Two Sides To Every Fear [Dent]

[Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow]

There was a heavy smoke that hung in the air of the Stacked Deck. The movement across Gotham to get rid of smoking in all places had begun but the bars were still able to hold onto it somehow. The second hand didn’t bother Dr. Crane much as he had breathed in much worse chemically at this point, but he didn’t prefer it. He sat in his usually spot at the back of the bar, in a booth set up just for him. The light was missing in the lam and it was darker in that part of the bar than the others. Dr. Crane preferred to be alone and they didn’t expect anyone to serve him anything anyway. Every now and then he’d ask for a glass of scotch but nothing more.

Dr. Crane was dressing better of late. He wore a tailored suit now, pristine from the cuffs of his sleeves down to his pants. It was apparent that he was living a higher style of life since he had begun working with Luthor. But he never paid much attention to what he was wearing, it didn’t really matter. However, he knew to do the job you had to look the part they wanted you to and if Lexcorp was as professional as it claimed he’d wear the part.

He waited at the table for someone he had already planned to meet. Earlier that week he’d had a message dropped off to the well-known crime lord. Their titles didn’t mean much to Dr. Crane, he was a tier lower than the professionals actually, his motives were driven by fear to a lesser purpose, wasting the time and resources he had to obtain useless paper and an illusion of control. But control is what brought him here. He had already established insurance with Luthor, but now he needed insurance elsewhere. Luthor had more to him than was apparent to the naked eye and Dr. Crane was going to make sure he was ready for the reveal of whatever was to come.

He had planned to meet with Two-Face, it wasn’t someone he associated with much outside of card games and circular banter between the underworld circles, but Dr. Crane was a silent man to begin with. He knew that the man would have flipped his coin and ultimately decided to come, asking a question that would lead to that end either way. His system of fair was a ridiculous notion, the only thing that drove the movement of everything he did was fear and fairness had nothing to do with the equation. Even the laws of physics and gravity which governed the weight of the coin on either side were moved by fear. It was all very simple to see, but he didn’t expect someone like Two-Face to be able to understand that.

So when he did finally make since entrance into the bar Dr. Crane barely looked up to acknowledge him, he waited for him to get up to the booth before he opened his palm toward the open seat in front of him for him to take a seat. “Mr. Dent…. He greeted with nothing else to follow, his name would suffice and Dr. Crane didn’t have much pleasant to say. It wasn’t a friendly encounter, it was a business encounter.

[Deleted]

The forecast said a large fog of nicotine with a few gushing winds. Two-face entered the Stacked Deck, alone. He didn’t care for bodyguards, unless he was going on a very special trip. Though he did have one of his men in a car waiting outside. He was a hacker and a trained sniper, an odd mix to say the least. He stole a glass of beer from a nearby table as he walked up the stairs. The ring of smoke came in and out. Greeting Dent as if he was an old friend, he took out a cigar to let the mist know that it wasn’t alone. He was come and suave as he walked toward the booth that he assumed Crane was at.

Crane was not that interesting. He was a man who hated people (like Dent). The ore Dent thought about Crane, the more he realized that Crane was just a skeleton. Physically, spiritually, and mentally morbid. He was a psychiatrist (a sure-fire deal breaker in any relationship and one that would guarantee a spot on Dent’s hit list). Had Crane not have a genius criminal intellect (that was often clumsy or gratuitous with the fear part) or a no nonsense attitude with dealing with other shithead criminals around town, then Dent would have declined this meeting. Well if the coin had not landed on heads he would have declined.

This man had been involved in plots and intricacies that bored Dent. Mainly because they were too layered. There was always a big show with spreading fear or making people afraid. He was too theatrical in his attempt…in fact he should take a lesson from Two-face. All Harvey had to do was walk into a public area and people would quiver and run or show extreme signs of hostility and aggression. There was no middle ground, no grey area. The extremes presented themselves and like Den’t coin, the extremes carried the most significant weight.

Crane quietly said Dent’s name as he sat down into the booth. Dent stared him in the eyes and gave him a dark smile. One that the joker had shown him many times. But if Crane was the Joker, he’d have three bullets and his arms amputated. Again the extremes were always indulged. This night would prove no exception to that mantra. “Dr. Crane, or do you prefer Jonathan. Though that would  make me sound like your mother. And I’m not up for changing diapers or baking pies. But I’m sure in a past life or nightmare that was a fact.” Dent spoke in a fast but conducted manner he contained his dark laughter by making it a bit airer. Nothing too heavy, not yet.

