And so, we have reached the end of our story! Thank you for everyone who has followed this story while I've written it. I appreciate all of you and your nice comments, along with your criticism. Wow, this is the first fanfiction I've actually finished for awhile! I'm proud.

As for what's next, I'm not sure whether I'll write a sequel or not. I'm giving you all the warning now that I left this story open-ended, in a sense. To let you all imagine what happens next. Some of you may hate it, but that's okay. I like it. There is room for a sequel, but really, I would love to do an actual Valeyne/Batjokes fanfiction, so I may focus on that instead. Let me know what you all think.

I hope you've all enjoyed the story as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Once again, thank you all for your support.

It had been exactly three months since Bruce had been freed from Jerome's insane ruling.

It had been horrible, at first. Bruce woke throughout the night with nightmares and screamed whenever someone touched him. He ate very little and spoke even less. It had taken a lot of time for Bruce to regain any strength physically, but it had taken longer for him to gain any emotional balance.

Selina had stayed at Wayne Manor the first month completely. She very rarely would leave his side and almost never let him be out of earshot. Only once did he slip out of her view completely, and it had caused a panic attack to occur. They had been outside, walking through the lawn near the tree line where the forest met the grass. She glanced behind her and suddenly he was gone. "Bruce? Bruce!" She had screamed for him and searched, only to find him coming out of the trees in confusion. She had grabbed him and yanked him to her, much to his confusion and fear. She had grabbed his head and roughly kissed his forehead. She had held him tightly while he apologized, over and over again, and eventually the two of them were both whispering apologies and affectionate murmurs.

Suddenly, Selina had much greater things to worry about than her independence. She had almost lost him, and although she would never admit it, it had frightened her. She refused to lose him again.

Jim Gordon visited periodically and pleaded with Alfred to get the boy a psychiatrist. Alfred had clearly said that it seemed like a good idea, but it was ultimately Bruce Wayne's decision and Bruce Wayne refused to agree to a shrink. He merely stated that he wasn't insane. He didn't need any psychiatric help.

Still yet, it was all very concerning to them when Bruce called out Jerome's name in his sleep. It was all very concerning the way he would cry, without being consoled, and refuse to be touched by anyone. The truth of the matter was, Jerome Valeska was still very much in Bruce Wayne's head. As much of a monster as the man had been to Bruce, Bruce had become emotionally attached to him. It was an unhealthy attachment undoubtedly, but an attachment nonetheless. Bruce never spoke of it and neither did Selina and Alfred. No one spoke about it. It seemed better if they didn't.

Finally, with time, Bruce stopped waking up with screams. He stopped pleading for Jerome to come help him. He stopped jumping any time the door opened.

Finally, Bruce became Bruce again.

After the first month was up, Selina went back to the streets. Bruce didn't blame her or resent her for it. She still came quite often, and often when he would wake at night, she would be there in bed with him, having crawled in through a window. He could take comfort in her and she could take comfort in the fact that he was still there, alive and next to her.

After the second month, he threw himself back into training. He had grown weak throughout the time he had been away, and he wanted to gain his strength back. He worked harder than he had ever before. Every punching bag was an outlet for him to escape with. By the end of the second month, he had pushed the memories away. They only came to him in distant dreams.

He didn't hear a word about Jerome during all of this. During that first month, he had asked Jim with each visit. Each time, he had gotten the same short but reassuring answers. "He's locked up tight," Jim would say. "They keep him under watch."

It was that night, near the end of the third month, that Bruce Wayne went to bed and dreamed about Jerome and his circus for the first time in weeks. Whether it was something on the news that had set him off or just some bad, lingering memory, he was unsure. That night, when he closed his eyes, a pair of green ones were waiting in his dreams.

"Oh, Brucie!" a voice crooned. "Where are ya, boy?"

Bruce stood and stared at the bright lights of the circus. Around him, music played and the sound of squeals and laughter filled the air. Several feet away, standing on a stage, Jerome Valeska stood in a ring leader outfit, eyes squinting in his search for Bruce Wayne. "Bruce? Oh! There you are!"

Bruce froze and stared wide eyed at the Circus Master. Jerome laughed. "What are you waiting for, kiddo? Get up here!"

