A/N: This is a one shot in honor of Halloween! It's a little horror gore combined with- uh- other stuff! :) Anyways, I've really come to like this style of writing so I hope you guys enjoy.

Warning, this fanfic contains the following:

Violence

Homosexuality (because I really don't write anything that doesn't have this).

Oh God.

No! No! Please!

Stop it! Stop it!

I can't breathe. I can't breathe!

I'm trapped in my childhood body. I can't escape. I can't wake up.

The sound of the knife in my mother's flesh overcomes my ears and I fall to my knees. He makes me watch him as he tortures her. Why is he doing this?

Her murderer is not much older than I was at the time. He smiles as he drags the knife down her arm. I want to reach out and help her. I want to run away. I can't do anything but watch. I can smell my mother's blood as it begins to flow out from her body.

The boy murderer pulls my mother's shirt over her head. I can hear my mother scream her pleas but my legs are frozen. The maniac is a silhouette. He glides a finger across her breast. He cuts off one of the straps to frighten her. He begins tracing marks over her body and little red lines convey his etchings.

The more my mother kicks and screams, the harder he presses with the knife. He seems pleased with his psychotic artwork. Why is he doing this? Who is he? Why my mother? Why me?

Using all his might, he drags my mother towards me. He grabs her by the hair and forces her to look at me.

"Go on then," he says, his voice snakelike, "Put her out of her misery."

I don't know what he means. I'm only twelve-years-old.

I don't what that means! Just stop it! Stop it!

The older boy smiles at me. His grin seems to stretch across his face. He holds out the knife to me with his free hand. There's blood all over it. I want to step back. My mother looks at me as if I'm not really there. She's lost, dazed in her torment.

"Through the throat," the boy says as he pushes the knife softly against my hand before his voice rises, "Do it! Do it or I'll make her suffer more!"

No! No don't take it! Stop! Don't!

My silent protests are pointless. My hand shakily takes hold of the knife. The older boy puts his hand over mine as if trying to teach me. He guides the knife along my mother's throat gently. My mother groans in some surreal state, her eyes drifting towards the sky.

No! No! For God's sake-

The older boy shoves my mother into the knife while forcing my hand to plunge the knife into her. She awakens from her daze long enough to make eye contact with me. She makes these terrible wheezing, gurgling noises as the blood fills up her throat. I let go off the knife and take a step back as she falls over, convulsing and choking.

I can feel the tears streaming down my face.

Mother, no! Please don't die! I'm sorry! I didn't do it! I didn't, please!

The murderer walks up to my mother's body and dips a finger in the blood pooling around her. He comes up to me. My entire body is shaking. I feel as if I'm going to throw up. My mother was dying in front of me. Why? Someone please tell me why.

The older boy smiles at me kindly. He places the bloodied finger against my the corner on my lip and drags it upwards. He does the same on the other side.

"C'mon now," he hisses, "Smile."

I can taste my mother's blood in my mouth. I can smell the copper of it. I feel as if all her pain as entered my body. I can hear her screaming in my head. I can't stand it.

I scream from the very bottom of my lungs. The sound overpowers my body and rakes at my throat.

"Master Bruce," a voice calls as I scream in the alleyway.

"Master Bruce," it says again as the older boy begins to cackle.

"Master Bruce!" I hear Alfred's voice command, "Wake up!"

I fling my body forwards as if to escape form the horrors of my nightmare. My breath is heavy as it shambles in and out of my chest.

"Master Bruce," Alfred says calmingly, "You've had another terror."

I don't bother to look at him. I can't. I look straight down to my hands. My palms are bloodless but sweaty. I wipe them off on my sheets as I sigh. I'm trying to piece myself back together but it's hard. I feel as if I can never be safe in my dreams.

Alfred yet again is understanding of my apparent shock and turmoil. He places a hand on my shoulder, his routine form of affection.

"Perhaps we should skip today's lessons," he offers, "I'll just fix you something to eat."

"Thank you, Alfred."

Eventually, I get dressed and find myself downstairs at the kitchen table. I say nothing to Alfred as I begin eating the eggs and bacon he's prepared. There isn't much to say. Alfred and I have always been ones for silence. It's the only reason we've gotten along so well.

Alfred is just about everything to me. He's my caretaker, my legal guardian, my butler, my teacher and my only friend. He was like that long before my mother was killed. Alfred stepped in for a lot of things at least where my mother would allow him to step in.

Unfortunately, during my mother's life she had lost my father. He'd died in a car accident while she was pregnant. Because of this she became fearfully protective of me. I was never allowed to leave the mansion. I was to be home-schooled for the rest of my life. I know my mother was just trying to keep me safe but she was so possessive of me that I never even had friends.

Now I just sit in the mansion alone with Alfred. I'm seventeen-years-old and I've never had a friend. I've never dated a girl. I've never even been outside the front gates on my own. I've been like this for so long that I hardly find a reason to change. Besides, mother would have wanted me to stay here and even though she's gone, I can't help but heed her.

Alfred takes the dish from me. I've only eaten half of what he's given me but he already knows that I don't have the best of appetites. My nightmare does that to me. It's just the one. If I don't dream of her death then I don't dream of anything.

