Laying Low, a Scarecrow fanfic
A one shot about Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow, laying low and attempting to recoup his gang after breaking out of Arkham.
Warning for swearing and mild violence.
Police sirens filled the air.
Jonathan Crane felt his heart stammer, before he took a deep breath and pulled back from the window he had been perched at. He reminded himself that he was living in the Narrows at the moment, an area of Gotham City which was basically lawless, and smiled as he heard the sirens fading further and further into the distance.
The Narrows had been a dark zone for years now, with the only people residing there being criminals and those poor enough that they couldn't afford to move out. Jonathan could clearly mark himself as the former, however he was hoping that to the common eye he would look like the latter. He ran a hand through his unwashed auburn hair, the grease build up making it resemble more of a dark brown. There wasn't time for a shower - the apartment wasn't him, rather belonging to the poor man he had slit the throat of three weeks ago, and he was trying to make as little of a mark as possible. No one had come looking for the tenant, not even after his body had been discovered in the Gotham canal. The man was a deadbeat just like the rest of the Narrows, and Crane had felt no remorse in killing him and taking his place.
Three weeks ago he had escaped from Arkham asylum. It had been in the middle of the night without any bravado, escaping under the gate and running his way back to the mainland, no stealing of cars which would create a path right back to him. The Narrows had been the perfect place to run to and Jonathan had killed the first bum he had laid eyes on, stealing his clothes and burning his Arkham jumpsuit. He'd spent the first few days shadowing as a homeless person before an opportunity had arose. That opportunity being the owner of the apartment he was now squatting in.
So far it had worked - he hadn't received any visitors and especially not any dressed as a bat or a bird. The landlord of the building hadn't even knocked to check in and Crane doubted that anyone cared that the tenant was dead. Nevertheless he didn't leave the apartment for the first week and a half, choosing instead to draw out a game plan for his eventual comeback. He'd scribbled his train of thought on toilet paper with a crayon, which was rather aggravating.
After that week and a half he'd thought it safe enough to venture down the fire escape and out into Gotham. His grown in facial hair and dirty hair, along with the clothes of a homeless people had meant that he was not recognisable as the Scarecrow to passing strangers. This luxury had allowed him to spend the hundred bucks he had acquired from the owner of the apartment; not all in the same place, he'd spent it at various different places on ordinary items, checking to make sure he didn't linger too long in one place. There were surveillance cameras spotted in most of the shops, but Johnathan knew it was all for show. Looking at the footage wouldn't alert anyone to his real identity and it wasn't as if he was stealing or acting erratic.
He'd bought food with a long shelf life. The taste and item itself wasn't a question, it was only enough to get him through the time he would be in hiding in the Narrows. Over the four years he had been doing this supervillain schtick he had dropped to one-twenty-five and found that he rarely needed to eat if he was focusing on his plans or preoccupied.
From a corner shop three blocks away he had bought cough syrup, toilet bleach, baking soda and tobacco, much to the confusion of the teenage cashier. Johnathan hadn't acted as if the mix was unusual, wearing his usual serious stare.
He'd spent the next week cooped up in the apartment cooking fear toxin. It was nowhere near the yield he'd had at his old hideout across town in Burnley, however that had been seized by the cops after his last run in with Batman. At least two-hundred grams of product had been locked away in tanks when he was taken to Arkham, most likely now residing in a GCPD owned storage facility for lack of a better place to dump it. Johnathan had neither the men or a strong enough lead to retrieve that product. Matter of fact: he didn't any any men left - it had been almost three months that he had rotted in Arkham and he judged that the few men that hadn't been sent to Blackgate had flipped and started working for his competition. There was no loyalty among these criminals, however he could use that to his advantage - the Joker had recently been locked up and he was sure that his men would be happy to work for him.
The apartment began to smell of chemicals at the end of the week and yet no one interrupted him. He'd work day and night, sharpening up his planning whilst a batch was cooking and despite him barely eating and sleeping the time passed quickly. Everything passed in a haze, every now and then he would lose track of his thoughts and so would take a small huff of the fear toxin fumes, before lying with his back to the floor and dissociating.
His body had begun to become accustomed to the effects of the chemical and instead of the heart attack inducing panic attack that was brought out in all other victims, he felt his heart rate quicken, along with a weightlessness. He'd previously been diagnosed with a common anxiety disorder albeit consuming the gas had funnily enough helped him keep it under wraps. The gas brought out one's deepest fears and yet he hallucinated nothing - he had long ago looked his fears in the face and now nothing could scare him.
He reached the end of the toilet bleach as he finished the fifth batch of toxin. In total he had just short of two test tubes of the pure toxin, along with a capsule of the gas for easier spreading of the effects. The yield was pretty poor compared to what he was previously accustomed to working with, however nothing else could be done and so he tucked the containers into the pockets of his ill fitting jeans. He made sure to grab his notes and stuff them messily along side them.
