Chapter Text
The chilled water of Gotham’s coast reflected the blackness of the sky above. As clouds lazily drifted by the glowing full moon, the ocean was briefly illuminated, revealing the swirling tendrils of red trapped in the waves. Blood flowed through the saltwater like a tattered flag of maroon. Just below a cheaply maintained boardwalk held up by rocks, a thin strip of littered sand was all that served as a poor excuse for a beach.
A single lamppost glowed on the boardwalk, providing a scrap of consistent light. Light flooded down the rocky outcropping, tickling the sand of the meager shoreline. Just outside the light’s reach, a still body lay, the froth of the water wrapping around the seemingly lifeless corpse. Blood stained the sand beneath the person, grains of sand gathering together into rusty brown clumps. A particularly strong wave sprang from the ocean, drenching the person, and pulling the stained sand into the depths. They coughed and spat from the assault, groaning as the choking subsided.
Everything felt wrong, out of place. And cold. Very, very cold. Jonathan couldn’t see a thing. Darkness clouded his vision. He had tried moving, but the attempt was met with such a searing pain throughout his mangled figure. Through the dizziness and haze, he was aware of only two things; how cold the sand was and how his skeleton felt as though it had been shattered like glass. Several bones were broken, he couldn’t deny that. Which he didn’t know and frankly he wasn’t in the right condition to find out. Jonathan did know that something in his throat was wrong. Breathing wasn’t exactly easy and it was getting more difficult as time went on. He felt as though something was lodged in his esophagus but he wasn’t choking on it. Jonathan needed help. He tried calling out, raising his head from the sand, but all the sound he could manage was a gargled moan. Blood trickled from his mouth when he opened it and it was now that he realized that he had a mouthful of it. It pooled onto his tongue, and all he could taste was acrid copper. He lightly let his jaw drop, more crimson spilling. The teeth he had left were colored red. He tried calling out again, this time managing a more understandable plea for help. No one was here, no one except for him. Just him and a lonely lamppost.
Jonathan knew he would die out here. Alone, in pain, and lost to the world. Eventually, someone would stumble upon his body. They would call the police and the next day headlines would read “Jonathan Crane found mutilated on Gotham shoreline.” He knew that the city would rejoice over his death. He could already see people celebrating in their apartments, hosting parties, and drinking with friends. Why not give Gotham what it so truly wanted? Death was his in near future anyways and he had come to terms with his eventual demise many years ago. No point in pushing back against it. So then, Jonathan elected to close his eyes tight, settle in, and fall asleep as he waited for death to embrace him.