AN: Some boyfriends try to teach us how to use a bat. Mine…goes the murderous route. I can't always be around to keep you out of trouble. I can get myself out of trouble! …Humor me.

Johanna Crane-Funny, that. Suicide can be very messy indeed. At least one victim has gone in and ripped their own intestines out. Thought they were removing bugs, you understand.

Christineoftheopera-He didn't last. Croc found him. They were picking him out of the sewer for weeks-a toe came up somebody's drain, if I recall correctly.

SwordStitcher-We draw straws, unless somebody came in badly damaged (get-well present) or it's a copycat. Copycats don't last long here.

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-By the time they get to Arkham, they're nearly shattered already. We have to entertain ourselves somehow, though, and nobody likes a roommate.

"Okay…you put your hands here…no, a little higher…no." He leaned over and adjusted her hands. "There. Right there."

"Like this?"

"Uh-huh…no! Don't just randomly swing it, you'll take your head off. Okay, you draw back like this-feel how it's top-heavy? That's why you don't just flail with it. A little more…controlled swing."

Slice!

"Eep!"

Well. There was a reason they were doing this outside.

"I tried to tell you. Let's try it again." He took her hands-that last swing had been a bit too close for comfort-and pulled her back against him. "Hands here, pull back…more…okay, now swing."

Slice!

"Better."

At least she hadn't nearly taken off a limb.

"Is this really necessary?"

"Yes. Hands here…"

"This is taller than me!"

"Everything is taller than you, Kitty."

"Fuck you."

He ignored that and let go of her hands.

"Try again."

This time she managed to embed it in the grass. Well, better the grass than his head.

"I don't think that worked."

"No." He took it from her. "Look. It isn't that complicated."

Slice!

"Show-off."

You so are.

Shut up, Scarecrow.

But it's true.

Your great dream is to strip-dance on top of Wayne Manor as Gotham is flooded with fear toxin.

I admit it, and it's art.

How.

I'll get back to you.

He gave Kitty back the scythe and adjusted her hands on it again.

There's other things you could be adjusting her hands on, if you know what I mean.

How old are you, nine?

How old are you, ninety?

"Let's try this again. Hands here, draw back…"

Slice!

"Well. At least you hit the pumpkin this time. Next time, let's try slicing it, not impaling it."

THE END