(A/N: I know I already have a Scarecrow story, but I've been obsessing over the comics "Batman Year One: Scarecrow" and "Batman Annual 19" a lot lately. I've read both comic books three times!

This story will take place in "Batman Year One: Scarecrow", but will contain elements from "Batman Annual 19". I don't really understand all the separate Earths very well, despite being a nerd. :P So, I just came up with the idea to combine the two origin stories. I don't really care much for the new canon story of how Crane was turned into Scarecrow.

The title of this story comes from the song "Tears Don't Fall" by Bullet For My Valentine. I personally prefer the album edit version, but that's just my opinion. Great, now I have the song playing in my head!

This will be in Third Person for the most part, but I'll flip-flop between Third Person and First Person a lot - not just in this chapter, but in multiple. Kinda reminds me of a Shakespearean play. Lol. Speaking of, we just started reading "The Merchant of Venice" in my English class.

I apologize ahead of time if there are a lot of typos. I'm sick and the cerebrospinal fluid in my skull feels more like mucus or phlegm! It's giving me a headache too. Ugh! Thanks Mom! And right before Finals!)

V~V~V-X-V~V~V

Winter had just ended, it was now the first day of Spring. The once barren trees now had newly grown leaves. The once dry, rough, and short grass was now lush, soft, long blades of various green colors. The said grass gleamed as a light breeze blew and the sun shined down upon the hills. Many of the trees now had blooming blossoms - fruit trees especially. Flowers were now taking over on many bushes, patches of grass, and in the yards of the people who lived in Arlen, Georgia.

Final Exams were a little less than three months away. It was now time for Spring sports - such as softball and golf. It wouldn't normally be the time of year for new students yet that very day a young girl would going to one of the local high schools. Her name was Helena; she was sixteen almost seventeen, making her a Junior.

She was nervous because she had no idea about how the school system worked in the United States. She and her family had just moved from Lyon, France. She and her family members were fluent in English, so she wasn't worried about her English. However, she was nervous because she had heard that most American teenagers will either be bullied or become a bully.

From what she had learned, most bullies were popular, stupid, and attractive. Most bully victims, however, were almost always the exact opposite. Luckily, she had her looks going for her; unfortunately, her looks and intelligence could be her downfall.

She had black hair that went down to her shoulder blades. Her eyes were a majestic sea green and were what stood out about her as they shined with wisdom and kindness. Her skin was fair, but not pale, and really made her eyes stand out along with her hair. She had rather sharp facial features, giving her a rather stern and bitter expression.

She had a slender body and almost an hourglass figure. She had a couple of cherry moles on her forearms. A mole could be seen at the base of her neck, just above her collarbone.

Overall, she was highly attractive, she almost resembled a model. Though, she also knew that she looked very gothic and was a little nervous about it. Despite all that, she could care less about her looks. She cared more about her education than going out and spending money on clothes and makeup. She didn't feel that she had to worry about how others saw her affecting her academics.

Her younger brother, however, was another story. He would be starting out as a Freshman and was very self-conscious about how others viewed him; almost to the point of making him a little paranoid. He looked very different from her with his ash-blonde hair and brown eyes, not to mention the freckles on his cheeks, neck, and shoulders. He had a similar facial structure in the sense that he almost always looked bitter and short-tempered. Because of all the similarities and dissimilarities between him and his sister, it made him protective of her and vice versa.

She was relieved that they would be going to the same school, they had to look out for one another. She was just glad that they had finally been able to settle down. Her father had been apart of the French Armed Forces for a number of years and had finally been honorably discharged after twenty-five long years of service.

All the way across town was a young man around the age of sixteen to seventeen. His name was Jonathan, but all of his bullies called him "Scarecrow" or "Ichabod". He wasn't bullied just for his appearance, he was bullied because of his intelligence as well.

He was surprisingly intelligent, despite his great-grandmother always punishing him if he ever entered the "forbidden room". He wanted to study psychology out of his unusual love of fear. He also wanted to study chemistry, ever since he was attacked by a murder of crows as a child.

The attack combined with neglect, his great-grandmother always over-working him, and from constant torment by his bullies gave him a lanky, herky-jerky physique; his entire body was nearly skin and bone. His skin was nearly as sickly pale as his great-grandmother's.

His hair was medium brown and appeared to be messy and shaggy yet it was only chin-length - if that. His eyes were a very intriguing and piercing blue yet occasionally showed clear boredom and stress. He usually wore glasses - for the most part - though often wished he didn't have them, but needed them to see clearly.

There was a time when he wanted to meet his mother, but his great-grandmother would always tell him stories about how she was nothing more than a drug addict and a prostitute. She would always say something similar about his biological father, too. He had only meet his grandmother once and she wasn't the least bit glad to see her only grandson still living.

Now that he was closer than ever to eighteen, his great-grandmother pushed him even harder than she had in previous years. More work meant being worn out for hours or even days on end.

Fortunately for him, it also meant she was getting older too; she can't stop him from venturing into the "forbidden room". Which was exactly what he did years earlier.

