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

Nightmares

- - -

"Do you know anything about what's happened to me?"

Nightwing turned away from his survey of the shuttered windows and closed door as he stood in a small but neat living room in this small but well-kept house in the suburbs of Gotham, and faced Arnold Tyrell, the guard who had been unlucky enough to get in the Scarecrow's way at Apex Chemicals, and his wife, Patrice. "I know that you're not the only one," he said. "And that Batman and I are doing our best to find out more."

"How can I help?"

He settled onto the couch and put a smile on his face. "Just tell me as much as you can remember about what happened that night, and since then."

"Okay." Tyrell was a big man; it seemed odd to see his hands trembling slightly as he clasped them. "It was just a regular night, you know? I was maybe halfway through my patrol, when I heard one of the inner alarms go off. Don't know how they got into the building, but there they were," he shook his head, "inside the main storage rooms. I heard them talking, and saw a flashlight. Got my gun out and tried to sneak in before they saw me. I knew the cops would be there any minute, but I wanted to make sure they didn't get away."

"But I guess they spotted you."

"Yeah. One of them saw me, and yelled. I went by the book, told them to freeze. And then... I saw him." Wide eyes met Nightwing's as Tyrell's wife reached to gently rub her husband's shoulder. "The Scarecrow. He was behind me, with that - that bag over his head, and a strange-looking gun in his hand. He laughed. I thought he had shot me, but it didn't hurt; I just felt sort of a spray of dust or powder."

"Then what happened?"

"It was like I was suddenly somewhere else. Like a nightmare."

Nightwing leaned forward. "What was it?"

"It was - it was..."

"Arnie doesn't like to talk about it," Patrice said gently as her husband struggled to continue. "But with all the times in the last week I've heard him yelling in his sleep, and seen him wake up scared to death..."

"It really could help if you'd tell me as much as you can, Mr. Tyrell."

"Okay, if you say so." He took a deep breath. "I was in some kind of desert. Sand, and rocks, and a few dead trees and bushes. No grass. Just flat, rocky ground, everywhere I looked, to the horizon. It was night, but there was a lot of light from the stars, I guess. No wind, no birds, no sound. Just emptiness. I started walking, looking for landmarks, or a road, or a house. But there was nothing. It felt like hours I kept going, not seeing anything or anyone. I started to feel - funny. Exposed, sort of. Alone. It was like I was the last person on Earth. Or the only person who had ever existed."

Tyrell grimaced, hands to his face. "And then the sounds started. I kept hearing voices, sort of - so soft I couldn't tell what they were saying. They always seemed to come from behind me, but I'd turn around and there was nothing there. I started to think it was the rocks - the plants - or that I was just going crazy. Started to imagine that there had been a war or a plague, that everyone else in the world was dead, or that I had somehow been taken to another planet or something.

"Then..." He paused nervously. "I thought I saw something moving - in the distance, a shape. When I looked, it was almost like a statue. A stone giant. I started walking again - saw movement - it was still just a pile of rocks, but it was closer. I panicked, ran, and shouted for someone, anyone, to help me. The sun was coming up. It was getting hot, and I was thirsty. The stone giant never moved while I was looking at it, but it kept on getting closer, all in this weird silence. I remember thinking I was going to die, all alone, with no one to even know or care what had happened to me. I closed my eyes... and woke up..."

He ran his fingers through his hair, swallowing. "Maybe it doesn't sound like so much, but the way it felt..."

"I can imagine," Nightwing said. "And after that? How long before the rest of it started?"

"It started right away: the nightmares and Arnie not wanting to be alone," Patrice answered. "Then there was the day he tried to go back to work."

"Yeah. I walked to the train station, got on the train, got off at my usual stop. Then when I was about to clock in..." Tyrell shuddered. "Suddenly I got the image of being all alone, at night, in that big empty building, with voices whispering and things moving when I'm not looking. I've never felt anything like it, just blind panic. No way I could do my regular shift, not without people around. It makes no sense, I know that; there's nothing to be afraid of, but I can't stand to be alone anymore."

"It's gotten so bad he can't stay in the house by himself," Patrice said.

"Patty used to tease me about being anti-social." Tyrell looked up. "I used to like being alone. That's one reason I took the night shift at work; I liked it. Now... It's getting worse. What's going to happen to my job? To my life?"

"It'll be okay," Nightwing said. "Has the Scarecrow contacted you?"

"No."

"Can you think of anything else? Anything that might help us find him?"

"No." Tyrell's shoulders slumped. "Nothing's going to help, is it? I'm going to stay like this until I go crazy."

