disclaimer: I don't own Jonathan Crane or anything Batman-related. C:

a/n: I had to. Don't kill me, and enjoy, please?

Baa baa black sheep, have you any wool?

The inner voice made him stir in the hazy blur of the unknown. He blinked, vision obscured by something unusual. Jonathan huffed, wondering what the hell was wrong now with himself now. Bringing a hand to wipe away the by whatever it was that blocked his eyes, he found that what touched his face was not a hand. Jumping in surprise, he tumbled backwards, flailing. Out into bright light, and finding that what covered him were his clothes. Prison- asylum uniform actually. But, why was it so big? And why the hell was everything so bright? It was night time. The Joker always escaped at night. Which meant everyone else had to as well.

This had been the one time Jonathan hadn't wanted to escape from the hellhole he once ran, but somehow he had been caught in the mix of scrabbling prisoners and frantic guards. He figured the best thing at this point would be to look at himself so see the damage. First he looked down. Then, he panicked.

Paws!? He had goddamn paws?

If he had paws, then what else was there? Twisting and turning to the best of his ability (to which he no longer knew the extent or limit of), he was able to deduce something obvious to the passer by.

Jonathan Crane, infamous Scarecrow, "Master" of Fear, was now a lanky, fluffy black kitten. Cat really. But more of a kitten. Small.

He could just hear the fangirls squealing.

At least he didn't need to wear kitty-glasses, seeing as his vision was now fine. Now, what to do about this situation? He couldn't go back to Arkham, that would be pointless. He would just get kicked by a guard. Or taken to one of the orderlies' homes. Or worse. The pound. While he might have enjoyed the prospect of not having to search for his food if he were in an animal shelter at this point, it would be more, ah, beneficial to find a nice caring person who could take care of his lonesome self.

D'aaaw, is the kitty lonely? Scarecrow cooed, laughing his ass off in the back of Jonathan's mind.

'Damn subconscious creatures.'

Scarecrow hissed and snapped, Don't call me a creature. I'm not. I'm you.

So if Jonathan was a lonely kitty, didn't that make Scarecrow one as well?

Damn you.

'Much better.'

Something reached his sensitive ears, and they twitched as he buried his head. Someone was screaming. And they were screaming loud. Scarecrow insisted they not investigate, but as they say, curiosity killed the cat. Besides. This would be a good way to get used to his, er, paws- legs? And the tail. Yeah. That would take some getting used to.

The first steps were wobbly, uncertain, but then it just clicked. They tend to do that for you. Most of the time. Or perhaps it was just Jonathan. He didn't get his PhD on that subject, just the mind in general and fear. But that is well known by now. Breaking out in a fast, but steady trot he followed the sound, and the now prominent scent of blood.

Speaking of scents.

The hell was that?

An onslaught of putrid aromas, dank, wet, and decayed reached his (he noted) pink nose. It twitched, he scrunched his face waiting, and sneezed. He had noticed it before, but geez, cats sneezed loud. Jonathan could not let that distract him. Follow the blood scent. Metal. Salt. Rust. Those together, that's what blood smelled like. He could no longer find a reason to say fearing blood was unreasonable.

He was faintly amused by the pitter patter his paws made as they hit the concrete in a steady beat.

Pit-ter-pi-pi-ti-ti-pat. Pit-ter-pi-pi-ti-ti-tat.

"Joker!"

The guttural, loud, animalistic growl startled the poor cat out of his wits. It was loud, quite frankle, it was as if a bomb had gone off. Considering the situation, he figured it would be just his luck if there was one involved in this... scene.

This was the first time Jonathan had seen the two face off. Batman versus the Joker. Round... Thirty-three, no forty-nine? Sixty. Twenty? No wait, that wasn't the point. The point was, if there was going to be a bomb going off, and shit blowing up, a little kitty like him wasn't going to survive. Well maybe he had a chance. Jonathan doubted that. If he lived from a bomb explosion, he'd be a Two Face Cat.

Yes. Awful joke. We know. But he was asking for it.

It seemed cats thought slower than humans did. Or humans-that-turned-into-cats-for-some-unknown-reason think slower than regular humans. Either that, or the Joker just wanted Batman to hand him to the police personally. Which is what was happening at the moment. He scoffed.

What a waste of time.

Indeed, Scarecrow agreed, shaking his own slightly mangled kitty face that now took the place of the mask in the back of Jonathan's mind.

Let's see here.

I wonder if Batman has a soft spot for cats?

'Excuse me?'

You heard me, Scarecrow replied, I said I wonder if Batman has a soft spot for cats. You know. Ever since that Catwoman showed up (for three days) apparently had a make-out session with bats, and the pulled a vanishing act?

'Why would he have a soft spot for cats?' Jonathan didn't see the connection between that. Even geniuses had their faults.

Because, Scarecrow went on sarcastically, Don't you know that the cat told the bat to be on the look out for stray kittens? Never now which one was one of her, ah ha, pets.

Nose scrunched he questioned, 'So you want me to do what now?'

Chuckling, he explained, Jonny. Jonny. Jonny. You're a kitten- cat, whatever, now. Go big round, blue-eyed kitten on him. Mew a bit pathetically. Shuffle your paws. Look, I dunno though the word, endearing?

'But what's in it for me?'

Warm bed. Food. Snuggles. Things cats like.

Oh ha ha.

Still, it was admittedly a good idea.

And that's why we share a mind, Jonny.

That would have to stop soon, but he could bear with it for the time being. It was time for Jonathan Crane to act cute around Batman. Directed at Batman.

Plus, we get to find out who the crazy behind the mask is.

Yes. He could do this.

Bright eyes set on the dark figure, he slunk out of the shadows slowly. Then let out a pitiful 'mew'. Batman didn't hear him. Too busy talking with Gordon. 'Hey! Don't ignore me. I'm hungry, and lonely,' Jonathan mewed, or at least, that is what he assumed it sounded like to the two humans, since they both looked down.

"A cat?" Gordon questioned, confused at seeing the black feline around.

Ignore Mario-mustache, you want to appeal to Batman.

'This sounds like a dating coach service,' Jonathan told Scarecrow, before swinging big, wide-eyed "woe-is-me" look at Batman. Apparently it worked. Or Scarecrow was right in the first place. The caped crusader faltered in his talking with Gordon.

Talk. Talk. Talk. Talk, talk.

Having played all the games he could think of while the two talked (what were they, old women?), ranging from hangman with Scarecrow, chasing his tail and swatting at Batman's cape.

He got the sensation of being picked up, a leather glove around his soft belly.

'The hell?'

The batmobile was in sight.

'It worked?'

Told you so.

a/n: Eh.... If you liked this crazy shit, tell me. |D It will make me put the next chapter up quicker. (supposedly).

Review, review, please, please? -bribes with pictures of cat!Crane for blackmailing purposes-