AN: For those of you who have read my other story: Harley's Arkham Journal, this story acts as a prequel for Jonathan Crane; I didn't want to go very deeply into his backstory because Harley is the protagonist and the story is in her point of view, but I thought I might as well write a story for Scarecrow so you can get a better understanding of my version of the character, since it's somewhat of a different characterization for him. Besides, I just have a real itch to write a Scarecrow story, and I want to get this out of my system so I can focus more on Harley's Arkham Journal.

I was inspired to write this after reading Batman Arkham: Scarecrow, a collection of important Scarecrow comics throughout his history, and feeling disappointed that most of his backstory boiled down to "Revenge of the Nerd." This is why my favorite origin stories for Crane are Batman: Year One-Scarecrow and the New 52 origin, because they're not all about him becoming the Scarecrow because people bullied him for being a NEEEEERRRDD!

So, this story is sort of a mish-mash of the origin stories I mentioned, while changing/ignoring the parts I didn't like. I'm done blathering now.

...

Part 1

I can only faintly recall last night and most of this morning, I spent all of it suffering from my own toxin, and it was only when its effects finally wore off, at what I assume was around noon, that I realized I'd been in a cell of the Gotham police department the entire time, body sprawled out on the floor, still in my purposefully ragged jacket and feeling terribly exhausted. I knew full well before I started that there was no chance for me to escape the police and their "ally," but there was no excuse for me not foreseeing that he would rip my own mask from my face and give me a larger dose of my fear toxin than what I'd built up an immunity to.

Yes, I remember my fatal error now: The Batman had tracked me into the abandoned library, walking right into a cloud of the toxin that covered the whole area like a mist, and in under a minute he had collapsed onto the floor with a bloodcurdling scream. With him curled up on the ground, I approached him and aimed my gun at his face... but it was his reaction to the gun itself that caught my attention and distracted me: Batman began desperately trying to crawl away from the gun and he was unmistakably sobbing; he kept crying out about something, but his choked up, deep breaths made his words so unintelligible that I could not understand him, and his extremely uncharacteristic behavior came across as that of a very frightened child.

It's no secret that part of the Dark Knight's moral code involves never using a gun, instead substituting them for other devices, and there has been much speculation as to why he has this apparent hatred for these weapons. After seeing how my toxin affected him, I've come to the most logical and likely conclusion: that he actually fears guns. The Batman has undoubtedly had to dodge hundreds of bullets by now, but the way I held my own gun reduced him to a shaking, tearful mess. I believe that when I poisoned the Bat, I must have unintentionally recreated a traumatic memory of some sort that led to his distaste for guns in the first place.

So, I stood there in the library, observing him, trying to decipher his behavior, and I ended up wasting a lot of precious time; eventually, I heard sirens in the distance and began to panic. Not wanting to stay in the building another second, I left my victim where he was and ran off. Out of harm's way, the Batman was able to retreat, possibly just to hold out and wait for the toxin to wear off on its own, but I wouldn't be surprised if he managed to create an antidote for it. I thought about developing an antidote for myself, but I chose not to, I suppose because I believed I had everything under control.

The next night, I faced the recovered Batman near my own home, and not much longer after that, things went downhill for me. He knocked me to the ground, tore the mask off my head, and sprayed a concentrated dose of fear toxin in my face using my own gas dispenser. The things I saw while under the toxin's influence... I have no idea what my reaction looked like to the Batman or the police, but I can imagine whatever fear-inspiring presence I held all but vanished to them. The next thing I knew, I was in a jail cell. But no matter, in the end, I must remember that -for the most part- I expected these events to turn out the way they did.

In fact, what's important is that I managed to accomplish everything I set out to do: I gave the administrator Arkham and all who supported his asylum my warning by going after Dr. Wolper, and I drew out the Dark Knight, even learning a surprising amount about his true nature under the costume; before my apprehension, I destroyed some of the papers containing my research, and I hid the rest where the authorities will never think to look. By the time I was arrested, I'd taken care of everything, though it wasn't as if I had much to leave behind in the first place except for my library of books, the only thing I will miss from my old life.

