The Batman

Fear Itself

By Lucky_Ladybug

Notes: The characters from the Batman franchise are not mine and the other characters and the story are! This is a semi-follow-up to 41 Down is Saturday; these events are alluded to in that story's climax and this continues the timeline, so the Riddler is working as a "consultant" (really a private detective) and has started to gain the trust of Yin and Batman. It's an introduction story of sorts for Scarecrow, a character planned on but never debuted in The Batman cartoon. There's an unused concept art of him in costume on the Legions of Gotham website. That is basically how I imagine the character to look here. Un-costumed, I picture him probably pretty close to how he looked in Batman Begins, as that's where I've had the most experience with the character. I'll be experimenting with characterization, since there's no official version of him for The Batman, but I hope some of the elements I'll be including will keep him recognizable to those who know him from other verses.

Gotham was always a mysterious city at any time, but even moreso on Halloween. Ghosts and goblins and every other sort of character, good and bad, roamed the streets in search of treats. Pranks were commonplace in some neighborhoods, and the police were on high alert in those areas in the hopes of quelling window waxing, buckets balanced on mops, and other unpleasant surprises.

The Gotham Wax Museum was also a big attraction, staying open until midnight in order to bring in as many curious visitors as possible. The evening was currently still young, not even fully dark yet, and its biggest hours were always after nightfall.

Detective Ellen Yin sighed to herself as she rounded another corner in the old Gotham business district. She was off-duty now and heading home, where she planned to pass out candy to the kids and maybe attend a Halloween party to which she had been invited. She hoped that would be the extent of the evening's adventures; past Halloweens had been filled with disturbances such as the first Clayface pretending to be Solomon Grundy and destroying homes. That was not something she wanted to see repeated.

She gripped the steering wheel tighter. Really, she did not want to think about Clayface at all. The first incarnation of that villain was gone now, she hoped for good. Ethan Bennett had recently turned himself in to the police and Arkham, finally ready to accept the help that had been offered to him so long ago. He was still at Arkham, undergoing treatments and psychiatric care, but he was of far sounder mind than he had been the last time rehabilitation had been attempted. Yin really believed that this time he would make it back all the way. She had been supporting him and visiting whenever she could, as she knew Bruce Wayne also had. And Ethan was humbled and appreciated every bit of it.

It was strange to think that she had finally been regaining an old friend at the same time an old enemy had been becoming a new friend. She had started to think differently about the Riddler on the Friday Night Killer case several weeks ago, and his subsequent death had badly shaken her. She had talked about it somewhat with Ethan, and he had been sympathetic, but she hadn't wanted to burden him too deeply when he had his own issues to work through.

And when she hadn't known what to make of starting to feel different about the Riddler.

His reappearance had both stunned and relieved her. At first she had been angry with him for not revealing that he was alive, but he had been so sincerely remorseful and regretful upon realizing that Yin would have honestly wanted to know the truth that she had fully forgiven him. And the adventures they had been through on that case had culminated in them feeling like they were becoming friends.

She smirked a bit. Friends with such an arrogant, obnoxious man? That certainly wasn't something she ever would have predicted in a thousand years. Or that he would be such a thoughtful friend. He was quirky and certainly had mood swings, but he was loyal to those he cared about and Yin was still disgusted that his love, Julie, had chosen power instead of him. She wondered if Julie would ever regret it, but somehow she doubted it. At least, if Julie would regret it, it wouldn't be enough to prompt her to want to turn her life around.

Yin blinked in surprise to suddenly look up and notice the street and the block she was on. The Riddler had set up his office as a consultant and troubleshooter here; his sign was swinging in the evening breeze just up ahead. And . . . he was lying sprawled on the sidewalk?!

Yin slammed on the brakes at the curb and leaped out, running over and kneeling down next to him. "Riddler!" she called, reaching to search for a pulse at his neck. It was strong, even somewhat fast. But he was clearly not conscious.

She pushed down a wave of confusion tinged with fear. What on Earth was wrong? Without moving him, she tried to gently feel for any indications of trauma. "Riddler!" she called again, more forcefully.

He started suddenly and jerked away with a cry. "I told you the truth!" he shouted, curling into a protective ball. "Stop beating me, Father!"

Yin stared at him in disbelief. "Riddler, it's me," she said. "It's Yin. There's no one else here."

"No," the Riddler moaned. "He was here. . . . My father beat me."

"I can't even find any signs that you were physically harmed," Yin said.

That finally penetrated. The Riddler's eyes snapped open and he knelt up on the sidewalk. "What?" He looked around wildly in bewilderment. "How could he have gotten away so fast? Maybe you scared him off."

