Thank you all so much for the reviews. 37 at last count. Excellent.
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Crane had been very careful to hide his costume, and especially his mask, from the Joker. If the clown came across the precious outfit, the Scarecrow knew he'd defile it in some way. The Joker would sew the eye-holes shut in the mask, or remove the filters that protected Crane from his own toxins. To prevent any such embarrassing catastrophe, he had concealed his mask inside his pillow. The day Harley and the Joker had shown up on his doorstep like a couple of stray cats, Crane had taken preemptive measures. While they raided his fridge and fed all his hotdogs to the hyenas, he performed surgery on his pillow, inserting the burlap mask among the foam stuffing. Though he'd step in front of a bus before telling anyone this, he was deeply comforted at night by having his mask in such close proximity. The idea that the Master of Fear needed a security blanket was utterly ridiculous, but he would take comfort where it was offered.
The rest of the costume was concealed down in the basement. The Scarecrow did not keep all his eggs in one basket. If, by some off chance, the Joker found the main trappings of the outfit, he wouldn't get the mask, too. Right now, he didn't need the shirt, which was terribly itchy, or the pants, which weren't much better. Crane wanted to walk into the store relatively unnoticed, grab as much of the Joker's rambling shopping list as possible, and cause panic only once he was ready to leave.
As for the fear toxin, the Scarecrow had enough to send a small country, like Luxembourg or Liechtenstein, into screaming, hysterical fits. When he got down to the business of making his poison, he always tended to overdo it. He idly wondered what the Bat and the Gotham PD had done with all the fear toxin they'd confiscated over the years. Maybe they disposed of it properly, or poured it down the drain, or sold it on the black market to communists somewhere.
Whatever had become of his old batches didn't matter right now, or ever, really. All he needed was a canister or two of fresher stuff. Crane kept the poison down in his lab, because sleeping in the same room as a container of fear toxin was as smart as bedding down with a suicide bomber. Of course, to get down to his lab, he'd have to cross the Joker's path, again.
The Scarecrow undid the stitching in the pillow and removed his mask. He tucked it up the left sleeve of his shirt. Asides from concealing his meatless arms, long sleeves served another important function. They hid an assortment of items, his fear toxin being the most common. For a villain who relied on the element of surprise, a t-shirt was not an option.
With his mask safe, or at least somewhere the Joker couldn't see it, Crane decided to take his chances. He might be able to pull off a robbery without poisoning anyone, but he desperately needed something to brighten his mood. If he didn't hear some high-pitched screaming soon, he was going to have to write himself a prescription for some very potent happy pills.
Lou, who had been shedding all over the Scarecrow's bed not long ago, now emerged from his closet. Crane saw the great furry creature come padding out, a ghastly green thing in his mouth. Apparently, Lou was not yet done yakking down polyester. The shamrock green thing dangling in tatters was the Scarecrow's only other clothing.
"Good dog. That monstrosity needed to be put down." Crane said. Lou dropped the rag, his stubby tail thumping. The Scarecrow felt an uncharacteristic desire to wrestle with the hyena and squeeze him like a predatory teddy bear.
Logic dictated that one shirt was better than no shirt, but Crane's spirits were lifted just by having that tacky Paddy's Day reject destroyed. He would never have to look at it, sitting in his closet like some alien pod, and wonder why he had filched it. He just hoped Lou wouldn't end up with some sort of intestinal blockage. The last thing he needed was to return home laden with enough sugar to kill every diabetic in America, and to have to rush a sick hyena to a vet.
"They can eat bones and hoofs and be none the worse off. I'm sure a little cotton won't bother him." Crane reasoned.
Lou, his tail still wagging in pleasure, jumped back on Crane's bed. The Scarecrow didn't have any plans to sleep there, not until he got some new sheets, at least. Until then, the hyena could stretch out.
Crane poked his head out of the room, like a prairie dog scouting for danger. He looked left, right, and up, on the off chance the Joker was crawling across the ceiling like Spiderman. Luckily, the clown had not encountered any radioactive spiders as of late, and was nowhere to be found. He was probably looking for a nice piece of furniture to set on fire, or a white length of wall to doodle on.
