Chapter 1: Fearless
A/N: Hopefully this will be the first chapter fic I finish. I'm not entirely sure where this is going, but I've got a concept and I'm going to run with it. Also, fair warning: it is highly unlikely that the next chapter will be as long as this one.
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There was a knock on the door of the abandoned warehouse currently serving as the Scarecrow's lair. Dr. Crane pushed his glasses up his nose and turned away from the table, leaving it looking like a child's chemistry set turned volatile. Glass vials and interestingly shaped tubes lay strewn about, full of clear or dark amber liquids more menacing than the glowing green potions depicted by Hollywood. As he stalked towards the door, he realized something. No one should be knocking on his door. No one should know where he was living, and if Batman had found him, the vigilante would probably just have kicked the door off its hinges. Carefully, he looked to see who was there.
Opening the door revealed a girl in a uniform from a local private high school. She had long, reddish-brown hair and green eyes.
"What are you doing here?" Dr. Crane asked, unable to form a subtler sentence in his surprise. What could a sheltered high school girl possibly want with the terrifying supervillain?
"I'm here to be your test subject," she told him, chin jutting out defiantly as she looked straight into his eyes. Crane let go of the earlier riddle of how she'd found his lair.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked menacingly.
"The Scarecrow, Master of Fear." She looked directly at him. "I want to know fear."
"You've never been scared? Of walking through the Narrows at night? Of spiders or thunder or darkness?" His tone was mocking, but he was also genuinely curious. How could someone live to be her age (which looked to be about sixteen years), especially in Gotham, without experiencing fear, even that fear that keeps people cautious?
"I've been nervous, sure. And startled, even creeped out. But that's not fear. I'm never scared."
"And you want to be?" His sarcastic tone hid the analytical question. Crane wasn't sure anymore whether he was trying to send her away or beginning preliminaries to a study.
"I want to know what it's like. I want to see what would really scare me." She turned the tables on him. Now she was the one leading the conversation, no longer just answering his questions. "Look, there's no point in trying to drive me away. I'm here, a willing subject. I'm giving you informed consent!"
"Informed consent?" the Scarecrow laughed. "I don't need informed consent! I don't need any consent! I'm the Scarecrow. I can take all the test subjects I want."
"Then you've never had a willing subject before. You've never used your toxin on anyone who knows what they're getting into." She appealed to his scientific curiosity. "Don't you want to see how it affects me?" The girl grinned up at him now, knowing she had the upper hand. Her green eyes sparked with confidence.
He bit. "Alright," he said, opening the door wider to allow her passage. "But I'm not doing this for you. In fact, you won't enjoy it at all." A little sadistic smile found its way to his lips as he said this. "This is purely for the scientific value. I'm interested to see how my toxin affects someone crazy enough to seek out the Scarecrow for herself." If she noticed the jibe to her psyche, she didn't react.
"I'm Hayden, by the way," she said, stepping over the threshold. "I think we've already established that I know who you are."
"Doctor Jonathan Crane," he said anyway, sweeping a long arm out grandly in a gesture inviting her into his lab. "I'll be experimenting on you." Another sick little smile twisted his lips.
Hayden smiled tentatively back, then turned her attention to examining the room. A long table with a shiny black surface was near the center, covered in an orderly and scientific chaos of good-quality scientific instruments—obviously stolen. One was nearly bubbling over as heat was applied to the new formula the doctor was working on. Crane bustled over to remove the vial from its burner, and she looked quickly away from the chemicals that would soon be running through her bloodstream. Now that the experiment was so near at hand, Hayden was starting to get nervous. Not scared, though. Never scared. That was why she was here, after all. She took a deep breath, calming herself, and returned her attention to her observations.
Many of the walls were covered with bookshelves full of—what else?—books. He must have been using this lair for a while to have amassed so many. She took a step closer, then looked back at the Scarecrow. He looked absorbed in his work and seemed to have forgotten about her for now, so she walked right up to the shelves until she was close enough to brush her fingertips over the volumes' spines. Now that she was close enough to read the titles, she saw that there were periodicals fanned out over the tops of some of the shelves. Science, Psychology Today…she checked the dates. Recent. She wondered whether he had stolen them from a newsstand or actually paid for them like an upstanding citizen.
