Batman Begins/Dark Knight 1. The Escape

**_Hello readers. If there are any. I had an awesome idea for a J. Crane fanfic, so I started writing. It seemed to come together pretty well. I'm sorry for my lack of descriptiveness to make all this more interesting. I've only bee writing for a yearr, but I hope this is good enough for now! It's the best I have =)) _**

**_Oh and this story occurs after TDK, and whatever happens in the sequel to it, unless of course Scarecrow dies. Then it's between. I guess._**

Once the Police got a hold of him, Crane was tried in court. And despite his lawyer's best efforts in defense and support, he was convicted of his crimes. And he was ruled insane and sent to Arkham, to become one of its patients. Irony hung heavily in the dealing, and Crane resented it deeply.

The doctors prescribed him a few drugs that had no affect on him. They forced him into therapy that did nothing for him. Crane could not be changed. He was incurable. The only thing they did do was lesson the affects that his own fear toxin had had on him with the antidote, rendering him closer to sanity and lucidity again. He no longer was constantly muttering 'Scarecrow' and wearing a smirk that he could not make go away if he tried.

One night he sat in a fixed daze, sitting on the bunk in his cell staring at the left wall. He couldn't help but think over and over again about the events that had happened before he had been captured by the Batman, and picked up by the police in the parking lot of that d*** casino.

He had been foolish to conduct his business with the mob at night, which they all knew was the prime-time of the Batman. Now _he_ was locked up inside this Asylum, and treated like one of _them_. Like one of the insane lunatics that he had used to treat.

The days went by drearily. He was forced to eat the terrible substance Arkham passed as 'food', and sleep on the cold, hard bunk at night, tossing and turning as he dreamt of his former days of glory. He had to wear this hideous orange rag as well. It was such a familiar thing to see on all the other inmates, which made it a strange experience to actually be wearing it himself now. A strange and infuriating experience.

When suddenly the door to his cell opened of its own accord. Jonathan looked, but there were no guards in view of the doorway. What was this?

He saw outside in the hallway that the inmates were experiencing a similar situation as he. They were all coming out of their cells, dressed in the identical dull orange garb of Arkham he was in, all looking confused and disoriented.

A prison break? Crane thought, his eyes scanning the situation, a small ball of excitement growing inside of him. _Again_.

A large racket began to arise as the prisoners realized what was happening, and began to yell and shout. A riot would start soon if this kept up.

Crane thought, as he sat there in the cell still. If he got out of here, this would be a new start. He would be back on the streets, creating terror in Gotham once again. And out of this hell-hole. The mere thought of that drove Crane to get up, darting quickly out of his cell. Before he headed for the elevator that would take him to the main level and to his escape, Crane took a quick look around at the situation.

The absence of guards said that someone must have taken care of them already, or they would be down here trying to subdue all of the patients who were now scrambling to escape.

Right before he got into the elevator, Crane spotted a body. It was one of the guards. There was a small crimson pool of blood around his head. And his face-was covered in white paint, the lips painted in a bright red Glasgow smile. He knew that face. It had come from none other than the Joker, one of the most hardcore maniacs that he had been imprisoned down here with.

It was Crane's bet that he had probably seduced that little nurse of his that had been 'treating' him for the past two weeks. Miss Harleen Quinzel. She had been a sucker for hire the moment she'd walked into Arkham. Crane could tell just from one look at her cheery face and too-short pencil skirt. She carried her clipboard around with her everywhere, just another naive, overeager intern. He could imagine that it had been easy for the Joker to twist her mind to his liking.

And now as a result he was free once again. Crane would have to remember to give the Joker his personal thanks. And he had in mind just how he would do that, when the time came.

Crane bustled into the elevator, but then he remembered something just before he pressed the button to go up. He looked to the crowd of inmates trying to get inside it with him.

"Hey you, you, you, and you-Yes, you-Get in here." Jonathan Crane said, pointing to several of the inmates. He would need some assistants not only for when he was out of here, but also _to _get out of here. And he would need them to, more importantly, conduct his experiments on. They would be his test subjects.

"Dr. Crane.." One of them said. Crane looked and saw the owner of the voice was Thomas Schiff. Crane smiled, as the paranoid schizophrenic got in, eyes fearful and wary of him. Schiff seemed to cower in the back. Most of the other inmates cowered as well, though less obviously, as they got into the elevator with him. Jonathan then pressed the button for the main level, while at the same time relishing their fear in his mind.

The Joker had probably already made his escape. Crane couldn't imagine what the psychotic lunatic was planning to do. He only knew the Joker by reputation. He had never attempted to treat him with any medicine. Being a psychopharmacologist for the criminally insane at the Asylum, Crane knew there were two kinds of insane criminals. Those who still had some sane parts in them, who could be treated with medicine and therapy sessions, and those whose minds were far too gone to ever be reached-those who could not be saved. The Joker was the latter type. Crane had read all the reports and files on him. He was an unreachable, incurable psychopath.

The elevator went up to the main level, and Crane got out. His new assistants followed. As he walked down the hall, Crane saw another body. And another. All painted with the Joker's signature red smile.

Jonathan ignored the bodies, and he went straight to the closet where doctors kept all their medical supplies, the same room that kept all the paperwork and files for the inmates and the employees at Arkham. He gathered as much as he could. Pills, gloves, syringes, etc. All he would need to conduct more experiments with his fear toxin. Of which he would need to gather fresh ingredients for.

He would need to find a secluded place, of course in the narrows, where the filthy streets lined by many run down buildings, were filled with crime and drugs. The Narrows were the slums of Gotham City. The underbelly brimming with all kinds of detestable activities that shamed the clean surface of the city. And they would make it a perfect base for Scarecrow's business.

