Friends and Scars

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I do not own Arnold Wesker, Scarface, or any of the other Batman characters presented. They belong to DC Comics (Batman, in particular). The other characters are from my imagination. This was written purely for fun.

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"Alright, settle down!"

The small group of Arkham inmates slowly lowered their chattering, looking to the female asylum worker in the center of their semi-circle with cold eyes.

The woman in white smiled as she took her seat across from her patients. She glanced around the small group present for therapy. To her left was a former psychologist of that very asylum, Harleen Quinzel, now known as Harley Quinn. Next to her was her best friend, the botanist Pamela Isley, known as Poison Ivy.

The psychologist blinked and glanced to her right. There sat Jervis Tetch, the Mad Hatter, technological genius with a deep love for Lewis Carroll. Beside him sat Arnold Wesker, the Ventriloquist, with his dummy Scarface, a powerful mob boss, perched on his knee.

Her eyes lingered on Mr. Wesker for a brief moment. Despite his eyes being hidden behind the thick lenses that sat on his nose, she could tell he was staring down at the ground, refusing to make eye-contact with anyone. He sat quietly, looking timid as ever. The dummy at the end of his arm sat quietly as well, his arms crossed over his wooden chest and leaning against the puppet master's body. Scarface's irritated glass eyes remained shifted to his left and focused on the ground.

"Let us begin," the Arkham worker finally said once the group had quieted down. Her eyes moved to each of the four before her. "Would anyone like to share something?"

"Ooh! Ooh!" Harley Quinn called excitedly as she threw her hand into the air like a child with the answer to a question.

Before she was able to begin, Scarface rolled his eyes and shifted his weight slightly. "Blasted waste of time…" he muttered under his breath.

Harley's eyes shot to the dummy. "What was that, Puppethead?!" she snapped.

"Yes, Arnold," the psychologist said, turning to the Ventriloquist, "is there something you'd like to share?"

Arnold Wesker looked up from the floor, his slightly confused eyes lifting to the Arkham worker. "I-I didn't say anything…" he replied quietly.

"Run that by me again, Puppethead!" Harley demanded, sitting on the edge of her seat and leaning over Ivy.

Scarface's head turned to her slowly, his glass eyes seemingly filled with irritation. "I don't belong 'ere. I ain't crazy."

"'We're all mad here,' said the Cat," the Mad Hatter said matter-of-factly with a toothy grin.

As Scarface whirled around and shot Tetch a dirty look, Poison Ivy nudged Harley back into her seat. "I think you both need to get over yourselves," she said in a smooth voice.

Scarface barked out an irrepressible laugh. "You're one ta talk, huh, Red?" he asked as his glass eyes focused on the woman next to him and Wesker. "Ya still think you're hot shit?"

"Alright, that's enough," the Arkham worker tried to cut in before either Ivy or Scarface lost their tempers.

"It's alright, Red," Scarface continued in a mocking tone, "I'll always be hard for ya."

Both Poison Ivy and Arnold Wesker blushed like mad at the dummy's statement. "M-Mr. Scarface, have some decency!" Wesker managed to say, shocked his boss would even say something like that in this setting.

"How dare you, you damn pervert!" Pam yelled as she swung her open hand toward Wesker's face.

Wesker let out a small "eep" of fear and ducked away from her hand, ultimately hitting the ground. As he managed to keep the chair he had been previously sitting between himself and the infuriated redhead, Scarface let out a laugh.

"That's enough!" the asylum worker shouted over the chaos that had broken out.

Ivy froze, her hand in mid-swing and Wesker already cringing from the potential blow. She pointed an accusing finger at Wesker. "He started it!"

Wesker opened an eye to see her pointing at him. He stared up at her with nervous eyes before he looked to the asylum worker. "I…I—"

"No, I started it," Scarface corrected Ivy harshly. He came face-to-face with her, dragging an unwilling Wesker behind him that left him dangling over his chair. "Get it right, Red!" Scarface continued loudly.

"That's it!" the Arkham worker said, throwing her hands up into the air. "Group is over!"

