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KINGS OF FEAR || SCARECROW
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frijolebean · 5 months
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nanamis-username · 8 months
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oppenheimer got me drawing cillian again 🙄🚶‍♀️
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r1ddly · 1 year
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It's here! It's now the SPOOKY SCARECROW HOUSE!! Anything related to these will have It's own tag lmao
(Also these heads headshots would be great for stickers or charms)
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Behind the Mask - Jonathan Crane x Fem!Reader (ONESHOT)
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Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Fem!Reader Scarecrow x Batgirl!Reader Word Count: 15079
Warnings: Enemies to Lovers, fear toxin, Scarecrow x Batgirl
Summary: (REQUEST) While chasing down the Scarecrow in Gotham, Y/n forms an unexpected bond with the mysterious figure. As their relationship deepens, Y/n finds herself navigating the blurred boundaries between friend and foe.
A/N: I got a request for Scarecrow x Batgirl!reader with enemies to lovers and I fucking JUMPED at this one, I did not mean to write this much, holy shit. I didn't really have a plan going into this one, so when I started writing, I was going from top to bottom, so whatever happened happened and I clearly went OFF! While writing this, I kinda had comic-book!Scarecrow in my brain for reasons I couldn't explain, but ya know... it's the same dude so yeah. I really hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it 💚
-
"I'll need you to be on watch in the Narrows tonight," Bruce instructed Y/n as he fastened his suit, his tone carrying the weight of his responsibilities.
"Any you want me to keep an eye one in particular?" Y/n asked, adjusting her own suit in preparation.
"Many, but the Scarecrow’s been more active recently, I want you to look out for him, I have the Joker to deal with." Bruce replied, his gaze distant as he mentally prepared for the night's challenges.
It had been a a few months since Y/n first became the Batgirl. Y/n often found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time, or perhaps it was the right place at the right time, depending on how one looked at it. As a bystander in Gotham City, she frequently stumbled upon scenes of crime and chaos, unwittingly becoming entangled in the city's never-ending struggle for order.
On one occasion, while walking home from work, Y/n witnessed a mugging in progress. Without hesitation, she sprang into action, using her self-defense skills to fend off the assailant and protect the victim. Little did she know, Batman had been monitoring the situation from the shadows, impressed by her bravery and resourcefulness.
This became a regular occurrence for Y/n after that, seeking out injustice in the city and protecting those in need. With each encounter, Y/n found herself drawn further into Batman's world, her actions catching his attention time and time again, forging an unexpected bond between herself and the Dark Knight.
Under Batman's guidance, Y/n evolved from a mere bystander into Batgirl, a symbol of hope and strength for the citizens of Gotham. With her skills and determination, she stood shoulder to shoulder with the Caped Crusader, ready to confront the darkness that threatened to consume their city.
The two of them went their separate ways, Y/n finding herself in the Narrows, poached on a building. And as if on cue, she heard screams coming from an alley. Immediately jumping into action, Y/n dropped down and rushed to the scene, and just as she expect, the man with a burlap mask stood over a helpless person, screaming and scratching on the floor.
"Refining your toxins, Scarecrow?" Y/n's voice echoed down the dimly lit alley, drawing his attention like a moth to a flame.
"Alone in the shadows, Batgirl?" Scarecrow's distorted voice floated back, his eerie presence sending shivers down Y/n's spine.
Without hesitation, Y/n surged forward, her determination driving her towards the looming figure of Scarecrow. Scarecrow's agility was surprising, a testament to his cunning and prowess.
Despite his speed, Y/n's athletic skills allowed her to gain ground. With a swift motion, she held out a Batarang, sending it spinning towards Scarecrow's feet. The makeshift trap worked like a charm, causing him to stumble and crash to the ground.
"Lost your footing?" Y/n taunted, her voice laced with determination.
"Lost your vision?" Scarecrow retorted, his words accompanied by a sudden burst of suspicious powder that engulfed Y/n's senses.
Coughing and disoriented, she struggled to maintain her balance as her surroundings blurred into a hazy fog.
In the midst of the chaos, Scarecrow seized the opportunity to strike, delivering a well-aimed kick that sent Y/n tumbling to the ground. With a pained groan, she collided with the unforgiving pavement, the impact jarring her senses and rattling her confidence.
As Scarecrow's footsteps faded into the distance, leaving behind only the distant echoes of the Narrows, Y/n cursed her carelessness. Still reeling from the encounter, she struggled to regain her bearings, her vision still clouded and her body aching from the fall. 
"This better not be permanent," Y/n muttered under her breath, frustration evident in her voice as she struggled to regain her footing amidst the haze of her blurry vision.
With the aid of the wall for support, Y/n navigated her way out of the Narrows, determination guiding her steps despite her impaired sight. Fumbling for her walkie-talkie, she summoned Batman, her admission tinged with a hint of embarrassment.
"Hey, uh... Could you bring the Batmobile? I can't see," Y/n confessed, her tone a clear indication of her frustration.
"On my way," Batman's reassuring voice crackled through the device.
As she waited at the end of the alleyway, the familiar roar of the Batmobile's engine signaled Batman's arrival. He lifted the roof of the vehicle, his presence a comforting presence in the midst of Y/n's uncertainty.
"You getting in?" Batman's usual impatience brought a hint of levity to the situation, his words a welcome distraction from Y/n's predicament.
"Yeah, could you help me? I can't see properly," Y/n admitted, her voice tinged with embarrassment. "It's all just a black blob."
Without hesitation, Batman leaped out of the car, his strong hand reaching out to guide Y/n safely into the vehicle. As they embarked on their journey through the city's shadowy streets, Y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the steadfast ally by her side.
"Rough night?" Batman's gravelly voice broke the silence, cutting through the tension that hung in the air.
"You could say that," Y/n replied, her tone heavy with disappointment as she settled into the seat beside him. "Will my vision be like this permanently?" Y/n asked, the question bugging her for the last 10 minutes.
"Hard to tell with the Scarecrow, but you should be okay. It's a surprise he didn't use his fear toxin on you," Batman remarked, his voice betraying a hint of concern.
Y/n let out a sigh of resignation, her shoulders slumping as she leaned back against the seat. In the darkness of the Batmobile, surrounded by the faint hum of the engine and the steady rhythm of the city outside, she couldn't help but feel a sense of vulnerability. But even in her moment of uncertainty, she found solace in the presence of the silent guardian beside her, a reminder that she was never truly alone in the shadows of Gotham.
-
Fortunately for Y/n, her vision returned within an hour, relieving her of the temporary blindness. Despite Bruce's insistence that she call it a night and rest up, Y/n's determination to uncover more about their adversary remained unyielding. In the depths of the Batcave, she was immersed in her research, combing through databases and news articles in search of a lead.
"Thought you'd be down here, Master Bruce holding you back?" Alfred's familiar voice echoed through the cavernous space as he descended into the Batcave.
"No, I was supposed to head home an hour ago," Y/n admitted, her attention still fixed on the glowing screen before her.
"Well, shall I fetch you some supper then?" Alfred offered, ever the attentive caretaker.
"It's alright, Alfred. Thank you," Y/n replied, offering a grateful smile in his direction.
As Alfred approached, he cast a glance at the screen, taking note of Y/n's diligent research and the meticulous notes scattered around her workspace.
"My, you've certainly done quite the thorough job. It's no wonder you landed that internship," Alfred remarked, his tone filled with pride.
"You and I both know I only got that internship at Arkham because of Bruce's influence," Y/n laughed.
"You ought to give yourself more credit, Miss L/n," Alfred's voice held a gentle admonishment as he glanced over Y/n's work. "When is your first day, anyway?"
Glancing at the clock, Y/n realized it was already 1 AM. "Tomorrow," she answered.
"I beg of you to go home, Miss L/n. Your sleep schedule is bad enough as it is," Alfred urged, concern etched in his voice.
Y/n let out a weary sigh. "I guess I'll have to leave the Scarecrow for another time."
Y/n and Alfred made their way back up to Wayne Manor, Y/n gathering her belongings in preparation to depart. Despite her reluctance to leave her research behind, she knew that rest was necessary if she wanted to be at her best for the challenges that lay ahead. With one last glance at the Batcomputer, Y/n bid farewell to the Batcave, her mind already turning towards the mysteries that awaited her on her first day at Arkham.
-
Y/n's first day at Arkham Asylum began with a mix of anticipation and nervous energy. The towering, foreboding structure of the institution loomed against the gray skies of Gotham, its reputation preceding it.
Working at Arkham Asylum had always been a dream for Y/n, fueled by a deep fascination with the psychology of criminals. And there was no better place than Arkham. She was aware that Bruce had played a pivotal role in securing this internship for her, primarily to make it easier to access the criminals and their files. Yet, this knowledge did little to dampen her enthusiasm. In fact, she saw it as practical to use her role for the greater good, combining her academic interests with her goal to protect Gotham.
As she stepped through the heavy, security-laden doors, she was greeted by Dr. Penelope Young, one of Arkham's leading psychiatrists and her supervisor for the duration of the internship.
"Welcome to Arkham Asylum, Miss L/n. I'm Dr. Young. I'll be showing you around today and discussing what you can expect during your time here," Dr. Young said, offering a firm handshake that Y/n returned.
Their tour began in the more benign corridors of the asylum, where Dr. Young outlined the history of Arkham, its purpose, and its challenges. She spoke with a passion that contrasted the grim surroundings, her belief in rehabilitation and understanding of the human psyche evident in her every word.
"As you'll soon learn, Arkham is more than just a holding facility for Gotham's criminally insane. It's a place of complexity, where psychology and security intersect in ways you won't see anywhere else," Dr. Young explained as they navigated through secure checkpoints.
The tour included visits to various departments, including the high-security wards where Gotham's most notorious villains were held. Dr. Young's explanations were thorough, covering the protocols for dealing with dangerous inmates, the importance of mental health assessments, and the ongoing research aimed at better understanding and treating profound psychological disorders.
"Your role here, Miss L/n, will involve assisting with patient assessments, participating in therapy sessions, and contributing to our research projects. It's crucial work that not only helps us understand the minds of those we're treating but also aids in ensuring the safety of Gotham City," Dr. Young said, her tone serious yet encouraging.
As they concluded the tour in the library, filled with texts on psychology, criminology, and the history of Arkham itself, Dr. Young offered some final advice.
"Always remember, the work we do here is challenging and often thankless. But it's also incredibly important. You're going to see and experience things that will test you, but I believe you have the potential to make a real difference."
Y/n left the tour feeling a mixture of awe and trepidation. The weight of her responsibilities at Arkham Asylum was now fully realized, but so too was her determination to meet the challenges head-on. As she prepared for her first assignment, she couldn't help but feel that her journey into the heart of Gotham's darkness was only just beginning.
-
Patrolling the rooftops alongside Batman had become a familiar part of Y/n's night life, yet that particular night, her performance was far from her usual standard. Missteps, a lack of balance, and a series of other minor blunders affected her efforts. Aware of Bruce's patience, she nonetheless couldn't shake off the feeling that she was more of a liability than an asset to Batman during their late-night surveillance.
"Fuck, sorry," Y/n muttered, hastily picking herself up after her foot caught on an uneven crack on a rooftop in the Narrows.
Batman halted his advance, turning to face her with a concern that seemed to pierce through the shadows of his cowl. "You should head home, you need rest," he suggested.
Y/n's gaze dropped, a wave of embarrassment washing over her. She knew he was right, yet admitting it felt like conceding to a weakness she couldn't afford.
"You're exhausted. It's been a long day," Batman tried to reassure her, recognizing the toll the day's events had taken on her.
"I know, but I feel like I need to be here," Y/n insisted, her voice a mix of determination and frustration.
"Is this about the Scarecrow again?" Batman's question cut through the tension, his insight honing in on the heart of her persistence.
"...Yeah," Y/n admitted, a mix of resolve and vulnerability in her voice.
Her obsession with stopping Scarecrow had pushed her to her limits, yet she felt an unyielding need to confront the fear he spread across Gotham. In that moment, beneath the expanse of the night sky, her dedication to their cause was as clear as the weariness she fought against.
The Scarecrow was Y/n's first real challenge with one of Gotham's notorious Rogue's. Until now, her experiences had primarily involved run-ins with lesser-known criminals. Unmasking the Scarecrow, whose identity remained a mystery to all of Gotham, would be a monumental achievement for her.
"Why don't you hang back a bit? You can stay on the scene, but I'd rather you not engage in anything major," Batman suggested, his voice carrying a note of protective caution.
Y/n nodded in agreement. She decided to approach the situation with caution, opting for observation over direct confrontation. From her vantage point on a nearby rooftop, she kept a vigilant eye on the Narrows, tracking Batman's movements as he patrolled the shadowy labyrinth below. That's when she spotted him.
Quickly, she grabbed her radio to alert Batman. "Scarecrow spotted near the north apartments!" she reported, urgency lacing her voice.
As Batman sprang into action, heading towards the reported location, Y/n felt a surge of determination. She knew she couldn't just stand by. Moving with purpose, she leaped across rooftops, her movements a blend of precision and grace, as she closed in on the two. Her heart raced with a mix of excitement and fear, fully aware of the dangers that lay ahead yet driven by a deep-seated resolve to make a difference.
His pursuit was relentless, a testament to years of honing his skills for moments just like this. The Scarecrow, a master of terror and manipulation, darted ahead, his movements erratic and desperate, aware that the Dark Knight was closing in on him.
The Scarecrow, realizing the inevitability of his capture, turned to face Batman, a sinister smile playing across his lips, hidden beneath the grotesque mask that had become his signature.
In a swift movement, Scarecrow pulled from his tattered coat a small canister, unleashing a cloud of his fear toxin directly at Batman. The gas, a potent concoction of Scarecrow's own design, filled the air, a visible miasma of terror.
Batman, caught off-guard by the sudden assault, attempted to evade the cloud but inhaled a breath of the toxic fumes. The world around him twisted horrifyingly, his vision blurring as the gas took hold, plunging him into a nightmarish landscape of his own fears. Towering figures of his past adversaries loomed over him, their taunts echoing in his ears, while the loss of his parents replayed in agonizing detail, a never-ending cycle of pain and guilt.
Y/n's heart skipped a beat at the sight of Batman collapsing, overcome by the Scarecrow's fear toxin. Without hesitation, she reached out to Alfred through her radio.
"It's urgent. Batman's been incapacitated by Scarecrow's fear gas. You need to get him immediately," she relayed with urgency.
Without waiting for Alfred's confirmation, she sprung into action, her body moving almost on instinct. She descended from her vantage point into the alleyway below, her cape billowing behind her as she set her sights on the retreating figure of the Scarecrow.
"You just can't let it go, can you?" Scarecrow taunted, turning to hurl a canister of his sinister concoction in her direction.
The moment the toxin enveloped her, Y/n's reality twisted into a nightmarish tableau. She fell to the ground, a scream tearing from her lips as the shadows around her seemed to swell with judgment and scorn. But this was different, alongside the overwhelming fear, a heavy drowsiness dragged at her consciousness.
This was no ordinary fear toxin, she realized with a struggle to maintain her awareness. Her breaths came in labored gasps, each one a battle against the encroaching darkness. Her strength ebbed away, leaving her helpless on the cold, unforgiving ground of the alley. Her vision blurred, yet she could make out the Scarecrow's figure looming over her, his mask a grotesque visage that pulsated in her dimming sight.
As her field of view narrowed to a point, she saw Scarecrow bend down beside her, his hands reaching out to grasp her. Then, as if a curtain had fallen over her world, everything succumbed to darkness.
-
The throbbing in her head was the first sensation that pierced through the fog of unconsciousness, a relentless pounding that seemed to echo through her entire being. Gritting her teeth in discomfort, Y/n reached up, her fingers pressing into her temples in a futile attempt to sooth the pain. With her eyes still firmly shut, she sat up from the surface beneath her.
As she became more aware, her palm registered the unmistakable chill of metal against her skin. Hesitantly, she allowed her eyelids to part, squinting against the dim light that filled her unfamiliar surroundings. This place, cold, sterile, and decidedly unwelcoming, was far from the familiar confines of her home or the Batcave. Panic fluttered in her chest as the realization set in.
She found herself lying on a stark, metallic table, the centerpiece of what appeared to be a neglected laboratory. The air was thick with the scent of chemicals and decay, a testament to the room's dubious purposes. With a growing sense of dread, Y/n ran a hand through her hair, her movements halting as another alarming detail dawned on her, her mask was missing.
She took a sharp intake of breath as she frantically searched her surroundings, her heart racing. Though still clad in the protective gear of Batgirl, minus her utility belt, the absence of her mask left her exposed, vulnerable. 
The sound of the door creaking open sent a jolt of adrenaline through her. She became tense, preparing for who might come through that door, her mind racing through possibilities and plans of escape.
As the door swung open, the Scarecrow stepped through, his presence immediately filling the room with a palpable sense of dread. His iconic, scratchy burlap mask seemed to leer at her, the tattered edges of his suit fluttering slightly with his movements. Y/n's heart sank, deep down, she'd known he would be her captor.
The realization of her vulnerability flashed through her mind, sparking a defiant glare, even as she attempted to shield her identity by casting her gaze downward.
"You needn't bother trying to hide now," Scarecrow's voice cut through the tense air, a smirk audible in his tone as he closed the distance between them. "I've seen all I need to see."
Acknowledging that hiding was no longer an option, Y/n understood that resistance might still sway the balance in her favor. With a burst of energy, she attempted to launch herself off the table, only to crumble to the ground, her legs betraying her strength.
"Easy, you've only just regained consciousness," Scarecrow taunted, his steps hastening towards her prone form.
In her struggle to stand back up, Scarecrow's hands suddenly steadied her, pulling her up with a firm grip on her arm. Yet, even in this vulnerable state, Y/n's resolve didn't falter. Her hand darted out, seizing a scalpel from a nearby table, and she held it towards Scarecrow, who instinctively raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. The air between them crackled with tension, each poised for the other's next move.
Scarecrow's voice was calm, yet firm. "You're hardly in a position to resist effectively. Let me help you back onto the table before you injure yourself further. The scalpel isn't necessary," he advised, his tone bordering on reasonable.