"Of course not. Whatever this is, you can fight it."

"Yeah. Fight it." He sighed. "How do you fight something that's inside your own mind?"

Minutes later as Nightwing stepped out of the house, those words still seemed to ring in his ears. How do you fight fear? Especially a fear that was irrational, when you didn't know where it came from, or what had made it appear? That was a question Batman would have to find the answer to, and soon. If he was like Tyrell, and getting worse - how much longer could even Batman keep pretending nothing was wrong?

- - -

"There's nothing wrong. As you can see."

Batman bent a long, expressionless stare at Avery Billingsley, and saw his confident smile waver just a little. "Are you sure?" he asked.

Billingsley did appear to be fine, on the surface. They were in the luxurious office he occupied at the top of one of Gotham City's more upscale high-rise office buildings, in the headquarters of the company he had helped to make successful. Not that he really needed the extra money; like Bruce Wayne - whom he knew socially - he came from money.

"Of course I'm sure. Aren't you?" Billingsley raised his chin, apparently deciding to go on the attack. "From what I hear you were affected by the same drug. Yet you're still walking around."

"There are some aftereffects. Which is why I'm here."

Some aftereffects. No need to mention the dream that had come again last night, leading him inexorably back into that dark alley to follow three shadowy forms. This time, as he backed away from the bodies lying on dirty cement, he had turned to find Nightwing behind him again, staring, his eyes now as dead and empty as Kathy's had been. No need to mention the unmeasured time he had spent lying in bed, afraid to try to sleep again. Or the struggle he had gone through just to put on his costume, managing it only with his eyes closed and the mirror covered.

"I have no idea what you mean." Billingsley met his eyes steadily - at first. Then, as Batman returned his gaze intently, his eyes dropped away.

"No idea," Batman said softly. "I see." He glanced in the direction of the windows, seeing heavy drapes pulled closed over them. "Those drapes are new, aren't they?" he asked.

"New? Why do you say that?" Billingsley's voice betrayed only a trace of nerves.

"I can see where the holes were drilled for screws. You had the walls patched, but there hasn't been time to paint over those spots, has there?"

"Well - so what? I wanted drapes."

"That's not all." Batman took a step past the large, heavy desk and pointed. "Nice carpeting. Thick carpet like this keeps an imprint when something heavy has been moved recently. Your desk has been moved, away from the windows."

Billingsley seemed a shade paler, but he smiled as Batman looked at him again. "So I rearranged my furniture. What difference does it make?"

"Why? Why now? Something about the view you don't like?" Batman moved to the window and separated the drapes with a finger. "You have the blinds closed, too, on such a beautiful day."

"I - I don't like the sun. It's bad for me."

"Window glass filters out the UV rays. I thought a corner office on a high floor is one of the perks of your position. Lets you look out over the world from high above. Covering your windows defeats the purpose, doesn't it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't look down on anyone. Anything."

"Certainly not with your windows blocked like this. I think this office needs more light. It was designed for daylight, wasn't it?" He pulled on the curtains.

"No! Stop that!" Billingsley started forward, and stopped halfway, looking frightened as the drapes parted.

"Wonderful view, isn't it?" With a quick yank, careful not to catch sight of his own reflection, Batman pulled up the blinds, letting in bright afternoon sun which slanted in over the floor, making him blink. "The whole city, spread out below us. How many floors up are we? Forty? Fifty? That's a long way down."

"I've - I've seen it."

"You sound nervous. Why not come over here and take a look?"

"No thanks." Billingsley's voice was shaking, his face was pale and shiny with a film of sweat.

"Why, what's wrong?"

"Nothing... nothing!" Abruptly, the other man turned his back and covered his face with his hands, shoulders trembling.

"What is it?" Batman asked more gently. "The height or the sunlight? Or maybe the open space?"

"I never wanted an office on an upper floor. Didn't like the idea of separating myself from everyone else, like I felt above them, but that's what everyone expected, a corner office with a view. Never really liked it, but it was never like this, I was never afraid like this..."

"So it's the height." Batman let the blinds fall back and pulled the drapes shut, casting the room into comparative dimness again. "It started after the Scarecrow gassed you?"

"Yes. I thought it was just - nerves. Shock. You know." Billingsley took a few unsteady steps to his chair and collapsed. "When that gas, or powder, or whatever it was hit me, I had this - this sort of nightmare. It was terrible. I was on a mountain, climbing it. It was windy, and cold, and dark. There were other people on the mountainside, climbing, all around me. All I could think about was making it up to the top before anyone else.

