This story is based on the format of F.E Higgins "The Black Book of Secrets". It's a very short oneshot that borrows from Batman R.I.P a little bit, but with a lot of details changed. You may be required to think about what the end means, and no pairings are implied. Apologies for any mistakes; spelling, grammer or otherwise.
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My name is Bruce Wayne and I have a terrible secret.
I fear that if I do not unburden myself I will never sleep again, and although my dreams are haunted by the actions of my past, I may cease to function if I can no longer rest. And if Bruce Wayne becomes dormant, Batman becomes dormant.
I have entertained notions of death, who hasn't? But in my visions my life becomes a black void into which I fall. Killing would make me become exactly that which I despise, but there is one man who, as much as it tears at my heart to say this; is better off dead.
The Joker.
This is my secret:
It was one of the coldest nights in Gotham, and permafrost clung to Wayne Manor in such a fashion that it looked for all the world like an ice fortress. I was away, under the guise of Batman, watching over the frozen wasteland that is my city. The world had been silent for days, hiding under its grime and grit – all the more reason for me to keep a watchful eye as word on the street was the Joker was active again. And regardless of our inability to destroy each other, I still had to keep him under control. On the other hand, however, the Black Glove had recently come out to play, inciting me to split my team: Nightwing and Robin would watch over one part of the city, while I watched the other and Alfred kept vigilance behind the massive computer deep within the Batcave. I had been having visions of my father of late, and it was unsettling me, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. It was his rambling about the Joker that got to me, like the Clown Prince was mocking me with my own past. That created an anger within me, and another deeper feeling of remorse and regret that strangled my insides with guilt.
Hours into the watch the Joker struck. It pains me to say but he is quiet and sneaky when he wants to be. He hit me from behind, and I was almost taken by surprise were it not for Alfred warning me at the last moment. We tumbled off one building and onto the next. This fight wasn't anything deep, more of a challenge of brute strength. Since recovering from his bullet wound the Joker had taken to thinking he was invincible. We came to a standstill on the wharf, stunned into silence by the ghostly apparition of my father, surrounded by boxes and giving me a look so foreign it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up. It was almost too late I realised what was happening and I jumped to push the Joker away from the blast and into the water. When I surfaced there was no sign of my father, nor of the Joker. To my credit I searched but could find no trace of him and I blame myself. I believe I killed the Joker and I believe that it will haunt me for the remainder of my life. But now that I have spoken of it, I believe that I will sleep tonight, and I will let the dreams come. They keep me lucid.
They keep me sane.
My name is the Joker and I have a wonderful, dreadful secret.
I killed the Batman.