Okay, everyone stay with me here. I'm trying something different. Testing the waters, if you will, so...you know. Go easy on me. I shall forever love the Riddler and Catwoman, but this part of the series is going to be from the POV's of the Scarecrow and Poison Ivy (which is why it's filed under Scarecrow/Poison Ivy) perhaps with a chapter or two from the Mad Hatter, Riddler and Catwoman's POV's. Make no mistake, I believe Ivy to be a lesbian, so there'll be no pairing in this story (except the usual fare to be expected from me, which is why most of you come around, I'm sure).

To everyone from the first part of this series and probably all my other stories (you know who you are) I say 'thanks'. I've dabbled in a few fandoms before, but I must say that Batman fans are some of the nicest and most supportive fans I've ever written for. I mean that. You guys are the tops! ^_^

If you're just picking up this story for the first time, be sure to check out the first part of this series 'Cardboard Monsters', it might be important to look into that first. I mean, you don't have to, I'm not the boss of you...but...hey...you know. *sniffs* Yep.

Uh, I don't own anything that's recognizable here...but you should also already know that.

On with the show!

Chapter One: The Undead

**Crane**

The only sounds that filled the darkness were the steady 'plonk' of water droplets hitting the metal pans that collected the roof leakage, where the water was coming from was a horrifying thought. Outside the world was still, there was no sounds down by the docks, not even the seagulls were up at the ungodly hour that Jonathan Crane was.

Seated beside the bed with his broken and splinted leg propped up on another cheap folding chair before him, he read aloud from the book in his hands. It wasn't for his patients benefit that he was reading aloud, but for his own, in the hopes of keeping his mind off the pain and the withdrawal symptoms that decided to pop up just to add to his sunny day.

"When you see millions of the mouthless dead, across your dreams in pale battalions go, say not soft things as other men have said. That you'll remember. For you need not so," he paused and raised his head as outside the backroom the muffled screams of Query were heard as Echo struggled to patch her from the accident.*

Things had gone to pot fast.

The book he found among a sea of drug paraphernalia by the crack bed where they had dropped Selina, it was broke to shit, but there were still pieces of it in decent enough shape to read. He couldn't understand for the life of him what crack heads were doing reading first world war poetry, but he was thankful that it wasn't a Where's Waldo. Although as far as he knew the stupid drugged up punks were tearing pages out of the book for toilet paper and not because they found a moving poem and wanted it near.

After dragging his ass away into a ditch, then into a culvert and lying quietly until Nightwing and the cops disappeared, he emerged to find no one around.

With his broken leg he hobbled his way halfway across Gotham in the dark, until he found the place where Edward had told them to go and wait. It wasn't a fun trip, and he was sure he stepped on a rat in the dark and killed it, but that was the least of his problems at the time.

Query and Echo were already there and Jervis arrived shortly with Selina.

No one was in great shape, but Echo and Jervis seemed the luckiest.

Selina, it seemed, took a bit of the brunt, although not to sound as self centred as Edward, but Crane felt he too was battered pretty badly. He had been knocked cold for the first few minutes of the crash and woke to find Nightwing kneeling over Selina in the back.

His first instinct had been self preservation.

"Give them not praise. For deaf, how should they know it is not curses heaped on each gashed head?" He continued.

A freight train rolled by overhead, going across the train bridge over the bay and it shook everything inside.

The candle on the table by the bed swayed dangerously, but Crane reached out and grabbed hold of it calmly, waiting until the train rolled by to continue.

Crane would have been the one stitching Query, but he found his pain distracted him, besides he enjoyed it enough to hear her screams as Echo stitched the gashes the glass left on her soft peaches and cream skin.

Maybe first world war poetry was the best thing to read considering things seemed like a war zone. People injured, the panic and fear that had rippled through the all while the unknown helicopter hunted them down.

But who? Who wanted them dead? And what the hell was with the drugs?

The train passed by and Crane bowed his head to the remnants of the book again.

"Nor tears. Their blind eyes see not your tears flow. Nor honour. It is easy to be dead."

Query's screams died down and Crane assumed she was passed out or finished being under the needle.

He quietly set the book down and grabbed hold of his scythe.

Every jarring bump and thump sent searing pain from his broken leg up to his hip and beyond, but he ignored it, heading for the outer room.

Jervis sat on the receiving counter, stroking his dead March Hare, blood coating his face and hands, Echo was washing her hands in a bucket of salt water she got from the docks and Query was sitting miserably on a chair behind Jervis, touching her stitched flesh tentatively.

"You should probably be sitting, Professor." Echo said softly. "You don't want your leg to heal crooked do you?"