Y/n couldn’t help but notice how professionally he spoke. 
"So you can subject me to more of your experiments? Yeah nah," she laughed, sarcastically.
Scarecrow, unfazed by her resistance, replied with a hint of a threat, "Whether you agree or not, you're in no condition to stand. It's only a matter of time before you collapse again."
She knew he was right. She could barely feel her legs, and the bits of sensation she did have was undeniable pain. With a reluctant sigh, Y/n let the scalpel clatter back onto the table.
Seeing her give in, Scarecrow lowered his hands and gently supported her around her waist, guiding her with a care that contrasted with his usual menace. He lifted her effortlessly, placing her back on the medical table with a carefulness that seemed out of character. Her legs dangled off the side, the height of the table leaving her feet dangling in the air, a subtle reminder of her current vulnerability.
"Why am I here?" Y/n demanded.
"Had I not intervened, you would be dead," Scarecrow replied.
"So, you hit me with your gas for shits and giggles? Or am I just another subject for your midnight experiments?" Y/n's tone was laced with anger.
"I never intended to expose you to the gas," Scarecrow clarified, moving to grab an item from a nearby table.
"And what? Your hand just slipped?" Y/n retaliated with sarcasm.
"I thought you were the Batman," Scarecrow confessed as he returned to her side.
"And how does that change anything?" Y/n challenged.
Ignoring her, he held a cup, what appeared to be cloudy water. Scarecrow pressed the cup into her hand. 
"What's this?" Y/n asked, raising her brow.
"For your headache and numbed legs," Scarecrow responded.
Y/n eyed the cup warily, her skepticism evident. Scarecrow sighed, his voice distorted by his mask.
"If I intended harm, it would have been done already," he assured her.
"Then answer my question," Y/n pressed.
"What question?" Scarecrow responded quickly, playing the fool.
Y/n rolled her eyes. "Why does it matter that you gassed me if I work with Batman?"
Scarecrow remained silent, his gaze fixed on her. She returned his stare, peering into the depths of his blue eyes, an aspect she'd never noticed before, having never been this close to him without a fight.
"Why don’t you want to hurt me?" Y/n rephrased her question.
"Because I don’t want to," he replied simply.
Y/n's shoulders sagged in defeat as she took a sip from the cup, relieved to find it tasted just like water.
"What's your name?" Scarecrow's question caught her off guard.
Y/n shot him a judging glance. "Seriously? Are you dumb? Or do you think I am?"
Scarecrow chuckled, the sound crackled by his mask. "Your face isn't much of a secret now," he remarked.
"True, but a name would give away too much, wouldn't it? Besides, I doubt you'd share yours even if I asked," Y/n countered.
"Fair enough. Batgirl it remains," Scarecrow said.
Concern creased Y/n's brow as she broached the subject weighing on her mind. "So, what's your plan for me now?"
"You're not in any shape to leave just yet," Scarecrow observed.
"Okay, but when I am?" Y/n pressed.
Scarecrow hesitated. "I can't say for certain when that'll be," he admitted.
"You're the reason I'm drugged up…it was your toxin," Y/n pointed out.
"I didn't anticipate having to save anyone after using the gas," Scarecrow replied, his gaze drifting away.
Y/n sensed there was more to his reluctance than he let on. "Why won't you let me go?" she demanded.
"I told you—" Scarecrow began, but Y/n interjected firmly, "I want the real reason."
Scarecrow settled into a chair at a nearby desk.
"Aw, is the Scarecrow feeling lonely?" Y/n teased, her tone light despite the tension in the air.
Though she couldn't discern his expression behind the mask, she could practically feel the weight of his glare.
"Hey, if you keep up with that attitude, I might just have to pay you a visit in the Narrows," Y/n teased further, her words laden with playful defiance.
Y/n couldn't shake the uncertainty creeping into her mind. Was she really entertaining him with her banter?
"I suppose I'll have to hold you to that," Scarecrow retorted, his tone tinged with a hint of amusement.
Y/n couldn't believe what she was hearing. Did he actually want her to visit?
"...Batman must be worried about me," Y/n spoke aloud.
"You'd be correct. He's been searching the Narrows looking for you," Scarecrow confirmed.
She's now aware of their whereabouts. Somewhere in the Narrows, not entirely helpful, but better than nothing.
Relief washed over Y/n. "So he's okay then?" she asked anxiously.
"I only administered a small dose. He's perfectly fine," Scarecrow reassured her.
"Can I leave in about 10 minutes?" Y/n requested.
Scarecrow sighed. "Yes, but let me perform one final check first," he insisted.
He approached her. "Can you stand?"
Y/n noticed a tingling sensation in her legs, a welcome sign of returning strength. She gingerly hopped off the metal table, feeling Scarecrow's supportive grip immediately. Taking a moment to steady herself with his assistance, she eventually managed to push him away gently.
"Considering how quickly Batman bounced back, I'm sure he'll be able to assist you if you encounter any further issues," Scarecrow remarked.
"So, can I go?" Y/n inquired.
"Yes, but you'll be blindfolded," Scarecrow detailed.
Y/n watched as Scarecrow grabbed an unexpected item from his coat, her mask which she had completely forgotten about. She accepted it, placing it securely back on her face. Following this, he produced a blindfold, carefully tying it around her eyes.
"What about my utility belt?" she questioned.
"It's been left in the alley. I expect Batman has already located it with the tracker," Scarecrow informed her.
It made sense, had the belt been here, Batman would have pinpointed her location instantly due to its tracking device.
"Give me your hand," Scarecrow said.
Y/n reached out, feeling Scarecrow's grip. His hand was bare, contrasting with her gloved one, allowing her to feel the unique texture of his skin. Together, they navigated towards what Y/n presumed was the exit.
"Mind your step," Scarecrow instructed.
With extra caution, Y/n raised her foot higher than usual, stepping over what she imagined was the door frame. The sound of metal underfoot suggested they had transitioned onto a metallic grate.
"Coming up to some stairs," Scarecrow said.
As Scarecrow slightly descended, he guided Y/n to the first step. Clutching Scarecrow's hand for support, her free hand found a handrail. They carefully descended the staircase together.
"Last step," Scarecrow informed her.
Her feet found solid concrete below. They continued their journey outside, Y/n blind to their surroundings. After about ten minutes wandering the Narrows in silence, Scarecrow halted.
"I'm going to spin you so you won't know which direction we came from," Scarecrow explained.
Y/n snorted, "Feels like a weird game," she joked.
Gently, Scarecrow placed his hands on her shoulders and started to spin her. Y/n laughed, her steps becoming unsteady as she spun. Once she was sufficiently dizzy, Scarecrow ceased the spinning.
"Can I take off the blindfold now?" Y/n asked.
Scarecrow loosened the knot, freeing her from the blindfold. Blinking against the light, she surveyed her surroundings, her balance off from the spinning.
"I have no idea where I am," she admitted, scanning the area.
"That was the point," Scarecrow replied.
A small smile formed on her lips. "Hey, thanks for not killing me," she uttered, a phrase she never imagined saying.
"I apoligize for using the gas on you," Scarecrow said.
"I appreciate the apology...So! See you around?" Y/n tilted her head, looking at him.
Scarecrow seemed taken aback. "You aren't planning to tackling me to the ground for Batman?" 
She shook her head.
"Then, yes... until next time, Batgirl," Scarecrow affirmed.
With that, Y/n walked away, the sound of her footsteps echoing in the alley. Glancing back one last time, she found he had vanished into the shadows.
As Y/n made her way towards the mouth of the alley, a familiar figure emerged from the shadows with a swift, purposeful stride. The figure's imposing silhouette was unmistakable against the dimly lit street. Batman, cloaked in his iconic cape, his gaze fixed intently ahead.
He approached Y/n, his presence commanding yet reassuring. "Where have you been?" Batman's voice, deep and grave.
Although aggressive, she knew it was his way of showing his concern.
Y/n sighed. "I'm fine, thanks! But I wouldn’t have been if not for an unexpected turn of events," she responded, her voice a mix of relief and bewilderment.
Batman surveyed the surroundings with a beading eye, then returned his attention to Y/n. "Scarecrow?" he asked, already piecing together the encounter from the clues left behind.
"Yep," Y/n confirmed.
Batman summoned the Batmobile with a press of a button, and it swiftly glided around the corner, halting with precision in front of them. "We'll discuss it on the way," Batman suggested, sliding into the driver's seat of the Batmobile.
Y/n quickly followed, hopping into the passenger seat. The top sealed shut with a soft hiss, and they set off toward the Batcave, the engine's low rumble filling the air.
"As soon as you were hit with the toxin, I ran after Scarecrow. I know you said not to but I couldn't just stand by," Y/n recounted. "He hit me with some kind of super version of his toxin... I blacked out and later woke up in his lab... He had saved my life," she reflected, still piecing together the surreal events.
"Scarecrow...saved you...after he was the one to endanger you..." Batman's voice betrayed a hint of skepticism.
"Exactly... He said he mistook me for you and used a more lethal toxin," Y/n clarified.
Batman mulled over the information, "This must be part of some elaborate scheme."
"...When I was unconscious, he took off my mask," Y/n added quietly, the weight of her vulnerability in that moment hanging between them.
"We can't change what's happened," Batman responded with an unexpected calm. "For now, you need to stay at the batcave."
Y/n understood the protective gesture, Batman was ensuring her safety. This meant her encounters with Scarecrow would be on hold, a disappointing, yet perhaps for the best, turn of events.
-
Upon their arrival at the Batcave, Bruce insisted on conducting his own check up of Y/n to ensure her well-being. As he meticulously checked her condition, Y/n found her thoughts drifting back to Scarecrow.
The lanky figure behind the coarse, burlap mask now intrigued her more than ever. Despite her efforts to thwart his plans and her alliance with Batman, Scarecrow had spared her life. His actions defied the logic that he should have seen her as a direct threat, deserving of his lethal wrath.
Throughout their encounters, Scarecrow had consistently avoided using his fear toxin on her, opting for less harmful methods. And on the one occasion he did administer it, he promptly provided an antidote and went as far as looking after her back at his lab.
What puzzled her further was his reluctance, or perhaps refusal, to let her leave. There seemed to be an underlying reason he didn't want her to go, adding layers to his already complex persona. This unexpected mercy and the mystery shrouding his true intentions only deepened Y/n's curiosity about the man beneath the mask.
-
Y/n's second week interning at Arkham was unfolding better than she'd anticipated. Tasked with interacting with the less dangerous patients, she found them peculiar yet unexpectedly sweet, a stark contrast to her initial assumptions. Each person, in their own right, contributed to the unique tapestry of Arkham's inhabitants.
Walking through the asylum's corridors on her way to Dr. Young's office with a stack of files in hand, Y/n was absorbed in her thoughts, hardly aware of her surroundings. This lack of attention led to a collision with a passerby, resulting in her files scattering across the floor.
"Shit, sorry," she blurted out, immediately kneeling to gather the scattered documents.
The individual she bumped into stood frozen, offering no assistance or reaction. Once she collected her files and stood up to face him, she found herself looking at a tall, slender man adorned with rectangular, wire-framed glasses, his expression one of bafflement.
"Sorry, I wasn't paying attention," she said, hoping to break the ice.
Yet, the man remained silent, his eyes wide and mouth slightly open, offering nothing but a fixed stare. With an awkward smile, Y/n excused herself, moving past him to continue on her way.
"Sorry, again... Have a good day," she added, before turning her focus forward and spotting Dr. Young near her office.
"Met Dr. Crane, have you?" Dr. Young asked, observing the scene.
Glancing back, Y/n saw the man, now identified as Dr. Crane, retreating hastily down the hallway.
"Apparently. He a quiet one?" Y/n asked, intrigued by the unusual man.
"Not at all," Dr. Young confided with a hint of amusement. "He's known for being quite outspoken and, frankly, a bit abrasive. But let's keep that between us."
Y/n let out a soft chuckle, appreciating the candid insight. Together, they proceeded into Dr. Young's office. As they delved into their tasks and discussions, the brief encounter with Dr. Crane swiftly faded from Y/n's mind.
-
Barely two hours had passed, with Y/n engrossed in her task of organizing files, when Dr. Young re-entered the office, fresh from her break.
"It seems you've caught the attention of Dr. Crane," Dr. Young remarked as she stepped inside.
Y/n glanced up, puzzled. "Huh?"
Dr. Young, settling into her chair with a chuckle. "Well, in the cafeteria, Dr. Crane cam up to me out of the blue to ask about you. Considering he never engages in conversation unless it's strictly necessary, that was quite the surprise!"
Curiosity piqued, Y/n continued, "What exactly did he ask about?"
"Just your name and your role here," Dr. Young replied with a smile.
The thought of garnering anyone's interest, let alone Dr. Crane's, hadn't crossed Y/n's mind. Yet, she brushed it off, doubting it would have any significant impact on her internship.
-
Back at her home, Y/n found herself sprawled on her bed, engulfed in the unfamiliar territory of idleness. With Bruce sidelining her from night patrols, the once exhilarating darkness of Gotham's nights now stretched endlessly before her, filled with nothing but the quiet.
Letting out a sigh, she flung her book aside, a tangible sign of her growing restlessness. Reluctantly, she rose and drifted towards her computer, where the glow of her screen illuminated tabs of research left untouched since yesterday. Though the news articles of Scarecrow she had found offered little in the way of breakthroughs, she held onto the hope they might yet yield something of value.
It was then that a sudden thud against her window broke the silence, startling her. Turning to look, she expected to find nothing more unusual than a disoriented bird that flew into it. However, the repeated thudding suggested this was no ordinary accident.
With a sigh, Y/n approached the window to investigate. A crow was the culprit, determinedly striking the glass over and over. Attempting to shoo it away with a tap against the window proved futile, the bird was either stubborn or really dumb. About to turn away in defeat, Y/n noticed something clutched in the crow's beak, she naturally had to investigate.
Concerned it might be choking, she opened the window to offer assistance. The crow, uninvited, hopped boldly into her room and onto her bed.
"Hey! You’re gonna get my shit all dirty!" Y/n protested, trying to usher it off.
Yet the crow remained unbothered, stationed firmly on her bed. With a curious tilt of its head, it released its hold, letting the object, a piece of paper, fall onto her duvet.
Realizing the crow was unharmed, Y/n let out a sigh. "Okay, you can leave now," she suggested, gesturing towards the open window.
However, the crow remained stationary, its gaze fixed on her as if it had more to say. They stared at one another awkwardly, the air between them thick with uncertainty. The crow nudged the piece of paper with its beak, then lifted its eyes to hers, prompting her attention.
Reluctantly, Y/n shifted her focus to the paper, curiosity getting the better of her. The paper was torn and foled. She unfolded the ripped fragment to reveal a message that sent a jolt of shock through her.
'Found you.'
The simplicity of the message belied its ominous intent, transforming her initial confusion into a wave of dread. "Holy fuck," she muttered, her pulse quickening.
As if its mission was accomplished, the crow took its leave, soaring out the window. Y/n raced to the window, a futile attempt to keep it from leaving. "Oi!"
But her plea vanished into the night, leaving her to face the silence of her room. The solitude that had once been merely boring now felt ominously oppressive.
How had Scarecrow found her? The question echoed in her mind, a reminder that her sense of security was more fragile than she had ever imagined.
Y/n wasted no time in dialing Bruce's number, her fingers trembling with anxiety as she waited for him to pick up. When he finally answered, she didn't bother with pleasantries.
"He found me," she blurted out in a tense whisper.
"Y/n? What are you talk-?" Bruce paused. “How?”
"I don't know how he did it, Bruce. There's no way he could have tracked me from that night," Y/n replied, her nerves palpable. “He sent his fucking pet crow, or something to my window with a little note saying he found me.”
"I think it would be safest for you to stay at my place for a while," Bruce suggested, his tone urgent.
"Yeah, but what if he figures out… you know?" Y/n's worry crept into her voice.
"Is there anywhere else you can go?" Bruce asked, his concern evident.
Y/n's mind raced, but she couldn't think of any safe alternatives. "Not really," she admitted reluctantly.
"Okay, just stay safe. I'll be checking up on you," Bruce instructed firmly.
"I'll do my best," Y/n sighed, feeling a sense of dread settle over her as the call ended.
She dropped her phone on her bed along with herself. Sitting on her bed, she ran her hand down her face groaning. She just prayed he was as nice as he was the night before.
-
The next day, Y/n felt a sense of unease as she walked through the corridors of Arkham towards Dr. Young's office. Upon entering, she was met not only by Dr. Young, but also by the presence of Dr. Crane.
"Good morning, Y/n. I'm sure you're acquainted with Dr. Crane by now," Dr. Young gestured towards the man in the room.
Y/n nodded awkwardly, turning her attention to Dr. Crane. "Hello, Dr. Crane," she greeted, extending her hand for a shake.
"Miss L/n," he replied, his voice crisp and professional as he took her hand.
There was something strangely familiar about his touch, though Y/n couldn't quite place it. Brushing it off as mere coincidence, she focused on the conversation at hand.
"Well, we've decided to switch things up a bit and provide you with more opportunities around the asylum. Today, Dr. Crane has kindly offered to mentor you instead of me," Dr. Young explained.
Y/n nodded, trying to maintain her composure. "Oh... cool," she replied, though her uncertainty lingered beneath the surface.
"My work primarily focuses on the higher-risk patients, so today I'll be showing you around those areas of the asylum," Dr. Crane explained, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Alright, shall we get started?" Y/n asked, eager to begin.
"Certainly," Dr. Crane replied, opening the door for Y/n to exit first. She thanked him and stepped into the hallway, where Dr. Crane joined her.
"So, Miss L/n, what led you to Arkham?" Dr. Crane inquired, initiating conversation.
"Well, I studied at Gotham University for five years and managed to get an internship here. It's an opportunity I couldn't pass up," Y/n replied.
Dr. Crane nodded, showing interest. "You're interested in psychology, I assume?"
"Naturally," Y/n confirmed.