Harley pouted out her lip before shooting Scarface a murderous look. "Way to go, Puppethead."

"I do my best, doll," Scarface growled, returning her look with a glare of his own.

"I said enough," the worker repeated, stepping between the Ventriloquist and Harley. She turned to the officers by the door. "Please escort them back to their cells."

Wesker slowly rose to his feet, still feeling slightly shaken when the Arkham worker turned to him. "Take a seat, Arnold," she said to him.

After taking a quick look toward the other three villains being escorted out, Wesker sat back down. Once the room was empty save for her, Scarface, and himself, he looked to the worker. "I-I'm sorry about that…" he stammered.

"I ain't," Scarface muttered as he crossed his arms and leaned back against the Ventriloquist's body.

Before the worker could respond to either of them, Wesker's eyes lowered to the dummy on the end of his arm. "What do you mean, you're not?!"

Scarface glared up at him. "It's just as it sounds, Dummy."

Wesker pushed his glasses back up his nose. "You just like causing trouble, don't you?!"

"No shit, Sherlock. What was your first clue?" Scarface shot back.

"Gentlemen," the worker interrupted. When both of them glanced at her, she leaned forward in her chair, studying them intently. "Please. Let's just have a civilized conversation."

After a beat of silence had passed, Wesker nodded. "A-About what?" he asked slowly.

"Your relationship with each other," the Arkham employee responded.

Scarface's eyes immediately grew angry and narrowed on her. "We're partners; partners an' nothin' else."

The woman gazed down briefly at the puppet before her eyes returned to Wesker. "Arnold, is that true?"

The man studied the woman with somewhat confused eyes. "You know that's true…" he answered after another beat of silence.

"What's this about?" the dummy demanded to know.

She sat back in her seat, continuing to stare at the Ventriloquist. "You two seem like polar opposites," she said, more to herself. "How on Earth do you get along?"

"We don't," Scarface grumbled, shooting a quick look up at the puppet master.

"Do you agree?" she asked the man across from her.

Wesker gazed down at Scarface briefly before he looked back to the Arkham worker. He nibbled on his bottom lip nervously as his fingers began tapping against his knee. "W-Well…um…w-we may not…agree on everything…but we can get along."

She brought her hands together and tapped her index fingers against her mouth. "Interesting…" she breathed.

Arnold Wesker sat silently in his cell, staring at the blank wall across the room. He twiddled his thumbs almost unconsciously. His gaze shifted down to Scarface, who was sitting beside him.

They had barely spoken since group earlier that day. Wesker could tell that Scarface was thinking about the one-on-one discussion they had with the group leader. As they were being escorted back to their cell, Scarface had mumbled something about not liking her questions.

Wesker's eyes fell to the floor, not wanting to disrupt the dummy from his thoughts. He just remained quiet and waited patiently for—

His head perked up when he heard the locks turning to their door. Almost instinctively, his hand crept into Scarface's back.

The puppet's head swiveled around and his eyes shot to the door as it opened. Two guards stepped into the room, holding handcuffs for each of them.

"What's goin' on?" Scarface demanded to know as the cuffs were secured around his wooden wrists.

They waited until Wesker's wrists were also cuffed before answering. "Dr. Myers wants to talk to you," one of them replied. "Let's go."

Wesker and Scarface exchanged brief glances as the former stood. Each guard placed a massive hand over the small man's shoulders and led him out into the hall.

The Ventriloquist kept his eyes low as they moved down the hall in silence. Scarface, on the other hand, was shooting glares from the corners of his eyes at the other inmates, who were watching them walk.

"That's it!" Scarface suddenly yelled, making Wesker snap to attention with a start. He looked to the puppet at the end of his arm with worry written all over his face.

"What is so goddamn interestin'?!" Scarface asked loudly, his eyes shifting to each of the different pairs of eyes on them.

"Shut him up, Wesker," one of the guards growled, leaning forward.

Wesker only grew more nervous at the guard's order, turning and looking meekly up at him.

