Hello. I am alive. Barely. After almost a year. At least I updated on Halloween. Yay me.

All characters, settings, etc belong to DC Comics which belongs to Warner Bros. I'm pretty sure. At any rate, it doesn't belong to me, or else the Scarecrow Year One storyline would still be canon (*sniff* whyyyyyyy).

Chapter 9

An Excursion;

Selecting a Target

The child's faith was beginning to falter. Jonathan could tell. It had been so long since he'd been around someone who did not guard themselves around him. Her tone of voice, the way she carried herself, her increasing reluctance, the look in her eyes that practically screamed that she was having second thoughts, her entire bearing revealed her mind to him. Nothing that he did not expect. True, she should simply accept all that he told her without question, but it was only natural that she would begin to exhibit resistance to the recent changes in her life. Most significant changes, no matter how beneficial and necessary, were usually met with some opposition. He would have to tread lightly if he wished bring the girl back completely under his wing.

Though, knowing one's goals and knowing how to implement said goals were two entirely different things. If he could, he would accompany her on a "fear project" similar to the ones he had assigned to her while they were still only in contact through letters. It would remind her of the satisfaction and power she had felt while instilling fear into the lesser mortals and allow her to leave the hideout, which no doubt she was beginning to feel confined in.

But therein lay the snag.

No doubt his mother had already alerted the police and the Batman, frantically begging them to track him down and beat him to a bloody pulp whilst they dragged his child away from him and back into the crushing pit of ignorance that the rest of the insects known as the human race were more than content to wallow in. Despite Karen's insistence that she still loved him, he knew, oh he knew, that she would turn on him as soon as she believed that her favored offspring was in danger. She probably lit up the Bat-signal herself, excited at the prospect of her bastard being mercilessly tortured. Oh yes, by now the Bat and his brood were no doubt scouring the city for any sign of him, eager to once more thrash him senseless and end his attempts to bring the citizens of Gotham enlightenment.

What Jonathan needed was a cover; a way to allow both himself and his little acolyte to spread his phobic gospel to the oblivious people without arousing the Bats' suspicion. Disguising his child should be accomplished easily enough. The search would be on for a little girl and, despite the fact that her height would be reported, she was still taller than many grown men and people tended to rely more on preconceived notions than facts. He himself had been able to avoid suspicion as the Scarecrow during the first few months in his career due to the fact that he looked like the harmless, skin-and-bones bookish type. And considering that she was a little over 5'9" (that would be, what, 175.5 cm in metric?) and had all of the curves of a pencil, she could easily pass for a man. Or at the very least a teenage boy.

Yes. Yes, this could work. While the hunt was on for the terrifying villain Scarecrow and the tiny, helpless girl he'd so cruelly stolen away, no one would look twice at two gawky, unassuming men (or one gawky, unassuming man and his equally gangly and meek teenage son/brother/what have you). Yes, this could work quite well.

He lent her some of his clothes to hide her identity; a blue and white plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up so as not to completely swallow her thin arms; a pair of jeans with the cuffs similarly rolled up to the ankles and belted to better fit her frame that, impossibly, was even more slight than his own; a large brown coat with the hood turned up to cover her face completed the ensemble, leaving her unrecognizable. At least from a good distance. So long as she kept her face hidden, she would easily be taken for a grown man. Just another anonymous figure wandering aimlessly through the streets, head hung low after a lifetime of being beaten down, like everyone else, by the meat grinder that was Gotham.

His girl was confused, of course, but followed him nevertheless. The only sign of her uncertainty that she consciously allowed herself to show was to ask where they were going, to which he replied, "Calm yourself, child. Just stay alongside me. Where we're going is of little importance."

And it wasn't important. Who they decided to administer fear to did not matter. They were all the same, those unenlightened souls ignorant to what their fears could unlock in their minds. Only he was truly alive and, soon, his child would be as well. One in mind as well as in blood, united in their sacred mission to bring forth the inner terrors of the mind, so that no person could escape from themselves, for who were people other than the sum of their fears?

