Jon is afraid of crows, that’s about it.
Jonathan Crane, known to the world as Scarecrow, was only afraid of Batman.
That statement was a bit false. He was terrified of one other thing, something so common it would most likely amuse everyone else.
Crows, such a simple and often annoying creature in this godforsaken city. The birds held a different meaning for Crane. Growing up in the Bible Belt had left him scarred in more ways than one, and those birds had caused a great deal of them. His grandmother, the quintessential churchgoing figure many imaged Southerners in that stretch to be, had really been a devil in disguise. Crane didn’t have any interest in religion, but if he had to name anyone that was a devil, she would be the first on his tongue. It had taken her but a few weeks to realize the small child dumped on her doorstep feared the birds. Most of his punishments consisted of him being locked in her barn that had seen better days, creating a racket so the crows would fly down to investigate. The screams from the child would rile them up, their sharp talons cutting him over and over until he was pulled to freedom. Rinse and repeat until Jonathan vanished one day.
Years later he was still afraid, despite being the Master of Fear. The birds seemed to endlessly mock him when he was imprisoned in Arkham, no matter what he did to force them away. Most thought the birds angered him with the noise, something he was willing to let them believe. Whenever he escaped that wretched Asylum Jonathan retreated to his home, far away from those infernal birds. Usually, anyways.
Batman had gotten word that Crane had been spotted in the ratty warehouse district, the vigilante ready to drag the villain back to Arkham where he belonged. That was quickly abandoned when he entered the correct warehouse and came across a truly pitiful scene. Beakers and various liquids were spread across the floor, a faint trail of blood leading to a man cowering in the corner. A few crows were on the floor a few feet from the shaking man, cawing incessantly. It was clear Jonathan Crane was terrified, gangly limbs tremoring as Batman came down from the rafters. His presence startled the birds, who escaped out of a broken window as Batman approached the other man. “Crane?” For a few moments, the other continued to shiver before going still, blue eyes peering at the vigilante from between pale fingers.
“Come to laugh?” The tone was filled with venom, which he hoped masked the terror that still coursed through his veins.
“No, I had come to take you back.” Batman’s tone was neutral, as always, a gloved hand held out to the other. “Not anymore.” Confusion flitted across Crane’s pale face for just a moment, taking the offered hand and standing slowly.
“Why?” The question hung in the air, the Dark Knight regarding him with a slight shake of his head.
“Everyone has their own demons, Arkham will only antagonize yours.” Batman may be a bringer of justice, but he knew his own enemies had their own issues. Crane regarded him once again before slowly starting to clean up the mess he had made, in his frantic attempts to get away from the animals. “Stay out of trouble, or next time I won’t be as forgiving.”
“Say nothing of this encounter, and I shall.” The two stared at each other before Batman left, Crane releasing a breath he had been holding in. The building was once more silent, Scarecrow glad for the peace as he worked.
One day, he would no longer be afraid, but for now, he would work.
