Chapter Text
Jonathan Crane sat in his dimly lit laboratory, the flickering light of a single bulb casting long shadows over the assorted laboratory equipment and in-process scarecrow outfits. Jonathan lighted up the desk lamp and tried to focus on his notes on the experiment he had been conducting before-
Before he and Edward Nygma had-
Before The Incident.
Jonathan glanced at the floor, and the cleaner spot middle of the laboratory, the result of his feverish cleaning after-
After he had returned to the laboratory and to his relief found it Edwardless.
The memories bubbled to the surface of his mind, unbidden, and to his horror Jonathan could feel the warmth of a blush on his cheeks.
After The Incident Jonathan has pulled up his pants, thrown his soiled lab coat in the trash, and told Edward he had a schedule to keep to so goodbye, and left before Edward had time to react.
Jonathan had walked around the block a few times, fear gassed a passer-by or two, and eventually returned home after realizing he’d freeze in the autumn air since he had somehow forgotten his coat. To his relief Edward had taken the hint and left. He had not cleaned up the laboratory though, and after staring at the various fluids sprinkled around the floor for a minute or two Jonathan had dug up the gloves he used when working with hazardous materials and mopped up the offending- fluid off the floor with a kitchen towel that was dropped into the trashcan afterwards next to the rest of biohazardous material.
And then he had sat down.
And he had stayed still for hours, rereading the same few research articles again and again, eyes glossing over the text.
His thoughts were a chaotic mess, each thread leading back to the same unsettling realization: things had changed, irrevocably so.
He closed his eyes and imagined Edward on his knees in front of him, very naked, and could feel his heart rate speeding up.
This was a problem.
Maybe he could just avoid Edward? Forever. Maybe the next time they met up Jonathan could simply pretend none of this had happened? That it had been some kind of hallucination?
Maybe he could kill Edward? Inject him with so much fear toxin his brain got scrambled forever?
The thought made Jonathan uncomfortable. He didn’t really want to do that. It would be such a waste to destroy a mind like that. Besides, just getting rid of Edward might not solve anything, considering the actual source of his issues might be-
The question loomed over him, an intangible specter that he couldn’t fully grasp or control.
The problem was that Jonathan had no experience with this. It made it difficult to decide how to proceed. But he’d rather not think about Edward at all right now. Yes, it seemed logical to focus on figuring out what was going on with himself first, before even starting with Edward Nygma and the appropriate reaction to this.
He had never considered the question of sexuality, or romance. Not when it came to himself. Frankly, even though he obviously was aware of the way human sexuality influenced people’s behavior, he had always found desire to be an insufficient explanation for most things humans claimed was a result of it. In Jonathan’s estimation, fear was the most fundamental emotion, the root of all human neuroses and decisions. Things like the desire to find a partner and have sex were in most cases better understood as a result of fear: fear of being alone, or the fear of not leaving anything behind. So it had always been easy to simply dismiss dwelling into such flimsy motivations as ’sexual desire’ when he sought to understand his patients.
And when it came to Jonathan himself?
It simply wasn’t something worth spending time wondering about. He had no interest in indulging in behavior like that. He had felt something, as a teenager, he supposed. But even then he had understood that since actually dating would not be in the cards for him, it was completely unnecessary to dwell in something as superfluous as romance or sex.
So the question of his sexual orientation or more broadly his sexuality had not been a topic worth any consideration.
But now-
He sat in the dimly lit laboratory, paralyzed with indecision. He was afraid that no matter what he would do, things would change forever.
But he was still Jonathan Crane.
He was still the Scarecrow.
If his experiments had taught him anything, it was that fear could be dissected, categorized, and understood. But this fear, this gnawing uncertainty about who he was, remained stubbornly opaque. He needed data- real, unvarnished data devoid of any emotional connections.
The answer, naturally, was to conduct a psychological experiment.
The cool Gotham night in the late autumn provided the perfect hunting ground for psychologists willing to do some field work. Scarecrow prowled the streets, his coat billowing around him like a shadow. He wasn’t looking for anyone specific, just someone who fit the profile he’d concocted in his mind: middle-aged, ordinary, likely steeped in the societal expectations.
He found his subject just outside a corner store, a white man in his mid-40s with thinning auburn hair. He was fumbling with his keys as he walked toward a modest Honda. Perfect.