"And outside of Arkham, how do you spend your time?" Dr. Crane asked, delving deeper.
Y/n wasn't prepared for such a personal question, and she found herself struggling to formulate an answer. In truth, much of her time was split between intensive research and her activities as a vigilante. "Uh... research mostly," she replied, keeping her answer vague.
"Any specific areas of focus?" Dr. Crane probed further.
"Primarily psychology-related topics, and occasionally delving into articles about various personalities in Gotham," Y/n answered, trying to keep her response casual.
"Ah, the Gotham Rogues, I presume? Have any in particular piqued your interest?" Dr. Crane inquired, his gaze lingering on her as they made their way towards the elevator.
Y/n had been informed by Dr. Young that small talk was rarely on Dr. Crane's agenda, suggesting his continuous questions might stem from a lack of social que. Yet, as a psychiatrist, his understanding of social dynamics should be adept, making his approach puzzling.
"Ah, well... each of them are interesting in their own way, to say the least," Y/n replied, deflecting deflecting to keep the conversation neutral.
Acknowledging her response with a nod, Dr. Crane diverted his eyes ahead, the silence momentarily enveloping them as they approached and entered the elevator. With a practiced motion, he swiped his keycard and selected their destination floor.
The elevator began its descent in silence, the hum of its mechanism filling the small space. Dr. Crane stood with a composed posture, hands clasped behind his back, while Y/n could feel the tension in the air, an undercurrent of unspoken thoughts swirling between them.
After a moment, Dr. Crane broke the silence. "The study of fear is particularly fascinating, don't you think?" he started, his tone measured, eyes fixed on the elevator doors as if addressing the question to himself. "It's primal, yet so complex. A fundamental emotion that can be both a hindrance and a survival mechanism."
Y/n, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation, nodded in agreement. "Yes, it's quite a paradox. It shapes so much of human behavior, yet we understand so little about its underpinnings."
The elevator dinged, announcing their arrival at the high-risk patient floor. As the doors slid open, Dr. Crane stepped out, gesturing for Y/n to follow. "Indeed. And it's within these walls that fear becomes a canvas, each patient painting their own portrait of terror."
The topic of their conversation enveloped Y/n in a sense of unease. While it was natural for a psychiatrist to delve into subjects like fear, given her recent unsettling situation, discussing it now stirred an unwelcome and deep-seated discomfort within her.
They walked through a secured door after Dr. Crane keyed in a code, entering a corridor lined with reinforced glass cells. The patients inside varied in their reactions to the newcomers, some pressed close to observe them, others retreated into shadows, and a few remained indifferent, lost in their own worlds.
"As you'll see today, our approach to treatment varies greatly, tailored to each patient's specific needs and... inclinations," Dr. Crane continued, leading Y/n past the cells. "Observation and understanding is key. Fear can be both a lock and a key in our field."
Y/n felt a chill run down her spine, not just from the atmosphere of the high-risk ward but from Dr. Crane's words. They echoed with a depth of knowledge and an intensity that felt almost too personal, as if fear itself was a familiar friend to him.
As they continued their tour, Y/n couldn't shake the feeling that Dr. Crane was studying her just as much as he was explaining the procedures and philosophies of Arkham Asylum. There was a calculated curiosity in his gaze, a probing quality that made her wonder what he saw when he looked at her. 
Their footsteps echoed softly as they walked through the corridor, eventually halting in front of a door. 
"This," he announced, ushering the door open with a gentle push, "is my office."
Crossing into the new space, Y/n found herself standing somewhat awkwardly, uncertain of what was to come next.
"I have a few patient appointments scheduled today. You'll have the opportunity to observe. But first, there are some reports I need to deal with. I imagine you have tasks of your own to do in the meantime?" he suggested.
With a nod from Y/n, he settled into his chair behind the desk, drawing out several files and a pen. As he began to write, Y/n couldn't help but observe him, a sense of déjà vu washing over her. There was an inexplicable familiarity in his presence that she couldn't quite identify.
Catching her gaze, he looked up, peering over his glasses. "Is there something on your mind?" he asked.
Y/n hesitated for a moment, considering her response carefully. She wasn't sure if she should bring up her recent encounter with the Scarecrow, especially given Dr. Crane's interest in fear and psychology. But something about his demeanor encouraged her to speak up. She cracked it down to the fact that he was around higher risk patients at arkham so he should understand.
Y/n hesitated for a moment, choosing her words carefully. She didn't want to alarm Dr. Crane or reveal too much about her involvement with Gotham's underworld.
"Well, actually..." she began, her voice measured. "I recently had a rather unusual encounter with someone who... operates outside the norms, let's say."
Dr. Crane raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Go on," he prompted, leaning forward slightly.
"There's this... guy," she began, her voice thoughtful. "Who put me in a rather diffucult situation. But instead of leaving me in trouble, this guy… helped me. He claimed that his actions were never intended to inconvenience me, but rather someone else entirely. It's all rather confusing to me."
As she spoke, Dr. Crane listened attentively, his analytical gaze fixed on her. There was a calculating intensity in his eyes that sent a shiver down her spine, but she pushed past it, determined to convey the essence of her experience without divulging too much.
He leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers thoughtfully. “Why do you think he wouldn’t have helped you?” he asked.
“Well this... guy... well, he’s not exactly known for his generosity,” Y/n said, choosing her words carefully.
"I see," he murmured, his tone contemplative. "It seems you've had quite the... encounter."
Y/n nodded, relieved that she had managed to convey the situation without revealing too many details. 
“Well... what about the situation confuses you?” he asked.
“The fact that he helped me, I just don’t understand it,” Y/n said.
“Had you encountered this individual prior to that?” Dr. Crane inquired.
“Yes, and he wasn’t particularly pleasant,” Y/n replied.
“Perhaps he had a change of heart, felt remorse... or maybe you interested him in some way,” Dr. Crane suggested.
Y/n recognized that Dr. Crane might not offer much assistance, especially since her account was far from the complete truth, but she valued his perspective.
“Yeah... maybe,” she said, considering his viewpoint.
-
The two appointments proceeded smoothly. The first patient was a paranoid individual, tormented by incessant fears of lurking threats in the shadows. As for the second patient was a woman struggling with intense anxiety and recurring nightmares. Dr. Crane navigated through their sessions with his calmness and precision, offering insightful observations and gentle guidance.
As the day progressed, Y/n found herself drawn into the complexities of the patients' minds, witnessing firsthand the challenges they faced and the therapeutic approaches employed by Dr. Crane. 
By the end of the day, Y/n felt a newfound respect for Dr. Crane's expertise and a deeper curiosity about the human psyche. 
Leaving Arkham, they boarded the Akrham train heading to the city center. "I trust today has been insightful for you," Dr. Crane remarked as they found their seats.
The clatter of the train tracks provided a rhythmic backdrop to their conversation as they settled into their seats. Y/n nodded, reflecting on the day's events. "Definitely," she replied. "It's given me a lot to think about."
Dr. Crane inclined his head, his gaze thoughtful. "Understanding the human mind is a continuous journey, filled with both challenges and revelations," he remarked. "But it's a journey worth undertaking."
Y/n nodded in agreement, absorbing his words. As the train rumbled on, she noticed that her stop was nearing.
"Thank you, Dr. Crane. You've been a really amazing mentor today," Y/n expressed her gratitude.
Dr. Crane nodded, acknowledging her gratitude. "You're welcome, Y/n. If you ever need any guidance or have any questions in the future, feel free to reach out," he said, his tone surprisingly warm.
As the train slowed to a stop at Y/n's station, she gathered her belongings and stood up. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you again," she said, offering a polite smile before stepping off the train.
"Have a safe walk home," Dr. Crane bid farewell as the train doors slid shut.
As she walked away from the station, Y/n couldn't shake the feeling of curiosity about Dr. Crane. There was something intriguing about him, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. But for now, she pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the rest of her day ahead.
Alone in the dark, a wave of fear washed over her. Her home was just a ten-minute walk from the station, but after receiving that ominous message yesterday, she felt more uneasy than usual.
The usual nightly weirdos on the street didn't bother her much, no, it was the thought of encountering Scarecrow that sent shivers down her spine.
As she walked, a group of guys stepped out from a dark alley, eyeing her with leering grins. "Hey, sweetheart, looking for some company?" one of them called out, his tone dripping with sleaze.
Y/n rolled her eyes, unimpressed by their attempts to intimidate her. "Sorry, boys, not interested," she replied, quickening her pace.
As they closed in, Y/n sprang into action with lightning speed. In one fluid motion, she lunged towards the nearest assailant, her hands moving with precision. With a swift twist, she disarmed him, the weapon clattering to the ground with a metallic clang.
Before the others could react, Y/n hit him with calculated strikes, each one finding its mark with pinpoint accuracy. With each opponent she incapacitated, the threat diminished, until finally, all that remained was a pile of defeated adversaries at her feet.
Just as she thought the situation was under control, a familiar chill ran down her spine. The dim streetlight cast eerie shadows as Scarecrow emerged from the darkness, his silhouette looming ominously. Y/n's heart raced, her muscles tensing in anticipation.
The air seemed to thicken with tension as Scarecrow's gaze swept over the scene. She braced herself as the Scarecrow raised his hand, expecting the worst. Shielding her face, she awaited the inevitable assault, but instead, she heard screams erupting behind her. 
Reluctantly lowering her arms, she turned to witness a man writhing on the ground, his cries echoing through the deserted street beside a discarded firearm. Her gaze snapped back to the Scarecrow, her eyes widening in astonishment.
"One missed," he remarked coolly.
“Scarecrow…” she uttered, caught between greeting him and still processing the situation.
“Y/n,” he acknowledged.
“So...you know my name now,” she remarked, her tone barely masking her worry.
“Would you prefer I call you Batgirl still?” he asked, sarcastically.
“I suppose there’s no point,” Y/n shrugged, conceding to the truth.
Observing him in the dimly lit street, she couldn't help but notice his eerie yet intriguing presence. “Nice suit,” she commented, attempting to break the tension.
“Thank you,” he replied courteously, his mask concealing any expression.
Despite his seemingly benign demeanor, she couldn't shake off her unease about his sudden appearance. “What are you doing here?” she probed cautiously.
“Making sure you got home safely,” he responded matter-of-factly.
“You’re following me?” she questioned, her suspicion growing palpable.
“Looks that way,” he confirmed, his voice protraying no hint of emotion.
“...I’ll be off then,” she stated, turning to head back home.
His footsteps echoed behind her, prompting her to halt and face him. “You’re still here?”
"You don’t think I was just going to leave,” he remarked.
“Then can you at least not stalk behind me?” Y/n requested, her tone surprisingly composed despite her lingering unease.
Closing the distance between them, he fell into step beside her. “You know Batman might find you,” she warned.
“Not tonight, I saw him off chasing the Penguin,” he assured her.
Y/n looked ahead, contemplating their unusual companionship. “So… are you going to hurt me?” she questioned, her voice hinting her vulnerability.
“I didn’t hurt you before, why would I now?” he countered.
“Well, why else are you here?” she pressed, her curiosity piqued.
“It was you that said you’d ‘see me around’,” Scarecrow reminded her.
She recalled their earlier exchange, surprised that he remembered. “I didn’t think you’d remember… or care,” she admitted.
They lapsed into silence for a moment before Y/n broke it. “How did you find me?” she asked the question that was weighing on her mind since she got the note.
“It was coincidence,” Scarecrow replied cryptically.
“Seriously! That's all?” Y/n protested.
“I saw you... and gaining access to you was a simple matter after that,” he explained.
Y/n paused, contemplating the implications of his words.
“Wait, so you mean to say... Did I see you around?” Y/n's curiosity peaked.
Scarecrow's silence spoke volumes, confirming her suspicions. Y/n's mind raced, attempting to pinpoint any instance where she could have crossed paths with Scarecrow during the day, but nothing came to mind.
"You're annoying, you know that? Why can't you just tell me who you are?" Y/n pressed, frustration lacing her words.
"And give you the chance to share with your caped crusader? I think not," Scarecrow retorted with a hint of amusement in his distorted voice.
Y/n scowled, "This is bullshit. What kind of friend are you?"
"Friend?" Scarecrow echoed, a note of mock surprise in his tone.
Realizing she had referred to him as a friend, Y/n hesitated, "Well… I don’t know."
"Considering me a friend? That's rather... optimistic of you," Scarecrow jested.
"You know what? Fuck you," Y/n snapped, pushing him away in annoyance.
Scarecrow's laughter, distorted and chilling, filled the air.
"About that crow yesterday..." Y/n shifted the topic.
"Ah, yes, Craw," Scarecrow interjected.
"Craw... you named your bird after the sound it makes? What are you, five?" Y/n couldn't help but mock his choice.
"Feeling particularly bitey today, aren't we?" Scarecrow remarked with a hint of amusement.
"I'm just pointing out the obvious. You could have called him anything and you settled on 'Craw'? It's like naming a cat 'Meow' or a dog ‘Woof’," Y/n countered.
"I doubt your question was solely to critique my naming choices," Scarecrow deflected, steering the conversation forward.
"So, you have a trained crow... cool," Y/n conceded.
With a snap of his fingers, Scarecrow summoned the crow, which gracefully swooped down to perch on his shoulder.
"Fuck, that’s impressive," Y/n admitted, genuinely taken aback.
"He's a good companion," Scarecrow acknowledged, affectionately caressing the crow's feathered chest.
"And yet, when I mention friendship, I'm desperate?" Y/n teased with a scoff.
"I'm merely taken aback... You haven't even tried to call Batman on me yet," Scarecrow observed.
"Well, if he can have his criminal friend, I don't see why I shouldn't either," Y/n reasoned, thinking about Bruces weird thing with Catwomen.
"It only seems fair," Scarecrow conceded with a nod.
As they approached her apartment complex, Y/n paused and faced Scarecrow.
"I guess this is where I leave you," she remarked, a hint of reluctance in her tone as she gestured towards the looming building of her apartment complex.
Scarecrow tilted his head slightly, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than usual. "Seems so. You'll be safe here, I presume?"
Y/n couldn't help but feel a pang of irony at the question, considering who it was coming from. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Thanks for helping me back there," she quipped, offering him a small, genuine smile.
Scarecrow nodded once, sharply, as if dismissing any need for gratitude. "Take care, Y/n."
With those parting words, he turned and disappeared into the shadows from where he came, leaving Y/n to stare after him for a long moment. Shaking her head slightly, as if to clear it from the surreal encounter, she turned and headed towards her apartment, her mind swirling with thoughts about the night's events and the enigmatic figure that had just left her side.
-
The anticipation for her next encounter with Scarecrow had always been tinged with impatience, but now, there was a distinct shift in her desires. Gone was the sole focus on capturing him, instead, she found herself wanting to talk, even hang out with the guy.
Wandering the corridors of Arkham, her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by an exasperated shout not far from her location. “Damn bird!” echoed off the sterile walls.
Curious, Y/n turned on her heel to investigate. A large bird flying through the hallway, causing a commotion. But this was no ordinary crow, as it swooped closer, she recognized it instantly. Craw, Scarecrow's supposed good companion.
As the crow landed gracefully before her, Y/n crouched down, gently scooping him up. The security guard, panting from the chase, approached with a look of annoyance plastered across his face.
“Stupid bird,” he muttered, reaching out to snatch Craw away.
Y/n, cradling the crow protectively, assured him, “It's fine, I've got this. I'll make sure he's put outside.”
The guard, too worn out to argue further, simply shrugged and departed. Alone now, Y/n shifted her focus to Craw, who seemed quite content in her grasp.
Noticing a piece of paper held in his beak, she gently grabbed it, speaking softly to the crow, “Hey there, pretty. How did you manage to find me here?”
Placing Craw on her shoulder, she unfolded the note.
‘I’ll see you tonight.’
A smile unknowingly crept across her face as she read the message. Shortly after, Craw took flight from her shoulder, darting down the corridor.
“No! Craw, I need to take you outside!” she called after him, her plea falling on deaf ears.
With a resigned sigh, she watched him disappear deeper into the Asylum. “Well, he's someone else's problem now.”
Despite the mild chaos, the note clutched in her hand warmed her heart, igniting a flutter of excitement for what the evening might bring.
-
The walk home felt different for Y/n this evening. Each shadow cast by the dim streetlights seemed to promise the appearance of Scarecrow, echoing his note that said they would meet again. With every step, her anticipation grew, turning each corner with a mix of eagerness and anxiety, expecting to find him waiting in the familiar alley where their paths often crossed. But tonight, the alley remained empty.
The silence of the alleyway, usually filled with the tension of their encounters, now hung heavy with disappointment. She lingered for a moment, scanning the shadows and empty spaces where he might have stood, half-hoping for the rustle of his coat or the soft click of his approach. But there was nothing. Just the quiet of the night and the distant hum of the city.
As she continued her walk home, the excitement that had quickened her steps faded into a dull ache of letdown. Thoughts raced through her mind, pondering why he hadn't appeared. Had something happened to him? Had Batman managed to intervene?
Reaching her apartment, Y/n couldn't shake the sense of solitude that enveloped her. Inside, the quiet of her home only amplified her disappointment. With a heavy sigh, Y/n resigned herself to the evening's solitude, dropping onto her bed.
As she lay in the quiet of her room, Y/n found herself wrestling with thoughts that mocked her for entertaining the idea of a friendship with someone as complex and dangerous as Scarecrow. How could she, grounded in her own principles and duties, truly expect to build a connection with a figure who thrived in the shadows, a master of fear? 
Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a thump against her window. Startled, she glanced up, only to find the familiar silhouette of a crow striking the glass. Hurrying over, she opened the window, allowing Craw to flutter into the room. Peering out the window, her pulse quickened at the sight below.
Scarecrow stood on the ground, gazing up at her with his usual get-up.
"May I come up?" his voice floated up to her.
Without hesitation, she swung onto the fire escape, releasing the ladder for him. As he ascended, a mixture of surprise and anticipation filled her.
"Why are you here?" she inquired, as he stepped through the window into her room.
"I said I'd see you tonight," he replied.
"I thought you’d just walk me home," she admitted, a smile playing on her lips despite herself.
