Chapter Text
Light drawn from under; a muted mask of murk stretches into threads and flaunts the flounder of surroundings that struggle to keep firm. The ghost of a thud echoes in his ears, pounding through the frailness of skull--red, raw, and ravaged senselessly.
The world seems to swirl around in circles upon stooping. Oswald stirs awake with a dry groan and finds, between fluttering lashes and breaths of nauseating air, an unkind sensitivity to the subtle shines of the afternoon's sun. When he tries to raise a hand to block it away, the motion falls short of a twitch.
It takes a moment for sight and sense to connect, for him to realize the twinge of a burn at his wrists and the line of rope binding him to a chair. Two legs and a pair of wheels. The same wheelchair Ivy had so considerately pestered him into before touring the estate, before calling...
"Gabe?"
A mere glance upward reveals the bulk of a man seated on a stool across. Gabe sits with his back straight, one hand in proud display of a pistol while the other lays over his knee, grasping onto the bone for dear balance. There isn't the slightest spark of emotion to whirl about his eyes. The backdrop falls into frame just beyond them; a space of greenery and mellowing light that suggests the greenhouse, but it couldn't have been the same room as before.
The size is off--smaller, even, with Gabe in the center. Perhaps he wanted to venture further out for fresher air. Oswald could only assume the restraints shared some beneficial purpose as well. He shakes away the remnants of fatigue and laughs breathily.
"I-I wouldn't want to spoil the fun, but is this supposed to be a welcome-back surprise gig?"
The features of Gabe's face crease in a fashion Oswald can't help but take confoundment in. The laugh slowly falters into a feeble smile that he now struggles to keep still. He looks down at the ropes, at the red repulsive marks imprinted into the pale flesh of his arms.
Oswald tries not to wince when adding, "I will admit, the method is a bit... peculiar, but I--"
"You kidding me?" Gabe cuts off, leaning in as if to emphasize his abruptness. "No one cares that you're back. It just opened up an opportunity to cash in. Nothing more."
"Cash in? F-Forgive me if I do not clearly understand your intentions."
With a heavy breath, Gabe thrusts himself into stance and takes a step forward. He hunches just enough to meet Oswald at eye level, who can't seem to forfeit the on-and-off staring contest with the gleam of a barrel.
"An auction. We're gonna auction off your head to the highest bidder," he says, almost conversationally.
"We?"
"That would be my sales force."
Gabe backs away with a crooked (condescending) smile. Just off to his side, Oswald catches the sound of something scraping against the crumbling rubble of roadside. There's a low, rumbling hum that only rolls long enough to know when it's stopped. He can only assume it to have come from an engine. The frost had already climbed too far up the windows to make out much of anything.
Four clicks--doors, opening--followed by the stretch of steps and voices, laughing, sends a knot of unease to twist and turn about his stomach. In a desperate attempt, Oswald glances back at the man and tries to reason through adamant anticipations.
"Wait! I-I don't understand, Gabe... I thought we were--"
Gabe snorts, "Like hell. Just sit tight and keep your mouth shut. Don't get any funny ideas."
And he turns away, starting towards the exit with a warm trigger. Oswald watches helplessly as the knobs swivel and send the door open from the outside. Three men casually stroll inside the greenhouse, dressed along the indistinguishable theme of leather coats and gloves.
There isn't anything significant about the men to spark a sense of recognition. One after the other, they take turns greeting Gabe with firm hugs and circling the wheelchair like a shark stalking a fish. An awfully higher-pitched groan and an inconsiderate shove through the open doorway runs Oswald's blood still.
Some part of him had cowered into a corner, grieving over Ivy's earlier dismay. The possibility of her throwing on a coat and sulking outside in the snow had escaped him entirely. The guilt of ignorance gnaws away at his innards.
"Such a good man he is," Ivy scoffs, facing him with a flat expression that he can only describe to be of disinterest. "Bet you didn't see this coming, huh?"
"N-No, of course not!"
She nods half-heartedly, almost as if expectantly. A fourth man shoves the muzzle of a gun to her nape, prompting her towards a stray patio chair. With a dull screech, it's dragged across the space to sit beside the wheelchair. Ivy plops down into the seat and reluctantly rests her arms on its rests. The man makes quick work of another line of rope.
Oswald turns his head vigorously and tries, "Gabe, p-please, if you could just... spare a moment to hear me out. I promise that I--"
"I think I'll pass. We've got better things to do than listen to you go on and on about how you changed. 'Not that person anymore' my ass," he sneers.
"But it's true!"
