My apologies for the long delay in chapters – busy adulting over here.

The gun in my hand raised and I pulled the hammer back.

WAKE UP. WAKE UP. WAKE UP.

I raised the gun to my temple, desperately gasping for breath.

"It'll all be over soon, Bumble Bee," Joker's voice slithered over me.

Despite my resistance, despite everything in my mind screaming for this to stop, my finger tightened around the trigger and my eyes squeezed tightly shut as I anticipated the bang, the thud, the darkness, the silence.

A hand roughly grabbed my face and pushed it to the side. A sharp pain stabbed me in the neck. The gun in my hand disappeared, and my hands were suddenly stuck at my sides. My eyes felt unable to reopen; my eyelids were too heavy. Everything around me had dampened; the noises had abated, the stress and pressure had evaporated. But one final sound creeped in my thoughts around me.

A slow, low giggle, held back behind tight closed lips. "See you soon, Bumble Bee," Joker's voice spat, not in defeat but in an ominous threat. I might have shivered, but my body was inert, stuck, limp.

Maybe I was dead. Everything was fading, quieting, dampening. The hallucinations fell away.

It was a long time before I was able to form a thought again. I felt groggy, almost displaced from my body- like when you're drunk or taking cold medicine. I could tell a lot of time had passed from the stickiness of my tongue in my mouth. And it was morning; the painfully bright sunshine pressing against my closed eyelids was telling.

I slowly blinked, my eyes watering at the sunlight staring me down in the windows across from me. Disorientation made my observations more acute as I finally adjusted to the light and took in my surroundings.

The sunlight was coming in through a series of big windows across from me. It bounced off the white sofa in front of the window and off the billowing white comforter that covered me. At least seven pillows were propped under my upper back and neck, sitting me up as I was cradled in their fluff. Becoming aware of the hair beneath my head, I realized it was slightly damp. Someone had washed my hair; presumably washed all of me. The white duvet was pulled up high over my body, but my arms had been pulled out from beneath their cover and laid at my sides. That's when I noticed, just past the tips of my fingers, another hand resting on the white blanket beside mine.

Dick was sitting in an armchair that had been pulled up beside the bed on the right side. The chair was turned to face me, but Dick wasn't watching me at this moment. While his one hand rested beside my own, his other covered his face. His body had collapsed back into the chair and his eyes were closed. He looked… stressed? Distressed? Tired? Worried?

"What's wrong?" I asked, my voice hoarser than I had expected it to be when I had parted my lips to speak. The words jostled him back to the room, retrieving him from deep thoughts. His eyes shot open wide and his hand fell away from his face. He lunged forward quickly, his hand on the bed grabbing mine as he pushed himself forward to the edge of his seat.

"Hey," he said softly, his other hand reaching up to my face and brushing hair softly back from my forehead. I cleared my throat and blinked my eyes more awake. "How are you?"

"You look worse than I feel," I said. My free hand pressed into the blanket as I tried to sit myself up, but I astounded myself with feeling weaker than I expected.

"Whoa," Dick cautioned me, reaching up and putting a calming hand on my shoulder as I allowed myself to ease back down to the pillows. "Take it easy. You had a rough night."

"What…" happened, I was going to ask, but the memories of the night before were flooding back in. The hallucinations and nightmares of Joker, the visions of Nightwing and Batman, the fight with Scarecrow. I searched Dick's face, my eyes focusing on a blueish-red bruise across his cheek bone. "I did that," I said thoughtfully as I remembered my fight with Scarecrow. It had never been Scarecrow or Joker; it had been Dick, maybe Bruce. Dick took a moment to realize what I meant.

"Yeah," he smiled down at me. "Lesson learned: don't mess with Barb when she's on drugs." I let out a sigh, wishing it had been a reassuring laugh, and closed my eyes.

"I'm sorry…"

"Don't apologize," Dick said, shifting his weight out of the chair and sitting on the bed beside me. "You weren't yourself." I opened my eyes and shook my head, still trying to sort my memories into bins of what was real and what was imaginary, a vision of Scarecrow's creation. "You thought I was Scarecrow?" I nodded.

"You looked like him, talked like him… I could feel when I was fighting you, something was off. But everything was… sideways. Wrong. I didn't know what was real," I said.

"You must have figured it out," he reminded me. "You called to me, before the sedative kicked in." My gaze fell to his hand, still holding mine.

