AUTHOR NOTE: I present to you Chapter 4! Thank you so much for everyone who has followed, favorited, and reviewed—I appreciate each one of you who takes time to read this story. I love to read the reviews—they motivate me to write and help me get a better idea of what people especially like so I can decide what to include more of or go into more detail of in future chapters. So please review and tell me what you like so far :) Now onwards to the story!

DISCLAIMER: The characters aren't mine.

Chapter Three: Like Sand Through an Hourglass

Sportsmaster's eyes narrowed; even though his mask shielded the villain's face from view, Robin guessed him to be smiling. "Surprised?" he sneered. "Thought I was Scarecrow? Well, today isn't your lucky day."

Robin could only glower at the intimidating man. Struggling against the chains would be useless, the gag prevented him from speaking at all, and any noise formed in his throat would send electricity rippling throughout his body. The Boy Wonder felt the familiar stir of fear in his stomach. Scarecrow was a crazy lunatic, but at least the psycho didn't like getting his hands dirty. Sportsmaster was completely the opposite—he would bang Robin up the first chance he got. In fact, it seemed likely that he would be looking for a chance to beat him to a pulp.

Sportsmaster studied Batman's protégé with cold eyes. "Batman actually let his brat sidekick get captured?" the masked man grunted. "He is turning into an old man."

Robin shot the villain a dangerous glare. He refused to be tricked into speaking—the teenager had grown so much over the past few years that such a slip up would be careless. It turned out that he didn't get to hold his gaze for long though, as Sportsmaster pulled up a brown cloth bag.

"Get him over here and don't let your guard down," Sportsmaster instructed two men dressed in suits that were next to him. The teen tightened his muscles as the goons got up into the van, crouched, and waddled nearer. The Boy Wonder stared firmly at the floor as he felt their hands undoing the brutal chains from around the wall.

The chains unlooped and the taller man grasped them tightly as they half-pulled, half-shoved Robin out. As he stepped onto the dusty earth, Robin realized he had a choice to make. Should he make an attempt to flee or bide his time and save his strength?

With a quick survey to the area around him, he realized the chances for escape weren't looking so good. The van was parked outside a warehouse building, surrounded by lush cornfields. Despite the vibrant colors of the grass and plants, a stormy sky loomed overhead, blanketing the land in a thin layer of gray. The farm shed was gigantic—it looked about two stories tall and rose above the sea of cornstalks like a ship in the ocean.

Several tractors were parked below oak trees and henchmen swarmed around. They reminded Robin of wolves with their narrow, pointed faces and small eyes. And, like beasts, the men were stalking around the place, shooting him hostile glances like he was a fat antelope.

And if he did somehow manage to slip through the clumps of enemies, where would he go? Scarecrow was bound to be nearby and the only place to go was a freaking cornfield—a scarecrow's perfect territory! And not only that, but the bulk of raw muscle named Sportsmaster just so happened to be standing right next to him.

He was right, the Boy Wonder thought sourly. This really isn't my lucky day.

But, as one of the goons shoved Robin to the right, his eyes fell on Sportsmaster who was lifting up the brown bag. This was all the encouragement the young hero needed.

"Let's take care of those eyes, shall we? You really don't need those—"

Suppressing a growl, Robin lashed his hands away and lunged towards his right, able to summersault on the grass as the chains slipped from the man's sweaty hands. He stretched his wrists as far apart as the chains would allow and jumped over them like he would a rope. With his hands now in front of him, Robin was able to jerk them to the right, swinging the longest chain like a whip at the henchman who barreled up to him.

Robin leaped into the air as another of the men tried to trip him, and twisted himself so he hit two of the goons in the face. Upon landing, the Boy Wonder felt suddenly nauseous as he barely glimpsed the large figure of Sportsmaster from between two fat bodies; the muscular villain was sprinting towards him.