Once again he slid up the window and stepped out onto the fire escape. He didn't bother to check if anyone was looking - everyone in the Narrows was caught up in their own life and would likely not pay attention to a man so ordinary looking as himself. Perhaps he would have been more curious looking in his natural state as his crooked nose; tuft of red hair; large protruding ears and weak chin had attributed to him the nickname Ichabod Crane by bullies as a young boy. The beard helped to hide that, however he pulled up the hood of his coat to better hide hide appearance. It was a cold day in Gotham, no one would look at him strangely for doing so.
He passed down the fire escape and down into the streets of Gotham. It was late at night though Crane had no idea what time as he bothered not with conventional operating times. His Circadian rhythms were beyond shot and so he was wide awake and alert as he passed through the half empty streets. Night in the Narrows was what one would expect: the streets were lined with hookers, homeless people and gangbangers, along with some young children running around and doing things Crane's mother certainly wouldn't have let him do. He passed all these types of people with equal disinterest, not giving them a glance and staring straight ahead, albeit he kept an ear out for trouble.
Johnathan had no interest in returning to that flat in the Narrows and so with no real idea where to go, he kept walking through the streets. He was hollered at by hooker on his path - swearing following this as he gave no reply - but nonetheless he didn't seem to receive any trouble. If he did receive trouble he was certainly equipped to take on attackers, his hand could quickly grasp the vial of toxin in his pocket as he knew from practising throughout his walk through Gotham.
He realised he had crossed over into the Robinson district when he heard TVs playing. TVs in the front of electronic shops were always stolen in the Narrows, however Robinson was one of the safer neighbourhoods of Gotham - though this was nowhere near actually safe, Gotham was still a cesspool of crime. Crane approached the front of the store as the news played out, watching with intent.
"...mass homicide committed in Miagani Park... five bodies were discovered on a clearing in the forest in a construction site meant for the new Gotham Mall. GCPD sources tell that the bodies were discovered wrapped in plants and were thought to be killed late last night. It is also thought that these murders link to the murders last week at Ace Chemicals, where the three murder were also strangled by plants. Could this be another murderer set loose into Gotham?"
Johnathan stopped listening after that and gave a slight smirk. Another obscure murderer would mean Batman would have his hands full and likely wouldn't be patrolling the streets looking for him. Miagani Park was all the way on the other side of Gotham City and so he expected that the police force would be spread thin over this area of the city. If there was something that this polluted mess of a city was bound to get at some point it was an eco-fuelled murderer, or at least that's what he assumed the murders had been. He pondered whether this new murderer was going to be another bit of competition for him and sighed. Hiring goons was already hard enough without another contender trying to get a piece of the pie.
He turned around corner and found that he was approaching a familiar bar, tucked away in the empty neighbourhoods of Robinson. It was named the Broken Horseshoe and a smile grew on his thin lips as he recognised it as a bar frequented by Joker's henchmen. Perhaps he would be able to persuade them.
Crane headed toward the building: a small wood and brick Irish pub with large glazed windows, patched up from many a time being smashed. From the outside it seemed quaint, and the neighbourhood it was located in would certainly make it seem so. Despite Joker goons putting the bar down as a favourite, it ran exactly like a normal public house. In the day it was a cosy place to get a meal and drink that welcomed all, however at night there was an unspoken rule that only certain people were welcomed. It was fairly well kept as no one really went out in the Gotham night unless they were looking for trouble.
He entered through the double wooden doors and the bustle of music and men yammering hit him like a wall. He didn't flinch - he'd been put through greater audible torture in Arkham, listening to the laughing, wailing and puking of fellow patients throughout the night. With intent he approached the bar and fingered the ten dollars left in his coat pocket.
The bartender was a very attractive woman with a shaved head, pale skin and large brown eyes. She held a cigarette between her black-painted lips and raised a hand to tap off the excess ash as he approached her.
"What can I getcha, hon?" she asked in a thick New York accent, once she took note of him.
Much like a regular pub, there were no drink menus, only a large collection of drinks lined up behind the woman.
He perched on a bar stool as he chose his drink of choice: "Sazerac." he answered calmly.
She raised an eyebrow. "Interesting, we don't get many a' them round here." she commented, turning around to mix the drinks in front of him.
He scoffed but didn't reply, instead watching her intently as she put the concoction into a cocktail mixer and threw it up in the air.
"So where are ya from?" she asked as he fell silent.
"I'm a Gotham local." he replied rather quickly.
There was a look on her face that read she was taken aback by this as she paused in the drink mixing. "Oh," she murmured, before returning to her job. "Sorry it's just... ya sound so well spoken for someone from Gotham. But then again I don't know no smart people."
He cringed at her double negative but gave a slight smile. "Don't worry, child. Just because I'm articulate doesn't mean I'm any smarter that you are."
Oh but your PhD in Psychology and ten year long stint as a professor at GCU definitely means that, he thought with an inward smirk.
She gave a laugh and poured the bright red drink out over ice in a small glass. "We ain't got no lemon peel so sorry about that, hon." she commented, sliding the glass over to him. "6.25."
He shook her off with a hand and passed her the seven dollars in notes. "Keep the change." he murmured as she turned around to the cash register, and he moved from his stool. He held his drink carefully as he moved to an empty corner of the room where he could observe everything going on, without the possibility of anyone sneaking up behind him.