Gabe stares at him plainly for a moment. Just when Oswald thinks he may have gotten through, the man shifts away in cruel disregard. A mechanical click snaps by his head too close for comfort. He can't help but flinch at each shutter of the camera; a bulky, outdated thing that one of Gabe's men holds steadily to his face.
"Make sure you get him from all sides. Potential bidders need to know that he's alive and well. Once we get these delivered, the auction can begin."
The camera spits out a flimsy, discolored print that the man fans off with a brief wave. He takes a second to watch it develop, nodding to himself almost approvingly before moving around the wheelchair for a side shot. Oswald keeps his gaze firm on Gabe, or rather, the back of his head. There's another click that falls completely astray of the camera--the backdoor, he finds, at the intrusion of a voice.
"Forgot these in the car! Cannolis from Alberto's, boss."
A newsboy-capped man strides inside the greenhouse with an oddly familiar pink box in hand.
Gabe sighs, "Thank God. I'm starved."
After a second shutter, the camera falls out of focus to the man's waist. He pulls away and follows the other men to the pink box, duty disregarded. Helplessly, Oswald watches a set of teeth tear through a glob of cream and pastry dough. For a brief moment and only that, his mind retracts to a desolate apartment. Back straight, fingers crossed, eyes shifting from the box, to faces, to the pile of pale paper bills on the floor. Watching as he did now, waiting for them to stop and struggle, to fall silently.
"Looks like you got yourself into quite the pickle."
Ivy's breath is warm at his ear. It almost thaws through the growing numbness in his flesh.
"Yes... unfortunately," he sighs. "Listen, Ivy... I'm sorry for dragging you into this. Trust me--none of this was ever my intention from the start."
"It's okay. I believe you."
"You do?"
Ivy nods with a mindless shrug to her shoulders.
"Sure thing. What are friends for?"
"Friends... of course," he laughs; a soft, gentle sound that's subdued by a sudden stillness.
Everything had crashed and happened so fast after waking. Friendship with such a kind woman was another possibility Oswald hadn't thought to consider. Not that he would ever doubt Ivy, perhaps her trust (after every horrible act he's committed) may have come a little too easy. But she could truly see and accept that he was said and done with the past. That is a kindness in itself.
Something shifts in the corner of his eye. Oswald catches one of the men--the newsboy cap--gawking at a subtle glow from the screen of his phone. In the grasp of his other hand, a half-eaten cannoli slips free and plummets onto the ground.
"Two million?"
The phone is quickly offered (shoved, in all honesty) over to Gabe, who only accepts after a dubious look.
"An anonymous bidder?" he questions. "We're still taking the damn pictures. How'd they know we've got him?"
"Well... We might've put out a word before coming down here. Left a few numbers. I don't know... guess they thought it's legit?"
"Who the hell cares? Seeing ain't always believing. I think we're pretty much sold, boss," another man joins in.
Gabe thrusts the phone away into a chest and clicks his tongue. Oswald meets his eyes not a second later and finds the lines of his face stretched into something akin to (smug) satisfaction.
"Hear that? Some sadist is willing to give up good money for your head. You killed someone's mother for them to gun for you so badly?"
Oswald presses his eyes shut as if to repress the memory. He isn't entirely sure that such a recollection exists but knows that he's killed enough people for there to be potential. He shakes away the thought and looks back up to Gabe, to the four men standing and staring, who seemingly scheme with the sharpness in each glare.
"I... I, regretfully, have done lots of terrible things--but that certainly is a lot of money! Imagine the good you could do, all the mouths you could feed with--"
"Oh, shut up. That act ain't saving your ass no more." Gabe nods in Ivy's direction and asks, "You take pictures of the girl yet?"
The camera-carrying man shakes his head, swallowing down the last inch of a cannoli before proceeding onward. With an anxious twitch, Oswald swerves sight between the camera and Ivy sitting almost a little too casually at his side. Reassurance comes in the form of a quick, quiet wink.
Ivy throws one leg over the other and leans forward, calm as if practiced. She smiles at the man, who raises a questionable brow in turn.
"If you're starting already, then I think I've got just the shot you're looking for. If you could just, you know..."
She glances down at her chest in a way Oswald can only describe as indecent. The man holds still for a moment, undecided. His eyes trail down her neck and onto the faint fabric of her dress, then back up at her face, and to her chest once more. Something crawls up the narrow pipe of Oswald's throat at the sight of curling, crude lips.
The camera man creeps closer, stooping down to Ivy's height.
"Do you like my perfume?" she murmurs.
