Title: Through His Eyes

Summary: With Joker Venom pumping through his system, Batman is in a race against time to find a cure to save his life, but might end up being too late…

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

A/N: I'm finally back to ! Wow, that was a longer break than I expected to take. I really should be working on my other story… Actually, this was supposed to be the third installment for my other fic Thanks for the Memories, but yeah, it sort of took on its own plot…

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From what he could tell, the poison was taking on its full effects. His head felt a little dizzier, and the world around him seemed to sway more. Nonetheless, Batman stomped hard on the gas pedal, and the Batmobile lurched forward as it gained more speed. He struggled to stifle a laugh fighting its way up his throat. His top priority now was to reach the cave as quick as he could.

His encounter with the Joker had been a quick one. He hadn't exactly known what to expect from the madman when he came upon the condemned, abandoned building. His rival had taken him on surprise. The quick spurt of Joker gas from a flower he had been carrying was totally unexpected after his supposed defeat in a battle. Batman had fallen to the ground…

"Aaaah… Batsy. I'd thought you'd be smarter than that. Tsk, tsk, tsk," the clown had mocked as he paced closer to hover over his victim. The same smile that always adorned his white face had grown into a deadly looking grin.

Batman had felt the poison pulling his face into a sickly smirk, and he hadn't wasted a second to snatch the antidote from his belt while bending over on his knees. The needle was thrust into his leg, and the chemical had disappeared from the syringe.

Joker, who had watching from behind, could only give of a giddy giggle.

"It's not working, Batsy dear. Don't even bother."

He remembered how he had slammed his eyes shut and how he gritted his teeth together as to not let out a forced laugh. His body was beginning to shake, and he had wondered why the antidote hadn't helped.

"Do you like it?" the Joker had questioned happily. "I made it special for you." The clown's shoe then collided with Batman's head, causing the masked man to fall on his chest, shaking all the more. He had struggled to push himself back on his knees to face his adversary.

The madman had laughed heartily and grinned his toothy smile. His hand had risen up, and he had eyed his wrist playfully as if checking an imaginary watch.

"Hmmm, Batsy," he had mused. "I'd say you have less than an hour—no—maybe 'bout forty-five minutes…" A pause. Then a chuckle. "Yes… That's about right. Forty-five minutes before the gas's effects are totally irreversible. Forty-five minutes before you visit the big madhouse in the sky. Forty-five… maybe even less."

Batman had felt himself shaking with more vigor as the ends of his mouth began to curve upward. His eyes had grown wide behind the cowl as he eyed the clown, who had been smiling all the more. The Joker had also been shaking with his own laughter.

"Hahaaaa!!! You'd better get going, Batsy! Maybe you can come up with an antidote, maybe you can't!" he had exclaimed with excitement. "But there's still not a lot of time on the clock, and its ticking! Go Batsy! Go!"

It had been then that Batman had felt himself jump up and bolt out the door of the abandoned building, but not before he had caught a glimpse of the madman waving goodbye behind him. His legs had felt wobbly as he had rushed through the pouring rain and his surroundings had seemed to speed by in a blur, but somehow he had managed to make it to the car. By then, his body was shaking more violently than before and his smiling face was beginning to hurt. Without a second to lose, he had tumbled into the Batmobile and had taken off, but he could have sworn he saw Joker waving behind him as he watched him leave…

Now here he was, speeding through Gotham at a speed that would have made Clark proud. He had given up on trying to force away the smirk now plastered to his face, and a tremor attacked his jaw, daring it to open and let out a laugh. His hands around the wheel were trembling, and he tightened his hold in an attempt to make them stop.

He had to make it to Alfred. He had to find a cure.

The streets and buildings flew by in a blur. Car horns honked and the wind and rain beat against the windshield. The ringing in his ears seemed to be unending. It made him want the whole world to shut up. Everything was just useless now, just adding up to his annoyance.

A slight chuckle escaped his lips, and he shook his dizzy head.

He sent a quivering hand to reach over and press the button to his right to call Alfred in the cave. The trusty butler's face almost immediately appeared on the small screen.

"Yes, Master—My word!" The older man's face twisted in surprise and worry. "Master Bruce! What's happened? The Joker?"

