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

Confrontation

- - -

James Gordon, Police Commissioner of Gotham City. An imposing title, Jim thought as he stepped through the opening someone had torn in the boarded-up side entrance to an abandoned building on the north side of town. Tonight felt almost as if Jim Gordon, police detective, had returned from more than twenty years ago to rescue his present self from the consequences of his own mistakes.

The faint smell of smoke seeped into the still air. There had been a fire here, he realized as his flashlight beam revealed a thin film of black soot on the floor which his steps had disturbed. Maybe that was what had driven out the original tenants. Or maybe it had been the gradual deterioration of this neighborhood from luxury and elegance into decay and menace, and the fire had been a landlord's attempt to recover his investment with an insurance payment. Have to look it up... if I make it out of here alive.

He passed an empty doorframe and glanced inside, seeing a dining room table that had gone un-dined-on for years; and a console television, its glass face shattered, its insides hidden in shadow. Dust dulled their once-bright surfaces, dust and dirt...

No! Jim closed his eyes and took a deep breath. No! The air smelled musty, dusty, dirty... No! He'd done so well so far. Survived the car ride. Made it into the building with only a few shudders of disgust. Come on, Jimmy, don't lose it now. You can't afford to. The Scarecrow had to be stopped. There was more at stake here than himself, or Batman, or any of the other victims. With a weapon like this - the Scarecrow had already gotten to Billingsley. What if he had gotten the mayor, as was his original intention? How many people had the strength not to give in? What if he got more ambitious - the rich, the powerful, the influential; no one would be safe. How many lives would be ruined, how far would it go...?

And then he saw it before him, the Scarecrow's message, telling him where they would meet. Fear faded into the background as he straightened resolutely and then turned to look for the stairs. This had to stop, here and now. One way or another. If he could bring the Scarecrow in alive, good. If not...

- - -

There was only a slight creaking noise as Starman pried another board loose from a second story window and silently laid it down on the small balcony they had climbed onto. After a quick glance at Nightwing he ducked and led the way inside, feeling a twinge of annoyance as he instinctively reached to pull his cape out of the way and found nothing.

They had found Gordon's car parked in front. He must be here. But where? He had counted ten floors. This had once been a luxury building; it looked like there were five large apartments on each floor. Or the Scarecrow could be on the roof, or in the lobby, or the basement... He was probably hiding, waiting to see if Gordon had brought the police, or other reinforcements. Which he hadn't, no cop cars outside. Cautiously he and Nightwing crept down a dark, hushed hallway by the faint illumination of dimmed flashlights.

"Bat-- Starman..." Nightwing's barely audible whisper brought his attention to the stairwell he had just passed. There, in a layer of dust that seemed to have been accumulating for decades, they saw the outline of a footprint.

Gordon? The Scarecrow or his men? Someone else? In any case, the person had been going up the stairs. Nightwing paused just long enough to direct his flashlight down to the first floor, and they saw it - only faintly visible, a message scratched in the dirt.

'PENTHOUSE'

- - -

Catwoman ran an experienced eye over the setup. They were in a long-abandoned two-level apartment, in the upper level of a penthouse surrounded by a balcony on the roof of this once-impressive building. A few dust-shrouded pieces of furniture still decorated the living room with its view of the surrounding buildings, many of them now dark, but enough light filtering in to let her see. The Scarecrow stood in the middle in his outfit of rags and hood. As he waved a hand most of his men scattered, disappearing behind furniture and into the other rooms.

"When will Batman get here?" she asked.

"Any moment, I imagine.

"I want first crack at him."

"So eager. All right, take your friends Marty and Danny and check for him downstairs. But..." he reached for her, the touch of his thin fingers making the flesh of her arm crawl. "Don't spoil my fun. I want him alive, and afraid."

"And Nightwing?"

Scarecrow shrugged. "Do whatever you wish with him. Just make it painful, as punishment for preventing me from getting Billingsley's payment."

"Naturally." Catwoman smiled, turned to her own former henchmen, and nodded. "Follow me. And try to keep up."

- - -

Somehow no one had told her crimefighting would involve sneaking into filthy, dark old buildings, her heart thumping so loudly she was sure everyone could hear it from a block away, the dusty, sooty air making her want to sneeze, and with no idea of what to do next. Barbara stopped for a deep, calming breath. No, not Barbara, she told herself sternly. I'm Batgirl now. Still, it was going to take more than a costume and a mask to pull this off.