Crouching down, she saw that some of the books bore similar titles: textbooks of psychology, neuroscience, and chemistry, combining with the vast amount of knowledge already in the Scarecrow's head to devise new formulas of fear. She was surprised to find, though, that some of the books were fiction—classics, mostly, and a few more current horror writers. There was a volume of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, well-worn. It looked as though it had travelled with the Scarecrow from lair to lair, waiting for him through several stints at Arkham.
Stolen? She wondered again, Or maybe legitimately purchased before he had become a supervillain? It hadn't been that long ago, really. Her hand reached out hesitantly, almost of its own accord, to touch the book.
Suddenly the Scarecrow was behind her. "See anything you like?" he asked sardonically. Hayden pulled her arm back and blushed, caught in the act. "If you're done perusing my reading material, perhaps we can get back to the reason you're here? Or maybe you're scared now, and you'd like to back out? I won't blame you for it. You know where the door is." He tipped his head towards the exit with a mocking smile.
He didn't mean it, really. He couldn't let her just walk away; she knew where he lived! She could bring the police down on him any day! No, he couldn't let her walk out the door as happy and healthy and…unafraid as she had come in. She didn't have to know that, though.
"No, I'm not scared." His mocking tone had stiffened her resolve. She rose from her crouch and stood, ready to follow him. "I told you, I'm never scared. That's why I'm here, remember? Let's start the experiment."
"Excellent. I was hoping you'd say that." He grinned unnervingly and led her over to a chair. "Wait here. I'll go get changed." A picture flashed in Hayden's mind: the Scarecrow in full costume, as shown on Gotham News among the chaos he had caused.
"Is that really necessary?" she asked.
He turned around. "Oh, yes. You want the full experience, don't you? You want to taste," his lips smacked as he pronounced the word, "the fear?" He turned back around, not waiting for an answer, leaving a rather anxious Hayden behind.
The chair she'd been led to wasn't comfortable. It was made of dark brown wood, but closer to a cheap folding chair than anything else. It was clear that the Scarecrow didn't put much money into ensuring that his subjects were comfortable during their trials. There was another chair like hers across from where she was sitting. Between the two wooden chairs and a little removed from them was a blue armchair that looked far more comfortable—clearly, it was reserved for the doctor himself.
Hayden shifted her weight, considering moving to the other seat. She decided against it fairly quickly; the Scarecrow was a supervillain, after all, and she was putting herself at his mercy. Who knew how much worse he would make it for her if she stole his special chair? She might be "crazy enough to seek out the Scarecrow for herself," in his own words, but she wasn't stupid, and she sure wasn't going to give a supervillain a reason to hold a grudge.
Besides the chairs (which apparently made up some sort of interview area), the lab paraphernalia, and the numerous books, there was little to look at in the main room of the warehouse. It was quite a large room, really, especially for how little was in it. It occurred to Hayden to wonder for a moment where the Scarecrow slept, but despite her efforts she couldn't seem to distract herself from her impending exposure to fear toxin.
A chill of anticipation ran down her spine. That's right. Anticipation. And nervousness. Her nervousness had returned in full force when the Scarecrow left her to get his costume, and it had invited a few friends while she had been sitting there. According to the news reports, fear toxin caused hallucinations of what you feared most. Hallucinations that seemed real. Or was it that the toxin made you terrified of whatever he put in front of you? Hadn't she heard on the news about someone who had been terribly afraid, absolutely phobic, of an innocent potted plant? Scarecrow had been at his terrifying work for years; he must have invented a hundred varieties of fear toxin by now. Which would he use? The uncomfortable wooden chair didn't distract her from her thoughts, but somehow lent an element of pain to all her imaginings.
She wasn't scared, though. Just…nervous. Nervousness was good. Nervousness kept her alive. Kept her edgy when she had to walk past a sketchy alleyway. Kept her from letting her guard down.
"Ready?"
Hayden jumped, startled at the sudden voice. The Scarecrow had snuck up on her again. The bony man could move so quietly! Or maybe she'd just been too lost in her own thoughts again. She mentally kicked herself.