One day, while she was taking a nap, he had decided to take a gamble and finally see what was in that room. When he found the room, he was dumbfounded to discover that she hadn't even bothered to lock it, as if she had expected him to walk inside or was confident that he wouldn't and take the risk of being locked up in the atrium. When he finally walked inside, he saw that it was nothing more than a library.

Initially, he didn't know what to make of it nor did he understand why she didn't want him inside. He discovered why when he found a book on training animals to attack something or someone.

At first, he didn't understand why she would need such a thing, until he found a section on training crows. He couldn't understand why or how she could do such a thing. He had always thought that she was a little mental, only then did he consider her insane.

One night, he woke up to the sounds of thunder and lightning from the rainstorm outside. He went downstairs towards the kitchen for a glass of water, when he saw his great-grandmother. Instead of going back to his room, he watched as she took the corpse of a rat and submerged it by the tail in a pot over the stove.

He watched as she took the corpse out of the pot with some unusual red fluid dripping from it. She held the corpse over his Sunday clothes and wringed out it's juices and the unknown fluid. She took the rat and walked in the direction of the front door, curiosity got the better of him and he - ever so carefully and quietly - followed.

She took an umbrella and walked outside in the rain with the rat in hand. He watched from the window as she placed the corpse on the shoulder of a scarecrow. Almost immediately, a large murder of crows attacked the scarecrow, tearing it to shreds, to the point where it was nothing, but a pile of straw, tattered cloth, and torn clothing.

The sight horrified him, but the thought that his own great-grandmother would do such a thing to him at first terrified him to the point where he could hardly move. But, in truth, he knew that she wanted him dead since the day he was born.

With fear clouding his heart and mind, he ran as fast as he could up the stairs to his bedroom. He climbed back into bed and covered his head with his sheets and blanket, but never could fall back asleep after what he had witnessed.

V~V~V-X-V~V~V

(Helena's Point of View)

I woke up early that morning, I wanted to get to school early and finish unpacking a bit more from the day before. My family and I had arrived in the afternoon hours the previous day and were yet to finish unpacking.

I took a quick shower and got ready, while unpacking a couple of boxes. I wanted to make a good first impression on my teachers and classmates, so I decided to wear a black corset dress with a violet tulle skirt. I wore white tights underneath along with black and silver flats.

Afterwards, I put a little silver eyeshadow, mascara, and light pink lipstick. Normally, I wouldn't put on any makeup at all, save for chapstick - if that's even makeup at all, but it was my first day and I think the rest is fairly simple to figure out. I sprayed on just a little vanilla and lavender scented body spray. I made sure not to spray on a lot, I didn't want to send someone to the infirmary.

Just as I was about open up another unpacked box, I heard a knock at my door. "Oui?" I asked, I asked in French because I was a bit more comfortable with it than with English; despite being fluent. I think the same goes for my entire family.

"Presque prêt à partir?" my younger brother, Solanio, asked.

"Oui, je serai dans une minute," I responded.

I opened the box and took out a few things. This particular box contained my computer and a couple of other electronics. I just decided to leave my computer inside and take out my other electronics.

I checked myself in the mirror one last time, before coming out of my room. I walked downstairs into the kitchen, where my Mom was preparing breakfast.

"Bonjour," I opened one of the cabinets for a glass.

"Bonjour, chérie," Mom continued with preparing our breakfast.

"Bonjour, chérie," my Dad was already sitting at the table.

"Oú est Solanio?" I asked.

"Dans la salle de bain," Dad answered, while sipping his coffee.

I heard a toilet flush and a sink turn on and off; can only be Solanio. Sure enough, I heard the downstairs bathroom open and out came my brother.

"Bonjour," he sat down at the table. I laughed when he put his head down on the table, obviously still tired.

"Toujours fatigué?" I asked with a giggle. I couldn't tell what his response was because it was muffled by his arm.

Just a minute later, Mom placed a platter of toasted, cut up baguette and croissants on the table. She also placed down butter, two different jams, and honey.

"Merci, maman," I smiled up at her.

"Merci, chérie," Dad grabbed a piece of the cut up baguette and started to spread a little apple jam on it.

Solanio was still asleep, I smiled and shook my head. He was not a morning person, not at all, and sometimes I wonder why he's the one to see if I'm ready yet in the morning. I really feel like it should be the other way around.

"Dois-je le dire?" I asked my Dad.

"Aller de l'avant," he replied with a smile.

"Petit déjeuner!" I made sure to raise my voice so that he would hear me.

I laughed when he shot awake and grabbed a few slices of baguette and a croissant. I swear to God he does this all the time, it never gets old!

I took a slice of baguette and spread on a little butter and drizzled on a little honey. Mom finally sat down and began to eat, too.

"Es-tu excité pour ton premier jour d'école?" Mom asked, spreading some strawberry jam on her piece of baguette.

"Oui, je suis," I answered, taking a bit out of my slice.

"Je ne suis pas," Solanio tore a bite out of his croissant.

"Ecoute," I spoke up, "je suis aussi nerveuse que toi. Arrêtez de vous inquiéter, ça va aller."

