Warning: This story will elude to the eventual events of the episode "Old Wounds". There won't be blatant spoilers, just general hintings.

A/N: I finally decided enough was enough, time to get this thing posted! So, this is the big kahuna, the brainchild that got this story-ball rolling in the first place. I'm pretty proud of how it turned out. It could have been edited more, but what else is new...

Be warned, it may seem like I drag this out longer than I should have, but the majority of it is intentional. You'll see why...

It took Robin a moment to overcome his disbelief at the scene that lay before him, his feet rooted to the suspiciously clean ground while his gaze remained glued to the silhouette of the self-appointed protector of Gotham hanging unconsciously by his limp wrists from the low-slung and sagging rafters of the warehouse. So blindsided was he by the completely unexpected turn of events that he took many more precious seconds than was usually necessary to come out of the shock that had rendered him immobile. A quick shake of the head to remove the cobwebs of racing thought from his mind and he was willing his feet into motion, bounding to come underneath Batman's elevated position.

His gaze worked over the apparently unconscious form of the man he had been begrudgingly sent to find, his innately acute senses scanning for immediate injuries or anything that might give him insight into his former mentor's condition. What portion of Bruce's face that he could make out underneath the sleek black cowl was ghostly pale, a stark and sobering contrast from his darkly shadowed form. A small trickle of dried blood had carved a path down the corner of the man's mouth and across his jaw, but as Dick squinted up in scrutiny, it seemed to evidence an older injury.

If Bruce really had been held here for the last three nights as Alfred had said, then perhaps the butler's true fears were not so implausible after all. Right now, Robin mused as he swallowed thickly at the realization, his first priority was to tend the most immediate concerns: Batman's unconsciousness. Only after he would be able to rouse the man would he be able to gather the truth about the situation and be able to best face the fallout when in inevitably came. After all, being saved by this particular person would not be very effective in lifting the Batman's spirits.

Unsheathing a batarang from his utility belt, it took Dick only mere seconds to take aim and send it into whistling motion at the chains which had been stretched across the rafters, suspending its victim in the air. Before he could do anything else, he had to cut Bruce down. The metallic clang of shaped and sharpened steel colliding with its fellow reverberated between the warehouse walls despite their aged thinness, again slicing through the silent air hanging thick around them both. It was only at the ear-piercing sound did Robin's eyes again widen as the batarang collided with its target and without preamble ricocheted off with equal force, embedding in the soft dirt floor at his feet with a muted thud. Dick frowned. So much for that plan…

Looking from side to side in a last effort to ensure they were alone, Robin did the next logical thing and called to the limp form still suspended above him.

"Batman?"

The air remained thick with apprehension and choking with silence. He spoke louder.

"Batman, can you hear me?"

Robin sighed in frustration and intense thought as he contemplated his next possible move. This wasn't going to work...

After studying Batman's confines for several moments, the realization came to him that releasing the dangling form above seemed to hinge on unshackling whatever bound his wrists. To accomplish that, he would have to reach Bruce at his elevated position in order to free him. Luckily for them both, Dick had a trick up his sleeve that did not require his more primeval, last-resort tactic of trying to stack the old crates that lay littered around them and climb his way to the rafters.

Before he had finally hung up the cape for what he believed was for good, Bruce had been field testing a new device that had come straight from Lucius Fox himself. It had become obvious even to the lay person that their grapple guns were a staple of their arsenal and thus a major key to their success. Unfortunately, a situation that called for the need to repel alongside a structure from great heights or even to simply suspend oneself upright from a certain air-born position and accomplish any hands-free task could not be done effectively with the simple grapple gun and line.

So with a little prodding and coercing by Bruce, his faithful supplier was quick to create a prototype device and it again did not disappoint his most loyal patron. How fortunate for Dick that he had kept said device on his belt despite all that had transpired since then. He'd have to remember to thank Lucius when or if he ever saw him again.

