Sanity Etched In Wood

Batman Characters © DC. Used without Permission and without personal Gain. This Fic my be freely distributed but not alliterated in anyway.
Warnings: Violence, M/M, Non-consent, and Angst
Summary: What really drove Arnold Wesker into his madness?
Rating: NC-17


Sanity Etched Into Wood
By Spug


He hadn’t meant for it to happen.

If there had been someone more meek and mousy then he was, it would have been astonishing. One would have had trouble looking straight on at him and guessing that he was in here for murder.

No. Who ever saw a deranged killer who couldn’t reach the pectoral muscles of the Dark Night himself? Small and fragile with thick circular glasses upon his pale pale face that sheened in the dim light of the prison. A mess of thinning, graying hair splaying out behind his little ears and down his neck. He was pug nosed and slightly out of shape. A trembling well bitten bottom lip that signaled his every waking nightmare. An utter mouse of a man thrown into a cage full of lions and tigers and bears.

Oh my, not a murderer. He couldn’t be.

Tax evasion, parking tickets, maybe just maybe he’d committed some ungodly act such as keeping a library book for over twenty years.

But not Murder. Not this man.

But he had. Arnold Wesker had killed a man in a bar. In an untimely, alcohol induced panic, where he’d been shoved, and pushed, teased and taunted, his already tortured little soul had just snapped. It had all been a blur. One moment he had been held against the bar with a greasy ugly man spitting remarks in his ear, the next, that same man had been on the ground. His greasy hair staining black in the pooling blood seeping from his oversized head. Wesker hadn’t even been sure what he’d hit the man with, in his drunken stupor, all he could recall was the taunting laugh of the other kids when he’d been a child himself.

All because he was alone, his parents dead, his only friends sock puppets and roughly carved wooden dummies.

And now, he was a murderer. Gotham had no pity for a man who kills another. They take them away and lock them in Black-Gate Prison. For twenty-eight years for Second-degree murder. As the heavy bars slammed shut behind him, Arnold Wesker knew he didn’t belong here. He knew, that somewhere in this fortified prison, he just might loose what was left of his sanity.

And who to shred what little dignity the tiny man had left? Why Donnegon, of course. A leering, slimy bastard of a man, with a thick mouth full of crooked teeth, and a knack for whittling, among other things. Sentenced to eighteen consecutive life sentences for multiple murders, he was a vicious and uncaring bastard. This brute of a convict welcome Wesker to their cell with an alarming sneer and a fist right in the older man’s belly. “ Welcome to Black-Gate, bitch.” Singsong as Wesker had curled to the ground, whimpering in agony. This was his inauguration into the brooding jungle of madmen, murderers and rapist.

How could he possible be one of them?

Donnegon had a parchment for Ventriloquism, something he could share with the tiny man that now made the creaking top bed his home away from home, but he’d never quite mastered it. His lips still moved quite freely as he often showed off the rather ugly looking dummy he’d whittled from what remained of Black-Gate’s notorious hanging gallows.

“This is Woody. Say hi Woody.”

“Who I saying hi too? That little shrimpo? Time for a mignight geating!”

And Donnegon always delivered them. Anytime Woody suggested it and then some. Even when the tiny man had offered to help his cellmate better himself with the puppet, Donnegon refused to even humor his little cell mate. He simple beat the older man unconscious.

So as he lived in constant fear of Donnegon, Wesker felt a slight attachment to the Dummy. It was a lot finer carved then any of the ones he’d had as a child. On the rare occasion when his brutish roommate craved some entertainment, he’d snag Wesker up in his meaty hands and shove the older man onto the top bunk and thrust Woody into his arms. ThereWesker would perform for his demanding bunkmate, his ventriloquism smooth enough that only his throat would jerk on some of the harder words. Donnegon found a little amusement and Wesker enjoyed the Dummy’s cold lifeless eyes. This was one thing that would never lash out and hurt him. He thought.

Black-Gate had horrible food, hard work, and long long hours staring at its aging black bricks. Wesker could feel his sanity crinkling around the edges with ever spoonful of the tasteless mush, with ever push of a broom across filthy floors, with EVER fine hairline crack in the stone that surrounded him. But mostly, he felt horrible lost and sick of life each and every time Donnegon laid his fist upon him.

He didn’t think it could possible get worse.

Of course he was always wrong about these things.

He’d been sitting one night on his bed. Staring across the tiny cell at Woody. The dummy was propped up in the corner; its unblinking eyes staring right back at him. Wesker swore, that just for a moment, the Dummy’s mouth had started to move at him when Donnegon had grunted and rolled off his own bed below him.

The brutish convict could easily place his hands on either side of Wesker’s legs without having to reach up. Standing alone he came face-to-face with the older man and leered nastily at him.

Wesker prepared for his fists.

“What yah starin’ at Woody for? You gettin’ attached? That’s my Dummy.”

“ I..I’m sorry.” Wesker forced himself to look down and away from Donnegon and his crooked spit covered teeth. “I won’t look anymore.”