Suddenly, Bruce felt his legs moving on their own. He moved closer towards the stage. The large crowd of people standing amongst it suddenly parted and Bruce was allowed through. He looked at their smiling faces, painted and cheerful. Bruce's eyes glanced to and fro and then they snapped to attention to see Jerome waiting. The ginger reached out a gloved hand and Bruce reached out, taking it and allowing Jerome to pull him onto the stage.

"What's going on?" Bruce asked, looking around in confusion. He squinted in the bright lights.

The question brought laughter from the crowd. Jerome chuckled from deep within his throat. Bruce looked at him and frowned. "It's your homecoming, of course!" Jerome answered, reaching out and ruffling the boy's dark hair. "Oh Brucie, did you really think you could leave me?"

The billionaire's eyes widened and he took a step back. "I did leave you! You told me that they weren't looking for me but they were. They found me! They saved me from you!"

More laughter erupted from the crowd and Bruce paused, looking around at them before his eyes fell on the smiling ringleader. Jerome chuckled. "Did they, Bruce? Because it seems to me that... I'm still right here." The psychopath's eyes lifted up and he cackled, looking around at the joyous cultists. "You can run from me all you want, Little Conquistador. That will never change the fact that I am still right here in your mind!" The last words were shouted, suddenly sounding angry. Bruce stumbled backwards.

The shrill laughter of the cultists suddenly became too much. Bruce's hands went to his ears to try and block it out, but he could hear it all the same. It came from every direction and it echoed deep within Bruce's mind. Jerome's laughter could be heard above it all, shrill and dark. "You can't leave me, Bruce!" The teen closed his eyes and shook his head, slowly sinking to his knees. "I'll always be there in your head."

Bruce woke with a gasp, sitting up abruptly. His eyes searched the dark room and his hands grasped his sweat soaked sheets. There was only silence in the room. Realization that it had only been a nightmare slowly came upon Bruce and the boy closed his eyes and raked his fingers through his damp hair. His fingers scratched absently at his bare chest. Bruce sank back into the bed, sprawled out, and kicked the blankets off his legs.

It was only a dream, Bruce. You're safe.

The ginger's voice had seemed so close to him, as if it were right against his ear. It had left a sick feeling deep within his stomach and a suffocating feeling in his chest. Bruce had almost thought the nightmares were over, but now this one had come so suddenly, tearing apart the fragile towers of his mind.

Sighing, Bruce turned on his side and curled up tightly. He glanced over at the clock on his bedside table. The clock read 3 o'clock A.M. He blinked slowly and finally closed his eyes, curling up tighter.

It's over, he told himself, It was only a dream. He's in Arkham. He can't hurt you anymore. And hurt was exactly what he did to you.

Bruce found himself, over time, having to tell himself over and over that it had been psychological torture and abuse that Jerome had put him through, and not some odd act of kindness as he had told himself all those weeks. It was true that Bruce had made himself believe that Jerome was being good to him. No, now that he thought about it, it was not Bruce who had made himself believe it, but Jerome who had made him believe it. The man could be so gentle, when he wanted to be. Along with all those endless hours of beatings and torture, there had also been nights when Jerome would hold him while he wept from a nightmare, or days when the ginger would just lay down beside him and talk to him. Bruce had believed that Jerome did care, in his own strange way. In truth, sometimes Bruce still believed it. Jerome was sick, but as Bruce thought back, he wondered if Jerome thought he had been doing good, too.

A creak in the floorboards broke off his train of thought.

It had come from behind him, where his back was turned. Bruce froze up completely, eyes snapping wide awake. He held his breath. Perhaps the house was just settling. Perhaps it was only that. Bruce was suddenly aware that the window was wide open, but he couldn't feel Selina's body near him, and he didn't smell her perfume. He remained still, heart pounding.

"Oh, Brucie," said a familiar, nasally voice, "You ought to know by now that I can always tell when you're pretending to sleep."

Bruce was vaguely aware that he was hyperventilating, just as he was vaguely aware that there were tears filling up his eyes. He could hear Jerome shift in the corner behind him.

"Did you really think I wouldn't come back for you? Oh, Bruce," Jerome clicked his tongue, "I'm disappointed you think so little of me." Laughing quietly, the sound of footsteps coming closer echoed through the room. Bruce was too frozen in fear to even look behind him. "Don't worry, my Little Conquistador. I'm here to bring you home."