Crane found his mask, the very thing that made his victims cower and scream in fright when he dosed them with his potent mixture of fear toxin. The mask was his image- the Scarecrow. They all called him that. Jonathan had missed the old sack more than words could express. It brought back many memories of those times where he stood over his victims, reveling as they writhed around, tormented by fantastic nightmare hallucinations, screaming with terror and fright until they were driven insane by their fears.

Fear was a very powerful tool. The most powerful tool to Crane. Scarecrow was the master of fear. It was extremely satisfying to have the mask. All it was was a plain, dilapidated burlap sack with holes punched out for eyes and a mouth stitched into the material to make it look like a face, but it had infinite significance in his criminal identity as the Scarecrow. He needed it.

For some reason, the doctors had kept it. As if it might help them in their completely ineffective 'treatment' with him. Jonathan despised the doctors, looking down their noses at him and thinking that they could 'help' him. He didn't want help.

Jonathan walked down the hall, some of the inmates carrying his supplies. He realized that the Batman would be here soon. People living in the Narrows would most certainly be assaulted by the escaped inmates of Arkham, and one of them would end up calling the police. That would alert the Batman of the break out, and Crane knew he would come. He might already be on his way now. Their time was almost up. He had to get going if he wanted to escape.

"Let's go."

They ran down the hallway, towards the exit.

Away into the darkness Scarecrow scurried. Other Arkham inmates were already running around outside, fleeing for freedom just like them. The Narrows were the perfect place to disappear in.

But what disappeared in them, Batman would find. He moved swiftly through the dark alleys, grappling across buildings and running on foot towards Arkham.

Bruce had gotten the page when someone in the Narrows called the police station claiming they saw an escaped criminal attacking someone in the streets. Police had received several more calls after that one. It sounded like a prison break at Arkham Asylum. Bruce hoped to God it wasn't, but there was no other explanation, the way it sounded. He had rushed to the bat lair, gotten suited up, and heading for the scene of crime. If it was true, today was going to be a long night.

Despite that, he told Alfred not to worry about him.

Crane ran through the streets, constantly looking over his shoulder for any irregular movement that would indicate the Batman had found him. He never got even a glimpse. It was his lucky night. Fortunately for him, the Batman had more pressing matters to attend to- trying to round up all the escaped inmates from Arkam, and catching the Joker once he learned that he was responsible for the prison break.

After Crane was pretty sure the Batman was not coming after him, he loosened up and began looking for a suitable base to conduct more experiments in order to further refine his fear toxin. He wanted to develop an even more potent weaponized form of the toxin, to use on his enemies. The one at the top of his list right now was Batman.

Batman was always in the way. He needed to go down. The second on Scarecrow's list...was the Joker. Crane needed to get rid of the competition. He hadn't had the chance before, as he had been caught.

They came to what looked like a completely abandoned street in the Narrows. At the end, was a tall, worn down house. The windows were patched up with rotting planks of wood; the dark paint on the door was peeling and chipping inordinately. It looked large from the outside. And it was certainly inconspicuous enough to be considered useable.

Crane entered the building. He had to kick down the front door. When he went in, he saw it was indeed roomy. There was furniture covered in plastic sheets and a thick layer of duct coating everything in sight. Cobwebs hung copiously in the corners of the room.

"This place could use a bit of cleaning up." Crane remarked, looking up at the spiders hanging in their webs above them. "But I believe it will suit my purposes just fine."

Jonathan ordered the inmates to set up his materials on the table across the room that was covered in a tarp. He walked outside again, staring at the rooftops of the Narrows, sitting below the night sky.

His eyes widened suddenly when he thought he caught a glimpse of a shadow, moving across one. But he ruled it out just to be a trick of the mind. They were far away from the Asylum now. Crane hoped now that he would never have to go back to that hell hole again. It had once been dear to him, when he had been at the head, and secretly experimenting on the patients to his full contentedness, but then he had been locked up in one of the cells himself, and it had become hated.

He'd burn the place down if he had his way.


	2. Discovery

**_Chapter two-Hurray! I got some great reviews on the last chapter. Thank you guys =)))))))_**

Crane stole more supplies and necessities for his experiments over the next week. He salvaged belt buckles and straps to restrain his experiments. He retrieved more glass vials and test tubes, and all of the chemicals required to brew more of his fear toxin. He found buckets and basins to hold the compound while it was being mixed.

His inmates helped him with most of the work. They also stole clothes from other inhabitants of the narrows, and ditched their conspicuous orange suits that would alert everyone of who they were, and get them caught.

Crane tidied the place up a little, swept it clean and rearranged the furniture to suit his purposes. The outside remained untouched, as to retain the image that the building was abandoned.

Food was an issue before Crane brewed enough toxin to begin selling it as a drug on the black market for cash. He was unable to continue business with the mob, seeing as all of its members were locked up behind bars now, thanks again to the Batman. The mob had been his best source of customers. Now he was forced to sell his drug to random buyers off the streets.

It was an inconvenience. Yet another reason why he was eager to take him down once and for all. Once Crane developed a version of his fear toxin who's effects were permanent in gas form, he could lead the Batman to him and set a trap. It was a stable plan, as long as nothing went wrong. And Jonathan would make sure that it didn't.

He began experiments on his Arkham test subjects as soon as he had enough fear toxin, and a decent amount of money to keep him afloat.

"Who wants to go first?" Scarecrow asked, gesturing to the chair he had fashioned into a restraining device. He wore his mask, which terrified Schiff, and made the stomachs of the other inmates churn.

"How about you." Scarecrow said, pointing to the one who looked the most scared, besides Thomas. He was a bald black man with a history of agoraphobia, fear of public places and open spaces, which had caused him to have a panic attack once and kill a woman and her child in attempt to escape a theater during a play. His name was Baron Harris. He would be first. And the rest were soon to come next.

