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Oxytocin reduces amygdala activity, increases social interactions and reduces anxiety-like behaviour irrespective of NMDAR antagonism

Okay. Article opens with theories about schizophrenia. That may be a start? Something to work off of. There was so little research on that, though. 

Crane had stopped publishing early on in his supervillain career, but Tim still had time to dig through his work. It was only 3am. 

--

By 4, Tim had a probable recipe sketched out in his notebook. Something close to Scarecrow's rudimentary design, likely. Base chemicals that a psychiatrist would have access to that could be used to trigger the fear responses Tim himself had experienced more than once. 

Now, he could work on picking these chemicals apart and implementing counters for them. 

Scarecrow was getting inventive. Frequently, the antidotes the bats carried were growing obsolete. He had to get in Scarecrow's head to figure out how he'd add onto the chemical, then work from there. 

By 4:30, Tim had started annotating a pirated neuroscience textbook. He knew the basics already, but he had learned it from a fear toxin perspective. To make this work, to get ahead of the chess game, he had to go about it from the angle that Crane did.

Redbull #7 hit the recycling bin with a clatter. Tim had decided he would slap some makeup under his eyes and make an appearance at Wayne Enterprises without bothering with the last couple hours of sleep. He was sort of on a roll now, digging through The Mind's Machine. 

By 5:30am, Tim's eyes were only burning a little and he had filled 6 pages of his notebook on potential neurotransmitters that Scarecrow could be activating. He also had begun to understand the appeal of fear toxining people in an fMRI. At which point he realized it was time to at least walk upstairs for breakfast. 

--

Typically, the other Bats were mostly nocturnal (even if Tim himself pushed it a bit). He had no trouble exiting the cave and making his way to the kitchen for a smoothie and granola bar. He didn't need to be at WE until 8, which gave him time to grab another coffee, swing by the library, take out a couple more textbooks... Red Robin could probably procure some of the potential chemicals from Scarecrow's suppliers (and then take them down, of course) in the early evening, then he could get back to research. 

"If I check the security tapes, am I going to see you working all night?" 

You think so lowly of me that I can't doctor security footage?
"Morning, B." Tim dug through the cabinet for his Ritalin, then turned to lean on the counter and face his mentor. "No, no you will not."

"Am I going to see a loop placed where the live security footage should be?" 

"I'd never."

"Tim." There was that concerned lilt to his voice. Not the underlying threat of you'd better not be lying to me, but the hint of, please don't do this to yourself. 

Tim shrugged. 
"Couldn't sleep, that's all. Scarecrow's got my wheels turning." 

"And I can't convince you to let me cover the meeting today?" 

"B, I'm fine. You know me." Tim grabbed Redbull #8 from the fridge, where he had hidden a few behind the barely-touched artisanal condiments at the back. He didn't miss Bruce's eyebrow go up.  He chose to ignore it. 

"Are you actually going to sleep at a normal time if I bench Red Robin for tonight?" 

"Not a chance." Tim forced a smirk onto his face, to hide the slight annoyance at the threat of being benched. "It's one night, B. We've all done more." 

"That doesn't mean --" 

"I've gotta go have a shower. Don't worry about the shareholder's meeting, I've got it." 

Before Bruce could protest, Tim was downing his smoothie and speedwalking down the hall. 

--

The meeting went off without a hitch. Lucius and Tam did most of the talking; Tim's presence was merely a formality. Sketching in his research notebook looked enough like taking notes that no one bothered him. Lunch was taken in his office, a protein bar and pre-prepped sandwich that Alfred left in the fridge. 

His family knew too well that it wouldn't just be one night. Yes, Tim could lie to Bruce, but not about this. 

If he didn't want to wind up on the end of a tranq dart, he needed to convince everyone he was fine. Because he was. 

Red Robin could get the test chemicals after. 

--

The afternoon was just balancing books and half-listening to executives while skimming through more of The Mind's Machine. It would be fine, he could catch up later. 

Red Robin was on the streets the second the sun was down. Word on the street was that a local Pharmaceutical company was getting raw supplies to Crane. If Tim wanted to get ahead of the good doctor, he needed to follow his footsteps.

