Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any aspect of the Batman universe. I own nothing save for any original characters that I have created.
A/N: I wrote this brief story for my friend Ashley's birthday—she's a huge fan of Scarecrow and one of the most supportive readers of my fics, and so I wanted to write her something special to celebrate her day. This story was inspired by the parade scene in 1989's Batman, and deals with celebration in Crane's, er, unique way.
Happy Birthday, Ashley! Thank you for always being so wonderful.
A Gift of Fear
The cold wind bites at the flesh of Jonathan Crane's bare hands and sends his coat billowing about his body in a fluid ripple, a performance of nature's effortless grace and elegance, and a fresh gust brings a sting to his eyes from behind the stitched burlap of his mask. Tonight Gotham celebrates her birthday, and Crane has come to join in the festivities. An empty rooftop provides him with seclusion and an exceptional view of the parade unfolding beneath him, and he is free to observe Gotham's citizens dance madly in her streets and spill their alcohol-saturated vomit onto her asphalt as they commemorate their city's centennial year of life. Bright sparkles of colorful light illuminate the parade as it travels at a leisurely crawl, the gathering audience a sea of awe-struck children fascinated by the extravagant floats; when Miss Gotham City arrives on her throne, a glistening tiara perched atop her head and a wide grin planted firmly across her frosty pink lips, the crowd waves back with an enthusiasm that Crane finds both unwarranted and repulsive.
Eventually Crane decides that he is bored, and presses his thumb onto the remote button clasped tightly in his hand.
A white mist permeates from beneath Miss Gotham's float and spreads throughout her audience; at first this new addition to the parade is believed to be nothing more than a prop, perhaps the product of a dry-ice machine, and a few children even wave their fingers through the fog to create wispy trails. Horrified realization soon begins to surge through the crowd as the toxin fills their lungs and alters their brain chemistry, and within seconds the chorus of celebratory cheers has been replaced by screams laced with raw panic. Attendees run from imagined horrors into the path of oncoming floats, bringing the parade to a screeching halt as drivers slam on their brakes and create a chain of successive crashes; a float tips over before skidding towards a screaming crowd, some remaining helplessly rooted to the spot with fear even as others attempt to drag them before fleeing in desperation. Friends attack one another with the fury of loathed enemies, hapless individuals trip and are overcome by the stampede of frightened parade-goers, and parents abandon their own sobbing children in favor of escaping their living nightmares. Miss Gotham topples from her throne to claw at her own face, her once-flawless smile now a mask of blood and tear-soaked cosmetics.
Crane watches with satisfied approval as Gotham's celebration descends into violent madness, her centennial now forever marked with the blood and chaos that flows through her streets.
"Happy Birthday," Crane whispers, and leaves his creation to tear itself apart.