His victims went by too fast. Crane hadn't yet developed the weaponized version of his hallucinagon to its full potential by the time they had all had their turns with Scarecrow. He was on his last test subject now, the great Victor Zsasz, former butcher for the mob, whom Crane had dosed with his fear toxin already in order to keep him in the Asylum for Falcone a while ago.

Crane was watching, analyzing, evaluating his subject. And oh, how he loved to hear the terrified screams and pleas of his victims. It gave him power.

Victor lie back strapped down to the chair, writhing and sweating like hell. His eyes were filled with fright and his mouth hung open.

"No-please! Don't! No! No, no, no, no, nooooo!" He yelled. By the way he acted, Scarecrow thought that Zsasz must be seeing Lucifer himself, coming to drag him to hell for his horrific crimes against humanity.

It felt good to see such a once burly and dignified man crying in terror like a little boy.

Meanwhile, a young woman walked down that very abandoned street, taking a shortcut on the way back to her run-down 'apartment' there in the Narrows, if it could actually be passed as an apartment. Amy was barely getting by in life nowadays. She had been kicked out of the nice place she had been renting in the good part of town, right after she'd lost her job. It had all happened around a month ago. Now she lived in a decrepit place in the Narrows that she had been doing her best to try to fix up for the past few weeks with the money she earned from her new part-time job as a bartender at some cheap saloon in town.

The manager there always expressed his concern for her living alone in the Narrows, especially with the recent prison outbreak at Arkham Asylum. Inmates were still running loose on the streets. "Such a pretty young lady shouldn't be living in a sh** hole like the Narrows." He would always say. But Amy just brushed his concerns off. She could fend for herself. She kept a registered stun gun with her at all times as means for defense, hidden inside of her cheap leather handbag.

So Amy walked down the street heading for home, keeping aware of her surroundings, ready to pull out her gun at any moment if anyone tried to assault her. Luckily for her, Arkham was far away from where she lived, and so far she hadn't spotted one loose inmate running around. But there were still plenty of other threats that didn't involve the Aslyum outbreak to worry about. It was around 8:00 pm; the sky had already faded into dark. She had to be careful.

Amy reached the end of the street, and went to turn the corner.

Her her heart sped up a little and she stopped, listening anxiously when she thought she heard someone screaming inside the building right beside her, on the corner. But after she heard nothing else, Amy decidedly dismissed it as just a figment of her jumpy imagination, and continued on her way. She couldn't help but be jumpy, considering where she was.

Then, Amy heard it again, clearly this time. It was a man's voice, crying out. She couldn't make it out entirely, but what she heard was,

"_No! Please no!_" She knew that it was coming from that house. Amy stopped completely in her tracks again, her heart pounding.

What should she do? What _could_ she do? She could either try to see what was going on in there, and then call the police, or do nothing. She couldn't call the police without knowing what the situation was. They wouldn't take her seriously. There were plenty of prank calls from mischievous teens and generally incredible claims that they had to deal with daily. She couldn't just call in claiming that she had heard someone screaming inside an abandoned house in the Narrows.

So Amy crept up to the house, her heart hammering inside of her chest, and beads of sweat forming on her forehead. The screams became louder as she drew nearer. The building, as she could she, was very old and dilapidated. The windows were boarded up with rotting planks, and curtains were drawn on the inside, so she couldn't see anything. The concrete stairs leading up to the entrance were coated in years of filth. The door was covered in peeling green paint.

It looked like no one had been in the place for years. But she could hear the cries coming from inside, and she knew there had to be atleast someone in there. It sounded like the man was being tortured. The screams were so terrible it made her just want to run away and not look back. She was scared. She couldn't imagine what sort of terrible business was going on behind that door, but she knew that she couldn't bring herself to leave and forget she had heard it.

Amy reached the top of the steps, and tip-toed up to the door. The screams had died down, and it made her wonder what was happening now. She stood there for a long time, staring at the extremely imposing image of the door knob, trying to gather up the courage to turn it because it was the only way she could find out what was going on and call help, listening and trying to make out what was going on inside there, and hoping to God that no one decided to come out at that moment, to see her standing there listening to whatever terrible things were taking place inside.

Scarecrow gave an intoxicated laugh at the cries of Victor Zsasz. It was a wonderful sound. Music to his ears. Then they died down a little. Zsasz appeared to be in such an intense torture that he could not even bring himself to scream now. He writhed around with his eyes squeezed shut, panting like a dog.

Amy knew that she had to open the door. There was no other way. She was so terrified. For a moment, she considered again just leaving, pretending it had never happened. But then the screaming started up again.

"_No, No, No, God please no-Argh!_"

Amy screwed her eyes shut tightly, took a deep breathe, and turned the knob of the door. She opened her eyes. The first thing she saw through the narrow crack she had opened was a sweating, panting burly man who was bald and had a short trimmed mustache and beard. He was strapped down to a chair, writhing and struggling agains the restraints, his eyes wide with fear as he stared at the man standing over him, who wore a sack over his head, for some reason. And there was some sort of gas swirling around the chair. It was whitish, and it smelt like a rose soaked in bleach.

Amy covered her mouth in vain attempt to stop a horrified whimper from escaping her. Then her vision began to distort slightly, and her head became fuzzy. Flashes of frightening images went through her mind. What was happening?

Amy tried to blink them back, as her eyes grew hewide with trepidation, her heart racing as she wondered fearfully if anyone had heard her cry. She was ready to turn tail and run back down the steps and away for her life.

She knew that she had been heard when the man with the sack over his head froze, then slowly turned his body towards the door.

Amy backed away from it, and was about to run, but her feet suddenly would not move. She was so scared that she was frozen in place with fear. _Why aren't my legs moving?_ Amy thought, in panicked fright as the man neared the door, walked slowly to it.

It felt like eternity passing slowly as she stood there, unable to move, paralyzed with terror and continuously blinking back images of demons and spiders and heights, panting heavily.