Batman kept his eyes fixated on the road ahead, and he tried to wipe away the smirk but to no avail. It was at times like these that he wished that that sick, demented clown would just die in some hole.

"Y—yes, Alfred," he murmured through quaking teeth. "The antidote isn't working." Another snigger forced its way out, and he mentally cursed.

The expression of apprehension hadn't left the butler's face. "I'll be expecting your arrival soon, sir. I'll ready the equipment." With that, the screen went blank.

The Dark Knight gripped the wheel with confidence. He would make it to Alfred and find a cure. There always was a way with the Joker and his little concoctions, no matter how difficult they could be. He still had time. Forty-five minutes had only dwindled down to maybe thirty. He laughed.

And then everything went blank. Just blank. Blank as in nothing at all. Everything disappeared. The road was no longer before him. The rain was no longer beating down heavily. His ears were no longer ringing shrilly. He was no longer sitting in the dark car. There was just nothing.

But there was laughter. Laughter that was beating against his eardrums. Laughter that was bubbling from his throat. And he felt pleasure, though he was unsure of it. It coursed through his body, and he welcomed it.

It was just nothing, laughter, and delight; and then it came crashing down on him… literally.

Batman felt himself taking in a quick breath and holding it in. He was still in the car, though it had stopped thanks to a large hulking dumpster in the middle of the alleyway. There was no laughter, only his guttural and heavy breathing. And there was no pleasure, only pain. A sharp, burning pain that attacked at his chest. His body was still shaking.

What had happened?

His eyes darted to the clock. Five minutes had passed. That long?

Joker's voice rang at the back of his head.

'Forty-five minutes before the gas's effects are totally irreversible. Forty-five… maybe even less.'

His body was quaking even more, and Batman found himself gritting his teeth through his dark smirk.

"Jokeeer…"

What was he waiting for?

Without another second to lose, he backed the car out of the alley and raced back onto the back roads. He couldn't manage to waste any more time with the chance of whatever that was back there coming again.

And what exactly was that? The poison. Of course it was. What else could it possibly be? A panic attack? He wasn't going crazy.

Or are you?

He could hear himself chuckling. No use in trying to stop it. It'd waste time, precious time. Another snicker seeped through his clenched teeth. His ears were ringing shrilly. He could practically hear Joker taunting him.

You're gonna die if you don't hurry up, Batsy! Forty-five minutes! Forty-five minutes! Maybe even less…

He was breathing heavily. Each breath brought unbearable pain to his throat, and his laughter was sounding raspy. Everything seemed to blur.

But he had to press on. Life or death. For once he was fighting for his own life, not someone else's. The thought made his heart pound faster. Reality had just set itself in his head. If he didn't hurry it up, his own life would be on the line. No one else mattered right now. It was just him. He, him, himself. He'd never felt this way before…

And yet he found himself laughing at it. All these years in his endless war against crime and he had never, not once, had felt fear for his own life. Fear for another life, yes. But his own? Why was it now that he said to himself, You're gonna die, Brucie. Better get your act up. Never those other times. Never.

He laughed at himself, maybe he tried to suppress it, maybe he didn't. He couldn't tell. He couldn't think straight.

That was when he nearly face-palmed himself. Why was he pondering over useless things? Why was he letting his mind wander? Maybe he really didn't get it at all. His life was at stake. Not any of the citizens, not any of the little thoughts in his head. His life. If he didn't focus, he was going to die for good.

Which brought everything back to his first thought: why did he value his life now? Batman laughed, though he knew he shouldn't be. This wasn't funny. It wasn't funny at all, and yet he found it absolutely hilarious.

Absolutely hilarious? Did he really find it that way?

Life was the result of one thing: survival. One survives to live and lives to survive. Yes, he had helped the many lives of those who hadn't exactly gotten the point of survival, but when his own life was threatened, his own survival, how could he not fear death? A chuckle bubbled up his throat. He was practically thinking in circles. But what only mattered now was his life, his survival. Not Joker, not citizens, not pain, not pleasure, not the people cluelessly driving past him and only getting in his way and hindering his progress of getting to safety…

Batman nearly yanked at the wheel to avoid yet another car and to get past another. He cursed. Strange, he hadn't remembered entering the busy streets. Another laugh left his mouth.