Someone finally noticed I had been brought back down to Earth, so to speak, and after some time I was escorted outside into another police car. I never spoke a single word during this, and I didn't let any sign of emotion escape my face. I knew exactly where I was going, yet, during the whole drive, some part of me hoped that they would take me where I felt I deserved to be: Blackgate Prison. Am I not competent to stand trial? I haven't the slightest clue what dark parts of my psyche were revealed to all those witnessing while I was afflicted by my fear toxin that would convince them I am mentally unwell; but somehow, I had faith the law would recognize that I am not criminally insane, that they wouldn't be so stupid as to be confident in believing that my actions could be excused by insanity.

I had specific objectives to fulfill, but, looking back, it's clear to me that one of them was to prove to myself that the Batman and the law, who seem to have finally bent down their knees to him, really could send anyone they deemed "insane" to the asylum, despite what modern psychology would say otherwise... The new law in Gotham is predictable, very predictable, not to mention hypocritical. It almost makes me sick; in all my years, I never would have imagined that Gotham would reach these levels of decadence. Does anyone else see this city is broken beyond repair? Well, I can think of at least one other person who might agree with me.

The sun was setting by the time the police car drove past the gates of Arkham Asylum. Inside, I had to hand off my jacket, and I received my eyeglasses in return. (I know the room where my costume was put in, I've been there several times before.) After I was registered, the guards led me down the asylum's halls, and I looked around to see the faces of the different people who recognized me: therapists, doctors, security, patients. My former peers either stared at me in shock or quickly turned away, but the patients ignored me for the most part. I see both groups differently now.

I did not see Jeremiah Arkham like I expected I to, but after what I did, he probably can't bear to face me again. While walking, I also attempted to see if that clown was still here, but I wasn't able to catch a glimpse of him, although I'm sure he hasn't made a move to escape yet. And then, the moment I had been preparing for arrived: I entered my cell for the first time. Whether or not my sentence was justified, I am now a patient in Arkham Asylum. Overcome by exhaustion, it didn't take long for me to fall into a deep sleep.

All my years of study, of teaching, of psychoanalyzing mental patients has led to this!...but, I let my frustration go a long time ago, and I have accepted that this is the path that I have chosen for myself: it was the doctors and psychiatrists in Arkham who chose to ignore my twenty-plus years of experience, despite hiring me precisely because of that, trying to force me to accept their outdated form of psychology the entire time I worked here, and I couldn't stand it any longer. I spent months trying to gather information that could be used against the establishment in the hopes of shutting it down... but along the way, I made a depressing realization.

I researched the entire history of the asylum, including all of the tragic events that occurred in its first few decades, and yet, none of it mattered in the end. I discovered that the nightmarish, true story of Amadeus Arkham and his family was actually quite well known in Gotham in the form of horror stories that no one, no matter what background, took seriously. Even worse, when I contacted like-minded individuals in areas outside of Gotham, I learned that these otherwise very intelligent people were surprised when I told them what Arkham Asylum was supposed to be, with some even believing Arkham was just another prison.

Four months of my life I will never get back. Four months until I finally saw the truth. The Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane has been in operation for ninety years, still standing even after all the horrific events that happened within its walls; if none of that could shut this place down, what could? The staff were all very aware of the asylum's dark past, but they believed they were past all that. I disagree: Gotham is changing, and the decisions made by the people who are supposed to protect us means Arkham will change along with the city, and there will be nothing but horrible consequences because of that, not to mention the numerous problems with Arkham that are already there...

And this change for the worse has already begun: Others like me have been fired or chose to quit, and patients are beginning to grow distrustful of their doctors if they haven't beforehand, and not without good reason, as lately there have been more incidents of therapists misdiagnosing their patients and prescribing the wrong medication. There's also that one unique patient, the Joker, that ghost who seems to have appeared out of nowhere; I've seen him attack his therapists, play sick mind games on other patients, and make threats towards the Administrator. I, for one, wasn't going to keep working for this barely functional institution any longer.

Yet, even when I made up my mind to resign, I could not bring myself to leave for good. Arkham is still a fascinating place, in spite of-or, perhaps, because of it's history. Now that I am here and will most likely keep coming back, I will get to see what happens next, and perhaps even be a part of it. I know that my choices may look "insane," or even suicidal, but after everything I've seen and learned, I would much rather live among the patients than work in Arkham another day.