El Disclaimer: I don't own Batman. I don't own Re-Animator. I wish I did, but I don't. Give me Jonathan Crane, Herbert West, and a couple of straitjackets, and I'd do things I'm far too ladylike to fully understand. (snort)
I was honestly trying to stop doing abusive Scarecrow fics, but this just seemed like such a natural pairing. And hey, I likes me a man in glasses.
So, I'm sure it's important to know that this takes place shortly after Batman Begins, and maybe a year after Re-Animator. I'm completely ignoring Bride of Re-Animator, and just barely acknowledging Beyond Re-Animator, which won't have happened yet, so it doesn't matter anyway. And, um...yeah. This is my least professional introduction to date!
Le Dedication: This is for me daddy, the Jeffrey Combs fanboy. He taught me well.
Scarecrow Reanimated
Dr. Jonathan Crane—as he still thought of himself, even though his medical license had been revoked a month ago—lay awake in his hospital bed as he did each night, unable to sleep, but unable to get up and do anything. They kept him heavily sedated and confined—and rightly so. Had he been able to move much more than his eyeballs, he would have been gone in an instant.
But the drugs kept him suspended between consciousness and sleep, which was not only unpleasant, but dangerous, he occasionally realized. Sleep deprivation was…bad. He couldn't quite remember why. He couldn't focus on anything anymore. His days were a blur. The only thing he felt anymore was the pain brought on by hours of confinement in a straitjacket. He had never realized just how uncomfortable the damn things could be. Now, at last, he understood the violent thrashing of his former patients, who…
He lost his train of thought. Was the light bulb staring at him?
"No!" Crane's eyes moved slowly to the door, not that he would be able to see anything. The sound of the screaming was coming closer. "No! I'm not mad! I'm not!" The new patient was male, fairly young, well-educated, with a trace of Europe in his accent. He was frantic, but not hysterical. "Listen to me!" He sounded sane enough, but that meant nothing. "You've got to believe me!" Listening as the new patient was dragged past his door, Crane noticed the distinct lack of the word "please," which was so conspicuous in most patients' initial rantings. This one had an ego. If he wasn't simply delusional, but actually had something to base his pride upon, he could prove interesting…
No, he was thinking like a doctor again. Chances were, he was never even going to meet the new patient. And…
Yes, the light bulb was definitely staring at him.