A/N: This is the first chapter, new and revamped! whut? :p

Warnings: still apply. slash. angst. yesh. no owns.

Jonathan Crane was running for dear life. His mask was hot, itchy and soaked through to his face, allowing him to smell the stink that was the rain of Gotham. Not that he was particularly focused on the smell of the city. He was mostly trying to get away from Fabulous Flying Rodent of Gotham, who was trying to catch him. Trying being the operative word.

Jonathan had just escaped from Arkham (with a little help from Scarecrow), fighting guards and police officers to get free from that hellhole and Batboy here though he could bring him down? Jon had endless determination on his side and Batman had what, Batarangs and a cape? Right.

Two seconds later, Jonathan was hit by one of the said Batarangs and fell on him face in the mud of the field they were running across. Lovely. Just lovely. Has he mentioned how LOVELY this situation was? He gave a frustrated shout as Batman drew near and his heart pounded.

One thing was for certain: He wasn't going back to Arkham. Not a chance in hell he was going back there.

"Then get a backbone," the ghostly voice of Scarecrow interjected in the back of his mind, slowly taking over. "Or move over and let me drive!"

With a flash Scarecrow had Jonathan onto his feet, and was turning to face the Batman, who was leaping toward him. Scarecrow raised his wrist and sprayed a dose of fear toxin directly at the rodents' face.

"So long for a while, sucker," Scarecrow muttered and retreated, leaving Jonathan to run as fast as he possible could toward the abandoned fairgrounds in the distance.

Jonathan panted as he urged his protesting feet onward, tearing off his mask as he entered the carnival.

"Where oh where won't Batman look?" he sang breathlessly. His gaze lingered on the falling-apart haunted house before immediately rejecting it as too conspicuous. A grin alighted on his face for the first time in months as he spotted the perfect place to stay, where Batman wouldn't dream of looking. It wasn't exactly the epitome of Jonathan after all. He chanced a glance behind him and grinned as he saw nobody.

With his smirk still in place he ran to the funhouse.

He yanked the door open, wincing as his overenthusiasm caused a hinge to break loose, but ignored it, wedging himself through the gap when it became apparent that the door would not open more. With a sigh of relief (and a furtive glance behind him, he can't help his paranoia) he made his way deeper into the funhouse, trying his best to ignore the faded dcorations that betrayed just how old (and unsafe) this building was. He clentched his mask in his hand as he eyed the door at the end of the hall that could barely be qualified as such. It was hanging on by the barest of hinges, and he cautiously pushed it open, biting his lip at the loud creak it elicted from the worn out thing.

He peered into the room, heart pounding again. Movement in the far shadows caught his eye, and Scarecrow instantly returned as he raised his wrist.

"Who's there?" he demanded in a sure, strong voice. A soft laugh answered him.

"It's the doctor!" the clown's voice sounded exhausted and strained, but full of his usual glee anyway. "What's up, doc?"