Batman: From a Father to his Son (T+)

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Gambit1024

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#1  Edited By Gambit1024

Hey guys, this is my very first attempt at writing a fan-fic, so go easy on me ;) 
 
BATMAN AND ALL CHARACTERS AND SETTINGS ARE THE PROPERTY OF DC COMICS INC. AND THEIR RESPECTIVE AFFILIATES. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, I THOUGHT OF THE STORY BUT THESE AREN'T MY PEOPLE.  
 

From a Father to his Son

Gotham City 3:28 AM.

The Joker’s escaped from the asylum again and quickly rounded up his thugs in the slums of Gotham City. His city. The Batman's out on patrol seeking Joker out again for the umpteenth time. Sure enough, he was outside of an abandoned warehouse just a few yards away from the docks. There are about six of his men, two of them with rifles and the rest with various blunt weapons such as bats and crowbars. Leaping from the gargoyle he’d been perching on, he attacks one of Joker’s men with the guns, seemingly flying from one panic-stricken goon to another. “I hate guns. I’m tired.” Batman thinks as the Joker taunts him. “Oh, look what the cat dragged in! Come to stop me again, eh Guano Man? HAHAHA!” “It’s too late for this,” Batman thinks, as he scowls at the clown prince of crime, “Let’s just get this over with.” Batman leaps from the last of his pathetic excuse for lackeys, and pounces on the Joker’s chest, knocking him on his back. In retaliation quick enough to be a reflex, the Joker squeezes the flower on the lapel of his purple pin-striped suit jacket, where his patented acid squirted out onto Batman’s Kevlar-lined batsuit. Burning right through the Kevlar, exposing his skin, Joker takes out his knife and stabs him in his side, as he laughs. It’s a haunting laugh.  

            Acting quickly, Batman raises his armored forearm to block the next slash from the blade, quickly disarming Joker. “He fights dirty,” Batman thought, predicting the Joker’s next attack. As Joker tries to kick him in the groin with another knife protruding the front of his beat-up dress shoe, Batman jabs him in the stomach (knocking the wind out of him), and finishes it off with an uppercut to the lunatic’s jaw. Once again, Batman of course comes out the victor, and once again, Joker is taken to Arkham Asylum by the Gotham City Police Department. It’s the same old song and dance every single time. “Thanks. We’ll try to get him in his cell by the end of the night,” said an exhausted Jim Gordon, commissioner of the GCPD. “It’s morning,” Batman says, pulling out his grapple-gun.  

5:18 AM


            Parking the Batmobile in the center platform of the Batcave, Batman comes home exhausted in the early morning, stripping off his cowl and costume, revealing the face of Bruce Wayne, the billionaire playboy of Gotham City and head of the world-famous Wayne Enterprises. Bruce’s butler and father-figure, Alfred, always seemed to be up and dressed before Bruce comes home from his nightly patrols. Observing the tired Master Wane, he asks, “The Joker again, Master Bruce?” Exhausted, Wayne says nothing, retiring to his quarters. Alfred feels bad for Bruce. He knows that he's been doing his parents' proud ever since their murders, but with maniacs like Joker or Two-Face or Riddler always on the prowl, Bruce can never achieve his goal of peace in Gotham. The easy thing to do would be if Bruce would just kill him, the Joker. It always seems to come back to him, anyway. He was responsible for almost everything Bruce ever lost, including his one-time partner and son, Jason Todd. To this day, Bruce never forgives himself for that tragic turn of events. Bruce would never be the one to execute him, but things would certainly go better for him if someone would take that grim task.  