The man finally opened the door all the way to her. Amy got a clear look at the sack that was his 'face'. It was made of ragged burlap and a mouth was sewn into it. Holes for eyes were cut out of the fabric, so Amy was staring at two intense, icy blue irises that were focused on her terrified figure standing there in the doorway.

She didn't have the strength to run, even now. She was petrified.

The man spoke.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Scarecrow asked.


	3. A Promise

**_The third chapter. Made with love. Lol JK made with EPICNESS! _**

Amy suddenly found her legs again and was about to bolt, but he caught her by her wrist and pulled her towards him.

"Where do you think you're going?" He asked as he caught her arm. She was yanked to his chest roughly, and Amy looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes. She knew she had been caught. She attempted to struggle against the man, but her efforts were in vain. His grip was strong on her arm.

Scarecrow looked her up and down as he held her. She was wearing a dark brown cami, worn blue jeans, and a coat. Her hair was brown and her eyes a dark sage. Her facial features were soft, yet they had a distinct hardness laced into them. The hardness of having a difficult life. She reminded Scarecrow faintly of Rachel Dawes, that damsel he had once poisoned with his fear toxin a while ago, and who was now dead, all blame on the Joker and his crazy plans with Gotham. Overall, she seemed like quite a fine looking young woman, despite her dreary attire.

Amy remembered her stun gun, and reached inside her purse, fumbling for it as he brought her inside. Her fingers wrapped around the cold object, and she took it out, and tried to aim it at him. Scarecrow froze when he saw the gun pointed at him. Amy fired, but she wasn't concentrating enough. She missed. The electric nodes fell to the ground, sizzling and crackling with electricity.

Scarecrow took that opportunity to grab the girl's wrist, taking the gun first and throwing it away from them both. He reached behind her and shut the door, before pinning her against it with his body so she couldn't move.

He was silent for a moment, staring down into her terrified green eyes. Then he asked, "What were you doing? Don't you know that it's rude to eavesdrop?"

Amy couldn't answer. She was too afraid.

"What's the matter?" He asked her. "Cat got your tongue?" Scarecrow stood there relishing her fear that made her unable to speak. Amy was finally able to stammer out a few words.

"W-who are you?" She asked, still staring into his deep blue eyes hiding behind his mask.

"Scarecrow." He answered. He let her go after a moment, slowly, watching her closely to see that she did not try to bolt again.

That name struck a faint sense of familarity in Amy, but she had no idea why.

Scarecrow looked down and saw that she had dropped a maroon pleather handbag on the floor in their struggle. He bent down and picked it up, knowing the girl wouldn't dare make a move with him standing right there. He fished around for her wallet, found it, and located her driver's license. He read the name on it aloud.

"Amy Whitman." He read. "Age twenty-two." Scarecrow looked back up to her. Then, to Amy's surprise, he reached up and pulled his mask off. She saw his face for the first time, smooth, and real. His cheekbones were soft and structured, his lips full and his eyes still like tiny piercing lakes. His hair clung around his face in sweaty brown curls. He was overall surprisingly handsome, and for some odd reason, his face looked faintly familiar, as if she had seen him somewhere.

Who was he?

Crane pulled his glasses out from inside his coat, and put them on his face. That made him look even more familiar. But Amy just couldn't place his face. He took Amy's chin in his hand, and turned her face to either side, examining her pupils, her response time, etc. Amy didn't resist him. She had no defense against him with her gun gone.

"You'll make a fine test subject." He remarked, staring down at her, smirking slightly, his cyan eyes swimming with unknown depths of threat, their mystery mesmerizing to Amy.

"Huh?" Amy uttered feebly. What did he mean-Would she end up like that man lying strapped down in that chair now? The one that had been screaming, that she had come here to help, but was now no better off than him? She started to begin trying to figure out a way to escape. She couldn't make a run for it right now; he was too close. And she didn't know how fast he was. He would probably catch her.

"I know what you're thinking. Don't even try it." Scarecrow said.

Amy's face fell, along with her hope.

"My real name is Dr. Crane, by the way. Dr. Jonathan Crane." He said, looking at her. Amy's heart skipped a beat. That name sounded so familiar.

Amy thought back to the reports she had heard on GMC about a former psycho pharmacologist at Arkham Asylum who had been found to be conducting experiments on his own patients, and who had also been affiliated with Carmone Falcone and Ras Al Ghul, two major-offense criminals of Gotham city that only the Batman had been able to bring down.

Crane had been working with Falcone for Ras Al Ghul. Ras had been planning to dose the entire city with a psychotropic hallucinogen via the city's water supply, which they would then vaporize into the air with a stole microwave emitter from Wayne Enterprises. Falcone had been bringing in shipments of drugs for months that contained the toxin hidden in it, and they had been dumping it into the water supply.

The former psycho pharmacologist at Arkham who was involved was the one who had developed the toxin, using his patients as test subjects. And his name was...Jonathan Crane. Amy remembered it now. He was known to his patients as "The Scarecrow", as eyewitness reports said that he wore a mask obscuring his face during his experiments that resembled a scarecrow's face.

"I've heard of you." Amy said.

"On the news, I presume?"

She nodded.

"Yes... I have made myself well known in this town. People_ fear _me."

Something in that last -arrogant-statement of his made something inside Amy click. He said that people 'feared' him. But Amy didn't want to be afraid of him. She felt that someone besides the Batman needed to stand up to this man. Didn't they? Maybe someone like her.

Amy stared at him, butterflies fluttering around in her stomach, her skin slick with sweat. She clenched her teeth tightly and looked away from his eyes, unable to hold the intense gaze. Uncertainty churned in her gut. Was standing up to him really the best of options right now? Wouldn't it just make things worse?

But what did she have to lose now?

"I'm not afraid." Amy said bravely, though it was not true. Her voice tremored slightly, but she steeled her gaze and looked him in the eye. His blue crystals still melted her. His smooth lips and cheeks felt so strangely and sickeningly captivating, but she ignored that.