And also shut these guys down. There was that, too. Red Hood would get their info as soon as Tim had what he needed. Jason thrived off shutting down sketchy pharmacists, and, if they were okay selling to Scarecrow, kids were definitely not off the table. 

It was as easy as breaking a lock, hitting a lab tech in the knees, and getting out of there with a few vials and powders. 

Sure, a shattered vial on his leg was probably not a good sign. Sure, pulling the glass out would hurt like a bitch, but he could deal with that later. 

All he had to do was get ahead of Scarecrow.

----

Bruce seemed pleasantly surprised when Tim was too distracted to join on patrol. 
"You'll be okay without Red Robin, right? I want to get this finished." 

There had been comments about Tim getting some sleep, 'orders' Bruce had to know he wouldn't obey. A concerned look from Steph before she slid her mask on. Whatever. They'd be used to it by now.

Besides, Tim was fine. 

As the other bats pulled out of the cave, Tim propped his laptop open to click back into his PubMed bookmarks. The notebook was getting fuller now, diagrams and recipe sketches taking up more and more space. 

Crane kept getting ahead of them. It was driving Tim up the wall more than the bastard's toxins ever had. 

The hallucinogen affects were the most dangerous in every strain. The newer ones could fully disconnect you from reality, making it near impossible to fight a physical threat. He'd address that first. 

Redbull #4 for the night hit the recycling bin. Tim made a mental note to empty it later. 

--

Patrol finished at 3am on a typical night. By 2:30am, Tim was tidying the chemistry set and making his way up to bed. Security footage doctored. Bruce would have suspicions, but nothing he could prove. He'd force himself to log a couple hours of sleep before the next morning. Just had to grab a bandage for that one chemical burn he had acquired.

"Tim?" 

Shit, maybe the one sleepless night had drained him more than he thought, because his sister actually scared him. 

"Hey, Cass." Tim let out a yawn, putting on a purposeful show of how much he was going to bed. Useless, to the girl built to read body language.

"You okay?" 

"Yeah, yeah." There was silence as he wrapped the gauze around his hand. ?Just really focused on this case, you know?" He was aware of Cass following him up the stairs to the manor. "Scarecrow's -- like, he's not in my head," That'd imply he was winning, "I just caught a lead and it's all I can think about." 

Cass nodded and slipped into the kitchen. Tim followed her, head slightly tilted. 

"Tea?" There was the slight rumble of the kettle turning on. Tim closed a fist by his side. Cass had him pinned. He could either accept the tea she knew he usually made when he planned to sleep a night, or admit to her that he planned to be up a bit longer. 

His family worried about him, he was aware of it. Lolling out in a couple public events had put his insomnia on the map. 

But he was fine. 

He just worked best at night. Besides, he had WE business during the day, and training with the YJ team. 

"Yeah, sure, tea sounds great."  

Cass's presence was calming as she brewed a cup of chamomile tea for each of them. She didn't come with the pressure of keeping up a conversation, so he had more time to update his notes. The sting in his dominant hand made writing difficult, but he managed. 

Tim's sister sat next to him and gently took the pen from his hand, adjusting the bandage on his palm. 

"You're hurt."

"Minor chemical burn, Cass." He drew his hand back slightly. "I'll be alright, just a hazard of the job."

"Be more careful?"

"Yeah, of course." He opened and closed his fist a bit. 

They both knew he was lying. 

--

Tim's alarm jolted him from a nightmare at 6am. He cursed himself momentarily for the time he had lost going to sleep, but it meant he could afford another late night of research tonight. His notebook and the pinned articles on his laptop were the first thing on his mind when he dragged himself to the washroom to prepare for the day. 

A quick shower and pulling on a business suit and he was in the kitchen early. Same routine. Smoothie. Dodge questions from Bruce. He already had case notes prepared to present when someone walked into the kitchen, twisting around with an only marginally exhausted smile.

It wasn't not Bruce that greeted him. It was a red jacket and domino yanking open the medicine cabinet, then reaching for the tylenol -- does he even see me? 

"You look like shit, Jason." 

