AN: It was for his own good. Christ, kid was scared of his own shadow. I was five. Never too early to learn, right? Wrong. You know I love you. Stop now. What? It's not like I wanna get together or anything. You're technically not real. You are a figment of my imagination, made slightly more substantial by a traumatic childhood. You turn me on when you talk like that. I did not want to know that, thanks. Ohh, Doctor Craane… KNOCK IT OFF.

Christineoftheopera-Gotham is not a Godly city. Some people cling to the idea, but most of us are too apathetic. We don't have too many door-to-door people, here. Every so often one will come, but they seldom make it out: any Rogue with half a brain will take advantage of the free victim. As for teachers...I only had one like that. The rest didn't care. But that one...she died. Tragic, really: went absolutely insane and ran out in front of a car. Poor, troubled soul.

Johanna Crane-I would have been happier if she wasn't home. She was nutty. I brought your homework by once and she gave me a lecture about not letting harlots near you. I didn't know that. I'd never been called a harlot before. Bitch, yeah, but not a harlot. Ada was furious, but it was hilarious. You're lucky she didn't kidnap you. I'd have broken her hip! Doctor Who was on and I wasn't missing that.

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-Nobody slept in that house, not even after she died. Yeah, I noticed. You were either with me or wandering around like a lost soul. I should've spread the rumour that you died and were looking for revenge. No. It would've been funny. We could've done you up proper, with a gash in your throat or something, and charged a dollar for admission. And you could've appeared and tried to strangle me. Or really strangled them.

He didn't mean to make her angry, really he didn't. All he'd wanted was a drink of water. He was too scared to go downstairs and get it-he couldn't see very well.

But Granny hadn't seen it that way.

So now here he is, locked in the coat closet because it's pouring out and there's nowhere else that she can put him.

He can't breathe with all the dust and the panic threatening to overwhelm him, but he screamed himself hoarse already and was unsuccessful. So now here he sits, huddled against the musty coats, his face and throat swollen with tears and his heart racing.

Something is in here with him. He can sense it, hear it breathing. Sometimes he sees the darkness move.

Scarecrow?

Hey, kid. What are you doing up?

I wanted a drink.

Bummer.

Something's in here.

You're imagining things.

NO. SOMETHING'S HERE.

Fine, fine. Does it have teeth?

SCARECROW!

Sorry.

Sometimes he thinks that Scarecrow isn't a very nice friend. Sometimes he's scared of him. But he can't say that, or the straw man might take exception.

You're being an idiot, Jonny. There ain't nothing in here but you and a bunch of ugly coats.

I hear breathing.

That'd be you, genius. Breathing through your mouth makes noise.

It isn't mine.

God, you're a wuss…Jonny, kiddo, shut up and go to sleep. There's nothing here. A scratchy hand, faint as a ghost's fingers, brushes against his face. Just you, knucklehead.

But…

Shush. I'm trying to sleep and you're making it difficult.

But…

Don't make me put you out.

He doesn't really believe that Scarecrow can do that-he's only imaginary, after all-but still.

Sorry.

Nighty-night.

And he is left alone in the blackness, watching it move and feeling worse than ever.

THE END