Hello, good readers! Welcome to the sequel to Batman: Thru Broken Glass! For those of you who have not yet read that story, DO IT NOW. Understanding this may be difficult if you do not.

Now, a few boring things...

Rating: M (for massive multitude of morbid and/or macabre moments...beat that alliteration, I dare you! Also for violence, including death.)

Disclaimers: I OWN NOTHING! Well...technically, that's not true. I do own the story, and the designs of some of the Batman characters come from my own brain rather than the comics. (I am not giving names.) However, none of the characters in this story itself are mine, nor is much of anything else. The characters and settings from Batman belong to Bob Kane, DC Comics, and anyone else I failed to mention. This story's plot is based (mostly) on Alice: Madness Returns; the settings and characters from there belong to American McGee, Dark Horse games, Lewis Carroll, and anyone else I failed to mention involved.

Summary: Where light falls, shadows must grow. Batman is summoned back to a once-more twisted Wonderland, to face a danger even more menacing than the Royal Hearts. In his absence, his allies in Gotham City struggle to keep the peace, as new light is shed on old wounds.

Notes: On my author's page, you will find a "Complete Soundtrack," covering both this story and the previous one. For those who have looked at the past soundtrack, several tracks have been changed that were present in the last version. At the moment, only the tunes relevant to the first book can be found there. All other spaces feature question marks. Whenever new characters or certain new scenes are introduced/put up in this tale, a new track will appear. If you have any comments, quips, concerns, suggestions, or questions about the soundtrack, PM me, please.

Now, "let the madness begin..."

Chapter 1: To Sleep, To Sleep, Perchance to Dream...

Darkness.

Utter, complete darkness.

Amplified by the soft, steady ticking of a clock.

Or...maybe not so steady...

Was the ticking slowing up...?

No. It had stopped completely.

Wait...what was that?

Out of the darkness...perhaps a part of the dark itself...appeared a string of pearls, from which dangled a silver cross, swinging back and forth like a pendulum its edges ebbed in shadow.

More rosaries fell into view, without falling at all. An infinity of silver crosses and pearl beads came into sight, reflecting nonexistent light into his eyes...

Not crosses any more.

Nor pearls.

Golden watches on brass chains, their cogs and gears whirling and churning like wild, their hands spinning around and around like the wheels of a locomotive.

Oh, dear, oh, dear! I shall be too late!

One of the watches snapped open, gears flying everywhere. The darkness gave way to a place of equal darkness, bathed in a demonic glow. Half-visible figures took up the background, one hanging from a rack, the other lying, torn apart, on a metal table. In the foreground, a table is set. At one end, he sat, eying his host, seated opposite to him, with an indifferent and calculating eye, hidden behind his mask. The host, in his stovepipe hat, patterned like a chessboard and covered in the signs of the zodiac, flashed a fiendish smile, holding up a teacup in toast...and flipped a switch beneath the table. From behind his guest, a buzzsaw zipped up...

If you knew Time as well as I do, you wouldn't talk about wasting "it." It's "him."

The room vanished, and a rain of playing cards flipped and swirled around in the abysmal darkness, fluttering like snowflakes. A particular card zoomed into view, revealing a white mask painted with a mad grin...

OFF WITH HIS HEAD!

The white of the mask transformed from porcelain to flesh, the lips changing from paint to thin, scarlet skin.

Have you heard this one? It'll KILL you, Batman!

A cackling laugh filled his ears, and the mouth of the white-skinned face flew open, revealing another face, with buckteeth and a large nose. It sneered, and opened its mouth, revealing a face shrouded in a burlap bag. It chuckled darkly and opened its own mouth, revealing a pit of flames.

Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Then, without warning, purplish waves of water doused the flames. As the violet-toned mist they spewed up cleared, a new destination came into view: a peaceful river, its waters a pale lavender, with lush, green trees on the muddy banks at each side. He realized he was sitting in a boat, and, when he looked down, he saw he was in his costume.

"You're a tad late, Mr. Wayne," said a voice.

He looked up. A scrawny rabbit in a red waistcoat and black piper hat, with short, white hair and fingerless gloves on his paws, stared at him with one large, pink eye; its other eye was swollen shut, the lids lined in a thin layer of mucous. It smiled gently, its large front teeth evident. In one hand it held a golden watch, with spear-shaped hands and a pin shaped like a skull, the watch glass cracked. Between him and the odd lapin was a tray with two china teacups, a bowl of sugar cubes, and a china teapot. The two of them sat in what seemed to be a canoe, covered in leaves.

"How many lumps?" asked the White Rabbit.

Batman paused.

"...Two. Please."

Rabbit smirked, and poured two cups of tea, putting two cubes of sugar in each. He handed one to Batman, and stirred his own with a claw.

"I see you are as talkative as ever, sir."

"Is this a dream, or am I really in Wonderland?"

"Well, that depends, doesn't it?"

"Depends on what?"

"How you dream it."

A silence.

"You don't look any different than from when we last met, Rabbit."

"On the contrary; I am not squashed into the dirt right now."

"I meant your appearance hasn't changed. It's strange...everything else here seems different, somehow."

"Things here have changed. That doesn't mean the people do."

"And change is good."

Rabbit stared at him solemnly. Batman put down his untouched tea.

"Isn't it?"

Rabbit opened his mouth, but it was not his voice that spoke once his whiskered lips started moving.

"Different," he PURRED, "denotes neither bad nor good, but it certainly means 'not the same.'"

Without warning, Rabbit dropped his teacup. He let out a short shriek, and curled up into a ball, quivering, as if he was cold.

Batman stood, and cautiously approached, confused and concerned.

"What's happening? Are you well?"

Rabbit looked up.

His one good eye was filled with tears.