My mother's killer was never found and the whole ordeal was so traumatic for me that I wasn't much help in the investigation. All I was able to do when they question me was babble about how he made me hold the knife. I was a twelve-year-old kid who'd just witnessed his mother being murdered, they were lucky they got me to say anything at all.

It was sad too because it was the first time my mother had taken me out. We'd gone to see a movie. I don't even remember what movie it was.

"Master Bruce?" Alfred said over his shoulder as I stared at the table, "How about you go a walk around the garden? I know how much you like it out there."

I don't have much of a choice. My only other option is to stare at the television for the next twelve to fifteen hours and God knows I don't need to do that. Now that it's closer to Halloween the last thing I need to do is let gory horror movies influence me. I have enough gore and horror to last me a lifetime.

I get up from the table somberly. I don't want to go to the garden but I don't want to watch television. Alfred's lessons are more or less pointless. I get the gist of things in no more than twenty minutes anyway. I can't sit around like a vegetable though. I might fall back asleep and that is also something I very much don't want to do.

I resign myself to the garden, grabbing a coat and scarf before heading out the door. It's pretty cold outside. Winter must be coming early.

The majority of things in the garden are already dead and have been for a long time. Alfred's offered to have the garden fixed up but I always tell him not to. I prefer the garden to be dead. If I were to walk around a lush paradise of life and color I might just hang myself with one of the vines.

I start to make my first round through the dead trees and flowerless beds. It was a veritable forest of dead foliage to trek through. I'm not sure where my mind goes when I circle around the trails. It seems to grow cold and silent. The only thing I hear is the crunch of my footsteps against the few leaves that tried to grow but fell defeated by Autumn.

I wish I were dead. Not in some violent way. I could never bring myself to commit suicide. I just wish that one night I would drift so far away that I'd reach the end. I already feel like I'm halfway there.

Suddenly, I can smell smoke. I don't see a fire and the scent is light. It's coming from around the bend. I can see movement through the brush. Someone's there. Someone is in my garden.

It's a..clown?

I can see most of him as I peer through the bushes. He's got curly, green hair and a white face. He's wearing a purple suit that's a bit big for him. He's got a big red smile scraggled across his face as if a child had drawn it. Between his fingers is the source of the smoke, a cigarette. He brings it up to his crayon smile and sucks the smoke right out of it. He lets it flow out of his mouth and the smoke lazily swirls around in the cold October air.

He looks up and right at me. He's still and alert. I panic a little.

Does he really see me?

The clown shrugs and takes another puff. I sigh. He decides he's finished with his cigarette, drops it, and puts it out with the toe of his shoe.

"You can come out now," he says casually.

I freeze.

Is he talking to-

"Come on, it's all right," he encourages.

Suddenly the whole scene seemed backwards to me. This was my garden, my estate. Why was I hiding in the bushes? If anybody should be hiding, it should be him.

I walk around to him. I stand there, cold and uncaring. I'd only spied on him because I wasn't sure whether or not he was real but now I knew. I was almost surprised when I came to him face to face.

He was a little shorter than me and somewhat gangly. He was kid, a teenager maybe a year or two younger than me. He summed me up with a look.

"You're kind of a big guy, aren't ya?" he asked.

There was something about his voice, something innately condescending and sarcastic. I've never heard anyone speak that way before at least not in person. Not on television either now that I think about it. It's totally unique to him.

"What are you doing here?"

Somehow my voice had lowered itself. Maybe it was because I was unsure of him. Was I trying to intimidate him? If I was then here's hoping that a throat full of gargled gravel sounds intimidating.

His tongue pops out of his mouth for a split second. I hear clicking sounds as it goes back inside. It's as if he's tasting the air.

"Seemed like a nice place for a quick smoke," he says, his voice whimsically emphasizing random words.

"Who are you?" I continue to growl.

My mother would be in hysterics if she knew there was a stranger on her property. She's probably rolling around in her grave as I speak.

"I am," he stops, his eyes wandering to the left, "Joseph! No, James. No, no, how about Jason? Do I strike you as a Jason?"

"I'm not kidding," I reply, "Tell me who you are."

He reaches into his coat and pulls out a carton of cigarettes. He takes one and lights it, ignoring my question.

"Who are you?" I ask again, my voice rising.

"I am," he pauses and smacks his lips, "an entity. A being. I am the...personification of all things happily desperate and miserable."

He takes a puff and holds the cigarette away from him, slightly disgusted before taking another puff.

"And I am in need of better cigarettes, wouldn't happen to have any would you?" he asks.

I walk straight up and smack the cigarette out of his hand. I don't know who he is or who he thinks he is but I'm not going to stand around and take his bull shit.

"Give me your name," I demand as I stand too close to him.

The guy rolls his eyes.

"That hardly seems fair," he points out, "If I give you my name what do I get?"

I get this sudden urge to hit him. I've never hit anyone ever but the desire to punch him wells up in me and my hand starts to make a fist.

"I'll give you my name," I growl.

He seems pleased with this.

"I'm Jackson," he says with a little bow, "but I've gone by Joker for the past-uh-"

He pauses, his fingers flipping up and down as he chaotically counts.

"-five years," he concludes.

"Why are you dressed like that?"