Three months later. 2:46 AM

Batman's out once more tracking down Killer Croc in the Gotham City sewers. He’s taken a hostage. While Bruce is on patrol, Alfred is having trouble sleeping at the empty Wayne Mansion. The police scanner goes off, loud enough for him to hear it. Reports are saying that Joker's escaped the Asylum again. “Again with this rubbish,” Alfred thought, sitting at the edge of his king-sized bed. “What if it finally happens tonight? What if someone finally does the task of ridding the world of that monster? Alfred slides open the drawer of his nightstand, reaching for an asprin. As he pops one in his mouth, he stops and thinks for a few seconds. “What if I do it? What if I’m the one who ends Bruce’s suffering?” he thinks, his eyes wide open. He gets dressed in his casual clothes, and picks up his car keys. Tonight's the night the madness ends.  

4:34 AM


            Alfred’s car slows down to a stop in front of the Joker’s usual territory, an abandoned carnival just outside the city. He steps out of the car, examining the one-eyed clown face just above the main entrance of the funhouse. Taking a deep breath, Alfred enters the building. Sure enough, Joker’s sitting in the corner of the funhouse, wearing his all-too-familiar, orange prison jumpsuit. Joker lifts his face out of his crossed arms, looking at the intruder. “What’s this? Who are you supposed to be, grandpa?” He gets up. “My name is Alfred Pennyworth,” began Alfred, feeling strangely calmer than he’d expected, “I’m--““Oh, I know you,” Joker interrupts, getting on his feet, “You’re the butler! Pennyworth! How good it is to see you, fancy meeting you here! Sorry about the mess, I wasn’t expecting company.” Alfred was speechless. He knew him. “How does he know me?” thought Alfred, looking at the lanky, 6’6”, pale skinned maniac. Joker’s green eyes narrowed, “How’s Batsy?” Joker asked, getting closer, putting his hand down his jumpsuit, grabbing what Alfred knew was his signature “BANG!” pistol.  

            “You’ve got a lot of cohones showing up here, all by your lonesome. What does old Jeeves here want with little old me?” Joker says calmly, slicking his greasy neon-green hair back with his free hand. Alfred couldn’t say anything. He’s so intimidating. This is the monster responsible for all of Bruce’s turmoil. This is the man who killed thousands of innocent people, just go get on Bruce’s nerves. Just for the joke of it. Why on Earth would anyone let this demon live? Why should he get the privilege of life? “Well Jeeves? I’M WAITING!” Joker screamed, pressing his pistol against Alfred’s chest. Alfred looks at him coldly, pulls out a high-tech, silenced pistol to Joker's amazement, and fires three bullets in Joker's stomach and two in his chest. “It has to stop. I’m here to end something that he can’t,” explained Alfred, standing above Joker’s bloody body. "Hehehe! Bravo, Jeeves. Talk about a killer punch line…. I can’t wait to see what happens on the next episode…… abadeeabadeeabadee that’s all folks… Heheh..." Joker says tiredly, his speech getting slower with each sentence. Alfred puts a bullet through Joker’s forehead, putting him out of his misery. Alfred looks as the corpse is still smiling that haunting, trademark smile the Joker always wore. He didn’t put up the fight Alfred was expecting. “The Joker is dead... I killed him,” thought Alfred in disbelief, still hovering over his body.

4:53 AM

            Alfred arrives to the long driveway of Wayne Manor, parking his car in the exact same spot he always left it in. “Bruce hasn’t returned yet,” thought Alfred, walking into the empty mansion, redressing into his usual attire. “He couldn’t possibly know what’s happened.” Just then, Alfred heard the Batmobile pull up into the Cave. Bruce returns home a wreck, with his batsuit ripped in various places exposing nasty slashes and teeth marks. Worn out from his battle with Croc, Bruce said nothing to Alfred, as he went back to his bedroom. Bruce goes to sleep, while Alfred sits in the dining room alone. He’s not as frightened as he feels he should be. In fact, Alfred is relieved. When Bruce wakes up in a few hours, he’ll learn that the monster was finally gone. Half-smiling, Alfred goes about his morning routine as if nothing's happened.  

