Summary: Everyone has at some time felt regret. Sometimes, it comes too late.
Genre: General
Rated: PG-13/T
Disclaimer: The Scarecrow, Batman, Gerald Crane, Mary Keeny, Marion Keeny, and Karen Keeny are all owned by DC Comics. Ricky is too technically; I just gave him a name.
Caleb Wallace cameo'd with permission from 3000.
Background: After a recent comic binge, I realized that we often see Crane's past either through his eyes or in flashbacks. What if some of those same events were seen through the eyes of a different party? And what if said party has had those same events affect him drastically?
This is the first time I managed to not use or reference The Nightmare Before Christmas. I consider this an accomplishment.
The events mostly follow the Batman/Scarecrow: Year One miniseries, with some references to Masters of Fear.
Small clouds of dust kicked up and now and again my small Mercedes bounced and vibrated over the rough gravel. Arlen, Georgia was almost exactly as I remembered it: the small farm houses separated by large fields, the shimmering golds of wheat and corn, the carefully arranged shops that had been there since at least the late 1800's. It was a small town where everyone knew everyone else, and still alive after all these years.
Some places were wearing down, while others had new life. As I drove down the path - freshly paved, it seemed, unlike most of the dirt roads here in town - the houses came closer together. I passed a post office and the fire department building, heading to my old high school for a reunion. I was anxious to see some of my old friends, catch up on old times, and planned to go to a bar with some of the boys like we did in the days before college. I glanced up in the rear view mirror and adjusted it, then pushed a loose strand of dark brown hair back into place as I took the wheel again.
As I passed by the middle school, I saw a tree in the distance. Where other boys would surely think of youthful romps and games, using that tree for base, or even just shade from the hot Georgia sun, my mind went to one particular little boy.
A boy in small, fraying clothes, sitting there beneath the tree...
A boy hiding his face away in a book that most of us would think too thick to bother trying to read...
A boy noticing too late that he has been spotted, and that he has nowhere else to run...
I quickly shook my head, trying to banish those thoughts away. It was so long ago; it didn't matter anymore. Yet that boy never left my mind, having been there for the last few days.
I forced my attention back on the road.
Focus on the road, Jordan, I told myself. Don't think about him now. You're here to relax and have fun!
I smiled slightly as the boy temporarily disappeared from my mind. I would soon be at the reunion with all of my old friends and teachers. Most of our alumni would be attending. Sherry Squires, rest her soul, wouldn't be there, not after the accident at prom. Bo Griggs probably wouldn't be there either; he never truly recovered from that night. And some of our other classmates couldn't be located. Nonetheless, I knew of one specific person who would most certainly not turn up.
In a way, I was glad he wouldn't be there. After what I had done to him - what we had done - how could any of us dare to show our faces to him? Ever since I got the reunion invitation and thought of how good it would be to see several of my old friends...it was like something in my mind was unlocked Pandora's box. With the good memories also came the bad. The shame of my past began to weigh heavily on my conscience, and I took comfort in knowing I would never have to share my guilt.
Yet at the same time, I kind of wished he would arrive. It was like a weight fastened a chain around my heart and dropped, weighing more guilt that never went away. In a way, I wanted to see him again, to look him in the eye, carefully grasp his trembling shoulders and tell him how wrong I was, that I was sorry for what I did. Even if I never got his forgiveness, I would feel better doing what I knew was the right thing.
But there wasn't much of a chance he would show up.
It was not because he wasn't invited, or that no one bothered to look him up. All of us knew what became of him; it was just that none of us had the courage to approach him, and for good reason.
Nor was it because he had died. To be truly honest, I almost wish he committed suicide. I would have still felt just as terrible as I do now if it came to that, just as I felt terrible now for the things I once did to him...but it would have been more merciful to spare him the fate that he now faced.
No. I knew exactly why, even if he had an invitation, he would not show up tonight.
He knew what we did to him. And we all knew what we turned him into.
From the first day of school, we saw his stick-like frame, the old, fraying clothes that never fit quite right, the unkempt brown hair, the large, fearful blue eyes that scanned the room as though something watched him from every corner. We caught onto his fear, fed on it, used it to make ourselves superior. The taunts and jeers grew worse as each year passed, the cruel pranks more merciless as we learned new ways to make his life a living hell. We never gave a second thought to what we were doing to him, never had the concern that what we did would leave an impact that cut far deeper than the wounds and bruises we heaped upon him almost daily.
Our taunts and jeers and beatings and pranks did more than make him fearful. We made him an outcast, a leper in our school hierarchy. We drove him to vengeance, seeking ways to make us repent for our sins.
We did our worst to Jonathan Crane.
And in doing that, we turned him into the Scarecrow.