Joker takes another drag.

"I used to be in the circus -used to meaning just this morning- but I quit."

"You've been in the circus for five years? But you're-"

"Fifteen," he says with a wide smile.

That's when I notice it. The sides of his face have longs scars going from his his cheek bones down to the corners of his lips. The urge to hit him disappears.

"What happened?" I ask as I point to the scars.

His tongue glides over his lip before he smacks them. Why does he keep doing it? Is it a nervous twitch? Or is because of the scars...?

"It's a funny story really," he begins, "You see I -uh- was about ten when I ran off to the circus and about week in I felt lonely and started crying. I cried all the time. Day and night. Well, I'm supposed to be a clown, right? So the boss guy tells me to quit crying but I can't. He threatens to beat me but for some reason I just start crying harder. So he decides to make to I don't look so sad-"

Oh dear God.

"-and he takes his Swiss army knife and just drags it up the sides of my face like so-"

He mimics the movement. His voice is light and friendly as if he's telling a simple anecdote from his day. I take a step away from him. How can he talk like that?

"And now, even if I do cry, nobody'll notice! It was brilliant actually."

"...I'm so sorry," I say to him.

Joker shrugs, sees the bench a little across the way and has a seat. He pats the empty spot next to him and waves me over. I'm not so sure I want to follow but I do it anyway.

"So, you're a run away?" I ask.

"Cigarette?" Joker evades my question, holding the carton out to me.

I start to shake my head but he gives me a look. He raises his eyebrow, challenging me. I take a cigarette and he lights it for me. I choke as I try to take in the smoke.

"Don't try to swallow it!" he reprimands me, "Watch."

I watch him as he brings his cigarette to his lips.

"You take a little bit in," he sucks on the cigarette, "and then you let it out."

The smoke drifts away from his mouth. I almost feel like reaching up and touching it but I don't. I practice instead and slowly but surely I get acclimated to smoking. Well, as acclimated as five minutes of practice can get me.

"So what's a kid like you," Joker wonders, "doing in a place like this? I thought mansion were for old people and ghosts."

I get really quiet. I don't know how to respond but Joker is patient for my answer. I've never had to tell anybody about my life. I never talk to anybody.

"I live here with my butler, Alfred," I end up saying.

"A butler, huh?" Joker smiles, "Well la dee da."

"I live with him because my parents are dead."

It comes out as a flat and plain statement. It doesn't even hurt for me to say. I've been like this too long to be sad anymore.

I expect sympathy. I expect words of concern and an apology for my tragedy. I don't want it but I see it all the time on sitcoms and soap operas. How else would he respond?

"Mine too," Joker says, animated and turning towards me, "Small world, right?"

Note to self, never ask "how else?"

"I thought you were a run away."

"I am. I ran away from an orphanage to the circus and now I'm running away from the circus to- well the plan was to break into the creepy old mansion and squat for a bit but that's sort of scrapped now isn't it?"

I feel kind bad that I ruined his plans. He's a little strange but I like him in a way. He's different.

"Guess I better be going then," Joker says as as he stands up and discards his cigarette.

"Wait!"

I said it but I don't recall telling myself to say it. Joker looks at me questioning and I sit there awkward and scrambling for an explanation.

"You could," I stammer, "Stay here. For the night. There's more than enough room for you and I don't think Alfred would mind so-"

"Would you remember me?"

"Excuse me?"

Joker's looking at the ground and slowly he brings his gaze up to me.

"Would you remember me?" he repeats.

There's a ton of black makeup around his eyes. It makes it hard to see them but I find them anyway, staring straight into me.

"Of course I would," I answer, confused.

"I wish I could say that I believe you," he says as he walks back and sits beside me, "But if you remember me then you're going to remember a lot of things you won't like."

He sounds like a crazy person. Maybe he's just tired or depressed. I used say a lot of crazy things.

"I don't follow you."

He grabs my face and pulls it towards him. He kisses me on the mouth and I panic. I push him off me and he lands on his butt on the ground. My heart is beating in my ears and my face feels hot.

"What the hell!" I yell at him.

"Now do you remember me?" he asks casually, looking up at me.

I stand to my feet and back away.

"I'm disappointed in you, Bruce," Joker shakes his head.

"How do you know my name?"

"Because you told me it years ago but you don't remember do you?"

I take another step back. I've never met this guy before today. If I had then I'm pretty sure I would have remembered it. He's not exactly what one would call forgettable.

"You're-you're crazy."

"Well," Joker chuckles, "that makes two of us."

I turn to run from him. He must be mentally unstable. Who knows how long he's been out there? It isn't far fetched for him to know my name. I've been in a few tabloids here and there. Maybe he was a stalker. Alfred's removed one or two stalkers before.

"Ask Alfred!" Joker yells after me, "He'll make you remember! Ask him!"

I make it back inside. I shut and lock the door behind me. Alfred walks by me and comes to a stop.

"Master Bruce," he asks, his eyes filled with concern, "Are you all right?"

"There's a boy out there, Alfred!"

"A boy?"

"A boy with clown makeup and scars!"

A look flashes across Alfred's face. He approaches the door.

"Alfred, don't go out there!"

"I'm just going to have a look around, sir," he assures me, "I'll be fine."

