A dark mist drifted slowly over the wet, glistening streets of Gotham City. The waning moon was high, almost completely obscured by smoky cloud. Persistent slivers of light soaked through yet, glancing off of rooftops and citizens alike. There was an intoxicating scent on the wind, and the omniscient smell of smoke and gunpowder occupied the Narrows. Somewhere, buried deep in the shadows, behind brick and stirring papers in a cold, dank alley, long dark lashes flickered. The shimmering moonlight reflected in two pools of icy blue fire, as the former Dr Jonathan Crane opened his eyes.
'Ever the Romanticist, aren't you, Jonny?' Scarecrow hissed to his counterpart bitterly. Scarecrow had mounted a stray horse on the Doctor's request, the young man keening quietly at the back of his mind for the reassurance he would feel astride the beast, not wanting to be trampled by the teems of running civilians. And so the Scarecrow and his Doctor rode about the streets, delivering added fear to Gotham's panicky residents like a knight in midnight armour.
But after that little scene with the Taser, Jonny had blacked out and Scarecrow had seen ample opportunity to take over completely. He felt it was safer to hide his little Jonathan away until things-like the air-cleared up.
Be quiet. the newly awakened Crane muttered on the corner of Scarecrow's existence, still trying to get used to being pushed to the wrong end of consciousness without panicking. It was an odd feeling, akin to that of standing in a dark and dusty room, attempting to peer out of a small, grimy window a few feet away. He felt as if there was a niggling itch in his brain... Only, he was the itch.
'Shush, my dear.' Scarecrow replied with a snarl. 'I'll get you out of here soon enough.' He slowly got to his feet, holding his stomach and coughing madly. His eyebrows furrowed in thought as he leant against the wall for support. He felt weak. There were electric tremors still coursing through his body. He had to find shelter for them both-and fast.
Soft rain started to patter lightly on the ground, swapping the musty smell of the air for one of iron and cold stone. Scarecrow coughed once more, shivering. It wasn't hard to find abandoned buildings in the Narrows, surely? He glanced down at the burlap sack with a satisfied smirk. Laying there, the eyes no longer holding their glow, the mask not as frightening as it had been at the first, it looked lifeless. This was true, in a way. The life had left that mere mask when the Toxin kicked in. Suppressed sadism had combined with the persona Jonathan took on with his 'patients', and Scarecrow had awoken in total control of the shared body. He'd loved every moment of his emerging consciousness, sliding into Jonathan's weakened mind to strengthen and knock down walls accordingly. But now it was time for him to take the initiative, and as he staggered through the shadows of the Narrows, he cursed the sleight frame and those skinny legs of his. Eager blue eyes latched on to a particularly run-down, small building which visually screamed shelter, and Scarecrow made up his mind. Breaking with ease the rusting hinges of a door, he dragged himself over to the corner of the room, and promptly collapsed.
'Alright, Jonny, I've done your work for you. Now, it's time for us both to get some sleep.'
There was no reply.

A week later, and Crane had just about made the slum habitable.

He'd realised early on that he couldn't go back to his apartment yet. That would be the first place they'd look for him, and he had no immediate desire to get caught by the authorities. So he'd holed up temporarily in this disgrace, and he was quite sick of it. Most of the dust had escaped the rooms when he'd opened some of the windows, but he had an unnerving suspicion that the various types of spider living with him were both poisonous and powerfully sentient. He swore one of them had even stolen a packet of biscuits he had left on the table once.
Scarecrow may or may not have been guilty of that charge.
Jonathan had found scattered cans lying around at first. They were all over the house, playing an eternal game of hide and seek with unwary newcomers. Then he had come across a refrigerator with a little bit of food still icily cocooned inside it. It occurred to him that the house's previous occupants had perhaps been subjected to the fear toxin in the streets, and not lived to return home.
That had brought the shadow of a smile to his face, and he giggled a little bit, dark mood lightening with irony.
However, he was beginning to get the idea that he would have to exit the household in search of more food. And he couldn't stay in one place for very long, Scarecrow had reasoned that with him. He was a criminal now. Speaking of criminals, as Jonathan was gathering his wits about him, and deciding whether or not to leave the grotty building, who should smash right through the door that Crane had somewhat lovingly replaced upright against its frame, but the Bloody Batman himself. Crane seethed immediately, clambering up the opposite wall to his feet. He glanced quick as a flash for anything that could be used as a weapon. But Batman was quicker, on him in an instant and pinning his wrists high.

'Crane.' came the gravelly voice.

Jonathan giggled, 'Partially.' He received a hard shove against the gritty brick wall in return.

'Dr. Crane!' ground out the voice once more.

'What do you want? Or is this just an amicable visit, Bat-man?' Jonathan sneered at the man in a Bat costume.

'You tried to tear Gotham apart!'

'I think you'll find I didn't, Sir. I was Only. Following. Orders.'

