It happened again, the guards were bothering Jervis Tetch, stealing his newspaper top hat he created when he walked by them to sit down at one of the tables. At first he was still as a rabbit, then he turned with enough grace and craned his head to look at the man. He was tactful, elegant, and not as swift as he thought he was.

They laughed in his face, mocking him for what happened during his time outside of Arkham's walls, and mostly what happened to his sister. Jervis stayed still, patient, and asked for his hat back with grit in his voice.

They made the wrong choice by pulling the hat apart, the ripping sounds of printed words and pictures tore, tumbling to the ground, mimicking falling leaves off dying trees. The room went deathly quiet and everyone knew what was going through Jervis's head, it was as if they could feel his heart pumping by the sight of his destroyed hat, including his crumpled mentality.

Blind rage clouded his eyes and he attacked like a feral dog.

Jonathan Crane sat at the end of the table, watching like the others. He had his pillowcase over his head, holes ripped through so he could see.

This happened more than once, it was plainly obvious the guards enjoyed beating Jervis until he was twitching on the ground. They told lies on why he was attacking them, and sometimes they blamed it on the other inmates that were standing or sitting around.

Jervis couldn't handle it when his hat was taken from him, not even the first time when he entered Arkham. He was on edge the entire week, staring blankly at walls, rocking back and forth, rhyming, or even lashing out. It all ended when he created his replacement hat and he calmed down, but the guards took that as a chance to get some entertainment.

That day, he was annoyed the guards tormented Jervis. When they were taken back to their rooms, Jonathan asked if he could have some newspapers to read. The orderly gave him a strange look, but after awhile, they dropped the newspapers off and he started on a new hat for Jervis.

A few days after, he checked if the hat was stable enough, and then he left his room with it in hand.

Jervis was sitting at one of the empty tables, rocking back and forth, rhyming, and Jonathan heard names escaping his lips when he drew closer.

Alice….Gordon….Alice….Gordon….Alice….Alice….where are you? Where did you go? My Alice."

"Tetch," Jonathan said, clearing his throat, he stood in front of him and Jervis didn't seem to notice, so he sat down across from him and placed the hat in front of him.

Jervis stopped rocking and slowly looked at the hat. He stared, blinking a few times, as if he didn't know if it was real. "My hat?"

"I made it for you," Jonathan said, watching Jervis reach for it with shaky fingers. He picked it up and stared at it, examining the edges and the weight before placing it on his head.

He kept his fingers on the edges, shaking, but there was a glow on his face before a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as he turned to look at Jonathan. "Thank you, Mr. Crane."

Jonathan nodded. "I'll make you another one if they destroy this one."

"You'll do that?" Jervis asked, brows furrowed, "why?"

"Why not?"

"Normally," Jervis began, touching the edges again, "no one cares, and why should we?"

He had a point, why should Jonathan care about Jervis or any of the inmates. He had tortured people outside of these walls, relished in their screams as they were forced to face their fears before their hearts couldn't take it. He was a loner, living with a father trying to cure himself of guilt, while Jonathan tried to accept it, the ramifications only made things worse.

Jonathan looked down at his own hands, wringing out the nerves and inner rage that simmered under his patience. "I don't have to care, but I don't mind either way with people who have the same inclinations as I do."

"The same?" Jervis said, smiling. "I think you have me mistaken with someone else."

Jonathan narrowed his eyes at him. "We do, don't deny it, Mr. Tetch."

He would bring up Jervis's dead sister, and his own dead father. The obsessions were overwhelming, the reasons split off, but the similarities were too fondly conveyed. Why should he consider them different when they were alike? Of course there was Jervis's anger, his mentality cracking under the weight of his sister's death truly impacted him.

Jonathan didn't really like thinking of his father that much either, it always ended up with James Gordon's face, and his partner, Harvey Bullock.

Before their conversations could go on, or even come to a complete halt. They were taken from the room and back into their cells.

Weeks went by and Jonathan spoke with Jervis more often. Their friendship, or whatever it was, formed before them. A sort of partnership that helped them cope with their daily lives. Sometimes to their interest, the orderlies allowed Jerome Valeska to sit with them, but since he was considered dangerous, he was rarely with them. And when he was, he either tried to start trouble with everyone, played cards, or even sell a few cigarette's on the side.

One day, Jonathan was brought into the common room with everyone else. He spotted Jerome by himself, staring at the ceiling with a perplexed expression, it was odd, but his gaze tilted and landed on him, a broad smile replaced his contemplation.

He didn't see Jervis yet, and when Jonathan was about to take a step toward Jerome. His mask was pulled from his head. His mouth parted, eyes widening, and his breath caught in his throat while his heart beated painfully at the exposure.

Jerome's brows arched, he was still smiling, but there was a dark look that went past Jonathan's head to the man behind him.