I wait around impatiently for Alfred to return. Maybe he could talk sense into Joker. Joker? Was that even his nickname?

What was his real name again... James? No that was fake.

Jesus, was anything he told me real?

Alfred returns looking confused.

"We should call the police," I say authoritatively.

Alfred shakes his head.

"I'm sorry to tell you this, sir," Alfred says as he closes the door, "but there's no one out there."

"What?"

"I looked everywhere and there wasn't a soul in sight," Alfred tells me.

I throw the door open and run back out to the garden. My breath is hard against my lungs as I search around every bush and tree. He wouldn't be difficult to spot. He's painted in such bright colors that the contrast should be obvious. If it wasn't for the thickness of all the dead around me it would be easier.

I hear a scream. It's high and abrupt. I run towards the direction of it.

"Help me!" the voice cries.

It sounds like a little boy. I run even faster. Did Joker have a boy with him? If not, could Joker make his voice sound that young?

"Somebody please!"

I come to a dead stop. There was an area of the garden that I never really go to and the scream had brought me there. In front of me is a collapsed pit. A pair of hands are holding on to an edge.

"Help!" the scream emerges from the pit.

There's a rustle in the bushes. A miniature version of Joker comes stalking out. I want to say something to him but my voice isn't working. The younger Joker is a kid with a round face. He doesn't have his older counterpart's exact wardrobe, purple pants and tie and a green vest. He was missing the purple coat but other than that it was more or less spot on.

I know I should be disturbed by this. I am but not as much as I should be. I see all sorts of strange things. I often see things like my mother and me from a younger age eating across the table from me or the two of us playing board games in front of the fireplace. It doesn't really phase me anymore. I know it's not normal but it doesn't seem to hurt anyone. The thing is that my hallucinations have always been my memories but I don't remember this.

I try to test out whether or not what's going on is real. I try to move but I'm motionless. I try to speak but I'm speechless. It is a hallucination.

"Help, Mom!" the boy cries from inside the pit, "Alfred!"

Mom? Alfred?

The kid Joker peers into the pit and sees the boy inside. He quickly backs away. The next thing I know I'm inside the boy's body. I'm the younger me hanging from inside the pit.

"Hello?" I call out, forced to play my part, "Is someone there? Help me, please! The ground caved in and I can't get out!"

A hand appears above me then its twin. I stretch to take hold of them. I dig my feet into the dirt trying to get a foothold and climb out. The dirt suctions in my feet but it seems to help. I can feel the arms aiding me tremble as they try to pull me up. I manage to scramble up and soon enough I am freed from my prison.

I'm on my hands knees as I try to recover. I crawl towards the pit and look into it. It's never ending and descends into blackness. I turn away and move as far away from it as possible.

I feel someone tap on my shoulder and I look up at my savior. It's a little clown boy with black rimmed eyes and a big red smile. He looks worried.

"All right?" he asks me quietly.

I look at him with a sense of wonder. Who is this clown boy who's come to my rescue?

"Who are you?"

The other boy suddenly seems frightened and starts to run away. I quickly get to my feet and chase after him.

"Wait!" I call out to him.

He stops and turns around slowly.

"I didn't get to say thank you!" I call again.

I approach him slowly. He's skittish and I don't want to scare him away. He looks to be about ten.

"It's okay," I try to calm him, "I just want to know your name so I can say thank you."

Eventually, I am close enough to reach out and touch him. He looks down at his feet. I think he's shy.

"Jackson," he says quietly.

"Jackson?" I repeat, "Is that your name?"

He nods and turns around quickly to run again.

"Wait!" I call again and grab his arm, "Please don't go."

He's still in my grasp.

"I won't tell anyone that you're here," I tell him, "Please don't go."

I was so lonely...

"Okay," his little voice manages to agree.

I smile at him.

"Would you like something to eat?" I ask.

He nods again and I begin to go towards the house, still holding him by the arm. He doesn't move and when I look back at him he shakes his head, his eyes wide.

"What's the matter?" I ask, "You don't want to go inside?"

He continues to shake his head. I let go of his arm and I think for a moment. It doesn't occur to me that there should be a reason he's hiding. I was just so excited to see another boy around my age. I was downright thrilled. It didn't matter what he looked like or why he was here. The point was that he was a boy near my age. He was someone to talk to and play with.

"I'll bring something to you then," I say, triumphant with my idea.

I excitedly head back towards the house but turn around for a quick moment.

"Thanks for saving me, Jackson!" I say to him.

I blink and I've returned to my own body. In front of me is the older, present day Jackson called Joker. He sits on the edge of the pit, his legs dangling into the darkness.

"Get away from there!" I shout automatically.

He looks up and smiles at me.

"You remember me now, Bruce?" he asks.

I sigh and approach him. I'm wary as I step near the pit. Joker laughs and smacks the ground hard.

"It's safe," he says, "I promise."

I sit down beside him but I sit cross legged. I don't want any part of me in that pit. Once was enough for me.

"We were friends," I piece together.

"Yup."

"A long time ago, you saved me and I hid you-"

"In that shack to be precise," Joker says as he pointed to the gardener's shack in the corner.

