AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm sorry but I couldn't help myself, I got all these ideas buzzing around in my head about Jonathan Crane's back story and I got excited thinking about writing from his point of view. I am still writing my other 2 stories on here and one other that I'm planning on putting up on here after I've finished 'The Shadow of the Bat'. I'm finding this as much more of a challenge as there's already a performance on screen to compare it to and I love Cillian Murphy so I want to do his performance justice here.
Like my Harleen Quinzel story I wanted this to be a stream of consciousness thing so pretty much anything goes here about Jonathan's past in terms of how much he gives away :]
I wish he had his own film – not enough screen time in either film if you ask me :/

Anyway here goes my first shot at getting into the mind of Jonathan Crane BEFORE 'Batman Begins'.
I obviously can't keep Harley out of this as she & Pam Isely will play a huge role later on but for now I hope you enjoy the first chapter & please review? :]

Disclaimer: DC owns everything but the characters I've created myself and as I say for every story I do – I've only done that to push the story along a little because of the many characters DC have already made available to play with! :]

Meet Jonathan Crane

Working in Arkham Asylum is a dream come true for me. The human mind is a glorious thing, one of which I've had a lot of experience in trying to understand its functions in great detail, especially since working at Arkham. My fascination began when I was 12 years old. What started off as mere curiosity into my father's field of work soon spiralled into a wonderment of what could trigger people to say and do certain things – terrible things. However what's interested me throughout my life without me realising it is the fight or flight response, how people behaved when in a state of panic and to this day I still specialise in the study of it. I would say it was my father that encouraged me into the psychological field but I would be making a liar of myself and lying never was one of my strong points. Secrets on the other hand are a completely different story.

I began my experiments when I was 13. Unlike most adolescents I would stay in my room and play around with calculations on my computer. I actually made effective use of my teen years instead of blundering after girls in the mall like some kind of animalistic moron. However it amuses me now to think how little I knew at that age about creating my own substances for practical use. Though I was always a bright child, I never considered the fatalities that were possible when it came to mixing chemicals without supervision. I knew that I couldn't simply ask my father for help, he was always too busy and my mother had no brain to speak of. So naturally I took it upon myself to conduct these little experiments of mine on my own in the privacy of my own room. Nobody knew about it but one person, why I felt inclined to leave her to look around my room I don't know. However I suspected it was due to the distraction of working on one of my calculations that I let my guard down; after all she appeared harmless enough. She was an average thirteen year old, naive and restless but needless to say, she found the chemicals pretty quick. It almost seemed as though she were gifted with a heightened sense of smell. An interesting girl though, average on the outside but interesting nonetheless. Truth be told, I couldn't stand her.

Nevertheless I digress, so I would like to now stress on the point of my parents. I know everybody says they love their parents but like I said before, lying was never one of my strong points so I have no qualms in saying that I loathe them. They gave me what I needed financially of course but not what I really wanted. What was typically hypocritical of them was the way in which they were neglectful yet became somewhat persistent on me doing well at school. It was an odd combination of appearing not to care when I was doing well and then rushing to me with criticism whenever my grades slipped a little – though I must admit didn't happen very often so as you can imagine I was often left alone. What irks me now is the fact that they pretended to care, like pretending actually meant something. If anything, it made it worse. I don't blame my father for it so much, he did work at Arkham Asylum treating the criminally insane and I know now what a challenge that can be. However I've learned that if certain drugs are mixed right, they can do wonders for the inmates*.

As a young child I remember my mother nearly leaving me behind in the park on several occasions. The shameless way in which she made it seem like she was going there for me to get some fresh air and exercise. As though she were there so I could develop my social skills and mingle with the other children. Giving the impression that she was doing it all for my benefit. The whole thing was laughable. I know the only reason she took me there was so she could have her little 'mothers meetings' by the playground with her disgraceful 'friends' that so badly wanted to be something more than they were. It was evident by the way they carried themselves that they were desperate to prove their worth. They looked plastic, as though they were made completely from prosthetic parts. It was really quite disgusting how they'd flaunt around what their rich husbands had bought for them because of their over exaggerated insecurities; in most cases it was a whole new body. Why not just get yourself a younger wife? It makes so much more sense. Though I obviously didn't think of any of this at the time due to me being so young, reflection of it has enlightened me to realise all this and I know that I am right about it. I'm right about pretty much everything – wouldn't have got where I am today if I wasn't.

On these visits to the park my mother would leave me to 'play' in the sandbox with some obnoxious little brat I didn't even know whose mother was another one of these pathetic excuses for human life. I could also guarantee that no matter what brat was sitting with me, they were always the same. They were spoiled and thought they could do whatever they wanted even though they had no real worth. I suppose this backed up the theory of parents passing on their most hideous personality traits to their offspring. Though I think that's been proven time and time again over the years. I think unconsciously my experience of this is what has made me grow to hate children. I never met any I considered as friends as I was growing up. Nobody really accepted me but I suppose that's just the way it goes. There's always one kid who never quite fitted in and it just so happened that it was my turn to be that kid. Who knows, maybe little Jonathan Crane was just a little too different for their liking? Despite the bitterness I initially felt, I grew to like the isolation. It made me feel like I was the only person in the world that mattered and maybe that was true? What a wonderful world it would be if it were.

