Disclaimer: Last part and I still own nothing! Also, I'm not a doctor so if I get any medical terminology wrong, I apologize.
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Gotham General was a model of ordered chaos as doctors, nurses, and staff attended to all the usual patients and problems experienced by any hospital in a major city at rush hour. So no one paid much attention to a slump-shouldered janitor as he pushed his mop and bucket down the back corridor of the trauma ward. The man's name tag read "Edgar Kerns," but Batman would have known him for Jonathan Crane in a second so Scarecrow kept his head down.
He'd sent a fear-laced letter to one of the hospital's usual janitors and then presented himself as a temp after the man called out sick, too afraid to leave his house. The head of the sanitation department had given his ID only the most cursory exam before giving him instructions on where he'd been assigned. He'd chosen his victim with care and was assigned to the same floor as the prison wing. Only in Gotham would a hospital need to have a wing devoted to the treatment of prisoners but with the Batman around, criminals tended to sustain a higher number of injuries.
Crane had been here before, as a patient after any number of beatings and concussions, and once before in disguise as a janitor(A/N.) So he was careful to take routes that kept him away from any main corridors and to actually carry out the duties assigned to him to avoid any suspicion. Normally, he loved hospitals. There was always so much fear in the air that even the antiseptic cleaners couldn't mask it from him. But today he had to concentrate on what he was doing and stay away from the main ER areas where fear was the strongest and the most primal emotion on everyone's mind.
He kept his head down and did his best to look ordinary as he came around the corner to the hall that contained Bolton's room. There was a uniformed police officer stationed outside the room but he was busy reading the sports page and barely spared a glance at "Kerns." Scarecrow ducked into an empty room next door and started to wash the floor as he considered how to proceed.
He could take out the guard in an instant and enter Bolton's room but knowing Batman he would have other safety measures in place. Crane didn't even care if he got sent back to Arkham as long as Bolton was really dead. Escape from Arkham was a routine matter and the thought of his fulfilled vengeance would sustain him within the walls of the asylum.
Luckily, he'd come prepared. It had been the work of a minute to find a blueprint of the hospital on-line. The rest of his plan was very simple. There were still doors connecting each room, a throwback to when nurses had to make their rounds in this wing. It had been easier for the nurses to have a way to go between each room without having to walk out into the busy halls. The doors were locked and barred now that this was the prison wing but that wasn't going to stop him. He was going to bypass the guard and deal with Bolton quickly and simply.
Scarecrow moved to the door and crouched down to begin picking the locks. He kept pushing the mop around with his free hand in case anyone walked in. It would just look like he was washing this corner very thoroughly. It took about twenty minutes before the last lock gave. The locks were so rusty from disuse that his hand was covered in reddish residue that he wiped off onto his overalls. He'd made sure he entered the room shortly before the guard he'd seen had gone off duty and been replaced with another. That way the man wouldn't wonder why he was staying so long in this room and his replacement wouldn't know Crane was here.
As the door came free, Crane peered into the next room and saw no one. Deliberately, he spilled the water from the bucket all over the floor in this room. It would make the floor slippery in case anyone tried to come through here. Then he abandoned the mop and wheeled bucket and strolled into the room. There was no Batman waiting for him or anyone else for that matter. The room contained a bed with a man lying in it hooked up to various machines.
It was Lyle Bolton and according to the monitor, he was still very much alive. Crane locked the door and picked up the medical chart at the end of the bed. Skimming it, he registered phrases like "arrhythmia," and "neurological damage," but it was the phrase at the bottom that made his rage increase. "Patient is expected to recover the majority of neurological function with therapy."
It didn't make sense. He had calculated the dose of the dust needed to kill a man of Bolton's size and then doubled the amount. It should have been foolproof. The effects should have been much more than a little brain damage and a mild heart attack. He was completely baffled.
But after a moment he shrugged it off. He would just have to finish the job himself. He had to pass through the hospital's metal detector to enter the building so he hadn't been able to bring in a gun or a knife. Luckily, he didn't need such crude weapons to finish the bully. A quick search provided him with a syringe in a drawer. He donned gloves and withdrew a small glass vial from an inner pocket. Puncturing the top of the vial, he quickly filled the syringe to capacity.
He approached the helpless man and prepared to inject the massive dose of fear toxin into the IV line but something made him hesitate. It couldn't be this easy, could it? Surely, any minute now, Batman was going to come crashing into the room, truss up Scarecrow, and ship him back to Arkham. The Dark Knight would never be so careless as to leave Bolton unguarded.
The thought came to mind that maybe this wasn't Bolton but Batman in disguise and as soon as he got close enough, the man's eyes would open and a strong hand would close upon his wrist. Sweating nervously at the thought, Crane peered closely at the man in the bed but it was definitely Bolton complete with the self-inflicted injuries from earlier. Besides, Batman would never lie there all day waiting for Scarecrow to strike. He was a bat of action.