"It was your hands," I said. "Scarecrow was… you had pinned my wrists overhead. And it looked like Scarecrow, sounded like him… but the way your hands touched mine…" I turned my wrist over in his hand and slid my finger delicately up his palm, the way I remembered from the night before. My eyes met his again as I thought about the tender touch. "It couldn't have been Scarecrow. It had to be you. So even though it looked like Scarecrow and Joker attacking me, I made myself…"

"Joker?" Dick asked with a shake of his head. "You saw Joker?" I shook my head softly, my gut reaction wanting to cover Joker back up, shove the thoughts of him out of mind, remove him from the conversation. He wasn't here, and I didn't want him to be.

"It was just a hallucination," I said. "It doesn't matter." Dick nodded, looking me over suspiciously.

"Want to talk about it?" he asked. I smiled up at him.

"I can think of a few things I'd rather do instead," I said softly. I wanted him to kiss me. After everything I had seen in those hallucinations, watching him beat me to a pulp, watching him lust for Harley Quinn, blaming myself for his death; I wanted him to kiss me, to reassure me it was all just a nightmare, that nothing between us had changed. He smiled softly back at me and raised a hand to my hair, brushing it softly away from my face again. But he didn't kiss me. His fingers wrapped around my palm in a reassuring, comforting gesture, but the lack of intimacy he was showing me was all but reassuring. "What's wrong?" I asked again. He shook his head lightly, trying to form words but failing. His hand left my hair and he cupped my one hand in both of his.

"I was really worried about you," Dick said finally, his words clear and solid like he had thought about them a long time. I furrowed my brow, confused by where he was going with this.

But he didn't have a chance to clarify further. A soft knock came at the door and a tuft of black hair poked into the room.

"Barbara," Jason whispered excitedly as he burst through the door and hurried into the room. He jumped onto the bed next to me, his legs curled up beneath him, and threw his arms around my shoulders.

Dick's hands left mine as he cautioned Jason, "careful, Jay, she just woke up…"

"Are you okay? We were so freaked. It took us so long to find a cure, and when you had that seizure I thought you were done…"

"I had a seizure?" I asked nervously as Jason pulled back, sitting back on his haunches.

"No," Dick reassured me. "You almost did. Something must have happened, in your nightmares. You were panicked. Hyperventilating." I blinked rapidly as I tried to force the memory of the gun at my temple away.

"Oh. Yeah, I…"

"Yeah, what happened? Do you remember your nightmares?" Jason asked. I closed my eyes and shook my head. They were opening gates to memories of the nightmares I was trying to keep closed. The sound of Jason's voice reminded me of the nightmare, of losing Bruce and Dick, of wanting to kill myself for losing them.

"Because of you."

"Because of YOU!"

"You don't deserve the cape."

"You don't deserve to live."

"Ah," I couldn't stifle the whimper of fatigue as I tried to silence the memories pressing in on me. My eyes pinched closed and I raised a hand to my head. These weren't my thoughts- these were Scarecrow's. These were his doubts, his fears shoved into my brain. This wasn't me.

"Barbara," Dick asked, moving closer and pressing a warm hand against my cheek. "Are you okay?" The warmth of his palm stretching across my cheek felt like sunshine thawing ice. I relaxed the muscles in my face, leaning into his palm. I raised my hand to his and wrapped my fingers around the side of his hand, hoping that no matter what was bothering him he would just stay here a little while longer, just until I could thaw.

"I'm okay," I answered after a long pause, opening my eyes. "Just… coming back still, I guess."

"It was really bad, huh?" Jason asked. I smiled over at him, slowly blinking my tired eyes.

"Well, it was no trip to Coney Island," I confirmed. He smiled back at me, cheered that at least my sense of humor had remained intact.

"I'm glad you're okay," Jason said, and I noticed his eyes dart between me, Dick's hand on my face, Dick's face, and back to my own. Dick must have noticed too. He pulled his hand away again with a reassuring smile down at me.

"I should get Bruce. He wanted to ask you some questions, figure out if you've got any leads on Scarecrow," Dick said, standing.

