Title: Scary Christmas

Author: Ima Pseudonym

Pairing: Crow/Crane, W/C (mentions)

Rating: ..R? NC17? It's all a matter of opinion.

Summary: All alone at Christmas.. (that's the worst summary in history.. whoop!)

Notes: There's a very heavy undertone of Wayne/Crane in this. M'sorry! It just sort of happened. But Bruce never makes an actual appearance in the fic. Crane does get pretty sentimental at times, but he usually berates himself for it. Let's just say I gave him the Christmas spirit I'm not feeling, and leave it at that. Oh! Somewhere along the line it turned into the 'Scarecrow That Stole Christmas'.. but then it sort of fades back to normal.

Warning: I reserve the right to one horrendously bad, comic-worthy pun. It's Scarecrow's first line in the fic. You can't miss it.

Disclaimer: Warner Bros. owns. (Like I've read a comic to steal ideas from.)

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This was to be Jonathan Crane's first Christmas spent in another's company, since his childhood. But that wasn't entirely accurate as the person he was supposed to be spending this illustrious holiday with was out... braving the icy rain, to rescue a few ignorant last-minute shoppers from muggers who could probably use the cash more, anyway. Not that Jonathan was missing the other man. No, of course not... After all, he was here as the Bat Man's prisoner. And if his incarceration included almost nightly sessions of entirely mutual, mind-blowing sex... well, then bring on the rehabilitation... But even a gilded cage was a cage. 'And it certainly is gilded...' he thought, disagreeably, to himself. 'Even with all of those dimestore red bows the Butler insists on putting everywhere..' Jonathan was still slightly perturbed at the overnight appearance of a fifteen foot christmas tree.

At the moment the once prestigious doctor was settled on a little-used couch in one of the expansive living rooms of Wayne manor. Safe from the bitter rain falling outside. Staring, what he denied was vacantly, at an impersonally large fire. Despite his close proximity to the flames, it didn't warm him. Nothing had warmed him in years, except- Well... Perhaps he did miss his captor, just a little. Or his warmth. Yes, that must have been it. A glance to the obscenely gaudy grandfather clock in the corner told him that it had been Christmas morning for two hours... Bruce had promised he would return earlier. It hardly mattered. Jonathan had adjusted, within a month, to the billionaire's sleep patterns, or lack thereof. It wasn't as though he had to keep regular hours, being a secret prisoner, and all.

'Damn the time... and damn the rain...' he thought to himself, strengthening his resolve to meet Bruce in the cave, and wish him a proper Merry Christmas. Even a thoroughly soaked, kevlar-clad, billionaire vigilante couldn't dampen the feelings surging throughout him. Feelings, he was horrified to realize might be happiness. Happiness was certainly not to be trusted.

All the same, a smile graced his features as he rose from the sofa, ignoring the fire. It would burn itself out. Or, perhaps he'd convince Bruce to spend the evening in front of it... More disgust came for the sentimental thought, that still didn't chase away the happiness. 'Keep this up, Crane, and you might as well slap on a bonnet, and go caroling.' he berated himself.

"Have yourself a scary little Christmas..." What little heat the fire had lent him, immediately disappeared with the chill that ran down Jonathan's spine.

"Not now... Please, not now..." he muttered... begged, afraid to turn. But there was no mistaking the smell of wet straw. Let alone that voice. So like his own, but far crueler...

"I cured myself. You should be gone." Jonathan hissed through clenched teeth, willing himself to believe it. There was the sound of rustling, and rot joined the scent of straw.

"I am 'you', Johnny. And I'll always be here. No amount of medication could ever change that..." Ragged nails dug into his arm, and the doctor found himself spun about, facing the nightmare of his creation. Grinning burlap, and glittering black eyes.

"And look what it's done to you.. Made you complacent as that creature's whore... The Bat's Slut. Do you really find that a more appealing title than 'Master of Fear.'"

"Master of Delusions!" Jonathan snarled, ripping his arm from the others grasp, knowing all the while that this 'was' his delusion. And rarely this tangible... but ever as vindictive.