Extending an arm and aiming at what Robin had decided looked like the sturdiest of the slowly decaying beams, he felt the strong pull of the motor dragging him skyward as he depressed the recall button after the anchor had sunk its greedy spikes into moist, moss-encrusted wood. Quickly reaching Bruce's elevation as the repelling device devoured cable, he released the button just in time to come mask to mask with the man he had been sent to find and "rescue" again. Depressing another button in the device's handle caused its metal partitions to unfold and join together to create a new disk-like configuration that he could sit on and that could support his weight.

Dick mused momentarily with nostalgic fondness that the device reminded him of the old rope swing with the cracked plastic seat that he had once found hidden away in the old garage shop of the manor, a relic from a bygone era long forgotten. He had tried to erect it in the garden by tying it to one of the vastly spreading oak trees that was rooted at its center, but was quickly discouraged by a flashed glare from the perfectionist (and sporadically employed) gardener. Ah, the good old days, when everything had a much simpler meaning and when life, for him, was straightforward and clear.

After he had gotten himself relatively situated from his dangling position, he then placed his undivided attention on the strange cuffs that held the Dark Knight hostage. They were not of the simple metal design that he and Batman had used in the past. No, these were an extremely high-tech achievement, perhaps even electronically controlled by a separate device. They were of a solid, seamless material that resembled steel in its sturdiness, the smooth metal only blemished by a small green light that flashed every few seconds. This put Robin on an even higher mental alert than what his previous discoveries this night had brought him to. Time was perhaps of even greater essence, especially if they truly were not alone; the device capturing Batman's hands could be solid proof of what had before been a sneaking suspicion…

Perhaps he could expedite matters if he found an emergency release keyhole, then he could try picking the lock. A quick flick of the wrist brought his universal lock pick sliding from under the hidden compartment inside his glove and he began the search over the seamless device to, with any luck, prove his theory.

It proved not to be that simple of a solution, however. Despite his determined and valiant endeavors, the cuffs would not budge no matter how hard he tried to pry open, patiently attempt to unlock, or smash at them in frustration. His exasperation at last came to a head while the foreign device continued to blink placidly up at him in spite of his persistent attempts, his growing frustration finally accumulating in an angry growl and a theatrical throwing-up of hands to signal a cessation of his efforts.

Finally, Dick sat back against the cable in defeat, feeling it stretch taunt under his weight as he did so, his thoughts swelling as memories of a similar time and situation that had befallen him were coaxed into the forefront of his mind. Only that time, it was his freedom hanging literally in the balance…

"I just can't do it!"

The plaintive cry of the young boy echoed against the cold stone walls of the batcave, causing a few of the brown bats roosting overheard to startle and take flight. One of the creatures, in its haste, nearly collided with the child whose yell of frustration had sent it into motion. The boy flinched from his elevated position, hands still jerking reflexively to protect his face despite their obvious confinement. Below his feet paced the Batman, cowl discarded to reveal an even stormier countenance than the mask allowed. He looked up at the boy those tousled hair was beginning to moisten with sweat as he attempted to free his hands from the chains that were fastened to his wrists. Another angry attempt toward his release sent another tremor through the chains that were stretched taunt to raise him from the ground.

The boy sagged against his restraints and looked down at his mentor's disapproving frown.

"It's useless… I can't get free!"

The Batman's eyes flashed fire at the boy' words despite their icy blue depths, his expression intensified by the spreading purple and black- hued bruise masking the entirety of the left side of his face.

"Criminals don't accept excuses, Dick. They won't give you a free pass just because you're a child with a child's skill."

Though the boy's eyes, which mirrored his mentor's own, swam with hurt as the words reached his ears, they too alighted with a determined blaze, a defiant glare. The cave walls again reverberated with the noise coming from the training hall, this time filling it with the sound of chains clanging together and the grunts of a young man combining in a strange chorus as the boy swung to release his locked hands. The chorus was soon to cease, however, as the boy remained dangling limply from his restraints and watched in wounded silence from his still-trapped position as the Batman simply gave him one final disappointed stare, turned his back, and limped from the room.