"Indeed, I intended to, but I was held up," Scarecrow said, his voice carrying a touch of regret.
Inside her room, with the city's night as their backdrop, she couldn't help but jest, "So, the man behind the mask has a life?"
Scarecrow chuckled below the mask, “That I do.”
Now settled in her room, Y/n found a comfortable spot on her bed, her back resting gently against the headboard.
With a curious tilt of her head, she ventured, "Could I possibly hear more about the man beneath the mask?"
He hesitated for a moment before answering, "I was caught up at work, actual work, something that required my immediate attention."
This prompted Y/n to recall her little interaction with his crow eariler. "Speaking of work, how did you manage to send Craw into Arkham?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Let's just say he found his way through a window," he replied,criptically.
Scarecrow chose a spot at the foot of her bed, directly opposite her, and gracefully seated himself. Craw saw it as an opportunity to hopped onto his thigh, finding comfort in his familiar presence.
As they sat in Y/n's room, the silence between them was palpable. Y/n couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. Curiosity, apprehension, and a strange sense of comfort in Scarecrow's presence. She studied him closely, trying to decipher the man, but his expression remained hidden.
"So, what really brings you here tonight?" Y/n finally broke the silence, her voice betraying a hint of nervousness.
Scarecrow glanced at her, his gaze piercing. "I wanted to check on you," he replied simply.
Y/n raised an eyebrow, skeptical of his intentions. "Check on me?" she echoed, searching his face for any hint of deception.
"Yes," Scarecrow affirmed, his tone unwavering. "After our encounter the other night, I thought I should make sure you're okay."
Y/n's initial skepticism softened slightly, replaced by a flicker of surprise. Despite their strange relationship, Scarecrow's concern for her well-being was unexpected.
"I'm fine," Y/n reassured him, offering a small smile. "But why go through the trouble? You're not exactly known for your kindness."
Scarecrow's lips quirked into a faint smile, the gesture almost imperceptible. "Perhaps I'm not as one-dimensional as you think," he remarked.
Y/n's curiosity piqued at his response, but before she could delve further, there was a sudden knock on her apartment door.
“Y/n? I called you but you didn’t answer,” it was Bruce.
The sudden interruption sent Y/n's heart racing, a surge of panic flooding her as she heard Bruce's voice through the door. She momentarily froze, realizing the difficult situation she was in. Glancing frantically at Scarecrow, she leaped into action, her movements swift and desperate.
"Under the bed, now!" she hissed, urgency lacing her whisper as she practically shoved Scarecrow towards the hiding spot.
Without hesitation, Scarecrow complied, slipping under the bed. No sooner had he vanished from sight than Y/n dashed to the apartment's entrance, her mind racing with excuses.
"Hey, Bruce, sorry about that. My phone's been on silent, what’s up?" she managed to say with a feigned nonchalance as she swung the door open, greeting him with a practiced casualness.
"I said I'd swing by to check on you. Everything's been okay lately?" Bruce asked, stepping past the threshold with a concerned glance.
"Yep, all good here," Y/n replied, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins.
Y/n found herself desperately seeking a solution that wouldn't raise Bruce's suspicions, yet every moment he lingered increased the risk of Scarecrow's presence unmasking Bruce's own secret identity. Trapped between a rock and a hard place, she was at a loss, her mind racing for a strategy that seemed increasingly elusive.
Then, an ominous thump from her bedroom shattered the tense silence, causing her heart to plummet into her stomach.
"What was that?" Bruce's voice sharpened with alertness, his instinctive concern prompting him to move toward the source of the sound.
Y/n's anxiety reached it’s limits until, unexpectedly, a voice came from her bedroom. "Y/n? Who's at the door?" It was unmistakably Scarecrow, yet his voice was stripped of its usual menacing distortion, sounding disarmingly normal.
Panic painted Y/n's face with a stark shade of horror, a silent scream at the realization of her rapidly unraveling situation. However, Bruce's reaction took a turn Y/n hadn't anticipated. His expression, initially furrowed with concern, smoothly transitioned into an amused smirk.
"I didn't realize you had company. I'll leave you to your...guest," he said, his voice laced with an uncharacteristic lightness.
In that moment, Y/n's dread shifted to a baffling sense of relief to mild embarrassment. The flush of embarrassment that crept up Y/n's cheeks. The implication in Bruce's assumption that her "guest" was there for reasons more intimate was mortifying, yet it was a far more palatable scenario than him suspecting the presence of a notorious criminal in her bedroom.
"U-uh, yeah, sorry," she managed, her voice a mix of awkwardness and gratitude as she escorted Bruce to the door.
Pausing at the threshold, Bruce turned back to her, his expression lightly amused. "Have a good night," he said, his voice carrying a hint of jest before he delivered a playful wink and departed.
As Y/n closed the door behind him, a wave of relief washed over her, tinged with a lingering embarrassment. As Y/n reentered her bedroom, her gaze fell upon Craw, who had perched on the shelf by her door. 
"Are you still hiding under my bed?" she asked, her knees pressing against the cool floor as she peered under the bed.
There he was, Scarecrow, his frame stretched out beneath her bed, an unexpected sight that was oddly endearing. "Yeah," came his muffled reply.
"It's safe to come out now," she assured him, her voice lifting with a mix of relief and warmth.
As Scarecrow emerged, his presence seemed to fill the room. "What was that thumping sound?" she asked, genuinely puzzled.
"Craw decided the door looked interesting," Scarecrow quipped, a hint of affection for the mischief-maker in his tone.
Y/n's eyes darted to Craw, her expression one of mock frustration. "You bloody bird!" she growled, though the crow seemed preoccupied with scratching his wing with his beak.
"And thank you, by the way. My heart nearly stopped when he headed towards my room," she admitted, her hands finding their way to her hips.
"Who was that, if I may ask?" Scarecrow's curiosity was evident, his head tilted.
"A friend," she answered simply.
"Just a friend?" he probed further, an edge of something playful in his voice.
"Jealous?" Y/n teased, a light chuckle escaping her.
"Should I be?" he parried, his voice laced with amusement.
Y/n's laughter filled the room, a sound of genuine amusement. "Bruce is just a friend. Though now he probably thinks I've got a secret lover stashed in here," she said, the humor in her situation not lost on her.
"Bruce? As in-" Scarecrow started, only for Y/n to jump in.
"Bruce Wayne? Yes," she confirmed, closing the loop on his thought.
"I would've expected the Batman, not Bruce Wayne," he mused, his voice carrying a note of mock disappointment.
"Batman wouldn’t bother with the front door, that’s for sure," Y/n laughed. 
Y/n chuckled, her fingers idly tracing patterns on her bedspread. "So, did you... you know, take off the mask when you called out?" she asked.
Scarecrow's response was matter-of-fact. "Well, yeah. I don’t know if you can tell, but my voice isn’t naturally distorted," he pointed out.
Y/n's playful pout betrayed her teasing tone. "That's not fair! My room got to see your face before I did!" she exclaimed, feigning offense.
"Your room is quite the lucky spectator," he remarked, his tone filled with amusement.
"I bet you won’t show me cause you’re insecure," Y/n teased with a playful glint in her eye.
Scarecrow tilted his head. "Or perhaps I prefer the mystery. Keeps things interesting, doesn't it?" His voice was muffled slightly by the fabric covering his features.
Y/n laughed, shaking her head. "Interesting for you, maybe. I'm just sitting here guessing if you're secretly a model or if you've got a face only a mother could love."
"Guess you'll just have to keep wondering," he replied.
The room fell into a comfortable silence, filled only by the soft rustling of Craw shifting on his perch. Y/n found herself studying Scarecrow, trying to glean any hint of the man behind the mask from his posture, his movements, even the way he spoke. There was an undeniable curiosity bubbling within her, a desire to know more about the mysterious figure who'd become an unexpected constant in her life.
As the night wore on, their conversation flowed, ranging from trivial banter to more serious discussions about their contrasting views of the city they both operated in. Despite their differences, Y/n felt a strange sense of kinship with Scarecrow, a connection forged in the unlikeliest of circumstances.
Eventually, Y/n yawned, the lateness of the hour catching up to her. Scarecrow noticed, standing up from where he had been sitting. "I should go," he said, his voice carrying a note of reluctance.
Y/n nodded, feeling an unexpected twinge of disappointment at the thought of him leaving. "Yeah, I guess it's getting late."
As Scarecrow moved toward the window, Y/n called out, "Will I see you again?"
He paused at the window, turning slightly to look at her. "I'm sure you will," he said, a hint of a smile in his voice.
And with that, he slipped out into the night with Craw flying after him, leaving Y/n with a mix of emotions and the lingering thrill of their conversation. 
-
After two calm weeks, Bruce finally agreed to Y/n resuming her nightly endeavors alongside him. Although he harbored lingering doubts about Scarecrow, Y/n managed to clam his concerns, assuring him that Scarecrow would not pose a threat.
As Y/n and Batman moved stealthily through the Narrows, the dense fog seemed to cloak their presence further, blending them into the night. This part of Gotham, with its tight alleys and towering buildings, felt like a world entirely its own.
"Keep your guard up," Batman whispered, his voice barely carrying over the mist. "The Narrows are unpredictable."
Y/n nodded, her senses on high alert. The Narrows always had a way of keeping you on your toes, its residents too used to the shadows. But tonight, there was an odd stillness, as if the very air was holding its breath.
Suddenly, Batman stiffened, his head tilting slightly, the universal sign that he was receiving a communication through the cowl's integrated comms. Y/n watched him, waiting for instructions, knowing that whatever had just come through could very well dictate their next move.
After a moment, Batman turned to her, the glow from the city behind him casting a shadow over his face. "Riddler's causing trouble downtown. I need to go now."
"I'll stay here. Keep an eye on things," she offered, already mentally preparing to handle the Narrows alone.
Batman nodded, a silent message of trust and confidence in her abilities. "Be careful," he said before grappling away, disappearing into the night sky.
Alone now, Y/n felt the weight of the silence around her. The Narrows, with its whispering shadows and secrets, suddenly seemed even more foreboding. She took a deep breath, centering herself. This was her domain too, her responsibility.
"Thought he’d never leave," came a voice below her, drawing her attention downward.
As Y/n leaned over the edge of the rooftop. To her surprise, Scarecrow stood on the balcony below, his figure illuminated by the faint glow of the city lights.
"You've been here the whole time?" Y/n exclaimed, taken aback by his sudden appearance.
"I've been waiting inside. The place was abandoned," Scarecrow replied calmly, gesturing towards the building behind him.
Y/n hopped down from the rooftop, landing gracefully on the balcony beside him.
"Wow, Batman and I need to step up our game," she remarked, impressed by Scarecrow's stealth.
"Haven’t seen you as Batgirl in a while," Scarecrow noted, his gaze lingering on her.
"Yeah, thanks to you. I was sidelined. Batman thought you were gonna go after me," Y/n explained, a hint of frustration in her voice.
"Keeping you safe. Wise man," Scarecrow replied cryptically, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
Y/n chuckled, shaking her head. "More like overprotective," she whined.
Y/n could hear Scarecrow smirk behind the mask. "He has reason to be. You're not exactly easy to replace."
Y/n rolled her eyes playfully. "Flattery will get you nowhere," she teased.
"Where's Craw?" Y/n asked, looking around.
"Is my presence not enough for you?" Scarecrow teased.
Y/n side-eyed him, and Scarecrow chuckled. "He's back at my lab."
Scarecrow leaned against the balcony railing, his gaze scanning the darkened streets below. "So, what's the plan now? Are you patrolling solo?"
Y/n nodded. "Looks like it. Batman got called away to deal with Riddler downtown."
Scarecrow hummed in response. "Well then, I guess it's just you and me tonight."
Y/n raised an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in her expression. "You planning on causing any trouble?"
Scarecrow chuckled, shaking his head. "Not tonight."
They fell into an easy silence, the sounds of the city filling the air around them. Despite the darkness that surrounded them, Y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie with Scarecrow, an unexpected ally in the night.
Y/n cast a sidelong glance at Scarecrow, noting the unusual cleanliness of his attire. "Not the usual tattered suit?" she pointed out.
Scarecrow glanced down at his suit. "Well, one has to look clean to impress," he replied, glazing at her.
"I'm sure Batman doesn't mind how you look," Y/n quipped, a playful glint in her eye.
Y/n leaned her back against the balcony railing, her gaze meeting Scarecrow's with a hint of mischief.
"Although, I must admit, the rugged look suits you," she teased, a sly smile playing on her lips.
Scarecrow chuckled softly, his gaze meeting hers with a spark of amusement. "Is that so? Perhaps I should stick to the tattered aesthetic then," he countered, his tone laced with flirtatiousness.
Y/n's laughter rang out across the night sky, the sound mixing with the distant hum of the city below. "You do you, Scarecrow. Just don't expect me to swoon over every torn thread," she replied, a playful glimmer dancing in her eyes.
Scarecrow leaned in slightly, his voice lowering to a whisper. "Ah, but what if I told you I have a whole wardrobe of tattered suits just waiting to impress you?"
Y/n chuckled, her heart fluttering at the playful tone in Scarecrow's voice. "Just for me? Scandalous.” 
"Well, if torn threads won't do the trick, I'll have to find another way to catch your eye." Scarecrow added.
Y/n raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. "Oh? And what approach are you planning to take?"
He leaned in even closer, his gaze locking with hers. "I suppose I'll have to rely on my charming wit and irresistible charm," he replied, his tone filled with playful confidence.
Y/n chuckled, the sound light and melodious in the night air. "Smooth talker, are we?" she teased, her own playful demeanor matching his.
Scarecrow's grin widened, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Only when I'm in good company," he admitted, his voice softening slightly as he held her gaze.
Y/n's cheeks flushed at his words, her gaze lingering on his captivating eyes. "You certainly know how to flatter a girl," she teased, unable to suppress the flutter of excitement building within her.
Scarecrow chuckled softly, the sound sending a thrill through Y/n. "Only because you make it so easy," he murmured, his gaze holding hers with an intensity that left her breathless.
"If I weren't on duty, I might have been tempted to steal a kiss from you right here," she teased, her fingers playfully tugging at his noose.
With a wink, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the abandoned apartment, leaving Scarecrow to ponder her words.
"You never know, the night is young," he remarked, his voice laced with playful innuendo.
"Oh, but I could never kiss a man whose face I've never seen," Y/n remarked.
"Oh, but the mystery adds to the allure, don't you think?" Scarecrow countered.
Scarecrow chuckled, the sound echoing in the dimly lit room. "Who says you haven't seen it before?"
Y/n halted in her tracks, her eyes widening in surprise as she turned back to face him.
"So, I have actually seen you before?" she asked eagerly.
Scarecrow nodded, a hint of amusement in his demeanor. "Yes, indeed," he confirmed.
Her excitement grew, and she leaned in closer. "Did we talk?" she pressed.
"We did," he replied, a slight smirk playing at the corners of his lips.
Her disbelief turned into sheer astonishment. "Oh my god! Seriously? Can you tell me more?" she exclaimed.
"We had quite a conversation, and we crossed paths a few times afterward," Scarecrow disclosed.
Y/n racked her brain, trying to recall any details, but she was drawing a blank. Feeling frustrated and a little foolish for not making the connection, she sighed. Despite now knowing what he sounded like without the mask, she still couldn't piece it together.
"Holy fuck! That's incredible!" Y/n exclaimed, laughter bubbling up from within her. "Can you give me just a tiny hint about what you look like?" Y/n pleaded.
"Sorry, but that would spoil the fun," Scarecrow replied.
Y/n persisted, "Well, do you at least know if I find you attractive?"
"Why do you want to know that?" Scarecrow questioned.
"Because it might have to kiss you after all," Y/n teased.
Scarecrow considered her words before responding, "...I don’t know. You didn't seem particularly impressed when you saw me, you were just a bit awkward at first. But to be fair, so was I."
There was a hint of vulnerability in his tone, though Y/n couldn't be sure. "Perhaps my awkwardness was due to the fact I was starstruck?" she offered playfully.
Scarecrow sounded unconvinced. "Unlikely," he countered gently.
"Or… could it be because my attention was already captivated by someone else? Maybe a certain Scarecrow?" Y/n teased, aiming to lighten his spirits.
Scarecrow's demeanor shifted, his voice tinged with defensiveness. "Why the sudden interest, Batgirl? You've never shown any feelings towards me before. What's changed?" he asked.
Y/n found herself confused by the unfolding situation. When had she begun to flirt with Scarecrow, and why was she so invested in making him believe she was romantically interested? Whenever this change occurred, she didn’t mind it.
"Woah. You started this, and don't act as if you weren't flirting with me too," Y/n retorted.
Scarecrow's tone never softened, his eyes narrowing as he studied Y/n's face. "And if I was? What are your intentions, Y/n?" he asked.
"I don’t know! I was just bantering, playing along… what were your intentions then? How do I know you're not just leading me on so you can gas me again?" Y/n retorted, turning the tables on him.
This clearly offended Scarecrow. "You know it was an accident."
"Do I?" Y/n challenged.
Scarecrow's expression softened, a hint of regret in his eyes. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he said quietly.
Y/n felt a pang of sympathy. "I know," she replied softly. 
They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their conversation hanging in the air. Eventually, Y/n spoke up again. "Look, I didn't mean to upset you."
"Look, I didn't mean to upset you," Y/n said, her tone sincere.
Scarecrow took a deep breath, visible even through his attire. "And I apologize if I seemed defensive. It wasn't my intention."
Their eyes met, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Both were treading uncharted waters, neither sure of where the current would take them but willing to navigate it together.
"So, I've been meaning to ask," Y/n began, again with the playfulness in her voice, "do you wear contacts?"
Scarecrow tilted his head slightly, "Prescription ones, yes."
"But not colored?" she probed further.
"No, why do you ask?" Scarecrow's response carried a mix of curiosity and amusement.
Y/n's tone softened, warmth seeping into her words, "It's just that... you have really pretty eyes."
"Again with the flattery?" Scarecrow teased.
"It's just the truth," Y/n replied with a grin.