Had her father walked over this same floor? There were the faint outlines of footsteps, but it was impossible to tell how old they were. On the other hand - the smell of smoke prickled her nose again. That should have settled out of the air long ago, until someone stirred it up. She had seen his car outside; yes, he was here. But where?

Nerves jumping, she moved deeper into the building, darting her flashlight beam into open doorways, expecting an armed thug to come jumping out at her any moment. She was so tense, it would almost be a relief - had to stay calm, not fall apart if and when something happened.

Dammit, Dad, this is all your fault, she muttered silently to herself, and then, What was that? The whisper of footsteps, and a voice, from upstairs. As she started in that direction, her eye caught marks in the dust of the floor, a roughly scrawled message. Penthouse. She put away the flashlight and lifted a small glowstick from her belt. A moment later, by its barely visible light, she was on the way up.

- - -

Jim wondered if he had heard movement, or if it was only his overstretched nerves, as he eased through the doorway of the apparently empty penthouse living room. No, not just nerves. The Scarecrow must be here, he had arrived first, and left that message downstairs; he must be here. Somewhere.

Might as well just face it, instead of sneaking around like this. As his fingers found the reassuring cold metal of the small gun in his jacket pocket, Jim called out. "I know you're here, Crane. Why not come out?"

"James Gordon. I rather doubted you would come, but here you are."

The voice was low, dry, and had come from behind him. Jim whirled, instinctively dropping into a half-crouch, a throwback to his days in a more active role. "Where are you?" he demanded.

A form seemed to materialize from the shadows of a corner, near the picture windows letting in the only light in the room. Crane, in his Scarecrow getup, the dull brown and grays of his clothes and hood providing perfect camouflage. "Are you alone?"

"Yes. Ms. Davis isn't coming, but I can speak for both of us."

"I see. Disappointing. And I suppose you're here to indignantly refuse my proposal?"

"I'm here for that. Among other things." Before he could lose his nerve, Jim pulled the gun from his pocket. "I'm here to stop you, once and for all."

- - -

Starman froze, listening, trying to pick out the voices he had heard from the background of distant traffic and the soft sigh of the breeze gusting over them out on a rusty fire escape. They had chosen this way up as possibly giving them a better chance of surprising the Scarecrow, and so far it had worked.

Another sound. Jim Gordon's voice, the tone angry and defiant. He turned his head to glance back at Nightwing. They exchanged a quick nod and started towards the top of the ladder, where he could see the broken glass of a window into the penthouse.

- - -

"Did you hear that?" Danny said, his voice a pitch higher than usual.

"Yes," Catwoman hissed softly. "Be quiet, you idiot."

"But it could be Batman...!" At least he had lowered his voice, which was almost squeaking in fear now.

Catwoman only gave him a glare. Waving him and Marty back against the hallway wall, she crept silently towards the sound of a creaking floorboard they had heard, then stopped, looking back and seeing her two former employees do the same as the sound of voices came from above.

The perfect opportunity - and she was not the type to let it pass. As quietly as a cat, she slipped into the shadows of the stairwell and around a corner, smiling as she heard an exclamation of "Hey! Where'd she go?" waited for them to pass her, and followed.

- - -

The voices were soft and echoing as they reached Batgirl's ears. She paused on the stairway, pressed into a corner, and listened. Had that been her father's voice? And that, a man's voice, closer? So hard to tell... Only one way to find out. Concern gave her courage as she slipped the glowstick back into her belt. There was barely enough light from the windows to keep on making her way up.

A footstep... And that was definitely a muttered curse in a male voice. She flattened against the wall, waiting, her heart thumping painfully as a shadow moved above. Two of them. Nowhere to hide. In another moment they would see her.

She moved swiftly, striking out with a kick to the first man's ankles, knocking him off-balance as he came down the stairs. He fell with a yelp, but the wrong way, an outstretched arm catching her across the chest and making her stagger back. Batgirl recovered quickly with a side kick as he landed more or less on his feet, and then a spin to launch another kick into his stomach. He gasped breathlessly and fell onto the next flight of stairs, skidding down them.

She had spent too much time on him... where was the other one? Already ducking back to dodge a blow, she looked up, trying to make out the shadowy forms above her. Two of them - another attacker? No, they were fighting each other. One of them fell, slid down a few steps, and lay motionless. Tensely, Batgirl waited as the other straightened and advanced a step.

"Batman?" The voice was female. The other woman made a movement, and a dim light appeared in her hand. "Who the hell are you?" she hissed.

