This suggestion was brought to me recently by the infamous wouldyouliketoseemymask, and it was just so good, I HAD to do it. This is probably the silliest thing I've written thus far, I hope it doesn't turn any of you guys .away...ANYWAY. Let's go.

It was just past eight o'clock, and Dr. Jonathan Crane was walking home from Arkham Asylum. It was a rare, clear night, and Gotham wasn't so chilly that he wouldn't relish the opportunity for exercise. Jonathan loved the fall. The clear, crisp air, stung his lungs, so much so that his eyes almost teared. A scarf wrapped around his neck and face, he was content.

A neon sign off to the side caught his eye. A video rental place.

Really? Video rental? I didn't know anyone still watched VHS these days.

Crane thought haughtily of the blu-ray player he had purchased, based on reports of its superior video and sound quality. Only the best. Days of settling for anything less were far behind him now.

Still, he could recall a time in his younger years, when he and the three other boys who shared his college dorm would squash around an old TV set and put in numerous horror and science fiction films, staying up all night for marathons.

Jonathan could remember one night in particular, over Spring Break one year, when he stayed on campus by himself. He would rather have spontaneously combusted than go home for the week, and he had no close companions to invite him on trips to Miami or some other popular destination for horny young adults. Thus, he contented himself with camping out on the dorm's overstuffed beige couch. He brought his blanket and some pillows, and a giant bag of beef jerky, and stayed there, getting up only to exercise a bodily function or change the video tape.

The Exorcist. The Shining. Halloween. A Nightmare on Elm Street, that was a good one. Nosferatu, a classic. Alien. Blade Runner. He couldn't get enough of them that weekend. There was one...one other... One that had, for some reason, legitimately frightened him. What was it?

A particularly strong gust of wind caught him, and he realized he had just been standing on the sidewalk, looking at the rental place. Well, he was chilled. He could just go in for a moment, to warm up...

Once inside, he was surrounded by racks and racks of movies. Some were, indeed, on VHS, most on DVD, and a few recent new releases were also available on blu-ray. He cocked his eyebrow in approval. Jonathan navigated his way to the horror section, the familiar box art greeting him like his old college roommates never had, and likely never would.

Shortly, a familiar black figure on a blue background jumped out at him amongst blood-spattered machetes and screaming victims. The Thing! John Carpenter's The Thing! That was the one. Isolation, paranoia, icy cold wastelands and shape-shifting aliens. He pulled it off the shelf, gripping it tightly in his hand, dry and chapped from the winds outside.

Lost in thought and memory, he walked absentmindedly up one aisle and down the other, row after row after row, through romantic comedies, dramas and documentaries; action flicks and foreign films.

The woman behind the counter barely looked up from her book as he slowly walked past a red velvet curtain. Ugh. She hated that place. It always skeeved her out when guys went back there, especially when they looked as nice as that guy had. Couldn't he just get a real girlfriend? Oh well, she supposed...

Crane snapped back to his senses as he found himself face to face with a cardboard standup for another movie titled "The Thing". Except this one seemed to have little to do with the movie in his hand. He glanced at the box, before looking back up at what appeared to be a five and a half foot tall tentacle-like phallus.

He blinked several times quickly, stepping away as fast as he could. However, the back room of the rental shop was crowded, and he knocked into another rack, causing the contents to spill into the floor. Instinctively, he made a "Whoomph" sound as he stuck out his arms to try and catch them. Most of them cascaded over his open arms, slipping through his grasping hands.

Crouching, he hurriedly tried to pick them up, reaching above him to place them back on the shelves. Unable to stop himself, he processed the names of the porn titles in growing confusion and disgust.

Schindler's Fist...Sorest Rump...White Men Can't Hump...Breast Side Story...Sperminator...Batman in Robin-ok, that one was pretty funny...

Then, he sensed someone behind him.

Oh, no.

"Is uh...is everything all right back here?"

The female attendant at the counter that he had completely ignored upon entry was right behind him. Slowly, he turned around, with his most victimized expression.

"What is this?"

"I'm sorry?"

Damn. She must think him some perverted buffoon, unable to successfully navigate normal relationships; so much so that he must sink to pornography parodies of regular films for companionship, and THEN was unable to navigate those without making some sort of mess.

"What is this room?"

"It's...you know...the adult section..."

Damn, damn. She was an attractive female. Normally, this would have little to no effect, but he was vulnerable, looking like some kind of deviant, while she, like so many other attractive females of his past, just stood there and sneered. Oh God, he felt...embarrassed...dare he say it...humiliated... He did his best to convince himself that the burning he felt on his face was nothing more than a manifestation of his fury.

Jesus, Jonny... and with that, the last of his courage left him.

He was angry at himself for getting into this situation (Why hadn't he paid more attention?), angry at the woman for approaching him, angry at himself for feeling shame...even angry at himself for feeling angry.

"The 'adult section'? I wouldn't go so far as to say that any of this is 'adult'. Pornography is the habit of a juvenile, with unrealistic notions of sexuality and anatomy." He could hear his voice shake slightly, and hoped with all his might that she couldn't hear it too.

The woman cocked a dark eyebrow, which he had no idea how to interpret. Did she agree with him? Or see through his haughty rage to the strong desire to flee. Pressing his lips together so tightly they hurt, he shouldered past her, walking quickly out the door.

The rest of the walk back to his apartment building, he berated himself for not just getting a taxi and going home from the start. Sure, it wasn't as good as stretching one's legs, but short of tripping and falling flat on your face, it was much harder to get into any sort of madcap shenanigans, just putting one foot in front of the other.

As he reached the door to his building, he looked down. The Thing was still tightly grasped in his hands, his knuckles white around the plastic box.

Well, he could never go back there again. And it's not like he had any moral compunctions against petty theft. He supposed it was his now.

…

Late that night, Jonathan sat curled up on his couch, much as he had as a teenager. However, the couch now was plush leather, not rough upholstery, and rather than baggy athletic shorts and a stretched out t-shirt, Jonny was in a white dress shirt and suitpants.

His legs were crossed "indian style", and as he shifted to get more comfortable in his chair, he pulled his knees up to his face. It became apparent that his pants were a bit too short for his legs; he had always had trouble finding pants that fit him properly. However, the draft around his ankles was the last thing on his mind.

All the lights were off in the apartment, and he hadn't turned the heat on to combat the encroaching chill. The light from the television washed over him in flickering tides of dark and light, close ups and establishing shots. It was cold outside, and the world was not understanding, but he was in the antarctic now, the monster on the ice.

All my love, m.