I know, I know, I know. I should be finishing my other stories instead of starting a new one, but I have recently become obsessed with Cillian Murphy and cannot help myself, and Crane gave me the most ideas.

Anyway, here is the first post. Crane was an amazingly difficult character to write, as his mind was dark and cold...and pleasant, I suppose in a way. Nice to write something other than what I am used to. Anyhoo, he's a little off in this first chap, but I will get better as I go along, I swear. I hope you like this, and if you do, let me know and I will try to update soon, as I am really into this! This story is fun and I can't wait to see what Crane is going to do to our boy. :P

Dr. Jonathan Crane walked into the room at a brisk pace, glancing around in disdain. He ordered the men with him to burn the place, but he wasn't really thinking of the evidence as he strode to the open window. Gazing out into the dank streets of Gotham, he frowned slightly, just at the corners of his lips. Rain blew in angrily at him, but he paid it no mind. It seemed it was always raining now, the city weeping for it's pitiful inhabitants, merely pawns in a much larger, dangerous game. A game Crane was deeply entrenched in. His ice blue eyes glared down to the streets. Pity was weakness, and none deserved it.

Crane's eyes wandered over the window, thinking of the implications of it being open. He glanced at the window pane, noting the signs of a forced entry, if a skillful one. It was a recent break-in, by the looks of it. Someone had been here.

A surprised shout erupted from behind him, and Crane's cold blue eyes hardened. Correction; someone is still here, Crane thought, reaching unconsciously for his mask, his alter-ego. Not that it mattered, as Scarecrow could handle anyone foolish enough to break in. His mask slipped easily into his fingers, the cloth rough but familiar in his hand as another startled scream sounded, along with a muffled thump.

As the sounds told him that the third man was dispatched, Crane slipped the mask on, feeling a weight lift at the safe anonymity he felt beneath it. He whirled around to face his opponent, surprising the attacker with a spray of his airborne hallucinogen in the taller man's face. He got a clearer view of the intruder as the man staggered back into better light, waving frantically at the drug still lingering in the air. Crane couldn't help smirking as he saw the man's face, or mask as it were. "How pathetic. I would have thought the awe-inspiring Batman I have heard so much about would have been a little more of a challenge." Batman seemed not to notice he had spoken, still waving at his face in ever increasing panic, something that did not fail to please Crane.

The situation was almost laughable. That is, it would have been if Jonathan laughed anymore. Crane pushed that thought away, instead focusing on his impressive luck. What a case study Batman would make! He felt himself smiling grimly as he thought of the possibilities. To be able to delve into Batman's psyche, to see what fears drove the man…He shivered in anticipation.

Batman was now clawing at his mask, as if trying to tear something away from himself, and Crane moved quickly in, dodging blows from the flailing limbs. His briefcase was always with him, and he was briefly glad of the fact as he slammed Batman viciously across the back of the head with it. Batman staggered, obviously dazed, but still reared up, trying to get at his attacker, and Crane struck him once more, the edge of his briefcase catching the side of the larger man's head this time. Crane thought he heard something crack, but paid it no mind as Batman immediately slumped to the floor in an ungraceful heap. The doctor stepped back, removing the rough burlap from his head carefully and adjusting his glasses meticulously on his nose. He glanced down to his briefcase and blocked a sigh as he saw the dent it now sported. He would have to replace it.

Crane glanced around the room at the unconscious thugs, and back to the collapsed man at his feet. "Never a lout when you need one." He murmured, resigning himself to carry Batman as best he could. It was no small task, as Batman was a man in prime shape, and certainly not light. Besides that fact, Crane was not used to doing much in the way of physical labor. He left that to those who had no brain to fall back on to.

As he struggled for the door, he turned back to the gasoline covered room, his cool eyes wandering over the men's bodies. Failure would not be tolerated. Not by Jonathan Crane. Leaning against the door frame, he lit his lighter, and tossed it back into the room, no emotion showing behind the perfect black spectacles, his blue eyes fathomless. Without a second glance, he turned to go.

Well, how badly did I botch him? Sorry for the lout line, I couldn't figure out how to express what I wanted to say in Crane speech. Also, the carrying thing...no way around it. Sorry for that too. Out of character a bit, I suppose, and hard to imagine...laughs at mental image of Crane grunting and hauling Batman up over his head, crying out in triumph with muscles bulging. LOL, so wrong. Any feelings?