11:39 AM

            “Good morning, Master Bruce,” Alfred greeted, as Bruce walked slowly to the kitchen, “Shall I repair those cuts given to you by that brute?” “In a minute, Alfred. I’m starving,” Bruce said groggily, planting himself at the head of the long, spotless dining room table. Once he finishes eating the omelet Alfred had already prepared for him, Alfred stitches Bruce’s gashes, and draws him a bath. “He doesn’t know,” thought Alfred, while Bruce was in the master bathroom.  

            Bruce gets dressed in his robe, heads to the lounge as he usually did on Sunday mornings, and turned on the Gotham City News on his 86” LCD TV. Bruce’s eyes opened wide. His mouth opens slightly and he drops the remote. The news hits him like a head-butt from Bane or even a punch from Superman himself. “Once again for those of you just joining us, the longtime criminal known as “The Joker” has been shot and killed,” reports the anchorwoman. There were no witnesses, no gunshots heard, nothing. The Joker has been murdered. As Gotham Police is on the scene, none of them are particularly worried about catching the culprit. "He was a demented freak of nature." Detective Bullock explains to a reporter on the scene, "Who gives a shit about him? The Bat? Nah. We're all better off without the demented lunatic. Now get outta here! This is police business from here on out!" Bruce is astonished. Saying nothing, he rushes to the Batcave to put on his suit to go see for himself. Alfred says nothing. Bruce rarely ever goes out in broad daylight in uniform. “This was expected,” Alfred thought.

3:17 PM

            Knowing that the body has been moved already, Batman arrives to the morgue on Arkham Island, where his ex-adversary's body lies stiff. Sneaking in undetected by the guards and staff, Batman examines the body, noticing the gunshots. Whoever did it was an excellent shot. They hit him in all the right places. He took a sample of his blood, a piece of his tattered jumpsuit, and a lock of his bright green hair. Then, he goes to the crime scene. Luckily, the attention there has died down significantly as dusk approached. There are no real clues there other than the obvious fact that Joker had been shot. He brings the evidence back to the Cave to analyze the data.  

5:22 PM

            Joker is dead alright. This isn't a Clayface trick. This is the real thing. “The gun which he'd been shot wasn't cheap. Very high-tech and hard to get,” observed Batman, without the slightest hint of emotion. When Batman is in detective-mode, emotion isn’t even an afterthought. Bruce quickly assumed it was Jason Todd, who was recently brought back to life by the likes of Ra’s Al Ghul. Todd now operates as the vigilante known as the Red Hood. If anyone had a vendetta with Joker, it was him. After all, it was the Joker who beat him nearly to death with a crowbar. It was Joker who blew up the warehouse Todd was helplessly stranded in. It was Joker that tore Jason Todd away from his only friend on Earth. Also, as an unexpected surprise, this high-tech weaponry is the same as whatever Jason uses. Bruce set out to interrogate his ex-sidekick.  

7:16 PM

            After about fifteen minutes of searching, Batman found Jason sitting at the edge of Joker’s funhouse. The scene of the crime. Jason was the tallest of the previous Robins, standing 6’ 1” tall. Out of his red, polished helmet he wore as the Red Hood, Todd always wore a domino mask. “I knew you’d show,” said Jason, his back turned to Batman. “You probably think I did it, but you of all people should know that I didn’t. If I wanted to kill that… thing, I would’ve done it the minute I came back. You’re wasting your time, Bruce.” “Jason,” Bruce started, “The murderer used equipment that only you have access to.” Jason turns around. “Well,” Jason sneered, “I guess you have some work to do ‘detective.’” Jason began to put on his helmet, when Batman lunged towards him and grabbed him by the neck. “I swear, Jason,” Bruce said through his gritted teeth, “If I find out that your lying to me, I—““You know damn well that I didn’t shoot that maniac!” Jason screamed, breaking out of Bruce’s choke. “You need to lighten the hell up, and leave me the hell alone.” Frustrated, Bruce went back to the Batmobile and sped off. “He's not lying,” Bruce thought to himself angrily.  

