A/N: So, the other day I came across a particular fanart drawn by deviant artist, maryfgr23, that depicted what the Gothamverse Bruce and Selina would look like if thrown into the Gotham by Gaslight Elseworld storyline (aka Earth 19).

Gotham by Gaslight is essentially a 'what would happen' story in which all the characters of Batman are thrown into the Victorian Era, with the main villain being Jack the Ripper. Anyways, I wrote a two-part pilot based off of it. Let me know what you think. Hope you enjoy!

Pilot: By Gaslight

Unsettling smog settled over Gotham City.

Something was wrong; you could feel it in the air.

However, until the next morning, few Gothamites would know the details of the tragedy which had occurred that very night, although the child's scream set all within earshot on edge.

A family had been walking down an alley towards their flat in the city.

Bruce Wayne's parents, Thomas and Martha Wayne, had taken him to the circus that'd come through town like it always did around his birthday.

They'd entered the alleyway laughing. His father did a goofy impression of one of the clowns, earning a joyous cackle from his only son.

"So, how was it, dear?" Bruce's mother asked the boy.

"It was excellent," Bruce responded. "I enjoyed the trapeze artists, especially."

"Yes, they were most extraordinary, if not a bit dangerous," his father added.

"Evenin' folks," a voice down the alley interjected.

A masked figure stepped out into their path from practically nowhere. He pulled a gun out from his cloak and aimed it at them, saying, "Those are some nice pearls you got there, Miss." The alleyway was dark but Bruce could've sworn he saw smile lines scrunch up around the man's eyes. "Hand it over," he lulled.

Thomas had stepped out in front of his wife and child, shielding them with his body. He held his hands in the air and told their adversary, "Not a problem. Martha, hand me your necklace, will you darling?"

Bruce's mother's hands were shaking furiously as she went to undo the clasp of her priceless family heirloom. She almost got if off cleanly, but one of the strands broke and pearls went rolling and bouncing all over the brick road.

Thomas took the remainder of the necklace and slowly handed it to the thief, showing no form of threat to the man with the gun.

Their attacker chuckled, saying, "Thank you, and for the record, this isn't personal. It's just business."

Bruce heard the gunshot ring out, the sharp sound echoing between the walls of the tightly packed buildings.

He watched in shock as a ripple traveled through his father's body and he dropped to the floor, a dark crimson spot developing on his shirt.

Bruce heard his mother gasp. She grabbed him and shielded him with her body as a second shot rang out in the alleyway.

Bruce felt his mother go still and drop to the ground, a similar crimson stain forming on her lower back.

Petrified, Bruce simply stood there as his attacker pointed the gun in his face. Bruce thought that that was going to be the last thing he ever saw, a masked man holding him at gunpoint, standing over the lifeless bodies of his parents.

The man let out a sinister laugh, saying, "Good for you, kid. Takin' it like a champ."

He pulled the trigger.

"Bloody hell, boy," Alfred scolded. "If you wanna work here you'd better clean the pints right, eh?"

Bruce huffed. "But I did clean them."

Alfred grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, forcing him to look at the inside of the cup. "This look clean to you, boy?" he asked. Bruce didn't respond, and Alfred squeezed down on his neck. "Well do it?"

Bruce shook his head. "No, I missed a spot."

"Bloody right, you did. Lucky I don't pitch you out like the last one of you lot who worked 'ere," Alfred told him. He let go of the boy's neck and commanded, "Now get back to cleaning the pints. The coal miners'll be comin' in soon."

Bruce rubbed his neck and threw a dirty look at the man's back.

Alfred Pennyworth ran an old-timey English pub in the Narrows called The Admiral's Crown, which always drew a consistent crowd of both workers and lowlifes in the afternoons and evenings.

He would hire teens from the streets to bartend or clean or do whatever else he could think of.

Granted, he was rough and a bit rude with the street kids, but he offered them a place to stay and an income, which was a better opportunity than most of them would ever get somewhere else.