"And here I was thinking I might get a kiss," Scarecrow joked.
Y/n chuckled, shaking her head, "I told you, I’m not going to kiss a man I don’t know."
Scarecrow shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes, "That’s a shame."
The distant wail of sirens interrupted their banter.
"I should probably leave now," Scarecrow remarked.
"Yeah… see you later?" Y/n said, a hopeful note in her voice.
"Count on it. Until then... See you at Arkham," Scarecrow said, disappearing into the night.
Y/n's mind raced to piece together the puzzle he had inadvertently presented her. It took a moment for the realization to sink in, but when it did, her heart skipped a beat. 
"Wait a minute!" she called out, but it was futile, Scarecrow was already gone.
Her mind buzzed with newfound clarity. Tall, lanky, formal speech, glasses, and now, a connection to Arkham. It all clicked into place with a sudden jolt of realization. How had she not seen it before?
"Holy fuck," Y/n breathed, her pulse quickening.
The pieces of the puzzle were finally falling into place, revealing a truth she couldn't ignore. Scarecrow... was someone from Arkham. And in that moment, a single name echoed in her mind with chilling clarity.
The conversations they'd shared, the topics they'd discussed, all pointed to one undeniable truth. His fascination with fear, his strange approach to their encounters, it was all too familiar now.
The memory of their first meeting flooded back, and suddenly, it made perfect sense. The shock on his face, the careful choice of words. It was Dr. Crane, right before her eyes.
Y/n couldn't believe she hadn't seen it sooner. How had she missed the signs? How had she not recognized the man behind the mask all along?
Now faced with this newfound knowledge, Y/n was at a crossroads. Should she maintain the facade of ignorance, carrying on as if nothing had changed? Or should she confront Dr. Crane, acknowledging the truth that lay between them? And what about the promise she'd made, the playful banter about kissing him. Was it all just a game, or did it hold deeper significance now?
One thing was certain, she couldn't risk revealing her discovery to Bruce. As she grappled with these thoughts, Y/n resolved to tread carefully, to navigate this delicate situation with caution. The truth had been revealed, but its aftermath remained to be seen.
-
Throughout the morning, Y/n felt restless as she awaited her encounter with Dr. Crane. Stuck in Dr. Young's office sorting files, she impatiently waited for the opportunity to find him. 
As soon as she finished with the files, Y/n swiftly stored them away and left the office, determined to seek out Dr. Crane in the secure section of Arkham.
As Y/n made her way through the corridors of Arkham, her mind raced with anticipation. She had been waiting for this moment, hoping to confront Dr. Crane. Suddenly, she spotted him in the distance, his figure unmistakable amidst the gloom. Their eyes locked, and she saw a hint of amusement in his expression, as if he knew she was coming.
Her heart skipped a beat. Feeling a surge of determination, Y/n hastened her steps, closing the gap between them with purpose. As she reached Dr. Crane, she grabbed his arm firmly, surprising him with her sudden boldness. His smirk widened slightly, betraying a mixture of surprise and curiosity at her actions.
Without uttering a word, Y/n tugged him along, leading him towards his office. Dr. Crane offered little resistance, seemingly taken aback by Y/n's assertiveness. As they entered the office, Y/n swiftly closed the door behind them and turned the key in the lock, sealing them inside.
"You sly motherfucker," Y/n breathed out.
Entwining her fingers in his hair, she drew him closer, her lips crashing against his in a fiery embrace. The kiss ignited a whirlwind of emotions, fueled by pent-up desire and the thrill of discovery.
Caught off guard by Y/n's sudden boldness, Dr. Crane hesitated for a moment before surrendering to the intoxicating allure of her kiss. His hands found their way to her waist, pulling her closer as the intensity of the moment enveloped them both.
For a fleeting moment, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in their own private universe of passion and longing. But as the kiss deepened, an obnoxious buzz interrupted the moment, reminding them of their surroundings.
Reluctantly breaking the kiss, Y/n and Dr. Crane gazed into each other's eyes, a mixture of surprise and desire reflected in their expressions.
"I... I didn't expect..." Dr. Crane began, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the right words.
Y/n's heart raced as she searched his eyes for any sign of regret or hesitation. But instead, she found a spark of something else, a glimmer of longing and vulnerability that mirrored her own.
"I'm sorry," Y/n whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "I just couldn't resist."
She noticed a blush creeping up Dr. Crane’s cheeks as he adjusted his glasses.
"Am I fogging up your glasses?" Y/n teased.
Dr. Crane chuckled nervously. "Not disappointed, I see," he replied, his tone unable to hide his embarrassment.
Y/n smiled, her eyes twinkling with affection. "Now, I could never be disappointed in my Scarecrow," she said, her words filled with warmth.
Dr. Crane's blush deepened at the endearing nickname, but he tried to maintain his composure. "I hope you don't go around kissing all your superiors," he joked, attempting to deflect the attention.
Y/n grinned mischievously. "Just you, Dr. Crane," she said, her tone teasing yet sincere.
Dr. Crane's lips curled into a soft smile at her response. "Seeing as circumstances change, you can call me Jonathan," he offered, his voice tinged with newfound intimacy.
"Well, Jonathan… I'm glad to finally know the man behind the mask," Y/n said with a smile.
"You better not go off telling your bat friend about this," Jonathan warned playfully.
"And lose my nighttime companion? No way," Y/n retorted, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
Jonathan chuckled at her response. Y/n’s eyes drifted to the closed office door.
“We should probably be getting back to work now," Y/n said, a hint of reluctance in her voice.
"We should, yes..." Jonathan began, his gaze lingering on her. "But I've never been one to follow the rules too closely," he added, drawing her closer into his embrace.
Y/n chuckled softly, realizing she wouldn't be leaving the office anytime soon. With a smile on her lips and a newfound connection in her heart, Y/n embraced the unpredictable journey ahead, knowing that whatever was between them was going to be complicated. But as Jonathan's lips met hers once more, Y/n felt a rush of exhilaration, realizing that wouldn’t want it any other way.
-
A/N: Thank you so much for the request 💚 I really did enjoy writing this fic, enemies hit differently when it's in superhero fics and I love it. Even with the fic being 15k long, I wasn't sure how to make them 'lovers', so I ended up just making them playfully flirt and just turn it into real attraction cause...slay. So yeah, it's a bit fast paced but I am still happy with what I've written and I hope yous are too :) It took me quite a while to write as I've just been so busy with Uni and work lately, finding time between has been difficult. Thank you again and I hope you enjoyed 💚
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xxangelpopxx · 7 months
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He became the monster everyone thought he would become
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outragedartist · 3 months
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Did the comfort character meme lol
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hermannco · 4 months
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Withouth the spooky mask the outfit eats him alive
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notfenik · 4 months
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laxi0v0 · 2 months
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Is it hard to convince your crazy farmgirl girlfriend to stop walking around with no shirt or bra on?....yeah same
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-insert wolf whistle noises-
Batman 89: Echoes
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frijolebean · 4 months
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🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛
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bargainbintonystark · 4 months
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LOOK AT HIMMMM
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vintagecandy · 5 months
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i'd love to see Jervis in 3B or 2D!
or maybe jonathan crane in 4B?
whatever strikes your fancy! (hope you are doing well!)
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Tick-tock, Gotham.
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Office Hours/Bells - Jonathan Crane x Fem!Reader (Part 1)
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Pairing: Professor!Jonathan Crane x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 12 640
Warnings: Obsessive behaviour, Professor x Student, mild body horror, fear gas, lowkey prey/predator kink (chasing), kidnapping
Summary: Y/n, a university student, forms an unexpected friendship with Professor Jonathan Crane. But are his intentions what he says they are?
A/N: This one accidentally became a bit of a slow-burn but hey! it is what is~ I didn't know which one to call this so I just did both 💀 My initial plan for this was just a short one, around 2k-3k words... guess that didn't work out. A lot of it may be repetitive, so apologies A/N: This one accidentally became a bit of a slow-burn but hey! it is what is~ I didn't know which one to call this so I just did both 💀 My initial plan for this was just a short one, around 2k-3k words... guess that didn't work out. A lot of it may be repetitive, so apologies - (Part 2) (Part 3)
-
Y/n entered the psychology lecture hall, the familiar scent of old textbooks and the low hum of whispered conversations enveloping her as she took her usual seat near the front. The lecture hall was spacious, rows of worn-out seats filled with few students, as most dropped the class within the first week, due to the Professors harsh attitude. As she settled in, her eyes wandered to the front of the room, where Professor Crane's desk stood. He usually entered on the dot so it wasn’t strange to see his desk empty. 
The sound of the office door's wide swing echoed through the hall, Professor Crane walking in, his presence evoked a collective hush in the lecture room. As if choreographed, he navigated the room with an air of precision, placing his meticulously organized files and papers onto the desk.
Professor Crane wasted no time, setting the tone for the day's lesson. It became immediately apparent to every student that patience was not a virtue Professor Crane indulged in. The swift, deliberate motion of his hand grabbed a piece of chalk, and with a decisive sweep, he began writing the day's lesson on the board.
-
As the lesson drew to a close, marking the end of another lengthy lecture, Y/n found herself grappling with the weight of the information presented. Despite her best efforts to remain focused, the sheer volume of content in today's lesson proved to be a challenge for her to fully absorb. The struggle to grasp the concept left her feeling both mentally fatigued, yearning for a moment of rest.
“If there’s any trouble, my office hours are available for help,” Professor Crane finished, as the students left. 
Despite being aware of the option to attend Professor Crane's office hours, Y/n hesitated, daunted by the intimidating presence of the man. The memory of him calling on classmates during class, casually degrading them when they struggled to grasp concepts, lingered in her mind. The thought of engaging in a one-on-one conversation with him only stirred up anxiety. Opting against visiting Professor Crane's office, Y/n retreated to her dorm. 
-
Back in her dorm, Y/n sank into her desk chair, frustration evident on her face. The psychology book lay open before her, its pages a source of bewilderment. Despite her earnest attempts to comprehend the material covered in class, the concept continued to slip through her grasp. With a sigh of exasperation, she tossed her pen onto the desk, leaning back into her chair.
The struggle was real, and Y/n couldn't shake the feeling of being lost in a sea of incomprehension. Even reaching out to fellow classmates had proven futile, as they too found themselves in the dark. The weight of confusion hung heavy in the air, leaving Y/n grappling with the unsettling realization that she may have to push her anxieties away for help.
Glancing at her class calander she made at the beginning of the year, Y/n noticed that Professor Crane had office hours scheduled a couple of hours before tomorrows class. A moment of contemplation ensued, marked by the rhythmic bouncing of her leg. Eventually, she reasoned that giving it a shot couldn't hurt. After all, even if Professor Crane were to belittle her, at least there wouldn't be an audience to witness any potential humiliation.
-
The following morning, Y/n gathered her books and essentials, preparing for another day at the university. As she stepped onto the campus, her destination clear, she headed towards Professor Crane's office. Each step felt burdened, her legs heavy with nervousness that clung to her as she approached the looming encounter.
Standing in front of Professor Crane's office door, Y/n took a shaky breath before knocking. The response came swiftly, "Come in," in Professor Crane's authoritative voice.
Twisting the handle, she entered the room. Professor Crane, engrossed in some papers, looked up as she stepped in. Y/n found herself at a loss for words, her shyness momentarily stifling her thoughts.
Breaking the silence, Professor Crane inquired, "Can I help you with something?"
Caught off guard, Y/n stammered, "Uh, yes, sorry. I was, umm, trying to go over the things we learned yesterday, but I had trouble trying to grasp the concept. I was wondering if you could help me go over it?"
Jonathan regarded her for a moment before gesturing towards the seat opposite him, a silent invitation for her to sit. Y/n promptly took the seat, positioning herself across from him.
Y/n looked around the room, taking in the surroundings. Bookshelves adorned with a myriad of psychology titles graced the walls, that offer a visual journey through the expansive world of the mind. Disheveled piles of papers and folders, likely files from Arkham, added an air of mystery to the atmosphere. The walls were adorned with various academic accolades and framed degrees. The inviting couch, a standard feature in university offices, seemed strangely pristine and untouched.
"Do you have anything for me to look at? Anything specific?" Jonathan inquired, shifting his papers to make room for her.
Nodding, Y/n retrieved her textbook and a few of her own papers. As she handed them over, Professor Crane asked, "What part did you not understand?" The question, though genuine, had a way of making her feel a bit foolish, and a sudden warmth crept into her face.
"Well...I had trouble with the start of it so...I didn’t understand...any of it," Y/n admitted, a tinge of embarrassment coloring her words.
Avoiding eye contact with her professor, Y/n couldn't help but feel small in his presence. She felt like a complete idiot.
"Well..." Crane sighed, surprising Y/n with a comment that sounded unexpectedly friendly. "Looks like we got a lot of work ahead of us."
Despite the friendly remark, Y/n remained on edge. Professor Crane pulled the book closer, running his pen tip over the first couple of sentences. Reading them aloud, he delved into more depth, echoing the teaching style she was familiar with from his lectures.
Y/n clung to his words, processing and understanding the material more with each passing moment. Her notebook lay open beside her, writing brief notes that she intended to expand upon during her own time. To her surprise, Professor Crane exhibited an unexpected gentleness and patience, allowing her the space to ask questions and guiding her through the material at a measured pace.
In this one-on-one session, Y/n found herself gaining more information that surpassed what she could have achieved on her own. The personalized attention and the chance to delve deeper into the subject with Professor Crane were proving invaluable to her comprehension of the challenging concepts.
"Has that helped?" Professor Crane inquired, reclining in his chair.
"Yes, thank you. This makes so much sense now," Y/n replied, unable to contain her smile.
"Glad I could help," Professor Crane acknowledged. "Thanks for coming in; don't hesitate so much next time," he added.
Y/n couldn't help but be pleasantly surprised by Professor Crane's kindness throughout the entire session. The encounter left her with a newfound appreciation for his approachability and willingness to assist.
Y/n finally looked up at him properly, meeting his gaze for the first time in that half-hour. She was taken aback, realizing the striking blue hue of his eyes, a detail she had never noticed before as she avoided looking at him in lectures, hoping he wouldn’t call on her.
Quickly averting her gaze, she began packing away all her materials. "Thank you again, sir," Y/n expressed, her smile lingering.
"Feel free to come back after today's lesson too if you're having trouble," he suggested, offering her a slight smile in return.
The unexpected kindness from Professor Crane left Y/n pleasantly surprised. "I will, sir. Thank you," she replied before leaving the office, carrying with her a newfound appreciation for the approachability and support she hadn't anticipated.
With a newfound sense of confidence, Y/n practically skipped her way to the library to finalize her notes. The weight that had initially clung to the prospect of talking to Professor Crane had lifted, and she discovered that he wasn't as intimidating as she had initially thought.
-
As class approached, Y/n felt a wave of optimism about the upcoming lesson, knowing she now had the option to seek more help later. The prospect of understanding the material became less daunting.
When Professor Crane entered the class, the usual hush fell over the room. Unfazed, he seamlessly resumed his routine, initiating the lesson with his familiar writing on the board. The air was charged with anticipation, and Y/n felt a renewed sense of readiness to tackle the subject matter with the newfound support at her disposal.
Not even 10 minutes into the class, Y/n watched as Professor Crane once again questioned a student's intelligence, a sharp contrast to the kindness she had experienced earlier. It caught her off guard — his demeanor seemed to shift dramatically when addressing individuals in front of the class. She wondered if he found enjoyment in embarrassing people publicly or if there was another motive behind his approach. Y/n instinctively shrank back into her seat, hoping not to be the next target.
-
As the lesson concluded, Y/n made a quick move toward the door, only to find herself intercepted by Professor Crane stepping in front of her.
"Understand today's lesson?" he inquired, hands clasped behind his back. His slight smile surprised her, considering the belittlement she had witnessed throughout the class.
"Yeah, I think I got it," Y/n responded quickly.
The Professor nodded. "Alright, just don't be scared to ask for help," he advised before strolling back to his office. Y/n stood there, grappling with the unexpected duality of Professor Crane's demeanor, thankful for the support she had received earlier but still perplexed by the contrasting experiences in the classroom.
-
Regrettably for Y/n, the intricacies of today's lesson eluded her, slipping through the gaps in her understanding during the last 10 minutes of class. Her meticulous note-taking proved insufficient, she clearly didn’t get the last part of the lesson. The idea of seeking help at Professor Crane's office hours lingered, but a sense of unease settled in after the day's earlier interactions.
The peculiar contrast in Professor Crane's treatment of her versus the rest of the class left Y/n feeling unsettled. Was he kinder to those who sought help, or was there a different dynamic at play? It remained uncertain, casting a shadow over the prospect of returning for assistance.
Yet, the urgency of understanding the material prevailed over any reservations. Realizing the potential consequences for future lessons, Y/n knew she would have to get help. Y/n considered asking another classmate again, but preferred the way in which Professor Crane was indepth and had more to offer. She acknowledged the necessity of visiting Professor Crane's office hours the next day, and it didn’t feel as daunting as it did the day before.
-
Approaching Professor Crane's office for the second time, Y/n hesitated for a brief moment before knocking on the door. 
"Come in," Professor Crane's voice called out.
Y/n opened the door, offering a tight-lipped smile as she entered. "Thought you'd come back," Professor Crane remarked, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he leaned back in his chair.
Taking the now familiar seat across from him, Y/n observed as he pushed aside his work to focus on her. Placing her books on the table, she turned to the last page of the chapter, the faint rustle of paper filling the room.
"It was just the end bit that I kinda lost track of," Y/n admitted, her voice portraying a hint of uncertainty.
“This should be a lot quicker than yesterday, then,” the Professor smiled, joking lightly.
Leaning over the book, Professor Crane again took her through the paragraphs slowly, picking them apart one by one, making sure she understood each thing he said.
As she attempted to maintain focus, the alluring scent of Professor Crane's cologne began to weave its way into her senses, creating a subtle distraction. The close proximity, both of them leaning over the desk to study the book, allowed the fragrance to unfold in intricate layers. The cologne, not noticeable the day before or perhaps just more subdued, now revealed itself with greater prominence.
