Disclaimer! I do not own Batman, the Scarecrow, or Killer Croc! All rights to their respective owners.

Jonathan crept through the sewer system of Gotham City, his steps careful not to awaken any dreaded bats or sewer-dwellers. Maybe it was courage, maybe it was idiocy, but something told him that the sewers would not only be a decent hiding place, but he could prove or dispute the legend of a monster living below the city. With a little sigh, he shifted his weight onto one foot, his cerulean orbs catching small, glittering sparkles of light in the cavern. As silently as possible, he grabbed the wall, dragging himself against the concrete structure. The burlap of his outfit scraped a bit of grime from a wall, slightly burdening his shirt in its already limp and heavy placement on his lithe frame.

"Is anybody here? Grundy?" he called, turning to face the water with an almost satisfied smirk, not fully registering the hulking form that was slowly rising from the murky water behind him until it spoke.

"Nothing but me," a low voice growled out, the sound echoing for a bit before cutting itself off in the vast darkness. This was not the voice that he had been expecting from the darkness. The Scarecrow jumped, his arms automatically clutching himself before he put them up, clearly afraid of the monster that was rumored to linger in the sewers, underground, where it supposedly waited for somebody foolish enough to come down into its domain, where it would then eat them and throw their remains into the water. This caused shivers to run down Jonathan's spine as he stood there, frozen in place despite his aching urge to run.

Killer Croc lumbered out of the water, cornering the young doctor before leaning forward, smelling him. He recoiled at the scent of chemicals, which didn't make him trust this stranger any more than the absolute lack that he had before. The man had probably come from the city, he rationalized, considering where he could have been to smell so strongly of industrial waste and an abandoned, stale laboratory. To be honest, he was almost certain that the young stranger would have smelled more like coffee or tea and maybe a hit of mint judging by his appearance, though this was not to be.

What caused him to think this? Jonathan was wearing a sweater vest over his crisp, white dress shirt with a black tie and black slacks. The aforementioned tie had been loosened and the top few buttons of the shirt undone, though this was to be expected from a man who had been running. And on top of it all, the glasses that he wore gave off an intellectual but homely look, only furthering the reptilian man's expectations of him.

Jonathan, in his 'brilliance' had taken the liberty to move a bit- also known as running for his life- while Waylon thought, though he didn't get far, seeing as he was backed against the wall so closely that the slightest move would set the other man off. The 'Croc' grabbed him, pressing him back against the wall with an icy glare- something that Crane was more used to giving than receiving. He squeaked quietly, a nervous noise much like the a small mouse or squeezed cat would. This evidently amused the reptilian man, for he let out a quiet and vaguely jolly laugh.

"How fast can you swim, stick man?" the larger asked, watching the 'stick man' squirm under his gaze before noticing the small can of... something that he had pulled away from a loose hoop on his belt, growling at the sight of what he expected to be pepper spray.

"I s-suppose just fine, though... Uh, spraying you would just make you more... Angry, right?" Jonathan asked, uncertainty lining every word that he spoke, and to be honest, he was about to piss himself out of fear. His heart rate shot through the roof when the Croc nodded and he almost started crying before asking, "Are you going to eat me now?"

The reptilian man looked almost stunned to be asked this, though he quickly hardened again, his eyes narrowing into angry slits, "I've never eaten somebody. Never gone that far." He paused to let the Crow have a quick sigh of relief before continuing with, "I still kill people just fine."

Alright, if Jonathan hadn't pissed himself before, it was certain that it had just happened, and he began panicking and thinking of the quickest way to talk his way out of it.

"B-but I'm just a," he paused, trying to formulate his words, though they wouldn't come out properly and he ended up just sounding confused and scared- just as he was, "A crane!"

"And, and-" he stammered, throwing his words around in his head, "Any sensible and civilized gentleman- such as yourself- would have the ability to see how much he could gain by becoming my friend and ally. And I know that you're no idiot. S-so will you take my hand and let me stay for a couple of nights?"

Oh god, how he hoped that the large, reptilian man couldn't see through his immense amount of bullshit. Instead of killing him, as expected, the man nodded, agreeing to take him in for a bit, despite every inch of his being telling him that there was something wrong with the words leaving the much tinier man's mouth. The doctor had an expression of shock on his face; it was as though the crocodile-man had seen his true and good intentions, rather than the ulterior motives that took up residence in his bitter heart. For whatever reason, Jonathan simply knew that he could twist the other around his bony, pale finger and drag him along to do his bidding, though he wouldn't reveal these intentions until much later.

Before he knew it, Croc was slipping between the bars, leading him to (hopefully) drier land and somewhere safe. He swam after the other, his sweater vest suddenly feeling like it weighed ten pounds more than it should have. He got to the surface, dragging air in as if it wouldn't be free to breathe for the rest of his life, and he began almost crying out of exhaustion, though he pulled himself through until he got to the lair of the sewer-monster, smiling at the small cave, which had a few holes in the wall that looked wonderful for sleeping, despite them probably being uncomfortable. Jonathan dragged himself up onto shore, his clothing sopping wet and leaving a trail on the concrete floors of the living space.

"Do you mind if I take my clothing off?" Jonathan asked, opening the sweater vest to take it off, seeing as the hand-knit, yarn article was the heaviest thing that he could remove at the moment.

The Croc simply nodded, turning away to give the other privacy as he stripped down to his underwear, removing every article of clothing that he could. He laughed quietly at the pale skin, then loudly at the fact that this stick figure of a man had no visible body hair except a treasure trail that led under his boxers, though even that was sparse, though his body was littered with scars of all shapes and sizes. Crane looked defensive, grabbing a small pile of sticks to set a fire with the lighter in his pocket, leaning next to it with his arms around his lithe frame, setting his clothing near it to dry with an obvious scowl.

"There is nothing funny about my body," the Scarecrow growled out, rubbing his hands against his arms with a dissatisfied grunt, the firelight shining off his glasses. The Croc simply let this pass, ignoring the comment before turning back, watching the fire with an amazed expression.

"What, you've never seen a fire before?"

"Not in a good way."

Based off of Here There Be Dragons by RivkaZ on dA. Alright, that's it, guys. Please review! Until next time, -Symphony of Despair