Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Selina Kyle, Barbara Gordon, the Scarecrow, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG : mild language; violence, some mature concepts.

Reviews are greatly appreciated.

Chiroptophobia

Wings

- - -

It was a beautiful sight, the skyline of Gotham City rising in graceful lines against a sky filled with looming clouds tinted with the colors of sunset. The breeze was strong up here on a rooftop overlooking Police Plaza, strong enough to send a stray scrap of paper flying by his head, and to lift his cape and set it fluttering like wings. With a frown Batman pulled it in and wrapped the cloth around himself, for a moment letting his fingers brush over his chest, still bare of his usual bat emblem.

Last night he had tried to tell himself that all he really needed was a good night's sleep, that it must be only exhaustion that was making him jumpy and causing this ridiculous reaction to his own batarang and bat emblem. Nothing a good dose of rest wouldn't fix. But things hadn't quite worked out that way. Sleep had turned to nightmare, sending him back into that dark space, walking alone into an alleyway echoing with gunfire, this time catching just a glimpse of two shadowed forms lying motionless before he woke, heart pounding.

Bruce was no fool, nor did he make a habit of self-deception; he knew what image the dream was hiding from him. The same image he had seen as a young child, and again in dreams before this, horrifying to be sure but nothing he hadn't lived with for most of his life. And yet, somehow it was different this time, the nightmare quality was intensified, as if something even more terrible lurked in those shadows.

Shaking his head, he looked down again, trying to concentrate on the business at hand. The reporters were all set up, their microphones ready and waiting, clustered around an empty podium at the foot of the steps leading into Gotham Police Headquarters. The buzz of their voices rose faintly to his ears. In a few minutes Gordon and the mayor would appear, and the press conference would begin.

There was no real reason for him to be watching like this from a rooftop, Batman told himself again. He'd have an easier time hearing what was said if he was back home watching on television. Still, a combination of restlessness and uneasiness had brought him. The Scarecrow had attacked two other prominent citizens recently; what better target than the mayor himself? Of course, no real reason to think he'd strike now, and he'd be crazy to do it in public like this, right in front of police HQ - but then, no one could accuse the Scarecrow of having more than a nodding acquaintance with sanity.

They were coming. A small group of people emerged from the building and started down the stairs. In the middle was a hard-faced, stocky man, smiling and waving at the crowd below. The mayor. Next to him Batman recognized Gordon, a frown firmly in place on his face. A flash of red hair behind them was his daughter, Barbara Gordon. Unusual for her to be involved in these official appearances, but perhaps she had simply been here to see her father.

They descended to the podium, where after a little shuffling for position Mayor Hull stepped up to the microphones and cleared his throat. A hush fell over the crowd, broken only by the sounds of traffic on the street around the plaza, and then the mayor's amplified voice rang out, loud enough for his words to be clear as they reached Batman's lofty perch.

"As all of you know, one of Gotham City's most dangerous and notorious criminals, the Scarecrow, recently escaped from Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane and has since then committed a series of vicious robberies and attacks on our fellow citizens. I want to give each and every one of you my personal assurance that everything possible is being done to protect your safety and that of your loved ones."

Batman tuned him out for the next few sentences. It would be just the usual, anyway. He scanned the crowd, looking for anyone who seemed out of place, or was moving too quickly, or holding anything strange.

"Now we'll have a brief statement from Police Commissioner Gordon, and then questions..."

Hull moved back; Gordon stepped up with a scowl and hesitated, facing up, almost as if he was looking for the watcher high above.

There was a flash of movement in the corner of Batman's eye. As he shifted his gaze it became a small, silvery metallic object, a ball, falling in a long and lazy arc from a nearby rooftop towards the plaza and the crowd of people it held. Batman sprang to his feet, a warning on his lips, but it was both unnecessary and too late; a wave of movement ran through the crowd as the object fell among them. A circle formed and widened like a human splash as they tried to get away from the point where it hit the ground. But instead of the flash of an explosion Batman had instinctively expected, a small cloud of smoky dust puffed out.

"Get back..." he said, half to himself, but again it was unnecessary. People were falling over each other to get away. There were screams and shouts. Those closest to where the object had fallen seemed to panic, running into the others, mindlessly attacking anyone who got in their way. Chaos erupted as they became a surging mob, struggling over pavement littered with fallen cameras and microphones, fighting each other, trying to escape. The group of police around Gordon and the mayor's bodyguards had fallen back, a few apparently panicking and simply running, the others trying to clear a path through the confusion.

Automatically Batman reached for his rope, knowing there was no way he could get there in time to make much difference. As he looked for the fastest way down he saw a man dash from the edge of the crowd, straight at the mayor, what might be a large gun in his hand. Hull froze. The two bodyguards still with him were trying to find a way out and looking the other way.

Gordon was closest - he jumped between Hull and his attacker as the gun came up and fired. Even as Batman drew in a shocked breath to cry out, he realized it wasn't a normal gun; a barely visible spray shot from it and hit Gordon. He staggered back, hands over his face.