Dick's mind returned from its momentary recession into the past not unlike awakening from a dream, his gaze hardening in stubborn determination as his mind was set. Unlike in times past, he would complete this mission. Not by any misguided desire to receive acknowledgment from Bruce, mind you, but to independently prove his final mission a single-handed success. As time and time again had proven, and his memories reminded him, the Batman would never be satisfied with his efforts. He could not let himself or his heart be swayed by the mission into hoping that anything, or anyone for that matter, could change; so he would continue his attempts to free the man, for a promise's sake and that alone.

His last mission could only be a success.

Yet despite Dick's innate senses and reflexes formed and sharpened through years of training as a boy who was perhaps too young to be placed under such a burdensome responsibility, none of the skills he could ever claim to possess could surpass his mentor's instantaneous reflexes. As Robin continued to tamper with the strange device, he was not to know nor even detect the moment when the Batman's heart quickened in response to the almost-forgotten touch of another human being, the minute sensation of movement against his arms that had long since gone numb from disuse.

Robin could not have predicted the moment when, alerted by sensations that had been withheld from him for what had seemed like a lifetime, the Batman flew forward into furious and immediate action, swinging his entire body weight forward to assault his assumed "attacker" with whatever strength and unshackled appendages he had left.

Before Robin could even contemplate letting out a squawk in protest, he found himself grasping helplessly for purchase on the repelling cable as his body was knocked backwards with the momentum of Batman's thrashing. One thing was for certain, Dick mused ruefully as he tried to suck air down his windpipe as the armored legs of the man he was trying to "rescue" squeezed the breath from his throat in a constricting scissor hold, despite being weak, disoriented, and restrained, Batman was still a formidable obstacle for anyone either criminal or lawful citizen alike to face.

For several agonizing moments, Dick attempted to shake Bruce's legs free while maintaining a frantic grip on the cable as the rafter on which he was grappled groaned warningly under their combined weight and movement. It was only until he saw Bruce's eyes truly flicker open and the haziness that had clouded them receded ever so slightly in recognition that he felt the frantic hold fall away from his neck in blessed relief. The man's strength seemed to physically flow out of his body as the Dark Knight again went limp, hanging not unlike a cloth doll from the foreign cuffs that held him. Dick watched in greedily air-gasping silence as Bruce's eyes, which he could see beneath the cowl, flicked manically across his face as if every sight were immensely important. Cracked lips parted as if words wished to pass through them but stuck in the throat dry with disuse and neglect.

Dick placed a hand on Batman's shoulder, trying to direct the man's obviously disoriented and reeling mind. It was only then, watching the man's expression change upon seeing his face, that he realized how wrong his assumption had been about the triviality of the situation.

And if he were honest with himself, it was then at that very moment as their gazes met, that the first and most minute drop of empathy filtered back into his stubbornly-set conscience.

"Batman," he questioned with a raised eyebrow, trying to perhaps draw some semblance of mental acuity back into the man who was often referred to as the "world's greatest detective".

Wandering blue eyes, their icy depths remaining frosted and truly unseeing, flicked intensely to focus on his own. Yet Robin was not, could never have been, prepared for the words that grated forth from the gravely throat that had been made even more so by his predicament. He was not prepared for the single word that the Batman uttered, entirely caught off guard by the intensity with which it was spoken, the panicked urgency and flat-out emotion with which it was whispered.

"Dick?"

With the utterance of that single word, Bruce had in that very moment broken one of his most steadfast of rules: never reveal their true identities. It had been hard to make a habit of calling someone by their costumed persona when you knew the true face behind the mask, but Batman had been, from the beginning, very clear that when the mission was afoot, never put your secret identity in danger. And in this moment, he had just forfeited every lesson he had ever taught the young man in front of him. It caught Dick completely by surprise, so much so that for a few seconds, he could not respond at all.