Scarecrow struck quickly, stepping in front of him and spraying a fine mist of fear toxin directly into the man’s face before he could react. The man staggered, coughing, his keys clattering to the pavement.
“What... what’s happening?” he gasped, his voice trembling as terror took hold.
“You’re experiencing fear,” Scarecrow informed him, grabbing his arm and leading him to his waiting van. “And I need to understand it.” With practiced efficiency, Scarecrow pushed the man into the van and slammed the doors shut behind him.
The hideout Scarecrow took his patient wasn’t his laboratory, but instead one of the abandoned warehouses in the Narrows, mostly empty apart from the testing area Scarecrow had set up in the corner, lit by harsh fluorescent lights. The air was cold but not so cold his patient would be in any danger of hypothermia. The man, still trembling from the effects of the gas, sat at a metal table, his legs tied to the chair with zip ties. In front of him was a thick stack of papers: Scarecrow’s hastily assembled questionnaire.
“What... what is this?” the man asked, his voice shaky.
Scarecrow loomed over him, his burlap mask inches from the man’s face. “You’re going to help me understand something. Answer every question truthfully, or I’ll gas you again. And trust me, the second dose is always worse. Third time? There might not be much left of your mind to break at that point.”
The man swallowed hard and nodded.
Jonathan handled him a pen. ”Excellent. Go on. We don’t have all night.”
The man got to work, tense, with the masked psychologist looming behind him, watching him fill the questionnaire.
The questionnaire began innocuously enough:
1. What is your name?
2. Age? Occupation?
But it quickly delved into more personal territory Jonathan was interested in:
5. At what age did you first experience romantic attraction?
6. Was it toward the same sex, the opposite sex, or both?
7. Describe your first sexual experience. How did it make you feel?
The man hesitated, his hands trembling as he wrote. Scarecrow watched intently, pacing behind him.
“Keep going,” Scarecrow growled.
He watched the man, Mark Jenkins apparently, hesitate at the seventh question.
”Go on,” Scarecrow hissed. ”I am not looking for some sort of a pornographic short story. This is a purely scientific inquiry. No need to get into specifics. I am not interested in a step-by-step description of what bodyparts went into which holes. Nothing that detailed.”
Mark tried to turn on his chair. ”Y-you are not?”
”What do you mean?”
Scarecrow watched as Mark’s hand gripped the pen, shaking.
”Y-you know I just. You kidnapped me and tied me to a chair and-”
Scarecrow stared down at him. ”This line of thinking is completely inappropriate. Simply answer the questions to the best of your knowledge.” He pulled out his fear gas canister. ”Or do you require additional encouragement?”
”N-no.”
The questions grew more specific, probing into the man’s understanding of his own identity:
12. Have you ever questioned your sexual orientation? If yes, why?
13. On a scale of 0 to 6, with 0 being exclusively heterosexual and 6 being exclusively homosexual, where would you place yourself?
14. How do societal expectations affect your perception of your desires?
The man faltered at question 13, his pencil hovering over the paper. “I... I don’t know how to answer this,” he stammered.
“Then think,” Scarecrow snapped, leaning in close. “Everyone fits somewhere. What do you really desire? What keeps you awake at night?”
“I... I guess... one?” the man said hesitantly, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ve had thoughts, but... I’ve never acted on them.”
Scarecrow tilted his head, intrigued. “Why not?”
The man looked down, his face flushed. “Because... because it’s not really- I am married- Soph, she’s. We’ve been married for a long time, got kids, uh, it’s not… Worth thinking about.”
Scarecrow said nothing for a moment, letting the man’s words hang in the air. He felt a strange mix of vindication and unease. The experiment was working.
Mark froze. ”Uh it’s asking about uh, about work-”
Scarecrow peeked over his shoulder to see where Mark was with the questionnaire. ”Oh yes. Question 36.”
36. Imagine a scenario where a co-worker initiates sex. What is the appropriate response upon meeting them at work the next day?
”Yes?” Scarecrow asked eagerly. ”Do you have relevant experience?”
Mark shook a bit. ”I- I…”
”Come on now, this is for your own good.” He had seen that look in his patient’s faces before. He needed some additional encouragement.
Scarecrow whipped out the fear toxin, and with a ”Boo!” sprayed it in Mark’s face.
Mark, predictably, screamed.
”The dose I have given you is not enough to fully drive you to hallucination. It should simply make it… Easier for you to visualize the fear, the traumatic experience perhaps, that is blocking you.” Scarecrow loomed closer. ”What do you see? What has my wonderful fear toxin shown you?”
