All recognized characters belong to DC comics. The poem is original work, please don't use without permission or crediting me at least.
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Professor Jonathon 'Scarecrow' Crane prides himself on his scientific mind, becoming almost conceited about it. His dedication to fear and his toxins astound even Riddler's riddle obsessed mind. He does acknowledge, however, that humans require a certain amount of social interaction to stay sane. Crane allows his social interactions to come from Acacia Dent, his prize pupil, a peer to bounce ideas back and forth with. All the Rogues have a special fondness for Dent's child, but Crane feels it especially finding a connection between their childhoods and how horrid it was for them. Acacia Dent has a bright, wonderful mind that is wasted in Gotham's educational system.
He thinks about how wonderful it would be to have her as an assistant for his projects. He waits for the other Rogue child impatiently, having disliked the boy since they had met.
(make him suffer. just a little bit. watchhimscream)
The boy is clearly incompetent at caring for Acacia and should be removed from her life. The boy has no use other than a bodyguard for Crane's dear protégé.
(ours. not his. take her. keep her. makeherbetter.)
"Crane."
The former professor turns around and sees that the boy is carrying a trembling form wrapped in a multi-colored blanket. Crane's ice blue eyes narrow in contempt and snatches his protégé from the other male, pulling back the blanket from her face. Acacia seems to be arguing with herself, two distinct voices emerging from her pale lips. A voice that is high-pitched and child-like and the other her normal tone. Jonathon believes that the voice is hereditary; she might have the same psychological disability as Two-Face.
"Oh poor little bird," he croons, adjusting her so that he can brush back sweaty strands of red-black hair. "You'll be all right soon. Scarecrow and I have something that should help immensely."
Wide violet eyes peer up at the lean man from beneath the blanket. "Really? You can help? Will it hurt? Of course not, Uncle would never hurt us. You're the one who questioned if he could help or not. Well it's your fault that he needs to help! Is not! Yes it is! You won't shut up so now Uncle has to make you! You're just a meanie! Pot meet kettle."
While it is amusing to listen to his darling niece argue with herself—or at least a portion of her subconscious—he really does need to start moving along. "There, there, no harm done. Isely, I'll bring her back when she's better and not before. If people ask questions, lie. After-all," a cruel smirk forms on the ex-psychologist's thin lips, "you are so good at it. I'm sure you'll do fine." Jonathon and Scarecrow watch with glee as the teenager's hands clench into fists and the boy obviously restrains himself from harming the Fear Rogue.
"Isely? Why is he talking about Aunt Ivy? I have no idea. Maybe he's the one who needs help. Uncle, are you feeling okay? Yeah, you're talking to Aunt Ivy and she's not even here. There's only Crowe and you. And us! Oh, right. Us too."
"Never you mind, little bird." Crane adjusts the mentally unstable bundle in his arms tenderly. "Say good bye to your friend." What an excellent opportunity to expand his dear niece's knowledge of the mind. He is unusually eager to spend time with another person.
"Bye, Crowe. Bye bye~! We'll see you soon! Maybe. If you go away soon. Why do I have to go away? Why can't you! Because I'm the real one, nit wit. No you're not! I am! Like hell you are! Uncle! Tell her I'm the real one! No! I'm the real one! Right, Uncle?"
So precious. "You're both real, little bird." An offhand dismissal of Pamela's son and Scarecrow is walking off with his darling niece. Hopefully the other Rogue child won't go get Dent too soon. Harvey has never approved of Crane or the Scarecrow teaching Acacia about the finer details of fear, more or less forbidding the Fear Rogue from being near the girl without supervision. Such an overprotective father, both Harvey and Two-Face. "I have something to show you once we get to my 'house'." More of a lair really.
"You do? Oh! What is it? Is it a pony? Why the hell would he have a pony? Why wouldn't he have a pony? Because he's not a five year old girl? Neither are we and we want a pony. You're a five year old. I'm fucking sixteen. You still want a pony. …I might. Hah! I win! Shut the fuck up. Nn-o! God I hate you. You looooove me! Like a god damn toothache."
The ex-psychologist isn't sure if Acacia's other 'voice' is scarier than her father's or not. While he could at least anticipate what Two-Face might be thinking of, the 'other Acacia' is like a child. A homicidal child on a permanent sugar-high. Certainly not someone he would wish on his enemies. No. No they would gleefully sick the sugar high child on Batman with not a second thought. However, to get to that point Crane needs to convince Acacia that the 'voice' is a repressed part of her that should be accepted.
Listening to the continuing argument between the sixteen year old Acacia and five year old Acacia—really she needs a different name—a disturbed grin spreads across their face. The Scarecrow has the perfect idea on how to accomplish this. Oh how fun this will be. It's a shame he has—at most—a week with his little bird. So much to accomplish, so little time to do so. Oh well. They will make do.
Watching a man struggle and fight
Against invisibles fears he cannot conquer
He decides there is something beautiful
In his terror and descent to madness
He finishes his notes,
Then has his subordinates take the dead man away
He pauses, glancing over at his work
Everything is moving smoothly, according to plans
Walking away he deliberates on his next step
He is slowly poisoning the water supply of Gotham
It is brilliant; he knows and preens at this
Modesty is all but unknown to the young doctor
Gotham fears him, formidophobia
That is the name of their terror
He is their nightmare
A horror story come to life
He picks up his mask,
His other face
Stroking the burlap thoughtfully, he nods
The people of the city will know his name
He will control the puppets strings
Of their terror
A mad smile dances upon his face
A perverse glee in his eyes
Fear is fascinating and controlling
It will bring everyone to their knees
But he has no more time left tonight
He has to make sure he is presentable
After all,
He is the doctor in the house