He was right. I remembered setting up a little bed for him and everything, stealing pillows and blankets from one of the guest bedrooms. I'd only eat half of whatever I was given and take what was left to him. It worked because my mother didn't like the garden much so she never followed me out there and Alfred was always too busy with one chore or another to keep tabs on me.

After the first few days, I got Jackson to start talking to me. He tended to speak in fragments, using as little words as possible and always quietly. He told me he'd ran away to the circus and that he didn't have parents. I told him how I didn't have a father or any friends. We told each other everything.

"Okay, I remember," I admit.

Joker smiles at me- should I call him Joker? He seems to prefer it but I don't remember him as Joker. I remember him as Jackson. Then again, it seems as if the years have taken huge liberties with his old personality. Perhaps Joker is better suited to him now.

"But how come I couldn't remember before?"

Joker shakes his head and pats my shoulder. I shy away from the contact. I know he and I used to be friends but we aren't now. It's like were meeting each other for the first time and not under the best of circumstances.

"Well," Joker says, shaking off my rejection with ease, "I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually."

"I guess," I reply halfheartedly and still confused, "Joker, there's one thing I don't get though..."

"What's that Brucey boy?"

"Why did you kiss me?" I ask, emphatically stressing the word 'kiss' with disgust.

Joker throws his head back and laughs. It's almost frightening to me. I couldn't connect this boisterous new teenager with my old, shy childhood friend. It's as if they're two different people.

"Believe it or not," he says, a giggle still in his throat, "You used to be pretty fond of kissing me."

"You're joking?"

"Do I look like the kind of guy who jokes around?"

I take in his comical appearance from the purple suit to the painted face. I raise an eyebrow at him and gesture to his get up. He rolls his eyes again.

"That aside," he retorts, "I'm telling the truth. Or do I need to remind you?"

Before I can say no, he attacks me again. He's got me by the shirt collar and we dangerously balance over the edge of the pit. My heart is racing. If I try to push him off to free myself, I might end up pushing us straight into the pit. I can do nothing but let the pervert force himself on me.

I mumble muffled cries of resistance. His lips are pressed hard against mine. My hands are planted firmly into the ground trying to keep me safe from the darkness below. I've just got to endure it. Soon enough he'll realize how ridiculous this is and that I never-

He smells like paint, face paint. His lips are dried from it and I can feel it. He licks his lips not to try and further the kiss but because his lips are so chapped. I actually like the way he smells; like face paint...and cotton candy. I like how his lips are warm and the tip of his nose is cold. I like this.

"I like you," the young Jackson tells me as I'm transported into the past.

"I like you too, Jackson," I tell him, tousling his hair.

"How much?"

"A lot I guess," I answer.

Jackson looks at me like he's confused. He was expecting something more definitive or grand. I hurry to correct myself.

"Like I like you so much," I say, my mind searching for expressions I've heard to convey my feelings, "that if you were gone, I'd die."

Jackson frowns at me. Okay, so maybe that was not the right answer.

"That's sad," he points out, "Don't die."

"Well then, how do you want me to like you?"

Jackson pauses to think. He makes a cute face when he thinks. His lips purse a bit and he looks off to the left as if the answer is hiding there. His eyes grow wide and he smiles as he locates the value he wants from me. He tugs on my shoulder so that I face him. He leans over and gives me a quick kiss.

"Like that?" I ask, my eyes wide.

Jackson nods and then points to his own lips requesting that I show him that I understand. I take a deep breath. I'm nervous. I've never kissed anyone before except for my mother but mothers don't count. It doesn't occur to me that we're boys and boys don't kiss because it's never been an issue before. I lean over and downwards enough so my lips can make contact with his. He smells like face paint and cotton candy. His lips are dry.

I'm thrown back to the present. My grip on the dead grass has relaxed and my body has loss its rigid tension. My eyes have sunken closed. I'm actually enjoying this kiss.

Joker pulls away from me. His smile is softer. Memories pass in and out of my mind. There was the time I met him in the garden and he'd gathered a bouquet of weeds. There was the time I spent all morning making him one perfect cupcake (even though Alfred helped and ultimately took over). I would search through my toys and give him my favorites. I even found an old Christmas bow once and tied it around my favorite train. I used to read him my old picture books. Jackson didn't know how to read so I read to him. We'd hole up in his makeshift bed and sit down together with a few of my old stories. I'd have an arm over him or he'd sit in my lap.

We did lots of stuff that normal little boys did. We ran and yelled. We played with trains and cars. We played soldiers, cowboys and Indians, and hide and go seek. But...we did a lot of other things that normal little boys didn't do like holding hands, cuddling when reading stories and kissing each other goodnight.

"We were quite the pair, weren't we?" Joker asks, breaking me from my memories.

I feel my ears getting hot and turning red. He and I didn't know any better then. Now we're, more or less, grown up. I know now that what we did is taboo.

"Tell me, Brucey," Joker asks, "Do you still like me now?"

Brucey. Jackson used to call me that when we were kids. It sounds strange coming from Joker but-

Did he just ask me if I still like him?

The hotness spreads from my ears to my cheeks. How do I answer that? I don't dislike Joker and that kiss back there was- not terrible but I don't know Joker.

