Bruce stared horrified at the image of his parents, dead, lying on the wet, trash-ridden streets. Sirens could be heard in the distance, along with some faint yelling, as well as the play that continued to go on inside the theatre.

Everyone was oblivious to what had just occurred.

Bruce struggled to catch his breath as he fell to his knees, shaking, hoping he would wake up and find that it was a dream, and that his dad was in his office working on some papers, and his mother was making tea and waiting for him to come downstairs for some breakfast.

He let out a broken sob as he pawed desperately at the two, begging them to get up, though he knew - they were dead. They wouldn't wake up.

Nothing would be the same.

It seemed this moment lasted for hours, him sitting there, crying and grabbing at his parents, praying that this wasn't really happening.

Images of bats flooded his mind, flying toward him, tangling his hair and nipping at his skin.

He screamed and cried and begged for mercy but they kept flying at him in groups, attacking him, as if they would carry him off into the caves and never let him go.

Bruced closed his eyes, and when he opened them, the bats were gone, and so were his parents.

Startled, he blinked wildly and looked around, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness that surrounded him. He was in a holding cell, he realized - in... Arkham?

No... had he...?

His heart raced in his chest as he struggled to remember what happened, hoping that he hadn't gotten himself admitted to the Asylum, until suddenly everything came flooding back to him in a horrifying, yet relieving wave.

"Joker..." he grumbled to himself, closing his eyes and clenching his fists.

Letting out a shaky sigh, he looked down - despite the fact that his mask remained untouched, his costume was replaced with an orange jumpsuit - the standard among the patients of Arkham.

He furrowed his eyebrows - why hadn't the clown taken his mask as well? Not that he was complaining, but The Joker didn't seem like the type of guy who would respect his wishes for privacy.

"BOO!"

Batman jumped, nearly falling out of his bed, and searched wildly for the source of the voice.

"Yoo hoo, under here, Batsy!" The Joker giggled, tickling his toes from underneath the bed. Batman jerked his feet up and let the crazed clown crawl out and stand up. He brushed the dirt off of his clothes and straightened himself out before peering back at the masked vigilante.

"Did we have a nice bat-nap?" He asked, giggling madly, "You didn't seem very comfy, you kept thrashing around and crying."

"You were watching me?" Batman growled.

"Don't get your hopes up, Bat brains!" The Joker hopped up next to the man, crossing his legs and grinning at him, "it was for research purposes only."

"Research?" He questioned, before shaking his head and glaring at the madman, "You won't get away with this, Joker."

"Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah!" The Joker wagged his finger disapprovingly at him, "That's Doctor Joker to you!" he pushed up his glasses in mock-seriousness before falling victim to another fit of giggles.

The vigilante scoffed as he studied his arch-enemy's "new look". Though he still wore that garish face paint and his hair remained a bright green, he was dressed as a doctor, with a pair of glasses and a clipboard to match. He looked kind of "cleaned up" in a way, and smelled less like murder and more like ... cherries?

He gave a dry laugh, "You're no doctor - you're just a lunatic playing dress-up."

"I could say the saaaaame thing about you, Sweetheart." The Joker retorted, giving him a little wink.

Batman lunged forward to attack the clown when suddenly, a bolt of electricity shot through his body. He growled in pain and reached up to grab at the shock collar around his neck, which he hadn't realized was there until then, and turned to glare angrily at The Joker who simply sat there, laughing hysterically at the vigilante's pain.

He opened his mouth to say something, but The Joker pressed the button again, sending more and more bolts throughout his bruised body. After a few moments of this, he felt satisfied enough to stop, and giggled quietly.

He sniffed the air around him, furrowing his eyebrows, "Eh, Bats, do you smell toast?"

The Joker held his stomach and kicked his feet as he screamed with laughter, Batman's angry glare only making him laugh even more. His laughter suddenly ceased, and he wiped a tear from his eye, before clearing his throat and looking at his clipboard.

"Says here that we've got a classic case of multiple personality disorder with delusions of grandeur. How interesting!" He started, standing up and pacing back and forth in front of Batman, "What is it that, ah, pushed you over the deep end, hm, Batsy? Girlfriend burned alive by the mob? Watching daddy beat up mommy? Something like that, something like that..."

The Joker sighed, looking up from his clipboard and frowning at the masked man, "What is it? Bat got your tongue?"

He snorted and mentally pat himself on the back for that one, before walking back over to the vigilante, who seemed to have shut himself down completely. The clown felt a sting of panic, having never seen Batman react in such a way to his antics before - had he hit a nerve? That idea replaced his anxiety with excitement, and he found himself grinning madly at the uncharacteristically quiet vigilante.

"But why a bat, hm?" he continued, studying his enemy's mask. He reached out to touch it, but Batman grabbed his wrist, embedding his fingernails into his flesh. The Joker barely reacted at first, simply raising an eyebrow, before making a fit out of trying to pry his hand off of him. He hopped from foot to foot, whining and prying at his hand, as if he were a child.

He then sighed, staring with a slight frown at the vigilante's tough grip. He clicked his tongue and sat down next to him, patting his hand affectionately.

"There there, let out all your frustrations, Doctor J is here for you." The Joker snickered and then spoke into the tiny microphone attached to the collar of his shirt, "Haaaaaaaarley!"

"Yes, Puddin'?"

"Schedule dinner a few hours late - Batsy here is being uncooperative."

"Yes, Mistah' J!"

The Joker turned to look back at Batman, who still hadn't loosened the death grip on his wrist, and pondered his silence for a few moments before squeezing his hand and then reaching into his pocket.

"Nighty night, Bats!"

Before the vigilante could react, The Joker shoved a needle into his arm and injected the sedatives into his blood. He watched his muscles visibly relax, and his eyelids flutter, before he let go of the madman's wrist and slumped down, trying desperately to fight off sleep.

"Do you need me to sing you a lullaby?" He purred, receiving one last angry grunt from the man before his eyelids grew too heavy to keep open.

With a slight push, he layed his enemy down into the dirty, old mattress. He placed a thin sheet over his body, and then mockingly kissed where his forehead would be, if it wasn't covered by that mask of his, before letting out a long sigh and studying the man before him.

The crazed clown fought off the aching desire to rip off the bat mask and averted his attention to his wrist that had already begun to bruise and swell. He prodded at it, biting his lip excitedly at the sharp pain. Bruises and scrapes from The Batman were always welcome.

He briefly wondered if Batman felt the same about his own injuries, before standing up and looking over the man one last time.

All kinds of heartbreaking scenarios danced around in his mind as he locked up the cell door, hell-bent on getting Batman to spill the beans about what exactly drove him to raiding the nearest Party City store for a Batsuit so that he could fly around beating justice into everyone's faces.

The Joker smiled smugly as he danced happily down the hallway, humming a made-up tune and hugging the clipboard against his chest in excitement.