However, he would never get the chance…

What occurred next would haunt Dick Grayson's memories for a very long time, though he would never admit that fact to a soul, living or dead. Despite all the bitterness and vitriol he had been so determined to cultivate in his heart toward the man over the last few months, whether justified or not, nothing could have prepared him for the sheer, unbridled emotion he received from the Batman in those next moments. And nothing, not even the most terrible words that they had exchanged nor all the hard feelings and disagreements they had harbored, could have shielded Dick Grayson's heart from the splintering effect that was beginning to crack the wall of animosity he had erected around it.

No warning would have sufficed to alert him as the Batman he had known perhaps better than any other human being on this earth suddenly shook against his confines with renewed vigor, a wild, alien look overcoming his eyes and cowl-enshrouded features.

"Dick," came the frantic query as the man's senses and mind seemed to awaken more clearly for the first time that night. "Dick, is that you?"

Said young man frowned at Bruce's gaze, which though it was centered on his own, seemed to stare through him at something only Bruce could see; it was as though, to Bruce, Dick was not there at all. His face that was exposed from the cowl seemed even paler upon inspection, causing Robin's concern to rise. A thin sheen of perspiration was beginning to shine on his face as his lips continued to murmur the young man's name despite Dick's efforts to calm the frantic calls.

"Batman," he now worriedly tried to counter as said man again struggled in vain when silence enveloped the two of them, Bruce's uncharacteristic behavior only serving to unsettle him at his very core. "Batman, it's me. It's Robin!"

"Robin," the name tore out of the dry throat with incredible urgency, the cape-cloaked shoulders straining forward in their bounds as though he wished to reach out to the lad. And yet, as Dick continued to watch in bewilderment, Bruce did not see him at all, but was staring wildly at something only his mind's eye could behold.

It was at that moment that the panicked cry of warning issued from deep within the Dark Knight's lungs nearly caused the one for which it was intended to fall from his perch in alarm; yet it also at least presented a clue in the young crime-fighter's mind as to a possible explanation for this bewildering behavior.

"Robin, you have to get out of here!"

Dick's arms unconsciously reached out in spite of himself to try and steady the man's quaking form, his palms sensing the true extensiveness of Bruce's turmoil; the man's frame practically buzzing with tension was heightened by the pounding heart that could be felt as though it were threatening to beat its way from his chest. Another flurry of calming words and reassurances did nothing to ease the man's unconcealed distress, and Dick caught himself irrationally fearing the Batman may succeed in giving himself a heart attack.

But what on earth could be causing him to act this way? Dick could not decide for certain without more proof, but foul play (or more likely, a foul player) was noticeably at work here. Who could it be that Bruce was trying to warn him about?

It was not for the Boy Wonder to know that all of his questions regarding the present events of this night were soon be answered, his total attention given to his mentor's increasingly agitated mental state. The man was shaking in earnest now, the metal chains still bound to his cuffs ringing in an eerie cacophony of metallic rattling as he struggled, their ends still secured to the deteriorating wooden rafter beams.

Yet what finally caused the "impenetrable" wall of hostility that Dick had built around his heart to fully fracture was not to see this proud man be reduced to a cowering shell of the formidable being he had known so well by whatever bizarre curse held the Dark Knight's sane mind captive.

It was the absolutely broken admission that poured from the man's feverishly moving lips as he beheld whatever strange hallucinations were parading before his eyes alone and torturing his muddled mind. After many continued moments of answering Batman's frantic calls and warnings about an unseen danger that only he could apparently sense, it was these words that finally cracked the hastily constructed dam blocking the empathetic character the young man always possessed, which had always been much appreciated by Bat and butler alike.