Wait. Stop. He couldn't allow himself to count his chickens before they'd even hatched. He had to take things slowly, lest his girl be driven away. He had to keep her to what she was comfortable with and take her step by step. You couldn't teach a child calculus just after they'd only gotten the hang of basic arithmetic. He couldn't rightfully expect for her to truly grasp his philosophy simply because she had learned merely to instill a little fear. He had to keep her where she was comfortable, to what she had mastered. At least for now…

He looked down at her as she pressed herself against his arm, clinging tightly as they made their way through the streets (when had that happened; had he really been so lost inside his own thoughts that he had failed to notice leaving his hideout?). Her hood almost completely obscured her face, keeping it hidden from recognizing eyes as well as from the light rain that had begun to fall. He could feel the beating of her heart, rapid despite her attempts to keep her breaths even and to not cling too tightly. So frightened. He brought her closer to his chest so that he could feel the amplified pulse and the harsh breaths that were the pages and accompaniments of his beloved terror. Calm, calm. He would only take his fun from this and be contented. He would not allow himself to be lost in his mind again. Not now.

He kept his head down, not looking anyone in the eye. So long as he did not rush and did not act out of place, no one would look twice at him, even if he did possess the same physical type one of the most feared Arkham inmates currently loose. Gotham's seemingly willing obliviousness and apathy had always served him well. So long as he was not attacking them at the moment, they were more than content to let him slip past their noses with his terrified cargo in tow.

Speaking of which, he couldn't let himself forget why he was out and about in such a risky atmosphere. This was all supposed to be a teaching experience. As a teacher, he should know better than to let himself be distracted while a student was learning.

Somewhere considered "safe" would be best, where the inhabitants had deluded themselves into thinking that they were immune from the rampant crime and supervillain attacks. Somewhere with individual houses instead of apartment buildings so that there would be fewer potential witnesses. Hallharrow, maybe. Picturesque little houses populated by the slightly better off, no major attacks in the last five months, likely lulled into a false sense of security. Forty-five minute walk at the pace they were going.

The city slunk by, abandoned warehouses giving way to grey buildings that gradually shrank before finally being replaced with cement structures which in turn gave way to brick ones which, eventually, became the idyllic homes of Hallharrow. His girl remained quiet for the duration of their journey, continuing to cling to his arm like a lifeline. How strange, he thought again, that someone, even his younger sister, would turn to him for protection against the things that lurked within the dark. Usually, he was that which lurked within the dark.

Hallharrow was a quiet neighborhood, a rarity in Gotham even if it did sit at the very edge. Charming houses with short fences that surrounded little yards, Hallharrow had no business being a part of Gotham at all. Metropolis, perhaps, but certainly not Gotham. Its residents were currently sleeping peacefully within, unaware of the trespassers that had invaded their quiet would-be sanctuary.

Jonathan paused, causing his child to pause with him. He closed his eyes and deeply inhaled, readying himself. He let his breath go, and Scarecrow opened his eyes.

"Pick one, little Mae," he said as he removed his arm from the vise of her grip and gestured in the direction of the unsuspecting houses that lay about, to Scarecrow, like so many weeds waiting to be ripped out from their very roots.

"Pick one," he repeated once more, "Any one will do. All people are more or less the same; all filled with hidden fears and inner demons that simmer just below the surface, waiting for us to unleash them."

She looked up at him, that damned uncertainty still stamped firmly onto her face, before turning her gaze to the hapless dwellings that lay before her. Scarecrow heard her take in a shuddering breath and watched her head swivel about, looking for a mark, any mark.

Her head stopped looking around, eyes focusing on one house. Scarecrow grinned.

"Do you see one you like?" he asked, his hands resting on her shoulders.

She pointed at a house in the distance. Pale yellow walls, red roof, shutters, and doors. Obscenely quaint. Perfect.

"Good girl." He tapped her shoulders affectionately. "Now let's invite ourselves in."

A/N: Constantly referring to Mae as "yours" now, Jonny? You redefine creep. The Creeper's not as creepy as you. And you're just so proud of that.

*sigh* Sorry this is taking so long. I know where this story is going and how it will end (and possibly continue…), but getting there while not rushing and keeping a good pace is hell. To whoever said knowing where your story is going makes everything easier, you sir or madam are a liar. I'm just trying desperately to avoid underpants gnome syndrome (Step One: Neat Idea, Step Two: Build On Neat Idea, Step Three: ?, Step Four: SATISFYING CONCLUSION! Curse you, Step Three…)