"I can come down…"

"Rest," Dick insisted. "Alfred's orders. Besides… I'm really not sure if you're wearing any clothing under there, so…" I looked down at the blankets, realizing for the first time that my collarbones and shoulders were bare. My body instinctively pressed back down into the pillows self-consciously. "Jay, wanna give her some space?" he gestured to Jason, who backed off the bed with nervous eyes, perhaps just now realizing he was just hugging a naked woman. "We'll knock when we come back with Bruce." My eyes followed them out of the room, carefully tracking Dick as he left the room.

Something was wrong with him. He wasn't his usual sarcastic, playful, flirtatious self. I was half naked in a bed, flirting with him, and he wouldn't even kiss me? Maybe whatever happened to me had shaken him; he must have been very worried.

I mentally logged the concern to follow up on later, and raised the comforter off of me to see if I was wearing clothes beneath. I was, but only barely. Boyshort underwear and a cotton bandeau, wrapped tightly in sheets and a duvet. Alfred must have been the one to bathe me. Welp, the old man had gotten an eyeful. I wasn't really bothered by the idea. Alfred was respectful and kind and always mindful of boundaries and my privacy. Now that I thought about it, it would have been far weirder to have had Dick be the one bathing me; I didn't want a romantic partner having to take care of me like that. Not yet, at least; maybe when I was old and grey, but not now.

I peeled the blankets off of me and slowly moved my body to the upright position. My limbs seemed to resist me. My body was stiff, tired, like I had woken up hungover after a sleepless night of fighting. I tried to stretch on the edge of the bed, easing my neck awake and pulling my hair back behind me. I carefully stood and walked to the bathroom, where I relieved myself, splashed some water on my face, and wrapped myself in a terrycloth robe hanging on the back of the door. I heard a knocking at the bedroom door and called for them to come in as I stepped back out of the bathroom. The whole gang let themselves in; Bruce at the front assessing me, followed by Dick with his arms crossed over his chest, then Alfred carrying a tray of sustenance, then Jason peeking curiously behind them.

"Miss Gordon, you should be resting," Alfred urged me, hurriedly putting the tray down on a side table by the couch under the windows. I waved him off as I sat myself slowly in the chair that Dick had been sitting in when I woke up.

"I'm alright, Alfred," I said with a smile. "But thank you."

"You had a long night," Bruce said. "Are you alright?"

"I'll feel a lot better when Scarecrow is behind bars," I answered. He nodded, still looking me up and down and assessing my appearance. He sat back on the arm of the settee that was positioned at the end of the bed, leaning forward towards me.

"What do you remember?" he asked. I lowered my chin and rewound my memories, looking for the best starting point.

"I searched the first two apartment buildings that Neill directed us to: one on Bleake, one on Founder's. Before entry, I scanned the buildings for traces of gunpowder, radiation, signs of bombs. I ran facial ID scanners, looking for anyone familiar- nothing. Nothing at the first two. But at the last, there were traces in the air near unit 1223 that held the same tricyclic antidepressant we'd been tracking. I realize now, Scarecrow probably intentionally left it there for me," I reflected.

"What makes you say that?" Bruce asked as Alfred poured a hot cup of tea on the tray and walked it over to me.

"It was an isolated trace; no other nearby. I remembered thinking it looked like someone had sprayed perfume there; it was sprayed there specifically, intentionally. Left as a breadcrumb. He wanted us to find it." Bruce nodded, understanding my train of logic, as I thanked Alfred for the tea and took a sip. I tried not to question if Bruce thought I had been naive to miss that in that first place. "Inside the apartment, there were traces of bleach; someone had tried to clean something up."

"What else was in the apartment?" Bruce asked.

"Not much," I said. "It looked abandoned. But there were plenty of neighbors… my guess is that it was being rented specifically for the illicit activity."

"So even if it was a trap, he led you to a workshop," Bruce thought as his eyes darted back and forth.

"I think so. But there was no way the deal had been made there; too private. It would've been too easy for Neill or Scarecrow to kill the other and run off with the prize. Thugs aren't that private. I found an old sticky note on the floor- it said 'July 1. Roof. 1am.' So I went up to the roof to see if I could find any other evidence."

"That's when Scarecrow attacked," Bruce suggested.

"Not immediately. I had time to look around first. If he was waiting for me there, he took his time," I said.

"Why hesitate?" Bruce thought aloud.

"Maybe he was hoping for you? Debating if he wanted to waste his newest concoction on me?" I hypothesized.