Robin, in a desperate attempt to avoid the beast-like man, used all his strength to leap up, jump on a man's shoulders, and spring up and away. For two seconds, the teenager's body glided through the air—it was a feeling he loved, and reminded him of his time in the circus. One of the reasons he had chosen the masked-name of Robin was because he felt like a bird when he soared.

The feeling of self-victory was extremely short-lived, however, as a hand clamped onto his ankle. The young hero only had time to grimace before he was flung to the side, slamming heavily into the side of the van. As his head came into contact with the metal, burst of color swam across his vision. The next second, he was lying facedown in the dirt.

"Well that was stupid," Sportsmaster scoffed. Robin could feel the villain's hand grasp the back of his suit tightly, lifting him up. Before the Boy Wonder could open his eyes, the brown sack was shoved onto his head.

"Don't try and escape again, Birdie-boy." Sportsmaster's hiss sounded right next to his ear. "I would crack your rib cage like I do my knuckles, but Scarecrow insists he needs you healthy. At least for the beginning."

With that, Robin allowed his hands to be forcefully shoved under his legs so they were bound behind him once more. Sportsmaster easily tossed him over his shoulder, purposefully yanking him so that he was facing the ground and blood rushed to his head.

Robin had to force himself not to gasp out as his stomach jabbed against Sportsmaster's large shoulder. With every step the larger man took, Robin's headache grew worse. Even with the bag secured on his head, he noticed a change in the temperature and assumed they had reached the warehouse building. Boots scuffed against the hard flooring and Robin felt his limited vision grow darker as they descended stairs.

Suddenly, Robin's neck was jerked to the side as a hand slammed against the sack. The teenager had to force himself not to cry out, and his frustration grew. They're disorienting me, Robin thought glumly. They're keeping me from being able to find my way back out.

And they were successful. With Robin's head throbbing from the unexpected blow, he could hardly tell which direction they were going. They had gone down a hallway and taken a left and then a right…or maybe another left? At this point, all the boy knew was that they were underground.

After a short period of time, Robin heard a screeching sound as Sportsmaster shoved open a door. The boy struggled violently as the villain shoved him into what felt like a dentist's chair. He immediately tried to spring up, but a heavy boot kicked into his chest, holding him down and sucking the air from the teenager's lungs. With an echoing crack, Robin could feel the chains biding his wrists snap. He flung out his arms, but hands instantly grabbed his own and forced his elbows to touch the armrests. The boy shivered as his upper forearm was strapped against it, holding him down. His feet were buckled to the end of the long chair in a similar manner.

And, suddenly, light rushed into Robin's eyes as the sack was yanked from his head. He blinked, squinting from the glow of the almost all-white room. His dentist's chair sat against the wall, with piles of machinery around it. Computer screens were hooked up to transparent panels and it looked like the lab of a mad scientists. Across from where he was tied down, there was a silver counter with various weapons glinting from behind glass on the wall.

Robin flicked his gaze to the left as the henchman walked out, closing the door behind them. Sportsmaster was left standing here, his eyes bright and cunning as usual. In the right of the room was a figure with a straw hat and mangled face—Scarecrow.

It was then that the Boy Wonder started to understand the reality of his situation and fear reared up inside him. He had been kidnapped to a place he didn't know, Batman had no forms of tracking him (and could be dead for that matter) and two of the craziest villains were standing no less than ten feet from him. His eyes momentarily flew back to the weapons. Knives, guns, electrocuters, and all imaginable items of torture were shielded behind the glass. The most likely scenario was that they were going to brutally torture him and leave him a skinless, bloody pulp for Batman to find. That is, if they even left him alive at all.

"Hello again, Robin," Scarecrow murmured, his voice coming out in a harsh hiss. "It has been quite long since our last meeting. As you well know, I've been locked up in Arkham for the past few years, placed there by you and your fool mentor. I'm sure you thought it was a very charming prison—unfortunately for you, I didn't."

