Jonathan hunched over the small bowl, breathing in whatever fumes it was giving off, and cackled. "A wonderful day it is, today. Wouldn't you say?"

You've finally done it, Jonathan. A bit crude…but I believe this will do.

"Of course it will!" He said haughtily to no one in particular but himself. "I am a man of science. I may have been dragged through the mud…but that doesn't mean my mind has gone with it. I still have the ability to create fear…"

How will you spread this toxin, Jonathan?

"I stole a spray bottle from the university…" Jonathan mumbled, as he held up what used to be a window-cleaner bottle, now void of its contents. "This will have to suffice until I obtain my old toxin canister…back at Arkham." Jonathan put on a frown of thought, pausing in his work.

Ah, you've thought of everything, now haven't you?

The young man blinked out of his stupor and nodded. "Indeed I have…" Jonathan hopped to his feet, pouring the contents of the bowl into the bottle. "Including a new outfit that will coordinate well with our mask."

Is that the little project I've seen you working on?

Jonathan scampered to a pile of clothes on the hay-covered floor as he struggled to close the bottle properly. "It's a good thing I learned sewing from mother…the only use she's ever served me." Jonathan placed the still ajar bottle on the floor and held up his clothes. His suit was definitely Hawthorn's, as one could tell by the skill of the tailor, but Jonathan mended it in a way to customize it to fit his thin frame.

He had stolen some gloves from a homeless man after fleeing the city for his far off hideaway. With the careful snip of the scissors, he cut the fingers off and was left with a clean pair of fingerless gloves. He kept Hawthorn's shoes polished, and even found the hat of a farmer that must have used the barn. He had accented the hat with a careful arrangement of hay to serve as the scarecrow's 'hair', since his would be covered by the mask. Carefully, he pulled his clothing on, smirking as he slowly held the mask up to his face. He never understood why people were so frightened of it.

Sure, under the effects of the gas, everything was frightening. But even when people were under no other influence…just pulling the mask over his face, letting his chilling blue eyes radiate the frozen coldness of the man that owned them, letting his lips curl with hatred or other emotions as the ever smiling mask grinned at his victim…the scarecrow seemed to frighten all under its power…

Jonathan liked this. He enjoyed quenching his thirst for fear and his lust for knowledge. To him, watching people scurry in terror was like being a small child fascinated by holding a magnifying glass over bugs and ants, watching as they sizzled under the blazing pinpoint of light.

Jonathan pulled the mask onto his face and once again meandered over to the pool of water. The burlap mask smiled at him, despite the stone-cold expression he wore beneath it. The rope hanging off the neck of the mask just added a more horrifying bit to his look. He fit the bill. He looked, and acted, just like he needed to. Jonathan Crane was the scarecrow…

He reached down and picked up the crude spray bottle by his feet.

Now all he needed was someone to play with…

-------------------

"Alright, alright…enough chatting with each other," Jonathan snapped, allowing his books to drop to his desk with a loud thud. "It's not like you haven't seen each other in ages. Miss Dratch, I would advise you to sit, but I see you have found a comfortable spot." Jonathan gave a disgusted look at the young woman as she sat on her boyfriend's lap, hugging his neck. She blushed at his comment and quickly took her seat beside the young man, hanging her head down.

Jonathan was still bitter…no…livid…at what had happened yesterday. Hawthorn and the other teachers had no faith in him whatsoever. He wouldn't be taken seriously.

'Let's just see them eat their words…'

"Alright, class…if anyone retained any sort of information yesterday, I implore you to recall the point of this class."

One man in the back raised his hand. "Fear."

"Very good." Jonathan crossed behind his desk and cleared his throat. "Fear can be set off by many things. Spiders, snakes, the dark…all can trigger fears in an instant." Jonathan unlatched his briefcase and heard a collective murmur as he pulled out a metallic object. It was a gun.

