AN: I've broken into a church before, back at home you know? An old boyfriend and I had…gone out…and, ah, it started raining. Y'know, as it does. Real downpour. So we just…let ourselves in to get out of the wet, and one thing led to another, and that's why I'm going to Hell.

10/10, would do again. :p

Dr. Crane has…issues…with religion. You can see why, I'm sure.

Gotham's got churches. Of course Gotham's got churches, it's a major city. It's got a place of worship for everyone. Granted, they tend to step in more as 'place to lay out the injured from the most recent supervillain attack', but still. They're there.

Jonathan Crane despises them. Hypocritical things with hypocritical people. They're full on Christmas and on Easter and that's about it.

He remembers, as a child, having to sit still and not complain (mentally or otherwise) about the pews not being designed for boney people and wonder why, exactly, he was going to Hell despite being five and not having done anything Hell-worthy.

Apart from being born out of wedlock. There was that bit.

Later, as a teenager, he'd suffered through it on pain of birds, but he'd permitted himself the mental complaints. Permitted himself the fantasy of getting out of Arlen, leaving Granny crippled and defenseless in that rotting mansion with her precious crows and crops.

He hadn't set foot in one since she died. No reason to.

Today, that will change.

They won't be expecting him-up 'til now he's been random or specific in his plans. Halloween, of course, belongs to him. It is his duty-God given, if you will-to teach today's little brats what fear really is. Occasionally he'll pluck a date from pop culture, one that most people don't get anyway-Psycho's release date, Hannibal Lecter's birthday. Springtime, however, is usually devoid of Scarecrow activity.

It's hardly his fault he's allergic to Gotham's wildflowers.

All the same, it's easy. Easy to slip in amongst the others, to take advantage of the socializing to force his stiff limbs (ridiculous, just memories, and not of this building) to carry him to a secluded seat at the back, by the door. Not so easy to ignore Kitty's hand on his arm, an anchor to now and not then, but that's all right.

"Been a bit, huh?"

He snorts, one eye on the crowd of old women that are likely to be the first to notice them.

"Maybe this wasn't the best idea."

"You could tell yourself it's therapy."

That draws a laugh out of him.

"Fair enough." He glances at the cross behind the pulpit, rolls his eyes. "S'too early to be up."

"Don't farm boys have to be up before the sun?"

"That was years ago."

"Still." She shrugs, looks from him to the cross (and there's the explanation for all his paranoid religious patients, right there), and suddenly tugs at his sleeve. "Oh my god, isn't that one of yours?"

"Hm?"

"Pink dress, third row from the front on the right."

Yes. Yes, it is one of his, an early one, weak batch. Batman had…interrupted…that experiment and the woman had the good sense to change her name. Well, well, this just keeps getting better, doesn't it?

"Her luck is terrible." he murmurs, unable and unwilling to keep the smirk from his face. "This fills me with joy, Kitty. I think it's joy. It's not spite, so…"

She pokes his arm, snickering, and he pulls his eyes from his lost-and-found subject. Behind him, the doors close and a gaggle of seniors make their way over. He knew it. It's always the old ones that get nosey first.

They should know better.

"So nice to see new faces!"

Oh, really?

He stands up-Granny taught him some manners, after all-and extends his hand. And maybe…raises it. To face-height. Shifts his wrist back to activate the mechanism and takes a few steps back as the nearest biddy staggers into her compatriots, flailing with her cane.

Well. It appears that service is starting now.

The screams have drawn everyone's attention and he eases out of the row, a little unsure as to what to feel about the eyes on him. They're scared now, but god, churchgoers look alike, don't they? He could be back in Arlen, feels like.

Pity for them.

"Happy Easter." The smile's real enough, if a little strained. "Look at you all, here to seek half a year's worth of absolution. In Gotham, of all places." He makes his way towards the front, towards that damned cross. He wonders if it will change for some of them, if Christ himself will grow fangs and a forked tongue as he writhes upon it.

"Today's sermon, ladies and gentlemen, is about fear. Most of you, I should hope, have a healthy fear of God." He feels some of the strain ease out of his smile as they finally realize what's going on. His little escapee has gone white to the lips-he'll have to watch that one. "But you're praying now, aren't you, for him to save you?" Nobody answers him. "He won't."

"What do you want."

He snaps towards the old man in the front row. Surrounded by his family, looks like, clutching a cane. Probably a self-righteous…never mind. They all are, really.

"My wants and needs are simple." he says, coming back down the steps. A flash of red-Kitty-darts past the corner of his eye. Everything's just about set, then. "I want to show you the light." He spreads his arms, tries for a benevolent smile and thinks he's not quite successful. "This is for your own good. Isn't that what they tell you?"

"Get out."

Feisty old timer, isn't he? He and Granny would have gotten along like a house on fire.

He stops a few paces away-no need to clean spit off his glasses, and he sees it coming-and sighs, pulls rough burlap from his coat pocket. He takes his time tucking his glasses into a safe place-he really does need to see about accomadating them-and pulls it on.

Scarecrow cracks his neck and rasps, "No."

Then the fog rolls in, thick and sudden as it spirals upwards. There's a rush for the door, people struggling to yank their clothes over their faces as they pound and shove. A child falls and is trampled.

Happy Easter, indeed, he thinks as he strolls towards them. Happy Easter, indeed.

THE END