8:03 PM

            Bruce drove back to the Batcave, parking the car crookedly on its platform. “Batman. We need to talk…” a voice said, as Batman headed toward his computer. Bruce walked right passed Nightwing, who had been waiting for him. “Batman… Bruce. I just—I don’t know, I just want to know that you’re ok,” Nightwing said, as Batman continued his silence. Nightwing’s real name is Dick Grayson. As the first person to ever fight alongside Batman as Robin, they’ve had an unbreakable father/son bond ever since the night of Grayson’s parents’ death. A medium build, Dick loved the superhero job much more than any of the other Robins and even more so than Bruce himself. “I know that this has been a shock to everyone,” Dick continued, “but you have to keep your cool. Barbra’s been worried. She’s tried calling you, but you’ve obviously been to work here. She’s scared for you, Bruce. I’m scared.”  

            Barbra Gordon. Years ago, to prove a point to Batman and Commissioner Gordon, the Joker broke into Barbra's apartment, and shot her in the spine. She was paralyzed from the waist down. Unable to do her hero work as Batgirl, she took up a new alias in "Oracle." As Oracle, she always aided Bruce via comm-link. Barbra would never murder anyone, even the Joker. In fact, she's stopped Batman more than a few times from strangling the clown to death.  

            Bruce looked at Nightwing for the first time. Dick could tell that he’s infuriated. Normally, Dick knew to stay away from Bruce when he’s like this, but he felt it was his responsibility to try to be his conscience, especially when he's most vulnerable. “Dammit, Bruce, say something!” Usually, anyone, even Tim Drake never spoke to Bruce off the record like this, but Dick has known Bruce for so long that he’s earned the right. Bruce got up and walked toward him slowly. Nightwing stood his ground. “I need to hear you say that you didn’t do this,” said Batman, calmly, yet shaking with rage. Dick looked at him, mouth hung open, paralyzed with astonishment. “You… What?” Dick said lowly. “I need to know that you didn’t do this. I need to know that this wasn’t because you felt that this would make a diff—“. Bruce was cut off by a fuming Nightwing, “I’m getting out of here. You’ve obviously lost your mind if you think I’d ever stoop down to this level. I know you’re in some sort of psycho shock right now, but have to take a long deep breath and think about things. Think about the people around you: Tim, Barbara, Alfred, Jim, and Me… You can’t lose you’re cool at a time like this. Get a grip, and don’t act like that maniac actually meant something to you.” Dick stopped, realizing what he just said. “Bruce… You know I love you like a father,” Dick said apologetically, “Like a big brother I never had, but—““Get out,” Bruce said, his back turned to Nightwing. Dick looked down, feeling defeated. He turned away, and walked toward the secret entrance to Wayne Manor from the Cave. Alfred was at the top of the stairs, only listening to their conversation. Dick walked to Alfred, “I’d stay but…” “I understand Master Richard,” Alfred said, looking into the said eyes of Dick’s domino masked face. As Dick left, Alfred stood there, staring at Bruce, who was sitting at the computer, with his head down. Alfred's face was blank.

            In a perfect world, sick, deranged, monsters like the Joker would never exist. Without these maniacs, the world wouldn’t need heroes. Gotham wouldn’t need Batman. In fact, if Joe Chill, the man responsible for the deaths of Thomas and Martha Wayne never existed, Batman would have never been born. If Batman hadn’t been born, maybe the Joker would’ve never come to be. In a way, it is like a domino effect. With every action, comes a reaction. No crime, no Batman. No Batman, no Joker. Unfortunately, crime does exist, and it’s most prominent in Gotham City. Joker was, in many ways, Batman’s equal. Both of them were a symbol of something: order and chaos. Joker knew that whatever Batman would do, he would never break his golden rule: Batman would never kill. Killing leads to chaos, and Joker was all about chaos. It was like a game of cat and mouse; some demented Tom and Jerry cartoon. With Joker gone, what does Bruce have left? Sure, Scarecrow, Riddler, Two-Face, Mr. Freeze, Bane, Ra’s Al Ghul, Poison Ivy, and even Killer Croc are more than enough to keep crime going, but Joker was different. Without the very embodiment of chaos itself, would crime finally be destroyed? Would these super-villains just give up? Without crime, what would Batman do? With Joker gone, with chaos gone, things are hauntingly empty for Batman, the embodiment of order. It's unnerving, really. Bruce is on this roller coaster of thought that he has no idea what to feel. He should be happy, that the monster is dead, but is there anything left now? The dominos have fallen. What happens after all the dominos are down?