"I can tell, by your reactions, that most of you know what this is…" He held it up, pointing it at the ceiling. "A gun, as we know, can send a rush of fear into any one of us."

"But, Professor…we've seen plenty of guns. I don't think they show probable cause for fear…They're part of culture. Video games, movies…I can't honestly think of one form of media entertainment that doesn't mention a weapon of some sort."

Jonathan stared at the student, his eyebrows coming together in a sort of frown. He slowly stepped out from behind his desk and stood before the young man. "What is your name?"

"Daniel Stevens."

"Well, Mr. Stevens…perhaps you are correct. Merely seeing a gun may or may not trigger fear…"

Another collective gasp hissed through the classroom as Jonathan placed the barrel of the gun to the man's forehead, pulling the hammer back.

"But does this trigger your fear now?"

Daniel's face grew pale, paler than even Jonathan's. He breathed slowly and nodded tentatively, afraid the slightest movement would cause the gun to fire.

Jonathan grinned and pulled the gun away from his student. "Notice this gun, ladies and gentlemen…if I had pointed it to you, I'm sure you would have reacted like my friend Daniel did. You would have been afraid."

"However…I am also sure you would have been terrified even more if I had done this!" Jonathan whipped around and, with the same skill a marksman would have, pulled the trigger and watched as a vase on his desk shattered across the floor.

Several students screamed, some even shouted that this guy was crazy. But Jonathan calmly placed the weapon down and turned to his students with an emotionless face.

"So now you see? Now you see what a gun can do? It can destroy!" He shouted, picking up a shard of broken vase. "Before I fired, you could only hypothesize on the results. Will it jam, will he fire it, is the gun even loaded? After I fired, however, your thoughts were much different. You began to wonder at the destruction it caused…you began to think about how to react. Your body became a firsthand example of fight or flight: Whether to run from the man with the gun, to trust he wouldn't shoot at a student, or…" he hesitated, letting his fingers trail the length of the desk before eyeing his class, "Or whether to fight the man with the better weapon…"

He watched as the students, still watching with wide eyes, trembled in their seats. Daniel Stevens looked about ready to pass out. Miss Dratch was clinging to her boyfriend's arm pathetically.

Wouldn't take him seriously? 'Let's just see them eat their words…Jonathan.'

-------------------

Jonathan sat at his desk, gathering up the bits and pieces of ceramic left behind from his class earlier that day. He had decided to linger around after evening in order to make his classroom as orderly as possible, which included digging for the stray bullet that had been shot into the wall behind his desk.

Jonathan stooped slightly as he grabbed a long silver utensil he had borrowed from the chemistry lab and began to poke it into the small bullet hole in the plaster. 'I knew I should have used a blank…but they would have suspected…they needed true fear…'

Jonathan's neck snapped up as he heard the door to his room slam and blinked. The dean of Gotham University, Charles Meyer, looked furious as he started down the steps towards the young man. He had a snow white goatee to match his beard, and was short and chubby. He resembled a husky Colonel Sanders with thinner rimmed glasses and no white suit. But Charles Meyer was no man to cross with. He meant what he said, and said what he meant. So Jonathan knew something was wrong when the man reached the bottom of the stairs, seething.

"Jonathan Crane…"

"Ah, Dean Meyer, what a pleasure, sir." Jonathan extended his hand, but received nothing more than a glare and grunt. Jonathan quickly pulled back his hand and frowned. "Is something wrong sir?"

"I'll say. I knew that, when I hired you, you would bring a welcome breath of air to this stuffy campus. A young professor, able to relate to his students. Not a madman waving around a gun!"

Jonathan blinked. "Wh-what? Sir…I…it was only to demonstrate—"

"You not only brought a weapon onto campus, let alone a classroom, but you threatened a student and fired off a live round!"

"How did you know it was a live round?"

"Why else would you be digging in a bullet hole in the wall?"

