Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my words, unfortunately.

He knew that staring into the mirror wouldn't magically change his appearance, but he could hope. He had a theory – that he and the Joker had switched places, however unlikely – and if it was true, he was totally screwed over. While everyone at the police department, himself included, knew what the Joker looked like, had his fingerprints and DNA (with no matches, he might add), no one could track him and no one knew his true name. He, on the other hand, was a mystery, an unknown. There had been many guesses to who Batman was, but no one suspected a multi-millionaire playboy. But anyone with half a brain knew who Bruce Wayne was, and he knew the Joker could easily piece two and two together. It was ridiculous how easily his world could shatter.

But a downside to the Joker was that it was difficult to travel around normally, while Bruce could just stroll around Gotham.

"Not for long, though, if the Joker has his way," he muttered, then stopped in surprise. It would take some time to get used to his new cynical voice. He sucked in a breath, then gave a weak giggle the Joker would have been ashamed of. It was perfect, just the right tinge of insanity. He smiled, his first since waking up. It was almost like the joy of wearing a Halloween costume and being able to be someone entirely different for a night.

Then Bruce's mood darkened and his grin was replaced with his more usual scowl. He didn't know how long this would take to wear off, or even *if* it would wear off. He ran his hand through his hair, a habit of his, then grimaced at its greasy feel. Couldn't be helped, he thought, eying the shower distrustingly.

He supposed the best place to start would be to find himself before the clown had a chance to do anything. But he couldn't go out looking like *this*. He plowed through piles of junk, trying to find anything to wear besides the wretched suit. He nearly shoved over a pile of neatly stacked papers during his efforts. He quickly scanned the top one, easily forgetting his mission, eyes wide.

Here, he could learn the Joker's plans for months to a'T', neatly written in crayon. He wanted so bad to pour over the papers, but finding the Joker was a more pressing matter. Finally, he checked the closet, probably where he should have started, but there was still nothing. He groaned – it seemed nothing was going to work out. He strongly considered breaking into someone's home for clothes, but he thought better of it. Then there, shoved under the bed, were a neglected pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

Bruce sighed in relief, then retreated to the bathroom clothes in hand. The smell and filth were even worse in there, but Bruce wasn't picky anymore. He peeled off the suit that seemed to have grafted to his body. Turning the faucet on the sink, he was answered by the wheezing and spluttering pipes, which eventually spat out some weak splatters of murky brown water. Squinting in disgust, he vigorously scrubbed his face to remove any traces of the makeup. He noticed small green droplets in the sink and realized his hair color wasn't permanent like he had thought. He quickly washed it out.

He had nothing to cover the scars with, but he couldn't be far from Wayne Manor. Besides, no one would pay very much attention to him. Probably. As long as they had no reason to suspect him, they wouldn't look twice at him. He turned off all the flickering lights, then crossed to the front door. It took every ounce of courage he had to step out into the world.

He turned to look at his new home as he left. A small, run down apartment in what looked to be the Narrows. He slowly turned in a circle to get his bearings. His eyes locked on Wayne Enterprises, probably the easiest to find. So that meant that somewhere behind him was Arkham. He easily found the gothic-style building and nodded. He quickly found the direction he needed and began walking to his mansion.

He nervously turned his head whenever he met another person, not eager to be recognized. His stomach squirmed every time someone met his eye. But against all odds, he managed to make it, and sprinted through the immaculate lawn towards the house. He burst through the front door and was met by…silence.

He wasn't sure what he had expected, maybe a wild party or his house burned down, but it seemed perfectly…normal. Bruce listened hard – he didn't have his normal keen senses and the clown really didn't take care of himself – and he could hear a series of thumps above his head. He wasn't sure if he should be surprised or not; he certainly didn't feel it. With a sense of foreboding, he cautiously walked up the stairs, avoiding the ones he knew creaked. He determined the noises were coming from his bedroom.

Taking a deep breath, he counted to three and yanked open the door, startling whoever was inside. Bruce's body turned to him and smiled sheepishly, wearing his black cape.

"Sorry, I just wanted to test it out. Looked like fun," Bruce's smooth, calm voice said. It was unnerving, seeing and hearing himself. Bruce flinched – there was no way the Joker didn't know. He was ruined. "I'm hoping you're Bats, at least. I'd hate having a lunatic run my body."

"Now you know how I feel," Bruce growled, but it came out singsong.

"You know, it's been just wonderful. I slept in, your Butler brought me breakfast, I found your cape…how was your morning?"

Bruce scowled, a face incompatible with the Joker's forced grin. The Joker finally realized that he had removed the hair dye and makeup, and pouted.

"You know, that's insulting. You should wear my scars with pride!" the Joker giggled, but it sounded ridiculous in Bruce's voice. Ignoring the clown, Bruce cut right to the chase.

"Where's Alfred?" he demanded, hoping for the best.

"Who? Your butler? Ah, well, you see, after he fed me, I killed him and shoved his body in the attic. I hope you don't mind," he replied, twirling so the cape fanned out behind him. Bruce reacted quickly, pinning the Joker's arms by his sides.

"I'm tired of you, Joker," Bruce said, straining to hold the Joker in place.

"You forget, I'm the one with the muscles now!" the Joker said gleefully, easily breaking Bruce's hold on him. Bruce cursed under his breath, struck with the sudden image of the Joker using his newfound strength to terrorize Gotham.

"Okay, I'm sorry," Bruce muttered, "I know this is hard on you too, but you're not allowed to kill anyone!" The Joker scoffed.

"Can I *secretly* kill people?" he asked, giving an award winning smile. Bruce in turn gave him the best glare he could muster.

"No," he said, putting as much emphasis as he could on the word. The Joker looked at him slyly out of the corner of his eye.

"And how, exactly are you going to stop me, Bats?" he taunted. Bruce raised an eyebrow.

"I'll do good things. In broad daylight," Bruce threatened, "wearing the makeup and everything." The Joker shuddered.

"Why would you even consider such a thing?" he muttered, losing his cheerful attitude instantly. "That's…that's horrible!" He broke off, disgusted.

"You don't kill people and I won't do good things. I'll try and get this *mess* sorted out," Bruce reported. "And, I swear, if you give me scars, you will find your body at the bottom of the river." The Joker raised an eyebrow, a look of amusement on his face.

"I don't know how I'll cope! My image is ruined!" The Joker lamented, swooning, a hand to his forehead. "All this money and attention! I can't handle this!"

"It may take a while to find Scarecrow, so just lay low, okay?" Bruce pushed, very uncomfortable with the whole situation. There were so many ways it could go wrong.

"Fine," he muttered. Pouting, he removed Bruce's cape. "Be nice to my friends, okay Brucie?" Bruce nodded, resigning himself to a long time of nasty apartments and little to no food.

"Wait," he said, stopping. He turned to dig in a dresser and came out with his fat wallet clutched in his fist. "I'll be taking this." He was still a millionaire, after all. He may as well buy a better apartment. And some clothes.

"See ya later," the Joker called. Bruce shook his head. His mind was elsewhere. He'd have a hell of a time trying to find Scarecrow, especially since he couldn't have any of his gadgets. He'd start by shopping. He didn't think he'd last long in that old apartment.

(AN: Thanks for reading yet again! I appreciate all of the comments! )