"Then, after what seemed like a long time, I reached it; climbed onto a rock at the top and looked back for the first time. I thought there had been other people right behind me, but there was no one now. They were all gone. I wanted to find them, to go back down where it was warm and bright. I started, reached my foot down, but there was nothing there, and my hands slipped... I felt myself slide off, couldn't stop it, and I looked down, straight down, it seemed like miles..." He shivered, but the words kept coming, as if a dam had broken. "I fell and fell, and watched the ground coming up at me, faster and faster. Then I woke up. Afterwards, I thought it was just normal reaction. At first. But it keeps getting worse."

"The Scarecrow always has a purpose. Any idea why he's done this? Has he contacted you?"

"The Scarecrow..." The businessman raised his head and took a deep breath. "I can't - I can't go on like this. You can see that."

"What do you mean?"

"If I talk to you... then he'll never cure me." Billingsley's eyes rose to his, a pleading light in them. "You have to understand. It's still getting worse. Soon I won't be able to walk into this office, or even get in the elevator. Who knows where it'll end?"

Batman was at the desk now, leaning to put his face uncomfortably close. "Tell me what he wants; show me the message; tell me how he wants you to reply. If we find him we can help you, along with the other victims, without giving in to extortion. Without letting him get away with this."

"I'm sorry. I can't take the chance. If I pay, I'll get the cure. You can understand, can't you?"

"I understand. I understand you're giving in. Rewarding him for what he's done." Batman took another moment before he stood up straight and stepped back. "But - you've already told me some of what I need to know."

"What?"

He turned back in the doorway, seeing Billingsley staring at him fearfully. "You told me the Scarecrow's after money." He smiled coldly. "And you've told me there's a cure."

- - -

The last time he'd been here was as an invited guest. This time... Nightwing hesitated. Knock on the door? Or pull a Batman by slipping in through a window? Not very polite, but impressive as hell, and Gordon should be used to it.

As he deliberated, the question became irrelevant. A quick jump and he was perched on a convenient tree branch, hidden from view as a car pulled into the driveway, came to a stop, and fell into silence. He watched as the door opened and the slim form of a woman got out with a quick flash of red hair. Barbara. This was exactly what he had been hoping for, a chance to see her alone.

He tensed. But now what? She didn't know him as Nightwing, only as Dick Grayson. If he talked to her from behind this mask she might even recognize him; he had never been able to disguise his voice as well as Bruce did. Or maybe that was what he wanted, for her to know the truth, and realize how badly she had misjudged him.

Either way, it was time to make a move, if he didn't want to miss the opportunity. Telling himself this was just a convenient way to get inside without raising an alarm, he swung himself down and dropped neatly onto the walkway, directly in front of her.

"Holy shit!" Her voice was loud and frightened, and she jumped back, hands rising and knees flexing into a defensive posture.

"Geez, don't yell, and especially don't hit me. I'm on your side." He smiled, he hoped reassuringly, and saw her start slightly, and stare at him.

"You're - you're Nightwing!"

"That's what they tell me. And you're Barbara Gordon."

"Yes..." She lowered her hands cautiously. "What are you doing here? What do you want?"

"Just a conversation with your father. If you don't mind."

"Dad?" She moved a step closer, still staring intently. "My father is... not himself lately."

"I kind of guessed. That's why I need to talk to him."

"What about?"

"About... fear."

She looked him over one more time, her eyes sharp, and then smiled faintly. "That's becoming a familiar topic. He won't talk to me, but maybe... Come on in."

"Where have you been for two years?" Commissioner Gordon said a few minutes later as he sat in a corner of his living room, his face looking a little more lined than Nightwing remembered but otherwise alert and almost uncomfortably intense. He might have seemed almost exactly the same - if he hadn't refused to shake hands with a mumbled, embarrassed apology.

Nightwing shrugged. "Around. All around, I guess. Haven't stayed anyplace for very long."

"I've heard about you on the news now and then. Wondered if you were okay."

"Thanks. I've been fine."

"Why did you leave? If it's not too personal."

"Things here got..." Nightwing smiled. "Well, I thought there was no reason for me to stay."

"Not even your partnership with the Batman?"

"Especially not that. Look, with all due respect, I'm not here to talk about me."

"I know. I guess I was trying to avoid it." To his relief, Gordon dropped the subject of Batman and his own abrupt departure from Gotham City two years ago. "You want to know about the Scarecrow. About what he did to me."

"Yes. You've probably guessed by now that he did something similar to Batman. We're both trying to figure this out, to find a way to help all the victims."