"Robin- Dick, you have to get out," the man again exclaimed urgently, the timbre of his baritone voice finally cracking in anguish. It seemed his panic had finally come to a head, as he gave one last valiant and surprisingly strong attempt to struggle against his confines and then went entirely limp again, his chest rising and falling in great heaves from the exertion. The head shook vehemently from its drooped position between his raised arms as he spoke, his chin resting on the bat symbol emblazoned on his chest. "Have to warn him… Shouldn't be here…I can't- I just can't lose him too…"

"My fault- all my fault…"

The young man in front of him felt his mouth go dry as he watched the Batman sag against his restraints even more so as his mind finally relinquished its consciousness yet again. Robin felt the shock rise up and steal the very words from his mouth, leaving him purely speechless with only the silent creaking of the wind in the wooden slats of the warehouse to punctuate the words that had just come to his ears. His eyes scanned blankly around him as the breath he had not realized he was holding expelled from his lungs with a sharp pant.

What had just been revealed to him was such a raw and private part of the Batman's mind, a dark corner that had been sealed from the outside world for as long as the man must have breathed air, that Dick did not truly know what to do with that new realization. Was this really what Bruce felt behind the indifferent emotional walls he had built around himself, was this the true driving force behind the hard-heartedness he tried to make those around him believe was what drove him to do and say the things he did?

There had been a few times when Dick had been privileged to witness that sensitive part of Bruce Wayne's character that he took such great pains to shackle and protect from the world beyond. Though they were exceptionally few, those moments would forever be emblazoned on Dick's memory…

Dick had never felt this much pain in all of the thirteen years of life he had lived. Even when he had taken a nasty fall from the trapeze bar at the age of seven and shattered his collarbone in the process, he had not felt as helpless and just plain terrified then he did at that very moment. Truth be told, it should not have surprised him how shocking to the very core the realization of his injury had been. The moment of impact had come and past by so quickly that it had taken him a few moments and a quick glance at his blood-stained glove to become acutely aware of what had truly happened.

He had never been shot before.

It was true, he had been shot at many a time since he had donned the cape. It was just part and parcel of the job. But somehow, however miraculous, the bullets always missed their intended targets; it was something he was eternally grateful for.

Yet now, here he was, his entire body racked with shock-induced tremors as he finally voiced his fear in a frightened outcry to no one in particular as the skirmish with the local criminal underbelly continued around him. Had the gray, hazy tunnels not been advancing on the corners of his vision threatening to engulf it entirely, he would have been ashamed of his lack of resolve and fortitude, his juvenile cry for help. He was Robin, partner in crime-fighting to Batman himself, not a whimpering amateur, a child. Despite that fact, he felt like one now, a helpless being feeling the blood seep persistently down the sleeve of his costume, the deep crimson stain a stark contrast against the cheerful, bright red orange of the fabric.

He gritted his teeth and looked down at the hole torn through his upper arm by the thug's bullet and instantly regretted the action. The advancing white haze threatened to blind him all together, the ringing in his ears drowning out all other sounds until only his pained, shallow breath remained. He was going to bleed out; he was going to die.

Yet he did not lose consciousness despite his own private wish to do so, revived only by the sensation of strong hands and arms wrapping around his quaking shoulders, supporting his back from his sunken position on the discomforting ground. His hearing, though muted, recognized the obvious lack of brutish yells from their opposition. The fight must be over…

What he had not witnessed was the instantaneous reaction of his mentor at the first sound of the discharged bullet sinking into human flesh with a flash of crimson spray, the immediate fury that the Dark Knight flew into as he watched the stunned boy drop to the ground like a rock. Robin could not have witnessed the voracious tenacity with which Batman felled his opponents with a single stroke of the arm, his face, though shrouded behind the sleek obsidian cowl, contorted in hidden horror at the stain of bright crimson blood steadily spreading across the boy's costume. It was only until the Batman had urgently hurtled to his side did Robin sense his presence.