He leans in and presses his nose to a side of her neck. Oswald swallows his tongue and forces the veil back over his eyes; he can't help but feel repulsed in watching. The sharp sound of an inhale is no mercy to his ears.
"You'll do anything I ask?" Her voice--quick, pitched, and plain--pauses for a brief moment before chiming, "Super! Kill them all."
A crash, then a click--the first thing Oswald notices at the parting of his lashes is the camera on the floor, broken in pieces. He doesn't look up in time to see the gun but hears it go off with three consecutive shots, flinching after each one. Oswald feels his heart pound through his head and chest when the man turns in Gabe's direction.
"Wait!"
Ivy follows suit and yells a quick, "Stop!"
It's a confounding sense of shock when the man listens and pauses abruptly, finger warm on the trigger. Oswald shudders as a rush of vigor leaks out from beneath a corpse and collects into a small puddle. He follows it up to a pair of leather shoes, carrying the heavy weight of a man in an astoundingly firm fashion. Gabe simply stands there, straight as if sober.
"Something wrong?"
Oswald traces the voice back to an unnervingly nonchalant Ivy. He meets his wide-eyed reflection through a glint of her own.
"You can't just... kill all those people! That is a very criminal and indecent act that will haunt you for the rest of your life! What about their families?" he rushes, tragic and desperate.
"Did they have kids?"
She tilts her head as if to further the inquiry. Oswald glances back at the fallen men, face twisting in the ties of thought.
"I'm... not sure."
"Then it's okay. Trust me, the world will be a much safer place with a few less scum," she reassures before redirecting her attention to the gunman. "Now, give me Gabe's gun, untie us, and then shoot yourself--preferably in the head."
He complies without a single complaint. His obedience reinforces the notion that Ivy wasn't lying about the effects of her perfume after all. The man walks over an idle limb when snatching the pistol tucked away at Gabe's side.
Oswald shakes his head and begs, "Please, Ivy...! This isn't right!"
"Seriously, dude, what's with you? You're The Penguin for crying out loud--former 'Gangland Kingpin'! You're as mean and crazy as they get."
"As much as I'd like to save my own ass, the girl's got a point. This ain't like you at all," Gabe adds.
With the bind loosened, Ivy jerks her way free of the rope and stands. She pulls a face and points the gun at Gabe while his last man (and means of defense) struggles to untie Oswald's restraints.
"We've heard enough out of you, Mr. Hunk. Maybe make yourself useful and help move the bodies."
"M-Move them? Where? Ivy, these men deserve a proper burial and funeral service. Their families deserve the right to pay their respects. This is no way to--"
She gives him a look beyond the bounds of bemusement. The rope slides off clean; a shot rings right by his ear, and the gunman drops dead.
"Are you serious? These men were just about to hand you off to someone who wouldn't have left anything to bury. I did you a favor!"
"Spoke too soon," Gabe interrupts, gesturing towards the phone beside a body with the tip of his head. "Buyer's been on their way since you shot down my men. I thought it was too good to be true, but turns out it's the best chance I got in leaving with my life."
"Oh, great. Just perfect. More people to--"
Oswald surges up from his seat and smacks the gun away from her hand.
"No! I will not stand for this!"
"Then sit back down! No one ever asked in the first place! Did you even take a second to think about what we're gonna do when this 'anonymous bidder' comes to collect their prize? Because I, sure as hell, am not stepping out there to get killed!" Ivy practically seethes.
"You need to see reason. No one else needs to die or kill--violence will get us nowhere...!"
"Then how else are we supposed to defend ourselves? With Gabe?"
She leaves an arm outstretched in his direction, forcing his solemn figure into the foreground. Gabe instinctively takes a step back when trading looks with Ivy. Oswald catches his gaze fixed on the form of an overlooked gun, but it's for a moment and only that. He hadn't considered it before, nevertheless, it was Gabe who initiated the auction in the first place. There isn't anyone more fit to assume responsibility.
He nods to himself and muses, "Good thinking! Gabe can go outside and call it off, right? Explain that this has all been just one big misunderstanding. If there's one thing I know, it's that it is never too late to repent and offer remorse for your actions."
"Come on! Do you really trust this guy to go out there without walking away with the money?" Ivy asks pointedly.
"He may have been a bit... tempted by greed earlier, but I know that deep down he means well," Oswald reassures with a smile. He starts towards the man with a limp and stops once he's within an arm's reach. "Gabe, you were always loyal to me. I trust that this mutual faith will continue?"
Gabe clasps his hands together, intertwining the flesh of his fingers. He drops down to his knees and dips his head in a dramatic sense of affirmation.