The drink slipped down his throat, the whisky stinging as it washed down any of the fear toxin molecules still hanging around from his huffing session earlier that day.
As expected he could quietly observe the room from his seat. In a change of plans he decided he would just sit and enjoy his drink and leave the hiring of goons to another day, unless they came to him of course. Looking around at the dangerous and very strong sorts of people in the pub at the moment, he felt himself back at high school as a little nerd, always tormented by those stronger than him. No longer did he have the fear of these people or of getting hurt, however he knew when to draw back and accept when a tactic wasn't a good one. That said tactic would have been going up and asking the men if they wanted to work with him however it seemed like a good way to get cornered, especially because he didn't look much like the Scarecrow at the moment. Very few people knew what he looked like with the burlap mask off and so he sighed inwardly.
He hadn't had to hire men for a scheme since he was first starting out as a criminal, and even then he'd had a guy to do it for him, someone who knew the sort a lot better than a forty-something ex-professor like Crane. Even when starting out he didn't have a warrant out for his arrest or a Bat right on his trail, so he'd had all the time in the world to put together a gang and a solid plan. The heat was off him and focused on the plant killer for now, however no matter if he waited three weeks or three years, the Batman would never stop sniffing around for him. Now that the heat was off him he had to move quickly, but one night off to have a drink wouldn't hurt.
Besides, some of these men might still be on the Joker's payroll, and God knew that the clown had it out for him these days. And so yes he would spend the night cradling his drink, congratulating himself on producing a good batch of fear toxin even cooped up in that apartment, as well as for landing on his feet so well.
He cursed himself as he saw a group of scruffy men heading his way, laughing over a measly joke between the four of them. They were headed for the booth that he was sat in; Crane watched as other people sat in the booth got up and left him alone, giving him no choice but to look away and pretend that he didn't see the four coming.
"Ayo move - this is our spot." one called, as the four stopped in front of the booth, a tone that indicated that they were certainly not happy to see him.
He didn't turn to look at them. "Really, because I didn't see any signs when I sat down." he commented in reply.
"Who the fuck does this guy think he is?" one guy hissed to the others under his breath.
"I don't know but he's a dead sonnuva bitch." another spat in reply.
"D'ya know who we work for?" the third asked smugly, and a smirk could be heard on his lips.
Crane already knew but turned his head to consider them properly: the four men were of similar age and appearance, white and in their mid twenties; either shaved head or a death hawk hairstyle, one man having the style in green. His eyes lowered to one man's neck which held an 88 tattoo, and guessed skinheads. This confirmed his suspicions - only the Joker was reckless enough to recruit neo-nazis. It wasn't that he agreed with their ideologies, more that the clown with hire anyone and everyone that Penguin, Riddler or himself wouldn't take on, which included the supremacists.
He gave a small sigh. "Joker, right?" he intercepted before the men could answer. In there moment of rebuttal he continued. "Listen we both know your boss is in Arkham right now, so if you could please just leave me to my drink that would be great."
The men shared looks of confusion before the main interrogator approached him closer. "You've got some nerve, old man." he spat. "Just because the boss is in jail doesn't mean we're not working for him."
Johnathan crooked his eyebrow just a smidge higher. The man he was currently regarding was younger looking than the rest, this was probably only his first or second rodeo with the clown, if not with being hired help in general. He'd break easily, much like the rest of his pathetic little gang with a little persuasion.
He sighed once again and slipped a hand inconspicuously into his pocket. "I'll give you one more chance to turn away and give up the fight." he spoke clearly even over the noise of the crowd.
Another guy from the group stepped up in front of the man Crane had previously been conversing with, looking rather annoyed as his brow furrowed. "Ay what the fuck, man I'm sick of this shit, let's-" was all he could amount to before Crane gave a swift movement of his hand and released a burst of fear gas right into the face of the closest man. Sooner than expected the man began to claw at his face and fall backwards screeching, taking some of the other men with him. The noise in the pub had fallen to a murmur as people hushed and watched the three other men turn on their heel and scurry out of the doors, leaving their gassed friend to writhe and whimper on the floor.
Johnathan gave a sigh that it had to come to this - he'd no longer be able to keep himself hidden, not with all of this commotion. Even with the plant killer out in the city it would only be a matter of time until Batman or one of his annoying kids heard of this and came on their way to send him back to Arkham.
In a sudden decision he stood forward and kicked the man on the floor, before placing his foot on the man's chest. He raised his eyes to the crowd whom were all looking at him, and smiled darkly.
"Who wants to come work for the Scarecrow?"
This is a short one off as I just wanted to get a feel for writing from Scarecrow's POV. I wanted to finally write a fanfic on someone different and so I chose Scarecrow. He's such a cool character in my eyes and so though I haven't researched him as deeply as Harley, Joker or Ivy, I tried to do him justice. In this story he's quite reserved and shy, however as stated in the story he's been exposed to his fear toxin for several years in this timeline, which makes him quite unaffected by bullying by larger characters *cough cough* Batman *cough cough*. That doesn't mean he can't get his ass beat by these character however, he's still somewhat rational and plays it safe.
I'm hoping to write more about Crane in the future so definitely let me know if you enjoy!
Toodles *~*
~ rose