Jonathan was shoved forward, and his legs buckled and he fell to the cold floor. He gasped, turning around to see the orderly that was bothering Jervis several weeks ago. He was grinning, holding the mask in his hand.

"We're confiscating this."

"No," Jonathan yelled, getting the other's attention, his hands were shaking so badly and he wasn't sure if he could stand up, "please give it back."

The man shook his head slowly. "Sorry, Johnny boy, you're not allowed to have it back."

"No," Jonathan said, but he gasped the words out, "give it back, give it back, give it back! Please give it back!" His hands raised to his head and his fingers dug into his scalp. He rocked back and forth, gasping for air and chanting, "Give it back, give it back, give it back, give it back. Please."

The orderly laughed and closed the fenced door.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, words whispering in his ear and he knew it was Jerome. Except Jonathan couldn't hear him, and all he could do was rock back and forth, unsure of what he was going to do.

He felt something covering his head and realized it was a shirt.

"There, you'll be fine," Jerome said, a sort of laugh in his voice.

It was okay, it did help a little, but he needed his mask. He gasped, and he knew he was crying, but he was angry at the same time. It was his identity, a purpose that made him who he was, a legacy his father created. He needed it.

A few minutes after, he felt a soft kick to his foot but he didn't register it.

"What's wrong with him?" Jervis asked.

"Asshole orderly took his pillow case," Jerome said, his hand on Jonathan's shoulder.

"Those guys again?"

"Yeah, figured my shirt should help him calm down, but he's still having a panic attack."

They talked but Jonathan couldn't hear them anymore. His mind stayed on the mask, and then the sound of a voice entered his head. His body became more relaxed, and he didn't understand what was happening to him.

The shirt was taken off his head after awhile and both Jerome and Jervis was staring at him, they were talking, but Jonathan couldn't hear them.

An orderly came into the room and took him away, he ended up in his bedroom, but all he did was lie on the bed, staring at the ceiling until he fell asleep.

He was like this for several weeks and an orderly checked up on him, and he wasn't taken from the room. They shined a light in his eyes, talked to him, but he didn't respond.

When they left him alone, the scarecrow appeared before him, talking, roughly grabbing him by the shoulders and growling. It almost sounded like his father's voice.

Johnny, everything will be alright. Fear is a curse. You'll never feel fear again. You're a failure if you succumb to fear.

Jonathan closed his eyes, a tear running down his face.

Days passed and then the door opened, he jerked awake, blinking his eyes open to see both Jerome and Jervis stepping inside the room. The door closed behind them and they both stared at him for a few seconds.

"You think he's alright?" Jerome asked, looking at him peculiarly.

"Are you okay?" Jervis asked, leaning forward.

Jonathan slowly sat up on the bed, letting his feet land on the floor. "What time is it?" he asked, rubbing his eye.

"I don't kn—" Jerome began.

"Two-thirty five pm," Jervis said, raising his chin with a smile.

He didn't want to ask the date, it was frightening on how long he had stayed still with the voice of his father in his ear, or the growling of the scarecrow reminding him how much a failure he was that he was still afraid.

"I got you something," Jervis said, stepping forward and holding the pillowcase he lost to the orderly, "we would have gotten it back earlier—"

"It'd be faster if we made our own," Jerome said, cutting him off.

"But every time we had one, they would take it away from us," Jervis said, shrugging.

"Bastards," Jerome muttered under his breath.

"How did you get it back?" Jonathan asked, staring down at the pillowcase, it was unreal that he held it, and every time he pictured the orderly taking it from him, his flight-or-fight reaction would make his chest tighten, and he craved someone to take it out on instead of succumbing to it.

"Jerome has connections in this place," Jervis said, tilting his head.

Jerome shrugged, a grin on his face. "What can I tell you, I'm charismatic."

Jonathan smiled and then he pulled the pillowcase over his head, making sure he could look through the eye holes.

Both Jervis and Jerome smiled at him, and it looked genuine.

"Now you look like yourself, Mr. Crane," Jervis said, proudly.

"Thank you, Mr. Tetch, and Jerome," Jonathan said, standing.

"Good," Jerome said, clapping his hands together, a sly grin formed on his lips, "now that you look like yourself, we can finally get a plan working on how to get out of this dump."

"We're escaping?" Jonathan asked, not completely surprised by this.

"Of course we are," Jervis said, placing a hand on Jonathan's shoulder, "we couldn't leave without you, it'd be a waste of talent."

"Also we need your expertise," Jerome added.

Jonathan smiled underneath the mask, his entire being of the scarecrow morphed and he reminded himself of who he was, not a broken boy with fear, but a creature with rage that wanted to show the entire world that he controlled their fear in his hands.

"Okay, let's get started on our escape plan."