"I'm not an invalid old man," he snapped. "I just thought I should tell you we need supplies. You should take Jervis and hit up some mom and pop pharmacy."

Echo nodded. "Okay, just go lie down. The bed's big enough for two."

Despite his pain, Crane chuckled. "And risk waking up with a set of claws at my throat? No thanks."

"She won't be waking anytime soon." Echo said.

"If we're lucky," Query added darkly.

Crane eyed the blonde quietly, before turning and limping off back into the room with the bed.

Warily he eyed the bed. Sleeping through the pain sounded wonderful, but he wasn't sure about the bed.

They had thrown down whatever clothes they all could spare to prevent Selina from catching something from the bare mattress, but now that he was faced with the possibly of sleeping there, Crane hesitated.

Then again if he was concussed he might not wake at all.

Crane pursed his lips at the idea of his dead body being found on a crack bed next to Selina Kyle's. On the bright side dying in bed next the cat sounded like a great way to die, but dying on such a bed…well he had standards.

Limping back out into the main room, he found the others getting ready to leave.

"Blonde girl," he commanded.

Query looked up.

"Wake me in an hour. Make sure I'm not dead."

She nodded. "Sure."

Hobbling himself back into the room, he set half his ass on the bed, elevating his wounded leg, before attempting to push Selina over enough to get some room.

"You know," he said to her as he leaned over her to carefully push her further onto the right side of the bed. "A dirtier man than I wouldn't be so kind with your unconscious form."

Chuckling he carefully leaned down and moved her bottom half over. "Of course, if I weren't so tired and you weren't so knocked out I might have made a pass or two." He moved to lie back and found he forgot to move her arm. "I do get a thrill out of pissing you off."

He sat up again and reaching back, placed her arm over her stomach.

"I'm not saying I'll protest too hard if you want to spoon me," he muttered, lying back.

Despite all the pain he was in, he was out cold within seconds of his head hitting the pillow.

Someone was hovering over him.

Through the haze of his sleep, he sensed a form leaning over him and slowly opened his eyes.

A large pair of watery blue eyes peered down at him, a hooked nose touching his.

"Jervis," Crane began calmly. "Don't stare a man awake, it's disturbing."

The Mad Hatter blinked his big blue bug eyes. "They told me to wake you."

"Get off me." He requested politely.

"Are you dead?" He warbled.

"Yes. Don't disrespect my corpse, get off me."

Slowly, carefully the madman scooted off Crane's body and sat calmly on the edge of the bed.

"What time is it?" The Scarecrow asked, struggling to sit up.

"August."

"Thank you." He replied.

Jervis tucked his chin in among his ridiculous polka dot green and yellow bow tie. "I fear my side is angry at me."

"Your side?" Crane demanded, angling his body to check Selina's vitals.

"My side is no longer on my side," Jervis said.

Turning away from touching two fingers to Selina's soft neck, Crane quirked a brow.

The Mad Hatter was tucked in on himself like a hunchback, his hands gripping his purple velvet coat closed.

There was no sign of blood.

"You probably broke or cracked a few ribs," he pointed out. "Get one of the girls to bandage you."

After a quiet moment of sitting there staring at Crane like an owl, Jervis got to his feet and moved off, leaving the room silent again.

With nothing to do but stare at the four walls again, he was about to settle back into the bed for another nap, when he spied a journal on the milk crate beside it.

He reached for the book he had been reading from.

Crane snapped the book closed as Selina stirred.

Setting the book back on the milk crate, he moved as swiftly as he could with a broken leg to hover over her.

They had removed her mask to give her more comfort, and Crane leaned in softly to sniff at her loose hair.

The source for the scent of strawberries and cream that haunted him for nearly three hours, he mused.

Long, thick lashes lifted and Selina opened her eyes to the world. They snapped open at the sight of him hovering over her and she gasped.

"Good morning," he said.

"How bad is it?" She asked, her voice dry from the sleep.

"Well, I have a hole in my costume and blood all over my mask," he replied. "I think I might need a new one made up."

"I meant me, idiot."

Tsking, Crane carefully rolled off her, wincing as his leg moved. "Well, you're not dead. You're not paralyzed and you've been shot in the leg. Plus you have a nasty gash on your side, but they wouldn't let me look at it because you're not wearing anything under that tight black suit of yours."

"So you opted to let me lay here bleeding to death?"

"I bandaged it the best I could, I thought if you woke and found me playing around with your breasts exposed, you'd kill first and ask questions later." He replied. "But if you want, I can take a look now…with your permission."