"I'm Batgirl..." Somehow she didn't sound as confident or impressive as she had intended. By this time, she had her own light out. "Catwoman?" she exclaimed, her voice sharpening. "I thought you had reformed!"

"In case you missed it, I just finished saving your bat-butt. Of course, that was before I got a good look at you." Catwoman's tone was a silkily sarcastic whisper. "All Gotham needs is another female in a mask and cape."

"You should talk-" Batgirl stopped abruptly, jumping as the sharp sound of a gunshot came from above, leaving a ringing echo behind. "Let me by!" she snarled furiously, starting up.

"Living up to your name, I see. After you, Batgirl."

- - -

"So, you intend to kill me," the Scarecrow said.

"I intend to take you in. If you come quietly, fine," Jim said. His voice was steady. To his own surprise, now that the time had come he felt no fear. "If you don't..." he shrugged. "That's fine, too."

The corner of his eye caught a sudden movement in another corner. His arm moved almost of its own accord, his finger tightening on the trigger. The gunshot was shockingly loud against the stillness, followed by a cry of pain. "Tell your men not to try anything," he said, the weapon aimed at the Scarecrow again. "I can drop you even with a bullet in me."

"You heard him. Put your guns down." The man in the hood waved a hand. There were two faint thumps from other parts of the room. "No need, anyway. I'm not afraid of what you'll do, James Gordon."

"No? I just shot one of your men."

"But not fatally. You're quite a good shot, I know. You didn't mean to kill him."

"They're all just small potatoes. You're the big fish, and I don't intend to let you get away."

"A mixed metaphor, but true enough. So..." The Scarecrow stepped forward, his arms outspread. "If you're going to kill me, why not go ahead?"

"Don't think I won't. You're under arrest for-"

A chuckle interrupted him. "Don't make me laugh. If you really want to arrest me, where is your police backup? Where's your precious Batman? No, you don't want witnesses, do you?"

Jim found his jaw clenching. He tightened his grip on the gun.

"So now you'll dirty yourself with cold-blooded murder. Committed in this filthy, dusty old building. Yes, Commissioner Gordon, I heard all about the nature of your phobia from reliable sources inside the police department. You fear dirt, and with good reason, considering the sort of slime and scum you have to deal with on a daily basis."

He had slowly drifted closer, his voice dropping into an insistent murmur. Jim gasped, trying to keep his focus as the thought stabbed into his mind of the dirt that enveloped him in this room, the crust of filth and decay and neglect that was all around him, even filling the air. He was breathing it right now...

"Isn't that true, Commissioner? Jim? You're realizing it, aren't you? You're knee deep in dirt. You're unclean. You'll never be clean again..."

"No! No, I won't listen!" Choking as his throat seemed to close against the contaminated air, blinking as his eyes blurred, stinging with dust, he struggled to aim again, to fire, to end this forever.

The sound of glass shattering almost panicked him. Jim yelled as dark shapes came at him, and threw an arm over his eyes, blindly backing away, stumbling, and falling onto the floor. Repulsed, terrified, barely under control, he got back to his feet, only to be dazzled by a flash of light.

- - -

The sound of a gunshot sent a chill through Starman. He paused only a second, and then dashed up, taking the fire escape steps two at a time. At the top, he threw himself at the window, looking through... Instead of what he feared, Gordon was standing, his arm outstretched and trembling, a gun in his hand, aimed at a figure dressed in shabby rags with a hood over his head. As he tried to make sense of what was going on, Gordon cried out, flinching as if he had been hit.

No more time... With a hard kick, Starman shattered what remained of the glass in the window and dived through. As he plunged into a shoulder roll and came back to his feet, he threw down the flare he already had in his hand, calling, "Flash!" to warn Nightwing, who had landed beside him, then closing his eyes for the second of initial brightness.

When he opened them, the room was clear in the fading light - one of the Scarecrow's men in each corner - one of them down, clutching a bloody shoulder, possibly the target of the shot they had heard. A tiny object whizzed by him, one of Nightwing's black throwing stars, hitting one of the thugs in the gun hand. A flip of the wrist, and Starman had disarmed the other with his own silver star.

But the fight wasn't over, he realized. Two more men appeared in a doorway leading to what must be a bedroom, the glint of metal showing they were armed. As he dived for cover behind an ancient couch, he heard the report of another gunshot from the hallway. More of them. The temporary lighting of the flash was gone, and the new arrivals hadn't been blinded, in fact now he and Nightwing were at a disadvantage since their eyes had adapted to the light.

