"Oh no, I see, a spider web is tangled up with me. Oh no, what's this? A spider web and I'm caught in the middle, so I turned to run, the thought of all the stupid things I've done. I never meant to cause you trouble, I never meant to do you wrong. I, well if I ever caused you trouble. Oh no, I never meant to do you harm. Oh no, I see a spider web and it's me in the middle. So I twist and turn. They spun a web for me, they spun a web for me - they spun a web for me."

-Coldplay 'Trouble'

Ghosts In the Closets:

By: The BatThing

Chapter Two:

Batman landed in silence beside the dark figure of Nightwing. Dick had contacted him and suggested they meet atop Wayne Enterprises. At first the answer to that had been 'no', Bruce was no fool; he gathered that Alfred had taken the liberty to call the young man now beside him and talk of the events that took place that night.

But even with the gruff negative reply, Nightwing insisted, saying that if the Bat wouldn't find him – he'd find the Bat – even if it meant waiting at Wayne Manor for the arrival.

"Make it quick," Batman hissed, not bothering to look at the boy at his side. He couldn't bear to; it'd just make him all the more upset. He knew the expression being worn without even looking – disappointment.

"I suppose you're still pretty upset about tonight," Nightwing started, scratching his elbow slowly, and creasing his brow as he carefully placed his words. "I suppose you have a reason to be angry."

Batman gave a sharp shake of his head, "If I had wanted to incorporate you in this topic I would have."

Not backing down Nightwing replied, "You don't know what you want Batman, and this does concern me, whether or not you do or don't want to include me. And if Alfred called me, then it has to be pretty rough – meaning he can't even handle you."

The dark figure growled, "I would suggest dropping the matter Richard, I have far more important things at hand."

"Like what? Sulking? Get over yourself!"

"I don't make it a point to take advice from children."

"I think I'm a little old to be considered a child! And besides – it's not like you're listening to Alfred, or taking his advice."

"Anyone under 30 is a child. And I listen and reflect on his words– but I use my own judgment. This isn't a debate, and it's not even a conversation anymore."

Nightwing leapt to his feet, pointing an accusing finger at the figure slowly rising. "You can't simply tell me something like that. How dare you treat me like I'm a kid! I grew up way before my time, incase you didn't notice. You were the one shoving me towards maturity before I was even ready. Tim's by brother, and I won't have you doing the same to him – it's not right! I don't care what you think, or how you feel right now, just stop being a spoiled little brat!"

The shadow rose to its full height and Nightwing actually regretted his words as he cowered slightly. "Go and do your job."

Nightwing took a step back, freeing himself from the warning area. "I'll do my job – just consider what Alfred is saying. What we all are saying." The boy then leapt off the roof, carefully working his way across Gotham in a fashionable manner.

He came to Crime Alley and paused for a moment, taking a short breather as he placed both hands on his knees and glanced around – looking for anything of interest – anything that should (even though he would be unwanted) include him.

"Ech!" Nightwing covered his ears as a splitting pain shot through his skull. He dropped to his knees and gritted his teeth, taking in air with a shark whistle. The boy's vision blurred and he collapsed, not understanding what the cause of such pain was as he blacked out.

When Tim awoke he couldn't help but whimper in pain, rolling to his side he froze as pain struck. The freezing and burning sensation covered his stomach. Sitting up wasn't even an option at the moment – seeing as it caused unforgivable pain.

Gripping his comforter and sheets, he carefully pulled them back. Tim couldn't believe his eyes as he pulled his shirt up. There - all across his stomach - were burn marks, crested with a thin layer of blood. He gaped at them, and counted carefully. There – crested into his skin – were twelve burn marks, each two inches long and about an inch thick. They covered his stomach, spread towards his lower abdomen, and etched carefully towards his back.

The boy shivered, and carefully placed his hand over one, as if to hide its ugliness. Raising his head, he could see that it was still late – as his open window allowed only darkness to filter through, and the faint light of the city.

He couldn't bring himself to get up and tell either Alfred or Bruce, at least not on this night. They'd think him even crazier than they already were assuming, considering he had just been accused of tearing the pictures to shreds. No, telling them would do more harm than good is seemed.

