AN: Hey, you have to start somewhere. TIP: those of you with a quiet tread can have fun scaring the living daylights out of your friends by just coming up behind them and standing there-read over their shoulder or something. Trust me. It works. Especially if they're the panicky type. (Was technically supposed to go before the last one, but I forgot to post it. Takes place first.)

Johanna Crane-Don't they all? For god's sakes, don't encourage him. He already has no regard for his own safety. I have plenty of regard for that. You have no regard for that whatsoever. I appreciate your faith in me, really. Jon, you did kind of um...well...that time Batman threw you off the bridge was your own fault. Traitor. Thought Scarecrow was responsible?You blamed me? You dick! It was so him, I was sleeping.

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-To this day, I'm not sure whether to be pleased or dismayed. You've done worse. I blame you. Worst I ever did as a kid was sneak out and get drunk. And all the things that go with that. But I didn't kill anybody! So why is that my fault? You did it first. You corrupted my innocent mind. I-! I was going to stop with one murder. Still counts. You keep telling me it was in self-defense. It was, but still.

It took some time, but he finally found out what Ellie Cook is afraid of.

Ellie is the one who came up with the nickname 'Ichabod', which has only been replaced by Bo's preferred 'Scarecrow'. He'll deal with Bo another time, perhaps. Ellie can't send him home with a sprained shoulder, but Bo can.

She's frightened of insects-she especially doesn't care for crickets. He doesn't like them all that much either (long story), but she seems to have a full-blown phobia of them. Perfect.

It took some patience (figures, the minute he needs a cricket they all vanish), but he caught one without killing it. A dead one might be suitable, but a live one will jump and it might even land on her face.

He places it in her locker-the idiot never actually locks it-and retreats to his own locker to watch the fun. Straight face? Check. Good view of her locker? Check.

It's time.

He watches her open it and nearly misses the black thing leaping at her face. She stands still for a second before there's a blood-curdling shriek and she starts whipping her head back and forth. A second later, there's another shriek.

"IT'S IN MY HAIR!"

Beautiful. He ought to keep the cricket for a pet. When it dies, he can always slip it into Granny's iced tea.

No, she'll blame him whether it made sense or not.

He closes his locker and slips out. His composure is about to fail and he doesn't want them to notice him.

But, oh this has been a good day. He ought to do this again.

THE END