"There was no one here when I drove up." Yin regarded him in concern. "Where did he hit you? And why?"

"I don't really know why," the Riddler frowned. He pulled his cane to him and used it to balance himself as he unsteadily got to his feet. "He just came at me shouting and screaming that I was a disappointment to him in every way and that the only thing he had ever wanted from me was for me to be interested in baseball. He hit me on the shoulder with a bat." Slowly he ran his hand over his right shoulder. "When I faltered, he struck me on the back and then kept on hitting me, without me being able to get in one defensive strike. He must have beat me unconscious, just like when I was a boy."

Yin got up with him, worried. "You don't seem like you're in a lot of pain," she said. "If you had really come through an assault like that, I don't think you could stand up."

She didn't need to see his eyes to know that behind the mask, they were narrowing. "What are you suggesting, Yinsey? That I'm insane and imagined it? I never really was insane, you know. I just have a compulsion for riddles."

"I'm not suggesting that at all," Yin retorted. "Come on, let's go inside. If you're badly hurt, you should sit down. And I should probably call an ambulance."

He moved slowly, leaning heavily on his cane as he led her to the door and then inside the office. He had brought a couch in now, Yin immediately noticed, and he gestured to it as he pressed a button on his cane to open the secret room in the back. "Sit down. I'm going to see how bad off I am." He frowned. "You're right that I don't feel like I'm in pain. And after the beating he gave me, I don't understand it."

Yin followed him to the opening door instead. "If you are hurt, you'll need help," she declared. "If you're not comfortable with me helping you, you'll just have to deal with it. Unless you've got some Riddlemen hanging around."

He looked back over his shoulder. "I shouldn't have expected anything less from you, Yinsey," he purred. "Yes, there should be at least a couple of Riddlemen around here somewhere. But if you don't mind, we might as well not waste time calling for them."

He let the heavy panel swing shut and set the cane aside. He was still wearing the green suit he had switched to wearing several weeks ago, and he moved slowly as he unbuttoned the suit coat and draped it on another couch. But the speed of his movements gradually increased as he pulled off his tie and unbuttoned the black shirt.

"There isn't any pain at all," he mused, slowly sliding it off his shoulders.

"And there's no bumps or bruises or even reddening skin," Yin said. She touched his right shoulder. "Does this hurt?"

"No." He turned to face her, utter confusion written on his features. "I don't understand. He beat me senseless! How can I not be in pain?! And how can there not be any injuries?!"

"Riddler . . ." Yin frowned. "Are you absolutely sure he was here? Maybe you were dreaming."

"I was bored of sleeping on conventional objects and decided to lie down on the sidewalk?" the Riddler said dryly.

"Have you ever sleepwalked?" Yin suggested.

"Never." He buttoned the shirt and retied the tie. "And you can double-check on that with the Arkham guards."

"I believe you." Yin folded her arms. "But what does that leave?"

"A hallucination?" The Riddler slipped on the suit coat, looking thoughtful now. "There is one strange thing I remember. There was an odd smell right before my father came at me."

Yin grimaced. "So someone may have deliberately drugged you into experiencing the confrontation with your father? Who? Another of those 'many enemies' you were talking about?"

"I really don't know." He reached under the coat, drawing out his long hair and leaving it on top. "I guess it could have even been an accident. Maybe some pusher spilled some of his wares and the fumes reached me."

"That's a thought. I'll check around." Yin turned to head for the door, then paused. "Is there any chance your father really was here, but just didn't beat you? Maybe he had the drug or whatever it was."

"He's an alcoholic, not a drug addict," the Riddler retorted, looking slightly ruffled.

"Alright. I'm sorry." Yin studied the large panel in front of her. "How does this open from this side?"

"You press here." He came over, touching a spot on the wall. It swung open again and Yin stepped out in relief.

"I'll let you know what I find out," Yin said.

"I'll come with you. I don't expect that we'll find much to speak of, however," the Riddler said. "I haven't heard any reports of pushers operating on this street. And I do have underworld connections."

"I'm sure you do," Yin sighed.

xxxx

The Riddler was right; no one on the block was aware of anything to do with drugs happening so close. And even some whose activities were suspicious seemed upset at the thought.

"No one else remembers smelling anything odd, either," the Riddler frowned as they walked back towards his office.

"You know what?" Yin said. "I think I'm going to find your father and ask him about this."

The Riddler froze. "That isn't a good idea," he said. "He beat me as a child and I'm still unsure that he wasn't here, even if he didn't actually attack me. But whether he did or not, he won't like interference from you. He might try to harm you just for asking him if he came out here." He unlocked the door and stepped inside. "I told you before that I've been keeping tabs on him. I'll call and ask him myself."