Forgetting things, Batsy?

His forced smile widened as he sped along. He quickly glanced at the clock. Only five minutes had passed. Good. He was nearly there.

Traffic was growing heavier though, and he cursed between wheezing, guttural breaths. The Batmobile was steadily slowing. Maybe he wouldn't make it. Maybe he wouldn't survive. What would happen?

It'd be their fault. The clueless little people driving around in their own clueless little lives, too naïve to see that death might be slowly creeping up on them or someone else. Batman swerved the car to avoid the ongoing traffic, but the sides of the vehicle had bumped into others, sending the stray cars squealing off the roads as they honked their horns angrily. At other times he might have felt guilty, but now he couldn't care. How could he? His life was diminishing slowly. Making a few dents in a few bumpers was only the least damage he could bring.

A thought crossed his mind as another set of honks filled the air. Road rage. He'd never experienced it in the Batmobile. Was this considered road rage? And why now? Why when his life was coming to an end? It made him snicker.

Strange how you experience new things when you're about to die. A picture flashed through his aching head: a whole street filled with cars exploding with fire, smoke rising up into the hazy sky.

And just as quick as the thought had come, it left, and Batman found himself disgusted. His laughter came to an abrupt end though he couldn't wipe away the sickly grin. What was he thinking? What was his mind coming to?

Strange how much your mind could change with just a few drops of the poison they call insanity. An involuntary snigger seeped through gritted teeth.

He turned swiftly to escape the traffic and drove through the alleyways once again. He was about to accelerate…

Then the blankness hit him again. Everything went to nothing. He forgot where he was, either that, or he didn't care. He couldn't tell which one because he didn't know if there was a difference. There was no longer pain. For a moment, he didn't fear death. Survival and life weren't a priority, because they were all right here. His ears were no longer ringing. All he could hear was laughter. The pain in his body was replaced by something else…

And yet he knew he was feeling pain, not pleasure. He knew death was still coming. He knew if he didn't get himself together, death would arrive even sooner.

His eyes snapped open to find that the car was headed straight for a wall. As he quickly yanked at the wheel, a loud grunt escaped his grinning mouth. The car swerved sharply, and the door scraped against a wall. Trash cans and forgotten boxes and crates were obliterated as the black vehicle crashed through the alleyway. Batman brought a heavy boot down onto the brake pedal, and the car responded with a screeching sound. The finally, everything came to a sudden halt, leaving Batman sitting in his seat, heaving air in and out loudly through a grin that wasn't his.

It had happened again, and this time he had nearly died. His body was shaking uncontrollably. How much time had passed this time? How many minutes had he wasted? His mind kept telling him to glance at the clock, but how could he know how much time was left if he didn't even remember what it had said the last time he had checked? When was the last time he checked it anyways.

He brought a trembling gloved hand to his forehead. At this rate, there was no chance of him making it. There was probably only a few minutes left on Joker's ticking clock, or worse, none at all. The clown was probably laughing again, wherever he was.

Hahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaa!!!!!!

He wasn't going to make it. He would die a cold death with a sick smile plastered to his face. He wasn't going to be able to see the world through sane eyes any longer.

A laugh escaped his mouth. Then another. Soon it grew into an uncontrollable guffaw, and the best he could do was to hold his stomach and bend over to rest his head on the wheel.

What would Joker say in a situation like this?

Oh well! At least you'll die on a laugh!

Half of him told him to just stay here. He'd slowly die as he laughed. Then someone would find his lifeless body here, the insane smile still there. The other part of him told him to press the gas and go on. The manor was only a minute away.

His head shot up at the thought, and his hands grasped at the wheel. He'd make it to the cave. Then Alfred would do what he could if he wasn't still capable of doing anything himself.

What if they weren't able to find a cure?

He quickly erased the thought as he once again brought the car to life. The Batmobile shot through the narrow alleyway at the fastest speed Batman dared. He needed to make it to the manor as quick as he could to avoid another attack. His heart pounded faster as his snickers grew in volume.

When he caught the first glimpse of the gate, he immediately unbuckled his belt, brought the car to a sudden stop, opened the door, and nearly tumbled out of his seat. Darkness hit him almost immediately.