"Right." Gordon looked away, staring at the blank wall, seeming to struggle internally before he sighed. "Yes. It's hard to talk about."

"I already have a good idea. When the Scarecrow sprayed you with his fear dust, you had some kind of dream, or hallucination."

"A dream. More like a nightmare."

"The more we know, the more chance we can find a way to do something about it. Will you tell me what you dreamed about?"

"It's personal." Gordon shot a quick glance at Barbara and then avoided their eyes.

"Dad," she said, "Whatever it is, you can tell me. Tell us. Maybe that would help."

"No. It's not something you should hear. Maybe if you leave-"

Father and daughter faced each other. "I'm not a little girl anymore," she said firmly. "Whatever it is, I want to know. I want to help. Please, Dad, for me."

They held each other's eyes for a few long seconds until Gordon blinked and sighed. "Okay. Just - try not to judge."

"You should know me better than that."

"Okay," Gordon repeated in a resigned voice. After another moment he went on, obviously forcing the words out. "It was years ago. Long before I became commissioner. Back when I was married. I..." His eyes turned to Barbara, and then resolutely to Nightwing. "It was a rough time in my life. New to Gotham. Trying to find my place here. I was assigned a partner. A woman; her name was Sarah. My wife was pregnant, we were having some problems, and things kind of got out of hand..." He stopped, swallowing convulsively.

"Dad, it's okay," Barbara said, reaching out but pulling her hand back as he flinched. "If this is what I think it is, I already know."

"Yeah. I guess it's no secret." Gordon went on with a visible effort. "In the dream, I was with Sarah, in the little hotel room we met in sometimes. A real dump, we always wondered if they ever cleaned there. In the dream it was worse, disgusting, dirt everywhere. We were..." He shot another guilty glance at his daughter. "Then the door flew open. My wife was standing there. She just stared at us, and then she looked around the room. She said we were... well, you can imagine. The way she looked at me... I started to go after her..." He stopped again, burying his face in shaking hands. "That's all. I can't tell you any more."

"It's okay, Dad," Barbara said gently, and turned to Nightwing. "I hope you've heard enough."

"Yes. I get the idea."

Gordon took a deep breath and spoke again. "Ever since the attack yesterday, I can't get the idea out of my head that everything I touch is dirty. Disgusting, and full of disease. I don't like the idea of going outside, in the streets, even in my car. I went to work today, but - it's getting worse, I can feel it."

"He keeps feeling compelled to wash his hands," Barbara said. "So far he can still function, but..." But for how much longer? She didn't need to ask the question, the anxiety in her eyes said it all.

"The connection's pretty obvious," Nightwing said thoughtfully. "Scarecrow's drug took something that happened in your life, and turned it into a fear. You felt dirty, and now you're afraid of dirt. Maybe the same thing's true of the other victims."

"Maybe. Although I don't see how that helps." Gordon fell into silence again, his eyes distant.

"Come on," Barbara said to Nightwing. "I'll walk you out."

"Okay. Thanks, Commissioner. Good to see you again."

"And you. Let me know what you find." Gordon only glanced up, without a smile, before returning to staring blankly at the floor.

Barbara was silent as they left the room and returned to the front door. As Nightwing tried to think of something better to say to her than a simple goodnight, she raised resolute eyes to his. "Don't go yet. I may have something a little more useful to show you."

- - -

There was an odd look in District Attorney Marian Davis' eyes, contrasting strongly with the smile she had plastered on her face. Fearful, nervous, with an undertone of defiant anger. Batman was used to seeing that kind of look, but in this case he doubted he was the cause.

"So you see, I'm back at work," she was saying. "Still on the job, despite what happened. I'll be damned if I'll let that bastard keep me away."

"You seem a little nervous."

"You have no idea. Damn him, anyway."

"So - you're having aftereffects from the Scarecrow's attack?"

"Aftereffects. You make it sound so - clinical." Her tone was bitter.

"Can you tell me about it?"

"It's - it's personal."

"I respect that. But I need to know. It could help find him, and lock him up."

"You're right, of course." She sighed. "Funny. The papers call me 'fearless'. The fearless district attorney, crusading against the maggots who infest our society. I even started to believe it. They'd get a good laugh if they could see me now."

"If they saw what?"

"Have you noticed the smell in here?"

"Yes. Insecticide?"

"Right. I've had the exterminators in every day since it happened. Not that we get a lot of bugs, but..."

"But suddenly you're afraid of them." Batman leaned forward as she hesitated, her lips suddenly trembling. "Nothing to be ashamed of. Is that it? You've developed entomophobia - fear of insects?"