'Nonsense! You knew what you were doing!'

Black Kevlar crushed into poor skinny Crane's chest, causing him to wheeze. Scarecrow tapped him on the metaphorical shoulder, a reminder of his diligent presence. Is the Bat bothering you, Jonny? Want me to come out and clip those wings of his? Crane acknowledged Scarecrow, silently allowing him to take control of the situation. Jonathan was never one for the physical aspects of things, and now he simply had somebody to do it for him. He knew Scarecrow could be trusted; after all, he was Scarecrow-Or rather, had been, before... Ah, yes, before the very man stood now before him had had the nerve to spray him with his own fear gas.

Outwardly, Crane's red-rimmed eyes took on an animalistic gleam, and the hair settled messily across his face suddenly made him look wilder, and more dangerous. He bit his lip in a feral manner.

'So what if I did? What's it to you, Bat-man?'

Batman blinked. He noticed the obvious change in something about Dr. Crane. It had been in the air around him, no feature of himself had actually altered. The Batman paused for a moment.

'I suppose I should thank you, Bat-man, for giving me this life! But that would ruin all the fun.'

'What are you talking about, Crane?'

'Dr. Crane isn't here right now,' Scarecrow echoed helpfully, 'but if you'd like to make an appointment...' He finished with an evil smirk.

Batman couldn't find a reply to that. He found himself instead staring at that smirk with a feeling of unease settling through him, and reverted back to his original point, 'You were responsible for the chaos in Gotham last week, for all the deaths and damage that was done! You deserve to be punished!'

Jonathan leapt back into the conversation, rebellious and wronged. His facial expressions twisted for a moment as Scarecrow mentally moved over.

'We were merely giving to them what they had coming. Oh, you should have been there, Bat-man!' they both said, 'The sheer terror! Gotham's scum of the streets running around with blind fear!'

We? Batman thought, puzzled and slightly frightened. He held tight to Crane's slim wrists apprehensively.

'The blood, and the tears!' Jonathan and Scarecrow delightedly cried. 'And the sound of screams...' they sang longingly in a sickly-sweet tone.

Batman shivered. That voice... It was haunting, strumming with discord. Beautifully broken.

'You're out of your mind. I'm taking you straight to Arkham, where you belong.'

Crane snorted, and burst into a fit of laughter. 'Arkham! To become a patient of my own facility, you mean? Ah, well. At least I know I'm in good hands.'

'It's what you need!'

'It's what you want.'

'Shut up!'

'You're not doing this out of selflessness, Batman. Your desire to fight crime is because you don't want criminals on the streets of Gotham. It's not your love for this city, it's your personal vendetta against those who break the law. And it's going to drive you c-r-azy, one day. Crazy, just like how you sent my precious mind into oblivion.'

'Shut up!'

'Haha! Do you have any idea how hard it is to cope with the hallucinations, Batman? Do you? Oh nooo, you won't yet, but that's fiiine,' he sang, 'You will soon enough, and then we can be insane together! Won't that be delightful?'

'I said, shut up!' Batman cried, punching Crane's fragile face a little bit harder than was necessary. His regret only heightened when he realised he had just knocked the mentally ill male out cold. Placing his hand on the other man's once-erratic pulse told him it was for the best. He picked up the floppy-limbed Crane slowly, and was shocked to find that he could do it with great ease. Jonathan must have weighed the same as a large duvet; the man seriously needed some nourishment. Batman was certain the Asylum would provide for this thin wonder, which motivated him further into taking Crane to Arkham before the Police. Looking down at Dr. Crane, Batman frowned. This person didn't look the type for organised crime. His features were too feminine, his skin soft and oddly pale. His frame was small; one hit and the guy had fainted, goddamnit. The Batman wondered how a person as quiet as Crane had ended up even meeting Ra's al Ghul, let alone working for him in producing those... chemicals.

Trying to be a bit more considerate, Batman carried the unconscious man to the strategically-placed Tumbler, where awaited a pair of handcuffs and a trip to the mental institution known as Arkham Asylum. He was silent for the whole journey, which, considering the speed of the tumbler and the proximity of the asylum, was not a very long one.

Jonathan Crane woke at last, just as a huge syringe full of blue liquid was about to be slammed into his forearm. He leaped up immediately.

'Get that fucking thing away from me!' he shrieked fearfully at the doctors, staring at the needle intently. Struggling at the newly-discovered straitjacket only hurt himself in the process.

'I'm not mad! I used to run this hell! I used to pay all of you!'

'Relax, Crane... Everything is going to be all right.' One of the female doctors reassured him as he was held down and the needle penetrated skin.

'No it's not! It's noooot! Batman this is all your fault, I'm going to get you goingtogetyougoingtogetyou...'

Jonathan and his Scarecrow repeated it like a mantra in their drugged state, screaming it furiously until their vision clouded over, enveloping them in the muffled darkness of unconsciousness once more.

To be continued.