Hello readers. If there are any. I had an awesome idea for a J. Crane fanfic, so I started writing. It seemed to come together pretty well. I'm sorry for my lack of descriptiveness to make all this more interesting. I've only bee writing for a yearr, but I hope this is good enough for now! It's the best I have =))

Oh and this story occurs after TDK, and whatever happens in the sequel to it, unless of course Scarecrow dies. Then it's between. I guess.

Once the Police got a hold of him, Crane was tried in court. And despite his lawyer's best efforts in defense and support, he was convicted of his crimes. And he was ruled insane and sent to Arkham, to become one of its patients. Irony hung heavily in the dealing, and Crane resented it deeply.

The doctors prescribed him a few drugs that had no affect on him. They forced him into therapy that did nothing for him. Crane could not be changed. He was incurable. The only thing they did do was lesson the affects that his own fear toxin had had on him with the antidote, rendering him closer to sanity and lucidity again. He no longer was constantly muttering 'Scarecrow' and wearing a smirk that he could not make go away if he tried.

One night he sat in a fixed daze, sitting on the bunk in his cell staring at the left wall. He couldn't help but think over and over again about the events that had happened before he had been captured by the Batman, and picked up by the police in the parking lot of that d*** casino.

He had been foolish to conduct his business with the mob at night, which they all knew was the prime-time of the Batman. Now he was locked up inside this Asylum, and treated like one of them. Like one of the insane lunatics that he had used to treat.

The days went by drearily. He was forced to eat the terrible substance Arkham passed as 'food', and sleep on the cold, hard bunk at night, tossing and turning as he dreamt of his former days of glory. He had to wear this hideous orange rag as well. It was such a familiar thing to see on all the other inmates, which made it a strange experience to actually be wearing it himself now. A strange and infuriating experience.

When suddenly the door to his cell opened of its own accord. Jonathan looked, but there were no guards in view of the doorway. What was this?

He saw outside in the hallway that the inmates were experiencing a similar situation as he. They were all coming out of their cells, dressed in the identical dull orange garb of Arkham he was in, all looking confused and disoriented.

A prison break? Crane thought, his eyes scanning the situation, a small ball of excitement growing inside of him. Again.

A large racket began to arise as the prisoners realized what was happening, and began to yell and shout. A riot would start soon if this kept up.

Crane thought, as he sat there in the cell still. If he got out of here, this would be a new start. He would be back on the streets, creating terror in Gotham once again. And out of this hell-hole. The mere thought of that drove Crane to get up, darting quickly out of his cell. Before he headed for the elevator that would take him to the main level and to his escape, Crane took a quick look around at the situation.

The absence of guards said that someone must have taken care of them already, or they would be down here trying to subdue all of the patients who were now scrambling to escape.

Right before he got into the elevator, Crane spotted a body. It was one of the guards. There was a small crimson pool of blood around his head. And his face-was covered in white paint, the lips painted in a bright red Glasgow smile. He knew that face. It had come from none other than the Joker, one of the most hardcore maniacs that he had been imprisoned down here with.

It was Crane's bet that he had probably seduced that little nurse of his that had been 'treating' him for the past two weeks. Miss Harleen Quinzel. She had been a sucker for hire the moment she'd walked into Arkham. Crane could tell just from one look at her cheery face and too-short pencil skirt. She carried her clipboard around with her everywhere, just another naive, overeager intern. He could imagine that it had been easy for the Joker to twist her mind to his liking.

And now as a result he was free once again. Crane would have to remember to give the Joker his personal thanks. And he had in mind just how he would do that, when the time came.

Crane bustled into the elevator, but then he remembered something just before he pressed the button to go up. He looked to the crowd of inmates trying to get inside it with him.

"Hey you, you, you, and you-Yes, you-Get in here." Jonathan Crane said, pointing to several of the inmates. He would need some assistants not only for when he was out of here, but also to get out of here. And he would need them to, more importantly, conduct his experiments on. They would be his test subjects.

"Dr. Crane.." One of them said. Crane looked and saw the owner of the voice was Thomas Schiff. Crane smiled, as the paranoid schizophrenic got in, eyes fearful and wary of him. Schiff seemed to cower in the back. Most of the other inmates cowered as well, though less obviously, as they got into the elevator with him. Jonathan then pressed the button for the main level, while at the same time relishing their fear in his mind.

The Joker had probably already made his escape. Crane couldn't imagine what the psychotic lunatic was planning to do. He only knew the Joker by reputation. He had never attempted to treat him with any medicine. Being a psychopharmacologist for the criminally insane at the Asylum, Crane knew there were two kinds of insane criminals. Those who still had some sane parts in them, who could be treated with medicine and therapy sessions, and those whose minds were far too gone to ever be reached-those who could not be saved. The Joker was the latter type. Crane had read all the reports and files on him. He was an unreachable, incurable psychopath.

