disclaimer: We've been over this. Really. You should know by now.

a/n: Sorry this took so long. Wounds, tests, and illness were apart of the slowness of my updating. Yeah. u-u" Not the best excuses, but they are true.

Did I ever tell you I love Thomas Schiff? No? Well I DO. x3

I am embarrassed by this chapter a little. Just... am. No reason. Really.

Enjoy. C:

His breath was heavy, unusually labored, as he wandered through the halls of Wayne manor. Jonathan was alone in the manor for the first time- and he was taking that time to do the obvious; explore. Bruce and Alfred tended to try and keep him busy, like they suspected something. Which was odd, but he took not to dwelling on that. Normally he would have taken as much time as possible to dwell on it, but today, today, for some reason he wasn't in the mood.

Something was bothering him.

Something was teetering at the edge of his mind, prepared to be unleashed full force.

Jonathan didn't want to be around anything expensive looking when that happened.

The only problem was that everything in this godforsaken manor was expensive. Much more than Jonathan had ever earned in a year, which in some trivial way sparked jealously. But a quick reminder that he didn't care for money put out the spark.

He had come upon a dark schemed room, full of blank white canvases. Paint, and paintbrushes as well. Essential supplies for being an artist- including some unfinished paintings lying about. Tilting his head, he wondered who painted them. Bruce, Alfred? Maybe an artist was hired to paint them. Sighing, he stretched lazily, before in one fluid moment leaping upon the desk.

Sniffing the paint brushes, he was tempted to make a mess of the place. But no, Jonathan had more dignity than that.

Instead he lunged at a bookshelf to better see what novels were there, but failed in the middle of the jump and plummeted right onto a blank canvas. The supports for the white material collapsed with the sudden jolt, and fell to the floor. Knocking over several bottles of paint and paintbrushes onto the floor.

Dazed, he stared fuzzily at the mess.

'Oh shit!' he yelped, panicking. This was a sure fire way to get kicked out of Wayne manor- even if it was an accident.

Breaking clearly expensive materials.

Oh no.. oh no...

Hey, hey dipshit.

'Don't call me that!'

Fine, fine Jonny. Are you that against the past that you don't remember?

'Remember what?'

You used to paint. Under an alias, remember? You were pretty good at it until you got interested in fear.

He frowned, thinking about that before exclaiming, much to Scarecrow's amusement, 'Oh! Oh! I remember now! But, what does that have to do with this? Wait- you want me to paint a picture? Uh, how's, how the hell am I supposed to do that!? Work for you?'

Scarecrow sighed before going and pointing out, You can use your hands as a cat, couldn't you? Before? Couldn't you? Well, I mean, you have them. Sort of. I guess. Just think you're using your hands, and it should work out like that.

About to say no thanks, but ending up staring at the paintbrushes with a sort of longing like- like instead of being a criminal, he could have ended up being an artist. Famous. Well known. Art work shown all over the world- but no. That was long ago.

Jonathan shook his head.

He didn't even know if what Scarecrow had said was true.

Still, still, it was tempting. A great deal more tempting than the catnip he had gotten into earlier- a fair deal more.

He couldn't believe he was going to do this.

-

Jonathan had made sure to leave the room before Batman got home- no need to see a cat painting. That wouldn't be weird at all. Nope. Totally normal. Perfectly sane. Perfectly ordinary to find a cat painting in your home actually using a paint brush. Like he said. Completely. Normal.

Heading towards the sound of Batman's voice when he got back, he froze when another voice filtered to his ears. He knew that voice. Freezing, debating bolting away or to continue heading towards Bruce.

Shrugging his shoulders, he decided to risk it. The Joker wouldn't waste his time on a cat, right? Right?

Probably not.

A risky risk- but were they all not dangerous in some way?

Sheepishly looking into the room to find a Bruce changing out of his batsuit, and a Joker peeking over his shoulder at the vigilante. Jonathan flinched back, closing his eyes until he was sure the scene was over. Looking back again, he found the two beginning to chat. A little forced on the playboy's part, but the Joker seemed to be taking care of most of the actual speaking.

Weird.

Really weird.

But wasn't about this situation?

For all he knew, this was a very bad dream.

"So, ah, bats, you still haven't found our little friend?" the Joker prompted, staring obnoxiously (there was no other way to put it) at the playboy.

A scowl spread on Bruce's lips, "No."

"Three months, batsy? That's a bit long, don't ya think? Sure he hasn't kicked the bucket?"

"Positive."

"Why? There been reports of straw-head?"

"Nope. No body has turned up."

"Weeeeelllll, it ain't hard to get rid of a body, bats. Jonny's would be even easier to get rid of," the clown supplied, laughing slightly.