It was like the past times, only stronger. Much stronger. The pain left, replaced with laughter. He could feel himself guffawing loudly, and he didn't try to stop it. He actually wished that this would be the end of it. He'd rather stay here than in the other sick world.

Reality once again came back as swiftly as it left, and Batman brought himself up from where he had fallen on the concrete driveway. He was still cackling uncontrollably, and there was no way for him to stop it. As his laughter grew louder, he sprinted to the gate and fumbled over the keypad. His vision was blurred, and his world was tipping. Before he knew it, he had fallen and the lights once again went off.

Now there was only laughter.

And when he awoke there was still laughter. The side of his face was flat on the grass, and his sides ached from shaking. He was this close to his goal, and yet he didn't feel like getting up. Why did he want a cure again? Why was he stressing himself over this? Did he feel pain? No. Not at the moment. So why should he go on if he felt totally fine living what little bit of life he had left like this?

Even with the doubts coursing through his head, he forced himself to push himself back up. He wasn't going to let it end like this, no matter what his sick mind told him.

You've lost it. Bruce. Don't let it go any farther…

Another time he brought himself up on wobbly legs. Another time he attempted to dash to safety. Another time his body felt like falling. He should have just given up.

He darted across the yard clumsily, part of him desperately hoping that another attack would not come, the other part praying for it to arrive. He wanted to find life, yet he didn't know whether it would come by an antidote or a death by laughter.

His hand reached out for a tree trunk to steady himself. As soon as his fingers touched the bark, his world changed back to nothing but laughter, and he welcomed the feeling. Maybe this was finally the end. He had finally found life.

When the starry night sky came back into focus, Batman grasped a handful of grass, his laughs now becoming guttural wheezes. Just a few more steps and he'd be to safety, but what was safety now? He could no longer think straight. A horrendous cough escaped his mouth, and he covered it with the side of his gauntlet. When he brought back his hand, it was covered in something wet. His eyes saw crimson.

He was coughing up blood. How lovely…

It made him laugh louder.

The world went to black again, and this time it brought him no surprise. It was like someone was at the light switch and was flipping it on and off, and of course he couldn't care. He would just stay like this forever, laughing in his own world as everyone burned in the hell they called life. At least he had found joy.

What about Alfred? What about Dick? What about Tim? What about Gordon?

They didn't matter now. He'd already settled this in the car. This was about him. His life. Not theirs.

His eyes shot open. He needed to get to the cave. He needed to get to Alfred.

But all he could do was laugh. The only way he could get up was to pull himself up against the tree, even then he could only bring his quaking body up to one knee. He struggled to catch a breath between cackles. His body ached with burning pain. Warm, sticky blood was running down his chin.

When everything went blank yet another time, he desperately prayed for it to not end. He didn't want to go on with his struggling. He knew he was feeling pain, but he was mistaking it as pleasure. He knew he was afraid, but instead he felt joy. He knew death was coming swiftly, but now he felt more alive than he had ever felt.

He finally knew what madness felt like, and he loved and hated it all the same.

He was on his side when he woke up. Tremors were raking through his body, and his laughs were diminishing to mere wheezes. His whole body felt like it was on fire. Why couldn't he just die now?

Once again he blacked out. As soon as he came back, he began to scream. He wasn't yelling words. It was just a desperate, guttural scream of horror. Laughter threatened to bubble out of his mouth, but he continued to yell out for help. The blood was now running down his neck.

"Alfreeeeeeed! Alfreeeeeeed!"

And yet another time, his world went back to black, engulfing him with endless laughter, and he didn't hesitate to laugh with it.

…

He was dead. He was dead. He was dead.

He'd never felt happier.

There was an explosion of light, and his eyes shot open.

Where was he? What had happened?

He wasn't laughing.

Slowly, Bruce brought a hand up to his face. His mask had been removed. His fingers brushed his mouth. The smile had disappeared. His body still trembled, but the laughter was gone. His vision wasn't hazy…

He immediately felt himself shoot up into a sitting position. The air was cold and dank. The Bat Cave. Alfred?

"Bruce?"