Jonathan Crane looked at her, his eyes lighting up with amusement. A slow, entertained smirk spread across his face, and he let out a little laugh that made Amy's heart leap a little.

"You're not afraid?" He repeated, mirth dancing in his cyan eyes. "Just look at you. You're trembling with fear just to be in my presence." He leaned into her face, and Amy had to make an effort not to let her eyes flutter closed. "You're nothing but a _coward_." He whispered the last word softly. Amy felt a puzzling warmth shoot through her chest. It lasted very briefly, but it troubled her.

Amy stared at him hard-ly. Defiant anger seethed in her. She was not a coward. But she needed to prove it to him-And she would. She abruptly swung her fist out at Crane, hard as she could manage. "Hmh!" She grunted, feeling her knuckles connect with his cheek satisfyingly.

Crane's head was smacked hard to the side with the blow. His hand immediately came up to finger the wound. It hurt.

He stood there with his hand to his cheek, momentarily in a state of shock that the girl had actually _hit_ him. But his surprise did not last long enough to register outwardly.

He turned back to her, a smirk playing at his lips, malice twinkling in his cyan eyes. He relished the fear in her face as she looked tensely at him. He gazed at Amy with a slightly bemused expression, even while his jaw ached from the impact of her blow.

"Is that all you have?" He asked her, tauntingly, making her feel puny and weak, because that was truly what she was.

Amy was at lost for words or actions. She couldn't push back the burning intimidation caused by his piercing, condescending gaze on her. She knew she could not beat him. Why she had been foolish enough to just punch him in the face, she did not know. Because now she could tell that she had just made whatever horrors the Scarecrow had in store for her worse.

"Surely that wasn't it?" Crane asked, continuing to mock her, with increasing enjoyment seeing the turmoil inside of her.

Amy's nostrils flared at his taunting. No. She didn't care if she was making things worse for herself. If she was at the end of the road, if she could not escape, did it really matter? And if she did escape, it obviously wouldn't matter either. Amy refused to just stand there and cower around Crane. She made up her mind right there that she would put up a fight for him. She would be defiant.

Amy let out a breath through her nose, gathering her wits, closing her eyes for a moment, then opening them again in an instant, realizing it was a foolish thing to do to take your eye off the enemy. She focused on the target. He was standing there, waiting for a reaction from her. Amy lunged at him, swinging her fist out.

But this time he was prepared, and he easily dodged it. Crane looked smugly at her. She tried again, and he grabbed her arm, and twisted it back. Amy cried out. Crane held her left arm to his chest, relishing her pain as he did. He did it just to prove the point that she had nothing to threaten him with.

"You have nothing to threaten me with." Crane said. "You can't overpower me." He pulled back harder on her arm, willing to hear her cry out one more time. Amy panted, and whimpered. Then he jerked back hardly, and she cried out again.

"Agh! Let me go!" She struggled against him, and Crane let go of her as she requested, not bothering to battle against her, having just made his point.

Amy stumbled slightly, free. She breathed heavily, feeling defeated.

But spirit still burned a tiny flame inside of her. She would not give in to him.

"You see now?" Crane asked her. He walked over so he was standing before her again. She looked up at him, and then gasped when he stuck his hand into her head full of soft brown hair. She could feel the warmth against her neck, but then his hand closed into a fist, and he grabbed a fistful of hair and tugged upwards, so she was looking up at him.

"Look at me." He said. He was enjoying just playing around with this woman. It was very amusing to him. He could tell already that it would be great fun breaking this girl. She was just a mixed bag of emotions and attitudes. She couldn't seem to ever decide which one she wanted at any moment.

He stared into her pine green eyes. They swam with fear and apprehension. Amy couldn't take the intense staredown for long and she jerked away defiantly, trying to escape his grasp. But Crane only held on tighter to her, and then he slammed her head lightly against the wall.

"I told you, you can't overpower me. Stop trying to struggle and just give up. I am going to use you, drain your mind of every last drop of sanity and then dispose of you, and you won't escape."

Amy's stomach churned at the thought. Her heart sank deep into her gut. Still, she had just promised herself that she wouldn't give up until the end. However foolish of a promise that may have been...She wouldn't' know until Crane began the torture he had planned for her, that was, if she hadn't escaped by then. And if she hadn't, she would fight. Amy dreaded deeply keeping this promise, and she wasn't entirely sure she could, but she refused to be a coward to him.

"Get your filthy hands off of me." She said to him, and jerked her head as hard as she could out of his grasp, freeing herself, and backing up several paces from him.

Crane turned and watched her back up to the wall. He scoffed amusedly, almost disdainfully. "You will make a very interesting test subject indeed." He said, giving her a sickeningly sweet smile that communicated worlds to her.

Amy backed up further as he came walking towards her. She backed up all the way against the wall. _Stupid_. She thought, as she realized she had just cornered herself to him, leaving her no escape, unless she could quickly dart to the side, removing herself from the extremely dangerous position. But she didn't even have time to do so before he reached her, took her pretty head in his hand, and slammed it hard and precise against the wall.

Amy cried out as pain shot through her skull. Then everything when dull and fuzzy.


	4. Hell

**Review Reply to Lily- I actually did the repetition on purpose. I thought I'd give it a little Lemony Snicket kind of twist. Snicket always uses repetition like that in his books in The Series of Unfortunate events. =) Also, would you mind telling me what exactly could be tweaking? I know I am not entirely satisfied with the second to last paragraph talking about Amy cornering herself against the wall, but I couldn't think of a better way to write it. Lol I hate that. **

Crane got rid of Zsasz while Amy sank to the floor, slumped over in a barely coherent daze. He unstrapped the man, as Zsasz saw the face of the Scarecrow once again and began going into hysterics again, screaming and yelling and thrashing around wildly. He lashed out with fright at the face that had been dragged from the pits of hell to torment him in his hour of death.