"Neill probably warned him you were coming," Dick said from his spot where he was leaning against the wall by the door to the room. "He was probably checking you out, appraising you." I wanted to squirm at the phrase 'checking you out;' after my hallucinations, I didn't want to think about any of our adversaries looking at me like that.

"After that?" Bruce continued. "What happened?"

"He threw the cocaine in my face… it started taking hold pretty immediately. From there, things get a bit fuzzy… if they really happened or not," I said.

"Tell us anyway," he said. "We might be able to distinguish reality from hallucination for you." My stomach and chest tightened at that; I didn't want to start digging into the hallucinations. It took enough mental energy to keep those memories at bay and I didn't want to have to sift through them for clues. But I knew Bruce was right.

"He said he'd heard I was looking for him… made it sound like he was waiting for me," I confirmed with a look up at Dick. His eyes tightened in a sort of cringe, maybe wishing that he could have stopped me from walking into a trap. "I shot my grapnel at the nearest roof to my southwest… didn't really care where, I knew I needed to be extracted. The drug hit physically first; I was heavy, or weak, or both. And reality began to distort… I could hear voices over my comms but they weren't yours, they were…" I looked around at the men, my anxiety about the hallucinations scraping up my throat. "Scarecrow. And Two-Face. And Joker… and the rest," I said, taking a sip of my tea. Bruce's face began to scrunch up in a look of pity. I let the tea drip down my throat, scalding the back of my tongue. I imagined it burning the lump of anxiety in my throat, anxiety shaped like Joker and Scarecrow. The hot tea washed over them and the lump fell away, back into the pit of my stomach.

"My body was breaking; the drug made me small, weak. The drug warped my vision, too… it looked like the rooftop stretched forever… I didn't want to move, for fear I'd fall off the roof. But I could still feel things. I felt something… maybe an AC unit. And I just attached myself to it… hoping you would come or I'd at least stay hidden long enough for the drug to wear off."

"Until Nightwing came," Bruce continued for me.

"Yes… only, I didn't see Nightwing. I saw Scarecrow," I said. "Heard Scarecrow. That's why I fought him."

"And when I came?" Bruce asked. My eyes darted over to Dick, who watched me carefully and curiously.

"Joker," I answered after a moment, raising my tea cup as I felt that lump of anxiety begin to claw at my throat again. "Joker and Scarecrow, with a big fat syringe. Telling me I ought to smile more," the words dripped disdainfully from my lips, and I poured the rest of the hot tea down my throat, guzzling it despite the burning heat in my throat. If I choked on my words, it would not be because of the anxiety Joker and Scarecrow had put there; it would be because of me, because I was drowning them out.

"You stopped fighting us," Bruce noted. "Right before we administered the sedative." I nodded.

"Like I said, my sense of touch was somehow spared. I could tell…" I said, with a quick glance up at Dick. Dick turned away, with what looked like sad eyes. "It didn't add up. The way Scarecrow looked at me didn't match the way you were holding me down. I… I took a chance."

"Glad you did," Bruce forced a smile up at me. "Would have been a lot harder, fighting you at full strength." I smiled dimly back, looking down into my empty tea cup. "The sedative we carry typically drops patients into a dreamless sleep. It's a very powerful sedative. But when we got back and hooked you up to the EKG…" he trailed off. He knew that I knew what he was asking. I kept staring into the tea cup, hoping he wouldn't be too specific. "How bad were the nightmares?"

I looked back up at him with a forced smile of strength. "They weren't pleasant." He nodded, seeing that I clearly was not interested in talking about them. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone- my phone- and handed it to me.

"We texted your dad last night. Covered for you- said you were at Colleen's. But he'll probably want to hear from you," he said. I took the phone and smiled back at him.

"Thanks," I said as I looked down at the screen.

"Might I suggest you tell him you'll be spending another night away? I'd prefer for you to stay one more night as we monitor your recovery," Alfred advised, stepping closer and refilling my tea cup.

"Alright. Thanks," I said, though I secretly wished I could go home. I wanted to see him, hug him, give him an opportunity to reclaim my nickname 'bumble bee' which now sounded so sickening in my head, playing over and over in Joker's voice.

"I returned to the apartment last night… found where Scarecrow was hiding in waiting on the rooftop. I found a casing of his drug; which gives us more to manufacture a cure with. We also were able to pinpoint the origin of the hallucinogen he was using: a rare sub-breed of ayahuasca, found most commonly on Santa Prisca," Bruce shared.

