A/N: Going back to a bit of the old roots of this story. I think you'll understand what I mean by the end. The next chapter will connect to this one, sort of like the first two chapters. Please let me know your thoughts :)

Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics.

Tim was tired of being awake, tired of tossing and turning, and tired of staring at the bland ceiling above him. He was sick of being uncomfortable no matter how positioned himself on the mattress; whether it was on his back, side, stomach, or even laying upside down. He was completely done with the blankets getting twisted around his legs, and how they made him too hot one second and when he kicked them away he instantly started to shiver. The pillows were either too fluffy or too flat, facing the window or the door was too hard of a decision, and the constant debates were driving him to the point beyond exhaustion.

Yet apparently he was not tired enough to fall asleep.

The teen breathed out a sigh and tore his eyes away from the ceiling, looking to the clock on his nightstand. It was ten after two in the morning, and Tim was on his fourth hour of sleeplessness. Typically, if he was out on the field, this was considered to be a normal time to be out and about in Gotham City. However since he had been cooped up in the manner on recovery mode, Tim had a regular sleep schedule going. He'd gotten used to being in bed around midnight or even sooner, falling asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. For some reason unknown to him, his body seemed to have gone back to his old sleep pattern.

And that made for a very unhappy, aggravated Tim.

He sighed in defeat and rolled onto his side, facing the door. The clock continued to mock him, the numbers changing so slowly that he was half convinced that the world was frozen in time. Part of him wanted to turn it off completely so he didn't have anything to focus on, but it was better than watching the ceiling. So he went with staring with tired eyes at the glowing numbers, eyes that hurt from rubbing them so often throughout the night. Tim watched until the clock read two-fifteen, then sighed once more, letting out a frustrated groan as he buried his face in his pillow, which currently felt too soft rather than flat.

Not only was insomnia absolutely grating on his nerves, but it was one of the most boring situations he'd ever been in. Normally when he was awake there was something to occupy the minutes passing by. On this night, however, all he could feel was an ache in his head that was probably caused by lack of sleep as well as his annoyance. Maybe I just need to try this again, Tim thought to himself. Maybe this time it'll actually work.

He turned his head to the side yet again, shutting his eyes. Everything became cloaked in even more shadow, exactly the way it needed to be. Tim took a deep breath, tuning his ears to the silence of the room, hoping it would lull him into sleep. Slowly he started to slip into the abyss, sliding into sleep's embrace. He felt himself teetering on the edge, about to plunge into the rest he so desperately wanted.

And then he heard the footsteps in the hall.

If Tim didn't have self control, he probably would have yelled in irritation. His eyes snapped open and he glared at the door angrily. Bruce was out on patrol, and he hadn't come home early in weeks. Once his adoptive father was mostly sure that Tim would be alright through the night hours, he'd gone back to regular schedule. Tim highly suspected it was Damian storming out in the hall, probably in another one of his moods. Unsurprisingly, Bruce had found out that the ten year old had gone out in Gotham on his own while the Bat was away. So, like expected, Damian was grounded from patrol. The kid must have finally gotten fed up with being home and intended to track Bruce down and join up with him.

Sometimes Tim really wished that Dick kept this kid on a leash.

Unceremoniously Tim hauled himself out of bed and trudged to the door, rubbing his face and mumbling angry nonsense under his breath. The teen grabbed a hold of the knob and yanked the door open, poking his head out the door. Then he stepped out, hand still on the brass doorknob as he looked around the hall. "Damian, you know that you're—"

Tim cut himself off as he looked down the hall, his eyes widening. There was indeed a figure at the end of the hall, looming in the shadows. It was too tall to be Damian, and Tim's adjusted eyes could make out all of the details. The ragged and stitched mask covered the figure's face, a rope tied around its neck, looking like both a scarf and a noose. Its mouth was also a patchwork of stitching, but was stretched into a sadistic and crazed grin. Tim recognized the form as soon as his tired eyes had landed on it.

Scarecrow.

The villain tipped his head at an awkward angle, the grin not fading. Then a quiet chuckle filled the hall which soon turned into hysterical, maniacal laughter as he pointed at Tim. There were no words, but Tim could understand just what his enemy was saying. "I took you down, Red Robin, and I'll take you down again just as easy."

