I don't own Batman or any related characters.

A/N: So here's the next installment of this story. I will switch back and forth between my stories. A chapter in this one and a chapter in the other until I finiah the other one. So enjoy this installment.

Read. .

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It was eight o'clock, and the party was in full swing. Wayne Manor shined brighter than the Bat Signal, illuminating the crime ridden streets of Gotham.

Despite the disapproval he had gotten from those closest to him, especially Alfred, Bruce Wayne graced everyone with his presence. This dinner meant more than words could explain. It was a way he could honor his parents, something he felt he wasn't adequately doing, unworthy of doing so, even. This dinner helped him to feel as if they were still apart of him. And even though Alfred nearly had him locked up, he was determined the show would go on.

All the important people from his company had shown up; the board of directors, sponsors, and plenty of others. On top of that, he was greeted every time he turned around by a different employee. He had invited everyone at the company, and from the turnout, it seemed as if almost everyone in Gotham was there.

He made his way to the far corner of the room to admirethe beauty of the scene, awestruck by all who had arrived.

Joker stood above the sea of bodies laughing maniacally, his latest victims heads in his hand. As he turned them around, Bruce's eyes widened in horror. It was his parents' forever terrified expression staring back at him.

A hand patted him on the shoulder violently shaking himout of his horrific daymare. Bruce turned to see the welcoming smile of Commissioner Gordon. He quickly gained his composure as he stuck his hand out to the head of police.

"Evening Commissioner," his warm tone masking the fear still troubling his psyche.

"Evening Mr. Wayne. Didn't mean to startle you like that."

"It's alright, Commissioner. Just a little too focused. Must be my mother's perfectionism making itself evident." He gave his best million dollar playboy smile knowing it would get the Commissioner off his back, buthe knew he had to find a way to stop these hallucinations or he would get nothing accomplished asBruce Wayne or Batman.

"Well, if your mother's perfectionism has anything to do with those hors d'oeuvres, I'll leave you to your thoughts. They're delicious. Gonna be hard to top next year. Had to wean Bullock off of them." A paused for a second. "You did a good job here. Wayne Enterprise is a big part of why there is less crime on the street. So to you, many more years of prosperity."

"Thank you. I'll make sure to tell Alfred. And believe me, without you and your force, Gotham would still be in ruins. Enjoy your evening Commissioner."

Bruce shook his hand in parting, and watched as he went to go speak with another of his associates.

Batgirl fell from the skyscraper, landing on the squad car below, her lifeless body caressed by the head of police. Batman was surrounded as a combination of cars and officers circled around, guns all trained at his chest until a sudden pain sent his body reeling to the ground.

"So how many hearts did you steal to get the police to finally notice you?"

Veronica Vreeland approached behind him. She waited, but with no response, she tapped his shoulder, hoping that her quip had not gone to waste.

"Bruce, did you hear-" she started, unable to finish as Bruce quickly spun around, snatching her hand in his, a fierce yet, fearful look in his eye. However, the unusual emotions passed as quickly as they had come. He shamefully released her hand, embarrassment invading his countenance.

"Remind me not to get on the wrong side of Bruce Wayne," she said, rubbing her wrist, sarcasm wrapped inher words.

"Sorry Veronica. I wasn't paying attention."

"I can see."

A short silence fell between them as Veronica studied the man now standing in front of her, a concerned look conquering her face. She noticed his complexion paler than normal.

"Are you alright?" she asked, previous sarcasm fleeted.

"Fine," he answered too quickly. "I'm just stressed. A lot of coordination and headaches went into this party. Toomany sleepless nights. I suppose I'm not the Superman I thought I was."

She nodded and turned to admire the room. The crystal chandeliers, ice sculptures, silk curtains and drapes, gave the room such an elegance that it was breathtaking. Yet even with the elegancy, an element of melancholy hung in the air.

"It's beautiful," she said, barely loud enough to hear, taking it all in.

"I know," he replied.

"You don't lack in confidence do you?" she smirked in reply.

"I wasn't talking about the party."

"Bruce," she blushed, "if you let little ol' me tie you down,what will become of that million dollar playboy reputation?"

There was no response from the bachelor.

"Bruce?"

Bruce and Selina walked down the alleyway with their daughter in tow. A gunman appeared from the quickly, Bruce jumped in the way to fight the man off, but his efforts came too late. The bullet had been released and his daughter laid at the feet of his wife.

Bruce looked up at the sound of his of his name. Veronica stared him in the face, helping him keep his balance. She had called his name three times, each witha reply that only consisted of an irritated nod. This time, he grabbed his forehead and rubbed his temples, slowly making his way to his eyes.

"It's just a headache, probably from stress." He looked up, caught in the concerned gaze of the green eyes staring back at him. In his peripheral, he caught sight of Alfred with a silver platter. He knew Veronica was just concerned, but he couldn't risk anything at this point. Hehad to get away.

"Or maybe I just need to eat something. I can't remember the last time I've eaten. Alfred!"

The butler came over immediately, silver platter resting in his hands. "Yes, Master Bruce?"

"I was just telling Veronica about your hors d'oeuvres. They're delicious and I thought she might like to try some."

Alfred bent over offering the young lady the delicacy on the platter. She tentatively took one, placing a small bit to taste. As the flavor hit her tongue, her eyes widened in amazement, hurriedly taking another bite.

"These are great Alfred. What are they?"

"They're Porcini Mushroom Tarts, a favorite of the late Mistress. Master Bruce felt it imperative I prepare them for tonight."

"So he has good taste too? You are a man of-" Veronica started as she turned to face Bruce once again. But all that stood in the once occupied space was his lingering melancholy.

Veronica frowned. "Superman huh? With the way he's been acting tonight I would say he was Batman."

