Chapter 1: Nightfall

Summer prays that she could be rain

And the car crash left you for the blame

And nightfall

Brought your demons and evil arcade

- "California," Loudermilk

Down a damp alley in the heart of the Narrows, Jonathan Crane wakes from a nightmare.

The left half of his face burns while the right half freezes, and he touches his cheek in vague remembrance. But only bits and pieces come to him; images of the Bat-man; a fearsome dark face that seems strangely familiar; and that woman…what was her name? Rachel…something. It eludes him. But he knows that she was responsible for the pain, but the Bat-man was responsible for everything else.

Footsteps echo down the alley, and he flees up the fire escape, fear nipping at his heels, unaware and uncaring of their owners' identities. From the top of the building he crouches to see, and through the wisps of fog he can see they wear the badge of the Gotham City Police Department.

The fog circles lazily around the building, taunting him. He cringes in fear, his shattered memories of no help, just the all-encompassing dread. He buries his head under his arms, willing it to go away, but it reaches the spot where he crouches, and his broken mind is further bent by fear.

Shapes loom in the sky, winged and fanged like hellish people, to crowd around him. They prod him until he twitches, and they giggle maliciously, like sandpaper on steel. One of them is huge and muscular and black, the leader, and this one rakes claws across his face, and he screams, blood dripping profusely from them as they leave his skin. He doesn't know what will happen, only that in the back of his mind, something is empty like a gaping wound, and that pains him further. The demon leader laughs this time, low and full of sadistic amusement. But he only cowers, and soon they leave him for more interesting prey.

His vision is blurry and he experimentally brushes his face with fingers. It still freezes and burns, but there is no blood. In the night sky he can barely recognize the moon in its bloody hue, and then something obscures the sky, like a dark angel, and swoops down. He hears a screeching crash like the world falling apart at its seams, and he thinks he can see a huge dark shadow like a demon in the sky, howling its rage. He shudders, and buries his face in his arms again, until he hears more footsteps. They are lighter than the police, and there are more of them. He imagines a horde of winged demons, and flees across the rooftop and down the other side, the straps of his straightjacket flapping against his body, rapid and surefooted in desperation.

The next alley is a dead end, damp and dim, filled with the unnatural fog, and he runs faster from this than anything. Finally, a familiar shape looms before him. Arkham is in desolate shambles, but it looks like the cops have been and gone, and there is no one around.

Within it he finds his old office, dusty and damp, but fogless, and with a lock on the door. He curls up in a creaky leather chair, and probes that gaping wound in his mind. There is a residue around it that speaks of confidence, of malice, of a secret desire, but of what it is, and where it has gone, he can only guess. Under the guise of sleep, which he knows won't come, he waits for dawn.

--

It is noon now, lunchtime, but Jonathan Crane does not have time or money to spare for it. He scribbles furious notes in his notebook, awaiting the last period of the day, Psychology, with relish. He knows he's behind in Literature, but doesn't mind much, because today they are going to do something extremely rare in Psych today.

They're going to give a full mental examination.

He knows there isn't much to be had from a "normal" mind, but he still hopes for an interesting exam, if only to say that he found something no one else had. The bell rings once, signaling the beginning of the next class, and he makes his way over to Lit a little disappointed, but mostly expectant.

The class goes by without incident, but for a few missed assignments. Today they begin reading Tolstoy's Once and Future King, which would have been mildly interesting had he nothing better to do. But as it was, he only half-heartedly began reading, one ear open for the bell. When it came, he allowed himself a smile, small, quiet, and reclusive. He shoved his books in his bag and walked as fast as he dared to Psych.

Once in class he takes his seat and waits expectantly. The teacher, Mr. Roberts, a mousy-haired thirtysomething, gives him a smile. Jonathan is one of his best students, always ready to learn and eager to do well. They like that in college.

Finally, everyone is in their seat and M. Roberts can begin.