Tim could feel his heart thudding in his chest, quicker than normal. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't tear his eyes away from Scarecrow, who dropped his pointing hand. The villain stopped his laughing, setting his crazed eyes on the teen for a minute. In the next moment he was darting away, attempting to disappear into Wayne Manor's shadows. Tim was jolted from his stunned state and took off after Scarecrow, shoving himself away from the door.

He wasn't sure where he found the strength to run, but it surged through his veins in a powerful rush. Tim chased after Scarecrow, finding that he could catch up quicker than expected. He ran forwards, reaching out to grab a hold of his enemy. As soon as he was close, however, Scarecrow was suddenly farther away, just enough to escape his grasp. Glaring at the villain's back, Tim turned the corner sharply, his bare feet sliding slightly before he went after Scarecrow yet again.

His enemy looked over his shoulder with that same insane grin, prompting Tim to react. He lunged forwards, aiming to tackle the villain to the ground. As soon as the teen was upon the criminal, the doctor was gone and three steps ahead. Tim's feet hit the ground and he stumbled, pausing to stare at Scarecrow in disbelief. He had been right in Tim's hands, and yet he'd still gotten away. The villain gave only enough pause himself to look back at the teen before leaping down the staircase.

Tim ran forwards, finding that once he reached the top of the stairs he couldn't see Scarecrow below. He slid down the banister, landing on his feet in a somewhat clumsy way. The teen regained his footing and looked around, listening for any sounds of movement. At first there was only silence, and then a voice hissed in the air, sounding like it was an echo all around the manor. "You can't fight this fear, Red Robin. It will plague your thoughts for the rest of your miserable life."

"I'm not afraid of you," Tim declared to the air, eyes darting around to examine the darkness.

There was a deranged chuckle, and then, "If you weren't afraid, I wouldn't be here. You will never defeat this, you will not conquer fear! It will consume you!"

"Shut up!" Tim yelled into the dark, searching almost desperately for his enemy. The words crawled up his spine, gripping onto his nerves tightly. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, adrenaline pumping through him. His head whipped to the left, to the right, and then, if just by chance, Tim dared to look up.

Perched on the railing was Scarecrow, giving him the same grin from before. "Don't try to let it go. Let it in and make your death quicker!"

The villain leapt down, plunging down at Tim. Letting out a shout, Tim lunged and hit the floor, rolling away before getting back onto his feet. Scarecrow was nowhere to be seen once again, but the teen could feel his presence all around. Tim heard footsteps running past and spun around to find them, then bolted into the living room. Of course he found it empty to his eyes, but Scarecrow was somewhere in the room. Anxiety raced across his skin, the hair on his arms raising. He was here, and Tim had to find him.

He turned; just enough to shift his peripheral vision, and that was when he saw Scarecrow charge at him from behind the couch, arms outstretched to take a hold of him. Tim leapt away, then swung his fist. Scarecrow avoided it, jumping at Tim again, causing the teen to leap backwards onto the coffee table. The villain moved behind the Tim, and when he looked over his shoulder the crazy doctor was gone once again.

"You imbecile," came a younger voice, and Tim turned to the entryway to find Damian standing there. His face was one of complete and utter irritation, and possible disbelief. "What could you possibly be doing, Drake?"

"Damian!" Tim said, his eyes not staying on the younger boy for long. "We have to find him; he's in the manor—"

"I swear, if you and Grayson are playing some deranged game of hide and seek this early in the morning," Damian warned, but didn't get the chance to finish his threat.

"No!" Tim shouted, hearing his voice change to an urgent tone that was borderline hysterical. "It's Scarecrow! He's here, Damian!"

The irritation on the younger boy's face subsided in favor of a mix of confusion and displeasure. "Drake, there is no one present but you, Todd, Pennyworth, and—"

"He got in! You never listen to me!" Tim curled his hands into fists, finding a harsh glare being directed from himself at the ten year old. His usual level headed attitude in these types of situations seemed like it had ceased to exist. "For once just be on my side! Scarecrow got into the manor."

