Done as a request for a Crane roleplayer on tumblr.
Disclaimer: Sorry, but I don't own the good doctor.
Jonathan Crane sat at his desk in the musty basement, the moist air thick to the point of annoyance. He kept all of his chemicals down there, because the work space was larger than his office desk upstairs. It also was a bit healthier to live away from the fumes.
He sat back in his chair, examining the liquid in front of him. Fear toxin, in its liquid form. Powerful stuff, he mused, but of course he didn't know. He couldn't know without testing it. The new batch could be faulty and produce… less then desirable results. Then, when it came to the point when he really needed it, he could be in big trouble.
He was torn between the idea of going out to find a test subject and just using it on himself. Both options were tempting, in their own ways. A voice, though, in the back of his head, seemed to simply push his hand toward the syringe. He wanted him to use it on himself. The Scarecrow. He wanted Crane to do it, to fill up the needle and give himself the toxin. He knew that deep down, they both craved the fear.
With an exaggerated sigh, the doctor caved. He snatched up the syringe and filled it with the chemical concoction. He tapped the end, watching a stream of the liquid squirt into the air while he made sure there were no air pockets. With unnecessary care, he rolled up his sleeve and flipped his arm over so he could access the vein. His arm was riddled with scars, from other times he lacked a subject but needed to test a liquid dose.
With a practiced face of boredom to mask the anticipation he and Scarecrow felt, he pushed the needle into his skin and watched as the containments emptied into his blood stream. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, waiting for it to begin.
A sharp intake of breath and dilated pupils happened almost instantaneously. Crane didn't scream, but let out a small groan of discomfort as the chemicals began to take over his body and infect his brain. His eyes widened and sweat began to pop up on his skin. He really didn't see his basement anymore, oh no, what he saw was much worse.
He swatted at imaginary things, trying to keep them away. He flinched at threats that weren't really there, almost verbally asking for it to stop. But he didn't ever ask out loud. Of course not. In his head, Scarecrow was silent, watching the fear taint the senses, distorting every day objects into demons and monsters.
His breathing was erratic and he gripped the arms of his chair as if it could save his life, his knuckles turning white from the strain. A small, almost nonexistent whimper escaped his lips. The shadows in the room seemed to move, twisting the shape of a lamp into something much more sinister, much more familiar.
His eyes darted around the room, not seeing the dark walls around him, but only the cloud of dark feathers flocking around his head. He didn't hear the eerie silence that consumed the underground room, but a constant caw, caw and a high cackle. He didn't scream, but he did intake a sharp breath when he found himself in the shadow of the Bat.
It all happened at once. Cackle, pain, caw, pain, bat, fear, fear, fear. Finally, he let out a sharp scream as he put his hands on his head and held it to the desk, eyes pinched closed to block out the outside world. He remained that was for an undetermined about of time, just sitting with his head down, hands on his ears, and his eyes closed. When he finally opened his crystalline orbs, their pupils were back to normal and he let out a shaky breath. With a small smirk, he whipped the sweat off of his forehead and combed his hair back with a slightly trembling hand.
Success.
For those of you who frequent my stories, I'm truly sorry for not updating at all recently. Getting back to school and everything has been hard and my mind hasn't been on track. Hopefully I will feel inspired soon. Until then, one-shots it is!