The scent was strong, but not unpleasant. The fragrance enveloping him carried a sophisticated blend of notes that gracefully danced in the air. A distinct combination of musky undertones and woody accents created an aura of timeless masculinity. As he moved, subtle hints of citrus and spice gently emerged, adding a layer of complexity to the scent. 
"Y/n? Did you get that?" Professor Crane's voice pulled her back to reality.
Y/n shook her head, attempting to refocus. "Oh, sorry, could you repeat that last part?" she squinted, her face warming with embarrassment.
Professor Crane patiently reiterated the information, ensuring she grasped it this time. Internally, Y/n chastised herself, questioning how she could be so easily distracted by a man's cologne.
"You want to write that down?" he suggested, studying her expression.
"It might take a while..." Y/n admitted, well aware of her heightened distraction today.
"That's fine; we have all the time in the world," Professor Crane assured, leaning back in his chair.
"But another student might need help," Y/n hesitated, considering the potential impact on others.
"That's not a problem. No one comes to office hours. Just you," Professor Crane revealed, a statement that slightly shocked Y/n. She had assumed his intimidating demeanor might keep some students away, but the revelation that she was the only one who sought assistance caught her off guard. "O-oh," she stammered in response.
Y/n focused on her notebook, diligently transcribing the information provided by Professor Crane. As she carefully jotted down the details he emphasized, she couldn't shake the feeling of being exposed, a vulnerability that crept in unnoticed.
Glancing up, she caught Professor Crane looking directly at her. Despite the file in his hands, his gaze remained fixed on her. The realization left Y/n feeling a bit uneasy, unsure of why she suddenly felt so exposed under his scrutiny. Opting to dismiss the discomfort, she decided to concentrate on her writing, pushing the unease to the back of her mind and assuming it was just a fleeting moment of self-consciousness.
Having finished writing her notes, Y/n placed her pen down and looked back up at her professor. As he set his file aside, he directed his attention to her notebook. "Finished?" he inquired.
Y/n nodded in confirmation.
"Any more questions about yesterday's lesson?" Professor Crane asked.
She shook her head, indicating her understanding.
"Well, I suppose you're free to go then," Professor Crane remarked. Y/n began packing her belongings when, unexpectedly, he continued, "Unless... would you like me to teach you today's lesson?" The offer hung in the air, leaving Y/n momentarily surprised by the unexpected opportunity for additional guidance.
"But... office hours end in like half an hour," Y/n pointed at the clock, expressing her concern.
"They're my office hours; I can change them however I want," Professor Crane replied, his words softened by the friendly smile adorning his face.
"Are you sure you want to waste your time teaching me? I'll just hear it in a couple of hours anyway," Y/n expressed her uncertainty.
"I'd like to teach you; no one's more eager to learn than you are, my Dear. I insist," Professor Crane insisted, the endearment slipping into his words. Y/n almost missed it, caught off guard by the unexpected warmth in her professor's tone. It was a side of him she hadn't anticipated, and the kindness he displayed left her pleasantly surprised.
Y/n sighed with a mix of relief and gratitude. "You're too kind, sir. Thank you," she expressed, recognizing this as a valuable opportunity to get ahead in the class.
"Don't need to thank me, Dear," Professor Crane replied, a slight smile playing on his lips as he again tested the newfound name.
As she retrieved her books, Professor Crane opened them to the latest chapter. Patiently, he guided her through each part, allowing her the time she needed to take thorough notes. Engrossed in the material, Y/n's awareness was focused on the subject at hand, and she failed to notice Professor Crane's not so subtle staring for the second time.
Unbeknownst to her, he watched as her hair gracefully sat behind her ear and took note of the delicate way her fingers held the pen. The Professor's attentive gaze added an unexpected layer to the lesson, one that went beyond the academic content and into the realm of unspoken dynamics between student and teacher.
Y/n looked back up at Professor Crane, anticipation in her gaze as she awaited the next part of the lesson. As the professor spoke, Y/n found herself gazing up at him, absorbing only fragments of his words. Amid the intricate details of the lesson, her thoughts drifted to a deep appreciation for the professor and the invaluable assistance he was providing.
Glad she had returned to his office hours, Y/n reflected on the decision to have him teach her this lesson. The material was notably more information-heavy than previous lessons, and she couldn't help but feel a profound sense of gratitude. Without this one-on-one guidance, the complexity of the subject matter would have left her utterly lost in the classroom setting.
Professor Crane skillfully condensed what could have been a two-hour lesson into just over an hour. The efficiency of the session left Y/n feeling remarkably more confident in her understanding of Psychology.
"Thank you so much, Professor," Y/n expressed her gratitude with a genuine smile.
"Don't have to keep thanking me, Dear. Just doing my job," Professor Crane replied, returning her smile with a warmth that surpassed the formalities of a typical teacher-student interaction.
Checking the clock, Y/n realized class would commence in 20 minutes. "I should head off to give you time to prepare," she suggested, preparing to rise from her seat.
Professor Crane, however, suggested otherwise. "You might as well just wait here. You won't get in the way."
Unsure, Y/n hesitated before asking, "You sure you don't want a break before teaching? You're probably tired of me."
"Not at all... I could use the company," he reassured, his smile indicating a genuine desire for her presence rather than any sense of obligation.
Y/n couldn't help but smile. "Feeling lonely?" she teased, a newfound comfort allowing her to engage in a more playful manner.
"You could say that," Professor Crane replied, meeting her teasing with a genuine smile.
Reclaiming her seat and settling in, Y/n sought to initiate a conversation. "So... not many students come to your office hours?" she inquired, curious about the dynamics of student-teacher interactions.
"None... you're the first to come," Professor Crane admitted.
"Oh..." Y/n's realization set in. When he mentioned earlier that no one attended, she assumed it might be an exaggeration. Now, it became evident that she was indeed the sole student seeking assistance during his office hours. 
Y/n had an realization; perhaps the reason Professor Crane treated her so nicely was that she was the only student attending his office hours. It occurred to her that he might genuinely appreciate her active approach to seeking help, recognizing her passion for the subject.
"I guess the other students are just too intimidated, or don't care," Professor Crane mused, his words carrying a subtle tone that hinted at his sentiments towards the rest of the students.
She sensed a certain disappointment in his words, an unspoken judgment on the other students who, for various reasons, didn't take advantage of the opportunity to seek additional guidance. The realization left Y/n feeling a mix of gratitude for the personalized attention she received and a touch of sympathy for the potential missed opportunities by her peers.
"Gee, you think very little of them, don't you?" Y/n quipped, her tone half-joking. It was her subtle way of delving into why Professor Crane sometimes treated the class so harshly.
She recognized that she might be overstepping, but a genuine curiosity about the man behind the professor prompted her to seek more insight.
"The class is full of imbeciles. They don't know a thing about psychology. The lot of them couldn't tell a psychopath from a sociopath," Crane vented, a hint of frustration in his words.
"Hey, they're not all idiots," Y/n tried to offer a more different perspective.
"You haven't read their papers," Crane rolled his eyes, a touch of exasperation evident in his response. The exchange revealed a layer of dissatisfaction with his students' grasp of the subject, providing Y/n with a glimpse into the source of his occasional sternness in class.
Though Y/n recognized the impossibility of psychoanalyzing her professor, curiosity had taken a firm hold, compelling her to want to understand more about the man behind the lectern. The enigma of Professor Crane's demeanor and his candid assessments of the students intrigued her, prompting a desire to unravel the complexities that lay beneath the surface.
"Well... what about my papers?" Y/n inquired, a mix of anticipation and curiosity evident in her expression. She was eager to hear how Professor Crane would describe her work.
His gaze intensified as he began, "It’s clear through your writing that you’re passionate about psychology. You beautifully discuss topics in a way that engages readers and sparks interest. Your ability to convey complex concepts with clarity and enthusiasm is truly commendable. It's evident that you not only possess a deep understanding of the subject matter but also a genuine passion for sharing that knowledge."
His words hung in the air, the intensity of his gaze holding a weight that went beyond mere academic assessment. Professor Crane's thoughtful analysis revealed not only an appreciation for Y/n's proficiency but also a recognition of the passion that fueled her exploration of psychology. It was a validation that made her feel proud of herself, creating a moment of mutual understanding and acknowledgment.
Y/n was taken aback, her eyes darting all around the room as her face warmed with disbelief. Praise of such magnitude was unfamiliar territory for her, and coming from Professor Crane, renowned for his exacting standards, it added an extra layer to her astonishment. "Gosh, my work couldn't have been that good, sir. You're too kind."
"You know I'm not kind just for the sake of it. I don't praise just any student's work, dear," Professor Crane responded, his expression serious, the weight of his words emphasizing the sincerity behind his commendation. The gravity of the moment lingered, leaving Y/n grappling with a mix of surprise and gratitude for the unexpected recognition of her efforts.
Y/n acknowledged that Professor Crane wasn't the type to dispense niceties without genuine merit, intensifying the authenticity of the moment. "I... I just don't know what to say," she confessed, her words laced with a mix of humility and gratitude.
"You don't have to say anything; just know that you're a brilliant student, and I'm glad to have you in my class," Professor Crane asserted, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, hands clasped together.
"Thank you," Y/n replied with a genuine smile, the warmth of the professor's acknowledgment lingering.
He nodded politely, reciprocating the smile. "So, what would you be doing right now if you weren't here with me?" he asked, a subtle inquiry into her interests without directly posing the question.
Indulging the curiosity, Y/n shared, "Usually, I'd be back at my dorm studying or maybe out with friends."
"Are these of yours friends taking different courses? It's just that I never see you sitting with anyone in class that much," Professor Crane probed further, expressing unexpected interest in the dynamics of her social circle.
She hadn't anticipated his curiosity about her friends. "Yeah, most of them are taking things like English Literature, History, Biochem," Y/n answered, providing a glimpse into the diverse corses her friend were taking.
"I see... and are all of them…just friends?" Professor Crane asked, his gaze intense, as if searching for something beyond the words.
Y/n furrowed her eyebrows, a touch of confusion coloring her expression. "I'm not sure I understand the question," she admitted.
"Are you seeing anyone?" he asked, taking the conversation into unexpected territory. It caught her off guard. Why was he interested? What prompted such a personal question? Despite her surprise, Y/n chose to keep the conversation flowing, steering clear of awkwardness. "No, I'm not," she answered. Professor Crane nodded, his focus unwavering.
Feeling a degree of boldness, Y/n decided to reciprocate, nervously asking, "How about you? Any wife or anything?" There was a hesitancy in her voice, a fear of overstepping.
"Nope... just me," Professor Crane replied, his tone casual yet offering little insight into his personal life.
Wanting to explore a topic outside the realm of teaching and relationships, Y/n sought a new avenue of conversation. "So you're also a Doctor at Arkham. What's that like?" she inquired.
Professor Crane sighed, a subtle chuckle escaping him. "Every day's a new challenge. I do enjoy my work there, but the patients can be a handful sometimes," he shared, offering a glimpse into the complexities of his dual roles as a professor and a practitioner at Arkham.
"From all the news, it sure sounds like a lot," Y/n remarked, sharing a laugh at the intriguing tales surrounding Arkham Asylum.
"You could come see it for yourself if you'd like. I can take you," Professor Crane offered, extending an unexpected invitation that caught Y/n off guard.
"W-wow, really?" Y/n's eyes widened with excitement. The prospect of exploring the infamous Arkham Asylum, even with it’s poor repetuation, was a dream come true.
"Of course, it would be a good learning experience," Professor Crane affirmed, his smirk hinting at a certain familiarity with the inner workings of the institution.
"Are you sure it's allowed?" Y/n inquired cautiously.
"I'm pretty high up in that place, so I can pull a couple of strings," he responded with a confident smirk, revealing a hint of his influence.
After a quick glace at the clock, Professor Crane rose from his seat. "People should be coming in right about now."
Looking at the time herself, Y/n gathered her belongings and prepared to leave. "We can talk more later about showing you Arkham if you'd like," Professor Crane suggested, holding the door open.
"That sounds perfect. Thank you, Professor," Y/n expressed her gratitude, making her way to the door.
"Talk to you after class, then," he said, smiling at her before returning to his desk.
Walking out of his office, Y/n couldn't fathom the extraordinary opportunity that had just presented itself, and the thought that such an experience might await her left her both thrilled and intrigued.
-
The class came to a close, and Y/n eagerly approached Professor Crane, who had already neatly packed his things, a shared smile bridging the distance between them. 
"Let's talk about Arkham, then," Professor Crane suggested, leading the way to his office, Y/n following in tow.
"Do you have any lectures tomorrow?" Professor Crane inquired, his voice carrying an air of anticipation.
"Not tomorrow, no," Y/n responded.
"Then that sounds like the perfect time for me to take you," Professor Crane declared, a warm smile playing on his lips.
The reality of the situation began to sink in for Y/n. It was happening — the chance to explore the mysterious Arkham Asylum with Professor Crane as her guide. The thrill of the unexpected adventure filled her with a sense of wonder and disbelief.
"Oh my god, thank you so much, sir. This means so much to me," Y/n exclaimed, genuine gratitude painting her expression.
"You deserve it," Professor Crane replied, his assurance carrying a sense of sincerity.
"So umm... how will we go about this?" Y/n asked, eager to plan the logistics of the upcoming adventure.
"I'm assuming you stay at the university dorms?" Professor Crane inquired.
"I am, yes," Y/n confirmed.
"I suppose it would be easiest for me to pick you up from there. I can come get you at 8, if that works for you," Professor Crane suggested, offering a practical solution.
"Of course," Y/n agreed, the excitement bubbling within her, the prospect of exploring Arkham Asylum with Professor Crane creating a sense of giddiness that was hard to contain.
"Perfect," Professor Crane remarked. "Now, I should let you get back to your dorm and get a good rest; tomorrow's gonna be a big day for you," he added with a confident smirk.
Y/n chuckled in agreement. "I could imagine. Thank you, sir. Goodbye."
Professor Crane nodded politely as she exited his office. Y/n practically floated back to her dorm, the anticipation building within her. Following his advice, she decided to rest for the remainder of the day. The excitement of visiting Arkham Asylum, coupled with the mysterious allure of the institution, fueled her imagination.
As night fell, sleep proved elusive for Y/n. Her mind buzzed with anticipation and curiosity about the impending visit. What would she discover within the walls of Arkham? The prospect of the unknown, guided by Professor Crane, fueled her restless excitement, and she could barely contain her anticipation for the extraordinary day that awaited her.
-
The rhythmic buzz of Y/n's alarm clock greeted the new morning, a herald of the exciting day that awaited her. Brimming with anticipation, she practically bounced out of bed, fueled by a burst of energy that could only be described as a cocktail of nervousness and exhilaration. The bathroom became a sanctuary for a swift but thorough morning routine, cleansing her senses and preparing her for the significant day ahead.
As she perused her wardrobe, each garment held the weight of consideration. Y/n recognized the importance of making a favorable impression, especially considering the potential encounters with the discerning doctors at Arkham Asylum. She chose an outfit that balanced professionalism with a touch of her own style, a subtle nod to the gravity of the impending visit.
A glance at the clock revealed that she was ahead of schedule. It was 7:48, and uncertainty lingered about Professor Crane's punctuality. She realised she had no way of telling when he would arrive. Determined not to keep him waiting, Y/n decided to head outside, leaving the dormitory corridors.
The university grounds welcomed her with a subdued ambiance, the early morning calm only disturbed by the distant hum of city life. Y/n found a spot on a sturdy bench at the front of the dorms. The atmosphere was draped in the typical Gotham gloom – a ceiling of gray clouds stretched endlessly above, holding the promise of impending rain. Yet, for now, the air bore only a biting chill, a forewarning of the unpredictable Gotham weather.
Seated on the bench, Y/n couldn't escape the palpable excitement that rippled through her. The visible breaths she exhaled added a tangible layer to the anticipation, creating wisps of mist in the frigid air. The quietude of the campus seemed to magnify the significance of the moment as she patiently awaited the arrival of Professor Crane, the orchestrator of this extraordinary excursion into the unknown.
Lost in her thoughts, Y/n was blissfully unaware of someone approaching until a familiar voice cut through her reverie. "Good morning, Y/n," Professor Crane greeted her, his presence catching her by surprise.
Looking up from the ground, Y/n beamed a warm smile at him. "Good morning, Professor," she responded instinctively, the habit of addressing him formally ingrained in her.
"We're outside of class, my Dear, you don't have to call me Professor. Just Jonathan is fine," he suggested, a rare invitation to familiarity that caught her off guard. Testing the waters, she hesitated for a moment before tentatively trying out his first name. "Okay, Jonathan."
His smile in response conveyed a subtle warmth, as if sharing this piece of himself with her was a gesture of trust. "My car's just around the corner," he mentioned, and she rose from the bench to follow him.
As they made their way to the car, Y/n couldn't shake the peculiar nature of the situation. Getting into her professor's car in full view of her dorms was certainly out of the ordinary, but the sense of trust she felt for Jonathan quelled any reservations. The gentlemanly gesture of him opening the car door for her only added to the surreal atmosphere.
"Thank you," she expressed her gratitude with a smile as she settled into the car. Jonathan circled the vehicle and took his place in the driver's seat, the engine humming to life. As he secured his seatbelt, he shifted the conversation to a more mundane topic. "Have any breakfast before leaving?" he inquired, glancing over at her.
The realization struck her – breakfast had slipped her mind in the whirlwind of excitement. "Uh, no, I didn't," she admitted, a slight sheepishness in her tone.
“Well we can’t be having that,” Jonathan said, looking at her with his piercing blue eyes behind his glasses. 
“Oh, it’s fine really,” Y/n tried to reassure him. 
"You're in for a long day; you need food," Jonathan remarked, his concern for her well-being evident in his words. "Besides, I haven't eaten yet myself. I know a lovely cafe on the way; don't worry about it."
Grateful for his thoughtfulness, Y/n smiled and responded, "Thank you."
"Not a problem, my Dear," he assured her, his use of the endearment somehow making the situation feel even more surreal. With that, he skillfully maneuvered the car into the flow of traffic.
