The Skin That Crawls From You [A Jonathan Crane Fan-fiction]

"Time To Play."

I'm in the basement of the asylum, gun shots and screams surrounding me. I'm shaking, but he is here. He's laying against a wall, sleep in his eyes, a smirk crawling through his lips. I notice we're tucked under the stairs again.

I go to hold his hand, to squeeze it, but the second I rest my hand on his; it turns to maggots. Creeping, pulsing, spindly maggots. I scream and pull my hand away, but as I look at his face; all I can see is the mask.

"Crane,"
I hear myself say; before grasping the burlap of the mask, trying to yank it off his head. It doesn't budge. His eyes stare into me, expressionless, and he laughs. A sick and chilling laugh.

Until I wake up.

The asylum is silent, dead silent, and I'm alone. The door to my cell is wide open, with only my restraints holding me back. I want to get up and look for him; i know Crane is here. But i can't. Even if I weren't strapped down, I wouldn't be able to stand. My head aches, a scalding screeching ache; worse than I've ever felt. My entire being is exhausted. I'm done.

"Raven-"
A familiar voice calls . I will my eyes to open but can only see the ceiling panels above me.

"Fuck what did they do to you,"
The voice mumbles.

I try to sit up, but this sleepiness is too heavy to be natural. The anesthesia hasn't worn off; i make a slight moan and attempt to turn my head, but my body barely listens. It's as if I'm trying to move through a thick syrup, it's weight upon my every bone. My eyes close without me asking them too.

I hear the snap of a buckle and warm hands grasp the sides of my face.

"Raven,"
The voice demands.

My eyes barely open, blurry under a deep haze. The yellow fluorescent lights flicker over head; but through the stinging gleam; i swear i see him. My eyes ooze shut once more and I feel myself drifting away.

"Fuck. Look at me."
It sounds like Crane.

I want too, but I can't.

More clanks and clicks ring into the room as the restraints loosen upon my limbs. Suddenly I feel him take my hand and his shoulder presses into my midsection. Cool air swirls around my limp body and I'm hoisted off the bed; onto something warm. Blood begins rushing to my head. I will my eyes open painfully. Below me, the tile ground flies by; I'm swung over his shoulder.

He's carrying me through Arkham.

Where are the guards?
The nurses?
This can't be real.

I reach down and touch the hem of his suit jacket, just to feel it. To feel anything. It's slightly frayed; a hint of blue discoloration fading the grey fabric. It's soft.

"What- what are you doing?"
He asks, I feel the vibrato of his voice through my body as I'm pushed against him.

We enter the elevator.

"Wheres your straight jacket?"
I half moan, my vocal chords feel useless. 

The guards had said he was put in a straight jacket.

I feel him chuckle as the elevator doors close. He bends over and gently sets me down, my back propped against the wall. As he kneels down, he looks into my eyes; and licks his lips. A piece of jet black hair falls down his forehead.

"I'm sorry about this,"
He says. Before unloading another sharp needle into my neck. The room swirls away and I reach for him; he grabs my hand and his brows furrow in some form of empathy. Then it all goes back to black.