AN: Apologies for the delay on this one. I was distracted, first by the film Airplane! being shown in my dorm lounge, and then by Mystery Science Theater 3000. Also, strange things keep happening when I try to write, such as my friends holding me down and tickling me. And my best friend helpfully telling them to go for my knees, while holding me immobile. Good times.

Thanks for the reviews!

Scarecrow showed up the instant Joker and the Batman left the room, regretting he'd ever left in the first place. Jonathan, it would appear, had lost all sense of self-preservation about the time he regained most of his sanity. Scarecrow had realized, around the time of Jonathan's 'you're pathetic' speech, that they'd very likely provoked the Joker into a killing rage. At that point, it would have been wise to take control again, but the idea of being in a room with not only a furious Joker, but an angry Bat as well, seemed about as bad as a slow, painful death. Some might call that cowardly. He thought of it as sensible. Or it would have been, if his other half hadn't fucked it up.

"I wish," Harley said to no one in particular, as Scarecrow stood up, "that he'd told me the whole plan before he told Bats."

"He didn't tell you?" Nigma blinked. Why he was surprised was anyone's guess; Scarecrow would have thought someone so good at figuring others out would know that a person like the Joker keep things to himself unless it was necessary. Or amusing to him.

Scarecrow made his way to the window, glanced out. The police cars were still out there. Well, obviously. They would be, until the bombs were deactivated at least, and probably past that. Definitely past that, actually, as there must be bodies to be identified. Joker tended to kill much like people tended to breathe.

"Nah. He usually explains as he goes. Or just never."

All right, so actually leaving the building at present wouldn't work. No matter, it wasn't as if Arkham was lacking in places to hide, especially if the staff had been taken out. All he needed was to get out of sight; somewhere the police wouldn't know about or think to search. And the basement of the hospital contained many such places, that the GPD wouldn't have discovered even when they'd found his operation with the water system. The basement wasn't the lowest level of the building; there were more rooms beneath it and rooms hidden in it that didn't appear on any of the blueprints. He knew there was no record of them because he'd checked, back when he was the administrator.

After all, he couldn't very well test the fear toxin with the chance of someone walking in.

"What if it was essential to the plan, though, for him to tell you what he wanted beforehand? Say, if you were going to be separated?"

"Oh, he'd tell me then." She paused, bit her lip. "Or, make me think on my feet. A lot of the time he doesn't really plan, see, he's just got an idea and makes the specifics up as he goes."

"Or he has it in his head the whole time and doesn't let you in on it for laughs."

Nigma's sensible, Scarecrow reflected, searching the room for a possible weapon. Too bad he couldn't be around when Jonathan fell for that bastard. There was nothing, save for an IV stand left over from when the doctors had been giving him antibiotics. It certainly wasn't ideal—the bandages and metal rods in his hand made grasping anything difficult, and that wasn't even taking into account swinging it around, but it was the best he had in limited time. Every second he stayed here searching was a second wasted, the Batman that much closer to returning.

"Well, maybe, but he doesn't do that to be mean."

"Sure he doesn't."

It occurred to Scarecrow that Batman had only searched the Joker. "Harley," he said, and they both looked up. "Do you have a knife? Or a gun, or anything?"

She stared, expression blank. "Why are you holding an IV stand?"

Oh, forget it. Even if she did, the time it would take to get it wouldn't be worth the risk. "Never mind." He turned for the door, took a few steps before Jonathan made him stop. He looked back. "Do the two of you want to come?"

Now they were both staring with blank looks. "What are you doing?" Nigma asked, taking in the stand in Scarecrow's hands and his position to the door. His eyes lit up. "Wait, Jonathan you can't—"

"I can, and I am. Though I take it you're not." He shrugged, turned away again. "Well, see you again sometime—"

"Jonathan." Harley had that infuriating psychiatrist's tone in her voice, and what's worse, Jonathan actually wanted to hear what she had to say, causing them to linger in the doorway. Scarecrow could have killed her, for this distraction and for her earlier talk of not being angry. He knew the real reason she'd forgiven him, and it was because the Joker had beaten him so badly. Harley got hit, yes, and often, but she'd never been hurt that critically, and Scarecrow was sure she'd used that to convince herself it meant the Joker loved her more. Forgiveness by near fatal injuries. Bitch. If only he didn't care about what she had to say.

"What?" he asked, grip tightening on the IV stand. The injured hand burned.

"Jonathan, you can't leave. Batman's going to come back any minute now—"

"All the more reason for me to get going, then."