"No," he croaked. "I'm MAD."

Batman's eyes widened, and he recoiled, as blood began to trickle from the White Rabbit's swollen eyelids and mouth, his ears and nose twitching erratically, tears running down like miniature streams from his single pink eye.

"Is something wrong?"

Batman didn't have time to take back the admittedly stupid query.

At that moment, all Hell broke loose.

"Something...wrong?"hissed Rabbit in a rough, metallic-sounding voice. "Rather! Batman, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

Batman didn't know, nor care, how, but Rabbit's head exploded. There was no warning, no apparent reason, but the skull of the White Rabbit had simply vanished from his shoulders, leaving a fountain of blood and gore in its place. Sticky, crimson fluid splashed across Batman's costume. He drew back in horror, nearly falling out of the boat.

"Don't struggle, Bruce," purred the voice again. "Let the new Wonderland emerge."

Batman looked around. Around him, the trees spontaneously combusted, the mud soon filled with ashes. The violet river turned a dreadful shade of black, the once sweet-smelling waters becoming rancid.

Then he realized it wasn't water at all, but saturated tar.

And the worst was yet to come.

From the tar, an arm arose. It was not an arm of flesh, but plastic. The arm was followed by a body, which was also made of plastic, wearing nothing but a soiled, tar-stained diaper, and atop this body was perched a plastic head.

It was a giant baby doll.

The grisly creature giggled, and let out a beastial roar. Four more dolls arose from the tar. They trudged for the boat. Batman reached for his belt fast...

He was no longer in his costume. He was dressed in a business suit.

Three of the tar-covered dolls lunged, one grabbing his legs, the other two taking hold of an arm. The tugged him in two directions. He groaned in pain, writhing and trying to break free, as the other two dolls approached. Each held up one arm...and their pudgy, plastic hands grew long, bloodstained claws.

The claws came down...

"Master Bruce? Master Bruce! Wake up!

Bruce Wayne gasped in fright, bathed in cold sweat, sitting up straight in bed, topless. He ran a hand through his hair.

"At the risk of sounding idiotic, sir, are you all right?"

"A-Alfred?"

Alfred Pennyworth, confidant and butler, crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.

"No, sir. I am the King of Spain. What happened?"

"I was about to ask the same thing."

"Well...to put it bluntly sir, you were shouting in your sleep."

Bruce blinked.

"What did I say?"

"I couldn't make out most of it," Alfred said, slowly, "but I distinctly heard you say the following: 'Pollution,' 'corruption,' 'it's killing me,' 'Wonderland is destroyed,' and 'my mind is ruins.'"

Bruce Wayne, a.k.a. Batman, turned away, setting his gaze on his bedsheets.

"Wonderland..."

"Perhaps you have the Mad Hatter on your mind, sir?" Alfred suggested. "Frightful fellow, that one...able to control people's minds and all that."

"Not quite as frightful as his friend," Bruce said, a bit calmer now.

"Ah, the Scarecrow. They both escaped from Arkham Asylum three days ago, right?"

"The Hatter's men got them out, to say nothing of the March Hare."

"Hmph," snorted Alfred. "You'd think on your rare nights off, you could get some sleep."

Bruce smiled wryly.

"I often think the same thing."

A pause.

"This isn't the first one."

"Beg pardon, sir?"

"My nightmare, Alfred...I had one like it two nights ago. It wasn't quite as bad, but still, it was...comparable..."

"I'm no expert in dreams, Master Bruce," Alfred sighed. "As much as I know you'll resent it, might I suggest a talk with a psychiatrist?"

Bruce scowled.

"A shrink is the last thing I need, Alfred."

The moustached man blinked, cocking his head to one side, unconvinced.

Bruce Wayne sighed loudly.

"You've already set up an appointment, haven't you?"

"I knew about your last dream, sir. It's hard not to hear the screaming. You recall Professor Strange?"

"Who?"

"Professor Hugo Strange; head of the Wayne Home for Wayward Youth. I'm told he's an excellent doctor, and it was your own father who put him in the position he is currently in; the two were schoolmates."

Bruce rolled his eyes.

"Family friendships are not enough to convince me to see this Strange person, Alfred."

"Convincing or not, sir, you are going," Alfred said. His voice left no room for argument. "The appointment is tomorrow, at 6:00 p.m. I'm sure tea with the good professor should be most...interesting."

Bruce Wayne sighed again.

"You'll do anything to help me, won't you?"

"Not quite, sir," smiled Alfred. "That's where Master Tim comes in."

"Robin...right. Is he...?"

"In the Batcave, sir. He finished patrol not long after you. I suspect by now he's fallen asleep face-first before the Batcomputer, unless my watch is wrong."

Bruce nodded, tiredly, and yawned softly. Alfred chuckled.

"Well, sir...seeing as you have a visit with a professor of high esteem tomorrow, and as it seems unlikely your...er...'night job' will permit you a proper rest in the near future, might I suggest you try falling asleep again?"

"A great idea," Bruce drawled. "But don't expect it to work out."

Alfred let out a sharp bark of laughter, then, remembering who he was, covered it up with a cough.

"Yes, well...goodnight, sir."

"Goodnight, Alfred. Send Tim to bed; he needs to rest up as much as I do."

Alfred nodded, and left the room. Bruce Wayne lay back down in bed.

But he didn't dare fall asleep.

Not when he heard the soft, haunting whispers at the corners of his mind

What have you done, Batman? What have you done...?

He wished he could answer.

But it was hard to do that when he didn't know what he'd done himself.

Elsewhere, two glowing yellow eyes narrowed.

"Well," purrs a voice. "If you won't come to us, Batsy, I suppose we'll just have to come and get you..."

A vast, fang-filled smile follows this.