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Alfred entered into the dimly lit room. Inside he found a man standing near the far corner. Though no one was supposed to be in the room, the unexpected presence didn't surprise the butler.

"Another dose Master Bruce?"

Bruce didn't respond. Though it didn't sound like it from his tone of voice, Bruce knew Alfred was ridiculing him. By responding, it would just give the old man ammunition. But, it wouldn't stop him.

"Master Bruce, I believe that you should postpone. I understand that you are trying to keep the memory of your parents alive, but can you say this is honestly your best?"

"I'm fine Alfred," he answered sternly. He wanted Alfred to drop the subject. He didn't want to admit he was wrong even when he clearly was.

Alfred continued. "Master Bruce, I just don't want you to do anything foolish. The last dose was supposed to last the entire night. You are ill, and I do not wish to have to carry you out of this party. I won't stand for it."

Bruce finished administering his antidote for his hallucinations. He turned to look at Alfred, closing in on him as he approached the door. He stood next to his surrogate father giving him a Batglare, but the old man was unphased.

"This party will go on with or without you. I would hate the latter, but this is something I need to do."

He walked out the room. "Yes Master Bruce," was all Alfred offered in reply. He had an ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach, but at this point nothing would change that stubborn young man's mind.

Bruce continued on to the landing on his stairs, grabbing a glass of champagne on the way. He stood before the throngs of people amazed at his parents' legacy, proud he could be a part of it. He tapped on the glass with a fork to get everyone's attention.

He cleared his throat.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Thank you all for coming out to the annual Wayne Social. Thank you board and sponsors. And we give a special thanks to Gotham's police department. None of this would be possible without the work of all of you. While the name is Wayne, one man cannot run a company. The company only has success if each and everyone of you is successful. And I couldn't be more proud of all your accomplishment. As a child, I never liked coming to these events, but now I understand the worth. All the time and sacrifice you each put in everyday creates a legacy that will live on, something I am proud to be apart of. My mission in this company is you. So your ...success is... my success."

He had struggled through the last sentence, so taking it as a cue, he raised his glass in the air so he could quickly divert the attention.

"So to…" he started before he suddenly paused.

The rain poured as Bruce stood in front of his beloved parents graves. He held back the ever present tears thathad been collecting since his troubled childhood. A hand touched his shoulder from behind. As he turned around, he was greeted by a fist to his face. Picking himself off the ground, he turned to see Thomas Wayne looking back at him, Martha standing behind him.

"This is all your fault. You could have saved us. You're worthless. You'll never amount to anything," his father yelled in his face. Another punch greeted him. Repeatedly he was assaulted with words and physical abuse. He took them knowing they were right. He had failed as a son. He was getting what he deserved.

He gasped slightly as he came back to reality. All he could do was hope that he hadn't blanked out for long. From the look Alfred was giving him, he didn't think so. He started again after clearing his throat, and shaking his head of the horrid thoughts.

"So to your suc-," he started again.

The alley was dimly lit. His parents walked through, a young boy about the age of eight clinging to their arms. A gun cocked could be heard in the shadows. Fear gripped the family as the gunman stepped into the light. The chiseled features of Bruce Wayne stepped into view and raised the gun to the forehead of Thomas Wayne. He tried to talk him down, but there was no remorse in his eyes as Bruce pulled the trigger. Thomas fell to the ground, his family yelling for him. Two more gunshots rang out as the family became one again. Then it was asif reality had hit him. Bruce stared in horror at the corpses at his feet, another gunshot sounding in the alleyway.

The vividness of this last hallucination sent Bruce reeling. It was too much for him to handle. He clutched his head, streaks of blood running down the side of his face, mixing with champagne that had once been in the glass, now smashed to pieces. He held on to the rail for support so he wouldn't fall over as he began to lose his balance. He landed on his knees, as his legs turned to rubber, groaning to himself as he anxiously waited for this ghastly vision to subside as well as the headache. He did all he could to stay awake, but the pain behind his eyes was too much, and soon he lay unconscious onthe floor.

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Bruce woke up to the sight of the man who was always by his side no matter the situation. His head still ached, but he was able to endure the pain. He used the rail to help him to his feet. Still unsteady, he leaned against hissurrogate father until He regained his balance. He faced the crowd, utterly embarrassed.

"Excuse me," were the only words he said before walking away. He quickly walked out to a separate room.

It was the same room where he had administered the drugs to himself. He sat down on a chair holding his head in his hand.

He was suddenly disturbed as his hand was sternly removed from his resting position. When he looked up he saw Alfred taking his hand to wrap the wound. There was no "I told you so" as there should've been. The butler simply helped mend the wounds knowing nothingneeded to be said. And it continued like this until he had finished wrapping both his hand and his head.

Once Alfred was finished Bruce stood up to leave. Alfredtried to push him back down, but to no avail.

"Master Bruce you must rest. The party can wait."

"I'm not going to the party Alfred." He held up his phone, a message warning flashing on the front screen. No restfor Batman. Alfred looked with sad eyes, but did not try and stop the man.

"I do not wish to pick you up again sir."

Bruce nodded before heading off into the inner workingsof Wayne Manor.

Alfred exited the room and walked to the landing where everything had transpired. He couldn't leave things the way they had been left. He picked up a glass of his own, finding it quite different to be on the other side of serving. He tapped the glass with a fork. Everyone quieted and looked at him.

"Ladies and gentlemen. Mr. Wayne will not be returning tonight."

The crowd gasped in horror.

"He will recover, however he is suffering from terrible headaches at the moment. He has sent me with his regrets and regards. And while he is not here to say it himself, he is quite proud at the success of this company because of you. So if I could, I will finish the toast for him. To your success and prosperity."

Alfred began to raise his glass.

"You forgot joy and laughter."

A maniacal shrieked throughout the house, signifying who had arrived.