Chapter Text
“Bruce?” A soft, manly voice called Bruce Wayne when he was exiting the hotel. Draped over his left arm was Barbara, a Russian model he had just met, and on his other arm was Stacy, another model from Arizona.
Bruce turned around, excitement suddenly filling his veins, remembering that voice perfectly.
“Jonathan?” Wayne did not know how to react at that moment. His childhood friend was standing in front of him in the entryway of the hotel. His beautiful features were just as perfect as he remembered. Perhaps even more than the last time he had seen Jonathan seven years ago.
The two models went to the car a few feet away, waiting for the interaction to finish, while Bruce was just standing there, baffled to see the other man.
“I heard you had returned from your seven-year trip,” the man raised his eyebrow at the sight of the two pretty women that were accompanying Bruce. “What are you doing?”
Bruce had behaved like an idiot in the hotel he was exiting. He had been bathing in a little pool that was not meant for the clients to use, because it was for decoration. He later offered to buy the hotel and acted like an asshole in front of the other people who were with him.
“Nothing, just bathing for a bit,” said Wayne after a pause. His actions were suddenly too shameful for him to explain in detail to his friend.
“I see. Well, have a great time with your new friends,” the man turned to Bruce’s companions and smiled briefly at them. The two girls interpreted the fake grimace as a flirty gesture and laughed timidly. Jonathan Crane was a beautiful man and everyone with eyes could see that, so it had not been uncommon for him to leave people speechless with his little smirks. “See you around, Bruce Wayne.” Crane had used his sarcastic but rather polite tone, and Bruce knew then that the other man was not amused by the sight of him in the slightest.
“Wait,” Bruce reached for Crane’s arm just before he realised he was soaking wet and, he had stained the man’s suit with his large hand. “Oh, sorry. It’s just water,” Crane stood looking at the stain, visibly unbothered. “I just wanted to say that what you see now is… well… not who I am,” Bruce paused. “This is just the façade. Deep down I’m, well… your friend, you know?”
Crane pierced his eyes with an intensity Bruce had never seen before. He was hiding his emotions, but Bruce could not make out if they were of hatred, amusement or something entirely different.
“Mr. Wayne, I do not know what gave you the impression you had to somehow justify any of your actions to me. Your life is your own, and I do not intend to judge you in any way,” the sudden cold analytical tone shocked Bruce and he could not hide his expression.
Turning to the photos, Wayne saw, next to his younger self, a sad little pale boy. Crane was always lurking close to him, perhaps too afraid to wander around on his own, protected by Rachel, Bruce, and sometimes, gentle Alfred. Among the photos of the children, there were some drawings of the three of them. Rachel was clearly the brightest and the most talented of the three, so her drawings were the ones that bore more resemblance to reality. Bruce’s and Crane’s were a mess. They had been clearly having a good time, not caring if their drawings were good.
His remembering of the past had suddenly made him very tired, and he walked towards the bed he had long ago shared with a lanky little Crane on their fun sleepovers. His sleep was peaceful and plagued with memories he had long forgotten. Had Jonathan resented him after his parents prevented him from returning to the Wayne mansion? Had the boy endured more physical pain since their separation? Was he still in an abusive situation with his parents?
When he woke up in the afternoon, the young Wayne made up his mind. If Crane did not want to speak to him, Bruce would contact Rachel and try to understand what had happened when he had been away from Gotham. His duties as the Batman had taken him to interact with the woman previously, but she had not recognised him. He missed her and had already planned on meeting her after his return.
Bruce phoned her and invited her over as soon as possible for tea.
“Good afternoon,” he heard Alfred opening the door. Bruce came down the stairs with a genuine smile plastered on his face. After some pleasantries, he invited the woman to the sitting room and poured two cups of tea. She was at first a bit shocked by his return, and answered all the questions Bruce asked her about her career and her new job as a lawyer. She was content to comply, but when the young woman tried to ask some questions to Bruce, he started giving insincere responses. The woman probably sensed Bruce was not up for divulging his secrets and refrained from interrogating him further.
At some point, when Rachel was beginning to excuse herself to go, Bruce came clear to her.
“So I wanted to speak with you to catch up for a bit, but there is something that I want to know your opinion of,” when the woman nodded a bit surprised, he continued. “Yesterday I had the pleasure of bumping into Jonathan. He seemed cold and distant. I’m afraid our mutual friend had a very complicated relationship with his family and he may be struggling even now. What do you know of Crane as of now?”
Even though Bruce had spoken in a calmed way, Rachel was visibly uncomfortable by the subject.
“Bruce, I’m so sorry. We never meant to tell you, but everyone knew Crane’s parents were assholes. I don’t know if you remembered, but they were incredibly strict and cold towards John,” she looked sad and she kept avoiding his gaze at all costs. “Everyone knew they were manipulative and, sometimes, even violent. I think in a sense they deserved what they got.”
The look on her face was enough for Bruce to start making up what had happened in his mind.
“What happened to them?” He asked, thinking they finally paid for what they had done in prison.
“After John became a psychiatrist and had more or less financial independence, he stopped seeing them and went to live in a rented flat. No one knows what happened exactly, but soon after he moved out, there was a fire in his childhood home and his mother died,” Rachel stopped, sitting down again, perhaps understanding the conversation was going to take longer. “His father was the first suspect of her death, and Jonathan testified that his father had several personality disorders that made him dangerous and which had led him to burn the house,” she sighed, pausing as if she was gaining strength. “His father was locked up in Arkham Asylum where he has been ever since.”
“Do you think his father’s violent tendencies really came from many untreated personality disorders?” Bruce started to consider if Crane had been lying for the purpose of locking his father away for ever.
“I don’t know. Well, I don’t think so, no,” she was visibly confused, raising her eyebrows and looking away. “What I think is that he testified against him for his personal vendetta. His father was violent, but he was also calculative and manipulative, not the type to burn his house for a mental breakdown. He never lost his nerve in such a way,” Rachel now held his gaze intently. “If John lied to lock his father away, it was probably for the best. In a way he never got over all the abuse that was inflicted on him.”
“You don’t blame him,” Wayne was not surprised.
“I don’t. But we’ve grown apart ever since. He's been working in Arkham and I suspect he has ties with big power brokers in the mafia,” she was now serious, all the love he had for Crane had clearly banished ever since.
“What? Why?”
“He’s been diagnosing Falcone’s pawns who had been arrested with several mental health issues, to treat them in Arkham. I suspect he is keeping them from going to prison. Sorry, this does not concern you, but things have changed since you were gone and sweet little John is long gone,” she made a move to stand up. “I suggest you do not contact him. He will think I sent you to spy on him or something.”
Following Rachel to the door, the young Wayne could not help but ask a few more questions. “Have you seen him recently?”
“Not much. I see him on trials sometimes, but we never even say hi to each other anymore,” she clearly was more tired than angry at the man.
“Will I see you again, Rachel?”
“I don’t know, I suppose so,” she nodded and with a brief promise to keep in contact with him and Alfred, the woman strolled down the mansion to her car.