Help came from an unexpected source; a blur of red hair as Barbara's slim figure leaped past her father and flew vengefully at the man with the gun. She ducked under the weapon and chopped up with the side of her arm, catching his wrist and knocking it upwards. Then she side-kicked him in the stomach. As he doubled over, without a pause she turned into a spin and swept another kick into his head. He dropped as Batman blinked in surprise.

Police were pouring from the building; the mayor's bodyguards had gotten him away; Barbara was bending over her father; the mob was scattering. The whole thing had taken maybe thirty seconds. Batman looked up. Not much he could do down there, but up here... That silver ball of fear gas had come from not far away. He saw movement again: someone on a rooftop a level below where he was standing, on the building next to his. Three men, he saw as he came closer to the edge, two ordinary-looking, the third in the Scarecrow's dull brown rags and hood.

- - -

Dick sat in electrified tension, leaning closer to the small television in his motel room. He had been only half listening to the speech, trying to catch a glimpse of Barbara's face as she stood in the group behind her father and the mayor, when all hell had broken loose. The camera had first jerked into the air and then spun around to show the crowd of reporters turning into a panic-stricken mob, accompanied by incoherent shouts from the field reporter. A man had run forward, tried to shoot the mayor, and gotten Gordon instead with some kind of gas gun. To Dick's amazement, Barbara had taken him out with a couple of very competent moves.

Now... he watched anxiously. Gordon hadn't looked good. He had gotten whatever had been intended for Mayor Hull, that new type of fear gas, probably. But now the scene was changing again, switching to a higher viewpoint, probably a camera on a crane meant to show the press conference from above. It spun dizzyingly, searching, as the reporter shouted something about the rooftops, and zoomed in on the top of one of the surrounding buildings. As the picture came into focus, Dick immediately recognized what they were seeing.

Batman was on the edge of the roof, throwing a rope to wrap around an antenna fastened to the top of a tower on the next building, then taking a running start and swinging into the air. It was obvious what he was after; three men, one in dark rags and a loose hood, were visible on the roof he was about to land on.

- - -

Batman rolled with the impact of landing and was back on his feet in an instant, seeing the Scarecrow and his men react as they saw him, backing towards a shed on the side of the roof with a door that probably led to a stairway down. The two hoods were reaching into their pockets but Batman was ready, his fingers dipping into his utility belt. After the disaster with the batarang he had replaced them with ordinary throwing stars. Now, a quick flip of the wrist and he sent one flying. Another throw and both men were cursing, clutching their injured hands, their guns lying useless on the rooftop.

The Scarecrow seemed undisturbed. Impossible to see an expression under that hood, of course, but he was casually holding a cardboard box, perhaps a foot around, and standing calmly and apparently quite relaxed.

"Ready to give up?" Batman called.

"No. Why should I?"

"The police will be here in a couple of minutes. I'm not about to let you get away. And don't bother trying one of your gas attacks." He pulled a small respirator from his belt and held it up. "I'm ready this time."

"No more gas, I promise." The Scarecrow still just stood there. His men stepped beside and behind him, making no effort to pick up their guns.

"What's in the box?" Batman asked.

"A surprise."

"Put it down and step away."

"Put it down? Are you sure?"

"What's in it?" Batman took a step closer, eying them uncertainly. It couldn't be a bomb; not the Scarecrow's style, besides he wouldn't blow himself up. Not gas... what?

"Well, if you insist on knowing..." With a quick gesture, the Scarecrow gripped the lid and yanked it off, letting the rest of the box fall. He backed away, a thin chuckle coming from behind his featureless hood.

But Batman was no longer paying attention to his enemy. He stared, feeling an icy wash of terror through his gut as a small black form appeared from inside, fluttering for a moment as it took to the air, then coming at him.

"Nooo!" he screamed, cowering back. The bat lifted a little higher, sailing over his head and circling. It was coming back... it would fly right at him, attack him, touch him; he'd feel those leathery wings, and hear its shrill cries, and feel its tiny claws...

A fear and horror like nothing he had ever even imagined gripped him, blanking his mind into nothing but an overwhelming need to get away, only to get as far from that thing as he possibly could, to go where it couldn't come near him, where he wouldn't have to see it or hear it ever again. Blinded to anything else, he backed up, stumbled, took another couple of steps, felt a sharp edge against the backs of his knees, and unthinkingly kept moving.

- - -

"No! What are you doing?" Dick was on his feet, fists clenched, hardly aware that he had shouted aloud at the image on his television. The picture shook, wavered, the extreme zoom magnifying every movement, but what was happening was horrifyingly clear. Batman was acting as if he was terrified of something that had flown out of that box - he had reached the edge of the roof, hit the low wall, and toppled over.

- - -

Falling... He was falling, Batman realized, the instinctive fear of certain death freeing him from his unreasoning terror long enough to act. Automatically his fingers found a spare rope in his belt, his hands uncoiled it, his arm threw it as his eyes caught the first object that might slow his fall. The line wrapped around the base of a flagpole below and to the side. He braced himself and held on, the rope almost jerking out of his grip, swinging under the pole, letting go to land jarringly but accurately on a narrow balcony.

