The bat-man.
The very name made Johnathan Crane twitch, even though he wasn't even in Gotham. The roads were dusty, dingy. Difficult. But he'd personally requested to assess the Slayers, and Castle, upon hearing he was one of the brightest minds in Arkham, readily agreed.
'So long as none of my beauties go missing, huh?'
And of course, Crane had promised. Crane was a man of his word. None of them would go missing, because Crane had no intention. He had his eye on one Slayer and one Slayer only.
It was long and arduous and by the time he arrived at the prison compound he could already feel the headache spreading from his temples all the way to the bridge of his nose. The other interviews didn't help, either--clinically diagnosing those he already knew to be insane.
But, finally, the room was empty and Crane was left with just his paperwork and his headache.
"Dr. Crane?"
He looked up, brows raised.
"Kable is outside."
"Good. Send him in."
The very name made Johnathan Crane twitch, even though he wasn't even in Gotham. The roads were dusty, dingy. Difficult. But he'd personally requested to assess the Slayers, and Castle, upon hearing he was one of the brightest minds in Arkham, readily agreed.
'So long as none of my beauties go missing, huh?'
And of course, Crane had promised. Crane was a man of his word. None of them would go missing, because Crane had no intention. He had his eye on one Slayer and one Slayer only.
It was long and arduous and by the time he arrived at the prison compound he could already feel the headache spreading from his temples all the way to the bridge of his nose. The other interviews didn't help, either--clinically diagnosing those he already knew to be insane.
But, finally, the room was empty and Crane was left with just his paperwork and his headache.
"Dr. Crane?"
He looked up, brows raised.
"Kable is outside."
"Good. Send him in."
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He waited for the familiar sensation of drug induced lethargy or light headedness. When neither came, he assumed that he hadn't been dosed properly. He was mentally celebrating the thought when he realized something was off about the room. Where uniform gray concrete had been, there was now uneven reddish rock. His eyes flicked back and forth as he searched for an exit that was nonexistent. All that remained of the interrogation room was the one-way mirror. He released his held breath and sucked a fresh one in through his teeth.
Boo.
Tillman jerked back in his seat. He could not remember the mild mannered doctor that had been sitting across from him for the last fifteen minutes. His mind was locked on the thing in front of him. It was grotesque, wicked, impossible to exist in the real world. He knew it was not real, but the rush of blood in his ears drowned out logical thought.
Having trained for the better part of twenty years to defend himself, Tillman's instinct was to get his hands up. The monster in front of him was shaped vaguely like a man and he knew that if he hit something in the face enough and it would stop moving. Try as he might, he couldn't move his arms. The force holding him back was impossibly strong and he could feel little needle-like teeth tearing into his wrists with every violent, resistant jerk.
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The gas subsided--for the room, of course. Crane bit a full lip, hinging on everything Tillman said, every reaction, taking it in with an alarming amount of excitement. His heart was racing and he could feel his palms grow sweaty with anticipation, watching the other squirm as he looked at what must have been a twisted visage.
He was reacting curiously to it, however--resisting it. Tillman was somehow trained to resist this stuff. Crane's mind briefly flashed to the days in school and there was a split-second feeling of dread, of Tillman snapping the handcuffs and his fist connecting with Crane's face, a very familiar scenario from a very long time ago, and yet--
No. There we go. The handcuffs. Those beautiful pieces of metal around such a beautiful man's wrists. The monster was chained, leaving Crane to react accordingly.
He took the mask off and shut his suitcase, immediately pounding on the glass, looking urgent. Worried. Alarmed, even.
"This man is clearly suffering from psychosis. I'm postponing everything--he's to come to Arkham Asylum. Immediately, so I can better treat him."
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It wasn't until they had him completely pinned to the floor that he stopped fighting, and then he just screamed. The sound was raw and wordless like a child in the throes of a night terror.
Tillman woke up with the worst hangover he had ever had. His mouth was completely dry. He eased a hand up to his eyes and groaned. This caused his throat to ache.
Slowly, he expanded his awareness to encompass more than just himself. The room was small, plain, dark, and not unlike his cell at the prison. He knew it wasn't his cell simply because he had spent hours pacing it and staring at every crack and imperfection. He was somewhere new. He just couldn't figure out why.
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He was silhouette then, darkened, but with a slight incline of his head his glasses reflected the light as he stared at the very awake, very disoriented Tillman.
"Stay outside. I'm going in."
"Doctor Crane--wouldn't a interview room be better?"
One look said it all, and the door swung open, Crane heading in to the cell with his new prize. Kable.
"I trust you're upset with me."
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He took in the sight of Doctor Crane and his mouth twitched into a frown. He could clearly remember the initial exchange, the interview, but then it all got fuzzy. His stomach clenched as he remembered flitting images. It must have been a dream.
Tillman made no move to rise further. He could have, at this point, and as Crane had pointed out in their previous conversation, Tillman could snap his neck without any effort at all. He didn't, simply because he wanted to go home more than anything, and assault would nullify his chances of that.
"I'd like an explanation," he croaked. His voice surprised him, scarcely more than a dry whisper even though he had intended to speak at a normal volume. It had happened to him once before, but he could clearly remember screaming then. It wasn't all a dream, then.
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"You're in Arkham Asylum, I was able to transfer you after my toxin worked. If I had warned you, your brain would have fought the drugs on a subconscious level, which means the guards and Castle wouldn't have released you into my care." His smile was thin and disingenuous, but he crossed his arms, regarding the other.
"Your wife and daughter are being relocated to Gotham as we speak. Once I know I can trust you, you'll be released with my personal recommendation of your mental status and a ticket out of here. No more game sessions required."
A beat.