The larger man’s left hand was suddenly vicious upon Wesker’s chin, forcing the older man to jerk his face back up to his. The mousy man let out a squeak and trembled. “P-Please Donnegon, don’t hit me.”

“Sorry don’t cut it, shithead. That’s my entertainment yer ogling. You need to pay.” That thick hand only tightened and Donnegon squeezed, picking the tiny man up by his chin, letting him gag and chock before he dropped him to the ground.

Wesker gasped and trembled. Small hands going to his chin to rub, and his bottom lip trembled hard. “I-I-I’ll p-perform for you, if you want.” He’d do anything to keep Donnegon’s hands from slamming down on him.

“Nah.” Donnegon spat at him. “You enjoy that, yah little shit. You enjoy being better at it then me. I can see it in yer puggy little face, every time I try. Just cause I can’t make Woody talk as smoothly as you can.” Large hands reached down and snagged Wesker by the front of his prison uniform. “Don’t you, Bitch?”

“N-Noo!” The small man squeaked in terror. Underneath his glasses his eyes widened and started to mist over. “I promised I’d help you, I don’t think like that at all.”

“Liar.” The large man’s hand slapped Wesker across the face, leaving a harsh red streak against the older man’s cheek. “You’re so full of shit, making Woody make all kinds of noises. Fuckin’ little…” The larger man suddenly grinned. “I bet I can make you make all kinds of noises.”

The smile scared Wesker, scared him to death. He shook in Donnegon’s grasp and terror noises escaped his throat. “W-what are you.. p-please..”

“Shut up, bitch.” Donnegon slapped Wesker again, and then shoved him face down on the bed. The small man whimpered loud into his cellmates disgusting sweat stained sheets as Donnegon held him down with one oversized hand and jerked down Wesker’s pants with the other.

It was in that terror stricken moment, that Wesker knew just what Donnegon was going to do to him. He tried to fight! He shrieked for help, but the larger man only shoved him harder into the sheets; kneed him between the legs and Wesker spazed against the bed whimpering.

“Shut the fuck up, you scream like that again and I’ll fuckin’ KILL you. “ Donnegon snarled as he spat into his free hand. Wesker could hear him slathering it onto something. Something he couldn’t see, but knew exactly what it was, and then it was pressing hard and vicious against his asshole, refusing to yeild to the tight virginal muscle that seemed the tiny man’s only sanctuary anymore.

“FUCK.” Donnegon growled as he shoved his hips forward and drove his cock into the smaller man all the way to the hilt, tearing viciously. He only paused for a moment as the smaller man spazed in agony under his pressing hand. It hurt; it was like nothing Wesker had ever felt before. It was the kind of hurt you could literally pass out from. But he didn’t. Not even as the larger man began to thrust mercilessly into his ass.

Wesker couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t even move. His entire psyche was centered on the agonizing pain with each jackhammering thrust as Donnegon moved inside him. His mouth was parted against the sheets, he could feel warm saliva spilling out onto the bed, but he couldn’t swallow, not even when his entire body went numb and then he couldn’t even feel anymore. By the time his rapist let out a curse and ejaculated inside him, Arnold Wesker was dead to everything around him.

Donnegon pulled his cock out of his little cellmate and then spat on him. “Get use to it bitch. Anytime I catch you eyeballin’ my Dummy, I’mma turn you into my own personal puppet.” A think hand curled into Wesker’s shirt collar and Donnegon literally yanked Wesker off his bed and threw the little man onto the floor.

The world was going black as he hit the ground; the faint noises of Donnegon climbing up into Wesker’s bed occupied him. But the only thing Wesker could see was Woody’s lifeless unblinking eyes staring at him, and just as unconsciousness consumed him, the small man could have swoon they pitied him.

-
He woke upon the floor a couple hours later. Nothing but the moonlight flittering in through the high tiny barred window of his cell and the sound of Donnegon snoring on the top bunk. Wesker whimpered hard as his body awoke and remembered the torment he’d just suffered.

Why had that happened? Why? What had he done to deserve that? The small man curled into a ball, slowly hitching up his pants. He began to sob silently as he felt the scrap of dry blood against the fabric. He lay there in a ball for a good long moment, curled into his own arms and legs. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t live with waiting for Donnegon to do that again. A few gasps left his mouth as he chocked down his tears.

Slowly Wesker got to his feet and limped toward Donnegon’s bed. Small shaking hands reached for the stained and dirty bed sheet. As silently as he could he began winding the thin but tough fabric into a long rope.

There was a single chair in the room, and he very quietly scooted it across the floor under the window. Wesker climbed up onto the wobble item and reached up to loop the end of the sheet around the heavy metal bars. He knotted it once, twice, three times, tugging on it to make sure it was sturdy, and then began to knot the other end of it around his neck. He had to make sure he wouldn’t reach the ground once he stepped off the chair. He pulled the stained white fabric tight around his throat till it was nearly choking him and then scooted his feet to the very end of the chair.

He couldn’t live like this. He couldn’t. He’d lost everything. His family, his life, and now his very innocence was gone. Gotham and Black-Gate had stolen everything from him. Wesker took a deep breath and slid one foot off the chair.