"No!" He exclaimed. His face was damp from sweating, his pupils dilated to the size of marbles. It looked like he was on crack. Scarecrow enjoyed this look very much, as it was induced by the effects of pure and utter fear. But he was growing sick of this man. It was time to move on. Especially since he had found a new and perfect candidate to experiment on.

Victor gave a loud grunt and lashed out at Scarecrow, but Scarecrow simply dodged it and continued to un-strap the buckles from the chair. It became more difficult as Victor continued to swing his arms wildly in attempt to hit him, but Scarecrow kept at it until they were all undone. Once he had finished taking off the restraints, Zsasz bolted out of the chair and lunged at him. Scarecrow side-stepped and swept his feet under Zsasz's, bringing the man to the floor effectively with a heavy thud.

Scarecrow then stomped viciously on Zsasz's head, hard enough to put the psycho out. He dragged the unconscious body to the door with difficulty, opened the door, and dragged him down the stairs, and hid him behind an inconspicuous dumpster. He went back inside, to see to Amy. He slowly walked over to where she lay on the floor, trying desperately to hold on to consciousness as it threatened to slip away from her. She was faintly aware of what was going on, but her brain could not process it at the moment. Her head was pounding badly. The pain was so great it took all she had not to let it drive her unconscious.

Scarecrow pulled the girl up by her arm. He held her up and lead her to the chair, keeping a firm grip on her arm so she would not fall. Amy tried to blink back the darkness that was continuously attempting to overtake her, but it just kept creeping back on her. It was all she could do just to stay generally lucid, if only barely. She couldn't think straight and she had no conscious control over her own limbs. She could feel Scarecrow leading her over to the chair where that bald bearded man had just been and she could feel her legs moving, but she was not moving them. They were moving of their own accord.

She couldn't do anything to help herself. It was a terrible situation to be in.

Scarecrow forced her to lie down on the chair, practically laying her on it himself. He had to move her limbs into position, as Amy was in no state to herself, and if she were, he knew she would most likely refuse, and/ or fight back.

While Scarecrow began strapping Amy down, she regained some of her consciousness. She became fully aware of what he was doing, and somehow gathered enough strength to struggle against the restraints. But her small effort was largely ineffective and completely useless against his way stronger hands.

"Stop struggling. You're just wasting what little strength you have." Scarecrow said through the mask.

Amy paid no attention, and continued to struggle against him, until she had no more strength left, and collapsed back hopelessly, letting out a small whimper. She could not get out.

She looked down, watching as he buckled the last of the restraints, staring down at them depressively. She looked up at Crane anxiously, wondering what he was going to do to her. She deeply wished that he hadn't banged her head against the wall. The pain alone was killing her. She couldn't see straight. Everything was blurry and unfocused, and her thoughts were a jumbled, confused mess. She could barely think at all.

Crane moved and turned his back to her for a moment, arranging his materials on the table beside them. Then he turned back again, while Amy was closing her eyes, just trying to breathe through the pain, and not to slip into unconsciousness. She opened her eyes, and screamed when a hideous burlap face loomed in her view.

"Boo." Scarecrow said, and laughed. Amy panted, letting her head roll back to the side and squeezing her eyes shut again.

"Look at me." He commanded, forcing her to open her eyes again. He wanted to see her eyes fill up with absolute terror when he gave her the dose of toxin. Amy obeyed, fearful he would strike her if she refused, and not having the energy to resist at the moment.

Then Scarecrow sprayed her with the dose of the fear toxin. Amy screamed, as absolute, overwhelming terror overtook her.

Poisonous spiders suddenly began crawling all over Scarecrow's face. Their long spindly legs crept over the burlap material and down his neck, down his arms, towards her. Her throat became dry with fear, and Amy cried out, thrashing around in fear, in vain attempt to escape from the horror. They continued crawling towards her, and Amy panted heavily and frantically, her eyes wide with terror. They were now scattered all over Scarecrow, crawling around his entire body.

Then one jumped onto her arm. Amy screamed again, trying desperately to move her arm to get it off, but it remained in place. Amy cried aloud.

"Get it off! Get it off!" she yelled, her voice reaching a high, feverish pitch. Scarecrow stood by watching her, engrossed in her struggle against unseen terrors. He relished her intense, panicked alarm. Her screams grew louder.

Amy cried frantically as the spiders began scampering across her body. She squeezed her eyes shut, her entire being filled with pure terror and dread. She was totally unaware of her surroundings, of anything but the horrible things crawling on her. In this fear toxin-induced state, the logical part of her thinking was not a part of her consciousness. What she was seeing was real to her, and the thought never occurred that it was just an illusion. It was real.

"Please...No..." She said weakly, her mind overcome with fear. She opened her eyes again, just for a split second, only to see one perched right on her nose. She screamed shrilly, shaking her head wildly in attempt to get it off.

_"What's wrong?" _Scarecrow asked tauntingly. _"What are you seeing?"_

Amy apparently could not see him over her own fears, but only heard his voice, as she looked around blindly, for the source of the question.

"Huh?" Where was he? She thought. Then she gave another shriek when she found the owner of the voice. It was not Scarecrow at all. Amy gaped at the hideous thing before her. It was six feet tall, blakest blak with piercing red eyes shining through the sack pulled over its head that served as a base for its horrible face. It's mouth hung open to show sharp, deformed teeth and disgusting drool oozed out of it. It had gnarled, lupine claws and blood was running down them. It pulsed and warped as if she were looking at it in a trick mirror.

"Oh G**!" Amy said. Where had Scarecrow gone? That thing had swallowed him up! It was like a demon...A horrific, ghastly thing dragged up from hell. The demon came closer to her. Was it going to take her soul?

