Everything had been great until the brutal confrontation with Scarecrow. The argument with his team had been heated, leaving him frustrated and reckless. In a fit of stubborn pride, he had charged into the battle without thinking, forgetting his mask—a critical mistake that left him vulnerable to Scarecrow's fear gas.

The gas hit Robin hard, warping his reality into a twisted nightmare. He saw things he never wanted to see again, horrors from his past that clawed at his psyche. Images of his parents' fall, the relentless darkness of Gotham, and faces of those he had failed danced before his eyes. The hallucinations felt like they stretched on for ages, each moment dragging him deeper into despair.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he broke free from the grip of the hallucinations. His team was there, carrying him back to the tower. He could see the concern etched on their faces, their voices a distant murmur as they spoke among themselves. He managed a pitiful "Thank you" before pulling away from them, his mind still reeling from the effects of the gas.

He wandered into his room, the need for solitude overpowering. The guilt of leaving his team in the dark gnawed at him, but he couldn't face them right now. He closed the door behind him, the quiet of his room a stark contrast to the chaos in his mind. Slumping onto his bed, he buried his face in his hands. "How could I have been so stupid?" he whispered to himself, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. He knew he had overstepped, letting his anger and pride dictate his actions. The loss stung, but the fear gas had left deeper scars.

"I need to do better," he muttered, the words a promise to himself. He would face his team eventually, explain what had happened, and apologize. Maybe. But for now, he needed to process everything, to regain his composure and strength.