Fear Awakened [Jonathan Crane / Scarecrow]

011

"You're scaring me," she spoke with a definitive tremble to her voice.

He could see her there - jaw slack in shock as she tried to piece together what was happening, her dark eyes wide in confusion - but he could not will his voice to spill from between his own lips.

You wanted my help, Johnnyboy.

And true enough, he had.

He had needed the help of something stronger than himself to survive the hell that had been the church, and the thing which dwelled just under the surface had risen to the occasion.

Jonathan had felt it tangibly getting larger and taking up residence in all of him, much the way he imagined one could feel a tumor growing. He had even given himself a name - Scarecrow.

As thankful as he had been to receive protection from the pain and torment of the crows, he did not need that protection any longer.

Quite the opposite; now, the feeling of being tucked away within himself was horrifying, like kicking towards the surface while underwater and never managing to make it there.

Please, let me talk to her, he pleaded with himself, well aware of what that conversation suggested about his sanity.

What's the matter, don't like seeing her scared?

He couldn't lie, especially not to himself; he did like seeing Jane frightened, as much as he wished otherwise. The fascinating way her eyes betrayed all that emotion, the little v forming between her furrowed brows - it was, to say the least, intriguing.

But he could not afford this type of exposure, just then. After all, Jane was the only person in his life who showed him even the slightest kindness. He was not ready to have that ruined by Scarecrow.

Let me out, now. This wasn't part of the deal.

Whatever you say, Johnny.

He didn't expect to actually feel himself come back to the forefront of his own mind, but over a period of a few moments, he was in control again. His vision normalized and his body felt more his own as he twitched his fingers and began to feel the sting of the cuts that decorated his skin.

"Jonathan?" she asked hesitantly, her hands shaking just as her voice had.

He cleared his throat to speak, finding it hoarse and bone dry; he downed the rest of the water she'd offered before attempting to speak. When he sputtered into a coughing fit, she placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm okay," he offered up, unsure what else to say, placing his hand over her own.

She studied him closely for a moment before shifting back away from him.

"What - who was that?" she asked. Her fear still rolled off of her in neon waves, no matter how strong she attempted to look.

It was his turn to sit slackjawed.

How was he to explain to her what was happening in his head? At best, she'd think him insane and never speak to him again. At worst, she'd tell Granny and he might end up dead as a result of the punishment that would follow.