Chapter 105: Wish You Sweet Dreams

"He ran!"

"His mother came to see him."

Two guards cowered in a narrow corner of the prison; fear had completely robbed them of the ability to move. At this moment, their minds were like those of drunkards who had had too much to drink, or people who had eaten hallucinogenic mushrooms in the mountains.

"Straw."

Batman observed the iron bars of the prison. Cold rain washed over the outer walls, soaking the bundle of straw tightly tied to the bars, making it remarkably resilient.

"Jonathan Crane strangled his mother years ago—on Mother's Day."

As the words fell, two steel bars on the iron window were ripped down by Batman's bare hands; the bent steel strips tore chunks of flying stone from the concrete wall.

Sure enough, that bundle of wet, coarse straw stretched all the way down to the perimeter of Arkham Asylum. Amidst the wind and rain, pale moonlight illuminated a slender figure. He rode a horse, wore a pointed hat and a straw mask, looking as if a scarecrow in a wheat field had come to life.

In fact, his nickname was indeed "Scarecrow"—Jonathan Crane, a mentally unstable psychiatrist, one of the super-criminals. His unfortunate family had inflicted immense psychological trauma upon him; at the same time, he was also a chemical genius.

He developed a special fear toxin and delighted in bringing this fear to everyone. Everyone has something they fear, and the fear toxin can amplify the deepest shadows in a person's heart countless times, causing them to completely lose the ability to move. This was what he loved to see most. He was extremely obsessed with others' fear, yet desperately wanted to escape his own sense of fear.

Someone had helped the Scarecrow. Someone had brought him a lifeline and let him out. Batman thought this, then jumped out of the cell, which was dozens of meters high.

In the wind, rain, and night, he spread his black cape. Like a flying bat unfolding its dark wings, he cut through the air, emitting a sharp shriek, then dove rapidly toward the Scarecrow, like a huge, screaming bat monster.

Not in my city. Not today. He must not be allowed to go out and do evil.

"You think you can escape! You think you can!"

The enraged bat monster was almost ready to devour a person. He dove, grabbed the Scarecrow—who was as small as a chick—and threw him off the horse, tearing the mask right off his head.

No.

That wasn't his mask. That was his head?

A light, straw head fell to the ground. This made Batman realize that the figure on the horse was not the "Scarecrow."

It was a real, genuine scarecrow.

A scarecrow infused with fear toxin.

In a dark alley, Bruce, wearing a trench coat, stumbled along.

He walked slowly through this alley. He could remember this alley; it was a place he had walked countless times in his dreams—it was once called Park Row, now called Crime Alley.

It was the place where Thomas Wayne and Martha Wayne were murdered that year.

That night, I wanted Mom to wear the pearl necklace.

Bruce looked dazed, wandering with a face full of confusion.

She told me that the pearl necklace was only worn on special occasions, and we were just going to see a movie.

"Mom, can't we make tonight special?"

A childish voice echoed in his ears; that voice was his younger self.

"Mr. Wayne, Bruce."

A voice sounded behind Bruce, startling him greatly. He turned his head; the figure with blonde hair and a large beard seemed somewhat familiar, yet also somewhat strange.

"What do you want!"

He wants the pearl necklace.

A voice immediately responded in his heart, causing Bruce's fear to almost instantly overflow to its peak.

He remembered the man holding a gun approaching his mother. Yes! That's right! He wanted that pearl necklace!

"Run, Mom, run quickly!"

Bruce grabbed his mother's hand and ran toward the depths of the alley. He ran desperately, ran desperately, never stopping. That way, they would never be caught.

"Don't shoot!" the bearded man shouted. "Don't run! Bruce!"

"Run! Run!"

Bruce's face was covered in cold sweat. Fear twisted his originally handsome features into a knot. He remembered nothing except taking Mom and running, running, running until the gunman with the gun could no longer see them, could no longer catch them.

Are we safe? he thought. Did we make it?

He drifted further and further away with his consciousness, further and further away. When it was finally safe, he hugged his mother and wept loudly. Perhaps even he himself didn't know what he was crying about.

We are safe now, aren't we? Mom didn't die. I finally escaped that nightmare with her.

But why can't the tears stop?

"Take it slow. Don't shoot."

The blonde man with the large beard put down the walkie-talkie in his hand, slowly approached Bruce, and then froze in place.

This was Gotham Cemetery.

Bruce was hugging a tombstone, weeping loudly.

And the name on the tombstone was Martha Wayne.

"Sheriff, what do we do?"

Gordon remained silent, not knowing how to answer. Just then, a strange melody drifted through the night.

It seemed to be a melody the sheriff had never heard before in his memory, gently singing a song the sheriff had never heard.

Although he had never heard it, it felt very gentle, as if a female voice was singing softly.

"The moon is bright, the wind is quiet, the leaves cover the window lattice~"

"The lute sound is light, the tune is melodious, the cradle sways gently~"

As that gentle voice sang softly, the dark clouds slowly dispersed. Clear white moonlight poured onto the earth, dyeing Bruce's face a silver white.

Tears streaked the corners of his eyes as he fell into a deep sleep in the embrace of the tombstone.

In the dream, it seemed a gentle figure embraced him. What he felt on his body was not the cold, wet sensation from just now, but true warmth.

That warmth was very familiar, as if he had often felt this warmth when he was a child. The woman touched his head and smiled mischievously at him.

"Little Bruce, why are you still crying when you've grown up?"

"You were so brave when you were small; you should be even braver now that you've grown up."

"Mother, did I do wrong?"

Bruce looked up and asked uneasily, like a child afraid of punishment, then he saw that smile from his memories.

"Bruce, whether what you did was right or wrong, I will always forgive you."

"Because you are my son."

"And I am your mother."

Alfred sat by the bedside, quietly watching over the sleeping Bruce; the fire in the hearth burned brightly, making the room feel warm.

He saw a faint smile appear on Bruce's tear-streaked face, as if he were having a good dream he hadn't had in a long time, so he hung up his trench coat; at that moment, a white snowman music box fell out from inside.

He casually put the music box back into the trench coat pocket and gently turned off the bedside lamp.

"Good night, Master Bruce," he said softly, "I wish you sweet dreams."

PS: I stayed up late, but this chapter is suitable for reading at night, so I decided to post it tonight anyway.

If there is no update tomorrow morning, it means I overslept, QVQ.

(End of this chapter)