What was wrong with him? It was as though he were afraid of success. He looked down at the syringe. He hadn't been exposed to the fear toxin inside. It was only habit that was making him so nervous. Shaking off the feeling of impending doom, he stepped forward and clutched the IV line. As the syringe came up, a Batarang smashed into his wrist and he dropped it with a curse and bolted for the main door.
He saw Batman enter the room through the unlocked side door and then the vigilante almost lost his balance as his boots skidded in the soapy water on the floor. Fueled by adrenaline, Scarecrow was already at the main door, unlocking it, and then bolting through it. The guard looked up in surprise as Crane flew past him but he was unprepared for Scarecrow's exit.
Crane pushed open the heavy fire door and took steps towards the stairs when heavy bolas whipped around his ankles, knocking him forward. His arms pinwheeled as he tried to stop himself from falling forward down the stairs. A gloved hand closed over one wrist and threw him backwards. His left shoulder collided with the door, closing it behind him and making pain radiate down his arm.
He lay there for a moment, stunned from the fall and the shock of his injured arm and then he was hoisted off the floor and dangled limply in Batman's grasp. The Dark Knight regarded him grimly.
"It's over Crane."
"It's not fair! That bully deserves to suffer for what he did to me." His heart was beginning to pound in his chest and his breath was coming in short gasps. The symptoms of a panic attack were well-known to him but why would he be having one now? The realization dawned on him as he looked down at the red stains on his hand. "What have you done to me?"
"I knew you'd likely try to get at Bolton through that door so I treated the locks with a mild version of your fear dust. You absorbed it through your skin as you were picking them. The antidote is right here." Crane stared at the vial that Batman removed from his utility belt. His own concoction used against him to throw him off balance? The surge of anger grew inside him but there wasn't much he could do with his legs still tied and his left arm useless.
"There is NO antidote to the fear dust. How did you create one quick enough to save that wretch's life?"
"You left behind a sample of the dust in one of your lairs. I found it six months ago and formulated an antidote even though your notes said you'd never use it on a human subject." The condemnation was obvious in the tone of Batman's voice.
Crane's heart constricted in misery. He HAD created more than one sample of the dust and now he recalled that there had been a sample in a lair that Batman had found while pursuing him. He'd given it no thought since, as his notes had claimed, he'd never meant to use it but Batman had second-guessed him. Still, he had no remorse for his actions.
"Bolton doesn't qualify as human. He's a monster." Crane sneered even as Batman injected him with the antidote.
"That makes two of you." There was no more talk as Batman secured Crane's good arm to his side with rope and fashioned a crude sling for the other. Scarecrow simply sat there as he was tended, feeling the antidote begin to take effect. His heart slowed, his breathing evened out and the sweat dried on his skin. With the calmness came clarity.
He may not have killed Bolton but he'd hurt the man and done at least some lasting damage. Perhaps that was better in the long run. Maybe Bolton would have learned his lesson. He might very well spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, wondering if Scarecrow was going to show up and finish the job he'd begun at the old prison. Every time the bully heard a strange noise or glimpsed movement out of the corner of his eye, he'd remember the fear he'd felt at the hands of the Scarecrow. He'd learned the meaning of true fear and he'd never be able to lose that knowledge.
Scarecrow savored that idea all the way back to Arkham. He was taken to the infirmary there where an x-ray showed that his arm was fractured. Batman hadn't wanted to leave him at Gotham General as it would put him near the recovering Bolton. Even with an injured arm and a mild sedative administered, Batman still thought that Scarecrow might go after Lock-Up again. Batman, the police who had shown up, and the doctors were all secretly afraid of him. The thought made him smile.
Several days after his return, he was brought to the rec room with a warning not to cause trouble that might further injure his arm. As he walked in, he was surprised to see the majority of his fellow Rogues were there and looking in his direction. He hesitated, unsure of the reason for their regard since they usually ignored him. Then Harley ran forward and threw her arms around his neck in a quick hug.
"Way to go, Professor! You sure showed that jerk."
"Yeah, good goin' Jonny." That was from Scarface who was cradled in the arms of the Ventriloquist. The timid man smiled at Crane. The rest came forward to congratulate him. All of them had hated Bolton and by getting even with him, Crane had vicariously taken revenge for all of them. He was a little stunned by all the accolades and slaps to the back but he still grinned at the realization that he deserved the praise. After all, he was the Master of Fear.
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Well, that's the end. I considered an ending where he got away but I liked this one better. Thanks for all the great feedback.
A/N: This isn't a reference to the animated series but I used it anyway. It's a reference to the "New Year's Evil: Scarecrow," comic where Crane disguises himself as a hospital janitor to get closer to his intended victim. He wasn't caught then so I figured he could use the same scheme again.