To her surprise, the chaotic Gotham roads seemed unusually cooperative, allowing their journey to unfold with an unexpected smoothness. The city, notorious for its perpetual hustle and bustle, offered a brief respite as they cruised toward their destination. In the serene confines of the car, Y/n couldn't help but marvel at the contrasting calmness outside. 
Jonathan expertly maneuvered the car into a parking space just outside a charming diner nestled on the outskirts of the Narrows. Exiting the car, the duo made their way into the cozy establishment.
"Seat yourselves, I'll be right with you," greeted a friendly waitress.
Jonathan gestured towards an inviting booth, Y/n slid into the seat, the comfortable booth promising a relaxing start to the day's adventures.
As they settled in, Jonathan reached for a couple of menus discreetly tucked beneath the cutlery. He handed one to Y/n with a casual smile. "Choose anything you'd like—drink and food. I'll pay," he generously offered, his gaze shifting to his own menu.
"Oh, I can't have you pay for me. You're already doing so much for me," Y/n insisted, a hint of guilt tainting her expression.
Jonathan chuckled warmly, his eyes reflecting a genuine understanding. "You're a university student staying at the dorms; money is not something you should be throwing around. I, however, am well off with my jobs. Don't worry."
Despite his reassurance, Y/n couldn't shake off the feeling of indebtedness. "I just feel bad that you're doing all this for me," she confessed, her sincerity evident in her eyes.
"If you want to so badly, you can pay next time," Jonathan suggested, a playful smirk playing on his lips.
"I'll hold you to that," Y/n responded with a smile, the lighthearted banter momentarily easing the weight of gratitude she felt. The easy camaraderie between them made the ordinary act of sharing a meal feel like an extraordinary moment. 
She appreciated the effortless flow of their conversation, finding an unexpected camaraderie with Jonathan. The notion of befriending a professor initially seemed peculiar, but with each passing moment, it felt surprisingly natural. Their discussions swayed seamlessly between topics, and Y/n discovered a side of Jonathan beyond the classroom, making her appreciate him not just as an educator but as a genuinely pleasant individual.
As the morning sunlight streamed through the diner's windows, casting a warm glow on their table, Y/n couldn't help but marvel at the ease with which they interacted. The atmosphere was friendly and unburdened by the typical student-teacher dynamic. In that little diner booth, they were just two adults enjoying each other's company, forging a connection that went beyond the confines of academia.
The array of options on the menu presented Y/n with a delightful dilemma. The diner's atmosphere was lively yet intimate, with the aroma of brewing coffee and sizzling breakfast filling the air. 
The waitress gracefully returned to their table, pen poised over her notepad. "What can I get for you two?" she inquired with a welcoming smile.
Jonathan was quick to respond, "I'll have a coffee and a breakfast bagel." His eyes then shifted to Y/n.
Feeling more on the sweet side, Y/n replied, "A berry smoothie and a brownie, please."
The waitress, attentive to details, followed up, "Would you like cream or yogurt with the brownie?"
"Yogurt, please," Y/n said.
The waitress jotted down their orders. "Is there anything else?" she asked, awaiting their final decisions.
"That'll be all," Jonathan confirmed, and Y/n nodded in agreement. With that, the waitress gracefully glided away, leaving them to resume their conversation in the cozy diner booth.
Jonathan chuckled at Y/n's choice, "A brownie at 8 in the morning?" he teased playfully.
"I know, it's a bit sweet," Y/n admitted, laughing along with him. "But treats like this are rare for me."
"Everyone deserves a morning indulgence now and then," Jonathan responded with a smile.
Their conversation continued to flow effortlessly, exchanging bits of information about their lives, particularly revolving around university.
Around 10 minutes later, the waitress returned with their orders. "Here you go," she said, placing the plates in front of them.
"Thank you," Y/n expressed her gratitude, eagerly eyeing the delicious spread in front of her.
As the waitress left, Y/n took a moment to appreciate the aroma of the coffee and the vibrant colors of her berry smoothie. Jonathan sipped his coffee and leaned back, a relaxed smile on his face. The atmosphere was comfortable, the diner buzzing with the low hum of conversations and the clinking of cutlery.
Jonathan leaned forward, taking ahold of his bagel, a faint smile on his face. "I hope you don't mind the detour for breakfast. It's good to start a day like this every once in a while."
Y/n chuckled, feeling the ease of their interaction. "Not at all. It's a pleasant surprise, actually. I didn't expect today to begin like this."
Jonathan nodded. "Well, sometimes it's the unexpected moments that make the day memorable."
Jonathan took a sip of his coffee before speaking, "So, tell me more about your interest in psychology. What drew you to the field?"
Y/n took a moment to savor her smoothie before answering, "I've always been fascinated by the human mind and how it works. It's like this intricate puzzle, and psychology helps me unravel its complexities. Plus, the idea of helping people through understanding their thoughts and behaviors would also be pretty cool."
Jonathan nodded, "It's a noble pursuit. Psychology has the power to make a significant impact on individuals' lives. Do you have any specific areas within psychology that you find most intriguing?"
“I won’t lie, Arkham has always been an interest of mine. Not necessarily the famous rogues that are constantly escaping, but the more troubled souls that had a rough start,” Y/n shared.
“Not so interested in the Joker then?” Jonathan teased.
“God no,” Y/n responded.
Jonathan chuckled, "Can't blame you there. The Joker is a whole different level of chaos."
Y/n took a sip of her berry smoothie, enjoying the refreshing taste. "But seriously, the idea of helping those who are struggling mentally, especially the ones society tends to overlook, that's where I want to make a difference."
Jonathan nodded, sipping his coffee. "Mental health is often stigmatized, and people don't realize the impact it has on individuals and society as a whole. Your dedication to understanding and helping is commendable."
The conversation continued, effortlessly weaving between casual banter and more serious topics. The comfortable atmosphere of the diner, coupled with Jonathan's easygoing nature, made Y/n feel at ease discussing her aspirations.
-
As they drove toward Arkham, Jonathan and Y/n continued their conversation, Jonathan sharing about the intricate workings of the human mind. The cityscape changed as they delved deeper into the Narrows, with its dodgy alleyways and poorly lit streets, which even in the dark made it difficult to see, creating an atmosphere of unease. The air felt heavy, carrying the weight of the stories locked within the walls of Arkham Asylum.
Jonathan glanced at Y/n. "It's a unique place, Arkham," he remarked, his eyes focused on the road ahead.
Y/n couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and trepidation. The legendary reputation of Arkham Asylum had always fueled her curiosity, and now, with the prospect of exploring its mysteries, she couldn't contain her anticipation.
Securing a parking spot proved effortless in the vast, desolate parking lot. Stepping out of the car, Y/n gazed up at the imposing structure – a stone fortress that housed some of Gotham's most notorious criminals. Jonathan, an experienced guide in this ominous environment, approached her and led the way inside.
With a swift display of his ID, Jonathan gained entry, Y/n following suit without a single question. He grabbed a visitor badge for her before securing it around her neck.
The echoing clang of the heavy metal door closing behind them filled the entrance hall. The dimly lit corridor stretched ahead, lined with security personnel stationed at various checkpoints. The cold, sterile air of the facility sent shivers down Y/n's spine as she adjusted the visitor badge Jonathan handed her.
The corridor seemed to wind endlessly, each turn revealing another layer of security. Jonathan led her through the labyrinthine structure, his familiarity with the layout evident. The occasional distant echoes of unsettling sounds from within the facility heightened the tension in the air.
As they passed by the barred cells, Y/n couldn't help but steal glances into the shadows, catching glimpses of faces that seemed to hold a myriad of stories. The residents of Arkham Asylum, each with their own struggles and torments, observed the visitors with a mix of curiosity and detachment.
Jonathan explained the varying levels of security, detailing the procedures in place to ensure the safety of both staff and visitors. Y/n absorbed the information with a mix of fascination and a growing sense of apprehension. The weight of being surrounded by some of Gotham's most troubled souls pressed down on her.
They eventually reached a central area, a hub of activity where staff members bustled about their duties. Y/n observed the dynamics, the interplay between doctors, guards, and the patients who moved within the confines of their respective spaces. The atmosphere was a blend of tension and routine.
Approaching a door, Jonathan turned the doorknob, revealing the door marked with his name – Dr. Crane. The office, his domain, welcomed them, and Jonathan efficiently navigated around his desk to retrieve a couple of files.
Jonathan gathered the necessary files and responded, "Just a regular in-patient for the first session, but the second might be less conventional."
"Will they be okay with me being present?" Y/n asked.
"Well, if you're concerned, you can always ask them. Consent is important," Jonathan replied.
"Thank you," Y/n expressed her gratitude.
Jonathan guided them through the dimly lit halls of Arkham, arriving at the room where the first session would take place. They waited at the door, observing the tense atmosphere. Soon, a guard led a patient down the corridor, and from Jonathan's focused gaze, Y/n assumed this was the individual they were there to see.
"Mr. Wilson, you seem to be in good spirits today," Jonathan remarked, his tone carrying a sense of monotony.
“Mhmm,” Mr. Wilson responded, his eyes wandering around the hallway.
“I have a student from Gotham University joining us today. She's here to observe the session. Would that be acceptable to you?” Jonathan inquired.
Mr. Wilson finally looked up, his gaze meeting Y/n's. It appeared as though he hadn't encountered a woman in years. After a moment's contemplation, he nodded slowly.
“Great,” Jonathan said, holding the door open for everyone to enter the room.
The room was clinical, with pale walls and minimal furniture. Jonathan guided Y/n to a seat near the back, gesturing for her to take a comfortable position. Mr. Wilson settled into a chair across from Jonathan's desk.
As the session began, Jonathan engaged Mr. Wilson in conversation, discussing various topics. Y/n observed the interaction closely, trying to discern the nuances of the therapy process. She noted the controlled detachment in Jonathan's demeanor, a stark contrast to the patient's erratic and paranoid behavior.
Throughout the session, Y/n was captivated by the exchanges between therapist and patient. Mr. Wilson's responses were often fragmented and disjointed, revealing the complexity of his mental state. Jonathan navigated the conversation with finesse, probing gently into sensitive areas while maintaining an air of professionalism.
As the session concluded, Jonathan thanked Mr. Wilson for his time, and the patient was escorted back to his room by a guard. Jonathan turned his attention to Y/n, who had been silently observing.
“What did you think?” he asked, his expression betraying a genuine interest in her perspective.
“You're a really good doctor,” Y/n chuckled softly.
"I appreciate that," Jonathan replied modestly. "It's crucial to establish trust and understanding with the patients here. Each case requires a unique approach."
Y/n nodded in agreement, absorbing the gravity of the therapy session she had witnessed. Jonathan guided her out of the room, and they continued to explore different areas of Arkham, with Jonathan sharing insights into his work and the challenges he faced.
As they walked through the eerie corridors, Y/n couldn't help but feel a mixture of fascination and trepidation. Arkham held a dark allure, and she marveled at the intricate dance between the staff and the troubled individuals confined within its walls.
"So, your next patient?" Y/n inquired curiously.
"I'm sure you've heard of Edward Nigma, otherwise known as the Riddler—a real piece of work, that one," Jonathan remarked.
Y/n felt her heart skip a beat. The Riddler, notorious for creating horrifying traps and puzzels for his victims.
"I'm assuming you're going to sit out on that one?" Jonathan asked.
"Yes, please," Y/n replied.
Jonathan chuckled, understanding her hesitation. "Not a fan of riddles, I take it?"
Y/n smiled nervously. "Let's just say I prefer my challenges to be in textbooks, not in the form of elaborate mind games that may or may not get me killed."
"Well, you're not alone in that sentiment," Jonathan assured her. "Nigma is... unique, to say the least. We'll proceed cautiously, and you can observe from the safety of the mirrored room."
They continued down the hall, passing by cells where other inmates were confined. Each face carried its own story, and the air was thick with an unsettling atmosphere.
As they approached the next room, a heavy door with a small window, Jonathan peered inside. "Edward, good afternoon."
The Riddler, a man with sharp features and an air of arrogance, looked up from his seated position. "Crane, always punctual. Who's this?" He nodded toward Y/n.
"Edward, meet Y/n, a psychology student from Gotham University. She's here to observe our sessions," Jonathan explained.
The Riddler's eyes narrowed as he examined Y/n. "Ah, another curious mind seeking the secrets of the human psyche. Fascinating."
As they entered, Nigma looked up, his eyes locking onto Y/n through the window. A sly smile crossed his face. "Are you here to solve my riddles?"
"She'll just be observing," Jonathan explained, gesturing towards the second room—the observation room.
Y/n's discomfort grew at the Riddlers staring, but she managed a polite nod. Jonathan guided her to the observation room, assuring her of the safety measures in place before going in to talk with Nigma. 
From behind the one-way mirror, Y/n observed the intricate dance of intellect between Jonathan and the enigmatic Riddler, realizing that the challenges in the academic world seemed trivial compared to the complexities of Arkham Asylum.
The atmosphere grew more uncomfortable, and Y/n felt a chill run down her spine. She could tell Jonathan was reaching his limit with Edward's antics, his patience visibly waning.
"Riddle me this... how much does the Doll behind the window know?" Edward provocatively inquired, locking eyes with her.
Edward, ever the provocateur, threw a cryptic remark Jonathan’s way, using the unsettling nickname "Doll." She couldn’t understand how he knew where she was behind the window, considering it was a mirror from his side, but he was looking right at her.
Jonathan's reaction was subtle but telling. A momentary pause in his movements, a flash of irritation across his face, and then he composed himself. "My, my, getting lousy with the riddles, are we?" he retorted, his tone laced with thinly veiled frustration.
Edward, undeterred, pressed on, "Then let me ask a question..Why did you really bring her here?...Does she know about Scarecrow?" His tone held a hint of malevolence, making Y/n acutely aware of the dangers potentially surrounding her.
Jonathan decided that enough was enough. "That's it for today, I believe," he declared, swiftly closing his file and rising from his seat.
Edward, seemingly amused by the exchange, reclined in his chair, his laughter lingering as the guard escorted him out of the room. Jonathan approached Y/n, his expression a mix of exhaustion and determination.
-
Even after that chilling session, Y/n found herself increasingly drawn to the complexities of mental health and the delicate art of psychiatric treatment. As the last session concluded, Jonathan silently walked her back to his office, both seemingly lost in their own thoughts.
Packing away his last thing, Jonathan moved over to Y/n, “Come on…” Jonathan's voice broke the quiet, quietly guiding her out of Arkham, his hand resting on the small of her back.
Reaching his car, Jonathan moved to her side first, holding the door open for her.
"I hope this was an insightful experience for you," he remarked, opening the door for her.
"Absolutely," Y/n replied. "Thank you for the opportunity, Jonathan." She hopped into the car, and Jonathan closed the door behind her before taking his place in the driver's seat.
The day at Arkham had left a lasting impression on Y/n, sparking a newfound interest in the intricacies of the human mind and the challenges faced by those dedicated to healing it.
The occasional streetlight cast shadows across his face as she looked at him from her side. However, her mind couldn't shake the lingering questions from the Riddler's cryptic words at the end of the session. Did Jonathan have another motive for bringing her to Arkham? And what was he referring to with Scarecrow? What was Scarecrow, and what role did Jonathan play in it? The mysteries lingered, casting a shadow on the experience that, despite its profound impact, left Y/n with a sense of curiosity and unanswered questions.
She hadn’t even noticed Jonathan pulling up in front of the University dorms. It took a moment for her to realize that they had arrived, and Jonathan's gesture of opening the car door for her snapped her out of her daydream.
Jonathan opened her door and extended his hand to help her. "Thank you," she expressed meekly as she accepted his assistance.
“Don’t mention it...” Jonathan replied, a subtle smile on his lips.
“...You’ve been so kind to me, Jonathan. I really appreciate it. I honestly couldn't thank you enough,” Y/n conveyed, looking up at him.
“I’m just giving you what you deserve,” Jonathan responded, a warm smile still playing on his lips.
Jonathan walked her to the stairs and as Y/n stood by the entrance of the dorms, she hesitated for a moment, unsure if it was appropriate to ask what had been lingering in her mind.
"Jonathan," she began, "about what the Riddler mentioned... Scarecrow, and your motive for bringing me to Arkham. Is there something more I should know?"
Jonathan's expression shifted ever so slightly, and for a moment, it seemed like he was carefully choosing his words. He leaned against the car, a thoughtful gaze in his eyes.
"The Riddler likes to play games with words," Jonathan began, "and sometimes, the less you know, the safer you are. It's part of Arkham's peculiar charm."
Y/n nodded, understanding that some things might be better left untouched. "Okay..Thank you, Jonathan."
He nodded in return, a sense of mystery lingering in the air. "See you Monday."
With a final nod and a friendly smile, Y/n made her way into the dorms, the encounter at Arkham echoing in her mind.
-
Monday came around, and Y/n hadn’t stopped thinking about her indirect encounter with the Riddler. The weekend had been filled with a mixture of fascination and apprehension. She went about her usual classes, but the questions surrounding Jonathan's involvement with the Riddler and the cryptic mention of Scarecrow lingered in her mind.
As she entered Professor Crane's psychology class, she couldn't help but wonder if he would address anything related to their visit to Arkham. The room filled with students chatting, the usual buzz before the lecture, but Y/n found herself scanning the room for any signs from Professor Crane.
The door to the classroom swung open, and in walked Professor Crane, looking as composed as ever. He started the class without acknowledging Y/n at all, diving into the lecture material as if it were any other day. Y/n's curiosity grew, but she decided against pressing further, at least during class hours.
After the lecture, as students filed out of the room, Y/n lingered, waiting for the opportune moment to approach Professor Crane. Once the room emptied, she approached his desk.
"Professor Crane," she began, "I've been thinking about our visit to Arkham. I know I shouldn’t, but I haven’t stop thinking about what the Riddler was talking about?"
Professor Crane looked at her, his gaze unreadable for a moment. Then, he sighed, realizing her curiosity wasn't easily deterred.