"Just as long as someone asks him," Yin said. "Would he be home now?"

The Riddler glanced at the clock. "If he's not, he'll be at one of the local bars." Sitting at the desk, he picked up the telephone and started to dial a number. As he leaned back, listening to it ring, he gazed off into the distance. "Friday's child is full of woe," he muttered in a singsong tone.

Yin started. "What?"

He looked as puzzled as she was. But before he had a chance to talk about it, a gruff voice came over the phone. "Hello?"

He snapped to attention. "Hello, Father," he greeted. "This is your loving son." He played with a pen on the desk as he sarcastically spoke.

A long silence followed. "What the heck are you doing callin' me out of the blue, Champ? And where are you? In jail again?"

"Do you really not know where I am?" the Riddler retorted. "Or were you here approximately thirty minutes ago?"

A scoff. "Like I'd even know where to go or even want to go. You proved you're just as bad as me when you were kicked out of the university, and a lot worse than me when you decided to become a supervillain. Yeah, I know all about your Riddler thing."

"And here I was wondering if you would even recognize me. So you honestly don't know where I'm currently living?" The Riddler leaned forward, resting his left arm on the desk.

"I don't know. What is this? Is that all you called to ask me?"

"I want to know if you came here and attacked me," the Riddler said.

A loud stream of swearing came through the phone. The Riddler held it away from his ear with a grimace. Yin narrowed her eyes.

When the tirade finally ceased, the Riddler finally brought the phone back. "If you're done speaking like a trash compactor, I take it you're telling me in a most unoriginal way that you didn't do it."

"I don't know what kind of a gag you're pulling, but don't you dare try to drag me into it," the outraged man snarled. "I really will find you and beat you. And it'll be worse than when you were a kid!" With that he slammed down the phone.

Yin looked tense. "He might really mean that."

"I know." The Riddler slowly replaced the receiver and clasped his hands, resting them on the edge of the desk. An involuntary shiver ran up his spine. He was either thinking about the real attack in his childhood or the apparent false one now. Either way, it haunted him.

Yin watched him, wishing she could do something to ease his pain. "Will you be safe?"

"I'll put my security cameras on top alert. And as I said, there's always some Riddlemen around."

Yin nodded. "That's good." She knew they were loyal to him.

"So everything will be fine." But he still sounded far away.

"I'm sorry you had to call him," she said after a moment.

The Riddler still looked troubled. "The problem is, I believe him," he said. "He wasn't here. But then, what happened?"

Yin still had no answer. "And what was that thing you started reciting while you were waiting for him to pick up?" she asked.

"That? Oh." He frowned. "It's part of an old nursery rhyme. I don't know why it suddenly popped into my head." Glancing at the day-by-day calendar on his desk, he shrugged. "I guess I was just thinking about it being Friday."

"I guess," Yin said.

She hesitated for a moment, but the Riddler was not in a talking mood and she didn't want to pry. Not knowing what else to really do under the circumstances, she sighed. ". . . I should probably go," she said, feeling awkward. "The kids'll be coming by the apartment and I have a Halloween party to get ready for."

"By all means." The Riddler waved her off. "I'm quite well. Don't let this bizarre mystery keep you here."

Yin nodded and turned to go, then paused. "Actually . . . would you like to come with me? To the party, I mean."

He raised an eyebrow. "Would they want someone there whom they haven't invited?"

"They encourage everyone to bring a friend," Yin said. "I haven't found anyone free to go with me. I figured I'd just be going by myself, but if you're up for it . . ."

He hesitated. Yin imagined it was definitely not his usual sort of activity. She hadn't even thought of asking him before because of that. But once she had blurted it out about the party's existence, she didn't imagine it would hurt to ask. And it might take his mind off of what had happened . . . or what hadn't happened.

Finally he got up. "Why not."

She relaxed. "Great. I'll come by in a couple of hours to pick you up."

"Fine. Oh, but one thing. Is this a costume party?"

"Costumes are optional," Yin said. "I probably wasn't going to wear one."

He smirked. "Where's your Halloween spirit, Yinsey?"

She sighed but smirked too. "If you want to do it, I guess I could throw something together."

"You'll see," he proclaimed. "It will be more fun that way."

Yin turned to go. "We'll see," she said noncommittally.

It occurred to her as she left that the Riddler tended to prefer to wear elements of a costume at all times, specifically that mask. She wondered if that was because he felt more comfortable that way. Perhaps without a mask, he felt too vulnerable.

