He Who Laughs Last

Ch 6: The Good Doctor

Bruce stood in front of the office building, staring up at the many floors rented out to various businesses. He stared at the many floors, as he often did, idly trying to figure out which office was his psychiatrist's. He always felt a little apprehension every time he went in there, as if he was stepping into a wild beast's lair, though he knew his therapist was only looking out for him. The man had once told him that Bruce was his favorite project, an endeavor that he always looked forward to undertaking. As Bruce stood there, the midday throng flowed around him, too caught up in their own lives to notice the man standing in the middle of the sidewalk. One man was especially heedless, and plowed right through the mass of people, slamming into Bruce and sending them both sprawling. Bruce stood up, shamefacedly, and apologized profusely, his attempts to help the now sour man to his feet brushed off. The man stalked off at the same furious pace and Bruce felt his face burn. Briskly, he headed into the office, feeling again like he was walking into the cave of some monster.
The elevator dinged, and the receptionist looked up. A rather haggard man slunk out of it, looking for all the world like he wanted to sink into the floor. Her face brightened as she recognized a regular. "Mr. Wayne! I wasn't expecting you today, are you here to see Dr. Crane?" Bruce looked up, gave a smile that he knew showed its own falsehood, and cursed himself, realizing he hadn't shaved. He was sure the five o'clock shadow paired very nicely with the dark circles that hung under the hollow eyes that had stared back at him from the reflective doors of the elevator. "Hi, Misty. Yeah, I felt like I should see him. Is he available?" "He's with someone right now, but he'll be done with them in twenty minutes! A patient canceled for the next slot, so he should be able to meet with you then!" Misty was a very bubbly girl, a college intern working under Jonathan Crane for some extra credit. She should have chosen a different person to study under. Everything about the doctor gave her the willies, from his silent stride to his predatory smile, to his all too bony frame. Heck, even his thin, curly hair, pitch black and pressed close against his skull, gave her the creeps. He was very good at what he did, though, just talking to him made that clear. His eyes studied you, your every little movement, your posture, everything was taken into account. He listened to more than just your words, but your tone, your inflections, the very way you breathed. His thin, almost rat-like face betrayed no emotion other than a false friendliness that would fool anyone who didn't know psychology. So yes, he scared her. But he was very good at what he did.
Bruce smiled again at Misty, her hair bobbing along as she moved, and he sat down to wait. Some time passed, he didn't really notice, and the therapist followed a middle aged woman out of his office, and instructed the receptionist to schedule another meeting in a week. His eyes caught Bruce, who had half stood when the door opened, and he smiled, a genuine smile this time, and motioned the man to follow him inside. Bruce edged around the woman, glancing at her occasionally, making sure she didn't try anything. The doctor smiled a little wider, felt a flutter in his stomach as he saw his patient's nerves surface. Bruce was a favorite of his, a pet project. He had come to him some months ago, bearing the repressed trauma of watching his parents be gunned down in the street in front of him. Jonathan was pleased to admit he had taken that old trauma and, in just a few short months, turned it into outright paranoia. And so much more, too. Bruce was absolutely crippled in his everyday life, barely able to hold conversation with people, fully expecting every one of them to pull a gun on him. The very thought made his knees weak. Oh, what power he held over this small, inconsequential man. And this whole Joker business made all his words, all his advice that much more potent. He wasn't surprised at all to see Bruce here, today. In fact, he had made a bet with himself that he would. Silently, he shook his own hand. He was good at what he did. And the best part? Bruce was so far from normalcy, from healthy thought, that he fully believed that this was fine, this was normal! That living life thinking that everyone around you could turn into a killer was a perfectly healthy way to live! Oh, he was very good. Jonathan shook Bruce's hand and led him into the room. "How are you doing, Bruce? I assume you're here because of last night's news hour?" Bruce was hardly even fazed by the words. Dr. Crane practically knew him better than he knew himself, of course he would know why he was there. "Yeah, that was... intense. Terrifying, if I'm being honest." "Oh, but of course it was, Bruce. You were faced with death for the first time since your parents were killed in front of you." His wording was deliberate. Every time the doctor could bring up the memories, keep them fresh, make him relive watching his parents bleed out in the gutter, he would, and he did. It gave him some sick pleasure that he enjoyed all the more knowing it was evil. He smiled and nodded along as Bruce retold the event, and he mostly tuned it out. He'd watched it as well, of course. You'd be hard pressed to find a Gothamite who hadn't. The time dragged on for Jonathan, and he mostly just listened, supplying tidbits every now and then that held some small bit of truth wrapped around the exact opposite of what he would tell anyone else. How he enjoyed seeing the man break down again and again, and how he enjoyed patting his shoulder, telling him it was okay to cry, okay to feel. Sure, some of it was truth, but he found that pushing the truth into extreme levels was far more effective than spewing outright lies. Encouraging him to cry as often as he can, feel every emotion to it's fullest, all things that, while they sound good, really end up harming the person more than helping them. Telling him that, sometimes it's okay to be afraid, that it's healthy to distance oneself from conflict. All things that are true, but only in select circumstances. And the best part was that some deep part of Bruce knew that something was wrong. It knew, and it made him feel worse and worse until he came in to talk to his friend, Doctor Crane. His friend, who would tell him that sometimes your brain isn't able to make sense of reality and that you can't always trust your emotions to lead you right. Keep him dependent on him, not let him believe he can solve his problems, all while he sinks deeper into the muck and mire of self hatred and depression. Oh, it was all so delicious. A few placating words and half truths told when they shouldn't be, and Bruce was back out the door, onwards to another day of misery and fear. Jonathan Crane's day was officially looking up. And it was about time for lunch, too!