On one particular day I remember sitting in the sandbox again with another one of these generic devil children. It was like any other day out in the park with my mother but reflecting on it has made me realise the significance of it concerning my life choices. I was four years old at the time and this kid that was sitting opposite me was asking for trouble. He'd been terrorising me all week, playing with his toys right in front of me and then taking mine off me whenever it suited him. On this day however I'd made the effort to build a sand castle with my bare hands, though it wasn't the typical shape of one so much as it was a mound of sand that I'd gathered together in an attempt at a castle. However this kid saw my mound of sand and kicked it right in front of me. He started laughing hysterically when it flew out into my face and all over my clothes like it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen – a constitution as to how dense these kids were.

That's when I felt the anger grow inside of me, I felt my heart beating faster and my small hands balled into fists as I sat there and started to shake from the current of fury that was running through me. I'd made up my mind as soon as he started laughing that I'd had enough of this park, enough of my mother for leaving me behind all the time and enough of this kid. He carried on laughing and tears had begun to run down his face. That's when I did it, I lunged for his throat and the most peculiar thing happened. The expression on his face changed so suddenly and it made me feel so good about myself that I'd caused that terror in his eyes. I was on top of this kid, clawing at his throat and face like nothing else in the world mattered at that moment. The built up rage inside of me was being let out, like a rabid dog that had been let off its leash. Though I was only four years old I loved it. I loved the scared look in his eyes that cascaded with the tears of his fear. I guess little Jonathan Crane really was weird after all – who would've thought it? I heard my mother shout my name in protest as she ran over to drag me off the brat.

"JONATHAN WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" she screeched down my ear, nearly deafening me as she tore me off him. I attempted to kick and swing my way out of her grip but it didn't work. The brat's mother then bounded over, blonde hair and blue eyes and ridiculously thin – though I couldn't exactly criticise about that myself. She picked up her kid who was still crying from the pummelling I'd given him, his face was bright pink and he had a good few scratch marks on his face. All in all, I felt pretty proud of myself. As the woman shielded her brat in horror as though I was the devil's son, my mother decided to put me down. Her face was a picture and God what I would've given now if I could've had that picture taken and framed to put on my desk at work. It was the only time I've ever seen her completely speechless and my mother could conduct a whole conversation by herself with herself as five different people that could last for hours. I have seriously privately diagnosed my mother with Multiple Personality Disorder – it's made me realise how much of an amateur my father is for not being able to see it. Either that or he didn't want to see it, in which case he's ultimately done her more harm than good but then again, why should I care about that?

My mother told me to apologise to the brat but when I stood there and said nothing the brat's mother just shouted something at her and then ran off somewhere, dragging him along with her. I knew whatever she said wasn't good but at that point I didn't really care. I was high on raw energy and nothing could get me down until my mother raised her hand and smacked me. That's when the four year old child returned in me and I started crying.

"I can't show my face in this park again because of your behaviour!" she told me and she was blindingly furious about it. It was typical that she only thought about how it had affected her. She grabbed me roughly by the wrist and led me through the park in fury. I cried all the way home.

It's quite funny how one little incident can affect the rest of your life. That's another reason why I do what I do I suppose but I guess fear ultimately has always interested me in some form or another. I've not acted in such a way since that specific incident, in fact I've always been pretty calm and collected. Definately more dignified. I realise now that fear shouldn't be gained through behaving like that. I've concluded that I was no better than that brat for doing what I did. For turning on him so savagely like that. Like an animal.

But the rush...there was nothing quite like it.

* I wanted this to act as a reference to his future shenanigans in 'Batman Begins' with the human experimentation :]

I did want to get the Scarecrow side of Crane in here a little bit so this outburst was significant to the rest of the story that is to come!
Oh and just for the record, I'll probably not be using back stories you're familiar with concerning Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow as they've been done before and this is my Nolanverse interpretation of his past so of course I wanted to make it something credible of that universe as well as something that was mine.
I'll admit now that I'm not as familiar with Jonathan Crane as I am with characters like Harley and Joker as I tend to favour the Harley and Joker comics/cartoons over the others so I've read a lot more about them and understand where they're coming from a lot more.
I obviously know a fair bit about him because let's face it...he's the Scarecrow, one of the greatest Batman villains ever however with Jonathan Crane being so reclusive it was difficult to get into the mind of him as everything I've seen of him so far doesn't leave much for me to work with.
However this is TDK/Batman Begins Jonathan Crane after all so I obviously didn't want to revert back to the original too much.
I really hope you liked him or loathed him (in a good way of course!).
I gave it my best shot so please review? :]