"Of course," she said, rising from the horrible wooden chair, keeping her voice steady. Doctor Crane was impressed by how calm she still looked. Hadn't she been dwelling on her fears and how he could make them real for her? They usually did; he took his time changing just for that reason. It was so much better when they made it worse for themselves. Of course, they were usually duct taped or otherwise bound to the chair. He mused to himself for a moment.
Then he realized that even though she hadn't been bound, she had stayed in the chair he'd directed her to. She hadn't moved to sit in his armchair—smart girl. She hadn't wandered around the room like she'd been doing before, either. He wondered why. Maybe she thought it was a necessary part of the experiment? It was, usually. Well, not necessary, but a nice supplement for his chemicals. She had just been lost in her own thoughts, thoughts that hadn't seemed to frighten her. Interesting.
He made a mental note to ask her later what she had been thinking of. If she was in any condition to answer questions, anyway. She should be. She had given herself over to the Scarecrow, after all, and he wasn't going to let her go until he had plenty of data or she was dead. Preferably both.
He glanced at the mask in his hand. Should he put it on now? He looked at the girl again, looked into her eyes. Not nearly enough fear. She looked more…disinterested. It could be a façade, of course. A "brave face." But if it was, it was a good one. And if it wasn't…well, no harm in a little extra fear. No harm to him, anyway. He let a threatening grin steal over his face as he slid the mask over it.
"Follow me," he said, looking at her through its eyeholes. She wasn't even looking at the mask over his face, just moving her eyes up and down his outfit, staring at the ragged brown shirt and pants, the ropes around his wrists and waist.
"Follow me," he repeated, striding off towards one of the doors in a side wall of the abandoned warehouse. It led to a bare room, relatively large (though not in comparison to the huge empty warehouse). Its only features were a chair—wooden, but more comfortable than the ones he had for his test subjects—with a table in front of it and the strong, transparent wall protecting both pieces of furniture.
Once they were both inside, Crane turned around and locked the door behind them, then put the key safely in his pocket. He didn't want fear-crazed subjects breaking the delicate instruments in the next room or running through the door to his nice, safe hideout, obviously affected by the Scarecrow, to let Gotham know where he was hiding. His observation room needed to be locked.
Crane entered the separate chamber through a door in its clear surface and placed a large red notebook and a pen on the table, then returned to stand next to Hayden, slightly behind her. He pulled a bottle from his pocket, square and translucent blue.
"This," he said, holding it in front of her face and shaking it a bit so that she could see the liquid slosh around inside, "is fear toxin. It's an old formula; I already know how well it works." He paused, smiling behind his mask as he remembered the chaos that particular variety of fear toxin had caused when it was set loose in Gotham. Yes, those had been some good results—but the Batman had caught him. He could do better now, so much better. Especially once he had these new data from this girl.
"I'm going to give you a diluted dose. It won't even be enough to make you wish you were dead. Probably."
"Probably?" Her voice was strong, sarcastic. Maybe a little too loud, but certainly not the terrified squeak most of his subjects would have given. Interesting.
"As you so astutely mentioned, I've never worked on a subject like you before. Perhaps your strange psyche will magnify the effects." He shrugged, eyes glittering with malice behind the mask. "Don't worry, I'm not trying to kill you." Yet, he added mentally as he reassured her.
"So, are you still a willing subject? Do you still want to experience the Scarecrow's delicious brand of fear?" he asked, knowing that he would do the experiment either way. It would be much more interesting, though, if she still wanted to see it through.
Hayden shrugged. "Go for it."
Amazing! He had never before seen such bravado in the face of his toxin and possible death. Yes, he had detected a tremor in her voice, but still, even as he was about to spray her fears into her face, she was asking for it. Literally, actually asking for it! Fascinating.
"I'd be glad to," he said, stretching his right arm behind her head and pointing the spray nozzle towards her face. Still, she was looking up into his eyes, not at the bottle full of toxin. She was clearly nervous now, but she wasn't trying to avoid the spray. No, she was looking at his face as if she trusted him. Ha! Trusted him! Trusted the Scarecrow! His thumb exerted force on the spray nozzle, depressing its button.
A fine red mist was expelled from the bottle and into her face.