Jonathan fell silent and worried his bottom lip. He hesitantly looked up at the older man, looking as if he had been punched in the gut. "Dean Meyer…I only wished to demonstrate the reaction of fear…"

"Well, you demonstrated it alright. And it was your last demonstration." Jonathan's eyes grew wide as the older man jabbed his finger in his shoulder. "You're fired."

"N-No…please. Dean Meyer, please sir, I need this job! I need the money!" He never thought he would be caught begging again. But here he was, practically on his knees as his face grew sickly. "I need to keep this job!"

"You need to keep your head straight. I thought a psychology professor would be more responsible. You know these kids are sensitive enough as it is. Firing a gun and threatening—"

"I didn't threaten him!"

"You aimed a gun at his skull, Crane!" roared Meyer, once again silencing the man. "You are out of line, and you are no longer a part of this campus staff. Now get your bullet out of my wall and pack your things."

Jonathan was devastated and had to lean against his desk with a free arm as the other pushed his bangs away from his eyes in disbelief. This couldn't be happening. But it was. Jonathan looked up as the dean's steps grew faint and felt a stinging, boiling hatred rise from the very pit of his soul. There, trying hard not to be seen in the doorway, was Daniel Stevens.

Jonathan's fingers wrapped tightly around the edge of the desk and he did all he could in his power to suppress the urge to growl.

He's the reason you were fired.

Jonathan frowned, a puzzled look on his face. Who had said that? Hesitantly, the young man ignored the voice and turned his back to the door, resuming the excavation of the bullet.

-------------------

"Did you hear? He got sacked because of that stunt he pulled with the gun."

"Good thing…He was a nutjob. Next thing you know, he'd bring a machete and start hacking us up!"

Daniel Stevens walked by the group of chattering students with his head hung shamefully low. It was his fault Jonathan was fired. But he didn't mean for it to happen. It just slipped out while he spoke with his friends as the dean was walking by.

Daniel felt terrible for costing the man his job. And hearing him plead and beg for mercy didn't ease his conscience any more. He had deprived Jonathan Crane of the one thing in life he valued…it was his fault.

Daniel was walking past the open psychology door just as a man nearly collided into him. "Oh, s-sorry sir, I…" His voice trailed off as his eyes landed on the figure of Jonathan Crane. "P-Professor Crane…"

"No, not anymore…" Jonathan hissed, venom dripping from his voice even though his face held no sign of emotions. "I was gathering some things I hadn't picked up last night. Your new professor will be here soon." He glanced at his watch, then at the young man before him. "Excuse me, I have some business to attend to."

As Jonathan breezed by Daniel, the young man's mind began to work and he quietly called out to his once professor. Jonathan turned with a slight hint of hatred and spat out a curt, "What?"

"I…I'm sorry, Professor Crane. I didn't mean…for this to happen. You were a good professor…"

Jonathan let the words sink in, but as they did he felt a bitterness rise within him. "I was. Now I have no other purpose since that title was ripped away from me. Enjoy your academic studies while you can, Stevens…"

With that, Jonathan walked away.

It wasn't like he didn't wish to see the pain in Daniel's face once he had replied to his apology with the sweetness of a lemon. But he did, in fact, have business he needed to attend to.

-------------------

"It seems he has done well in his life…" Jonathan murmured to himself as he reached the door of a cozy-looking home down in the suburbs of Gotham. Of course, looks were deceiving, thought Jonathan as a pretty woman came out of the home, shouted loudly at someone inside, and stormed down the driveway towards her car. As soon as the engine roared to life and she sped down the street, Jonathan came out of hiding and straightened himself, cocking his head to the side as he studied the home. "Of course, that doesn't mean life won't throw problems his way…"

Jonathan limped his way to the front door, dragging his injured foot along until he finally reached the porch and knocked loudly on the door. He had gotten quite ready for this meeting. He wore the suit taken from Hawthorn, and had managed to style his hair decently with just water from a bucket in the barn. Jonathan Crane looked like just another drunk businessman in a suit, ready to visit his friend and down a few more shots.