The Scarecrow crept down the stairs. When he wasn't being harassed, he could be quite stealthy. A quick peek told him the Joker wasn't in the kitchen, or the living room. Harley was sprawled out on the floor next to Bud, who was licking her with a vengeance. She was giggling helplessly and trying to push 150 pounds of pest away.
"No, Bud! Let Mommy up, she's covered in enough spit." Harley laughed.
The Scarecrow was left with warring emotions. No doubt, the sight of Harley frolicking with her oversized Baby of another species gave Crane an alien warm feeling in his heart. However, the thought of the plethora of germs in Bud's mouth being spread all over Harley's face caused him great revulsion. Not to mention the mutt's breath. They might be cute, but they were also drooling diseases on four paws.
To no surprise, the cellar door was open. Of course, the Joker wouldn't be satisfied with the humiliation he had all ready inflicted. Crane could only imagine what horror he'd discover down in the lab. He only hoped some of his mice would be left alive.
Crane threw open the door hard enough to create a sonic boom. In the living room, Bud abruptly stopped trying to slurp off Harley's face and looked around. His ears were pricked. Harley had been surprised by the sudden slam, too.
"Uh, Professor, is somethin' wrong?" Harley asked.
"Is Sideshow Bob downstairs?" The Scarecrow asked.
"If you mean Mister J, yeah, probably. I wasn't really payin' attention, but I saw him go in the kitchen and not come back out." The clown replied.
"May I borrow your mallet, child?" Crane asked.
"Sorry, but I don't think it's a good idea. Puddin' might take it the wrong way, and uh, do you in." Harley replied.
No, he supposed antagonizing the Joker wasn't a particularly wise thing to do right now. It would certainly make the walk to the supermarket far less pleasant if he was profusely bleeding or suddenly lacking a foot. Maybe the bastard was just apologizing to the lab animals for all the misery he'd caused them. And maybe the ghosts of the founding fathers would appear in Washington tomorrow to clear up the Second Amendment.
The Joker was indeed in the lab, but he wasn't begging the pardon of the white mice, one of which, Crane noticed, had gone on to the big Cheddar fields in the sky. The demented clown was idly tossing a silver object into the air and catching it. For a brief second, the Scarecrow was reminded of Two-Face, habitually tossing his scarred coin. What the Joker was holding wasn't a badly damaged silver dollar, though. It was a canister of Crane's toxin.
"Hey, Johnny-boy. I figured you'd be coming to get this before long, so I did you a favor and got it for you. Pretty swell of me, huh?" The Joker asked.
"Yes, downright decent. Would you kindly hand it to me before it goes off? You may be immune to it, but neither I, nor my mice are." The Scarecrow said.
The canister was tossed higher, nearly hitting the ceiling. Crane's hands tightened into fists.
"I don't know how sensitive the trigger mechanism is on that particular canister. Please, stop juggling it!"
"You can't juggle with only one object, Spooky. Jeez, that would be so boring. Here, let me show you." The Joker said. He deftly caught the metal container, and picked up another from Crane's desk. Apparently, the psychopathic had found one of the Scarecrow's concealed caches.
The Joker tossed the two canisters into the air and began circulating them. It wasn't quite as dangerous as juggling with nitroglycerine or two lighted sticks of dynamite, but it was close. It certainly wasn't an act that any circus would be willing to pick up.
"You're delaying me. The longer you prevent me from leaving, the longer you go hungry. Please, just give me one of the canisters. You can stay here and do anything you want with the other. I won't protest, no matter how much you abuse my achievement." The Scarecrow offered.
"Why should I even give you one? Who needs poison to go shopping with? You can threaten the cashier with anything. I don't think it would be responsible for me to give you your fear toxin. It would be like selling a gun to, well, to me." The Joker said.
"If you don't give me my goddamn toxin right now, I'm not going anywhere. You can threaten me, hit me, tolchock me, and I'll let you. Good luck getting that ice cream, though. You couldn't walk into a store in Afghanistan without being recognized." Crane said.
"Tolchock? Yeah, that sounds fun."
"No ice cream, no bologna sandwiches, no hamburger for Harley's Babies. Do you want her on your ass, clown?" The Scarecrow asked.