Dent snapped his fingers and flipped his coin. Heads: He order a drink, Tails: He order a steak. The coin landed on tails as he flipped it over. A waiter didn’t come by until Dent yelled, “ Hey Asshole get over here!!". He had seen a young man who was clearly inexperienced when he walked the staircase. The man had forgotten orders and had been panicked the entire night worried he would get fired: The hives were the key. After a minute and a half, and three seconds of Harvey’s foot tapping, the young waiter came over. Dent ordered a rib eye, medium rare with a side order of popcorn shrimp.” The waiter wrote the order down four times to make sure he didn’t forget after he Harvey’s eyes narrowed at his insolence.

The matter to the true purpose of the meaning had yet to be revealed. Harvey liked small talk while Two-face preferred a fist fight or some kind of explosion. Harvey asked politely but with a precedence to find out Crane’s true purpose (good old Prosecuting 101), “So why am I sitting at this table, pal.”

[Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow]

Dr. Crane looked up when the light from the rest of the bar was shadowed. It made the space which he had already darkened even darker as the man he’d been waiting for blocked the excess light coming to the booth. A thick cloud of smoke followed him from coming in, but he had also began to make one of his own. Mr. Dent didn’t seem to find anything wrong with smoking; because of this alone the doctor knew he would always physically beat him, even if they differed greatly in muscle size. He knew it was an easy possibility that Dent could rip him out of his seat and hold him into the air as if it was nothing but the difference would come when he couldn’t catch him to do it. It was a flaw and one that would make itself known to Dent eventually.

The smell from the cloud of smoke had seated into his attire, far too well dressed for a place like this but Mr. Dent was a business man. Dr. Crane had one of his patched suits on as usual, nothing too sharp or expensive. It was a waste of resource, a waste of money. The funds could be put toward better use in his chemicals or equipment. The market wasn’t very high for the other things he needed to extend his research and supplies were always scarce. A mans appearance mattered little compared to what a man chose to do with that appearance. If it was to please, it would never happen, there is only one reaction possible….

Dr. Crane didn’t greet him when he came up and sat down, instead he simply stared at him and let the man speak. From his perifereal he saw him flip the coin. It would land and his choices would be made for him. It was all clearly psychological the man was terrified of choice so he attempted to take the fear away from him, but it was only a cover for what was so plain to see. Every action he did was determined by this factor.

The doctor stared blankly at him, not moving or conforming to the attempt to rouse him with talking about his mother. His mother never made anything for him. The only thing she ever did for him was plant him into the home which would become his hell. She couldn’t even stay and watch him die in the tomb she’d laid him in. Those were facts. When Mr. Dent decided to pause finally he took the time to answer. The man talked too much already and men who talked too much only proved they had nothing important to say. “ The reason you’re here is because fear drove you to be here. He answered plainly as if it was easy to see. His fingers tapped around the glass of scotch that had began to sweat in his hand from remaining almost untouched.

“But I do have something for you that you might be interested in. I have acquired some new funding and I want to purchase insurance… He remained cryptic in his words and he let his fingers come off the glass. He bent his elbow onto the table and turned his fingers upward as if trying to grasp what he was saying, himself. “ Two other factors…Being Miss Ivy and Miss Kyle… He said the last name with a bit of a bad taste in his mouth.

It was no secret among the underworld that Miss Kyle enjoyed running the fence. She always played with both sides and although he’d never accepted it himself he was willing to let her play as long as she didn’t get in his way. Though lately, through whispers he’d heard she’d jumped the fence in the wrong direction and if that was the case the professionals would surely call her out as much as any vigilante. Miss Ivy was another matter entirely, unfinished business and a piece of property that she had stolen from him. It was personal however and he didn’t need Two face to be apart of it, he just needed him to be aware of it.

[Deleted]

Crane had been a peculiar, interesting creature. He was the accuser and the accused most of the time. The jury couldn’t convict him because of his adaptable power. This mystique made him feared and hated. He spoke little, asked for little, lived off of little. In fact he didn’t have any needs, he simply breathed and acted as fear incarnated. Fear is good and bad. Harvey would use it, wield it, let it take over. Two-face used it to inspire production and action. He couldn’t say who was better at using it. But he had developed a sense of respect for the man in front of him, dressed in a suit looking rather uncomfortable. Would he prefer to be naked? The thought is entertaining as it is curious. Harvey’s never been one to experiment, at least not with men. But if fate needed him to, he would.

Like heads and tails the names of Pamela and Selina bring opposite reactions. But this cannot be seen on the surface, except for a possible centimeter change in his left eyebrow curling slightly inward. He didn’t tighten his fists but the name Pamela would always be damned. She had put him through hell, but beneath the surface (in hindsight) he was okay with the fact that it taught him the lesson that people are tools. To be tortured, fucked, shot, beaten, raped, etc. They were a means to an end. They were all expendable. Even Dr. Crane had his uses. But as his food arrives (a medium rare steak with some mashed potatoes), Dent back in his creaky chair, observing Crane like a hawk interested in a catch.