3 Weeks Later. 11:46 PM

            Days turned into weeks, and Bruce has been rigorously working, not coming up with any progress. He's become angrier and more obsessive. He’s barely eaten. He hasn’t shaven. He hasn’t bathed. He's interrogated every possible suspect, including Tim Drake, the current Robin, Oracle, and even his longtime friend, Commissioner Jim Gordon. Everyone except two people: Alfred, who Bruce knew didn’t do it, and the only person who knew Joker better than Bruce ever had. Harleen Quinzel, the Joker’s now ex-lover. This was something Bruce had been dreading, but if anyone knew anything Bruce needed to know, it was Harley Quinn.  

12:25 AM

            Batman arrived at Arkham Asylum, the clubhouse of sorts that housed just about every one of Batman’s enemies. Things in here have been different since he had last showed. When Joker’s death first happened, Bruce had gone here to interrogate the likes of Harvey Dent and Edward Nygma, but he did not seek out Harley. It made the most sense to question her, but the night Joker died, Quinn went into a catatonic state for days. She was more surprised about Joker’s death than anyone else. She was his lover; his abused lover. What would she have to contribute to the investigation, other than tears and false accusations?

            “Right this way, Batman,” said a guard leading him to Harley’s cell, “I should warn you, though. She’s been… different since, well, you know…” Saying nothing, Batman walked in. To his surprise, Harley was sitting still at her table dressed in her loosened straightjacket, playing solitaire. A picture of the Joker was standing across from her with kiss marks and X’s and O’s painted in what Batman would only assume is her blood. Batman approached her slowly, “Harley, I—““You wanna play rummy, B-Man? Mr. J says he bored of solitaire,” Harley said hoarsely, her blonde hair in a wiry mess. Batman was shocked. If she wasn’t crazy before, she’s lost it now. It looks as if she’d been talking to Joker’s picture ever since she woke up from her shock-induced coma. Realizing this was a waste of time, Batman turned to leave.  

            “Hey!” Harley yelled, “I’m talkin’ to you B-Man! Now sit down and play rummy with me and Mr. J! He’s bored!” She paused for a second, looking at the picture as if she’s listening to it. “Waitasec,” she said quickly, realizing something, “Did you do it? Nah, you couldn’t’ve done it. There’s no way, you don’t do that stuff, B-Man.” Just before Batman could reply to her insane babble, she got up and walked toward him. “But it makes sense. You never liked my puddin’. You hated Mr. J. If anyone did anything to him, it was you…” Harley was starting to tear up. She started to scowl. “YOU DID IT! WHY DID YOU DO IT, B-MAN! I LOVED HIM! HE LOVED YOU! WE WAS ONE BIG HAPPY FAMILY! I KNOW YOU DID IT! I HATE YOU!” Harley lost it. She ran up to Batman and hit him harder than she’d ever hit anyone before. Failing her arms, she scratched Batman’s face with her long, un-kept fingernails. “I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!” She started crying; she had no idea what she was doing. All she knew was that she didn’t want to see Batman alive. Batman gripped her wrists as she struggled, looked her in the eyes and quietly said, “Harley… I miss him too.” She stopped struggling. Batman let go. She buried her face in his chest, throwing her arms around him. They stood there for hours.