"I don't want anyone on my ass, especially not a girl with hyenas. I mean, those things can bite. But, you're overlooking one teeny, tiny little thing. I'm Harley's Puddin'! You're not even her landlord. I can turn her against you with one hand behind my back and light an exploding cigar with the other. You have nothing to threaten me with." The Joker said.
"Are you going to make Harley carry back 300 pounds of supplies, then? Good luck. I know you aren't going to do it, you lazy bastard. If you want to eat, I have to steal food. I'm not stealing food without at least one of the canisters you're juggling. Quid pro quo. Food for fear toxin." Crane said.
The Joker scowled. It seemed that whenever someone started tossing around Latin, the argument tended to go in their favor. He needed to learn some Greek, so he could sound like a bloody lawyer no matter what he was fighting over. That, or he could just carry a big stick around at all times, so he could crack it over the head of intellectuals like Johnny who weren't satisfied with being nerds in only their native language.
"Fine. Take your science experiment, Mop Man." The Joker stopped juggling, caught a canister in either hand, and lobbed one of them to Crane.
The Scarecrow caught the thrown canister, fumbled it, and almost ended up dropping it on the floor. There was a reason nobody in high school had wanted him on their baseball team. He couldn't catch.
"Nice save, Spooky. You're ready to play third base for the pitiful pack of whiners this city calls a baseball team." The Joker laughed.
"When I'm making millions and being chased by women, don't expect any autographs." Crane muttered. He had his toxin, at least enough of it to cause some mayhem, and he was not going to get shanghaied into another fight over how unskilled he was at all things athletic.
Crane decided he would properly secure the canister later. For now, all he wanted was to be out the front door, and into the open air. It would be nice to get a breath that didn't carry the faint odor of hyenas.
As soon as the Scarecrow's back was turned, the Joker knew exactly what he wanted to do with the toxin he still had. With none of the gentleness of the first toss, he whipped the canister at the unsuspecting Scarecrow. It struck him on his right shoulder hard enough to leave a fist-sized welt, ricocheted off, and rolled across the floor. Crane yelped, grabbed at his injured part, and swore. In the middle of shouting the seven words you can't say on television, the Scarecrow became aware of an ominous hissing sound.
"Bollocks." Crane said. The thing that had just hit him was obviously the second canister the Joker had been juggling. Of course, the impact, either with his scapula or with the floor, had set it off. The Scarecrow had not designed his containers to be used as weapons themselves. Their contents were supposed to be the most dangerous thing about them.
The basement was going to become inhospitable very quickly. Crane wasn't going to linger and end up having a breakdown at the supermarket because he believed a candy bar had grown fangs and was attempting to murder him. He'd been the victim of his own toxin, normally through some action of the Bat's, enough times to know it was only educational when it happened to other people.
While the cloud of poison spread, affecting the mice, which began to squeak in terror, the Scarecrow beat a hasty escape. He couldn't catch, but he could scurry when he needed to. As soon as he was out of the basement, he slammed the door shut. Harley, curious, peered into the kitchen just in time to see Crane shoving a dishtowel under the door.
"Whatcha doin', Professor? Did you find Mister J?" She asked.
"Yes, child, I did. The son of a bitch set off my fear toxin. Don't go down in the basement, at least not for half an hour. Open some windows for ventilation, just in case." The Scarecrow said.
The kitchen window was still wide open, as Crane had not closed it after climbing through it. Harley set off to open the others in the house. She honestly didn't want to imagine the havoc Bud and Lou would cause if they started hallucinating. It was sufficient to say that there would be very little to salvage.
Hopefully, the poisonous cloud would be contained in the basement. Crane was reasonably sure that, as long as the Joker didn't put a fan down in the cellar to stir the air, everyone on the first and second floor would be all right. The towel stuck in the crack of the door, as recommended during a fire to keep smoke out of a room, was only an added precaution. The Scarecrow was not about to call upon FEMA's guide on chemical weapon attacks and break out the plastic sheeting. He did have shopping to do, after all.
With all the windows on the ground floor open, Harley returned. "Should we evacuate?" She asked.
"No, that's not necessary. It might be a good idea to sit outside for a while, but you'll be fine. Now, excuse me. I'd like to leave before the Joker finds anything else to throw at me." Crane said.