He knocked loudly again, this time cut short as the door flew open. "What do you want?" A man, obviously drunk (or showing early signs of it) peered at the thin pale man in his doorway. He looked familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it…

"Mr. Stevens? Daniel Stevens?"

The man nodded stupidly and frowned at his visitor. "Yeah…what is it?"

"I…forgive me, you probably don't even recognize me." Jonathan put on a smile and cleared his throat. "Your old college professor…psychology? I…aimed the gun at your head?"

Daniel blinked in surprise and gawked at Jonathan. "P-professor Crane? You…the…I keep hearing…they're looking for you!" The man's broken words tumbled from his lips, and the pungent smell of alcohol ticked Jonathan's nose. He, however, kept a sullen face and shook his head.

"I…I know. The police seem to think I'm the one who killed my own mother," he said, glancing at Daniel in a feigned, hurt way. "How could they think such a thing? You know I wouldn't kill. If I was capable…don't you think I would have done so a few years back?"

Daniel winced at the memory and shook his head. "I know you would have. I cost you your job…I never forgave myself for that…" he slurred and opened the door wider. "Come in, sir."

Sir…he still calls you sir…still holds you in regard. Guilty conscience?

Jonathan took a seat on the man's couch and watched as Stevens fumbled to turn on a light switch.

"Daniel, was that your wife I saw a few moments ago?" Jonathan nodded casually to the driveway out the window, knowing full well of the tender subject he was bringing up, accentuated only by Daniel's doleful expression.

"Yeah…we had a little fight. She just needs to cool off."

Jonathan nodded demurely to himself and looked up as Daniel handed him a shot glass. "No, no. I don't drink."

Only fear will satisfy my thirst.

Daniel downed the shot himself and sank into a chair opposite his old professor. "So, what is it you wanted to talk about, Professor?"

"No need for formalities, Daniel. Jonathan will do."

"Uh…sure. Jonathan." The young man pursed his lips and glanced at the clock on the wall.

"Expecting something?" Daniel shook his head, but Jonathan knew exactly what he was doing. Daniel was still afraid of Jonathan…still afraid of the power he held and of the things he was capable of, according to the news. "Daniel, do you recall my last class…before I was fired?"

"How could I forget…" Daniel said guiltily.

Jonathan smiled toothily as he leaned forward in his seat. "Remember…fear is only what we perceive it to be. It's not half as scary as what it can become."

Daniel frowned, quirking an eyebrow. "I know. The gun thing…I remember."

"Do you Daniel? Then you will recall what happened when I fired the gun."

"Everyone freaked."

Jonathan nodded once more and stood from his seat. "They did. They didn't understand that they were in completely safe hands…that I would never…ever turn a gun on a student. Well, you know what I mean." Jonathan motioned to Daniel with a smile. "But times have changed, Stevens. Times have gotten harder. I doubt myself…I doubt whether I should have done what I did…maybe I would be back at home, cozy, like this one. I'd have money, notoriety, and perhaps even the company of good, if not shallow, friends."

Daniel stared at Jonathan with increasing curiosity. "What do you mean? What…what ever happened to you, Jonathan?"

"I became a loner, Daniel. I shut others out. I indulged myself in my studies of psychology and fear. I learned one thing…"

Jonathan felt a little silly as he held up a spray bottle in the face of this man who could easily overpower him…if he hadn't been drunk.

"I learned that fear…is the only way to get my point across. You'll make a fine test subject, Daniel Stevens."

Jonathan let his finger fall to the spray bottle's "trigger" and pulled back, allowing his toxic cocktail to spray into the face of his newest plaything.

A/N: Some lines in the flashback (the whole gun-concept thing) was borrowed from 'Batman: Scarecrow Tales' where they give a backstory on Jonathan and how he came to be who he was (most of my story is inspired by these snippets), so I must give credit where credit is due.

:D Please Review. Thank ya!

...Amazon...