Author's Acknowledgement: A shout out to the Comic Book Cast (in particular Joel) for inspiring this fanfiction. It's about as ridiculous as you'd imagine.

Chapter 1

The Wayne family walk down a dark, deserted alleyway, laughing and chuckling amongst themselves.

"Well, I think the play was good," Thomas Wayne argues playfully to his young son.

"It was okay. There was something about it though. It was just a concept that's been done so many times before. From the moment it started, you already knew where the story was going," Bruce replies.

"Well, aren't you perceptive," Martha smiles down at him.

Just then, a gang of thugs dressed in black, their facial features hidden, step out from the darkness of the alleyway. The Wayne family stops as they're blocked by these men. The thugs get into a pyramid line, with one prominent thug in the front.

"Am I Joe Chill, or Jack Napier?" he asks, "We will see, in a dance to the death!"

And with that, he and the thugs start dancing, splaying their hands out and bending their knees, their shiny shoes tapping against the wet concrete ground.

Confused, Bruce Wayne watches as his parents step in front of him, spinning into their own dance. Martha takes Thomas' hand and they begin to tango, Martha's high heels splashing water as they dance along the shallow puddles.

"C'mon Bruce, we can take them! Dance with us!" Thomas encourages, reaching his arm out to him.

Bruce remains motionless, and stiff, "I-I don't know how."

Thomas smiles, "That's okay son."

The thugs finish their dance by stomping on the ground, criss-crossing their hands before striking a pose. The thug in front draws a gun, and, as if to the beat of an invisible tune, shoots both Thomas and Martha Wayne in the chest. Signing off, the thugs slink off, disappearing as fast as they came.

Bruce falls to his knees and screams, as the camera pans out to a wide shot.

Several months later

Bruce stands in front of his sixteen inch television, watching a performance of the Nutcracker, and trying to imitate the movements of the dancers on screen. He tries to stand on his tippy-toes and do a slow twirl, like the lead dancer, but the moment he tries to move his toes, he trips up and stumbles.

Alfred walks into the room, and Bruce jumps back onto the couch, grabbing the remote and switching the channel to an episode of the Gray Ghost.

"I saw that. Training for the ballet, are you, Master Bruce?" he asks, his tone still stern despite the jokey line.

He turns around to the butler standing in the doorway, "N-no. Just fascinated by their movements."

Alfred nods, "Well, I have some news for you," he steps out of the doorway, allowing the young girl to enter the room.

"This is Ms. Selina Kyle. She's a key witness in your parents' murder, and as part of witness protection...she will be staying with us," he informs Bruce.

Selina, with one hand on her hip, gives a curt nod, "'Sup."

"Hello," Bruce smiles.

"Well, I'll be conveniently leaving you two unsupervised now," Alfred mumbles before closing the door.

Bruce stands up from the couch, and approaches Selina, "Bruce Wayne, pleasure-"

"Yeah, I know who you are. And also, call me Cat," she interrupts him.

He raises an eyebrow, "...Cat? Don't you think that name is a little...on the nose?"

"Huh?"

"Well, with your appearance. The black leather, goggles that resemble cat ears, it couldn't be a coincidence that you've decided to call yourself 'Cat'," Bruce explains.

She crosses her arms, "I don't need a therapist, thank you very much."

Selina leans over to see the television, "Whatcha watching?"

He turns around, "Oh, the Gray Ghost. It's a great show-"

"No thanks. What else is on?" she walks past Bruce and hops over the couch to snag the remote.

She turns to the next channel, the broadcast of the Nutcracker, "Ha, what kind of dancing is this? It's dancing for old people, is what it is."

"You know how to dance?" Bruce asks, sitting down on the couch with her.

She glances around, contemplating her answer, "I dance...a little."

"Well, maybe you could show me your techniques," he suggests.

"Why do you want to learn to dance anyway? You don't seem like a kid who could...you know...bust a move," she observes, getting out of her seat.

Bruce braces himself to deliver an awful lot of exposition, "My parents were murdered by a gang of dancing thugs. It was my fault, I didn't know how to dance and couldn't assist them in the dance battle. Now my mission has become to seek out these dancing thugs and take my revenge."

"...seems plausible," Selina shrugs off, "so, you wanna learn how to dance?"

He nods, "Yes, please. I've tried every dance teacher in Gotham, most of them give up on me within a week."

"You can't learn how to dance from some stuffy old teacher," she argues, "dancing is something that comes naturally, it comes from the soul."

"That's...rather inciteful coming from you. Alright, Selina, can you teach me the ways of dance?"

She holds up a finger, "First off, don't say it like that. And yeah, I'll teach you."

Bruce smiles, "Great. Where should we start?"