Little Things

S.C.A.R.E.C.R.O.W.

(No, it has nothing to do with the song. I just connected the dots yesterday and had to share this wonderful coincidence.)

~

He watched, waiting, perhaps even brooding, hiding behind  a stack of boxes in the ship yard. His shipment was yet to arrive. It was scheduled for the day before last and never reached port. In fact, it seemed to have disappeared entirely, as if it had completely fell off the edge of the earth.

Jonathan Crane wasn't an impatient man, but paranoia was a defining trait of his ever-watching 'roommate'. The Scarecrow wasn't frightened, heavens no, of course not. The Scarecrow never got scared, and in effect, neither did Doctor Jonathan Crane. However, when something of this magnitude went awry, the both of them could consider the idea that maybe they might, in fact, be concerned. Concerned, perhaps, but never frightened or scared or startled. No, they created fear in others and in turn they earned an immunity to such an emotion. No, they weren't scared.

Three times that year, since January, they had been sent to Arkham. Three times that year, since January, they had escaped. It was a record low and they planned to avoid the Vigilante as much as possible to keep this score. It was late August, and two and a half months since their last escape. That means, four months and some change since their last capture. This was good. But it was also bad.

After two nights and a day and a half spent hiding out in a warehouse that smelled similtaniously like mildew and fish, Jonathan entered a reign of control over his body. The Scarecrow didn't enjoy this "fatigue" or "hunger" that  inhabited his mortal suit. But on that note, neither did Jonathan; he just knew how to deal with it.

"I have just about had enough of you," the doctor spat through gritted teeth. At seeing a cloud appear in the path of his breath, he pulled his blanket closer around his shoulders. "You are such a child."

"If I were a child, that wouldn't make you any older, now would it?" the Scarecrow responded, in what he believed to be a very mature tone of voice. "The Batman stole my shipment, and I would like to go home. But no, you insist on leaving my body in the wet and the cold for several days because you think it's just late."

"Yes, you've said this before. And its my body, not yours. I simply allow you to borrow it if you ask nicely." The man was more angry than he was tired, and could keep this up for several more days if only to spite his other half. The Scarecrow knew this; it had happened many times before. However, he found himself to be just as stubborn if not more so, and would continue to pester Jonathan as long as he could.

At some point in the night, both of them realized that they couldn't feel their nose. The prospect of not having a nose worried both of them. Their face was much more important then their pride.

"Alright," Scarecrow stated in a very hoarse voice, forcing himself into pilot position. "It's time to leave." Much to his delight, he received no opposition from Jonathan, who had immediately relinquished control when he felt the Scarecrow pushing forward. He stood up much too quickly, however, in his rush to get home, and needed a moment to regain his vision. "Damn. When did you last drink any water, Jonathan?"

Jonathan didn't answer, but would have chuckled darkly if he could.

The Scarecrow manouverred  his feet to leave the rank of the warehouse and start walking the streets of Gotham. He didn't trust taxi drivers, or Uber for that matter. One too many times did they recognise him and call the police. It had happened exactly once. No, he wasn't afraid. He was paranoid.

After about an hour of walking, Jonathan finally spoke again. He didn't like talking when he wasn't in front.

"We'll need to stop somewhere. You ate all my food at home." His words were short and emotionless. The thought was a crisp command and nothing more. The Scarecrow smiled. He liked that he made the doctor uncomfortable. The idea that Jonathan found it hard to convey a thought in the back seat simply fascinated him. Dr. Crane wasn't the only one of them with a PhD.

"Well," he replied slowly. "Where would you like me to stop? That drugstore around the corner where Harley Quinn shot your foot, perhaps?" After he spat out that unpleasant memory, he couldn't help but grin at the uncensored feeling of disgust that crowded his head. "Thai food then, yes?"

"I hate Thai food."

"That sounds spectacular," Scarecrow crooned, pretending to not have heard him. "You did bring your wallet, yes?"

"No."

The Scarecrow searched his coat pockets, then found it in his satchel. "Thank you very much," he muttered, practically jumping with joy at the thought of some spicy peanut chow-mein.

"You are incredibly lucky that I cannot physically fight you," Jonathan said. He then purposely blacked out, leaving Scarecrow to do whatever it was he pleased. He wouldn't return until morning.

As soon as Scarecrow was sure he couldn't feel him lurking in the shadows of his mind any longer, he let out a relieved sigh. "Goodnight, Jonathan. Thank you, for letting me have fun once in a while. I appreciate it," he whispered. His pride prevented him from revealing this up front, but he hoped that Jonathan understood anyway.

~

So yeah, thanks for reading my first little drabble on here. I'm absolutely obsessed with the Scarecrow, so stay tuned for more of them. Other than that, I have absolutely no plans for this book. I hope you enjoyed it, see you later.