He could hear Bruce's voice distantly calling his name, not his alias, a distinct franticness detectable in his voice as Dick felt the pain turn to white hot fire as his wound was inspected. He could not bite back the triggered outcry even if he had truly wished to. But despite his pleas for leniency for his lethal mistake, for Batman to forgive his carelessness in the line of fire, he heard none of the biting retorts or admonishments he had expected. Instead, he only heard the soothing rumble of the baritone voice Dick knew so well answering his pleas and uncharacteristically gentle hands supporting him when he could not do so himself.

"I'm sorry, Batman. I'm so sorry," the boy pleaded through eyes fogged by tears of shame and agony.

"It's alright, Dick. It's alright."

"I'm right here…"

Dick could feel his throat tightening at the memory that had unceremoniously passed before his mind's eye, an unconscious twinge causing his upper arm to seize momentarily as his mind drifted back to reality. Bruce had been so kind, so understanding, so very gentle. It was as though the man had changed into an entirely different person, as if the two variants of his personality shifted dramatically beyond his power to control. But Robin knew that to be impossible… The Batman made his own choices of his own free will, whether they were good or bad was up to interpretation. It was often those who were most important to him, however, that were left in the crosshairs…

There was one thing Robin knew for certain as he fully returned to the reality of the moment, giving another experimental tug at those cursed cuffs: this entire situation reeked of an outside influence, of a larger power at work manipulating them not unlike puppets on a string; someone who wanted to watch the Batman suffer under his control, a person who found it sickly fascinating to watch a human being cower in fear. It was with that realization that Dick's eyes widened and his heartbeat quickened in his chest as the missing pieces of this mysterious puzzle finally linked together both in reality and in his mind.

It was then that the sudden crackle of speakers screaming to life also caused Robin's gloved hands to unconsciously fly up to cover his ears, his skin turning cold as the hostile brightness from a projection screen illuminated the dingy warehouse in a glaring, sterile light.

Before them both, larger than life on an unknown screen encompassing the entire north wall of the building and whose grizzled form grinned with a grimy smile that caused the young man's spine to shiver with chills, was none other than the Scarecrow…

"Ah, Robin," the voice dripping with false joviality spoke, his long, spindly fingers steepled in front of the grisly face. "I'm glad you responded to my signal so promptly."

The adrenaline surging through his every nerve willed Robin's forgotten voice back into immediate action as the villain's words caught him by surprise. The suspicion that had been tickling the back of his mind all evening had just been dragged from its depths and tauntingly displayed before his eyes: this was a trap.

"Your signal?"

"Why yes, it was I who reactivated his transponder. Now that you have arrived, my experiment can proceed as planned."

The villain's words caused Dick to instinctively flinch, his fists balling tightly as his mind reeled over the possible scenarios this professor's so-called "experiments" could take. They all meant terribly twisted things, of that he knew all too well.

"What sick thesis are you trying to prove now, Crane," Robin spat in spite of his better judgement, knowing full well the futility of attempting to reason with these psychopaths. His future words were halted in mid-formation, however, as the Batman convulsed ever-so-slightly, a small moan escaping his pale lips.

From the corner of his eye, Robin could see Scarecrow on the screen smile disgustingly at the Batman's obvious suffering. A white hot flare of anger erupted in the young man's chest as he heard the criminal's next words.

"That you will see soon enough…"

Instantly convicted of the true danger they were currently in, Robin began desperately attempting to break the cuffs that held the Dark Knight prisoner. They needed to escape now. Unsheathing a batarang, he began stabbing the smooth metal of the cuffs with the pointed wingtip but to no avail. He reasoned that they must be controlled by the Scarecrow, wherever he was… Abandoning that futile method, he leaned forward and grasped Bruce's shoulders with both hands, shaking them as persistently and yet as gently as he could muster. He needed help, curse the realization that took every ounce of his pride and tossed it out the window: Robin needed him.

But despite his persistent efforts, Bruce would simply not awaken again, his head lolling from side to side between his raised arms as Robin endeavored to shake him harder still. A pang of sickness stabbed through Dick's heart at the increasing roughness of his attempts to bring the Dark Knight back into reality. Ruefully, the phrase "beating a dead horse" fluttered up from the back of his mind, causing him to bite his lip in an attempt to ban the thought back to where it came.