"Get away! No!" Amy exclaimed, but it paid no heed. It stopped when it stood directly over her, and she was staring into his horrible burlap face and bloody crimson eyes that glowed like sickeningly red moons at night through the sack. It's mouth gaped open, drooling gross slime and its teeth were horrid yellow and pointy like a sharks.

_"Whattt do you seee?"_ It asked.

"Wh-what are you?" Amy asked, terrified beyond words, a split second before the spider on her arm bit her. Amy cried out in anguish, squeezing her eyes shut tight. She could imagine the deadly venom snaking up through her arm right now. Was she going to die? Amy opened her eyes and then closed them again, remembering the terrible demon lurking over her.

_"Tellll me what you'ree seeeeing." _It commanded, its voice was dripping with malice and Amy was afraid it would torture her if she didn't obey.

"Spiders!" She answered. "They're-they're...all over." She panted.

_"Interesting. What kind arre theyy?"_

"P-poison...poisonous." She breathed. She cried out in horror when more of the spiders began pouring out of the demon's mouth and eyes. "Oh G**!"

The demon cocked it's head to the side. Amy closed her eyes so she didn't have to watch, but it ordered her to open her eyes immediately.

_"Open your eyes."_

Amy refused, rolling her head to the other side with her eyes still squeezed shut tight.

"_Open them."_

"No!" She said.

It bent over her, looming in her face. She could feel it there, even though her eyes were still closed.

"_Loook at meee_. "Amy screamed, looking up at him. She squirmed desparately in the chair.

"Get away-Get away!" She cried. The demon loomed in her view, ghastly arachnids crawling out of the depths of its mouth and eyes.

"Can you see _me_?" Scarecrow asked, speaking as clearly as possible, hoping that Amy would recognize his normal voice through the apparations and horrors she was experiencing at the moment. If she couldn't see him in his actual Scarecrow form, then it was a waste. He wanted his victims to _know _who their tormentor was.

Amy somehow managed to recognize Crane's voice. "Huh?"

_"Cann you seee meee?"_

"No-What? How-?" She didn't understand. How could that demon thing be Scarecrow? It had the same mask...but it couldn't be-What was going on? Everything was so warped and twisted. Amy felt like she would faint from the stress. Then another one of the spiders crawling all over her big her, this time on her leg. And then another on her neck. The room was filled with her anguished cries.

Scarecrow stood by and watched, basking in the pleasure of hearing her pain-filled cries. It had only been a little under two minutes that Amy had spent in her own hell. And she had much more to endure, as long as she stayed sane.


	5. Scarecrow

**First of all I want to thank all you wonderful reviewers. Thank you and keep reviewing! =) **

Amy lay there in a fear-induced daze, wondering why she wasn't feeling the effects of the spider venom that should be coursing through her veins right now. Why wasn't she convulsing, puking, getting inordinately dizzy or passing out or any of the things that were supposed to happen when you were poisoned? She had felt it bite her, on her arm, and then the other two on her neck and leg. But nothing was happening.

"Wh-What's wrong with me?" She wondered aloud, looking at the demonic Scarecrow for some explanation. She was still panting and her vision was still strangely warped

"You were poisoned with a low-level dose of my fear toxin." He answered.

"Wh-what?" Apparently she was unable to grasp what he was telling her.

"You've just been hallucinating." Scarecrow said. He didn't think of telling her that as spoiling the fun. She would soon forget it anyway.

Amy soaked in the words.

"Wha-how?" Then she remembered what he had just said. He had poisoned her with fear toxin. What she was seeing right now-was an illusion. It was all an illusion. Amy began to blink furiously, trying to get the apparitions to disappear. They wouldn't go away. Amy took a deep breath. She didn't know if they were real or not. But the sight of anything poisonous, real or not, crawling all over her, was enough to keep her agitated for hours, maybe months in the memory of it, if she even survived this.

Amy looked back at Scarecrow again, and reflexively screamed as she was met with the horrifying sight of the demon again. She took a few deep breathes, trying to get it through her head that the thing wasn't real. But it looked so real... Amy looked down below her at the ground, and she let out a frightened screech again, this time more panicked and frantic. The entire floor was _covered _in spiders. They were scrawling and scampering and jumping everywhere. Was this every going to end?

Amy panted, unable to keep her fearful cries from escaping her. She told herself over and over they weren't real, but it didn't help one bit, when she couldn't even tell. _They're not real, they're not real, they're not real, they're not real, they're not real..._Amy reminded herself, lying her head back and shutting her eyes, breathing deeply. They were going to come up and drown her in they're spindly, shiny legs and bite her to death.

This was terrible. No matter how many times she told her brain that what she saw wasn't real, she still registered it as real.

Meanwhile, as Amy struggled to define the line between illusion and reality, Scarecrow recorded the results of dose one of his various six levels of gassed form of fear toxin onto a plain sheet of paper attached to a wooden clipboard that also contained the results of his previous five test subjects he'd brought with him from Arkham.

Amy watched him dizzily, her brain not really able to register what he was in fact doing. She was sick of this fear crap though. She was terrified.

"Let-Let...me go..." Amy said to Scarecrow.

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Please..." She pleaded.

"No."

Amy laid back on the chair, giving a weary sigh. She didn't know if she could get out of here, but right now it looked very dubious. What could she do? She was strapped down from head to toe, and under the influence of a potent psychotropic hallucinogen. Those two factors crippled her considerably in terms of escape. The only way she could possibly get away was if she somehow distracted Crane long enough and some how get out of the chair, and run. But that seemed nearly impossible.

She watched as Scarecrow scrawled a record onto the sheet of paper, a pleasant look on his face-not that anyone else could see it, since it was hidden behind his precious mask. The results were average, considering this dose had been the lowest, and the original version before he had begun refining it. Now he had up to six versions, the six of course being the most potent yet.