The boy lay still, to scared and to sore to do much else. 'What's happening to me,' he thought, 'what is going on? How did this happen.'

Bruce.

Would Bruce have done this to him? Would Bruce actually attempt this sort of thing – Tim didn't believe that for a second – besides, he would have awoken at the first singe. 'Not Bruce, not Alfred, Dick, or Babs.'

Tim pulled his covers over him and swallowed, something was telling him that he knew who had made these marks.

'It was me – it had to have been me. Just like tearing Bruce's parent's pictures, without even realizing it, I was burning myself. I-'

The sound of raspy breathing broke out and Tim shot up, ignoring the pain throughout his body. His eyes fell on a dark shadow squatting down on the ground, slowing walk in the squat form across his floor. The faint glow from the window offered enough light to see that this thing wasn't anyone he knew. The boy to let out a shriek, he wailed and screeched, closing his eyes. "BRUCE! BRUCE! Hellllp!"

They weren't coming fast enough, and Tim felt something crawling onto his bed, the boy thrashed, refusing to open his eyes. It was coming, crawling across his bed towards him, slowly moving atop the covers.

"OH GOD – BRUCE!"

There was a slam at the door, "Timothy? What?" Bruce's voice came through, "the door's locked – TIM?"

Tim could feel a cold hand rest on his arms that was covering his eyes. It tugged, the cold fingers prying at his hands. "PLEASE! OHMYGOD!"

SLAM! The door flew open and Bruce stumbled in, looking up at where Tim sat, in his bed, all alone. He quickly flipped the lights on, squinting at the brightness. "Timothy?"

Tim uncovered his eyes and forced his shaking body to turn so he could look around. He looked back at Bruce who was now at his side, looking confused. "It's gone – oh god – B-Bruce, it was on my bed."

"What are you talking about? There is nothing here." Bruce looked the boy over, his face not expressing any hint of thinking other than what he had formally stated. He winced at the sight of a large brown and yellow splotch on the boy's face, where he had hit him earlier that night.

"It was here."

The 15-year-old looked terrified, and deep down Bruce wondered what Tim had seen. "It was probably just a nightmare."

"Not a nightmare," Tim gasped, clinging to his covers with great vigor, "it was real. I could hear you at the door, and it was still there. It wasn't human, whatever it was." Throwing his head up his dark eyes searched his mentor's own and he saw the doubt.

Bruce couldn't help but sigh with a little annoyance. It was late – and the night had been long enough. First the pictures and now this, how was he supposed to act? "Listen, Tim, how about you take some sleeping medication and try to get some rest?"

Tim blinked, sensing the annoyance, but not about the allow something like this to be pushed aside. "You don't believe me, do you? You don't think it was real, you think it's just a dream. Bruce, I'm not lying! I swear to you."

Running his hand over his eyes Bruce took a in a deep breath and then slowly looked around. "I don't think you are lying, but I do know something. Ghosts and monsters aren't real, and it wasn't a person in your room because I would have seen him."

"I swear!"

"I know, sometimes dreams can seem completely real. Now come on and I'll get you an Ambien to help you rest." Bruce started out of the room. Tim, who wasn't about to be left alone again, followed behind, trying his best to hide the pain from the burns. They made their way into Bruce's room and he quickly slipped into his bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet and pulling out a bottle of pills. "Has Alfred given you these before?"

Tim slowly shook his head, reading the label, "just the Sonata's sometimes."

Popping the cap Bruce poured a few pills into his hand, then took a small pill up. "Half should work fine on you – I don't want you sleeping throughout the whole night and day. These are strong."

Accepting the pill Tim carefully placed it in his mouth and swallowed. The feeling of the powdered pill in his dry mouth wasn't pleasant, but he dealt with it. Standing in a position that kept his shirt away from the burns, he watched Bruce closed up the cabinet. He watched the man waltz out of the bathroom and followed him, keeping a steady gaze. "What if it comes back?"

"It won't, and you'll be asleep if it does."