When he looked up, there was no sign of the Scarecrow, only a news helicopter swooping between the buildings, a camera swiveling to aim at him, the shouts of police, reporters, and bystanders from the street below... and the tiny black form of a bat, now high above, silhouetted against the fading dusky sky.

- - -

"Dirty - my hands are dirty..."

Barbara looked down at him again. She tried not to let her voice shake as she answered, but it wasn't easy after first the near-riot all around them, then the attack on them and her own fight with the assailant, finding her father huddled on the ground moaning, and then watching the struggle above ending with Batman's narrow escape from death. Now - this was the first coherent thing her father had said since that spray had hit him.

"Dad? Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

He sat up, head bent, staring down at his hands as if they had become something strange and foreign. "Dirty..." he repeated.

"Just hang on, there'll be an ambulance here in a couple of minutes, you'll be okay."

"No - I'm fine." To her relief, he looked up, his voice steady and expression rational. "Got a little of that fear gas, but I'm fine now."

"Are you sure?" She got to her feet and helped him stand.

"Yes. I have to take care of things here." He raised his head and looked around them. "What a mess. Have to straighten it out."

"Dad, I think you should see a doctor first."

"No. First..." he raised his hands again. "First I need to wash up. My hands are dirty." As she watched in surprise, he turned away and headed up the stairs.

She could hardly order her own father to go to a doctor or the hospital, but something was wrong, she could see that clearly. Not much chance she'd persuade him, but she had to try. Confused, disconcerted, she hurried to follow him.

- - -

"Alfred?" Dick closed his eyes. He had known Bruce wouldn't be home to pick up the phone. He had hoped Alfred would be there, and not just an answering machine. He had expected to hear that familiar voice with its cultured British accent overlying hints of Cockney, and yet it brought on such a sensation of what he could only describe as homesickness that for a moment his throat closed.

There was a hesitation, and then, "Is it... Is it Mr. Grayson?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it's me."

"Oh, thank God."

Dick had imagined many reactions, but this was not one of them. He frowned. "Alfred - were you watching-"

"Yes. You saw that then?"

"I sure did. What the hell happened?"

"I have no idea, sir. Or - well, there have been some indications - but I don't know what to think..."

"What's been going on?"

"Well..." Alfred's voice dropped, as if he thought they might be overheard. "Master Bruce has not been himself since he was - attacked by a certain person, if you know what I'm referring to."

"Yeah, I think I know." The Scarecrow's fear gas attack on Batman must be what he was talking about.

"Good. Since then he's been acting very oddly. Not using some of his usual implements. He's even..." Alfred's voice lowered even more, "removed a certain object from his - er - work clothes. If you know what I mean."

"Not really," Dick said. "But never mind, I get the general idea."

"He won't admit anything's wrong. You know how he is."

"Yeah, I know how he is."

"I knew something's not right... And then what we both saw just now on the telly... I don't know what's wrong, Mr. Grayson, but something most certainly is." Alfred took a breath. "Master Bruce needs help, beyond what I can give."

"Me? What can I do that you can't?"

"Find out what's causing this. Help him fight it."

"I'm not his partner anymore. He probably doesn't want me butting in."

"Then you must convince him."

Dick snorted. "Sure. That'll be easy."

"He respects you more than you realize."

"I dunno about that. Besides, I don't even live in Gotham anymore." And yet, he was already looking at the clock, and estimating what time he would be likely to arrive.

There was another pause. "I understand. You have your own life now," Alfred said, his voice resigned. "I quite forgot to ask how you've been. We've heard news of you, of course, but that's not the same as a call or a letter."

"Yeah, I know. Sorry. I've been fine. Done a lot of traveling. Even went back to the circus for a while."

"I hope you've been well. And not - in need of funds?"

"I'm doing okay." Dick glanced at the clock. "Well, I'd better get going."

"I see. I imagine you are quite busy."

"Yeah. It'll take me a couple of hours to get there, so I guess I'll see you then."

There was another pause, but Alfred didn't even sound surprised when he answered. "I was sure we could count on you," he said primly. "Master Bruce does not choose his allies lightly."

Touched, Dick smiled. "Thanks, Alf." He hesitated, the smile fading. "Um... Do you think Bruce will be glad to see me?"

"Of course he will, sir. Do you doubt it?"

"If you say so."

Dick said goodbye and hung up. A few minutes later he was on his motorcycle, the wind in his face as he headed to the highway leading to Gotham, back to the man who had inspired him, after whom he had patterned a good part of his identity, and who had been the one to push him out those two long years ago.

Alfred's words were reassuring. 'Do you doubt it?' But he did. Would Bruce welcome him? Thank him for coming? Be glad of his help? Or was it more likely that he would only want to be left alone, without interference from someone who was no longer any part of his life?

- - -

TBC...