But in order to further refine that version, he had to gradually introduce the toxin to the patient, in order to extend their sanity longer, the explanation for that being that the patient's mind would gradually grow accustomed to the effects of the poison, and reject some of it. This was what Amy's mind had already begun to do. He could tell she had a strong spirit, whether she was aware of it or not. It would be difficult to break her. But not impossible.

Scarecrow checked the time on his watch. It was 1:03 am. The toxin had lasted for a few hours. Now perhaps it was time to hang it up for the night. After all, a doctor needed his rest. And Amy certainly wasn't going anywhere the way she was strapped down to the chair. He had made sure that the restraints were tight and inescapable.

Scarecrow calculated that the toxin should be dispersed enough for it to be safe for him to take off his mask. He gave a short sigh with satisfaction in it, and pulled off the burlap thing. He looked to Amy, who stared up at the ceiling in a fixed daze, her pupils dilated. The effects of the toxin should be nearly completely worn off by this time.

Crane grabbed a sedative from his collection of medical things. He slipped on some sterile gloves, and loaded it into a needle. Then he turned back to her.

Amy saw him carrying a needle and coming towards her with it. She also realized that he had taken off his horrid face that was the image of her tormenting. She hadn't seen him slip it off, but witnessing him without his mask was much a relief. That mask now evicted a deep pit of terror in her gut. The Scarecrow...He was her nightmarish tormentor of whom she could not escape- for now.

So it was nice to see Crane's real face again. Amy gazed at his smooth cheeks, full lips, blue lakes for eyes, and the curly (and moist) brown hair that framed his overall handsome face. She scared herself with these thoughts. She should be thoroughly repulsed by him. He was a doctor that tortured his patients and conducted experiments on them like they were his lab rats. Yet she was faintly attracted to him. She told herself she was going crazy.

She could never ever let him find out that she felt that way. She just knew he would just use it to torment her, and he would enjoy it. He was a monster.

Amy's attention focused back to the needle in his hand. It was a short needle, like the one they used in doctor's offices to give patients their flu vaccine. He was wearing a pair of white latex gloves as well.

"What are you doing?" She asked, fear churning in her stomach.

"Giving you a sedative." Crane answered. Normally he would not take off his mask in the presence of a current test subject, as it ruined the effect of the fear that he held them captive by. But after he injected the sedative that he was using into Amy's bloodstream, she would not remember the immediate events that had occurred right before he shot her (which would be him removing his mask and giving her the sedative).

Amy watched him approach her. He took her arm. She struggled, making a small grunting noise in the effort. But again she did no good. He grabbed her arm firmly in his grasp. A faint warm feeling arose in Amy's chest upon his touch. She told herself she was going crazy, again.

Crane plunged the needle into her arm, and retracted it again. At first, Amy felt nothing. But then she rapidly began to feel tired and soon her eyelids became too heavy to keep open. Then she fell asleep, as Crane watched it happen, to assure she had no allergic reactions to the medicine or anything.

Crane switched off the lights and he himself settled down on the dusty couch across the room, where he always slept. He put his mask over his head, and fell asleep. He soon began dreaming. His dreams were not pleasant.

The next morning Scarecrow awoke sweating, (at about 6:21 am) while it was still dark outside, to the sound of repeated cries, coming from across the room. It was a woman's voice. Scarecrow looked over to the chair through the small eyeholes of the mask, to where Amy now lie. He couldn't see her very well in the darkness, but he could see that she appeared to be staring up at the ceiling, and continuously cry out for help, as if someone would hear her and come to her rescue.

"Help- Someone help," She said. "Help..." Scarecrow got up from the sofa.

"Be quiet." He said to her commandingly. Amy looked over at the now standing figure, which was more of a shadow, her face registering surprise, and then pure terror, at the sight of the mask. Scarecrow was back. Amy fell silent immediately, her eyes filled with trepidation, watching the Scarecrow. Scarecrow relished her fear, grateful that he did not have to hide his pleasurable smirk since he was wearing the mask.

"Did you think that someone would hear you?" He asked, walking over to her to stand over her.

Amy didn't answer. She only stared into the terrifying burlap face. "Scarecrow..." She murmured, her body frozen with terror. She knew somewhere else in her mind that she needed to get over this paralyzing fear, but right now she was not even able to say anything other than "_Scarecrow_".

Scarecrow smiled behind his mask at that. Then he said,

"They won't. And you won't escape. I already told you that." Scarecrow said, staring into her eyes with his piercing globes.

She still did not answer him. Amy was taking slow, deep breaths, trying to overcome the fear. She could not. She stared into the ugly thing, and into the blue crystal eyes behind it. They were the most mesmerizing things she had ever seen. What made her so afraid of him?

"You hear me?" Scarecrow asked.

Amy felt compelled to nod her head in response. Scarecrow acknowledged her acknowledgement. He turned and flicked on the light, then began readying the second dose of fear toxin. It was time to start the day.

Amy squinted at the sudden brightness, and at the same time she was grateful that she did not have to stare into the horrific face again. She remembered seeing all kinds of horrors coming out of its depths, and Amy shuddered and closed her eyes at the memory.

She watched him, staring at Scarecrow's back, knowing that he was probably preparing the next bout of torture for her. But she could do nothing but lie there and watch. All night, from the moment she woke up and re-oriented herself, wondering what had happened to her, she began struggling against the restraints, trying to get out, calling out for help. The buckles were just too tight, and she could not find the latches to try to undo in the pitch dark.

She was still determined to get away. She didn't want to take anymore of this fear tormenting. She had no idea what was in store for her next. But she knew it would be even more terrifying than before. She had to stay strong. She had to prepare her mind.

Crane turned around again, with the second dose hidden from Amy's view, so he could have the element of surprise. It was more fun that way.

Crane looked at Amy and asked, "Are you ready for the second round?"


End file.

Batman Begins/Dark Knight, Crime, Suspense