"Batman? Batman, wake up!"

The only response he received was another weak groan issued from deep within the man's gravelly chest. Dick could not quell the increasing panic that had begun to tighten in his chest even if he tried.

"Having trouble rousing him, I see," Scarecrow interjected companionably as he looked on, a vile spectator observing that which he had no right to be witness to. "I created a special mixture of fear toxin for this particular experiment."

A feral, aggressive growl of frustration and loathing tore from Dick's throat unhindered at the words, but the Scarecrow merely ignored it and rambled on.

"It seems to be working quite well, isn't it?"

With one last hostile snarl not dissimilar to the growls that he often heard while passing the shadowed cages of the circus animals as a child, Robin plunged the batarang that he still clutched tightly in his gloved palm directly into the green button still lit with a cheerful winking glow in a final attempt to free his mentor and initiate their escape from this madman. The button shattered instantly as the razor sharp tip sunk into its depths and its light fluttered dim, yet a wailing claxon instantly radiating from the device upon the batarang's impact caused Robin to lean away as his ears rung in despair at another harsh sound grating against their delicate drums.

"Ah, ah, ah," tsked the Scarecrow as he shook his head, wagging a finger in mock censure. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. That little device there is quite an achievement of mine. You see, if anyone other than myself opens those shackles, they're going to receive a nasty surprise."

Scarecrow took a moment to gesture expansively to the warehouse surrounding them and then to the controller he gripped in a long, slender hand. Yet upon seeing the villain's gesture toward their surroundings, Robin still only saw the empty crates and debris littered about the building.

"What are you going to do," Robin spat as his mind raced to deduce the villain's next possible move. "gas us again?"

The Scarecrow leaned back in the chair on which he sat with an incredulous expression now gracing the grizzled features.

"My dear Boy Wonder, how naïve you are… You see, my experiments have proved that predictability allows one to become complacent- relaxed- in the presence of their fears. They believe their knowledge of the unknown puts themselves back into control. Knowing this, as a researcher of science, I must now introduce an independent variable."

"What they are unaware of is that," Scarecrow paused, his brows knitting together in an intensifying gaze as he leaned forward in his seat to emphasize his next words.

"Fear," Crane's voice drifted to a halt for effect only to resume in an even quieter, more menacingly drawn out whisper. "…is necessary for survival."

The next moments that followed Dick would remember with a stinging clarity he later suspected that, upon reflection, would never dissipate. It was as though time had slowed beyond his ability to comprehend, each movement, each thought allowed every passing second to be forever etched with perfect clarity into the mind of the beholder. It was as though he was struggling in a pit of quicksand, and the more he flailed, the more he sank further into the dark void that was his subconscious fears. Yet they were no longer in the back of his mind where he had wished them to stay, but had been dredged to the surface as they were paraded before him in reality, all the while causing the vile creature of a man watching from afar great satisfaction in the success of his "scientific endeavors".

Scarecrow continued to prattle on about his effective experiments furthering the advances in his study of fear, even taking great pains to impress upon the young Robin's mind how influential several of their previous encounters had been on said successes. But the Boy Wonder was just not listening.

Everything was falling through, like a trick floor in a "haunted" Halloween attraction. His every attempt at releasing his mentor was futile; every gadget on his belt, every tool in his arsenal was rendered useless against the Scarecrow's bonds. He attempted to hack into the shackles electronically with a device that had served him and Batman well in the past. It was rendered merely a mess of crackling white sparks and grey, acrid smoke.

What made matters infinitely worse as his every avenue failed spectacularly before his eyes was not the failure in itself, but the Professor's running commentary on every hiccup, antagonizing every miscalculation he made, reminding him of his inadequacies at every turn.

"Fear has innumerable forms," the Scarecrow had spoken sagely after another of Robin's failed attempts, his head tilting slightly as he stared at the young man with unnerving intensity.