Selina Kyle had been the only thing close to a friend. But even the idea of having someone to trust bored him. He couldn’t form emotional bonds with anyone. He hated people as much as he pretended to be satisfied with them (only with certain ones so to speak). “I’m listening” spoke Dent in a low hum as he began cutting into his steak and chewing with a crunch.

[Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow]

Dr. Crane didn’t expect someone like Dent to get the importance of what he was reeling him into, but that was exactly why he was sitting here in front of half of the man he once was. He imagined Dent would think exactly as he expected for a man ruled by the fear of choice. He would flip and it would determine how far this would go, but it didn’t matter whether it went in his favor or not, the pull by what he was going to say was going to get his attention. All he needed to do was make Dent aware, even if he was unwilling to cooperate.

The doctor never made a habit out of relying on others. Men like Dent surrounded himself with lackeys and armed guards, disposable men to protect himself. Although bodies came in handy for experiments he would never place his trust in someone to do a job he could do himself. There was never a need to place faith in something so incapable of completing the simplest task and the men that followed these mob lords around where not the brightest. On the small occasions that he did use them he never kept them, and they were either used or disposed of before he was done. Dr. Crane didn’t need anyone’s help, and he didn’t need Mr. Dent’s either….This was an opportunity for both of them.

He watched the way he looked at him, with the lifeless stare in return that was frigid and cold like ice. They had a small history together, nothing close to a partnership, not that he was in the habit of making those to begin with. Dent was a man that impressed him physically by the trauma he endured, only driven by the fear to survive. His fear of choice came after, never knowing which was going to bring him to the next part of losing himself. Dr. Crane noted that his stare was predatory, he had dealt with mob bosses before, though The Penguin wasn’t in the habit of looking at him at all, not that his eyes could even reach his height. The thought made his back ache, and he shifted in his chair. He felt the skin that was littered with scars move with him, like a sheet over his bones. Very few in the underworld had seen him without a shirt, and few still had asked him about it….He wanted it to stay that way. They both had their visible abnormalities…But he wasn’t in the mood to compare right now.

He watched him dig into his food as his stomach turned. There wasn’t any possibility that he would be drinking anymore this evening after that. From the outside Dr. Crane looked like an incredibly malnourished man, skin and bone. It was easy to tell were his defining features were on his face but everything was about the eyes. Tonight the glacial stare that he had haunted others with before now haunted the man in front of him. He heard the he was listening, but the fact remained as to whether he really was or not. He knew that rumors were not just flying around about Miss Ivy and Miss Kyle, there were several others and he was among them. After what happened that night with Nigma is seemed like it was a wildfire he couldn’t stop from spreading, it was only a matter of time before the man in front of him used it against him. That’s all those things could ever lead to, as was much in his case with Miss Ivy.

He leaned forward again to make it clear that he was serious and this wasn’t a casual dinner conversation. “You and Miss Ivy have a history I’m told, however brief. I know that there are those in the underworld that don’t react well to change….and she has certainly made herself welcome. A bit too much of a false comfort.” He mentioned casually with an undertone that he was willing to do something about that. There was no doubt from his previous reaction of her name that it would get his attention. The doctor noticed the pull in his brows, the subtle twitch in his lips, that’s what he did….he read people and knew their minds. As they sat across from each other he was silently diagnosing every blink, every chew, and every twitch the man was willing to give.

His fingers went back to his glass and tapped it idly as he ate, wanting to move on to more important matters. He offered Ivy as something he’d be willing to take care of, it was collateral to his insurance, but of course he was always going to want more. Men like him always wanted more and they turned that want into need until it fed off of them like a parasite, but he wouldn’t have wasted his time if he didn’t know Mr. Dent was capable. “ Miss Kyle, whom has had her problems with Gotham’s false society…Has taken quite a turn from her run on the fence.” He mentioned carefully and lifted his hand from the glass to further explain with the slight movement of his hand. “Particularly the fact that she has been collaborating closely with this Luthor that has shown up in Gotham as well.” He spoke the name with a certain foulness in his mouth. He had little choice of what to do when he was approached by the man with an offer, but he was smart enough to know that deals that sweet didn’t come without their price. He also knew that to a man like Luthor he was disposable, however invaluable he was. There was more to the man than what he claimed. “ have stepped into his service, however long that may take before he makes his first mistake, I want an assured way out of it.” He made the offer and set his h