”I- I-”
”Answer the questionnaire, Mark. We’re on a schedule here.”
Mark curled up in his chair. ”De- debra.”
”Who is Debra?”
”I am s-so sorry- Soph I am so sorry.”
Scarecrow consulted his notes. ”Soph… Your wife? How is this relevant?”
Mark rocked back and forth. ”Sophia honey I am sorry it was just one time- We had both been drinking too much, and Sandra was so young and keeping us up all night and Debra was there, at the company Christmas party-”
Scarecrow cleared his throat. ”It was a heterosexual experience? I am not sure how relevant this encounter with Debra will be for my-”
Mark was openly weeping now. ”She was there, and she looked so nice in that black skirt that shows a lot of leg and frames her ass so nice, and when she leaned in and grabbed my-”
”IRRELEVANT TO THIS EXPERIMENT!” Scarecrow informed him, spraying him with an another dose of fear toxin.
Mark let out a screech, and had he not been secured to the sturdy chair, he would have flopped onto the floor.
Scarecrow sighed, watching his patient react to the toxin. As nice as the screams were, he wasn’t going to get any actual data now that he was deep in the wordless whimpering stage. Jonathan would need to wait for him to come down, just enough that he could hold a pen again.
This was going to be a long night.
Hours later, the questionnaire was complete. Mister Jenkins sat slumped in the chair, drained and pale. Scarecrow rifled through the pages, scanning the answers with clinical precision.
The experiment had continued for hours, Scarecrow pressing the man with follow-up questions whenever an answer intrigued him. By the end, Mark Jenkins, a sales representative for a mattress company, was a trembling wreck, but the questionnaire was complete.
“Fascinating,” Scarecrow said, flipping through the pages. “You’ve provided me with much to consider.”
“Are... are you going to kill me?” the man whispered, his voice raw.
“Kill you?” Scarecrow scoffed. “Why would I do that? Go. Consider this your contribution to the advancement of psychological science.”
He released the man, who stumbled out of the hideout into the Gotham night, gasping for air.
Back in his study, Jonathan pored over the completed questionnaire. The answers were illuminating, but they also deepened his own unease. Fear was certainly at the root of this, but the ways it tangled with desire had given him much to consider.
This was groundbreaking work, he thought. He was delving into the core of human vulnerability, uncovering truths that most people spent their lives avoiding. But as he analyzed the results, Jonathan couldn’t shake the gnawing thought that this was not going to be enough.
But it had made him feel better. It had reminded him who he was.
He was Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow, and no matter what else he’d discover about himself, he’d always have that; the certainty that he was looking at the world through a more sophisticated lens, as a professional psychologist who truly understood fear.
He set the papers aside and leaned back in his chair, the weight of his experiment settling over him. He’d learned much tonight, but the most unsettling revelation was this: fear couldn’t be conquered through data alone.
But he had regained his certainty. It had been illuminating how easily he had been able to rummage through Mark the mattress sales rep’s brain. His sexual fears had been extremely simple and easy to understand. He was afraid of ruining his marriage, afraid of being weak, of being seen as abnormal if he explored his attraction towards men. He was terrified of change but also afraid he was locked into a dead-end job and a marriage that had lost its spark.
Jonathan stared at the ceiling, hands clasped loosely in his lap as he tried to detach himself from the emotional chaos swirling inside his mind. He needed to take a step back and analyze the situation with the cold, clinical detachment he was able to slip into with Jenkins.
Did he need a larger sample size? Or should he change his approach completely?
Of course.
If he was looking at this case as an outsider, if this were a patient, if it were anyone else but him, how would he proceed?
He took a deep breath, then mentally shifted his focus, pretending for a moment that this wasn’t his life, but a case study in front of him. A patient, he decided to call him "Subject C", who was presenting with recent symptoms of confusion and distress regarding their sexual identity and personal relationships. His lips twitched slightly at how absurd it all sounded when removed from his own skin, but he pressed forward, letting his thoughts form a coherent analysis.
Case Background: Subject C, male, early forties , highly intellectual and emotionally repressed, a life long victim of persecution from authority figures and peers alike . Known for obsessive tendencies and an aversion to intimacy.
