(A/N): Jonathan and Pamela...I've missed them. So here they are! This one-shot is a scene that has been running around in my head for a while. I finally was able to word it thanks to Prompt 26, "Trauma" from livejournal's community 50scenes.

Disclaimer: I scream and I cry, but it never gets me any closer to owning anything that pertains to Batman, Chris Nolan's, and/or DC's franchises.

"`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe..."
–"Jabberwocky" by Lewis Carroll–

Screaming was a warped sound. She couldn't believe how painful it sounded to her ears, but it truly summed up her agony. She reached out her hand, fingers treading thick air. Air tainted in the smell of death and fear. She squeezed her eyes shut, but still the shriek was issuing forth, having stopped for a gasp before it escaped in shrill volume from her throat once again.

It hurt, burned, she wondered when it would all stop. She backed up and held herself close, only her own arms cradling her form. How long until her lungs exploded, until the nightmare was over permanently?

What did she see?

They spread near and far, bodies littered the landscape, horror's most beautiful blossoms. Eyes were wide, all were staring at her. Mouths agape in terror, hands outstretched to her as if she was their savior. No, no...there was no hope in those glassy eyes, those lips weren't parted in fright. They were locked in the moment before death when terror turned to accusation.

It was her fault. She had failed, it was her fault. She screamed. No, she didn't know! She wasn't trying to hurt anyone! Why were they staring at her, why?! She pressed herself backwards, back suddenly meeting a wall. She gasped and turned around to find a mirror.

She stood staring at herself, only it wasn't herself. The woman's hair was a scarlet fire, curls wild and erratic. Her mouth was feral. She waved a finger at her, her lips in a mock scold. No, she was enjoying the image of the cornered woman as her cheeks lost more color—a quivering form. She laughed and suddenly it broke through Pamela's quiet whimpers.

That wasn't laughter, it was insanity.

This is all your fault, but isn't it beautiful? Imagine those screams and then the cold look right before the light died. Anger they couldn't do anything about, the ire of knowing you were all powerful. You did it all.

She felt her legs wobbling. She was going to faint. Yes, fainting would be better than this. She closed her eyes again. Maybe it'd all fade away this time. She never should have agreed to work on the Fear Toxin with Jason. Now she had made an even more powerful biological weapon, one that promised insanity and death. One that promised gardens of this. No blood, no excuses, just horror and death.

Aw, Pamela...chin up. C'mon, smile, open your eyes, Pammy...look at your true self...me.

Her eyes shot open and she stared at her mirror image who was giggling. She wasn't facing her anymore, though. She was behind her. She felt her hand at her shoulder, a fake gesture of sympathy as the look didn't reach her eyes. Where Pam's were bright emeralds wild with fright, the other's were a dark, violent jade ignited by savage hunger, to cause pain, horror. A harbinger of death.

Her hand took her chin and she pouted from behind Pamela. Her nails, dark red dug into the skin. Pam hissed.

You are a useless part of society. You are useless here, pitiful, powerless, and such pointless morals. Were you shown mercy? Did he seem to care as he cast you into this nightmare? No! No one cares, so why should you? Don't fret, though, Pammy-kins...You'll be joining these poor pathetic souls soon...and I'll continue in your stead. No more pain...it'll all be over soon.

Pamela met those cruel eyes and their owner smiled.

Good bye, Red.

Her hand fell and squeezed her throat with powerful force. Pamela attempted to reach, but found her arms bound by vines, thorny vines. Blood began to seep from her forearms. She thrashed; vines encased all of her. More crimson and laughter.

"No! No! NO! NO!" She gasped as loud as she could, her oxygen becoming depleted quickly.

Mirror was cackling, air was coming harder for Pamela. Black spots were dotting her vision. She couldn't give up, though. She gritted her teeth. Then she was falling, the vines were pulling her down, through the earth, to her grave. She screamed, her mirror was pushing her now, into the earth too.

The eyes watched her unfeeling. She had to make things right. With the last of her strength she pulled against her barbed restraints. Her eyes were locked on that vile woman who dared call herself the truth. Liar! She reached up and grabbed her. She clenched her jaw, closed her eyes and screeched, this time in fury.

Then like a snap, the laughter stopped, everything stopped. Awareness was abrupt.

She felt herself on solid ground again. She held something in her hands, a hard, warm something. She was being held down. She growled and with her all her power launched up, eyes tightly shut, and pulled the person beneath her.

She was panting and when she opened her eyes she was glaring down at a man. This wasn't Jason, it wasn't her mirror. No, his pale, frosty eyes stared up at her neutrally. Her grip lessened and then she was shaking again. She collapsed on the man and like a child held him tightly, arms around his chest, burying her face into his neck.

She cried.

"Make it go away, make it all go away. I don't want to be scared anymore. Make the nightmare go away...I can see them and her." She begged, not caring as more clarity struck her and she realized that she was crying on Jonathan Crane, who lie beneath her in an orange jumpsuit.

He didn't move, he was stiff, but she wanted something to hold on to. He was an anchor and for now, that's all she needed.