"Yes. Insects, spiders, any kind of bugs. The Scarecrow... whatever he used on me, it did this to me. He jumped out at me in my front yard, right after I got out of my car. Sprayed some kind of dust in my face. I remember him laughing as he ran away. And then..." She shivered.

"I was starting to go inside, to call the cops and get them after him, when it happened. The bugs. At first I just saw a little movement in the grass. Just a beetle or two. A few ants. I thought maybe I'd stepped on an anthill or something. But then there were more. They started crawling out of the lawn. Ladybugs, mantises, spiders, grasshoppers, butterflies, moths... things I don't even know the name of. They kept coming. I looked down and suddenly they were all over the ground. Hundreds, thousands, seemed like millions.

"Everywhere I looked, it was like a carpet of them, all around me. I didn't want to step on them - but there was no other way to get to the house. I decided to try running. Took a step. As soon as my foot touched the ground they started to crawl up my leg. They were on my skin... so disgusting... so many of them, moving so fast, I tried to brush them off but there were too many, and they were starting to swarm all over me, running all over me and coming higher... I screamed and screamed and they covered my face and everything went black..." With a shudder, she stopped, her skin gone pale and pasty.

"I never exactly liked them," she went on in a small, quiet voice. "But it was just the way most people don't like bugs. Never like this. Never had me jumping every time I think I see something move out of the corner of my eye. Didn't make me run at the sight of an ant on the sidewalk, or panic if I hear a fly buzzing. Now..." She shivered again, staring at him. "Just the thought of them makes my skin crawl. I keep thinking they're inside the walls, they're everywhere, waiting to come out and get me. I'm not a cowardly person. I'm not. But this... I can't control it. It's like it just takes over my mind, and all I can feel is fear."

He didn't really intend to say it, but it slipped out. "I know the feeling."

"You do? He got you too, didn't he?" She stared at him.

"Yes, he got me too." Batman met her eyes. "So I know what you mean about the fear taking you over. But as you can see, I'm still on the job too, and I'll stay there for as long as I can, just like you will." He saw her nod and smile faintly. "Is there anything you can tell me that might help?"

She seemed to hesitate for a few moments, and then opened a desk drawer, lifted an expensive purse out, and paused. "He got me right outside my own home," she said. "He could have gotten inside. Done something to my kids. The only thing that scares me more than this goddamn phobia is that thought."

"I understand."

"I wasn't going to tell you this, but... this is about more than me and my family, isn't it? If he gets away with this the Scarecrow will just keep doing it. If there's anything I've learned from dealing with vermin like that, it's that you can't make deals with them. They only want more." With a quick gesture she reached into the purse and pulled out an envelope. "Here. This is what he sent me."

- - -

"Is Batman affected the same way as Dad?" Barbara asked a few minutes later, voice lowered, as she stepped outside with Nightwing.

He glanced at her. "Yes. Not dirt or germs. Worse than that, in a way." He sighed. "Bats."

"Ironic." She hardly even felt surprised.

"Listen, thanks. For letting me talk to your father, and for this." He held up the note she had given him, the paper still crumpled from when she had balled it up in frustration, despite the way she had later smoothed it out again and carefully folded it.

"I expect something in return." She tilted her head to look him in the eyes. "The Scarecrow did this to my father. I want more than just to stand by while you and Batman go after him. I want in."

"Do you?" he smiled. "The best thing you can do is keep an eye on him." He nodded towards the house. "Do you think he'll tell us if the Scarecrow contacts him again?"

She glanced up at him and then away. "I don't know. He tried to hide the note from me. This is the first time he's talked about what's happened. I just - he won't talk to me!" To her embarrassment, she could feel tears sting her eyes, and impatiently wiped at them. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. He probably doesn't want to admit any weakness, especially to you." Nightwing reached out, seeming about to touch her hand, before he withdrew his. "I'll be back, if that's okay. You can tell me if anything happens."

"Sure. That would be good." She saw him nod and a moment later fade into the darkness.

Barbara stood still for a few moments, only her mind moving. Batman and Nightwing would do their best, but Batman himself was affected. He wouldn't be able to function normally. What if they failed? There was no way she could sit by watching her father becoming more helpless and terrified every day. She frowned. Was spying on her father the only way she could help, the only thing she could do? Maybe... and maybe not. But in the meantime, if she was going to spy, she was going to do a damn fine job of it. With a decisive nod, she turned back to the house to get her jacket.

- - -

TBC...