Jonathan took a deep breath. He knew the diagnoses the doctors back in Arkham had given him. He had read through their files on him, after all. But he pushed those out of his mind. He wasn’t relying on Doctor Arkham or Leland or any of them for their diagnosis. He was both removing himself from this and also providing the psychologist in charge of this evaluation all relevant information. So he continued:
Significant psychological trauma in early childhood due to abusive caregiving figures and a deeply religious upbringing in rural Georgia. The subject was raised with strict conservative values, particularly surrounding sexuality and gender roles, likely resulting in an ingrained fear of exploring not only non-heteronormative behaviors but sexual relationships in general.
Crane rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Yes, the signs were all there; the hallmarks of repression, the rigid environment in which any deviation from the "norm" would be met with condemnation and shame. The subject, naturally, had internalized those messages, even as he had rejected the religious dogma later in life.
Initial Diagnosis: The subject’s repression likely extended beyond simple sexual curiosity. Based on recent developments, we could hypothesize that his attraction toward men has been buried under layers of guilt and fear, only now surfacing due to an intense emotional experience with one specific individual.
In this case, the individual in question was of course Edward Nygma. Crane couldn't help but smirk slightly at the thought. Of course. Who else? Brilliant, insufferable, and just manipulative and stubborn enough to peel back the layers of Crane’s carefully constructed defenses. There was something infuriating about how quickly Edward had gotten under his skin, how he provoked reactions that no one else had. But that all was irrelevant. Merely an observation.
Edward was, at the end of the day simply one individual. Irrelevant.
Analysis of Behavioral Signs: Subject C's reaction to The Incident where he was propositioned by a colleague has been complex. The subject was taken by surprise, but rather than rejecting the contact outright, he reciprocated: suggesting latent desires had already been forming beneath the surface. The subsequent attraction toward the colleague , both physically and emotionally, indicates that this may not be a mere passing curiosity but rather an awakening to deeper feelings that had long been repressed.
Further evidence includes an obsessive need to understand these feelings through controlled means, such as experimentation. Subject C is attempting to intellectualize and contain them- framing his attraction to his colleague as part of a broader psychological study rather than admitting to genuine romantic or sexual interest.
Crane sighed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk. It was true. He had tried to rationalize everything about his interactions with Edward, convincing himself that it was all part of some grand experiment. But the truth, the raw truth, was much simpler than that. He was drawn to Edward. There was no clinical detachment to it.
Impact of Religious Upbringing: One of the most significant factors in this case is Subject C's background, which would have implanted deeply negative associations with homosexuality. Growing up in a conservative environment would have led to an internalization of shame, fear, and repression regarding any non-heteronormative tendencies. Any feelings of attraction toward men would have been swiftly buried, never explored, and likely dismissed as abnormal or sinful.
Crane grimaced. His upbringing, what he had tried to escape for so many years… Could it be it was was still haunting him, still shaping his perceptions? He had rejected his Great-Grandmother’s worldview, rebelled and killed her. And he had fled. But if this was anyone else, if he was looking at this through the detached lense of an observer, he would of course assume that the rigid rules about morality and what was deemed "natural" versus "perverse" that he had been immersed in not only through his Great-grandmother but also the conservative attitudes of the small town in rural Georgia would have had an effect. There had been no room for deviation in that world. To love another man? To even think about it was unthinkable. At best it would have been a perversion, a dirty thing men got up to in public restrooms. Nothing to do with love.
Then again, when had love entered this equation? It was even more laughable than considering this to be purely a sexual urge.
Wasn’t it?
And besides, Jonathan had nothing against sexual minorities in the present day. When he had found out Harley was together with Isley, he had only felt relief she was done with the Clown. He didn’t have many close acquaintances anyway, but he liked to think he considered people’s sexual and romantic escapades irrelevant. And he had been aware of Edward not being straight, and had been fine with it-
He decided to avoid the nagging feeling he had ruined whatever had been there. He wasn’t even sure if what they had done counted as- counted as a real sexual encounter, but he maybe should have not just left-
No. He needed to figure out what was going on with himself first. Jonathan took a deep breath and focused.
It was all so obvious now, looking back with the eye of a psychologist. The way he had avoided relationships his entire life, dismissing attraction as irrelevant to his work. The way he had coldly dissected any fleeting feelings of affection, burying them deep where they couldn’t interfere with his pursuit of fear.