Scarface shot a look to the guard who had spoken. "He don't take orders from you, bub!" he yelled. As the guard straightened, the puppet returned his attention to the other inmates. "What're y'all starin' at?!"

"A man and his dummy," came a cold answer from the cell of Jonathan Crane.

As a light tremble covered the Ventriloquist's body, Scarface erupted. "Dummy?!" he roared furiously, his hard glass eyes locked on the Scarecrow.

Without warning, Wesker's arm shot outward. With a soft gasp, the small man's body lurched forward against his will and against the grasps of the guards. He stared at the back of Scarface's head with wide eyes behind the thick sheets of glass on his nose. "M-M-Mr. S-Scarface, calm d-down—"

"Who're you callin' dummy?!" Scarface yelled, determined to reach Crane's cell.

"Shut him the Hell up, Wesker!" the same guard from before yelled this time, struggling to keep his hold on the Ventriloquist.

"Do I look stupid to you?!" Scarface continued angrily.

Crane stared back at the dummy with dark, unexcited eyes. He kept his mouth shut, knowing it would only make the puppet angrier.

And it did. Boy, did Scarface hate being ignored.

"N-Now, Mr. Scarface," Wesker began in a timid voice, "j-just calm down—"

Scarface's head whirled around to the Ventriloquist. "Shut the HELL up, Dummy! This is between me an' 'im!" He faced Crane again, looking beyond infuriated.

"Alright, that's enough!" the guard finally shouted. He reached forward and wrapped a hand around the dummy at the end of Wesker's arm.

"Get your hands offa me!" Scarface roared as he looked from Crane to the guard behind him. "Get your—"

Scarface went lifeless as Wesker's hand slipped out of his back. He was motionless in the guard's grasp, his limbs dangling.

The guard looked back down at Wesker, who stared up at Scarface with mildly longing eyes. "Keep moving," he said harshly—

"Put me down, you son of a bitch!" came a yell from Scarface.

The guard jumped and shot a murderous look to the dummy. After slapping his hand around the puppet's mouth, he shot the Ventriloquist an equally sinister look.

Wesker's gaze shifted from his beloved dummy to the guard giving him the harsh eye. He brought his handcuffed arms in toward his chest almost defensively as he shrank away from the enraged guard.

After a rough nudge, they continued down the hall. Scarface continued to growl and curse, but his words were muffled by the guard's hand. Other than that and the sound of their footsteps, all was silent.

They finally reached the door to the interrogation room. The guard holding Scarface stepped forward, hit a button on the side of the door, and spoke into the intercom. "Dr. Myers, inmate is ready."

After a few seconds of silence, there came a response. "They are patients, guard, not inmates. Send him in."

The guard made a face and scowled at Wesker, making him only shrink away even more. The guard then pulled open the door and stood to the side. The other officer holding Wesker gently pushed the smaller man forward into the room.

"Ah, Arnold," Dr. Myers greeted his patient warmly with open arms on the other side of the room, standing at the other end of the interrogation table. "Come in, come in."

Another gentle push was needed for Wesker to slowly enter the room. "H-H-Hello, doctor," he finally managed to say, his voice hardly above a whisper.

Dr. Myers placed his hands into the pockets of his thin, white overcoat, remaining otherwise motionless. "No need to be nervous, Arnold. Please, sit down." He gave a faint nod to the guards, hoping it would go unnoticed by his patient.

Wesker did, however, notice the small movement and panicked. "Mr. Scarface?!" He whirled around—

The door slammed shut and locked, leaving him alone with his doctor.

"Sit down, Arnold."

Arnold Wesker stared at the closed door with terrified eyes, hardly hearing his doctor. A tremble had covered his body, shaking him to his very core. He felt incredibly vulnerable without the protection Scarface provided him with. There was no denying it; despite all the verbal abuse he was put through, he honestly felt safe with the dummy.

"Arnold!" Dr. Myers called for maybe the seventh time.

Wesker's eyes finally shot to his doctor. "M-Mr. Scarface…h-he will be joining us, yes?" he asked somewhat frantically.