Robin glared at the ragged man, trying to appear unaffected by this situation. He recognized the fear churning in his gut, but tried to shove it down—Scarecrow's bloody specialty was fear. He hadn't even touched Robin yet and he was utterly terrified.

A grin twisted across Scarecrows face and he let out a small chuckle before nodding to the other man standing on Robin's left. "Go ahead."

Robin kept his eyes locked with Scarecrows but heard the heavy fall of boots—the boy could see Sportsmaster out of the corner of his eye stalking over. A flash of metal in the villain's hand caught the teen's attention, making his muscles tighten. The Boy Wonder turned sharply to see Sportsmaster plunging a knife straight at his face.

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Batman could feel every muscle in his body ache, but didn't stop. He couldn't, not with his protégé missing. But Robin was more than that—he was his son whom he loved. The thought of him being tortured and possibly killed by Scarecrow made the Caped Crusader burn with rage and helped him to force gigantic pieces of concrete aside.

He was hunched over, in the third floor of Arkenson Industries, working with Superman, Superboy, Captain Marvel, Martian Manhunter, Miss Martian, and a handful of other heroes to make a path to the underground tunnel. So far the progress had been slow—if someone accidentally shifted the rubble in the wrong way, it would collapse downwards and fill up the trench they were digging. This being said, they were forced to work at a frustratingly slow pace.

They had been at it for the past two hours and everyone was exhausted. The tunnel had collapse countless times and injuries were unavoidable—Wonder Woman had sprained her ankle, Kid Flash had broken his finger, etc. But all the while, Batman had pushed them onwards, insisting that they take very short breaks. He disliked seeing them in such a state of exhaustion but downright hated the thought of Robin left in the hands of Scarecrow. They would find the young hero and rest afterwards.

All the while they worked, the League had done their best to comply with what he ordered—Batman could tell they knew he wasn't alright. His fellow Leaguers knew him well—he didn't want their sympathy, he just wanted them to work to find Robin. And so they did, using all their strength.

The younger team worked vigorously as well, doing everything they could to find their stolen teammate. Batman had never seen them so angry before—or as determined. As the Caped Crusader noticed this, he felt a small stirring of gratitude and relief. He himself had taken out storms of his rage on the Young Justice members a few hours ago, when the League arrived on site. He had growled and yelled at them, but here they were, working harder than ever to do as he asked. They both wanted to find Robin, and Batman was glad they of all people were on the team. The mission had ended in failure, but it wasn't their average case and Batman didn't blame them for what happened.

Instead, he blamed himself. He had slipped up and Robin payed the price. It was his damn mistake and yet Robin was now stolen and probably terrified. He could fend for himself, that Batman didn't doubt, but there were some situations when that didn't matter. If a person was chained, they simply didn't have a chance of getting out. There were no gains from chains, and anyone in that kind of situation was vulnerable to their captor. He himself had trained Robin as best as he could, but now it might not be enough.

The thought that burned in Batman's head, however, was the knowledge that Robin was probably terrified and counting on a rescue. He was counting on him to find and save him. Knowing this drove Batman to work faster and harder, even if that couldn't be done. Robin—his Robin—was waiting for him, and yet with each hour that slipped by, the team was only growing slightly closer to reaching the tunnel. Batman knew that with each minute that went, Robin was waiting somewhere, desperately praying that his rescuers would burst through the door. With each second that passed, the little bird's hope was slipping. As time carried on, bitter disappointment would rise inside the boy like a fire.

Batman clenched his teeth and tightened his fists. What exactly did Scarecrow want with Robin? The possibilities were endless, and each more terrifying as the next. He could want to kill the teen to hurt himself, torture him to drive him mad, break his spirits, break his bones…the list went on and on.

