AN: 'Fear of dogs'. Continuation of 'Atychiphobia', and me getting my nerd on. Okay. So. Reed is shown to be scared of clowns. BUT he's (apparently) dealt with that. ANYWAYS, in IT (novel), there is a character who is scared of dogs. In the miniseries, Pennywise appears as a clown with a dog's head. So now we're here.

McStaken-I'll happily take the blame! SAME. Exposure therapy is often perceived as cruel. That's Jonathan for 'I regret nothing'.

Forbidden Moons-Garlic bread is life.

It probably says something about the lack of fucks the average Gothamite has left to give that hauling Reed all the way down to the car is…easy. Technically-he's heavy and uncooperative, but the one nurse they see buys their 'poor Uncle Damian escaped his room, we're helping him back' story.

It would be concerning if it affected them. But it doesn't, much like the murders on the news, so.

They cuff him to the backseat so he can't roll out while they're driving and once they're a good five minutes away from the hospital, they r-e-l-a-x a bit.

"Wh-what do you want?"

"You'll see-or." Jonathan laughs, a little unsteady. 'Well, I guess you won't see, but you know what I meant."

"Please, I'm so sorry-"

"I know." He cracks his neck and adjusts the vents. "I'm not very forgiving, though."

"PLEASE-"

"No talking in the back!" Kitty snaps, and Reed yanks on his wrists but falls silent. Jonathan sighs, rubs the bridge of his nose. "You all right, love?"

"Little tired. I wasn't expecting Gordon."

"Fair enough-if he's not going to go the bloody speed limit, I'm going to run him off the road."

Jonathan laughs again, a little more normally this time.

"I offered to drive."

"You've been in a hospital for three years, I am not letting you drive."

"I know how to drive! My dad used to let me do it all the time."

"I've been with you when you're driving, thanks."

"I have a license!"

"Still!"

"I'm just saying, I did offer."

"To drive us off the bridge, maybe-the hell is that?"

Something…big…flies by a building and through the giant 'D' of the Black Dahlia sign. Ah, Gotham.*

"What was that?"

"No idea-you hit me, I will hunt you down and string a cello with your intestines, you sorry-"

"I can still drive if you pull over."

Kitty's fingers tighten on the wheel.

"Never."

They take him back to the Crane house. They're not staying there, too much of a risk, but out here, there's no one to hear the screaming. And the police have come and gone, they won't be back. Not yet.

Besides, out here's the perfect place to bury a body. Open. No witnesses.

The medicine the hospital gave Reed for his eyes is wearing off, and he's starting to make a low, steady keening noise, like an upset child. Serves him right, in Jonathan's private opinion. An eye (ha) for an eye.

He's been debating, ever since Scarecrow explained what they'd done, what to do to finish up. He's had his share of daydreams, over the last few years, of turning the tables. Hooking him up to his own shock table, maybe. Locking him in a room with no human contact for weeks and weeks until the screaming stopped.

Eventually, said daydreams had grown more violent. Knives and syringes and maybe cramming handfuls upon handfuls of straw down his throat, to make him see what Jonathan saw every. Damned. Day.

For the moment, though, he's content with isolation. And, if he's being honest, a little curious as to what a second dosage would do. Scarecrow had hit him first, apparently, and there'd been screaming about clowns. He never understood people's fear of clowns. There's no reason for that. It's a person with exaggerated makeup and loud clothing and some balloons. Maybe there was some childhood trauma…he hopes so.

Will he see clowns now, though? Or has he accepted them?

Yes. Yes, he'll have to find out.

They wrestle him into the closet with Scarecrow's old sticks and shove a chair up against the door just in case. And now, finally, they can sit down and stop for five minutes. Reed's here, that's been the stressor for the past week. He's here and Gordon's most assuredly too out of it to tell anyone what happened.

"Sit." Kitty gives him a nudge, fingers light against his spine. "You look like you're about to faint."

He drops onto the couch, eyes on the chair Dad always used to grade papers in. Scarecrow stretches, straw poking at the dark corners of his head.

Someone needs a nap.

And this is really going to take some getting used to.

I don't need a nap. I need ten minutes and then I'll be fine.

You suck at self-care. Seriously. SUUUUUCK.

I'm fine.

I'm here because you suck at it. Just so you know, that's sorta my thing, making sure you don't die.

I was fine without you.

Uh-huh. Images flash behind his eyelids-Scarecrow's rifling through his memories again. Uhh, I'll take 'deemed Bagel Bites a wholesome dinner three nights in a row' for two hundred, Alex.