            Finally, after Batman left Arkham, he headed home. He felt empty. “Maybe I should just stop,” Batman thought to himself, thinking of the advice Dick and Jason gave to him. He's shunned out everyone, including Alfred, who only watched as Bruce worked. “Maybe things will actually turn around for once," Bruce thought, as he parked the car straight on its platform, walking up the staircase. "Now that Joker’s gone, maybe Gotham will be at peace. Maybe I will be at peace.” First thing tomorrow night, Bruce was going to go out on patrol, something he hadn’t done in weeks.  

            Alfred, who hasn't spoken much since the night he murdered the Joker, noticed Bruce’s change in attitude as he took a shower for the first time in three weeks. He should be happy that Bruce is doing somewhat better, but something was eating away at him. “He questioned everyone. Even Master Richard and Master Timothy, practically his own sons, but he didn’t question me. Why didn’t he ever question me?” thought Alfred, watching Bruce walking to his bedroom. “Maybe he cracked. Maybe he’s in such denial that he just doesn’t care about it anymore… Maybe—“and that’s when it hit him, “Maybe… he knows it was me. Maybe he’s waiting for me to confess.” Alfred didn’t sleep that night.  

The Next Day 8:23 PM

            Bruce went about the day like it was a normal Sunday. Not thinking that Bruce was going on patrol, Alfred went to the Cave. He stared at all the data. The charts of the funhouse, the schematics of the weapon used, the Joker’s DNA analysis, it was all still here. In fact, Bruce must have snuck out last night while Alfred was trying to sleep to re-check the data. He hasn’t left it alone. Alfred should have known better. “Bruce is always prepared,” Alfred thought, “He is always ready. He will never accept defeat. He wants to know the truth, but he just will not let it go. Why on Earth is Bruce still at this rubbish?! He should be happy that that maniac is gone!”

11:38 PM

            Finally, after hours of agony, and arguments with himself, Alfred decides to be the better man and admit to his crime. This was something that he never thought he would have to explain, and he wasn’t sure how to approach it. “Master Bruce, may I have a word?” he began, “There’s something that needs to be done.” Bruce looked at him, quizzically, “I killed the Joker.” At first, Bruce is in denial. “That’s not funny, Alfred,” Bruce said, scowling as he put on his cowl. “Master Bruce… Bruce… I did it,” Alfred said, only this time, in a more concerned tone. Batman’s eyes widened. “No. How could he have done it so cleanly? When could he have done it? Why would he do it?” Bruce thought to himself, with his expressionless eyes fixed on Alfred, his caretaker since birth. Alfred calmly explains to the quiet Batman, standing 6’3” above Alfred’s frailer height of 5’8”, “I’ve been your servant ever since you were born. I know exactly how to clean up any mess without you ever knowing what happened.” Batman was motionless, his mouth now open. It all makes sense. "I did it for your own good Master Bruce. He was a cancer to you and this city, and he had to be dealt with by means you would never go by. He was killing you." Furious, Bruce lunges at him, beating him nearly unconscious, "YOU MURDEROUS PIECE OF FILTH! WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT?! WHY WOULD YOU EVER--?!" He stopped once the rage cleared, noticing Alfred's pulverized face. "I'm sorry Master Bruce. I truly am," Alfred gasps as he's been beaten to a bloody pulp, "But once you get passed this, you'll realize that I did it for you. Your parents would be so proud. I couldn't let his blood fall on your hands. I love you, son."  

11:59 PM

            He's gone.  

Alfred Pennyworth 1949-2012

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This is actually REALLY good. A lot better than my first fan fic, anyways! :P

One thing I would suggest, however, is that you not use quotation marks for when someone is thinking. I'd suggest bolding or italicizing thoughts, as quotation marks show someone speaking, and thus can get confusing if used to show thought process.

Hope that helps. :D