But the most likely, Batman thought, was that he was going to use him for an experiment of some sort. Scarecrow used to be a lab professor, studying the topic of fear, before it began to drive him insane and an incident happened. Afterwards, he became Scarecrow, the villain who used a deadly fear toxin designed to make the mind so terrified that he could use them to his advantage. Scarecrow had been in Arkham in many years though, and most likely has a new experiment ready to go. The thought of Robin being injected with fear gas filled Batman with white-hot rage.

The Bat shook himself from his thoughts as he noticed his fist was clenched on a jagged piece of debris. He shook it away, and continued to shift through piles of junk. Another disturbing thought to the man was that they might not even find anything in the tunnel. What if they spend the next day and a half digging when there wasn't anything to be found? They would have wasted precious time, and tracking Robin would be much harder.

No, Batman growled to himself. I will find Robin. I must.

And the Caped Crusader knew just how cold his heart would become if he didn't.

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Robin tried to flinch away from the dagger, but his restraints prevented any movement from his chest down. He resorted to snapping his head to the right, trying to save his face from the blade's tip, and closed his eyes tight.

But rather than feel an explosion of pain against his cheek, the Boy Wonder felt quite the opposite—a sense of relief. The knife changed its course at the last minute and cut the gag. Sportsmaster, reaching down, took the bands of cloth and threw it onto the far countertop.

Scarecrow smiled at the protégé's reaction. "Thought he was going to cut up that pretty face of yours?" the former professor smirked. "I won't let him…at least not yet. You will be getting plenty hurt, but not by either of our hands. Disappointed?"

Robin moved his tongue over the sides of his lips, feeling the cuts that had formed. By removing the gag, the wounds had been reopened and blood now dripped down the teen's chin. But, as he heard Scarecrow's words, a chill passed down his spine. The teenager's worst fear had just been confirmed—he was indeed going to be subjected to some kind of torture. But if neither Scarecrow nor even Sportsmaster was going to hurt him, then what was going to happen? Robin was sure of one thing: it definitely wasn't going to be good.

Scarecrow grinned again and picked up a remote that was resting on the silver counter. With a push of one of the buttons, the Boy Wonder heard something in his collar buzz, and then it grew quiet.

"You can speak now without being electrocuted," Scarecrow chuckled, putting the remote back. "I'm sure you discovered the collar's purpose the hard way."

Robin only glared at him wordlessly. He wasn't going to do what Scarecrow said—he wasn't going to give the villain the idea that he owned him.

"Pouty, are we?" the former professor asked, running a hand over his mutilated face. "So be it. When I'm done with you, you will hardly be able to talk. If I were you, I would enjoy that luxury while you still can."

Robin frowned, then turned to Sportsmaster who was leaning against the wall to his left. "Why are you working with this psychopath?" he questioned harshly. "You don't know him like I do—he really is crazy."

Sportsmaster let out a grunt. "What would you know, kid? I always have a plan and a purpose for everything I do. But that isn't any concern of yours."

"'He really is crazy,'' Scarecrow quoted, using a high-pitch voice. "Ha! Well, this 'psychopath' is saving you from Sportsmaster's bloody torture tactics. You should be thanking me."

"I should be with my team," Robin glowered, tightening his fists. "But I'm not. You saw to that."

Scarecrow shrugged. "It needed to be done. I'm sorry sitting in here for a few days is such an inconvenience to you. Being trapped in Arkham for years was a bloody inconvenience for me."

Robin's jaw dropped. "Are you kidding me? You practically chose to be sent there—you were performing terrible experiments and running around with your fear toxin!"

"It was an experiment." The villain spat out the word. "Can professors not research these days? Fear is a study like everything else."

"But you can't just frolic around hurting people and terrifying them," Robin snarled. "It's wrong."

"Oh, and I suppose it's you who decides what's right and wrong?" Scarecrow mocked. "Well, this 'psychopath' knows one thing: you shouldn't be talking. I can frolic around all I like because I'm not tied up right now. By the end of all this, you will hardly be able to walk."

