Batman sat there for some time, gazing at where the ghosts had disappeared. He couldn't think straight – he didn't know what was real and what wasn't anymore. At this point, he was fully inclined to believe he had gone mad. And if that were true, if his life as Batman was all a dream, he wanted to get back to it as soon as possible.

He lay down on the bed again, trying to sleep. But sleep wouldn't come, not with his thoughts haunting him like this. At last, after lying awake for what seemed like hours, he must have dropped off, because he suddenly heard the door to his cell slowly creaking open.

"A very happy Halloween to you, Mr. Wayne," murmured a familiar voice.

Batman tried to sit up, but found he had been strapped to the bed, with Dr. Crane standing over him, loading a syringe. "I'm sorry for the rude awakening – you were sleeping so peacefully," said Crane. "But this really must be done now, during the witching hours, so that busybody Dr. Joker can't interfere again. The nerve of that man, telling me what therapy I can and can't do when he lets quacks like Dr. Nygma ask you riddles, of all things!" he muttered. "I don't like Dr. Joker's dismissal of my treatments before I've even had a chance to truly test them. And I don't like the way he looks at Dr. Quinzel – the filthy cad is probably trying to think of some way to seduce that pure, sweet, innocent angel!" he sighed.

He pressed the syringe, sending a stream of yellow liquid shooting out of it. "Now this might sting a little, Mr. Wayne, and you might see some very frightening images. But whatever happens, you must remember that this is all in your mind. A delusion. Ready? Then let's begin."

Crane injected Batman with the needle before he could protest, and Batman felt a stinging, and then a thick fog obscured his vision. A fog in which he saw hundreds of vague shapes, obscure and indistinct images from his past, and probably images from his future. The images swirled and mixed together, and then formed into a solid shape directly in front of his eyes, filling his vision – the shape of a Scarecrow.

"Oh good, you're back," asked Scarecrow, with a smirk. "Did you enjoy the toxin trip, Batman? Tell me what you saw – I am a doctor, you know."

Batman looked around – he was in the attic of the Elliot Memorial Hospital, where he had been attacked by Scarecrow before he started hallucinating…or was this the hallucination? It all looked and felt as real as it had in the dream, if indeed it had been a dream. And he had been injected with fear toxin in both situations, so it was impossible for him to separate which was the true reality, and which the toxin's visions. The fear still lingered in the back of his mind that this was the fantasy, but he supposed he would never be entirely sure. He could only live as he had always done, and trust in his own sanity, whether or not he actually had any.

"Freeze, Crane!" shouted a voice suddenly. Batman looked at the door to see Police Commissioner Gordon with half the GCPD behind him, all pointing guns at Scarecrow. "Thanks for the tip, Batman," said Gordon, nodding at him. "Glad we could be your backup."

"Took you long enough," muttered Batman, standing up slowly.

"Don't try anything funny, scum, or you get a bullet right through the sack face," snapped Detective Bullock at Scarecrow. "And it'll be the last Halloween you ever see."

Scarecrow smiled. "I'll come quietly," he said, holding out his wrists. "I have provided our Caped Crusader with his trick for this evening, although I suspect it wasn't much of a treat for him," he said, grinning at Batman.

As the police came forward to arrest Scarecrow, he murmured to Batman, "But now you know, don't you?"

"Know…what?" demanded Batman.

"What real fears lurk in the darkness of your mind," murmured Crane. "A vision of another life, as equally plausible as this one. And you can never tell yourself the vision was not real. You'll never know. Uncertainty is the cornerstone of fear, Batman. And you will always be uncertain of your own sanity from now on. I have won. I have done what the Joker never could, and made the Batman doubt his sanity. It's been a very good Halloween," he sighed, as the police handcuffed him.

"Get that freak outta here!" snapped Bullock, following the officers who dragged Crane away and down to the police car waiting outside the hospital. "We get him booked early, we might still have time for some trick-or-treating!"

"You ok?" asked Gordon, looking at Batman.

"I'm fine, Jim," muttered Batman. "Just fine."

But as he flew off into the night, alone with his thoughts, he began to question again whether he actually was.

He returned to Wayne Manor to find Alfred busy with trick-or-treaters at the door, so he changed out of his Batman costume himself, dressing in his casual wear. He took a blood sample in order to synthesize an antidote to whatever might remain of Crane's toxin in his bloodstream, and then climbed the steps out of the Batcave and joined Alfred, who had just shut the front door.

"Good night tonight, sir?" asked Alfred, smiling at him. "Did you foil Professor Crane's plot?"

"He's behind bars now," murmured Bruce, looking at his faithful butler. "But I got a taste of his new gas. It's…nasty."

"I do believe that's rather the idea, sir," replied Alfred, dryly. "I'll get to work on an antidote in the Batcave right away, if you'll take over trick-or-treating duty."

He handed Bruce the candy bowl. "Alfred," said Bruce, catching his hand.

"Sir?" asked Alfred, surprised.

"Do you ever think…I might be crazy?" asked Bruce slowly.

Alfred smiled. "Every night, sir," he replied. "But you know, then I see the morning papers the next day reporting on some robbery you foiled, or some murder you prevented, or some heinous felon put behind bars, and I chastise myself for ever questioning you."

Bruce smiled. "Thank you, Alfred," he said, embracing him. "Happy Halloween."

"And to you, sir," said Alfred.

He left Bruce alone, and a moment later, the doorbell rang. Bruce went to answer it. "Trick-or-treat!" shouted the child standing there, dressed in a Batman costume.

Bruce smiled as he dumped some candy into his bucket. "You're a fan of Batman, huh?" he asked.

"Yep," said the child, nodding firmly. "He's my favorite superhero. My older brother likes Superman, but I think he's lame compared to Batman. Superman has all kindsa special powers. Batman just has his determination, but he's still not afraid to fight all kindsa bad guys night after night. He always does what's right no matter how hard it is, and he never gives up, not even when things seem hopeless. He's really cool. I wanna be just like him when I grow up."

"Well, that's…good to hear," said Bruce.

"My Daddy's a cop, and he says people around the station think Batman's some kinda nutcase," continued the child. "But Daddy doesn't. He think he's just a guy who wants to do the right thing, and he says he admires that. Thinks Batman's a good role model. And he bought me this costume so I can be just like him."

"You look just like him," agreed Bruce. "And I'm sure Batman's glad there are people like you and your Daddy out there who believe in him."

"Yeah, the only people who don't believe in him are bad guys," retorted the child. "And I'm never gonna be a bad guy, or Batman will catch me and lock me up in Arkham Asylum, like he does to the Joker and Two-Face and…"

"Jodie, you've taken up enough of Mr. Wayne's time!" called the child's mother from the driveway. "Let's go!"

"Ok, Mom!" called back the child. "Thanks for the candy," the kid said, turning back to Bruce. "Happy Halloween!"

"Happy Halloween," said Bruce, smiling. He shut the door, feeling strangely happy, which was a rare occurrence for him. If Crane's vision was right, he was a man locked up in a madhouse. But right now, he was a hero who inspired others to do good. And even if that persona was an unrealistic as a Halloween costume, even if he wore it only at nights under the influence of fear gas, the fact remained that he was Batman. And real or not, that was a very good person to be.

The End