"Yes! Of course, boss! I'd swear an oath on my dead mother's grave... right now! God rest her soul."
"That's wonderful, Gabe. Please, though, no need to trouble yourself or your dead mother. May she rest in peace."
He nods and smiles with an awkward crease to his features. Oswald lays a hand on his shoulder and gives it a firm pat; a gesture of trust Ivy doesn't appear to be too fond of. She slips right by his side, folding her arms over the line of her hips in a way that confirms suspicion.
"Hmm... I'm not buying it," she says. "If this friendship is gonna work between us, then it's gotta go both ways."
"What do you mean?"
"Simple. I'll make him smell my perfume and then we'll decide. Together."
"Ah, well... I suppose that's only fair," Oswald surrenders.
She doesn't waste a partial minute of the moment. Ivy leans forward and outstretches an arm, raising the near-translucent flesh of her wrist to the button of his nose. Gabe offers a glimpse as if unsure, but a subtle (rough) nudge is all it takes for him to tilt forward and sniff. Oswald notices the way his shoulders visibly slump; his face virtually resets, clean and clear of even the slightest crease.
Ivy retracts and gingerly commands, "Um... raise your right hand."
Gabe complies much like the gunman from earlier. He raises a hand and stares blankly at nothing in particular.
"Do you swear to be loyal and true to Peng--to... Oswald?"
"No."
"Ouch."
Oswald shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing with (ignorant) doubt.
"N-No, that can't be. There must have been a misunderstanding or..."
"Go ahead, answer. Anything go wrong?"
"No. I never was. I only followed you out of fear. We all did." Gabe shifts; his hand drops and eyes lock coldly onto Oswald as he admits, "No one ever respected you. We always saw you for what you really are. A tiny--"
The resonance of a gunshot pierces through the bitter air. In the flutter of a flinch, Oswald recovers to find a mass of skin frozen stiff. Gravity sends Gabe's body to collapse backward in a slow, almost melodramatic descent. His fingers even twitch once his face kisses the floor.
Oswald feels his mind whirl along the turn of his head--the room door, where he traces the sound to the barrel of a smoking gun. It sinks quietly, allowing his eyes to fix on the blur of a blonde bob behind it, and a pair of pink lips that seem to curve at his confoundment. She isn't alone.
"Sorry I'm late. I hope the auction's still--"
"We," a man clarifies. He stands at one side of her (ridiculously large) fur coat, flesh on one hand and metal on the other. "We're late. This isn't just about you. We came here together so that makes it a we, not an I."
A dark, silky ponytail sways along the spin of a head. She stares at him--a fond glare that sparks enough familiarity to form a name.
"Butch."
"What? We talked about this. Some fool said Penguin's still alive so we decided--as a team--to check it out. You want her to take all the credit?"
She sighs, "Does it really matter?"
"Of course it does! I'm not gonna jump every time she barks. Why are you still backing her up on this?" Butch retorts.
Tabitha spares him a brief, bitter glare before dragging herself forward. Butch follows after and leans in as if to whisper into her ear, but a hand shoves itself in his face before his lips can part. She turns to Barbara with a look Oswald can only think to describe as cross.
"Well, now that we know Penguin really is alive, that means Ed--Riddler--whatever the hell he's going by now is a bullshit liar. Unless you want to keep fighting for the throne you're so desperate to keep, they both die."
Butch raises an eyebrow and tilts his head, musing, "Penguin sure would clear up the Barbara problem. Just saying."
Sight and sense seem to separate if only for a moment, mindless thought. The sting of a briny sent bites at his nose; a cramp clutching the careful cadence throbbing through his chest. He remembers standing there, still as if stiff, with the wind blowing the weight of will and water astir. A name--two letters--wet on his lips.
"Ed?"
A gentle nudge to his shoulder sends recollection astray. Oswald finds himself gawking aimlessly at the distortion of a reflection in someone's blood.
"You're right about Penguin, but whether you like it or not, we still need Ed. I think a new centerpiece to the table could do some good in proving my position to the other families." He can hear the smile in Barbara's voice when she says, "It'll just need some... restyling. A woman's touch."
Oswald tears away from the puddle, meeting her eyes with an unwavering gaze.
"Oh, n-no, I can assure you that I am not after a throne of any kind. I would never make you feel less than your true self--and I'm sorry if I've ever done so in the past. Sincerely."
"It's true. That's why that Gabe dude was here. Penguin's serious about cutting ties with crimes," Ivy chimes in.
"Bullshit. Penguin would never give up his reputation."