"You don't, do you?"

"Joker," I try to find a way to soften the blow, "I don't really know you anymore."

"Fine," he says as if I had merely declined an invitation to lunch.

I immediately want to take back what I said. I do like him in a way but I'm not so sure that he and I could ever be what we were especially now that we're this old. If my mother was alive she certainly would not pleased with all this.

Joker stands up and dusts himself off.

"I should get going then," he says.

I jump up to my feet. I may be unsure of myself but I don't want him to leave. He was my friend after all. He was my first friend. He was my only friend.

"Wait-"

"No, really," Joker says as a matter of fact, "I need to get going. But Bruce?"

I look him in the eyes. He's got my full attention.

"Can we say goodbye the way we used to? For old times sake?"

I nod without hesitation. I should have hesitated but I didn't. I'll give him anything he wants. He was my friend and for the longest time I have very much wanted a friend.

I come closer to him. Awkwardly, my hands find their way to his torso. He reaches up and rests his hands on my shoulders. This isn't how we used to do it. Back in the day it was a quick peck without the mess of arms and hands and holding. I don't bother to say this though. It's not all that important.

I take a deep breath to prepare myself. Joker's tongue takes a shy, nervous lick to his bottom lip. Neither of us are moving in to close the deal. I look at him questioningly.

"...I'm scared," he says quietly.

There you are I think as one of my hand reaches up and cups his chin.

I tilt his face upwards and I plant my lips against his.

It doesn't feel the same as when we were kids. It's different. When we were younger, we were innocent but I'm not innocent like that anymore. I want more from him maybe not in a sexual way but in a spiritual way. I want to know him. I want to be close to him. I want him to stay with me here.

I prolong the kiss for what feels like forever. I know the moment that I let go is the moment he leaves and I really- I really don't want to be alone again.

Joker takes a step back from me. He licks his lips and looks to the ground but not so quickly that I can't see that he's got tears in his eyes. How long has he been looking for me? How long has he remembered me? How could I have ever forgotten him? He was my first and only friend.

He's my first and only love too.

"Good night," he says softly.

I want to tell him that he doesn't have to go but my voice won't let me.

"Good night," I say back.

Joker puts his left foot out and over the endless pit of black. I look at him half confused and half terrified.

"What are you-"

Joker steps over and disappears into the black.

My body lunges for him but stops when I get to the edge of the pit. I drop to my knees and stare into the pit, praying that it's not as deep as it looks.

"Joker!" I scream after him, "Joker!"

There's no response. There's not even the sound of him hitting the bottom. It's just the echo of my own voice coming back to me and the thud of my heartbeat in my ears.

"JOKER!" I scream as tears well in my eyes, "JACKSON!"

There's a giggle. A child's giggle and a rustle in the bushes. I brush the tears from my face.

"Jackson?" I ask, hoping for a miracle, "Is that you?"

There's another giggle and rustle. I get up and decide to go towards it but I glance back at the pit. Joker's still down there, isn't he? I should get help.

I hear the dead branches on the bush in front of me part. I turn back to look at what's making them do that and I see the younger version of Jackson peering at me. My eyes grow wide.

How is this-

The young boy smiles at me and then runs off into the distance. With no other choice, I go after him. I can hear his laughter ringing in my ears. He's constantly ahead of me no matter how fast and hard I run.

What's going on?

I finally come out of the thick garden of dead to a clearing. I see Jackson running up to a bench and looking under it. There's the younger version of myself hiding there. The young me comes out of hiding and tackles Jackson playfully. They tussle for a bit and I watch, panicking and unsure of what to do.

I look to my left and right for options and that's when I see her...my mother.

She's watching from behind a tree. She watches as young me and Jackson come out of our playful tussle and Jackson kisses my old self on the cheek. I can see the look of horror come across her face and then an expression I can only describe as...hateful.

"Mom," I try to speak to her even though I know she can't hear me, "Mother! Please, you don't understand! I had no idea!"

I follow her as she storms into the house. The moment I enter the mansion, I am transported to the hallway by the front door. I'm back inside my twelve-year-old body as I hide in the door frame, eavesdropping on a conversation between my mother and some strangers at the door.

"So have you seen him, m'am?" a clown hiccups.

"I can't say I've harboring him," my mother answers, her voice dripping with venom, "But I've noticed that there's something in my garden. Feel free to search it and take whatever vermin you find with you."

There's something secretive about her voice. It's like she's not saying what she means.

Because she's not saying what she means! She knows, you idiot! She knows!

Nonetheless, I scramble to get to the garden as quickly and quietly as I can. I have to keep my friend safe. I have to protect him.

I make it out to the garden but it's too late. The clown man has found Jackson and has him by the collar. In the clown man's other hand is a bottle of dark liquid. I'm not entirely sure what it is but I've seen my mother with it before. Every time she drinks it she gets sad, then angry and then sleepy.

Because she's drunk! That man is drunk! Jackson's in danger!

I go to run after him and call out to him but Jackson sees me and puts a finger to his lips. I nod even though I don't understand. The clown man continues to holler and scream at Jackson who shuts his eyes tight.

