AN: This seems to jump between 'classmate' and 'housemate', but we've already had a roomie one and I wanted to pop back into Arkham to say hullo.

So I listened to the Dead Man's Bones album. I dig. So do these two loons. (They would…) They were less than amused when I told them 'Lose Your Soul' fits them better than 'The Room Where You Sleep', but they'll just have to deal.

Every class has that one kid nobody likes. Oftentimes there's no discernable reason for it-it's the 'weird' kid and that's just the best explanation anyone can come up with. 'Bad vibes' or something.

Jonathan Crane has spent much of his life being That Kid, though he knows why. Intelligence in a town of idiots does not equal easy friendships. (He suspects several of the Salem Witches were probably too bright for their own good.) Knowing why doesn't make it easier, though-all it's done is make him highly suspicious of anybody trying to make friends with him.

This suspicion has carried over into Arkham Asylum, but it doesn't matter here. One doesn't make 'friends' with the boss. It's not done. He likes that, likes the lack of meaningful social interactions with people he has to see for too many hours of the day as it is.

(That, and they're still idiots-oh, they can spell, but all they can talk about is 'Game of Thrones!' and 'football!' and 'so-and-so is having another baby, isn't that exciting!' He hates them all.)

All the same, he's managed to resist the urge to murder them all. That's far too many deaths to explain. Patients? They're crazy and criminals besides, nobody cares. Even that one professor of Kitty's was easy to pass off as a suicide. But mass murder…no, no, too much effort to pull off. He could, of course-the police are also idiots-but he's lazy and doesn't want to.

Except for that one asshole, Jame Gumb. The man's name is not lost on Jonathan, but unlike the character, he is not at all interesting. He's arrogant and a fool, barely out of school and yet under the impression that he knows everything. Even the others have taken a disliking to him-he's had more than one complaint of Gumb trying to take over somebody's patient.

He could fire him. It's tempting, but nobody in their right mind wants to work at Arkham. Hell, there's been days that he wants to set the place on fire. And so Gumb stays, annoying everyone and making a general nuisance of himself.

The day comes, in the end, that Gumb gets the courage to mouth off to him. To make matters worse, he does it in earshot of several people. If Jonathan were the dramatic sort, he would later say that an icy wind whipped through the room and silenced even the coffee pot.

"No, no, Doctor Crane, what you want to do is art therapy, let him get his feelings out."

The people nearest to the door make a run for it, but everyone is rather trapped. He finishes pouring his coffee, steam curling around his wrist, and takes his time adding a packet of sugar and a tablespoon of powdered creamer. (Late night, he needs all the help he can get.)

"Do you take me for an idiot, Doctor Gumb?"

"No, I just-"

"My office. One hour. Don't be late." He drops the sugar packet into the bin. "Shouldn't you all be working?"

There's a mad scramble and he swears he hears somebody whisper, "You stupid fuck, Crane's the director!"

Yes. Yes he is. And he didn't get here by being the Art Therapy type, either.

Yeah, you murdered your way here.

It worked.

True.

He has one hour to prepare. And when he's done, Gumb is going to wish he'd kept his damn mouth shut.

He decides that simple is best, in the end-minimal outside influences. He borrows a hand from the morgue, attaches it (badly, that cretin better not be late!) to the light switch*, and turns off all the lights. Then he steps into the little alcove to the right, mask in hand, and waits.

Boreeeed.

Too bad.

Wanna play I Spy?

No.

I spy with my little eye…goddamn, your office is boring.

Personal items are just begging for trouble.

Got any pics on your phone?

If you touch that phone, I will take pills and get rid of you.

You DO! Can I see? Are they good? Please say you took them, selfies never show anything-

Knock-knock!

"Dr. Crane?" Ah. About time! "Uh, you in?"

If he walks away-

I'll chase him down and drag him back! Like Leatherface! BUUUZZZZZ!

I was going to say fire him, actually.

Boring.

Gumb does not walk away. He comes in. Jonathan's never been so grateful for those heavy drapes-when the door shuts behind him, the room is much too dark to see anything.

Soon.

"Dr. Crane?"

He tucks his glasses into his pocket and puts the mask on.

Click.

"Holy shit-"

Scarecrow lunges at him, arm outstretched. Jonny's new formula is nice-especially after they rigged up the sleeve dispenser. It's better than mace!

Gumb stumbles back, hand still on the corpse's, and coughs. His eyes go round to the light switch and his fingers twitch, scratching gently against the grey palm.

Then the screaming starts in earnest. Scarecrow leaps forward and stuffs a wad of Kleenex into his mouth-can't have people coming to see what's wrong, after all-before wrangling him to the couch. His fingers have latched onto the hand and in the struggle, it falls to the floor. Scarecrow kicks it under the desk. Ew. It feels like kicking a rubber ball.

"Now, how about some art therapy?"

THE END

*The original story called for a light cord. So many cord-related risks in Arkham. (Though Joker managed to get a wall switch through somebody's eye once.)