"Avons-nous du jus d'orange?" Solanio asked, trying to get out of the conversation.

"Oui, sur l'étagère du haut," Mom answered, pointing at the refrigerator.

After about half an hour, Solanio and I were grabbing our backpacks and walking out the door. Dad had left for his new job after finishing breakfast and Mom had to start getting ready for a job interview. So with no one to take us to school, we had to walk and had an hour and a half to get there in time.

"Comment pensez-vous que tout le monde pense que venons de France?" I asked him.

"Je ne sais pas," he replied, "probablement comme un tas d'ânes," he muttered that last part. I giggled at that remark.

While we were walking, I noticed a skinny guy walking in the same direction we were, but he was further up the street. As soon as he walked passed a certain house, I saw a few guys throwing rocks at him. I wanted to step in, but before I could, he took off in the direction of our school.

"Voir, comme je l'ai dit, connards," Solanio scorned, "reste près de moi."

"Ne vous inquiétez pas, regardez," I pointed at the house those guys were standing in front of, "ils sont partis."

Within about twenty minutes, we had arrived at our new school. The first thing we did we did was go to the front office to get our schedules and everything else that would be needed. I looked at his locker number and saw that it was across the hall from mine, so that was reassuring. I knew that because of how the lockers were arranged when we walked in. We got our textbooks from the library and went back to our lockers with them.

On our way back, I could help but notice all the people staring and talking about us. I could hear them whispering things like, "He's pretty cute," "Holy shit! She's fucking hot!" "Those freckles make him look like a nerd!" and "She looks totally emo". I just ignored them and looked around for my locker

Eventually, I spotted exactly what I was looking for, "Le voilà." We walked up together and I opened my locker with the combination on the piece of paper in my hand. I put my books inside and turned to look at my brother, "Tu peux aller savoir, je peux prendre soin de moi d'ici," I told him with a small smile.

"D'accord, à plus tard," he walked away in the direction of his locker.

I started to put my backpack into my locker when I noticed someone opening the locker right next to mine. I looked and saw that it was the same guy I had seen while my brother and I were walking.

He put a few books, they appeared to be from the library, into his locker. He mistakenly dropped one of the books already in his locker when he did so. I bent down and picked it up for him.

"Oh, uh, thanks," he took the book back from me.

"No problem," I smiled then turned my attention back to my backpack.

"You're new here, aren't you?" he guessed in a rather melancholy tone.

"Yes, is that a problem?" I asked worriedly, his tone of voice not slipping past me.

"It is if you're me," he muttered under his breath. He was probably hoping I couldn't hear him, but I did.

I just couldn't help but to feel really bad for him. "Why? Are you bullied?" I asked, concerned for him.

After what felt like hours, rather than thirty seconds at most, he finally answered, "Yes."

"Oh, I'm really sorry to hear that," I pitied him because it's just not how a human being should be treated; no matter what kind of person they are.

V~V~V-X-V~V~V

(A/N: I thought that this chapter would be in First Person for the most part, but it ended up being mostly in Third Person. Oh, well, these things happen.

Just so you know, Helena is not - I repeat - not named after the heroine Huntress. I named her after the Greek Goddess of the Moon. If you take the 'H' at the beginning of her name and replace it with an 'S' and then replace the 'A' at the end of her name with an 'E', you get Selene - the Greek Goddess of the Moon.

I'm very much aware that Solanio is not a French name; it's an Italian name. He's named after a character in the play "The Merchant of Venice". So far, Solanio - in the play - has had only a reoccurring role. The Solanio in my story will be kind of like the Shakespearean Solanio; a reoccurring/supporting character. Solanio - in my story - definitely takes inspiration from other characters in the play; at times he can appear to be rather morose like Antonio or Shylock and vulgar like Gratiano, never tries to exaggerate the way he speaks.

There, now you guys know how my characters got their names. Their namesakes also have some role in their personalities. I think my inspiration for their namesakes and personalities are the similarities between Ichabod Crane and Scarecrow. I swear, the similarities between those two are uncanny - appearance wise anyway.

If you guys want me to translate all the French dialogue, I'd be more than happy to do so. For now, I'll just leave it as is. I had to use Google Translate for the most part, so don't be upset with me. I'm 90% sure that it's Canadian French rather than France French, sorry, I've forgotten a lot of my French.

In case you guys are wondering, the scene where Helena shouts, "Petit déjeuner!" - breakfast in French - is inspired by a scene in the movie "Scooby-Doo: Shaggy's Showdown". It's a very funny scene, I almost peed myself when Fred shouts, "Breakfast!" and then Shaggy and Scooby are suddenly awake and ready to chow down on some pancakes! Speaking of Scooby-Doo, the next chapter for "The Mystery of Wrightwood" is currently in the works.

Before I forget, if you don't know, a typical French breakfast is slices of toasted or not toasted baguette, croissants, butter, jams, jellies, honey, and coffee. Occasionally, there might be yogurt, fresh fruit, juice, and/or milk.

I'll see you guys later!)