"Hello, class. I'm sure many of you are very excited about today's foray in a true medical examination." Roberts' eyes flick to Jonathan, who stares back intently. "I am proud to say that everything is going to go as planned. Here are everyone's partners."

Almost rigid with excitement, Jonathan watched as the people before him paired up. "Crane and Harold."

He stood, and his eyes flicked to a black-haired boy of about twenty-two. He was of medium height and skinny, but not stick-thin and gangly like Jonathan. His eyes were his most remarkable feature: bright green in a face tanned from the sun. They knew each other vaguely from previous assignments, but this assignment would prove to get them better acquainted.

"Hi, Jon." The boy had an easy smile, a winning aspect with the ladies.

"Hello, James."

"There's no need to be so formal! It's only Psych class. Feel free to call me Jim."

Inwardly Jonathan sighed. Another boy destined to be 'Jim' until he died. Some nicknames would do better to be forgotten. But he obliged Jim, after all, what's in a name? They had a Psych exam instead.

A packet was being passed around, exhibiting all the steps one should use in a mental exam. Early symptoms of mental disorders, personality type. Normal.

They begin with introverted/extroverted. Not surprisingly, Jonathan was the former, James the latter. Next they studied personality traits, such as talkativeness, average mood, and honesty. No surprise there either. But as they progressed, James seemed to get a little edgier each time, until they came to mental disorders. Schizophrenia, it seemed, ran in his family. His father had a severe case of it until he died at age fifty-two. Apparently James was deathly afraid of having the sickness himself. He stood up to leave, but Jonathan grabbed his hand. "Wait," he whispered. "If you run from this, yo7u'll never be able to face it again." James glared at him. "Let me go, Crane."

"What if I said no?"

"Then you'd be real ass, wouldn't you?"

Something in the back of Jonathan's head gave him the confidence to make James stay. Keep him here, it said, let me handle it. Reluctantly, Jonathan let go of his inhibitions.

"Stay here, James. I'll help you get through it."

Not wanting to attract attention, but fearful of what staying meant, James was rooted to the spot. "Harold, what are you doing? Finish the exam, and then you can leave." Jonathan silently praised Mr. Roberts, then wasn't sure why.

"All right, Crane." James took his seat. No more nicknames from that one, Jonathan smiled as he thought.

Luckily for him, James had no trace of schizophrenia. His mother's side had none, only his dad's, and it seems his mother's side won out that battle.

After school that day, the little voice in the back of his head was no longer there, and Jonathan wondered when it would come back. It gave him the chance to break out of his shell.

Shaking his head as if from a dream, Jonathan wakes from this memory like swimming out from a dream. He wonders what it was he felt, that time long ago, then from the shores of his memory, a name surfaces.

Scarecrow.

--

With a wolfish grin, Freyr Archis set fire to another empty Narrows building.

After Ra's al Ghul's fiery death, most of the League of Shadows had dispersed with the fog as the antidote was administered to the winds. But Freyr knew that someone, somewhere, knew how to make up for all the lost time. Earlier, he had heard from the police that many of the escaped Arkham inmates, including Dr. Crane, had not been found yet. He now set his focus to finding him, because, he knew, if he captured the master of Fear, the city would not stand any longer.

Overhead, black rain clouds obscured the moon, sending down a torrent of cleansing rain to wash away the rest of the fog. Freyr sighed. He would quite have liked to see another person break under the fog's grasp, but knows it wouldn't have happened anyway. There was no one left in the Narrows to break, except those already broken. After all, Dr. Crane had done a very thorough job. That's why he was the top of his game.

Freyr pulled on his vinyl jacket and began searching anew. The flames of the building puttered under the rain's onslaught, and then went out.

Author's Note

Indeed, this is my one and only fic so far. I hope everyone enjoys it, I felt that the Cranefics were slightly lacking in yaoi. Or, at least, an entire story based on it. Rated M for non-explicit sex (later), S&M, and language. I am so stoked! Please, if you enjoy this, constructive criticism and praise welcome. :D