A/N: Welcome back to the fruits of my mind. This chapter has different tones, I know that. That is because I've been doing much research on characters, many things have been developing and I've decided on where I definitely want this story to go. For those of you rooting for Spencer and Jonathan as a couple, don't fear, it will happen in the future. Not as you may think, but it will be there. For now, stay along for the ride. Welcome to the new and improved.

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, DC comics, or Criminal Minds. I merely borrow their characters on occasion.

"How we need another soul to cling to."

Sylvia Plath

Edward was clingy. Jonathan couldn't believe how clingy this man was. How had he possibly forgotten about that? Even now, as Edward was trying to get Jonathan's ankle to stop bleeding, he was leaning against him, touching him too much. This had been a bad idea - a very, very bad idea.

"Sorry, Johnny boy," came the Riddler's softer than normal voice. "Didn't think that it would slip like that."

Jonathan knew the man was sorry. He'd heard the apology more than thirty times already as Query drove them back to wherever it was the Riddler's current haunt was. Echo sat in the passenger seat, talking incessantly, beside her. Jonathan almost wished this had been one of those times when the green clad man had left them to be caught by the police so he could escape. He couldn't stand the pair of women.

Before he knew it the torturous car ride was over and he was being half dragged, half lifted out of the back seat of the car. For such a small person, Edward had more muscle than most men who went to the gym.

"I can walk, you know. I'm not so badly injured that you need to attempt to carry me." Jonathan's tone was cold, but there was no energy in it. As much as he gave Edward a hard time, the man was fairly intelligent and Jonathan didn't mind being around him as long as he didn't touch him constantly. When that happened Edward normally ended up getting hit over the head with one of his beloved puzzle books before going to sulk in his personal room. He was very childish.

"I know." A devilish smirk flickered onto Edward's face as he only took more of Jonathan's weight onto his shoulders, completely ignoring the man's discomfort.

If Jonathan didn't know better, he would say that the man was attracted to him. He wasn't, though. The only thing that Edward Nigma was attracted to was puzzles, riddles, games, flamboyancy, and the mirror he always seemed to carry with him. If he felt any attraction to Jonathan at all it was only because of his intelligence and the possibility of him creating a puzzle that was actually challenging for the Riddler to solve.

That was the Riddler in a nutshell – self obsessed and puzzle addicted.

It had been three days since Jonathan had left. Reid's hunch about him not being able to get far due to the tracking bracelet on his ankle had been destroyed. He should have known a villain as notorious as The Scarecrow was would have friends in high, or rather low, places to get him out of trouble when he was in a pinch. He never overlooked things like this. Never. Hotch had made sure to point that out when he found out the man had escaped.

How could he have been so naïve? He had only just earned the right to carry a firearm in the field, but with this having happened so recently after he'd gained the privilege… Well, Reid might as well consider himself back to square one in Hotch's eyes. He had definitely messed up this time.

Almost as if the team leader were imposing on Reid's thoughts, as if he could sense the apprehension in the mind of the team's youngest member, he chose that moment to enter the room and seat himself across the agent.

"It's been three days, Reid."

"I know."

"We haven't found any clues as to where Dr. Crane could have gone to. We did however find the tracking anklet he was wearing." The man produced a plastic evidence bag from his inner pocket and set it on the coffee table between the two of them. "It was taped to the bottom of a subway bench. Morgan found it."

"I'm sorry," Reid forced out, hands clenching into fists, clutching the material of his work pants tightly. "I really thought… All the signs pointed to him helping us. The profile didn't suggest this at all…"

Hotch sighed. The air leaving his lungs like the breath before the executioner swung the axe and beheaded the convicted. In this case, it was Reid's head on the block.

The silence that hung in the air was crushing him, driving out the small sliver of hope he'd had for the man's return. He had profiled Jonathan Crane. He had gone over the profile and done it again from scratch. There was nothing to suggest that he would run like this, not without a good cause.

"What if," Reid began, something dawning on him at the thought. "What if someone called him out?"

Hotch looked at him expectantly, his eyes blank, not daring to show hope that his resident genius hadn't failed them after all, but his body read curiosity.

Reid shot up from his position on the armchair, reaching over the table to snatch up papers while pushing his too long hair out of his face with his free hand. "Dr. Crane wouldn't run. Not when he had something that interested him in his grasp." Reid's eyes scanned over pages of notes in cramped writing again. He'd memorized them already, but it helped to look at pages again.

He finished with the first group of papers and threw them back down on the table, picking up the Joker's file from Arkham, written in part by Dr. Crane himself. He found what he was looking for in the file, then picked up Crane's own file and a newspaper dated a few days after Crane had released his fear gas on the Narrows of Gotham City.

"I don't think that Jonathan Crane is the one who left," he started slowly, glancing back and forth between various papers.

"Harley, have you found Johnny Boy yet?"

"Not yet Mistah J, he's getting' hardah and hardah to follow these days. I hear he's been hanging out with those feds from the FBI lately. He sure gets around."

A glass filled with some sort of sickly green liquid shattered against the wall near the ex psychiatrist's head, a nasally shriek filling the air as Harley moved to the side.

"Mistah J!" Harley whined indignantly.

"Find him!"

"Alright already, ya don't have ta be so pushy."

Night fell on Gotham, bringing the fleeting shadow of a bat with it. The faintest sound of a cape fluttering on the wind could be heard if he was close enough. Hopefully he wasn't.

Fog rolled in off the water, coating the shadows with an extra layer of fear inducing secrecy. Anyone with a brain in their heads would be inside with the doors locked. If they had to go out they would go in a group and take some form of protection. Those who remained on the streets, the filth of Gotham, were either too stupid or too feared to be bothered by the eeriness of the night. There was only one exception to this. One man, or beast, whichever he could be considered, stalked the shadows by choice. He himself was little more than a shadow with a heartbeat and the need to breath. He was the true reason to fear the shadows, to stay away when the fog was thick and the night was in control.

Scarecrow was here to find that man, to take that terror and enjoy it like a fine wine. A green glad form was with him, a sinister smile adorning his pale face, a question mark shaped cane in his hand. The figure was silent, save for the occasional amused chuckle. The man in front of him paid him no mind as he slipped a gas mask on and then pulled what was little more than a burlap sack over it, hiding his face from view. This was to be his night, when fear ran rampant in the streets and nothing was going to derail his plan.

"Me thinks that there's a bat on the roofs."

He didn't need the Riddler's warning, but he withheld a response, refusing to give in to the other man's desperate need for attention. When he did finally give the man some tidbit of notice, the results would be better this way. It was a method similar to training a dog, really.

There wasn't time to think of the puzzle lover now, though, not when the Bat was so close. Not with this new toxin so fresh, the canister so smooth and cold to the touch, his fingers itching to press down against the nozzle and release it into the face of the man most people compared with the Gods.

Batman was not a God. He wasn't even close. Scarecrow would show them that tonight; he would show all of Gotham.

A sound that could have easily been nothing more than a plastic bag skittering over the empty street reached the ears of both men and they fell silent, not moving, barely breathing. He was there. The man of the hour, the son of the night, any number of names had been given to the man, but Scarecrow would refer to him only as one.

"Hello Batman."

A/N: What do you think of this new style? It is returning to the original style in my opinion, though with a bit more depth than it first had. Please let me know what you think of the two different sides of each character and the dual styles. I'm still playing, so I'd like a bit of advice.

As always, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are much loved and appreciated.