Oh the pain…the searing, white hot pain that sent streaks of light and blurred images into Doctor Jonathan Crane's mind. His head throbbed and hummed as sparks leapt in front of his eyes. He knew full well from where those sparks came. His eyes watered, and he couldn't help but utter a shriek of anguish as the black stallion he rode seemed to bob and weave through the foggy streets of the Narrows.

Jonathan's head lolled back in a daze, hanging awkwardly, and he watched through the eyes of his mask as the crumbling buildings around him seemed to break open, allowing the dim stars above to shine through the crevices. His face and fingers twitched with the electric pulses that were being sent into his body, and he continued to give moans of pain. His body slipped along the saddle with each gallop until finally he toppled over like a toy, knocked out-cold by the fall, but his foot still attached to the stirrup of the saddle. That's when everything went black.

In the next moment, Jonathan Crane found himself on his back, staring at the unblocked view of the starry night sky. He blinked, still trying to focus as dots and lights danced in his vision, and groped the soft earth beside him in an attempt to figure out his location. Another sharp pain ripped through him, this time from his hand, and he gave a muffled cry. Jonathan practically leapt to his feet, tearing the mask off with his uninjured hand, spinning around, desperately trying to figure out where he was.

Tall blue-green grasses swayed gently in the chilled night air. Jonathan could see the horse he had ridden a few feet away, grazing placidly on the grass until it realized its rider awoke and cast a glance at Jonathan.

The young man turned around once more and saw the twinkling skyline of Gotham in the south. Impossible. Had he been carried out all the way here? He looked down at his injured hand and grimaced. No wonder it hurt. He must have sprained his wrist, as it was swollen and turning a strange shade of purple. His back felt like someone had dragged sandpaper across it. If it hadn't been for his straightjacket, which he realized he was still wearing, Jonathan concluded his injuries could have probably been worse.

The young man eased himself to the ground and gingerly touched his face. He winced sorely as his fingers traced the burn that Rachel Dawes had given him, thanks to that stupid taser she had. Now that he had some sort of idea where he was, he took in his surroundings.

How had he gotten all the way out here? He must have fallen off the horse and caught his leg on the saddle before being dragged through the streets like a rag toy until he reached…wherever he was now. Jonathan craned his neck, despite his body's protest to sit still, and looked over his shoulder. There were small patches of land surrounding Gotham where small family farms or ranches set up, far from city life to tamper with it.

Though, by the looks of it, this field had long been abandoned. Weeds tore up the earth in several spots, poking their thorny heads above the tall grass. Rocks and stones littered the ground, ranging from pebble sizes to one nearly as big as Jonathan himself.

Jonathan could see a barn a ways away and gave a sigh. Perhaps, if his suspicions were correct and the field had been left to nature's whim, he could keep warm in that barn until daylight without the interference of nosy farmers.

"Get over here, you stupid horse…" Jonathan barked at the animal and yanked on its reigns. "No more food. Come on, don't think I'm gonna just lead you to the barn, now." Jonathan painfully placed one foot in the stirrup and hauled himself onto the horse. "Move."

The horse snorted in reply and began to walk at a dreary, slow pace. Jonathan gave an exasperated sigh and kicked his heels up and into the beast's body. That seemed to get its attention. The horse reared up and took off at a gallop, sending the dusty earth flying in his wake.

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By the looks of it, the barn had lost any purpose, as the roof was rotting away from rain and weather, and the smell of decayed hay stung at Jonathan's nose. But it was warmer than being outside. Jonathan allowed his animal companion to find a spot on the floor near the back of the barn to sleep. He, however, paced back and forth, listening to the dull thump his feet made on the dirt floor. Those idiots at the asylum had taken his shoes, he realized as he glanced down at his feet, warmed only by the dirty, muddy socks he now wore. Jonathan's blue eyes wandered aimlessly around the empty, cavernous room, and he gave a sigh.

"What now? If I return to Gotham, I'll be caught. If I run…well, I doubt I'll be on the run for long," He hissed. "So is this it? The end? Doctor Jonathan Crane, wiped from the memory of the citizens of Gotham?"

Jonathan growled and slammed his fists on a support beam. "It's not good enough! My purpose was to show these people the fear…the fear of their worst nightmares brought into the spectrum of reality!" His lips twitched as a smile crossed his face. "I was good at that…I was the puppetmaster…and they were my toys."