Scarecrow turned to Sportsmaster. "It's time. Wait for me in the DNA room."

The muscular man glanced from the other with the mutilated face to the Boy Wonder before nodding curtly and exiting the room.

With a twisted smile, Scarecrow walked over to Robin, until he was standing right next to the dentist's chair. "Such a pretty face," the villain murmured, reaching out a hand. Robin flinched and grimaced as gloved fingertips traveled down his cheek. "It's a shame that it won't be looking so good in a few hours."

"Batman will come and put you in a full body cast for months," Robin warned, his voice acid.

"Ah, we'll see about that," Scarecrow chuckled, turning to the computers that were hooked up to the machines on either side of the Boy Wonder. "With all those years at Arkham, did you honestly think I wouldn't have a full-blown plan by the time I got out?"

Robin could only let out a ragged breath as he watched Scarecrow type into the computer. The teen's stomach twisted as the other man pulled out what looked like a silver crown. Except, the crown hung open in the back, a buckle hanging loosely, and the inside was lined with tiny spikes, similar to the one in his collar.

"Hold still, or this will end up slicing open your scalp," Scarecrow advised, bringing the crown to his head. The villain placed it so it wound from his forehead to the back of his head and buckled it shut. The spikes were tiny, but Robin let out a grunt of pain as they dug into his flesh.

The older man was about to speak when they both heard a noise. It sounded like something small thrashing around…almost like a muffled chirping…

Damn, Robin thought, wanting to bite his own tongue. He should have done something sooner, should have tried to set it free. Now, in an attempt to save the finch's life, he had practically condemned it to death.

"What's this?" Scarecrow breathed, a smile stretching across his mangled face once more. "Brought along a friend? I do rather enjoy birds, but only crows appeal to my taste.

Robin grimaced as the former professor unclipped the pocket in his utility belt. He reached a gloved hand inside; when he pulled it away, the yellow finch was clutched inside it. The tiny bird struggled and chirped loudly, trying desperately to escape.

"Leave it alone," Robin insisted harshly. "That bird didn't do anything to you."

"A fair argument. But I have other ideas for your friend." The villain stuffed the terrified finch into a rucksack dangling from his belt.

Robin swallowed and tried to focus his attention away from the pain lacing his head and stomach. The spiked crown was also causing drops of crimson to sprout on his flesh. Being also covered with soot from the flames and sweaty, the young hero felt disgusting.

"You know," Scarecrow whispered, glancing at the tied up-teenager, "if I were you, I would be far less afraid of me and much more terrified of how your team will react once they find you."

"What do you mean?" Robin hissed, feeling drops of blood speckle his head.

"Arkenson Industries tipped," Scarecrow breathed as he went back to the computer. "It was all your fault. You should have known, you should have been prepared. But instead, countless people were killed by the falling rubble and now the team and League blame you."

And with that, the villain pulled a lever hooked up to the machine.

Sportsmaster, who was leaning against the wall two hallways down, smiled as Robin's agonized wails reverberated throughout the base.

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Batman growled in frustration as the lower part of the tunnel collapsed. Dust was sent rushing up, forcing the Caped Crusader to clamp his mouth shut. Hacking coughs from the League and team followed, only worsening the Bat's temper.

To his relief, the strong gust of wind whipped around them, sending the dust clouds billowing away. Batman turned to see Hawkman flapping his white wings as he touched down next to him. The fellow League member held a laptop in his hands.

Batman immediately noticed the solemn look on his face.

"Bad news," the winged warrior informed, his brows furrowed together in worry. "Aquaman and I checked out the street security footage, like you asked, and found this."

Batman took the laptop from the other man and opened the top. As his eyes scanned the information on the screen, the Caped Crusader felt shock spring up inside him. With it came a sea of rage and storms of fear.

"The machine recognized his face," Hawkman breathed. "It confirmed that Sportsmaster went into Arkenson Industries an hour before the fire."