That was sad in a way, she decided as she got into her car.

xxxx

Bruce Wayne couldn't keep from feeling a chill up his spine as the guard let him into the old brick building. Arkham Asylum was not the greatest place in the world to be at any time, let alone on Halloween. But before he prepared for a night of watching over Gotham as The Batman, he had decided he wanted to visit with an old friend.

"Ethan!" he greeted as he entered the visiting room.

"Bruce!" Ethan Bennett looked up with a bright smile.

The friends met and hugged. "How are you doing, Ethan?" Bruce asked as they pulled back.

"I'm doing real good, Bruce," Ethan said sincerely. "The doctors think I'll be able to make it this time."

"That's great, but what do you think?" Bruce asked.

Ethan paused, considering his answer. "Well, this time I came in of my own free will, instead of being caught and dragged in kicking and screaming. You know what I mean. And I think that really will make a difference. I didn't realize before how hard it is to get back into the swing of things after being on a wrong path. That was probably part of the problem the last time. It was just too much to deal with on top of everything else. But now I know. I've had time to think about it and now I know I'd rather deal with that then to keep being a criminal."

"That's great, Ethan," Bruce smiled. "Have you thought about what you want to do when you get out?"

"Kind of," Ethan said. "Oh, who am I kidding? I think about it all the time." He went and sat at the table in the middle of the room. "I guess what I really want is to get back into law enforcement, but that's out of the question."

"Maybe not." Bruce came and sat next to him. "There were extenuating circumstances in your case. I'm sure Commissioner Gordon would take that into account."

"Yeah, but what about Rojas? And my fellow officers?" Ethan sighed. "And would the citizens of Gotham ever feel safe knowing that Clayface was on the police force?"

"Former Clayface," Bruce stressed. "There'd be some hurdles to get past, of course, but I still think it could work."

Ethan smiled, somewhat sadly. "You've always been my best friend through all of this," he said. "Yin too. Never giving up on me even when it looked like Clayface was all that was left."

Bruce felt a stab of guilt. He knew that at least for his part, he had given up for a while. Someday, he supposed, he would have to tell Ethan that truth. But not today.

"Yeah," he said. "Detective Yin never believed that Ethan Bennett was gone for good."

A scream from outside the room brought Ethan's attention up sharply. He went to the door, peering out through the window.

"What is it?" Bruce asked, getting up too. "Isn't that just one of the more uncooperative patients wanting out?"

"Could be. Around here, it's not always easy to tell." Ethan looked back to Bruce when he didn't see anything in the hall. "There's been some real bad stuff going on around here lately."

"That's what I've heard," Bruce frowned. "What is it, exactly?"

Ethan looked worried. "I don't know that I should say anything at this point. One time somebody else tried to talk about it and then an inmate he was friends with had a mysterious accident. Like that was a punishment for talking, you know? Right now it might be safer for the others if I keep quiet. Maybe when I'm out . . ."

"Alright, Ethan." Bruce laid a hand on Ethan's shoulder. "Nevermind." He paused. "But can you tell me how long this sort of thing's been going on?"

"There's always something weird happening at Arkham," Ethan said. "It was that way when I was here a couple years ago, too. I thought maybe things would be better when I came this time and there was a new head psychiatrist, but . . ." He sighed and shook his head.

Bruce's frown deepened. ". . . Tell me, Ethan. Did you have any interaction with Edward Nygma when he was in here? Or did he know just how bad things are?"

"I didn't see him much, no," Ethan said. "He wasn't in here too long either time I was. And I don't think he knew a whole lot about stuff. I heard the head psychiatrist lady saying once that out of everybody here, he was one of the most dangerous to her work because he was both smart and sane. She said that was why he couldn't know anything at that point, even by being a victim. She also said he didn't really belong in Arkham. Then she started ranting some creepy thing about how that made him one of the most fascinating in the place and she'd love to have the chance to break him."

Bruce stared. "How did you happen to hear something like that?"

"I was just leaving after a session with her and her phone rang," Ethan said. "I could still hear her down the hall and I just had to stop and listen for a minute. But I got dragged away by a guard right after that. If he heard what she was saying, he didn't care."

Bruce's stomach turned. "And you don't have any idea who she was talking to?"

"No idea," Ethan sighed. "It could've been someone she knew on the outside or someone else on the staff here."

"Does anyone else on the staff act . . . weird?" Bruce asked.

Ethan looked worried. "I'm sorry, Bruce, but I'm really afraid if I say anything more, I could cause someone else here to get hurt. That's how they punish the people who still care about other people—they torture somebody else instead of the whistle-blower."

"You think they're listening now?" Bruce looked around the room.