He was reaching for another flare when the sound of an impact and the thud of a body falling made him look up. Someone was struggling out in the hallway. Starman made a quick decision and leaped over the barrier of the sofa for the bedroom doorway on the other side of the room. He rolled again as two dark shapes came at him, jumped up, and drove a fist into the face he could see there. The man staggered back, bringing up a gun. Starman chopped at his wrist and in almost the same motion pivoted and kicked out, slamming his hapless opponent into the wall. He turned to take care of the other thug just in time to see Nightwing bounce an escrima stick off the man's head.

It took only an instant to cross the room, flatten against the wall next to the hall doorway, and then dart through, keeping low and alert for danger. Two bodies lay inert on the hallway floor: two of the Scarecrow's men. After a glance he spun around to find whoever had knocked them out--

"About time you got out here. Us helpless women would have been up the creek if we'd waited for you," a faintly mocking and very familiar voice drawled.

"Selina?" He straightened slowly as she appeared from a dark corner, dressed in a darker variation of her usual catsuit, and saw her eyes widen as she got a good look at him.

"What...? Batman? Is that you?"

So much for fooling the criminals of Gotham... "Yes, it's me."

She scanned him up and down. "Very becoming, but - what's the idea?"

"Don't call him Batman, he's Starman now," Nightwing said dryly from behind him.

"Ah, because of your little bat problem? Won't work, you know."

"Hmm. Speaking of clothes, I see you're in your Catwoman outfit again. I thought you had reformed."

"All you bats talk alike. I knew the Scarecrow was out to get you, so I did a little - undercover work." She smiled, crossing her arms, and then turned her head. "And I seem to have picked up something that belongs to you. Don't be shy," she called. "You did your share of taking care of these guys, now come out and take credit."

Another woman appeared from behind her, shorter, younger, wearing a black costume with deep gold gloves and boots, a scalloped cape, a cowled mask with red hair appearing from underneath it and a yellow bat emblem on her chest... For an instant Starman felt an almost dizzying sense of déjà vu. Kathy had appeared from nowhere as Batwoman, just like this.

"Who the hell are you?" Nightwing stepped around him, staring at the newcomer. His fists clenched, and his voice seemed angrier than was really justified under the circumstances. Unless...

"Where's... where's Commissioner Gordon?" the red-headed young woman asked.

"In there." Nightwing jerked his head in the direction they had just come from. His voice softened slightly. "He's okay, just shaken up."

"Thanks." She ran by, with Nightwing following.

"Says her name's Batgirl," Catwoman was saying cheerfully. "It's getting so you can't swing a cape in this town without hitting a Bat-something. I don't suppose you have a Bat-hound or a Bat-mite floating around?"

Starman frowned. This Batgirl was a complication, but there was a more immediate problem. "Where's the Scarecrow?"

Her face abruptly became serious. "I didn't see him. You mean you didn't get him?"

"No. He must have slipped out another way. Damn! We'll have to search the building. Get the cops here. Maybe we can cut him off."

"Before you run away..." Catwoman's voice stopped him as he headed back for Nightwing, who was with Batgirl and a pale but apparently unharmed Gordon. "I happen to know where the Scarecrow's hideout is. Where he's probably headed right now. Just in case you're interested."

- - -

"What's down there?" Nightwing asked.

It had taken a few minutes to make sure all the Scarecrow's men were accounted for and securely tied up. Commissioner Gordon had taken care of calling the police in and volunteered to stay and meet them, and follow later. Now the four of them were grouped around the doorway of a stairwell Catwoman had led them to in the basement, staring down at a set of steps that disappeared into darkness. He glanced up for a moment at Batgirl's face. She saw the movement and met his eyes, then glanced away.

"These stairs go down to an abandoned subway station," Catwoman was saying. "Once there was a direct connection from the building into the station through a short tunnel."

"The old Gardner Street station," Starman said. "There were offices down there. Shops. Wouldn't be hard to tap into power and water. A perfect hideout."

Catwoman smiled. "I recognized it as soon as Marty and Danny took me there - a few years ago I scouted it as a possible hideout myself."

"Let's go." Flashlight in hand, Starman started down the stairs, with Catwoman behind him.

"Hold on just a minute," Nightwing said, taking Batgirl's arm as she took a step to follow. "You can stay here. Come later with your - with the cops if you want."

"No way. I have as much of a stake in this as any of you. I want that phobia antidote."