Bruce had only been working there a couple of days, and he already resented the man. However, he also knew that this was his best chance at a normal life, so he kept his mouth shut and went back to work.

Other than the income and a place to sleep, The Admiral's Crown was an incredible opportunity for Bruce.

It'd been two years since his parent's murders, and the police department had all but forgotten the case's existence. With no witnesses and little evidence to work with, the case had simply run cold.

But Bruce hadn't forgotten.

He'd been investigating privately for over a year and a half, and had learned a lot about the Gotham Criminal Underworld from his research.

He'd figured out that people tended to speak freely in bars, and they spoke of things that they typically wouldn't when sober. Bruce had learned a lot from the ramblings of half-knackered police officers or crooks who'd came into the pub.

Speaking of crooks, Don Carmine Falcone himself walked into The Admiral's Crown, flanked by several other well dressed men.

While Alfred rushed up to seat him and his entourage personally, Bruce calmly and coolly made his way over to clean off a table opposite to the infamous crime boss, just within earshot.

Alfred brought back a round of drinks and Falcone said, "Thank you, old friend. I've missed this place."

Alfred nodded. "Thank you, Don Falcone. If there is anything you need, please let me know. "

He walked off and Falcone started talking to the other two men at the table, saying, "I've missed Gotham."

One of the other two men, a bit taller and stronger looking than his counterpart, told Falcone, "And Gotham has missed you, ever since you left…"

An awkward silence fell between the two men.

Falcone cleared his throat and asked, "Mr. Sionis, is there something you'd like to ask me?"

The tall man nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but the shorter of the two answered for him.

He had walked into the pub with a funny gait and he spoke in an odd eastern European accent. "Don Falcone, Mr. Sionis and I were wondering if it was true that you had the Waynes killed…and that was why you left Gotham two years ago."

Bruce froze.

He'd heard that rumor, too, but he hadn't believed it. Even so, everything seemed to fit into place. The timing of him leaving, the motive he would've had to kill his parents, since they were such influential people, it all pointed towards the same conclusion.

However, Bruce remained in control and listened for the Don's answer.

Falcone sighed. "Mr. Cobblepot, you really mustn't believe rumors. I left Gotham after the Wayne murders out of fear for my own life."

Apparently that wasn't the answer Cobblepot or Sionis were expecting, as neither responded for a few seconds.

"So…you didn't order the hit on the Waynes?" Sionis asked.

"No, Richard, I did not have the Waynes killed."

Cobblepot was at a loss for words. "Well then…who did?" he asked his boss.

Falcone shook his head. "I wish I knew. I'd put that son of a bitch's head in a vice and squeeze him till his eyes pop out. Thomas was a good friend to me." He hummed. "I wonder what happened to the boy…what was his name?"

"Bruce Wayne," Cobblepot answered.

"Right, him. Well, word was that he saw the whole thing and then disappeared soon after. I couldn't imagine watching my mother die in front of me, eh Oswald?" Falcone asked pointedly.

Bruce saw the short man's jaw clench. "No, I couldn't imagine such a thing," Cobblepot responded icily. Bruce saw his hand start to drift towards a knife on the table, but he balled it up, as if forcing himself to not take it and stab the Don.

Clearly, there was another factor at play between the two.

Falcone nodded. "Anyhow, I've certainly missed Gotham. But, onto business: how has Loeb been doing in my absence?"

Sionis shrugged. "He's done well enough, but…" he trailed off.

"But?" Falcone asked, setting his drink down and folding his hands expectantly.

"Well, there's a new detective in the GCPD that has been causing trouble recently," Sionis told him.

"Ah, well we can't be having that, now can we?" Falcone asked. "Zsasz, put out a hit on the detective," he said to one of the guards. "Let people know I'm back in town and that order will be restored."

"Don Falcone," Cobblepot began shakily, "forgive me, but I fear you may not want to do that."

"And why not, my dear Penguin?" he asked.

Cobblepot visibly winced at the name, but continued, "Well, the detective in question's name is James Gordon."