"And yet you delude yourself into accepting this life. You're not chained to this building, but you won't leave. Have you decided, then, that our goals are not so important? Making Gotham pay is not worth everything?"

"Gotham can destroy itself just fine, on its own-"

"But your lover... He's fighting to save it... Punishing people like us, for exacting their rightful revenge on the corrupt and mindless masses." Lover... the word repulsed him to his very core. Jonathan stared down at the straw-covered... 'hands' which were closed over his arms again... Imagined nails causing real pain.

"Bruce-"

"-would rather spend Christmas Eve pursuing petty criminals than with you. But 'I' am here, Johnny... I'm always here." the Scarecrow's tone was soothing, and seductive... Entirely revolting.

"Petty criminals 'like us'?" Jonathan shot back, fighting to get free. Knowing that he was only struggling against himself. Which made his failure all the more shameful.

"You haven't forgotten what you swore? That Gotham would suffer for how they wronged you! You swore with your own blood, countless times... And I was there... I heard... I remembered. And I helped you. But you lost. You couldn't even subdue one freak in spandex."

"Kevlar..." he stuttered, feeling himself being drawn towards the fireplace. Back to the couch. The Crow had him now. A cruel mouth, of his own devision, dropped to his own slack one, burlap burning the sensitive skin as the 'hands' tore his shirt, tugged at the waistband of his pants. Straw poked, itchy and uncomfortable, in the wake of the half-wanted touches. The struggle physical, for the sake of proving that he was owned body as well as mind.

"And still... Knowing you're mine... Knowing I'm 'you', you'd allow our one true nemesis to fuck you. Subdue you, and keep you like a dog, begging to be petted. Heeling, and humiliating yourself..." While the Crow spoke, voicing horrible cutting thoughts and resentments that Jonathan couldn't remember having, he found himself gradually exposed to the chill air, made to seem all the colder by the blazing firelight. Nails dragged down the planes of his chest, leaving shallow gouges that bled sluggishly.

"Gotham goes on... Blissfully ignorant of the wrongs they've done you, Johnny... They'll awake today, happy and greedy, and stupid as ever... Pawing at their Walmart presents, and the name 'Scarecrow' will strike fear in the hearts of no one, except, perhaps a handful of criminally insane. Who'll serve no purpose but to make us a joke..." all of this hissed out, as Jonathan's legs were arranged, scraping against abrasive material, leaving welts behind. "And I can't let us- 'you' become a joke, Johnny..." with that, Jonathan felt himself breached. It was a sickening feel. Indescribable, and torturous. More of a mental pain than physical, and had he been able to think about it... that's just what it was. He cried out in anguish, reveling in the sound as it echoed around the empty room, grasping the torn shoulders of his phantom.

"They'll scream again... They'll scream until they die."

"Yes..." Jonathan agreed, arching up into the thrusts that burned and tore, and made him feel whole and sane as he hadn't in months... A part of him knew it was his sanity slipping away, but that didn't matter. He was the Scarecrow, again. Forever. And Bruce Wayne would pay for his insult. For the attempts to domesticate him. His warmth wasn't needed... The Crow had shown him that. The cold would suit. Watching the warmth leave others would suit.

"Up!" The apparition shouted, withdrawing and hauling the limp doctor to his feet, without warning. Jonathan cried out again, as he was thrown, sliding on the marble floor a few yards, well out of the half-circle of light from the fireplace. Groaning as he rolled to his hands and knees, he recognized, beneath his palm, the familiar cloth of his mask... Hidden away from Bruce all these long weeks in the manor. And now, he knew what to do... It would be short work to find a weapon suitable for his purposes... And then he could take the resources needed for a new toxin. One not so easy to cure. This time, Gotham wouldn't crawl on.

"You have work to do..." he muttered, smile hidden behind the burlap grin.

"Yes.. I think I will wish the Bat Man merry Christmas, after all."

FIN

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