The man's bottle is empty so he breaks it on top of Jackson's head. I gasp and cover my mouth. My legs want to run to get help. Jackson falls to his knees but he's not out just yet. He look at me as blood starts to pour onto his forehead. He shakes his head slowly and puts his fingers to his lips again.

"Tell me to hush!" the man bellows, his words slurred "I'll teach you some damn manners!"

The man takes off his belt and wraps it around his fist with the buckle resting on his knuckles. He hits Jackson in the face and Jackson falls flat on his back.

No! Stop it!

The man picks him up and slams him against a tree trunk. He slams him into a few more times. Jackson looks like a little rag doll as the man hits him across the face again.

Stop it! Stop hurting him! God damn it!

The man drops Jackson and he slides down to sitting in front of the tree. The man sees the broken bottle on the ground and picks it up.

"You know something, kid?" he slurs, "You don't even fucking smile! You're a clown! You need...to smile."

He takes the bottle and starts carving into Jackson's face. He carves a bloodied smile right into him. His grin goes from crayon red to blood crimson. The man suddenly seems lost in his actions and then shoves the broken bottle into Jackson's stomach.

"STOP IT!" I scream at the top of my lungs, my voice finally functioning.

I run up to the man and Jackson. I am terrified to my core and my legs feel like they're going to give out at any second. I put myself in between the man and Jackson and cross my arms in front of my face.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" I scream to the man.

The man seems confused. He looks at me real hard for a moment. He looks back to the mansion and then starts trudging towards it.

I wait until he's disappeared. I turn around and drop to my knees to inspect Jackson. His face is so bloodied that I can barely recognize it.

"Jackson...?" I beg, "Jackson?"

I can't get a good enough look at him. There's too much of his blood and my tears in the way. I brush a lock of hair away from his face. It's thick and full of blood. I recall some of the doctor shows I've watched in the past. I shakily reach my fingers up to Jackson's neck and press them against it.

There's nothingness. No beat. No thud. No pulse.

"Jackson?" I ask again.

His eyes are open and aimless. They're looking through nothing at nothing and there's nothing behind them.

I am desperate to wake him up. I remember the fairy tale stories from the picture books. Snow White woke up with a kiss and so did Sleeping Beauty. I never liked stories as a kid but Jackson loved them.

I find Jackson's mouth and press mine to it. I feel sick as I taste blood but I push myself through it.

"Wake up!" I cry as I pull away.

I give him another.

"Wake up!" I scream before trying again, "Please wake up!"

"Bruce!" my mother yells to me, "You come inside now!"

"Mom-" I'm crying so hard that it's hard to breathe, "Jackson's- he's-"

"I said inside!" she repeats, "Now!"

I can't tear myself away from him. My mother comes out to fetch me. She grabs my arms and starts dragging me towards the house.

"NO!" I scream as my feet dig into the ground.

I have to stay with him. If I don't then he might wake up and I won't know it. He has to wake up. He has to.

He can't.

My mother drags me back to the house as I cry, kick, and scream. The clown man is behind her and he walks up to Jackson.

"No!" I shout at him, "Don't touch him! DON'T TOUCH HIM!"

"What should I do with this?" he asks my mother as if he was asking what to do with a bag of garbage.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" I scream again, my arms struggling to get free of my mother.

"I don't know!" she yells back to him, "I don't care! Throw him in a lake! A river! A dumpster! Just don't leave him here!"

I watch as the man picks up my best friend like a lifeless doll and disappears with him into the night. My mother eventually gets me into the house and once more the scenery changes.

I've returned to my own, teenage body but I'm not back in the present yet. It's cold and dark. I squint to try and make out my surroundings and then I recognize exactly where I am. I'm in the alleyway. The one my mother was murdered in.

My mother and my younger self turn the corner. I have this dead look on my face. I remember. I didn't speak after seeing what happened to Jackson. I don't look at anything in particular. I just zone out into the distance with a look of eternal death on my face.

"That was a fun movie, wasn't it Bruce?" my mother tries to engage me but to no avail, "I can be fun, honey. I can be loads of fun, right? You and I? All we need is each other."

We continue walking down the alleyway.

"Did Alfred park here?" she says, lost, "I don't remember coming down here..."

My mother glances at me and frowns. My hand is lifeless as she holds it to guide me. An attempted smile comes across her face.

"I love you, Bruce," she says, "You know that your mom loves you right?"

For some reason I nod but it's robotic and without joy. So mother loves me? Yes, I know that.

"I wish you'd smile," she sighs.

My mother looks to her left and gasps. She covers my eyes and pulls me up towards the wall.

"My God!" she says as she breathes heavily, "Okay, okay. Keep calm. Bruce, we're going to walk away very carefully."

My mother tried to cover my eyes. She tried to but I can see through her fingers. There is a dead woman propped up against the wall across from us. She has the same doll like expression on her face as Jackson did but she has a knife in her stomach.

I can feel this terrible pain overcome my gullet as I watch my mother try to shelter the younger me. The pain twists and turns inside me and I feel like I'm going to retch.

"Help," the younger me says quietly.

"Help?" my mother asks, "No, honey, in a situation like this, we run away."

"But the woman," the younger me's voice is still monotone.

"No, Bruce," my mother tells me, "She doesn't matter now. You and I need to go now. Only we matter."