"But if I'm asleep it'll attack me. What then?"

Bruce clenched his fists, not out of anger, more from the stress of the situation. "There is nothing out there Tim, nothing but your imagination. If I hear anything I'll check up on you."

Tim nodded, scared out of his wits and not brave enough to admit it. "Night," the boy finally managed and he slipped into the hall, closing the door behind him. There was no way he was going to face his bedroom again. 'I don't want to be alone, but I can't do anything but be alone.'

Gently sliding down on the floor beside Bruce's door, he wrapped his arms around his body and took himself into a hug. His burns hurt so much, but he dealt with them, knowing if Bruce found out – he'd be mad. Soon enough the Ambien began its job, it was stronger than the Sonada's Alfred usually dosed him with when he was having nightmares from work – like the first time he had seen a man killed – it took him long nights before recovery.

Sleep did come, and it came unexpected. The boy carefully curled into a tight ball outside the door and fell into a deep slumber, breathing heavily as he lay.

To be continued…

Candleblaise: Isn't AYLNO wonderful? Everyone should read it! Thanks for the comment, lol, I don't know about the best, but I try. I came up with this concept in church. I had to go to the second service because I was up all night at a party (nice), so I was out of it and this just played in my mind. So – I don't take much credit – I think it was the lack of sleep and the lack of real food, lol. Thanks so much for reading my stuff, you're a pal!

Shadow Avenger: It's true, it's true, I do love to torture Tim! But I don't blame myself, lol, I blame all the Tim fanfictions out there! I mean – it's hard to find a happy Tim fanfic now-a-days, you know? ROTJ did that to him, poor Timmy. You'll have to wait a few more chapter to find out what the truth of this all is (I do think it's clever – but then again – I am wrong at times, lol.) And also, hope you enjoy the new chapter in: The P L A Y G R O U N D Boys, I updated just for you! You inspired me.

Ari: I know what you mean about Alfred's dialect, the trouble is I don't really know how to do it. Usually I just throw it at you and you take care of it, but I suppose it's high time I learned! Hmm, maybe I'll start speaking proper and everything and that'll be a start – or I could just look at the comics and learn, lol, that'd be best. You'll have to critic me on the next chapter with Alfred in it. I want to get him right! Thanks for the review; I am ober happy you liked it!

Silver: Ha-ha, I love that review, I can't get over it. I suppose I shouldn't be surprise. LOL, J/P. I haven't spoken to you in, like, two days – or has it just been one? LOL, who knows – but I need to E-mail you back! As if we don't e-mail enough, huh? Oh yes, and from this point on I have decided to blame you for my Timmy obsession, ok? If anyone is like: ha, loser! I'll just be like: Well, it's Li's fault. I don't know why, but I figure if we hadn't met I'd be over Batman. LOL, so I suppose I owe you. Heh, thanks for the review! Talk to you later.

Caerula: Tim's your favorite too? Yea! We need to start a club for all the Tim Drake fans, well, or just a webpage. There is already the Tim Drake-ster club, lol, population: 2. But yes, it's ok that you are biased when it comes to Tim, it makes you more cool. Yeah – the grammar, I didn't let my wonderful editor read this one over, so yeah. I'm really sucky when it comes to grammar and Alfred's speaking. LOL. But if you would, just tell me about the grammar, I am always willing to know what I did wrong. Just be like: what are you doing, stupid, this is completely and utterly wrong. And I'll cry some, but learn too. Hee-hee, thanks for reading Caerula, hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Alfie: Hello again buddy! Yes, yes, when it comes to the laughter even I get scared. Just imagine writing this late at night, in the dark (so your parents wont tell you: you have school in the morning, sleep!) and with a red glow coming from your little light. I scare myself. The other night I was thinking about the oncoming chaptered and scared myself so bad I had to sleep with the lights on – (hangs head in shame). The only thing is that my mind makes it worse, you know? Yeah for Alfred fans! I love Alfred too, he's my sister's fav. Character, and he's up at the top for me. Life without Alfred would be hard. (That'd make a good fanfiction). Gotta run, thanks!