"Y/n," he started, "Arkham is filled with various personalities, each with their own stories. The Riddler is among many. Some tales are better left in the shadows. Focus on your studies and leave the mysteries of Arkham where they belong."
It was a cryptic response that left Y/n with more questions than answers. She felt unsettled in the way Jonathan was dismissing it so easily. 
Jonathan sighed, observing her detachment. "Just forget about it, Nigma is in Arkham for a reason. Don’t take what he says seriously... He’s just trying to mess with your head," Jonathan said.
Y/n nodded. "Okay... sorry about that. I won’t ask again."
"No need to apologize," Jonathan replied, his eyes showing a hint of understanding.
“I’ll be off now,” Y/n said, sensing a slight awkwardness in the air.
“You don’t want to stay?” Jonathan asked, his expression softening.
“Uh... would you like me to?” Y/n inquired, feeling a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty.
“Only if you wish to,” Jonathan said, leaving the decision up to her. The room held a lingering tension, a silent invitation for more conversation or perhaps a shared moment of quiet reflection.
Y/n hesitated for a moment, considering the unspoken offer. Eventually, she decided to stay.
"I don't mind staying for a bit," she said, offering a tentative smile.
Jonathan gestured toward one of the chairs in his office. "Please, have a seat."
As they settled into a conversation about various topics, the atmosphere became more relaxed. Y/n found herself opening up to Jonathan about her experiences and interests, and he reciprocated by sharing anecdotes from his work at Arkham. The initial professional boundaries started to blur, and a genuine connection began to form between them. It was an unexpected and refreshing turn of events for Y/n, adding a new layer to her academic journey.
-
In the following weeks, Y/n continued to attend Jonathan's office hours, not just for academic assistance but also for the engaging conversations they shared. Their discussions spanned beyond the realm of psychology, delving into personal stories, interests, and even occasional light banter.
As the semester progressed, Y/n found herself becoming more captivated by both the subject matter and her professor's unique approach to teaching. Jonathan's guidance extended beyond the classroom, as he recommended additional readings and shared insights that went beyond the standard curriculum.
-
The day that followed unfolded in a way Y/n hadn't anticipated. Making her way into Jonathan’s office for their customary daily discussions, she greeted him with a warm "Hiya," bearing a takeaway tray adorned with a coffee and a smoothie – their usual indulgences.
"Evening, Dear," Jonathan reciprocated, his smile adding a touch of warmth to the comfortable atmosphere of his office.
Choosing the inviting couch over the formality of the desk, Y/n settled in, and Jonathan joined her after finishing up his paperwork. The shift in seating only enhanced the coziness, turning their daily talks into a more intimate and relaxed exchange. Y/n handed the cup of coffee to Jonathan, a small gesture in their routine. She indulged in the refreshing sips of her smoothie as Jonathan accepted the coffee.
"Thank you, my Dear," he expressed with a grateful smile.
"Anytime," Y/n responded, the casual exchange feeling comforting.
Sipping her smoothie, she rested her head on the back of the couch, facing Jonathan. 
"..I know I said I wouldn't ask again, but.. I just can't shake off what the Riddler was saying..back at Arkham" Y/n said, slowly looking up at Jonathan.
Jonathan huffed, a hint of frustration showing in his expression. "What the Riddler said is not important," he dismissed.
Y/n sat back up, "I know that's not true. I don't understand why you can't just tell—" Y/n was abruptly cut off.
"There's nothing to talk about!" Jonathan suddenly snapped.
The sudden outburst startled Y/n, witnessing a side of Jonathan she wasn’t used to being directed at her. She could feel the tension in the air. Jonathan, realizing his sharp reaction, sighed. Removing his glasses, he rubbed his face with his hand, frustrated.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled at you. I'm just... trying to protect you, okay?" Jonathan explained, his voice softer, revealing an undercurrent of concern.
"..How is this possibly protecting me? The Riddler was taking about me... I need to know," Y/n insisted. She realized she had pushed too far, but this seemed like something serious that Jonathan was intentionally keeping from her.
Jonathan stood up slowly and approached his office door. Y/n heard the distinct sound of the lock clicking, sending fearful shivers through her body.
"What I am about to tell you cannot leave this room," Jonathan stated with a gravity that heightened Y/n's anxiety.
As Jonathan turned around to face her, setting his coffee down, he sighed and began tapping his feet with his hands on his hips—an unusual display of nervousness. Y/n, taken aback, had never seen Jonathan appear so uneasy.
"I will admit, Y/n, the feelings I have for you are not entirely appropriate," Jonathan confessed, avoiding direct eye contact.
Y/n let out a shaky breath. "What?"
"The real reason I brought you to Arkham was to make you feel special... to show off, even," Jonathan revealed.
Y/n's mind raced back to the Riddler's insinuations about Jonathan's potential ulterior motives for bringing her to Arkham. The revelation left her bewildered and unsure of how to respond.
Y/n tried to push aside Jonathan's unsettling confession, focusing on the second thing the Riddler had mentioned. "So what is Scarecrow?" Y/n inquired, curiosity driving her to seek answers.
She could sense Jonathan's breath hitch. "Scarecrow... is an individual with a fascination for fear," Jonathan explained, his gaze fixed on the ground, hands still on his hips. "I'm sure you've been hearing about the recent patients being admitted to Arkham with strange yet similar symptoms of hallucinations."
"So what does this individual have to do with me?" Y/n pressed further.
"Let's just say... his fascination doesn't stop there," Jonathan replied cryptically.
With each passing moment, Y/n's tension heightened. "Jonathan... who is Scarecrow?" she asked nervously.
"I think you already know," Jonathan responded, finally meeting Y/n's gaze with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine.
Y/n found it difficult to catch her breath as her eyes darted around the room. Setting the forgotten smoothie on the ground beside the couch, Y/n stood up.
"I should probably go," Y/n attempted to make a quick exit past Jonathan, only to be halted by his firm grip on her arm.
The touch made her jolt, but his grasp didn't loosen. "I can't let you leave," Jonathan declared.
"P-please, I promise I won't say anything," Y/n pleaded, feeling tears welling up in her eyes.
"How do I know that?" Jonathan questioned.
Her blood ran cold. "I promise you, I'll do anything," Y/n begged.
Jonathan looked at her curiously. "Anything?"
Y/n gazed at him, her stomach jumping. Acting on an impulse she couldn't quite comprehend, she pulled his face down to hers and kissed him. His eyes widened in shock, but the desperation in the air forced him to give in.
Jonathan couldn't resist, kissing her with a passion he had suppressed for months. His hands moved to Y/n's waist, pulling her closer. In that moment, Y/n thought, this was the perfect distraction.
She slowly moved one of her hands behind her, fumbling for the doorknob. Finally getting a firm grasp on it, she slowly turned the knob to open the door. However, luck was not on her side when the lock clicked loudly, the sound echoing in the room. Her heart dropped, and Jonathan's eyes shot open. Just as Y/n was about to hastily open the door, Jonathan pushed her back, causing her to scream as her body slammed against the door, keeping it firmly closed. Harshly grabbing her arms, he held them above her head.
He stared down at her as tears streamed down her face. "Trying to distract me, huh?" Jonathan said, an evil glint in his eye.
Y/n tried to yank her hands out of his grip, but it proved impossible given the strength he had over her.
"Please, Jonathan! You can't do this!" Y/n cried.
Jonathan brought his face closer to hers, she turned her head in fear, closing her eyes tightly. Jonathan dragged his nose up her neck, breathing against her skin. "I'll do what is necessary," he whispered.
In a desperate attempt, she brought her foot up, trying to stomp on his foot, but that only seemed to anger him more. Jonathan aggressively threw her around and shoved her over his desk, holding her down by her hands again. However, this time, he stood between her legs, preventing her from using them.
Y/n whimpered beneath him, but he remained unyielding. "I never wanted this to happen, but you don't leave me much of a choice," Jonathan spoke through gritted teeth.
"I'm sorry, I'll be nice, but you have to let me go," Y/n pleaded.
"That's not going to happen, my Dear," Jonathan said.
Before Y/n could react, Jonathan swiftly brought his sleeve-covered wrist up to her face, a faint hiss preceding the release of a mysterious puff of gas. Y/n's immediate response was a piercing scream as the unexpected spray hit her face, sending shivers down her spine. The gas had an acrid smell, and as she inhaled, an unsettling sensation crept over her. The world around her started to warp and distort, as if reality itself was bending to the whims of her deepest fears.
Y/n's vision blurred, and her surroundings became an eerie dreamscape. The once-familiar office now transformed into a haunting image. Jonathan's figure morphed, his features elongating and contorting, creating a grotesque visage that sent chills down Y/n's spine.
A sense of dread settled over her, intensifying with every passing moment. As the fear gas took hold, Y/n felt a chilling coldness crawl up her spine. Her body became increasingly heavy, and the room seemed to close in on her, suffocating her in a nightmarish reality. The longer she stared at Jonathan, the more the lines between nightmare and reality blurred, until the gas finally overwhelmed her. Y/n's consciousness waned, slipping into the abyss of her deepest anxieties, and the world around her faded to black as she succumbed to unconsciousness.
-
Waking up was excruciating, her head pounding with unbearable intensity. Fear pulsed through her, her heart racing in tandem with the throbbing ache in her temples. As she reluctantly opened her eyes, a disorienting mix of darkness and blinding light assaulted her senses. Surveying her surroundings only deepened her confusion; it appeared as though she had awakened in some kind of forest, a surreal landscape that contradicted Gotham's urban reality. Yet, her vision played tricks on her, rendering it impossible to discern between what was real and what was illusion.
“It’s good to see you’re awake, my Dear,” a voice echoed beside her.
Startled, she turned towards the voice, recognizing it but struggling to reconcile the distorted tones with its origin. The person wore a burlap mask, concealing their identity.
“J-Jonathan,” Y/n stammered, feeling a profound sense of weakness.
“I’m giving you a chance to run,” Jonathan declared.
Confused and disoriented, Y/n attempted to question him, but Jonathan interrupted her.
“I'll give you a 30 seconds headstart. If I can't find you, I’ll leave you alone. But if I catch you…I won’t let you go,” he ominously proclaimed.
“J-Jonathan, I can barely see!” Y/n cried.
“Get up, Y/n,” Jonathan commanded.
“Jonath-”
“Get. Up.”
His authoritative tone sent shivers down Y/n's spine. Trembling, she maneuvered to kneel on her knees, only to be met with a searing pain radiating from her ankles. A guttural scream escaped her lips as she gazed down, her vision still distorted. Through the haze, she discerned the ghastly reality – two bells, meticulously sewn into her flesh on either side of her ankles. The skin threaded through them, attempting to heal around the foreign objects. The grotesque sight made her stomach churn, and she screamed in sheer horror.
“What did you do to me! My fucking feet! You fucking bitch!” Y/n cried, her voice filled with rage and terror as she screamed at Jonathan.
He sighed before grabbing her by the arm roughly and pulling her to her feet. She sobbed, attempting to push Jonathan away, but his strength prevailed, keeping her on her unsteady feet.
“Listen, Y/n... I’ll give you a minute to get ready, but after that, you have to run... I don’t want to hurt you,” Jonathan said, his voice carrying an unsettling mix of calm and sincerity.
“You fucking liar! You put bells on my fucking feet! You gassed me! You have no fucking intentions of letting me go!” Y/n tried shoving Jonathan, her desperation evident, but his unwavering strength proved impossible.
Y/n felt a mix of fear and desperation as the distorted voice of Jonathan haunted her in the dark forest. The minute he gave her felt like an eternity, her mind racing with confusion and terror. She could barely comprehend what had happened to her – the bells on her feet, the agonizing pain, the disorienting surroundings.
As the seconds ticked away, Y/n attempted to collect herself. She fumbled to her feet, the pain shooting through her legs with each movement. She desperately wiped away her tears, trying to focus on her surroundings. The distorted voices in her head urged her to find a way out, to escape from this nightmare.
"Jonathan, please!" she pleaded, her voice shaky and weak.
But Jonathan remained silent, hidden behind the burlap mask, his presence lingering in the shadows. The ominous silence amplified Y/n's anxiety as the countdown continued. The forest seemed to close in on her, each shadow playing tricks on her mind.
As Y/n continued to struggle against Jonathan's grip, he finally let her go. She stumbled backward, her vision still blurry and disoriented. Tears streamed down her face as she realized the gravity of her situation.
“Your minute is up, Y/n,” Jonathan said coldly.
Panicking, Y/n attempted to move, but the pain in her ankles was excruciating. The bells on her feet jingled with each step, amplifying her fear. She could barely see the distorted figures of trees around her, unsure of where to go.
Jonathan's distorted voice echoed, “Run, Y/n. Run if you want to escape.”
With her heart pounding in her ears, Y/n turned around and limped forward, desperately trying to navigate the nightmarish forest. The fear of being caught and the pain in her feet merged into a tormenting symphony.
Every step felt like agony, the pain from her ankles shooting through her with every move. Determined, Y/n forced herself to pick up the pace, only to be met with the relentless jingle of the bells on her feet, echoing through the unsettling silence of the distorted forest. Her screams of frustration reverberated, a desperate attempt to drown out the haunting sound. Uncertain of the reality around her, Y/n pushed herself forward, driven by the primal instinct to escape from the unknown horrors lurking in the shadows.
The echoing chime of the bells attached to her feet seemed to resonate through the eerie forest, an ominous soundtrack to her desperate flight. Despite the seemingly impossible task of escaping undetected, Y/n pressed on, fueled by fear and rage.
Tears streamed down her face as she navigated the distorted landscape, grappling with the stark contrast between the professor she respected and this nightmarish pursuer. Regret and self-blame consumed her thoughts as she questioned whether she had unknowingly unlocked a darker side of Jonathan Crane or if this twisted game had been his true nature all along.
As the forest blurred around her, Y/n couldn't gauge how much time had passed, but the feeling of being hunted intensified with every breath.
The shadows danced around her, but Y/n had more pressing concerns. The closest forest was on the outskirts of Gotham, and by her knowlegde, this wasn’t it. The trees surrounding her didn't match the familiar landscape. Adding to the surreal experience, the echoing sounds of concrete beneath her feet contradicted the visual illusions that played out around her.
Although the effects of the gas were gradually diminishing, the horror lingered. Trees transformed into buildings, and lampposts seemed to sprout from the ground, creating a nightmarish dreamscape that defied the logic of Gotham's familiar streets.
Navigating the unnaturally morphing terrain was challenging on its own, but the addition of bells sewn to her ankles introduced a cruel twist to Y/n's desperate attempt to escape. A sharp turn around a building resulted in the bells grazing against a rough surface, tearing at her delicate skin. Agonizing pain shot up her legs, forcing her to collapse in sheer torment. A cry of pain escaped her lips, quickly stifled in the realization that Jonathan could be lurking anywhere, ears attuned to her distress.
As she sat on the ground, cradling her injured foot, hot tears streamed down her face. The sight of her foot revealed a troubling scene – it was red, irritated, and blood slowly trickled to the ground. Cursing under her breath, she was foolishly leaving a trail of breadcrumbs, marking her path for Jonathan to follow.
Defeated and desperate, Y/n closed her eyes, surrendering to the overwhelming hopelessness that enveloped her. Resting her head against the wall behind her, she weeped. She damned from the very beginning. Jonathan's idea of escape left her grappling with uncertainty – was his definition of ‘escape’ merely leaving this immediate area, contacting the police, or leaving Gotham altogether? Didn’t matter, she didn’t know.
Even if Y/n managed to ‘escape’, she knew all too well that Jonathan wouldn't simply let her be. Having spent months in his company, she had learned that determination and obsession defined him. The prospect of escaping his clutches seemed increasingly elusive, leaving Y/n trapped in a sinister game of hide and seek.
Refusing to succumb to hopelessness against the wall, Y/n gathered her remaining strength. She couldn't accept this as the end; she needed to keep going. Rising to her feet with deliberate determination, she carried on moving. Instead of running, which would only amplify the bells' noise and her exhaustion, Y/n pressed on with a steady walk. She was determined not to let Jonathan's twisted game break her spirit.
Undoubtedly, the blood marked her path, but Y/n had no other choice. Pressing forward was her only option. The effects of the gas seemed to have worn off, revealing a less distorted reality, albeit no less grim. She recognized that she was now in the Narrows, but the specific location remained a mystery.
As she moved cautiously ahead, a voice, dripping with malevolence, echoed from behind her. "I see my Dear has hurt herself..." Her blood ran cold. She didn't need to turn around to know she was in deep trouble.
The tears flowed freely down Y/n's face. "Why are you doing this?"
Jonathan remained silent, a chilling stillness in the air. He took a step forward, and instinctively, she took one back.
"Please..."
Suddenly, Jonathan lunged forward, catching her off guard. Y/n had no time to react as he tackled her to the ground, his weight pinning her down. She screamed and thrashed, the muffled sounds of her distress lost in the indifferent hum of Gotham's background noise. People in nearby buildings likely heard, but in a city like Gotham, such cries often went unanswered.
"Like a doe that's been shot," Jonathan spoke in a low, unsettling tone near her ear.
A syringe emerged from his pocket, and panic surged through her. She squirmed and fought, but his hold was unyielding. The needle pierced her upper thigh, and a sudden rush of paralysis coursed through her body. As consciousness waned, she heard Jonathan's remorseful voice.
"I'm sorry, Y/n," he uttered, holding her captive on the unforgiving ground.
"I thought you were my friend.." Y/n cried, her voice echoing in the desolation of the Narrows.
The world around Y/n blurred as the drug took effect, robbing her of control over her own body. Jonathan's mask became an indistinct smudge, but his unsettling presence still lingered. The last words she heard before succumbing to unconsciousness were Jonathan's remorseful apology, leaving her with a sense of betrayal and a haunting question: What had she done to deserve this? -
A/N: I think it's pretty clear by now I have a chasing(Prey/Predator) kink🧍‍♀️I don't know about you guys, but I want that adrenaline rush of being chased by an obsessive man 😫🤚 Thank you for reading and I hoped you enjoyed it. My requests are open for feel free to request 💚
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