"JESUS FUCK--" In an instant, there's a pistol pointed at Tim's face. That's a no. He didn't even bother raising his hands, before Jason lowered the gun with a wince. "Long night. Sorry." 

Tim snorted.This he could deal with. 
"Where'd you take the hit?"

"If you snitch to B, I'll fucking kill you."

Tim raised an eyebrow. It was barely 6am and he was in the kitchen dressed for the day. Neither of them was in a position for blackmail.

"Stop fucking staring at me, jesus. You sure you're not the one with owl genes?" 

"I don't think Dick's actually -- " 

"Shut up. Just reassure yourself that I'm not dying again so I can take 6 million mgs of tylenol and pass out." 

Jason pulled his shirt up to show a nasty set of bruises quickly spreading over his ribs. Tim couldn't suppress a wince. Another part of him was glad that it hadn't been Dick or Bruce to catch Jason with broken ribs. That'd definitely bring up some trauma. 

"Led pipe?" Tim went to the fridge to fill a glass of water for Jason to take the pills.

"Baseball bat. Classic, right?" Jason shook a double dose of extra strength tylenol into his hand, then downed them with the water. "Your turn. What's with the hand?" 

"Burned it." 

"Yeah, burned it bad enough to wrap while you were totally at home sleeping last night?" Jason's tone wasn't judging, it almost sounded proud. 

Tim shrugged. There was no reason to keep it secret. Something in him, he supposed, was paranoid about the judgement and concerned looks from his family. But Jason didn't have a leg to stand on.

"Chemical burn. Scarecrow case." He watched closely for a change in Jason's posture. If there was a tensing in his shoulders, it's hidden by his jacket. "You sure the ribs are okay?" 

"No, you don't just deflect a chemical burn -- give it, idiot." 

Then Jason had Tim by the wrist. He cursed himself for not catching an extra nap -- reaction time was starting to suffer. He could've flipped Jason off him in a million ways, but it didn't seem worth starting a fight in the kitchen and ruining one of the few suits he didn't have blood on. Begrudgingly, he let Jason unwrap the chemical burn which, yeah, looked worse than it had the night before. 

"I flushed it and all that shit, I'm not stupid."

"Yeah, but knowing your dumbass, you're going to forget about it and get the infection of the decade." Tim rolled his eyes as Jason rummaged in the cabinet for the burn ointment. "Plus, B'll put me back in the ground if I let you get away with downplaying another injury."  

"You are literally concealing broken ribs from him as we speak."

"Older brother privilege." He threw the thing of ointment at Tim. "Change that fucking dressing, christ." Then, something dawned on his face. "That company, the other night? The tip you gave me?"

Tim masked his wince as being from applying the ointment to his still-blistering skin.
"What about it?"

"Don't bullshit me, Tim." The tone still wasn't angry. Cautious, but not outright raging, "Am I going to need to pull you out of a deathtrap in a week?" 

"You say that like it's a common occurrence." He tossed the burn ointment back and re-wrapped his hand. 

"Only because this family has the communication skills of the Lexcorp HR department." Jason hopped up to sit on the counter. "You, B and Dickhead all do it. Get roped into a case, go all 'urrrrrg I can handle it,' get your ass kicked, and then someone has to pull you out of a shark pit or whatever."

"Shark pit?"

"Shut the fuck up, I've been awake for like 30 hours." 

Tim finished his smoothie and moved to put the cup in the dishwasher. 
"I will keep all my vital organs where they need to be. Not sure you can say the same." 

"Doesn't Ra's have your spleen in a jar on his desk?"

"We never confirmed that." 

"It's Ra's." Jason hopped off the counter with a grimace. "Whatever. Just don't do anything stupid, okay?" 

"Says you."

"I'm older, I get to be the dumbass. God knows I have enough concussions." Then Jason was walking off, "Don't fucking die!" 

-- 

Tim forgot his Ritalin on the way out the door, and had to take the spare he kept in his desk at work. Note to self, refill that. Cognitive decline associated with lack of sleep, not great. 