The elevator went up to the main level, and Crane got out. His new assistants followed. As he walked down the hall, Crane saw another body. And another. All painted with the Joker's signature red smile.

Jonathan ignored the bodies, and he went straight to the closet where doctors kept all their medical supplies, the same room that kept all the paperwork and files for the inmates and the employees at Arkham. He gathered as much as he could. Pills, gloves, syringes, etc. All he would need to conduct more experiments with his fear toxin. Of which he would need to gather fresh ingredients for.

He would need to find a secluded place, of course in the narrows, where the filthy streets lined by many run down buildings, were filled with crime and drugs. The Narrows were the slums of Gotham City. The underbelly brimming with all kinds of detestable activities that shamed the clean surface of the city. And they would make it a perfect base for Scarecrow's business.

Crane found his mask, the very thing that made his victims cower and scream in fright when he dosed them with his potent mixture of fear toxin. The mask was his image- the Scarecrow. They all called him that. Jonathan had missed the old sack more than words could express. It brought back many memories of those times where he stood over his victims, reveling as they writhed around, tormented by fantastic nightmare hallucinations, screaming with terror and fright until they were driven insane by their fears.

Fear was a very powerful tool. The most powerful tool to Crane. Scarecrow was the master of fear. It was extremely satisfying to have the mask. All it was was a plain, dilapidated burlap sack with holes punched out for eyes and a mouth stitched into the material to make it look like a face, but it had infinite significance in his criminal identity as the Scarecrow. He needed it.

For some reason, the doctors had kept it. As if it might help them in their completely ineffective 'treatment' with him. Jonathan despised the doctors, looking down their noses at him and thinking that they could 'help' him. He didn't want help.

Jonathan walked down the hall, some of the inmates carrying his supplies. He realized that the Batman would be here soon. People living in the Narrows would most certainly be assaulted by the escaped inmates of Arkham, and one of them would end up calling the police. That would alert the Batman of the break out, and Crane knew he would come. He might already be on his way now. Their time was almost up. He had to get going if he wanted to escape.

"Let's go."

They ran down the hallway, towards the exit.

Away into the darkness Scarecrow scurried. Other Arkham inmates were already running around outside, fleeing for freedom just like them. The Narrows were the perfect place to disappear in.

But what disappeared in them, Batman would find. He moved swiftly through the dark alleys, grappling across buildings and running on foot towards Arkham.

Bruce had gotten the page when someone in the Narrows called the police station claiming they saw an escaped criminal attacking someone in the streets. Police had received several more calls after that one. It sounded like a prison break at Arkham Asylum. Bruce hoped to God it wasn't, but there was no other explanation, the way it sounded. He had rushed to the bat lair, gotten suited up, and heading for the scene of crime. If it was true, today was going to be a long night.

Despite that, he told Alfred not to worry about him.

Crane ran through the streets, constantly looking over his shoulder for any irregular movement that would indicate the Batman had found him. He never got even a glimpse. It was his lucky night. Fortunately for him, the Batman had more pressing matters to attend to- trying to round up all the escaped inmates from Arkam, and catching the Joker once he learned that he was responsible for the prison break.

After Crane was pretty sure the Batman was not coming after him, he loosened up and began looking for a suitable base to conduct more experiments in order to further refine his fear toxin. He wanted to develop an even more potent weaponized form of the toxin, to use on his enemies. The one at the top of his list right now was Batman.

Batman was always in the way. He needed to go down. The second on Scarecrow's list...was the Joker. Crane needed to get rid of the competition. He hadn't had the chance before, as he had been caught.

They came to what looked like a completely abandoned street in the Narrows. At the end, was a tall, worn down house. The windows were patched up with rotting planks of wood; the dark paint on the door was peeling and chipping inordinately. It looked large from the outside. And it was certainly inconspicuous enough to be considered useable.

Crane entered the building. He had to kick down the front door. When he went in, he saw it was indeed roomy. There was furniture covered in plastic sheets and a thick layer of duct coating everything in sight. Cobwebs hung copiously in the corners of the room.

"This place could use a bit of cleaning up." Crane remarked, looking up at the spiders hanging in their webs above them. "But I believe it will suit my purposes just fine."

Jonathan ordered the inmates to set up his materials on the table across the room that was covered in a tarp. He walked outside again, staring at the rooftops of the Narrows, sitting below the night sky.

His eyes widened suddenly when he thought he caught a glimpse of a shadow, moving across one. But he ruled it out just to be a trick of the mind. They were far away from the Asylum now. Crane hoped now that he would never have to go back to that hell hole again. It had once been dear to him, when he had been at the head, and secretly experimenting on the patients to his full contentedness, but then he had been locked up in one of the cells himself, and it had become hated.

He'd burn the place down if he had his way.