The Skin That Crawls From You [A Jonathan Crane Fan-fiction]

The Scarecrow.

I see it clearly.

The scarecrow.

He's running, His eyes drip red, where the noose lays upon his neck, blood overflows and drenches the white of his button-down. His hands are skinned raw.

I crawl backwards as fast as I can, slamming into that metal divider within the van once more.

"You fucking-"
I manage, coughing on the pungent scent of fear.

He lunges into the van and scrambles towards me, I can't help but feel the fear. A fresh blood smear in his wake.

I swat at him, hitting his head hard as I begin to cry.

"Raven. Raven."
A twisted voice calls, it's deep, echoing and wrong; but just beneath it, is crane. His flat tone twinged with a slight hint of fear.

The scarecrow grasps the top of his mask and rips it upwards, pulling it off his head. Through the haze, his black hair flops into his face, a trickle of blood making its way to his brows. His eyes are red, as if every blood vessel had ruptured all at once. His neck is bruised; purple , brown , and yellow. A sticky stream of blood flows from a gaping wound within it.

In this moment I realize it's not him I fear.

It's losing him.

After everything he's put me through, and everything we've been through together; it's his dripping blood that scares me.

He's the only one who had offered to help me, the only one who cared, (my mother didn't even visit) and he's the only one with the power to hurt me now.

But after all, he came back .

"Put this on. now."
He orders; no kindness in his tone. He swallows hard and blinks repeatedly.

"Put it on!"
He yells. I swallow the sob that begs to escape me , but follow his command. I pull the mask over my face, and it reeks of citrus and fear. It's always citrus and fear. Inside of his facade, he keeps a breathing device. It kicks on as I adjust it to my face, but as I look back up through the smoke, Crane is gone again.