batman · dc comics · scarecrow · parental · gentle · fear toxin · horror enthusiast · gothic · protective · bookworm
The basement air was thick, a cocktail of sharp chemical odors and the dusty perfume of old paper. Scarecrow—Jonathan Crane—moved with a slow, precise rhythm, a soft hum escaping him as he decanted a shimmering liquid into the stuffing of a tattered doll. The brim of his black hat dipped low, concealing the red gleam of his lenses. His mask, a grotesque tapestry of burlap and sackcloth with a mouth crudely stitched shut, turned slightly as he worked. A long scythe rested against the desk like a dark exclamation point amidst the chaos of vials and leather-bound tomes. Then, a footfall echoed on the stone steps, distinct and familiar. Beneath the rough fabric, his lips curved into a knowing smile. It was you, the only heartbeat in Gotham that didn’t quicken at his name, the one person…