"You can't." Nigma stood. "You're still half-starved."

Jesus Christ. If this came down to a fight, there was no way he'd get out of here in time. "Half being the operative word. And given that I'm not out of touch with reality anymore, I'll remember that food is essential for survival this time."

"You're still hallucinating."

"No, I'm not." Not hardly, anyway. Enough that it could be ignored.

"Well, you're still shaking."

"So what? People shake. It's not as if it's a major handicap. I'm fine."

"You weren't a few minutes ago," Harley said, in that enraging calm voice. As if she knew what he'd been through. As if she understood. "Jonathan, you need to stay."

Unbelievable. Did they not understand the impact of his latest loss of control? He'd insulted the Joker, and not only that, he'd done it in front of the Batman. If the Joker took being made fun of badly under normal circumstances, he didn't want to think about the consequences of mocking him when the Bat was present. Leaving was a necessity, not a choice. "I don't protest when you break out."

"That's different," they protested, together.

"Right." He fought the urge to roll his eyes, as he turned away again. It was pathetic, really, how the inmates here managed to convince themselves that they were sane. If he was Jonathan, or in a charitable mood, he might have thought it sad. He was not in a charitable mood, however. "Well, I'm off."

"Jonathan—"

He stepped through the door.

And immediately, upon turning into the hall, found himself face to face with the Batman.

Goddamn it.

"What are you doing?" His voice indicated that there would likely be pain for this transgression. Lots and lots of pain.

So of course, that habit of being sarcastic at the worst possible moment resurfaced. Great. "If that's not readily apparent to you, I can't imagine how you manage the intelligence necessary to put that suit on, let alone fight crime."

"You're not leaving." It was remarkable, really, how standing so stoically, he was still able to project such anger. And cause such fear.

"I disagree." The Batman took a step forward, and he raised the IV stand, moving back. "You know, it's funny, isn't it, how you mentioned that the Joker could find me no matter where I was, if he wanted? And I can't help but notice, he never caught up with me until I came back here."

"Only because you hadn't attracted his interest yet."

"You're the reason I did to begin with." He took another step back, noted Nigma and Harley watching from the doorway. He couldn't count on help from them, not when the Batman was this angry and they weren't—that he knew of—armed. Besides, they likely still thought that he should stay.

"You would have attracted it on your own, eventually. Or he'd have gotten bored and decided to track you down for fun."

"Maybe. Maybe not. We'll never know now, will we?"

"You need to be here."

Oh, he was so sick of hearing that. "Right. I need to stay, because getting killed or mutilated in revenge is going to help matters so much. And no, I don't. The only reason I'd ever belong in a place like this is entirely your fault."

"It was your toxin."

"And you force-fed it to me. Ergo, the damage it caused is your fault, much like it's your fault that the Joker came here tonight."

"If you honestly believe that you weren't unbalanced before the toxin, that just proves that you're insane."

"Says the man dressed up as a bat." He glanced over the costume, smirking slightly. "And don't try and justify it by saying it protects your identity; there's hiding your face and then there's wearing bat ears. No, it's theatrical, isn't it? To scare people. I'm not the only one using fear as a weapon, so don't try and act like you're coming from some moral high ground."

"There's a difference."

Some counter-argument. "I don't see one."

"You wouldn't."

Honestly, what kind of response was that? He didn't even bother to point out how idiotic it sounded, he only tightened his grip on the stand once more, ignoring the wetness he felt under the bandages. The stitches had reopened. Wonderful. The cherry on top of the world's worst sundae. "I'm leaving."

"You're not."

"Yes, I am. And you can't stop me." Jonathan, taking the logical side for the first time in months, muttered that provoking the Batman, especially after he'd just dealt with the Joker, was very bad idea. Scarecrow was too angry to care. He was going to die if he stayed, possibly this very night—it never took the Joker long to break out—and no one cared. Least of all this idiot, despite the fact that he was supposed to care for everyone, villain or saint.

The Bat took another step forward, dodging the IV stand swung at him without so much of a glance at it. And another. And another. "You know I can stop you."

"Really?" Some part of him knew he'd been defeated, but he wouldn't—couldn't—give up. It would be signing his own death warrant, suicide, really. And despite the fact that there was nothing worth living for, he couldn't do that.

He didn't care how badly the Batman hurt him, or how many wounds this would reopen. He had to get out of here. He couldn't let himself be led back, and drugged, and left to die. He was better than that. He deserved better than that. Experiments and murders aside, he did not deserve to be left to die. Not at the hands of the Joker. "I'd like to see you try."

