the Good Doctor, I remained satisfied with flying just under his radar.
“Nothing that will harm, I assure you.” He clicked one of the buttons. The massager slowed. “Allow me to show you.”
He placed it against my shoulder and applied a small amount of weight. The muscle ached but in such a way that it loosened. I leaned my neck to the side and closed my eyes with a sigh.
“That good?” Dottore questioned.
“Yes,” I breathed.
He moved to the other shoulder. Before long we tested it directly on the scabs, but the vibrations only caused pain. The surrounding muscles carried the most pain relief. Not that it took away the pain, but anything was better than nothing.
I stretched my arms out as he moved on to do my calf. Everything felt light. He lifted my leg and let the vibrations take over. A groan slipped from my lips. I quickly apologized.
“No need.” Dottore stood and mechanically worked on my thigh. “Such things are also part of my job as a doctor. I’ve seen and heard it all.”
My eardrums rang. The core of my stomach turned inside out and settled hot in my abdomen. The movements shook the entirety of my thigh…I clenched my jaw to bear with the straight fire that coursed through my groin and averted my gaze.
“Is this painful,” he asked. He pulled it off the leg a tad.
“Nope,” I quickly barked. “Just fine.”
Gods, my cheeks boiled.
He cocked a brow. “Hm. I see.”
He continued his assault. I did my best to remain calm.
“Did you know.” He moved the massager higher up my inner thigh. “That vibrators were invented by doctors to treat female hysteria?”
I lightly shook my head, but the doctor seemed so lost in his own mind anyway. His free hand gestured wildly as he spewed names and dates I could not recognize.
“Physicians would often administer pelvic massages involving clitoral stimulation. Studies show that staff never considered it something erotic. At the time, only penetrative copulation was seen as the way to provide sexual arousal. Spas all across the world began adapting the vibrator into their treatments. Water therapy was also used but was hardly as efficient. Patients would flush and grow hot, so why wouldn’t they think that perhaps one were sweating off a fever? Of course, now we know about clitoral orgasms.”
The vibrator hovered over the exact area he spoke of. I held my breath.
“Which,” he continued. “If you were to use the device for such actions, it would most likely greatly impact your mental health, and no one here would reprimand you for it.”
I exhaled shakily. How long had it been since I’d touched myself? Occasionally I’d attempt, but sharp pains would stab throughout my fingers and joints as if a fork were dragged across every nerve.
I would definitely use this in the privacy of my own room, I decided.
“I don’t suggest holding it for too long.” He applied the barest amount of pressure. “Though theses were created to rest the exhausted hands of doctors, I am afraid if you grip something too long in your condition, the repetitive motion might trigger more pain.”
While I wasn’t born yesterday, the stoic calmness that Dottore’s demeanor held starkly contrasted with the teasing push of his hands. Was he waiting for me to make the next move? The doctor never cared before for ethics, so why did he pause just before administrating the rest?
His knuckles brushed my inner thigh as he repositioned. Every muscle I’d tensed fell to pieces; my thighs quivered. “I’d never known that history. But it makes sense. I suppose there’s multiple…uses for these.”
“Indeed.” Another press. “Would you like for me to continue helping you figure them out?”
While not touching the skin directly, the vibrations settled over my clothes and guided the seam against my slit. It stung. It burned. It throbbed. I needed more.
I guided my hand around the doctor’s and pressed the vibrator flush with my cunt.
That was all he needed to flash a pearly white fang and a low chuckle. “This is also my duty as a doctor, so I do not mind. Tell me if you experience any pain or release of pain or anything out of the ordinary.”
I shrieked. Whatever setting the man had turned it to whizzed and rang around the room and doubled my entire body over. My forehead crashed into the doctor, and the flood of fire that shot through my vulva multiplied as he kept the head firmly pressed. It engulfed and seized the entire lower half of my body with pulses that squeezed the life out of my clit.
I came? I came. That was an orgasm. My hands trembled and held onto his collar. My head felt as if I had drank three glasses of wine one after the other.
Another round of fire bubbled within my nerves.
I gripped his shoulders. “Do..doctor please, fuck, gods, I can’t, it’s a lot, shit.”
His lips calmly shushed me. “Good girl. Thank you for telling me how you feel. But I believe you can do more, yes?”
Could I?
“Okay,” I whined. My head thudded against his chest. Hot tears threatened the corners of my eyes.
“How is this?”
The buzzing grew louder.
I screamed.
The screaming did not stop until my second high settled into a wet throb. I sobbed into his coat as snot dribbled down my chin. He lowered the vibrations. The change of speed made my legs kick forward, and they clutched around his waist instinctively. The action pressed him and the device harder into me. I groaned and bit the lapel of his coat as I grinded. I needed more I didn’t need more I needed it I needed it
“How is your pain,” Dottore asked in a whisper that lingered in my ear.
Pain?
Oh.
For a few seconds, I’d completely forgotten.
The pull of Dottore’s lips that morphed to a grin heated against my earlobe. “It seems the experiment was a success. Please, do use the treatment wisely. If it is ever too strenuous on you, come see me, and I will treat you very well.”
Hello everyone!!! Tomorrow is February 1st, which means that it’s time for my second annual Valendrabbles prompts!!! Feel free to write for one, or two, or every day if you’d like! Tag them with “Valendrabbles 2026” so that I can see all of them please <3
Finally posted the first chapter of my @aftgbigbang piece Without You, Without Them!! Thank you to @wyverningx for being a wonderful beta/friend and Nethmi for the most amazing art <3
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
So excited to share my piece for the @equinox-zine !! This was so much fun to write, and such a beautiful, collaborative experience with @pixiishi my darling friend. Please check out their art along with the fic <3
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
