Everything hurts. That’s all Jonathan Crane, The Scarecrow can think when he comes too. He tastes blood in his mouth. He feels wet earth underneath him. He must have washed up onto the shore, or managed to get himself there, somehow. He hears crows, no, ravens nearby. They’re extremely loud, upset over something.

“Jon?” A voice cuts through the bird’s cacophony. Phoenix. Clearly he was hallucinating, some dying dream his mind conjured up.

He thinks this as he fades away again.

-

He’s in his cot inside one of his hideouts. At least he thinks. He can’t see out of one of his eyes, and he’s more preoccupied with what’s happening to him.

Gauze wraps around his head, including over his mouth. With his tongue he can feel stitches around what remained of his lips.

There’s IV bags hanging by him, one must be a painkiller of some kind because he doesn’t hurt anymore. At least not as much.

At least until he feels his leg, his mangled one, being harshly pulled on. He cries out in response. It’s a pathetic little sound.

“Sorry, I need to try to set the bone.”

Phoenix. So it wasn’t a dream after all. They found him.

He loses consciousness again.

-

When he wakes again, it’s silent. Still in gauze, still covered in stitches, and, thankfully, still no pain. He turns his head, as he can’t seem to manage to sit up at all, and spots Phoenix. Asleep, head resting on their folded arms on the desk next to his cot.

He looks at his leg, now bandaged and elevated. It’s still in a shape that no human leg should be in. Though given what he went through, he shouldn’t be surprised Phoenix couldn’t fix all the damage. His condition goes far beyond first aid.

Scarecrow turns again, and attempts to call out to them. A small airy noise comes out. Not nearly loud enough to wake them. He tries to raise his arm to touch them, but it’s broken as well, a surge of pain races up it when he tries to move it.

Goddammit.

He gives up, too tired to keep trying. Sleep calls him back again.

-

Phoenix is next to him, wrapping a bandage around his head. Must be a fresh one, how long has he been out of it?

They make eye contact with him, seeing he’s awake. “Jon?”

He attempts to respond, but that same quiet sound comes out again.

“Can you understand me?”

He nods, his head still in their hands at the moment.

“Good,” They lift one finger in front of his face, “Follow my finger.”

He does, tho he can’t see it when it goes too far to the right.

“Okay, that’s good at least. I can only tell what’s physically damaged right now, though.” They explain, looking apologetic.

Why are you here? He wants to ask. Phoenix does a lot of things he doesn’t understand.

He’s eternally grateful that they are, though.

“I was really nervous, doing the casts, you know. I know you can kill someone if you put them on too tightly, so they might actually be a touch too loose. Sorry about that.”

Better than him dying when they get removed, he thinks. He can only nod to let them know he understands.

“I shouldn’t be doing any of this, I’m not a medical doctor, I-” They voice catches, and they stop speaking.

He brings up his unbroken hand and touches their face. Phoenix places their hand over the top of his. “You’re alive, you’re okay.” They’re speaking more to themselves than anything.

They have to comfort themselves right now, he can’t talk them through it. He knows they’re strong, but he still wishes he could say something.

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