Bruce turned to be met with Dick Grayson's relieved face. Behind him stood Alfred and Tim, each with their small grins.

"Oh Bruce, thank Heavens!" Dick ran a hand through his raven-colored hair and smiled widely. "Man, we seriously thought you'd lost it."

He didn't know what to say. His memories were just a big mess. How did he end up here?

"But—" He paused, unsure of what he was thinking. "But I did."

The other three stared.

"I thought… I thought I died…" Bruce stared at the ground. "I…" His voice trailed off.

Tim was sitting in the chair at the computer. "Bruce, you look terrible."

Bruce could only imagine his image. He was shivering from head to toe. His skin was probably pale and his eyes probably blood shot. He raked a shaking hand through his stringy mess of hair.

"What happened?"

Dick turned to Alfred, who stepped up to Bruce's bed.

"I found you in the yard," he explained. "You were on the ground unconscious, and yet you were laughing hysterically."

All Bruce could do was stare.

"I brought you in, took some blood, and immediately began my work to find a vaccine. Master Dick came in afterward."

"How did you find an antidote?" His voice was hoarse, and his throat felt rough.

The butler hesitated. "I… Master Dick and I did all we could to try to reverse the toxin's effects, but our attempts were futile."

Confused, Bruce stared at the old Englishman and to his ward.

"Then how—"

"I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner," Dick began. "But I brought the Batmobile in from where you had left it. Inside the trunk was a package." He nodded to the table where there was an opened box which was once held together with duct tape. "Inside were a few vials of some chemicals or somethin'… and there was this." The young man held up an envelope. On the front was what looked to be a fancily written J. It made Bruce's stomach lurch.

"Joker?"

"Of course," Alfred jumped in, "we were hesitant to do anything with the chemicals, knowing this was that madman's concoction, but at this point we were willing to try anything."

"So you used the—" Bruce stopped, and an awkward silence passed. "He gave us the antidote?" He was trembling even more.

"Evidently." Dick glared hard at the floor. "Bruce, you looked horrible."

"But – why would he –" Bruce didn't have a clue as to what to say. So he stared at the farthest wall, breathing heavily. "It was just a game…"

"Bruce." Tim had risen from his seat. "We though we'd lost you." The boy stared at him through glassy eyes. "Seein' you like that… for so long… it's disturbing."

Bruce stared at his ward, wishing that the tremors in his body would subside.

"How long? I only had a few minutes left."

Their eyes widened.

"Master Bruce, you've been under the poison's effects for over two hours."

He held his breath then. Thoughts buzzed in his head. Slowly, he let a breath out through his teeth.

"Joker said I only had less than an hour."

"…Then he lied, and I'm glad he did."

Bruce shut his eyes and let the information set in. Why did Joker do what he did? What was his sick, demented game?

Why? Why? Why? There were so many questions. His head was beginning to ache once again. He felt empty inside.

He opened his eyes slowly.

"For the first time…" He didn't know if he should be saying this, but nonetheless he continued. "I saw things through a different view point. Through the eyes of a madman. For once I saw the world as my own, and I honestly couldn't care if it went down in flames because I would just laugh at it."

Bruce stared at his family with sorrow as they listened.

"I saw the world through his eyes, and at the moment, I loved it. And yet I knew it was sick and twisted. I couldn't control my thoughts."

He found himself closing his eyes again, and when he brought them open, Dick was placing a caring hand on his shoulder as he handed Joker's letter to his foster father.

"We didn't open it yet."

With a little hesitation, Bruce took the letter into his trembling hands, broke the seal, and read silently:

Dearest Batsy,

I do hope that you've found my little present on time. If you're reading this, I guess you did. If you're not, a pity, but then again, I doubt that. You're the Batman after all! Certainly the little time frame I had given you brought you to a hurry. Oh how hilarious! I can just imagine myself laughing! I do hope you found my little game fun. I'm sure you did. How does it feel to finally see things through my eyes? Hmm? Oh how I wish I could see your reaction! I hope you enjoyed it. Until next time and the next game my Dark Knight! I'll be looking forward to it, and you should too.

Your dearest friend (or enemy, however you see it),

The Joker

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A/N: Please review! Constructive criticism is always welcome!