They need to see that.

"They need to remember." Jonathan looked to his left and let out a chuckle. "I can…I can make them remember!"

They need to remember the pain. Your nightmares were never fixed…

"I lived in agony every day!" Jonathan smiled, wrapping his bony knuckles around some pieces of rotted wood. "My life was hell on earth…"

You've earned a chance to show your true colors…

"I had to sit by while they worked and slaved…mocked…ridiculed…" Jonathan threw the pieces wood into the center of the room and heaved with deep breaths. The horse near the back of the barn paid no mind to the maniacal ranting of the man and simply turned the other way.

This will be our home.

"I will build a monument…a place to remember…a place to show those fools my power. They think they could lock me up and not suffer consequences?" Jonathan jabbed himself in the chest with his thumb and laughed a chilling, unearthly laugh. His breath hung before him in a foggy cloud as the dim moon rays above lit his pale face up like a ghost.

We will destroy Gotham, Jonathan. We will take back what is ours…

Jonathan smiled wider as a grim acceptance worked through his mind. "And I know just where to start…"

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Jonathan Crane sat upon his rotted wooden throne made of beams thrown together with no care or precision. Splinters stabbed into the air, and a black widow could be seen spinning a frail silk web within the twisted framework of the seat. The man's attire was just as shoddy; His once carefully-preened hair was longer and greasy, falling into his silvery-blue eyes, now filled with the vivid sights and hallucinations that only a madman can understand.

His body was no longer decorated with the rich spoils of his old life…expensive Italian shoes, a carefully pressed suit…His torso was now wrapped within a belted straightjacket, dingy and torn in several spots, and his orange jumper beneath the jacket had ripped up to his knees, tinged brown near the bottom from the days of rebuilding his new life in the dark recesses of an abandoned old barn on the outskirts of Gotham.

His body had also taken a change for the worse. His fair skin was paler, nearly white, and his thin arms and legs were knobby and long. His face beheld a pink scar running from cheekbone to his nose, lengthwise. His leg also suffered, due to the tumble he took off the horse he was riding that fateful night, all but crushed as he fell, but he couldn't feel the pain and continued to walk on it, and was now sporting a limp because of it.

Jonathan's head lolled back, over his shoulders, and his eyes staring blankly at the dilapidated ceiling above him.

King.

Jonathan's pink lips curled into an enigmatic smile and a dry chuckle escaped through them.

He was king. Lord of his territory. Master of his domain…and Master of Fear. Jonathan reached beside him and grabbed his 'scepter', the rough wooden handle of a rusted scythe. With this, he would strike fear into the heart of Gotham. At least until he could perfect his fear serum. That would require money. Which he didn't have. But he would…soon. Jonathan had to bite his lip in order to conceal the twisted smile on his face.

Yes.

With a mighty hand, he would strike down the disgusting slime of Gotham City, the trash and urchins that caused him to become who he was. The Scarecrow.

"And they will only fall because of their own mistakes," his voice purred in the darkness. He picked up his burlap mask in one hand and some twine and a thick needle in his other. Drawing his feet up and sitting awkwardly on the 'throne', he slowly began to sew the Scarecrow's mask, running fragile white fingers, numb from the prinpricks of the needle, over the eyeholes. "They think they drove me away…oh but little do they know. What goes around comes around my friends…" Jonathan's eyes focused on the mask's insane smile. "What goes around…comes around…"

It wouldn't take long before Jonathan began to ponder what to do. He was no longer the man of science he had been. He was now completely immersed in his own insanity; His thirst for retribution, and his hunger for the life he used to lead. He needed his toys, his fear gas, his lab, henchmen…his asylum. He needed her back.

But he was an enemy. And he was near the top of the list. If he wanted his plan to succeed…he would need to show the people of Gotham that Jonathan Crane…was not to be toyed with.

Author's Note: Hi guys! You probably won't remember me, as I have been on a tragically huge art slump lately. But for some reason, this story has decided to cling to my brain, and I just had to write. Sorry if Crane seems a bit...crazy. After reading a few stories on the scarecrow, I still see him as that quiet killer no one suspects. But, in other light, I also see him as a sociopathic psychopath...so it might be a little different from the Crane that the movie (and Cillian Murphy) portrayed.

I hope you enjoy the first chapter, and chapters to come. Amazon