But this wasn’t just about his mind. His body- his body- was betraying him too. The way his pulse quickened when Edward was near. The way he kept thinking about the initial kiss, with Edward’s mouth against his, hot and wet, his body against Jonathan’s, his hands grasping his shirt... The way Jonathan had realized, at that moment, that this was his last chance for- for something unnameable, and that if he pushed Edward away he’d never get to feel like this again.
At that moment Jonathan hadn’t considered the kind of intimacy where it finally had ended up in-
With Edward on his knees in front of him-
Time to move on!
Conclusion: Subject C exhibits clear signs of repressed homosexuality, stemming from his religious upbringing and the trauma associated with it. His attraction toward s men, particularly toward s a close male associate, has been triggered by this new experience . Given that this attraction seems focused on one individual rather than a broad spectrum of men, it suggests that Subject C may not have fully explored his sexuality in general- focusing instead on the emotional bond with this particular figure, or might be on the asexual spectrum .
Further treatment should involve allowing Subject C to explore his feelings in a safe and non-judgmental environment. However, due to his obsessive and controlling tendencies, it's likely that the subject will continue to intellectualize these emotions unless pushed to confront them in a more vulnerable state.
Jonathan tapped his fingers on the desk, finishing his mental analysis. He exhaled slowly, sitting in silence. If he were an outside observer, the diagnosis would be straightforward: repressed homosexual tendencies, manifesting late in life due to an intense emotional and physical connection with a specific person.
It all made sense. Logically, at least. Emotionally, it was another matter entirely. He didn’t feel like someone who could be in love with another man, much less act on it. His entire life had been about control, about rising above the masses, using fear as a weapon. But love? Attraction? These were things that made a person vulnerable. Things he had thought were merely a smokescreen hiding the real motivation anyone had for anything: fear. But it didn’t fit, he didn’t feel like he had reciprocated because he was afraid of turning Edward down. He hadn’t given Edward what he wanted, told him what to do, because he was afraid of judgment if he didn’t participate.
And Jonathan certainly hadn’t felt fear when he had listened to his body, when he had noted how wonderful Edward’s mouth felt, when he had unraveled and been struck with a desire to touch Edward and keep touching him forever-
Jonathan Crane couldn’t deny it any longer. The signs were all there. The questions, the lingering thoughts, the way his heart had raced when Edward smiled at him...
Why exactly, did it feel so monumental? Maybe it was because this changed his self image on a fundamental level. If this had been bubbling under the surface all these decades, what else might there be? Would this break some sort of a dam of emotions, changing him irreversibly?
At the very least, he now knew he was someone who had derived pleasure from ordering Edward around. Someone who had been aroused by the sight of him masturbating. Someone who had enjoyed the sight of Edward on his knees-
Maybe it was just Edward? Jonathan let out a frustrated hiss. No, that felt like a coward’s way out. He wasn’t sure how central the gender of his partner was, exactly, but Edward being a man wasn’t irrelevant. He really did enjoy watching Edward naked. It was probably fine to admit that to himself.
So Jonathan Crane was gay. And he was going to have to figure out what the hell to do about that.
Jonathan Crane sat at his desk, staring into the void.
He blinked, lips parting as he mouthed the words silently, feeling the weight of them press down on his chest. He tried them again, aloud this time, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m gay.”
It was strange how final it sounded. Like a switch had been flipped. There was no more dancing around the possibility, no more analyzing or overanalyzing, no more trying to rationalize his feelings for Edward as mere intellectual curiosity. It was out there now, spoken into existence. And with that admission, something inside of him… settled.
Of course, it did make sense. Naturally, fear was involved in this equation. But it was the wrong way around; fear had kept him from exploring this side of himself for all these years. Fear of allowing these feelings to exist changing him and how he viewed the people around him.
But he was The Scarecrow, the Master of Fear.
There was no chance in the world he’d let something like a slight case of internalized homophobia get the better of him!
He sat back in his chair, exhaling deeply. It wasn’t that all his questions had been answered, but the problem itself had been identified, like he had diagnosed a patient. That’s what this had been: a problem to solve, and now, relying to his understanding of human psyche and fear, he had solved it.
He had mastered a deepseated phobia that had been lurking in the back of his skull for all these decades and successfully integrated the aspect of homosexuality into his self image.
He got up and started gathering the papers. He should try to get some sleep, it was almost 3 AM.
He’d need to figure out the best way to proceed, now that he had successfully overcome his psychological hangups.
Because now, he had to decide what to do with Edward.