Only we matter?

The pain from my stomach shoots up to my head. My ears are ringing as I watch what's happening.

Only we matter?

The younger me pushes my mother off of him. She's caught off guard and falls over. He walks up to the dead woman and takes the knife out of her stomach.

"Only we matter," the younger me says.

"Bruce? What are you doing? Put that down!"

"I've noticed that there's something in my garden. Feel free to search it and take whatever vermin you find with you," he's quoting her and as he does his voice grows dark.

My other self comes closer to my mother with the knife. He holds it up in front of her.

"Bruce?" my mother is terrified, "Honey, please put that down!"

"I don't care! Throw him in a lake! A river! A dumpster! Just don't leave him here!" he shouts at her and then strikes her across the arm.

My mother howls as the knife tears into her flesh. He takes another stab at her.

"No!" I shout to my younger self but he can't hear me.

"Only we matter!" he shouts at her, "Just us! You! AND! ME!"

Oh God.

No! No! Please!

Stop it! Stop it!

I can't breathe. I can't breathe!

My younger self pulls my mother's shirt over her head, cuts her bra strap, and then slashes at her chest. She starts trying to fight back but he punishes her by digging the knife deeper. There's blood all over his hands and my mother's torso. My younger self is crying despite the rage on his face.

I did this.

My mother is dazed as the younger me pulls her shirt back. She's not gone yet but she's getting close. There's hate burning in the back of his eyes as he pins the point of the knife under her throat.

"Mother loves you," he hisses, his eyes filled with tears.

He slams the knife into my mother's throat and we both watch as she chokes to death on her own blood. My younger self reaches down to the pol of blood around her. He dips a finger in it and draws a smile across his face.

"I really wish you'd smile," he says before sobbing.

I was the one who- who-

"Killed her?" a familiar voice says.

A silhouette appears in the background and slowly comes into focus.

"Joker...?"

"For your viewing pleasure," he says with a slight bow.

The original scene has gone silent but I see Alfred find the twelve-year-old me in the alleyway. He grabs him by the shoulder and the boy drops the knife and buries his face into Alfred's torso as he cries.

"The old man covered up for you," Joker explains casually, "Guess he felt like jail on top of everything else would have been the end of you."

"It should have," I say to him, feeling much more than convicted.

"Oh come now, she was a bitch."

I can't say anything to that but I suddenly feel like all of this isn't real. It's just a bad dream. A terrible dream that I need to wake up from.

"She deserved to die," Joker points out, "I, on the other hand did not."

"This isn't real," I whisper.

"Why did you let him hurt me, Bruce?" he asks.

"This is not who I am."

"Oh yes it is," he laughs as his voice grows dark, "You're a spineless coward who let his best friend get murdered-"

"This is not real!" I shout.

"-and you're basket case who killed his mommy!"

"I did not kill my mother! You're not my best friend!" I shout as my mind searches for reality, "I'm not even a teenager! I'm a grown man! I am a hero!"

"A hero!" Joker cackles as his face begins to morph.

"I fight crime because both my parents were murdered by a criminal!"

Joker continues to laugh at me but his voice drops and his face ages.

"I am not Bruce!"

Scarecrow stands before me, enjoying the last few moments of my torture.

"I am-" I finally wake up, "Batman."

Scarecrow tilts his head to the side.

"This new serum does wonders doesn't it?" he asks me.

I'm restrained down to a bed and there's I.V in my arm. I struggle under the restraints but I'm still to weak to break free.

"How many-" I breathe heavily as I ask, "How many times have you put me under?"

Scarecrow glances down at a pad of paper and does some quick math in his head.

"This is your fourth time waking up," he calculates, "Which is really a pity, your friend over there has already woken up several times now. He's strong but I will break him."

I crane my neck to the left and I see Joker fidgeting in a sleep state. He's my enemy but - and this may be the last dream talking- I feel sorry for him. Joker's a real pyscho when it comes to it. I can only imagine the kind of demons he's hiding in there let alone ones that Scarecrow can make up for him.

I tug harder on my restraints. Joker looks like he's in a lot of pain. If I can manage to free myself then I can take out Scarecrow and rescue Joker.

"How sweet," Scarecrow notes, "You know, the both of you mumble in your sleep. You always dream about each other. 'Bats', 'Batsy' he says and 'Joker' I hear you going. I question what it is that's going on in there. Well perhaps another dose will provide the answer."

Scarecrow injects something in the I.V bag. I struggle again and look towards Joker.

"Joker!" I grunt, "Joker, wake up! Joker...wake..up..."

My father has got a hold of me again. He slams me against the wall as he demands to know where all his whiskey has gone. I don't know. I never know. I think my brother sneaks a couple here and there but if I say that then my father will go after him.

Dad...please don't! I don't know! I don't know where they are!

I close my eyes tight as his fist makes contact with my nose. If I close my eyes tight enough then I can pretend that this is all a dream and then I can wake up.

Wake up...

Wake up..

A/N: Well that ended...kind of sad. Well, in my mind Batman eventually wakes up, frees himself, beats up Scarecrow, and rescues Joker. Batsy and Joker then proceed to have good, good tasty times. ;D I hope you guys liked it anyway.