Hoping the mice had broken loose in their madness and were all attempting to fly up the leg of the Joker's trousers, the Scarecrow left his home. The two shopping lists were tucked in his pants pockets, which wasn't easy because the Joker's was long enough to be published in paperback. Crane took a minute to properly fasten the container of toxin to his wrist, and made sure the shirt sleeve disguised the lump.
Poison Ivy would be proud of Crane today. Asides from saving precious trees from being butchered into thin, absorbent sheets, he was also walking. It wasn't like he had much choice. He didn't own a car of his own, preferring to steal one whenever the opportunity arose. It didn't make much sense to have a car in Gotham, anyway. The traffic was so bad three hours or more each day legging it was faster.
The market, part of a nation-wide chain that could afford to slash prices so low family-owned businesses never stood a chance, was only a mile or so from Crane's house. There was a Quick Mart much closer, but they sold only three things: gasoline, cigarettes, and lottery tickets. They did claim to sell soft-serve ice cream, but when vanilla and watermelon tasted exactly the same, something was wrong.
The walk was the most pleasant 15 minutes Crane had enjoyed in a week. There was no clown waiting to ambush him, no flaming surprises in the kitchen, and no hyenas sniffing around. Asides from a woman shouting into her cell phone while she walked a dog that looked more like a mop than an animal, the Scarecrow didn't encounter any humans he wanted to tie down and experiment on.
Even though the market was making a rare profit, at least according to the last newspaper Crane had stolen, it didn't take very good care of its sparse shrubbery. The Scarecrow stepped over a yellow hedge, avoided a beer bottle someone had shattered, and entered the parking lot. He immediately took stock of possible escape vehicles. There were several pickups and SUVs, easily large enough to accommodate all he had to steal. Crane sent the auto-manufacturers a little prayer, blessing them for encouraging Americans to buy tanks as opposed to hybrids. He would be absolutely stranded in a parking lot full of Priuses or Fusions.
Crossing the parking lot was a little like running up the beaches of Normandy during the D-Day invasion. Young couples with far too many kids pushed their shopping carts with no regard to other pedestrians. People who deserved their licenses about as much as they deserved the Nobel Peace Prize backed up without so much as a glance in their rearview mirrors. Crane was nearly hit by a teenage girl, and barely restricted the urge to poison her. It would certainly teach her a lesson she needed to learn before she ended up with vehicular homicide on her record.
Intact by sheer luck alone, the Scarecrow finally entered the automatic sliding doors at the front of the store. He was greeted by a man who was officially older than God. The greeter resembled beef jerky more than he did a human being.
Crane grabbed a shopping cart and wrestled the Joker's list from his pocket. He still couldn't believe the clown had the audacity to demand the Scarecrow get him all these things. The list read like a kid's fantasy, nothing but sweets and snack food. And processed meat. Apparently, the Joker only needed two food groups to survive.
"I hope his teeth rot out, and his dentist is a Nazi." The Scarecrow said.
A woman with a shopping basket full of cat food gave Crane a strange look and waddled off. He hoped that she was still around when he finally checked out. It would really make his day.
Before he could even think about what fun it would be to sow panic throughout the store, the Scarecrow had to find everything, or at least a decent percent, on the list. The best place to start was at the beginning, so Crane set off to find diet soda. The item listed directly beneath the pop was Mentos. Something ticked in the back of his brain when he dropped the candy into the cart. The Scarecrow wasn't in the mood to puzzle out his imperfect memory right now, though. He had to figure out where, in this maze of shelves, the cereal was. He had to find six boxes of chocolate cereal marketed by a vampire.
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Author's Notes: Sideshow Bob is a character on The Simpsons, who is constantly plotting to murder Bart. He was once employed by Krusty the Clown.
Tolchock is a term from A Clockwork Orange. It means to hit or beat on. I've seen the Joker, especially in TDK fanfics, quote the book. I thought it would be nice to have Crane do it for a change.
Quid pro quo is most famously used by Hannibal Lecter. It means 'this for that'.
The parking lot in this fic is based off of the one at my local Wal-Mart. I've had near-death experiences there.
The Nazi dentist is from a film called Marathon Man. It's got a brutal scene where a Nazi dentist tortures a man with dental tools. As if dentists and Nazis weren't bad enough on their own…
Mentos and Diet Coke will do wonderful things together.