The day at WE was uneventful. Try not to snicker during a business call with Queen Enterprises. Sign Ra's Al Ghul up for several Scientology newsletters. Reassure Bruce that the chemistry equipment in the cave was nothing to be concerned about. Dodge some handshakes with the excuse of cutting his hand cooking. 

Timothy Wayne-Drake was a mask that covered for him while he picked through the Fear Toxin puzzle in his head. Scarecrow's toxin was always evolving. Honestly, it'd be easier if he could just get a recent sample of whatever the freak was working with. 

Risky, but not impossible. 

One tab ran a program picking out anomalies in spreadsheets, while another opened his link to the Batcomputer. Now that Crane had lost a supplier, he'd be looking for others. All Tim had to do was program some alerts for crimes involving pharmaceutical companies. Any sketchier ones could get a visit from Red Robin during peak crime hours. 

But I'm still benched. 

Tim almost laughed at the part of his mind that cared. Bruce would thank him later. Jason didn't need to worry, none of them did. 

A third window opened, Tim signed Ra's Al Ghul up for a skincare tips newsletter. 

Yes, things were going just as they always were. Nothing was out of order. 

--

"I assume Red Robin won't be joining us?"

Bruce's voice sent Tim upright. He had set his head down for a second while the Batcomputer ran some chemical equations. Shit, how long had he been out? Was patrol starting already? 

"I can get changed, just give me a second." 

"Tim -- "

Tim was already moving to grab the case with his uniform in it. The bolt of adrenaline was enough to get him out of his suit and into uniform within a couple minutes. When he jogged back to the computer, the rest of the Bats were already planning out the night. Jason shot him a look that said if you mention the ribs, you're dead. 

"Is Drake not benched?" Damian jerked a thumb towards Tim. 

"I pulled one all nighter." Tim dropped himself into one of the cave chairs and let it spin. "B isn't a hypocrite." He felt the Batman Stare:tm: on him, but elected to ignore it. 

"Tim." Bruce started

"Either I go out and you know where I am, or I ditch my beacon and handle this lead myself." Tim's tone was still light as he tossed a batarang between his hands. "I'm not going to keel over and die because of some chemical burns. Let's go." 

He didn't wait for an answer before making his way to his bike. It took a couple seconds before Jason was after him, 
"Wait, SOME, as in MULTIPLE?! TIM --"

Tim was out of the cave before Bruce could change his mind. 

--

Panic was already rising as Tim remembered to affix his rebreather. Rookie mistake. Whatever His blood would work for a test sample now. Fear came with the feeling of combat, anyway. He could take out the goons, then get back to the cave and no one would be the wiser. 

"Oracle to Red Robin -- your HR is spiking, everything okay?" 

Goddamnit. 

"Yeah -- just dealing with some thugs, you know how it is!" 

Not technically a lie. 

"I don't like that BP number." 

A thug took a staff to the jaw. Tim tried to remember to breathe. 

"I'm doing fine." 

"Red Robin." Bruce's voice almost makes him groan, "What is Oracle seeing?" 

"Minor fear toxin exposure." Tim rolled his eyes at the clatter of concern over the comms. Christ, like we haven't all been exposed. This shit doesn't even work on Dick anymore. "I don't need backup. Just finishing up here." 

Backhand strike, twirl, take out the last two with his staff. Crane was nowhere in sight, this was just another supplier, another lab, a couple scientists he could cuff and leave with a note for GCPD.

It'd be great if his hand didn't still hurt from the burn, and if he could stop fucking shaking while he signed the note. 

"Tim. I don't like what your vitals are doing." Oracle's voice was stern, concerned. 

"God, I'm going." He tried not to sound too much like a teenager told to turn a videogame off, "I need to get a sample while it's still in my blood. Heading back to the Cave." 

"Is anyone available to meet him there?" 

Tim switched his comlink off before he said something he'd regret. 

I can take my own blood draws, goddamnit. 

-- 

The panic was building as Tim dug through the medbay for the blood draw kit. He tried to ignore the shake in his hands the the increase of his heartrate, not to mention the taunting voices he was beginning to hear as he changed out of his suit. Red Robin's armour was not helpful for drawing blood. 