“You don’t want to do that.” A voice whispered echoing around the cell.

Wesker gasped and his vision shot to the cellmate, but Donnegon was still snoring on the top bunk, bowing the mattress under him.

He was hearing things? Had he lost his sanity also? Another breath.

“Really, don’t ge a dummy, look I can help you.”

“Wha? Whose there?” Wesker squeaked out. He nearly slid off the chair and had to step back again. He swallowed and peered around the dark room. The only thing he could see besides the outline of Donnegon was the dummy’s lifeless eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

“W-woody?” Wesker whispered out, and then cringed to himself. “No, that’s stupid.”

“Who else is in here sides you and that gig asshole, Wesker.” That voice said to him.

Wesker stared directly at the Dummy. It .. it was WOODY. Woody was talking to him. “W-woody? How.. why? I..”

The dummy sat motionless, but its voice rang around the cell, even as a whisper, booming in Wesker’s ears. “Nevermind that, looks, you don’t have to do that. You can just get outta here, Donnegon has geen digging a tunnel, it’s right behind me, all yah gotta do is get down from there, and go through it. It’s only got a foot to go. Pick me up and take me with you.”

Wesker began to unwind the rope from his neck, never taking his eyes off Woody. He knew in the back of his mind, this was impossible, it couldn’t be. He knew Donnegon had been doing something in the corner, but he’d never dared to ask or even look. Slowly the small man climbed down from the chair and began to approach the Dummy. “Y-you’d want to go with me, Woody?”

“Sure I would, I hate that jerk. You’re getter then him. Common, pick me up and we’ll get out of here and find something getter to do with our lives.”

For the first time in years, Wesker felt a moment of joy as the dummy continued to talk to him. Was this the last of his sanity flinging away? Obviously Woody’s voice was his own, using his Ventriloquist talent, but as he bend down and picked up the little wooden dummy, there were two completely different souls here. His right arm slid into the back of the Dummy and his fingers fitting into the workings like a glove.

“Ah that’s much getter.” Woody piped, his wooden jaw snapping together. The Dummy’s eyes slanted to Wesker and then he pointed at the wall. “Right there, just pull on the gricks, and well get outta here.”

Wesker nodded and then with his free hand he began to tear at the bricks, they began tumbling down around him, exposing a small but long tunnel that went down into the ground and perhaps to freedom.

“That’s it, let’s go!”

Wesker actually smiled as he nodded to the dummy and went to dart into the tunnel, but then a thick hand grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back into the cell. The small man yelped and clawed at bricks, snagging one into his hand.

“What the fuck you doing, BITCH? That’s MY TUNNEL and MY DUMMY. I’MMA FUCKING KILL YOU!” Donnegon snarled, he had a corkscrew in his hands. Possible stolen from the workshop where they let him whittle on occasion. Without warning he slashed down at Wesker with the weapon.

It seemed like Woody moved on its own. Wesker’s arm snapped forward and the Dummy caught the corkscrew across its left eye. The small man didn’t wait for another moment; he swung his other hand, the one with the brick and smashed the item across Donnegon’s face.

The larger man let go of him and staggered back screaming. He dropped the corkscrew.

“Now’s yer chance! Finish him off!” Woody snapped.

Wesker felt terrified, but he grabbed up the corkscrew, and just like that time in the bar, he moved without thinking. He lunged at Donnegon with the weapon just as the other was uncovering his smashed face and drove the item up into his tormentor’s throat.

Blood splattered across Wesker’s and Woody’s face as Donnegon kneeled over, gurgling and clawing at his throat. The small man didn’t wait around to see him hit the ground. With a gasp he turned and torn down the tunnel. Scrambling down the narrow passageway to where there was just a little more clawing at the earth till Wesker found himself emerging outside the Gates of his Hell and rolling down the hill.

The small man came to a stop clutching the wooden dummy in his arms, coughing up dirt. He lay for a moment, gasping and panting, staring up at the big face of the moon that loomed over Gotham City.

Slowly he sat up and turned the Dummy over in his hands and gazed upon its dirty face. He caught his breath as he witness the long gash across Woody’s left eye. “ W-woody are you o-okay?” He whimpered out.

The Dummy coughed and clanked its eyes toward the tiny man. “It’s just a scratch. Lets get going, we need to get the fuck outta here gefore they realize we’ve escaped.”

Wesker nodded, trembling, but obliging. He slowly got to his feet with a bit of a wince, cradling the dummy to his chest. “Yes, Woody.”

“Ehhh.” The dummy grimaced out as Wesker took off running. “I don’t like that name anymore, from now on, you can call me Mr. Scarface.”

Arnold Wesker nodded as he kept running. “Of course, Mr. Scarface, anything you say.”

“Good.” Mr. Scarface clanged its jaws together. “You and me, we’s got a gig surprise in store for Gotham.”

“W-what kind of surprise, Mr. Scarface?” The tiny man huffed as he hit the road and never looked back. Leaving Black-Gate, his past, his near suicide-

“Oh you’ll see, you’ll see. They’ll all see.” The Dummy said, almost evilly.

- And his sanity, behind.