"Santa Prisca," I abruptly interrupted him. "Bane?"

"Something to follow up on," he said. "I plan on paying him a visit tonight."

"I'll come with," Dick insisted with more confidence and assurance than he'd had the rest of the day. "This is Bludhaven's problem too, remember? Scarecrow keeps using Bludhaven to test his drugs." Bruce turned back to Dick and stared a long moment. I wondered what doubts he held about Dick. But he nodded.

"I want to come to," I said, even though I knew Bruce would protest.

"You need to recover," Bruce said.

"And I will. But I can keep watch from above, I can help," I said.

"No," Dick answered for Bruce. "We don't know enough about Scarecrow's toxin yet. It's not safe."

"I'm fine," I said, angrier at Dick for trying to tell me what to do. "I'm not saying I want to take him down. I'm saying I want to help."

"Then help," Bruce answered. I leaned back in my seat, surprised. "You can tap into the visuals in my cowl. Help us from the Batcomputer."

"Bruce…"

"You're not in the field. Not tonight," he said firmly. I chewed the inside of my lip, understanding and accepting the verdict despite it not being what I wanted. "Rest. We'll give you some privacy," he said as he stood.

"I've left some food here for you, as well as some Tylenol. I recommend you eat, then rest," Alfred instructed me.

"Sure," I said to him with a smile, but my eyes darted over to Dick. As Bruce ushered Jason out of the room, he stopped in front of Dick and placed a hand on his shoulder. Dick looked down at the hand with a somber expression, lost in thoughts. I furrowed my brow as I watched Bruce leave the room, his hand slipping away from Dick. As Alfred walked to the door, Dick's eyes raised and met mine. He stared back at me with something sad, low, disappointed, but turned and exited the room. I wanted to call after him, to ask him to stay, but he closed the door softly behind him and was gone.

As I ate the sandwich Alfred had left for me, I texted Dad.

Sorry- long night. A little hungover. Having a veg day with Colleen.

I then texted Colleen to confirm the alibi.

Crazy hungover. Get Gatorade for me? And do you have Tylenol somewhere here at the apt?

I worded it carefully to ensure she knew it wasn't a real call for hangover help, but an alibi. She responded in only a few minutes.

Got it. In bathroom behind mirror over sink. Be back soon ;) you ok?

I smiled to myself, knowing she must think I'd had some rough night with a client. She wasn't totally off base. I texted back.

Yep. Might go back to bed. Head killing.

I tossed my head to the side and finished forcing down the food. The room was peacefully quiet, but that quiet and stillness became uncomfortable as I finished my food- even eerie.

It reminded me of the silence in my hallucinations. Phantom giggles and sounds would remind me of Joker, and I twitched with anxiety. It was too quiet. I grabbed my phone up and texted Dick.

You still here? Come up- I could use the company.

A long time passed without a response. Or maybe it just felt like a long time, with that silence pressing in on me and the anxiety of Dick not answering gnawing at me. Whatever was going on with him, I wanted to fix it. It wasn't helping me relax. After the hallucinations I'd had, I wanted him to be a safe place, a comfort, someone I could relax into. But he was so distant, so far away.

A soft knock came at the door after a long time. "Come in," I called. Dick cracked the door open to see me sitting upright on the bed, my legs covered by blankets. "Come in," I repeated, waving him in. He stepped in the door and closed it behind him, but he didn't come closer. He just waited there.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asked again, his eyes low and avoiding contact.

"What's going on with you?" I asked, leaning towards him. "You're acting… distant." He waited a long time before responding.

"I just want to make sure you're okay," he said carefully.

"I'm not," I answered quickly. His eyes darted up at me nervously, his posture stiffening. "Not with you acting like this. You're… scaring me," I said honestly. He let out a breath and his eyes darted around nervously, defensively. He stepped closer to the bed, his arms crossed over his chest guardingly.

"It's not a good time to talk about it," he said.

"It is," I insisted. "What's wrong?" He hesitated, but sat down on the opposite edge of the bed. He reached his arm across to me and pressed his palm against my cheek. His hand didn't feel as warm as before. His fingers stroked up and down my cheek as he opened his mouth to speak.

"I think we should stop seeing each other."