Christ, how he hated being strapped to the bed.

Damn the idiot to hell who'd invented restraints, and damn the idiot who'd insisted Arkham be so well-equipped in the tools of restraint.

Well, come to think of it, that had been him. Many considered it cruel to tie people down unless it was absolutely necessary, but they didn't appreciate how much easier it made taking an experiment's vitals when he or she was tied down, rather than running around the room screaming. All right then, never mind damning the one who'd bought the stupid things, damn the Batman for subduing him so easily and then tying him down, just to add insult to injury. Or to stop any other escape attempts, as he'd said. Whatever. It amounted to the same thing.

"You can't leave me like this. Not while he's here."

The Batman gave him that look again, the one that bordered on pity mixed disgust. "He's not going to kill you."

"Yes, he is. If I stay here, I'll die."

"You won't die. If he was going to kill you, he would have done it the night you freed Dent. You're too much fun to him."

And that makes things better how? "So I'll be tortured and mutilated beyond recognition. You can't leave me here."

"That's not going to happen."

He felt his patience give out completely, knowing he was begging but unable to stop. "Your wishful thinking is not going to stop me from getting hurt, bastard. You told me that my life wasn't worth less than anyone else's, but you're proving that you don't value it by putting me in this situation and walking off. It doesn't matter that he came back willingly, the fact remains that Arkham has never been able to contain the Joker, and that I angered him. Greatly. You can tell yourself you've done everything you can, and maybe that'll help you sleep through the night, but he's going to get out of his cell and I'm going to suffer for it. And that will be all your fault. And you know it."

For a moment he thought he'd be hit and stiffened, wishing he could raise his arms to defend himself. But the blows didn't come. The Batman was still standing there, looking down at him. It made no sense. He never held back in their fights. But then, Scarecrow was never strapped down in their fights either. Of course. It was typical, just that misguided set of "morals" at work again. He wouldn't hit someone who couldn't hit back, but he would leave him here to die. Because at the end of the day, Jonathan Crane didn't matter as much as protecting the rest of Gotham.

"I can't let you leave. I've seen what you can do to the city."

"You've also what the Joker does to those who cross him. I will die. You can't leave me here."

"I don't have a choice."

He sighed. It was almost sad, how the Batman clung so desperately to these rules of his, as if he'd ever make a lasting difference. If the shadow of death weren't looming so close by, he might have been moved. "There's always a choice…" And he fell silent. He couldn't do it. Life at stake or not, he couldn't let himself lose face that much.

Jonathan could. "Please." He moved his hand, as if to try taking the Batman's in it. It was only a word, but it pained him to say nearly as bad as the nail gun had. It was one thing to say it when he was out of his mind, it didn't count there. But he never asked for the help of others, not unless there was no other choice. He'd learned long ago that people were selfish and not to be trusted, and saying 'please,' asking for aid, was like opening himself back up to learn that all over again.

He had no choice, though, not unless he wanted to die. "Please."

And the Batman's hand reached out, straightening the glasses on Jonathan's face so quickly it might as well not have been there at all. It was bizarrely comforting, though he wouldn't let himself admit it. Besides, given the situation, in terms of helping him feel secure, it was a drop in the ocean.

"You have to stay here. There's no way around that. You won't get hurt." He paused, one of the rare times Jonathan had ever seen the Batman unsure. "I'll make sure of that."

"Do you promise?" Again, it was painful to say, but again he couldn't help but say it.

"Yes." He looked as if he were going to say something else but faltered, staring down at him. Jonathan stared back up and realized, for the first time, that the Batman had brown eyes. Obviously, he must have seen them before, but he'd never really noticed. It was unnerving; a reminder that under that mask, there was a person, not just the demon he'd seen that night in the basement of Arkham and in the nightmares since.

It should have been reassuring. In reality, it was even more terrifying. Because if the Batman was only a man, he could fall victim to the Joker as easily as anyone else.

And then the Batman was gone, without another word, and in the next moment, Nigma and Harley were over him, trying to be comforting. They might have, if he was listening. But he'd moved on, and tuned them out, as well as Leland when she arrived sometime later. Whatever they had to say, it wasn't as important as the matter at hand. The Joker was going to get out, promises or not, so it was either fight or flight. And fight would end in his death. So he lay there, staring up at the ceiling, planning his escape.