Jonathan paused. And then stared. Mind going blank for all of two minutes before it struck- he had been gone for three months? But from what he knew, he had only been out of Arkham for a day or two. Three days tops. That was impossible. But what had the date been when he had accidentally escaped that time? He didn't remember. He did. not. remember. That was ever stranger- he had been calling things strange recently, hadn't he? But that was what it all was.

He couldn't lie to that.

He couldn't.

Debating whether coming out from his hiding spot or staying there, he found his problem solved when a white hand suddenly came towards his face and the Joker's voice turned shrill, "Ooo! A kitty bats? Still sulking 'bout Catwoman? That hurts. It does. Now, come out kiiiittttyyyy!"

He did what he had never dared to do as a human- he attacked the Joker back. Well not really, more like scratched the pale white hand with sharp claws. Drawing blood. Blood from five thin lines running across the clown's hand. An unreadable expression crossing the painted face. Jonathan shuddered and backed further underneath the table, finding it uncomfortable to be underneath the short table. Seemed he felt more like his human self instead of his cat self when around people- if that made any sense.

Dangling in the air by the scruff of his neck was unexpected. What was worse was that the Joker's face was then right in his, and he could see that the clown's eyes were a green color. Dark, almost black, but unmistakably green. Flailing, attempting to scratch the man's face, but unsuccessful because the clown had pulled away just far enough that he couldn't reach him. Damn him. Blue eyes narrowing, lips drawn back in a snarl, tail flicking back and forth, he was clearly angry.

"Put him down, Joker," Bruce warned, sending a glare at the clown.

Turning his blue gaze to the playboy, Jonathan almost felt his jaw drop in shock. Almost. Bruce was defending him? Even if he was just a cat?

How, how, amazing! Simply amazing, while he could believe it in some ways (he was a defenseless animal), it still didn't fit. It just didn't click. The cogs didn't mesh together properly, didn't make the machine work properly. It was wrong. It felt wrong, wrong, wrong. Batman, no matter how clueless he was, should not be helping Jonathan. But he should. There he went, confusing himself.

Surprisingly, he felt the Joker put him down, but it was only because Alfred had come into the room. He listened to the old man as he started, "Master Wayne," pause, "the Joker, there appears to be a bat from the cave on the loose in the mansion. I tried to get it, but it just won't stay still."

The butler was used to the Joker's presence?

What. the. hell?

How long had this been going on?

Shaking his head furiously, Jonathan followed the small group as they went to detain the rogue bat. The irony. A bat going after a bat. The clown going with the bat after the bat. And he was following. Drawn by some inexplainable reason, he was following.

It made sense once he saw the furious nocturnal mammal fluttering haphazardly in circles. He watched, and slowly the image distorted. Twisted, became real. It was not a bat, no, no, no. It was a bat just as much as he was a cat. A young man- wait, not that young, was that Thomas Schiff? Was it? How the hell had that boy become a bat? Perhaps he could offer some insight. Leaping forth, he mewed calmly, 'Schiff. Schiff. Thomas! Look at me. Now.'

The winged creature stopped in its panicked fluttering, just dropping to the floor upon recognizing the voice. The dark eyes of the paranoid man turned to stare widely at Jonathan (perhaps the only person who had ever heard Schiff's full "story"). 'Do-doctor Cr-crane?' he sputtered, looking around, vaguely focusing on his surroundings, 'Tha-that y-y-you?'

'Yes,' then he prompted in a soothing tone he hadn't remember he had, 'Do you know why you are a bat?'

Furiously shaking his head, whimpering slightly, lips pressed tightly together, the former Arkham patient refused to speak.

'That's alright now, Thomas,' Jonathan continued, using his "nice" psychiatrist disguise, 'Why don't you come over here?'

He got eyes widening in response. Oh. That's right. Jonathan was a cat. A predator, while Thomas was a bat. Prey. Shaking his head in a disappointed manner, Jonathan began, 'I won't eat you. I swear. I swear. Solemnly, if that helps.'

The ex-patient-turned-bat suddenly flung himself at the ex-doctor, clinging to the man's back, shuddering with dry sobs. Patting Tom on the head, he tried his best to do a soothing voice again, 'There, there. I'm sure there is a way out of this, Thomas.'

He got mumbles in return.

Then Jonathan wondered what this looked like to Bruce, the Joker, and Alfred. A cat with a bat clinging to its back- strange. They probably expected him to attack Thomas. No. He was not going to. He was, sort of, friends with Thomas, so that wouldn't be nice, now would it? Yes. Laugh all you wanted- he had a "soft side".

For very, very, few people.

"Looks like he made a friend," the Joker exclaimed suddenly, pointing out the obvious.

a/n: So yeah. Plot. C:

And Thomas Schiff. The adorable little shizo-paranoid ex-patient. He's just.. awesome in my opinion. I like characters that aren't appreciated that much. Well, I believe Jonathan's appreciated a lot, but that could just be me. Is it!? D:

Review, review, review, and review some more.

Please?