Dad hadn't gone shopping, that wasn't his fault.

Kitty pokes his head and shoves his legs over to sit down.

"You need a nap."

"I do not."

"You haven't been sleeping."

BUSTED.

"I'm fine."

"You're still a terrible liar." She stretches and drops her head over the back of the couch with a small crick. "Did you know that?"

"Haven't had the chance to practice." He'd forgotten how comfortable this couch really is. He'd fallen asleep here before, lots of times. Most of the time Dad would take him up to bed, but sometimes he'd be asleep in the chair or too busy to realize.

Five minutes. Five more minutes and he'll get up.

Five more minutes…

Okay, so it was more like…five hours…but-although he'll never admit it-Kitty and…and Scarecrow…were right.

"The liquid form is a lot stronger," he's explaining, "it's just not as fast-acting. Like asthma medicine. I mean, I wouldn't recommend either of them, but there you go."

HEY! You can thank that stuff for ME, you ungrateful little-

Please be quiet…

There's a harrumph and scratching. He gets the impression Scarecrow's crossing his arms and scowling.

"You do realize he's not going to sit still for an injection."

I GOT HIM.

You really don't.

Hey! I got that one guy up on the cross.

Barely.

I think I liked you better when you were drugged.

Whatever.

"Kitty, you, ah…I think he'll hold still."

He opens the door. Reed is huddled in the corner. He doesn't look well.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

He doesn't appear to have heard the door open and you know, if he's quick…and remembers to dodge that squeaky floorboard…

Reed hears him a second before the needle touches his neck, and by then it's too late.

"Wait-"

He pats the man on the head and steps back.

"You've no one to blame but yourself." he says, leaning against the doorframe. "After all, I learned that trick from you."

"Jonathan, please-"

"No one's coming, Warden." The one great downfall of the, ah, lack of eyes? Little harder to tell when it's taking effect. "That's how this works, remember?"

Reed whines. Jonathan's tempted to see if that old jack-in-the-box is around here somewhere. The noise might be enough to see if he's still afraid of clowns or not.

…

Well? It's been five minutes!

"Maybe he's immune now?"

Unacceptable.

"Maybe he needs a higher dosage."

And then, outside, a dog barks. A stray, probably. Nothing unusual. But Reed-

-Reed absolutely panics.

"NO!"

"Never mind."

"Hang on."

"What?"

But she's already darting into the other room. He shrugs and picks up a broom, uses the handle to give Reed a good poke. Reed screeches and bats at it before trying to crawl behind a box labeled 'Christmas'.

"Here it is!" Kitty brandishes her phone.

Her phone, with YouTube pulled up and 'barking dog' typed into the search box.

KEEP HER.

He grins at her, probably the first genuine one in a while, and motions for her to push play. The resulting noise is tinny, but to a man with a few too many milligrams of a fear-inducing hallucinogen in his system, well…

"Get it away! Get it away from me, PLEASE-"

"Well, well." He scuffs the broom against the floor. It sounds a little like dog's nails, if you're imaginative. "What a shame. Childhood trauma, Warden? Tell me, and it'll go away."

"Please…"

"Full sentences, now."

Reed shoves the box towards them and staggers to his feet. He's not steady, not at all, and he half-falls against the wall. Kitty turns up the volume and he reels back, smacks his head against the wood and goes down.

"I didn't quite catch that, Warden. Speak up!"

He's…Jonathan thinks he's crying. That's apparently difficult to do with such a traumatic injury. The noises are consistent with crying, however, and he's rocking a little. Not speaking, though, and you know what? They might be able to scrounge up some breakfast. He's hungry.

"How much battery do you have? Enough to leave it on for a bit?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Little hungry."

"Fair enough."

She tucks the phone behind a small pile of cleaning supplies and they shut the door and prop the chair back against it. Reed starts to scream in earnest, raspy, near-continuous shrieks with no discernable words.

Half an hour later, when they've found Pop-Tarts and a box of hash browns, the screaming stops rather abruptly. That's…concerning.

Even more concerning is the very humanoid barking now coming from the closet.

"Should we go see?"

Well, yes, but…this stove is finicky. It incinerates things if not monitored.

"After breakfast."

"Fair enough."

THE END

*Jim caught something that looked like Man-Bat…last season? I think? Fuck it, nothing stays in custody forever, it got out to make a cameo for me.