WARNING: I do not own Batman. Or, you know, any other DC comics character. I'm not sure if saying this means anything, like they can't slap me with a SLAPP suit, or if it's just tradition, but, hey, here it is.
Chapter One: A Chill-y Night
He took his son to his best friend's birthday party, it was white in the bottom and blue on top. They talked about girls and she unlocked the door with a Gold Key®. But every party has a party pooper, a yellow runt, yelling grunts, who brings the same gifts and eats all the food and makes you wish you were somewhere else, someone else.
It happened to Ulysses, and to Ulysses'.
But, that was in the past, when he was a grown man. Now, he's a child. He's a crimefighter, a creature of the night, clad in black, with a cowl covering his face. The terror of crime and corruption, his secret identity unknown to any but his trainer and confidant. He is Zorro.
He is Zorro as Diego fights and puts on his costume, he punches villains out of moving trains and cuts a mark on their bouffant shirts, which was the style of the time. He rescues the innocent and punishes the guilty, his eyes glimmer with black and white and grey and silver from the silver screen. He cuts Catherine Zeta Jones' dress, and she's topless, that's around forty five minutes, thirty two seconds in, but you don't see boobs because she has long PG-13 hair. Still, mom doesn't approve. Oh, mom…
Dad's there too, and he has a nice mustache, a bit like Zorro's mustache, and it seems like he fights crime too, he was dressed as a bat, but I'm not sure that's canon nowadays. He was bat dad and now people are out for blood, but the only blood he drinks is the blood he draws with a needle for tests and science-based medicine because he's a doctor. He's doctor Wayne, out on a night with the happy family. The pretty wife, the good son, who loves superheroes, but loves his mom and dad more because they're real heroes, and heroes are forever, or are they?
It's a chilly night, meaning a night full of Chills, and one of those chills is Joe. Joe is a gun for hire, but much uglier and lamer than you'd expect. He wears a cabby hat and borrowed a couple of chins from his friends to protect from the cold, but his heart is what's cold as he moves for the kill.
"Stop right there playboy" says Chill, scumbaggily.
"Easy there, we don't want any trouble..." dad diplomatizes. Doesn't matter, Joe Chill wants trouble. He wants to feel big, because he's actually quite small, if you know what I mean (tiny penis).
Joe's got a replacement, and he moves the piece to mom, says the pearls are real, they're real rich, the Waynes, real rich like rich Royals, but let's be real, real pearls can break and scatter down. Joe's a pig, so mom threw her pearls before him, he looks at them.
That's not usually how it goes. You don't throw your pearls before the swine, that's in the bible (dad's a Methodist or something) so she changed the script. Director says cut, but dad says uppercut.
Joe's eyes are eyeballing balls of oyster cancer, but the real cancer is Joe, so nothing's too bad for Joe, and dad takes a page of Diego's book and punches Joe right in the chins, which are chilled glass. Now you and I know criminals are a superstitious, cowardly lot, and the most superstitious, most coward of them is Joe, so when the tables turn he goes from assailant to (deserving) victim. Dad wails on him, something he's usually quite averse to, just ask young B.W., something he wouldn't do to a dog.
But Joe Chill is lower than a dog, lower than a cat, lower than bacteria and virii and neutrinos, so he gets what he deserves, not a necklace from the rich Martha, but a pair of metal bracelets from Lieutenant Gordon's collection, those will go well with his new metal toilet, back in jail. Nightmare's over. Bruce isn't Zorro, but dad is. Don Thomas, and now the Lieut is getting talky.
"I've clinched this guy lots of time, usually low level stuff, but it seems he's working for a syndicate this time, doc." says the copper-haired copper.
"Probably targeted me after I played hero at the natural museum costume gala." answered Doctor Dad.
"Could be, but Chill's the type of fellow who will talk the moment we threaten him with life." said Lieutenant Gordon. Should've threaten him with death, if you ask me. "Still, I think you could do with some police protection."
Little Bruce (which is me, right?) was scared and crying, but he knew one thing that night, and that's that his dad's a hero. If dad wears white during the day, he saves lives, and wearing black at night, he saves lives. So nothing broke, and Bruce was happy and proud. His mom held me tight and told him everything would be alright, and it was true because it wasn't a lie.
Lieutenant Gordon sent the three back to the mansion with patrol cars being the electrons to the Rolls Royce nucleus, and dad called a family meeting, featuring the help as supporting characters. He knew Bruce needed to take care of Bruce, and the cops couldn't be around forever.
But Alfred might've been a Pennyworth, but he was worth more than a penny. He used to wear a rat on his arm, and he knew guns, and it's never too early to teach kids.
"I say, sir, I must protest." Protested Alfred, but Thomas put his bat-foot down. Teach Bruce, said dad, hunt with him and train him, because my son won't be afraid of guns anymore. You're my best friend, and I saved your life with a grenade got the better of you, so now you save my son's life.
Not the best, but Alfred was the help, and the help helps. Just like in the movies.