Batman: Fear Of Loss

Nightmares

"Fear is a natural thing. It is the product of evolution. It is the reason humanity has survived so long - to sense threats so that life may be preserved. It is instinct, Jonathan."
"I-I don't want to go, Dad," Crane said, staring into the dark abyss that lay below. It was so empty - a hole in the wooden floor. It was Jonathan's nightmare. It was as if the pit was unworldly, not of this Earth. It spawned fear, something natural in the mind, the horrors that await inside were not. It felt alien.
"Jonathan," a voice said, sternly. "Bare my name."
Jonathan Crane turned to face the voice. It was not Gerald Crane. The entity to stood tall above him was cold and emotionless. The old wooden house became dark. "I don't want to!" Crane yelled. The floor contorted, splintering and twisting into into a grinder. Jonathan backed up, crippled by fear. Hordes of spiders emerged from the darkness, charging towards him. Crane tried to form words but they were snared in his throat, as if a web caught them. He stepped back once more, shaking, and eyes dancing across the room.
"Bare my name, Jonathan," the voice said, raspy, broken, and with clenched teeth.
"P-please! I don't want to!" he yelped. Bats flashed around Jonathan's face, giving blood-curdling screeches. Crane flailed his arms in panic. "Please..." The room fell silent. Crane covered his eyes, whimpering the himself.
"Shhh... It's okay to be afraid, Jonathan."
Crane fluttered his eyes open, tears streaming down his face. A man, only describable as a corpse, emerged from the darkness, staring at him in the light. He extended both arms to the crying boy.
"Come, Jonathan," he said. The man's face became clearer. His eyes had become cloudy, lips missing - only showing unkept teeth, burlap sewn into what remained of his face, and Crane felt a force press on his chest. His blood rushed from his skin, and he gasped for air. He fell. He fell into the hole in the wooden floor - into that unworldly abyss.
"Bare my name, Jonathan. Bare the name Scarecrow."

"No! No!" The Scarecrow awoke from his nightmarish slumber, breathing heavily and clutching his face. He felt the rough burlap that was sewn into his face and sighed. He stood, stretching his abnormally long limbs, and he dragged his feet across the floor, treading towards the basement. He opened the door with a creak and stepped down into the abyss.
Each step the Scarecrow took creaked, echoing throughout the basement. His boots met with the cement floor, and he was met with muffled whimpering. A chain dangled from the cobweb-riddled ceiling, and, with a pull, dimly lit the room. The chained man screamed, muffled by the gag.
"Don't worry, Mr. Grayson," Crane said, his voice raspy and cold, "the nightmare is almost over."