"You need to sit down," his doctor said again. "Please, sit down."

The Ventriloquist shot another look over his shoulder at the door as he inched forward. He reluctantly sat down, but kept his eyes on the entrance. He ran his thumb over his puppeteering hand, over the scars and calluses he had gained in his line of work over the years.

"How are you doing today—?"

"Will Mr. Scarface be joining us soon?!" Wesker asked again. He sounded like he was trying to hide how panicked he felt, but was failing miserably. He kept his eyes on the door, praying for the guard who took his boss to return.

"I don't think he'd like what we're going to be doing here, Arnold," Dr. Myers said as he studied his patient. He hadn't sat down, nor had he moved from where he was standing. "I'd like you to meet someone…"

Wesker said nothing and he didn't turn.

"…His name is Mr. Friend."

'Mr. Friend…?' the Ventriloquist repeated in his mind, unconsciously raising an eyebrow. He turned to face his doctor and started.

Dr. Myers had taken a step to the side to reveal a well-dressed dummy sitting in the chair across from Wesker. It didn't have the aggressive air he had grown so accustomed to; it almost looked gentle…

Something that was entirely unfamiliar to him.

As Wesker continued to stare at the dummy, Dr. Myers moved around the table to where he was halfway between the two. "Now, Arnold, I'd like you to talk to Mr. Friend, here. He wants to help you." He headed toward the door. "I'll just let you two get to know each other for a little bit."

'Don't you leave me in here with him,' Wesker wanted to call to his doctor. He found himself paralyzed, however, locked in a stare-down with the dummy across from him. The door closed behind him, and he was all alone; all alone with this unfamiliar dummy.

"Hello," came a voice with a British accent. "My name is Mr. Friend."

Wesker jumped at the voice and snapped from his daze. His eyes immediately fell to the table top and he began to run an index finger along the edge of the table nervously. He swallowed the lump in his throat and remained silent.

"Aren't you going to talk to me?" Mr. Friend asked gently, not sounding the least bit offended by Wesker's silent treatment. "I want to help you get well."

Wesker blinked and looked over to the wall with the one-way window. "…Y-You make is sound like I'm ill…" he finally said in a soft, shaky voice.

"You are ill, Arnold."

Wesker's eyes shot to Mr. Friend, caught off-guard by his blunt response. He simply stared at him.

"I want to help you get well, Arnold," Mr. Friend restated, regaining his gentle voice.

'The sooner I start talking to him, the sooner I can get out of here,' Wesker tried reasoning with himself. '…but Mr. Scarface will have a fit if he sees me talking with him…' He nibbled nervously on his bottom lip and tried to work up the courage to speak with this unfamiliar dummy.

He finally breathed a soft sigh and looked at the dummy.

Dr. Myers exited the interrogation room and approached a male nurse with a microphone in his hand, standing before the one-way window. He stood next to him, his arms folded behind his back.

The nurse brought the microphone up to his mouth. "Aren't you going to talk to me?" he spoke for the dummy inside the room. The small speaker inside the dummy hopefully gave the man inside the impression that Mr. Friend was indeed talking. "I want to help you get well."

As he lowered the microphone and stared into the room, he spoke to Dr. Myers. "Are you sure this is going to work?" he asked, his words accented with his British dialect.

Dr. Myers smiled softly as his patient finally spoke to the dummy. "Hopefully he'll learn to prefer Mr. Friend's company over Scarface's."

The nurse was about to reply when Mr. Friend spoke from inside the room. "You are ill, Arnold." Both he and the psychologist stared into the room, equally as caught off-guard by the small sentence as Wesker was. When the dummy spoke again, gentler this time, they relaxed.

"So far, so good," Dr. Myers said. "I honestly didn't think he'd start speaking for him this quickly…"

As a conversation was started up inside the interrogation room, the nurse gazed over at the doctor. "He could actually start using his talent for something good. He really is a wonderful ventriloquist…his accent for the dummy is spot on."

Dr. Myers smiled again. "Let's hope all he really needed this whole time was a friend."