"I'm sure of it," Ethan said. "They've got listening devices everywhere."

"Okay. Fair enough. We won't talk about it anymore," Bruce assured him.

Ethan relaxed. "Thanks, Bruce."

"No problem," Bruce said.

They talked for a few minutes more on other subjects before the guard opened the door and barked that the time was up. Reluctantly they stood to part ways.

"Thanks for coming, old buddy," Ethan said. "It's always great to see someone from the outside in here."

"You'll be on the outside soon," Bruce smiled. "Just think about that."

"Ohh boy, I do," Ethan said.

Bruce's mind was swirling as he headed up the corridor towards the front office. On the one hand he was glad to know that Nygma had very likely told him and Yin all that he knew about head psychiatrist Dr. Portman's experiments—which had mostly been suspicion with a few facts scattered in. Bruce was still unsure whether to give his full trust to the crafty character, so it helped to know that he likely hadn't been holding back information.

Another thing Nygma had mentioned was that he was quite sure a member of the staff had started conducting strange experiments. Two or three times he had witnessed inmates being escorted down the hall after certain mysterious treatments. In each case, they had been babbling about something horrifying they had supposedly experienced. One had claimed to have been covered in cockroaches. Another had insisted he had been stabbed repeatedly, yet hadn't had a mark on him.

Both the police and Bruce had tried to investigate Arkham following Nygma's tales, but it had been difficult to do so without possibly endangering him as the only one who could have made authorities aware of things. A surprise inspection had turned up nothing. Commissioner Gordon had since arranged for an undercover officer to start work as a nurse's aide, but so far she also hadn't learned anything.

Bruce clenched a fist. If only there was more that could be done! Clearly something was very wrong. Ethan had told him plenty. Bruce just hoped that it hadn't been enough to warrant someone else being tortured as Ethan's punishment.

"Oh, excuse me."

He looked up with a start, just in time to avoid colliding with a lanky, bespectacled man carting an armload of file folders. "Whoa!" he exclaimed, quickly stepping to the side. "I'm sorry for getting in your way. Need some help?"

"I've got it." The other man peered at him. "You're Bruce Wayne, aren't you?"

"That's right," Bruce said. "I was just visiting my friend Ethan Bennett."

"You're Mr. Bennett's friend?" The staff member perked up. "Out of everyone here, he's been making the greatest amount of progress."

"You don't know how happy it makes me to hear that," Bruce said.

"I'm sure. I've read Mr. Bennett's case file. He has quite a history with us . . . and with you."

"He's been through a lot," Bruce said.

"You won't get any arguments from me on that." The staff member looked impressed. "He has a strong will, to come back to himself after falling so far."

"That's Ethan for you," Bruce smiled. "He always gets back up again."

"Now if only more of the patients could follow his example. Some of them can't get back up. Some of them don't want to. Some are even . . . afraid to." The stranger's eyes flickered for a brief moment.

"Afraid to?" Bruce repeated. "Why? Are they concerned about being accepted in society again?"

"Some, yes. Others are more worried that they've grown so used to being criminals that they won't be able to stop."

"And the Arkham staff works hard to help them overcome these feelings, of course," Bruce prompted.

"Naturally. The staff only wants the very best for the patients. But some just keep falling no matter what we do."

As if on cue, several files started to slip.

"Uh oh." Bruce reached to help stop their descent. "I shouldn't keep you. You'd better get these to wherever you're taking them."

"Yes, I'd better. I'm Dr. Jonathan Crane, by the way."

"Good to meet you, Dr. Crane," Bruce smiled.

"Hopefully we'll get a chance to talk more later, when I'm not loaded down with files. You'll excuse me." Dr. Crane hurried down the hall and turned a corner.

Bruce watched him go and then continued to the front desk. He was pleasant enough, but after what Nygma and Ethan had told about Dr. Portman and others, Bruce was going to be suspicious of any Arkham staff members. There was no telling which ones were snakes in the grass.

His phone rang as he was stepping out of the building and heading back towards his car. "Hey, Alfred," he greeted. "What's up?"

"Nothing other than pumpkin-carving and the first of Gotham's little monsters arriving at the door," Alfred replied. "Will you be home soon, Sir?"

"I'm on my way now," Bruce told him. "Halloween's always a busy night."

"Yes, I know. For you-know-who as well as for Bruce Wayne. But I do hope there won't be anything too serious this year," Alfred bemoaned.

"Well, at least this year isn't Grundy's Night," Bruce said cheerfully. "And Dracula's been defeated. What else could go wrong?"

"Master Bruce," Alfred said in all seriousness, "that is something you should never ask."