You've let this case drag on too long, you're failing. 

You've lost your purpose, you know.

You're only good as a detective, yet here you are.

"Shut UP!" Tim harshly shook his head and threw his domino to the ground. Fuck, breathe goddamnit. 

Then, someone was behind him. Strong hands locked onto his shoulders. 

They followed me. It's -- god Tim how could you be so stupid. 

He couldn't turn around, but he could jam his heel on his attacker's toe and roll forward to throw their weight over him. 

Usually, he could've. 

Now, he was just kicking as the someone locked him in a tight hug from behind. Okay, Tim, it's a basic hold, you can get out of this. Throw your head back, go limp, and -- 

Useless. 

"Babybird, Tim, are you hearing me?" The voice was awful and distorted, but there was a familiar rumble in the body he was being held against. Fight as he could, it was useless against the hold of someone who knew all his moves. Logic clicked into place.

"I'm fine, Dick. You can let go of me." 

He was then aware of one hand releasing, tapping on his joints, ribs, back -- an injury scan

"Fuck, I'm fine!" He used the loosening to jerk away from his older brother. The world spun, edges tinged with a distorted green. His breath caught in his throat. 

Dick took a step closer, hands up. 
"Babs said you wanted a blood draw. I'm going to help you, you're shaking too much." His tone was logical. Not appealing to emotions, but noting the tremor in Tim's hands. "Then can get please get you an antidote?" 

Everything in Tim wanted to run, but that would be useless against Dick. It's just the toxin. You're fine. 

He nodded and allowed his brother to sit him down on one of the cots they kept handy. 

The panic was still rising, threatening to tear free. 
Don't embarrass yourself,  Tim. You're the smart one. That's all you are. 

Dick's blue eyes wee full of concern as he rolled Tim's hoodie sleeve.
"So. This Scarecrow case." 

"Jason already gave me the speech. I promise not to get myself killed." Tim wished his voice didn't sound so small. That his brother's hands didn't feel like a vice grip ready to break his arm. That he didn't see monsters in every corner of the room. 

"You know we're worried about you being hurt also, yeah?" 

"I'll be okay to be in the field." Tim forced himself to look away as the needle went into his arm. It usually wasn't an issue, but, right now, it seemed full with a lethal poison ready to put him out of his misery. He stifled a fearful squeak from escaping his throat. 

That's fucking pathetic, Tim. Jesus.

"Again. Not my main concern." Dick held a gauze patch over the injection sight. "I'll throw these samples in the fridge, and you can deal with them later. Cool?" 

Fight it, Tim. Fight it, you're better than this. 

He's lying. He's going to tell everyone, they're going to reject you again. They all know you're failing. You're better off to leave now. 

"Maybe you're better off with me, Detective." 

"STOP!" Tim would've brought a hand up to smack his head if Dick hadn't been faster. The same firm hands grabbed his wrists and locked them in front of him. Adrenaline sent him struggling, 

He's going to send you away. How's Arkham sound? They know, they all know.

"Tim, Tim, hey. Hey come on. Stay with me, alright? You're okay. You're safe." 

Then there's footsteps again, heavy, jogging. The sound of workboots slamming on stone. Cops, maybe. They're sending me away. 

"How's the idiot?" Jason's voice. 

It was all a trick. They know you're weak. You're useless to them, now. Broken. 

"I think it's kicking in more. You got an antidote?" 

"No shit." 

Tim was still straining. The burn on his hand sent agony through his arms as Dick held his wrists together. He needed to go, get away, fight, somehow. 

"C'mere, dumbass." Jason again, callused hands grabbing the arm that the blood had just been taken from. Tim shook his head, straining still to pull free. Then, he was being pulled closer against Dick's chest. 

"You're okay, Tim. It's just an antidote. You'll feel better soon." 

They're getting rid of you. You failed, and now you're going to be replaced. Damian can do better, anyway. 

Jason let go of his arm, and Tim tried to swing a punch at Dick. His movements were frantic, but the adrenaline was wearing off. He was focused now on just not crying. 

There was a bit of silence.

"Wanna tell us what you're working on, Babybird?"

Tim shook his head.