AN: Not new.
Scarecrow has never been one for games. Ever. So when some teenager comes around a corner and slams into him, he is not amused. The only thing that keeps him from gassing the little punk then and there is Jonathan.
Broad daylight! Behave!
Don't get your panties in a twist, Jonny.
"Sorry, Mister." Oh, he doesn't realize whose ribs he nearly re-broke? Hm. "We were just playing a game."
"What sort of game?"
There, see? I can behave.
Jonathan snorts and Scarecrow wishes he could elbow himself in the ribs.
"Tag."
"Tag, you're it, Scarecrow!"
Nevermind. Gas him.
Oh, he will. With relish.
"Would you like to see my mask?"
Delicious fear begins to creep over the boy's face. Scarecrow doesn't wait for an answer, instead putting on his face and stalking towards him. If he runs, he's not giving chase, but if he's paralyzed by fear…
It's his lucky day. The boy is too terrified to run. Scarecrow raises his arm and a white cloud slams into the boy's face. Three…two…one…
The boy drops down screaming. Scarecrow would love to stay here and savor the sound, but Jonathan's nagging at him to get out of there before his friends come running. He can't resist one parting line, though.
"You're it."
THE END