"The thing is, Mr. Tillman, is that I have a job for you."
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A gun in his face would have been easy to handle. A knife in the ribs was inconsequential. Tillman had once grinned around the barrel of a submachine gun. Thugs did not have the finesse to rattle him. A brain, however, knew exactly where to apply pressure to get him to beg on command.
Castle seemed infinitely wealthy and well connected. He had been impossible for Tillman to fight. Somehow this doctor had transferred him out of a maximum security prison with little effort. Apparently, Castle wasn't the only one with connections.
Tillman pulled himself into a sitting position and folded his hands in his lap.
"If any harm comes to them, I will tear you into tiny pieces," he growled with conviction. He watched Crane in the dim light for a moment before continuing. "Tell me about the job."
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Yes, Kable could cut him into pieces. But not here. Not when Crane was capable of harnessing the other's very psyche, rendering him useless. Alone. No one would believe him. Not in Arkham.
"You keep thinking I'm against you. I'm with you. It just so happens I need your help and from what I've watched on Slayers, you're the only one that can do it. How much have you heard of Gotham, Mr. Tillman?"
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"Not much. Smuggling ring got caught there... must have been nine years ago," he stated. While he wasn't one for adding irrelevant details, he wanted Crane to be clear on just how much 'not much' implied without a lot of questions or dancing around the subject.
He began the process of assessing his physical state and cataloging injuries while he waited.
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His shoes made an audible noise on the metallic, grate-like floor of the cell as he paused to put his thoughts into words.
"You're the top-most ranked Slayer in the entire game. The one who's lasted the longest. You're most likely a soldier of some sorts. Veteran perhaps. And that's the exact expertise I'm looking for. I need your help, Mr. Tillman. There's someone out there calling himself... Batman. He and I aren't quite on the same terms. So."
He finally stops pacing, looking straight at Tillman. Staring at him.
"I helped you out and I... Need help in return."
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"You want me to kill the bat man," Tillman stated as he palpated the injuries on his wrists through their bandaging.
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"No. If you kill him, then that leaves a number of people to both become Batman in his wake, and go after the both of us due to vengeance." Namely, he wasn't stupid enough to kill the Batman simply because Joker would dive in in one fell swoop.
He brought his hands down, adjusting his tie and raising an eyebrow at Tillman.
"You'll find I'm not quite the upper-class, high-end person you might perceive me to be. I simply make an alternate means of income, and I wish to protect that. You, of all people, should know what it means to protect something."
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His eyes had never left Crane, but as his analysis came to a close and he rested his hands on his thighs once more, he began to really look at the doctor. There was the slightest touch of a frown at his lips and crease to his brow. It wasn't disapproving, per se, but cold and hard nonetheless. He searched for motive in Crane's movements, signs of nervousness or dishonesty. Headshrinks, in his experience, had marvelous poker faces and the shrouding shadows were not in his favor.
"I'm sure it's exactly the same," he responded belatedly, a bit of edge to his voice. If this had been a mission briefing in the army, this meeting would have already offered up useful information instead of nonsense about bat men and vague insinuations. He didn't mention it, however, intent on using the time to analyze Crane more.
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"I think you'll find psychoanalyzing one of Arkham's finest psychiatrists is a bit of a waste of your time. Now, moving on. As I've stated previously, your wife and child are on their way to Gotham. But I need your word you'll give me a hand. I'm not the bad guy here. Castle is. It just so happened this was mutually beneficial."
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"You have my word," Tillman agreed readily. "Whatever you need." It was not unlike enlisting or signing on to Slayers. The only difference here was that he didn't have the foggiest idea of what he was being asked to do. It didn't really matter, though. His prize was the same.
"When can I see them?"
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Crane's demeanor shifted almost immediately--it was edging towards the same face he'd used with the mask, the light, contained emotion that was just shy of breaking through an incredible poker face.
"The moment they're here and safe I'll take you to them personally," he promised. "The time not spent with me--when I'm here, for instance--can be spent with them, or sleeping. That would be my recommendation. Now. If there are no questions, I should be getting back to your paperwork. Proving your mania isn't going to be a problem but it still requires a full report."
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"And that," he licked his lips before continuing. "Whatever you dosed me with. You're not going to do it again, are you?"
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"You're going to make sure I don't die, no matter my location. It's quite simple. Even a soldier like you should understand it." The corner of his lips moved, too--a light quirk--and he cleared his throat.
"I'm not your enemy, Mr. Tillman. It took me a great deal of effort to handle Richard Castle. I tend not to exhaust my resources unless I have the utmost faith in someone and you.. 'Kable.' You can handle a simple bodyguard job, can't you?
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"It's just Tillman," he said softly as the door creaked open.
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Taking a step forward, Crane extended a hand to shake.
"I'm looking forward to working with you."
I'm looking forward to figuring out what you fear most. What makes you tick. What makes those blue eyes widen in terror.
Crane nodded to himself. "I imagine this will be much easier than the Slayers regime."
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Crane's hand was soft and just a little cold. Tillman released him and lay back to stare at the ceiling once more. "See you later, Doc," was all he said.
The door clicked shut, the harsh heavy sound of metal on metal temporarily shattering the silence. Tillman closed his eyes and listened but after the walls absorbed the resounding clatter, there was nothing but silence. No footsteps in the halls, no murmur of guards, no screaming prisoners talking through the walls. It might have been relaxing if it weren't for the knowledge that he was in an asylum. He hadn't taken an insanity plea for a reason and yet here he was. Two years into a sentence, half a year away from freedom, and here he was at square one in a dank, shadowy little cell.
Tillman traced the letters of his tattoo without looking at it. Just a little bit longer.