"So this is how you decided to get it?" He lowered his voice to a furious whisper. "I know it's you, Babs. Who else would show up here, now? Who else wants that antidote so much?"

"Yes, it's me. Dick."

Momentarily distracted as he wondered if that had been an insult or his name, he almost let her get out of his grip. "What do you--"

"It's obvious. The way you were always disappearing and you wouldn't tell me anything, even though I could tell you wanted to. And then - Nightwing was injured, and you vanished. You left town, he left town. You came back, he came back. I was pretty sure - and then tonight I called Dick, and you showed up." She pulled free and headed for the stairs again.

"I won't let you go. It's too dangerous!"

"If you can do it, so can I." She threw him a defiant glance and started down.

"Oh, for... Look, just stay close to me, will you? And be careful!"

- - -

There was light when Starman reached the end of the tunnel leading from the stairway to the station, the harsh glare of a string of bare bulbs hanging near unused tracks. No sign of the Scarecrow. "Any idea where he's gone?" he asked as Catwoman stopped beside him.

She shook her head. "No. I was only here once, tonight, and he didn't show me where he's actually living - or has his laboratory and the antidote."

"Must be in the rooms off the actual station."

"Yes. There were shops on this side of the tracks." She pointed. "Offices and a control room on the other side."

"Can't give him time to get away..." He glanced at her.

"We'll have to split up." She smiled as he hesitated. "What's the matter, don't trust me?"

"It's not that. The Scarecrow is a dangerous opponent."

"And so am I."

"I just don't want him to do to you what he did to me."

They were facing each other now, as she raised her eyes to his. "I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm forewarned. Besides, Batboy and -girl should be along any minute. Won't take us long to search here, and then we can catch up with you. Now, are we going to get on with it, or do you want to give him enough time to get out of the state?"

"Okay. Just be careful."

"You too. Don't take any wooden bats."

But he paused again as she started to turn away. "Catwoman... Selina..."

"Yes?"

"Why are you doing this for me?"

For a moment he thought he saw something warm gleam in her green eyes, but then it disappeared in an ironic smile. "Men... always thinking it's all about them. I just want you and the Commish alive to put in a good word for me with my parole officer."

With a smile and a shake of the head, he jumped down onto the tracks and ran across, pulling himself up on the other side. There was less light here. The offices must be through a door he saw a few yards down, marked Authorized Use Only. It was locked - but that didn't stop him for long. In seconds he was making his way silently down a dark corridor.

But not completely dark... He suspected this was it when he saw an edge of light under a door he was approaching, and was sure when the sound of something falling came through it. Best to make this fast, and surprise him...

The door burst open at the first kick. Starman leaped in, landing in a crouch, sweeping a quick look around. This room might once have been a control center; there were panels and consoles along the walls. Now it had been turned into a laboratory, complete with benches and chemical equipment. The Scarecrow - or rather Jonathan Crane, his hood was gone - was standing a couple of yards away, his back to a workbench, clutching a cardboard box.

Starman rose to his feet and took a step forward. "Give it up, Crane," he said softly. "Your men are captured. There's nowhere to run."

"Who...? Ah, I get it. The clothes may change, but the style remains the same. Batman, I presume?"

"Starman. But by any name, I'm taking you in."

"Are you, now?" Unhurriedly, Crane turned to put the box down. "We'll see about that." With a sudden gesture, he reached inside his shirt and pulled out something black. As he held it out between his hands, Starman saw it was a bat - a paper cutout of a bat, like the ones that had terrified him only the day before, only bigger. "Batman, Starman, whatever you want to call yourself... This is a bat. And you're afraid of bats, aren't you?"

A bat - a rush of fear ran through him, a cold stream through his heart, the impulse to run, to get away from the creature menacing him... No! It was only paper. Only paper, nothing to be afraid of... Bats were his own symbol, he had worn that same shape on his chest for years, it was him, a side of himself he didn't always like, but a side he would not, could not, give up, maybe even a side he could be proud of... His heart pounded, his knees trembled; he felt the fear - but it was different this time, no longer the overwhelming madness he had felt before. Still terrifying - but with a supreme effort of will...

He took a quick couple of steps and drove a fist forward, hearing the paper tear as he punched through it and connected with Crane's jaw. The criminal professor staggered back, hit the workbench, and fell, to stare up in disbelief.

"Still think I'm afraid of bats, Crane?" He smiled. "And yes, you were right. The name's Batman."

- - -

TBC...