All displeasure left Damian's face as he stared at the teen. Lines appeared on his forehead as he frowned, looking at Tim uneasily. "I don't think that you are in the right state of mind—"

Whatever Damian was going to say next, he never had the chance. Tim's eyes strayed from the boy to the entryway, where Scarecrow was looming in the darkness. The teen let out a yell of, "There!"

He vaulted off of the coffee table and dashed past Damian, following after Scarecrow. The lunatic led Tim on a chase once more, until he took an unexpected turn into the cave. Normally, Tim would have stopped and questioned just how plausible the actions were. Instead he raced down the stairs, ending up on the main floor of the cave. It was lit, as usual, by minimum light, yet the shadows were fewer than in the manor. Tim felt his body shaking, felt sweat sticking to his skin which made his clothes feel like they were glued to him. Every second there was a panicked pressure growing worse, attempting to crush him under its thumb.

The teen could feel his breath coming in rasps; pants trying to get through his racing heart. He looked around the cave, searching for Scarecrow again. The bats were restless up above, water droplets making small sounds that sounded a lot like explosions in Tim's ears. Where are you, he thought. Stop hiding from me!

"Tim," a stern voice said, and the teen snapped his gaze in the direction of the stairs. Jason was walking forwards slowly, Damian at his side. The usual scowl that adorned Damian's features was strangely absent; for the first time, maybe, Damian looked unnerved. Jason had a calmer expression, but it was hard and with slightly narrowed eyes. He held up his hands as he approached, as if Tim was going to lunge at him if he didn't declare his peaceful intentions.

"Scarecrow," Tim said, feeling as if he had been saying it over and over. His throat felt dry and hot. "He's in the cave."

Jason didn't show it, but Tim just knew that the older man didn't believe him. He dropped his hands and said to the teen in a slow, calm voice, "Tim, listen to me. Scarecrow is in prison. There is no one in the manor but us."

"He could have broken out," Tim combated, wanting to curl in on himself. The pressure was increasing faster, pressing on his chest. "No one ever stays in jail!"

It was Damian that spoke up, almost mimicking Jason's tone. "We called the authorities, Drake. Scarecrow is contained."

Jason took a single step forwards, clearly trying not to alarm the teen further. "We don't know exactly what you're seeing. But whatever it is, it isn't real."

Tim took a step backwards, mostly out of uncertainty. "No…he's been here the entire time…"

But it explained a lot, didn't it? It made sense why Scarecrow always fell through his grasp, why no matter how fast Tim ran or how hard he tried the villain never was caught. The manor had such tight security as well, and with the three of them there, and even with Alfred, it would be extremely difficult to sneak in without setting off some sort of alarm.

"They are fighting their fear," Scarecrow's voice said. Tim turned his head, finding his enemy standing a good distance away from him. "But you are past fighting, Red Robin. The fear is taking over."

"It's not real," Jason warned again, taking another step closer. "Don't listen to it."

"Oh, but it is," Scarecrow said, his voice louder than Jason's. "Stop resisting your fate."

"Drake," Damian said, his voice trying to cut through the pressure and the mumbling in his ears. "Do not fall for this trick of the mind."

Tim stared in the direction of his enemy, Scarecrow suddenly breaking into a run towards him. His form started to blur on the edges, fading in and out of the air. The teen watched; he could hear the insistent whisper, a thousand different toned voices growing into a roar. "Give in, give in, give in!"

But it's not real.

There was nothing to give in to, if Jason and Damian were right.

Scarecrow was feet from him, and Tim braced himself for what would come next. The villain leapt forwards, his maniacal grin tearing into the teen. Tim watched, unmoving, the pressure closing in on him, crushing his heart. Right at the moment that Scarecrow should have tackled Tim to the ground, he disappeared in a shadowy blur. The pressure expanded outwards and lifted, the voices that tempted his downfall being silenced.

Tim inhaled a breath, finding air rushing into his lungs without strain. Weakness filled him suddenly and his legs gave out beneath him, his body crumpling to the ground. He heard Jason and Damian run over; could feel them crouch beside his limp form on the ground. There was the distant rumble of an engine approaching, the Batmobile pulling into the cave. Jason said something, but just like the day they had found him in danger, Tim could not hear their words, all sound deaf to his ears as soon as they began to speak.

Darkness rose up around him, and Tim welcomed its relief.