"I would deduce yours might be one of failing a certain person in your life? A friend perhaps… A family member?"

Dick gritted his teeth in a soundless growl. He must not let himself be distracted by the villain's efforts to catch him off guard, no matter how closely his words might hit home. Bruce needed him to stay focused. He could not let him down, not this time…

Another attempt at endeavoring to use the means at his disposal was to heat the shackles with the compact blow torch tool and thus fry its circuitry. Despite its effectiveness in theory, it only succeeded in scorching the outer metal covering and the Batman's hands inside them as the metal signaled its growing hotter in temperature with a subtle glow.

The sudden pain lurched the unconscious protector of Gotham back into reality for a mere moment with a strained and barely audible outcry, to which Dick felt an inextinguishable and wrenching pang of guilt at having caused the man even more pain. His efforts were immediately ceased in favor of striving to calm the man as Bruce again flew into a fury of semiconscious panic as the fear toxin being pumped by his thumping heart through his veins paraded more vicious hallucinations across his mind's eye. Dick felt his emotional fortitude beginning to waver as he again tried to soothe a man paralyzed by his worst and most secret fears. He felt the anger bubble up from his chest at the being who could hardly be called a man still watching intently, though he had now gone silent in observation at the Dark Knight's suffering.

The episode passed much quicker than the last, Bruce's overtaxed body again retreating into the blissful realm of the unaware, which Dick thanked Heaven for the mercy it was.

Robin took his frustrations out on the cuffs with another batarang, hacking into the accursed device with all of his strength. It was no use…

It was then, as he finally felt his chest tighten with the realization of his true failure and the sight of the Scarecrow's triumphant and self-satisfied expression that was actively spreading on his face as the Robin sagged wearily in apparent defeat, that a rebel determination began to fill the young man's heart, a stubbornness that had once been a frustration for others now dragging forward the last bit of his strength. An idea emerged in his feverishly calculating mind.

Reaching down toward the intended compartment of his utility belt, Dick sucked in an anticipating breath as he waited for the best moment to strike. This was it; this was his last ditch effort, the final plan of attack. Flicking open the compartment's flap, his gloved finger ran over the tazing device in anticipation, the pointed prongs tangible through his padded fingertips. This was the last avenue he could come up with, the last method in his arsenal. The likelihood that it would succeed in opening the cuffs was small. The likelihood that the electrical current would pass through the metal cuffs and thus through the two of them, however, was quite strong.

Desperate times called for desperate measures…

As the Scarecrow, propelled by an almost childish giddiness at what he perceived was an absolute victory, continued to babble on about the triumphs for his cause, Robin took the moment's distraction for what it provided, unsheathed his weapon with a flick of the wrist, and sunk its prongs into the ragged opening where the now shattered light had blinked only moments before.

The next thing his groggy mind registered was the ground instantly rising up to collide with his back with inexorable force, successfully knocking every precious breath of air from his lungs and rendering the base of his spine numb for a few of the precious seconds that remained to them. Willing his swimming vision to clear, he turned his head to look at the form of the Dark Knight laying mere inches from him on the warehouse floor, a muddled, unmoving heap of limbs and obsidian cape. It was only then that his gaze cleared enough to witness the entire contents of the warehouse be set ablaze in a glaring barrage of hostile red lights that nearly resembled the eyes of a demonic horde. Self-arming explosives... Crane was not bluffing after all; his flabbergasted and yet livid expression at what had just occurred a vivid proof of that fact…

Gritting his teeth as pain shot from the small of his back down his legs in stinging waves, Dick leapt up from the dirt and charged over to the unconscious heap that was the Batman, hoisting the elder man's arm and shoulder over his own. The air around them suddenly erupted with hundreds of shrieking claxons warning of impending detonation. The atmosphere instantly became chokingly thick with suffocating heat that rippled instantly through the air.

This was gonna be a close one.