"Permission denied." She replied, slowly dragging herself into a half sitting position. She grunted and explored the extent of the damage with her hand. "Okay, you'd better stitch me." She said, unzipping her suit. "But I'm not a museum, so no touring, hm?"

Crane surreptitiously eyed her breasts as the suit parted at the front and smirked ever so. "I've seen breasts before, cat. Hell, in my heyday I saw at least seven of them." He said, moving to get off the bed, his leg dropped heavily onto the floor despite his efforts to keep it steady. "Fuck!"

Calmly leaning back as though he didn't just destroy all the work Echo had done splinting his leg, he eyed the cat. "I think the withdrawals are slowing down. I only got a migraine once today…it lasted all day, but that's something, isn't it?"

She nodded, pushing her suit to her waist. "I suppose."

"Keep those out, I'll be back with my tools." He said.

Tucking her arm over her breasts in an effort for some modesty, Selina scoffed. "Yeah, right."

Echo had come back from the pharmacy with everything one could possibly need for home surgery, all he needed was the needle and thread, but he also took claim on a bottle of cheap liquor that the woman had also returned with.

The brunette tried to protest, but Crane said it was for his pain and she let it go.

"So what's the plan, then?" Selina asked as Crane eased into the bed beside her and handed off the liquor. It said it was rye, but it looked like a very watery sort of rye and smelled like paint thinner.

"Get drunk off our asses, for tomorrow we die." He replied, threading the needle. It was hard, he didn't have his glasses.

Eyeing the bottle, Selina sighed. "I don't know if I should let you get me drunk, you already leered at me enough today."

Wetting the thread, Crane squinted at the needle. "Ah, but I'm too smart to fall for your trap, cat. So I think you're safe."

She sniffed the booze, before taking a swig. "Ugh, god this tastes like nail polish remover smells! Who the hell drinks rye anymore, Jesus!"

"That's probably the only thing available to our little dark haired grocery girl." He said finally getting the thread through the needle. "Drink enough of it and it'll taste like candy," he motioned her over to his side of the bed. "Okay, come here."

"Why do I have to come to you? I'm the patient."

"Because I have a broken leg that'll hurt like a bitch if I move it anymore."

She pursed her lips in thought, before holding the bottle out to him helpfully.

He took it and with a slight pause, downed a gulp.

It was vile.

"Seven breasts?" She asked randomly. "How did you see seven? Don't you usually see them in pairs?"

Crane looked up from squinting at his work on her side. "I think you've had enough to drink."

"I think you're right." She tossed the empty bottle away. "Are you almost done?"

"Just about," he replied. "I'm just adding my initials."

When that didn't get a laugh, he looked up.

"That's a joke."

"Oh."

"You know," he remarked, "I respect your lack of embarrassment over your body."

Selina looked down her body at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you stopped covering your breasts about an hour ago when you tousled my hair."

She laughed. "Have I? How are they looking?"

"Well, they're looking right at me. It's unnerving."

"Yeah, they have a mind of their own. Where's everyone else?"

Crane sighed. "I really don't know."

"I suppose one could have been covered with something…or how would that work?"

"What?" He inquired.

"Seven breasts."

"Look, I was being generous with my numbers, it was probably only four. That's two pair to be clear." He replied.

Selina eyed him with glassy, mischievous eyes.

He hated that look, it meant she was thinking and a thinking cat was never a good thing.

"Did you touch them?" She asked puckishly.

"Touch the breasts? Of course." He replied leaning his head down to tear the thread free with his teeth. "Believe it or not, but I've even had sex."

"I bet you did you filthy stick insect." She replied.

Grasping the loop pull on her suit, Crane began zipping her back up, but paused two inches into the task, eyeing her quietly.

Her violet eyes danced down to the pull in his hand and back to his face as though daring him to do something.

Not wanting to play her game, but perhaps a little too sad to be the one to end her nudity, he continued to zip her up, stopping just under her exposed breasts.

"You'd better tuck yourself in. I'm not one for tit stuffing." He smirked. "At least not if it's not going to be followed by something fun."

"This suit is tight for a reason." She replied zipping herself in.

"To distract and attract?"

"To avoid tripping laser sensors."

Crane angled his jaw. "Yeah, right."

"What's that angled jaw for?"

"It's bat bait and you know it. Hell, it's Riddler bait too somedays, isn't it?" He painfully dragged his carcass back over to his side of the bed.

"Go to hell, Jon."

"Already there, Selina." He replied closing his eyes.

*The poem that Crane recites is 'When You See Millions of the Mouthless Dead' by Charles Hamilton Sorley.