"Wait, he's not--"
The furrow of a brow sends Butch amiss. He shares a glance with Tabitha, whose face seems to crease in all the same fazed folds. She slowly starts past the bodies, stepping straight in and over the sanguine spill stretched across the leeway.
"Penguin's always had a mommy complex. Since she's been six feet under, he's been looking for something to fill in the hole she left behind. But no one could, could they? Somewhere in that ugly mind of yours, you figured the next best thing to love is power," she says, daunting--daring, almost.
There's a short scuffle that sounds at the scrape of Ivy's heel. He can't look back, eyes locked in an estranged entrance, but knows that she must have backed away. Ivy wraps a hand around his arm as if to tug him too; there's another that crumples the fabric of his shirt. Oswald can't help but shudder at the warmth of Tabitha's breath near his face.
"You remember that, don't you? I bet you'd love to stick a knife through my back. The same way I did to her."
Her eyes are vacant--two orbs bearing nothing but the distant darkness of an abyss. Oswald tries to blink the trance away and swallows dryly.
"We... We've had our ups and downs, but I forgive you. Truly. And I will admit that my judgment may have been a bit clouded since her passing--God rest her soul. All the more reason to become a man she would've been proud of."
Tabitha uncurls her fingers and shoves him back, sighing, "Yeah, he is. Damn it."
"What? He's what?" Barbara demands.
"He was like this after getting out of Arkham. Came back to me and Butch all... creepy and different just to apologize. He snapped out of it later. For now, I guess--"
"He's harmless."
A touch drags him back from behind. Oswald nearly knocks into her chest, but Ivy catches him in time to play off the stumble as a mild gesture.
"Yep!" she smiles in a way that screams synthetic. "Couldn't swat a fly if he wanted to. So that means you'll let us go?"
Tabitha turns to Barbara and asks, "You know this girl?"
"I've seen her around The Sirens a few times. Cute face, don't you think? She'd make a hell of a showgirl."
"Did we seriously come all the way out here to collect another wage worker?" Butch groans.
"Might as well make the trip worth it. Penguin isn't a threat anymore."
"Don't get ahead of yourself. For all we know, it's just an act for us to drop our guard. Next thing you know, there's a knife in our backs and he's the last thing we see."
Another snide remark unfolds into a second argument. Oswald detaches from the reality at hand, withdrawing within himself to search. Something about his face or features must have turned sour in his scouring by the way Ivy drags him back into the foreground. She doesn't ask, yet the words find way past his lips senselessly.
"...Is it really creepy?"
Ivy pauses for a moment in consideration. Oswald quickly finds that she doesn't need to answer either. When he comes to, a finger is pointed in his direction, another on the cold metal of a trigger.
"So? That doesn't mean he won't be out for blood once he's back to normal. Hell, he's probably fantasizing about it somewhere in... there."
Oswald raises his hands in defense and tries, "Ladies... Butch, please hear me out! My actions in the past are inexcusable. I've done lots of... horrible things that I sincerely regret. Believe me when I say that those memories will torture me for the rest of my existence."
"Good thing it won't be a long one, then."
Tabitha drops her finger and raises the gun in turn. Barbara's heels click with each step further inside the greenhouse. She settles just past the gun, lowering it with a mindless push while her eyes narrow at Oswald's every twitch.
"Not now, Tabs. This is my favorite part."
Oswald clenches his fists to repress a tremor, shifting forward as if to shield Ivy from any potential harm.
"Kill me if you must! Bad things happen to bad people--but not Ivy! She's a good person. The only act she's guilty of is saving my life...!"
"Oh, Ozzy..." Barbara coos; she speaks with such (feign) fondness that he can't help but compare to the tender touch of his mother's words. "No one really has to die here. If you'd be willing to redeem yourself, I'm sure we can work something out. It's just--well, with how you are now, I figured you of all people would believe in second chances."
Oswald nods his head vigorously with the promise, "Yes, of course! It would certainly be an honor if--"
"Okay, great! Enough of that."
Barbara claps her hands together and spins on her heels to face the others. Tabitha raises a brow, empty yet expectant in some way he can't describe, while Butch watches carefully.
"I don't get it. So you're not taking his head?" he asks.
"Not yet at least. If Penguin really is inside there somewhere, we might as well make the most of his... situation and have some fun. Imagine how much this would piss him off."
"This?"
Barbara turns her head back--just enough to lock eyes once more. An unnatural light strikes the blue, stirring the sea into a stupor that does nothing but muddle the maze of his mind.
She simply smiles and says, "You'll see."