Falcone raised his brow in surprise. "As in the son of the old District Attorney, Peter Gordon?" he asked. The short man nodded and Falcone said, "As usual, you're right, my friend. Zsasz, hold off on that hit."

The completely bald man nodded. "Yes sir…" he trailed off.

Bruce felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He realized he'd been standing completely still at the table he'd been 'cleaning off' for far too long.

He started to walk away, but a firm hand was set on his shoulder. Bruce turned and saw Zsasz smiling down at him. "Hey, kid," he lulled.

The three men at the table looked up at Bruce.

"Don Falcone, I think we've got a rat from Maroni on our hands. Want me to exterminate him?" Zsasz asked, taking a firm hold on Bruce's collar.

"No, I'm not," Bruce argued. "I don't work for Maroni, I swear it on…"

"Quiet!" Zsasz commanded.

The Admiral's Crown had gone eerily silent, and all eyes were on them.

Falcone looked Bruce up and down, before calmly and simply asking him, "What is your name, son?"

He gulped. "I'm Bruce," he answered.

"Your full name, please," Falcone requested.

Bruce clenched his jaw in defiance. Ever since he'd gotten away from the police who'd showed up at the crime scene, he hadn't told a soul his full name.

Bruce Wayne was as good as dead.

No one seemed to care either. Since he'd been the only heir to the Wayne family fortune, a lot of the money had been stolen by the mayor's office and other city officials as no one defended the money of the dead.

Zsasz punched Bruce hard in his side, saying through gritted teeth, "When Don Falcone asks you a question, you answer, ya little piece of…"

Ah, what the hell? Bruce thought.

"I'm Bruce Wayne," he finally blurted out.

Had he not been so scared, he probably would've laughed at the look on Cobblepot's face.

Even Falcone seemed surprised. He had Zsasz bring Bruce closer to him and after taking a good long look, Bruce saw recognition flash in his eyes. "Yes you are." He smiled to himself. "Cobblepot, grab a chair for young Mr. Wayne here," he ordered.

Eventually Penguin overcame his surprise and did as he was told, although with an obvious attitude at being forced to tend to a fourteen year old.

Bruce tentatively sat down like he was told to. Falcone smiled at him and asked, "So, Mr. Wayne, where have you been?" Bruce shrugged in response and Falcone nodded. "Fair answer. I'm guessing that you overheard our conversation about your parents?" he asked.

"Yes, I did," Bruce answered.

Falcone nodded. He looked up at Sionis and Cobblepot and asked, "Why are you two still here?"

The two immediately stood up and walked away, although Penguin threw a dirty glare at Bruce as he shut the door of The Admiral's Crown.

Falcone nodded to his guards, saying, "I don't think there'll be a problem."

Zsasz and his team left Bruce and Falcone alone at the table.

Bruce cleared his throat and started, "I have some questions for you, sir…"

"I'm sure you do," Falcone agreed.

Suddenly, no longer surrounded by his entourage, Falcone seemed less like an infamous mob boss and more like a tired old man.

"Bruce, your father and I were not only friends, we were partners," Falcone told him. He picked up a bottle of salt and a bottle of pepper and put them side by side, saying, "You see, Gotham has always been supported by two pillars: the pillar of light," he held up the salt, "and the pillar of darkness." He held up the pepper for Bruce to see and continued, "In recent times, and as you can probably guess, I was the pillar of darkness…"

"And my father was the pillar of light," Bruce finished.

Falcone nodded. "We were two sides of the same coin and all we wanted was the best for Gotham. Then, one morning, I heard the news. With the pillar of light gone," he removed the salt from the table and continued, "All that was left was the darkness. So I left, fearing that if I didn't, Gotham would fall apart and be overrun by crime. That is why I left." He sighed. "Bruce, I loved your father like a brother, and I'm sorry that your empire has been reduced to this," he gestured to the pub and Bruce's ratty clothes. "If you'd like, I'd be happy to help you recover what is rightfully yours…"

"Thank you, Don Falcone," Bruce interrupted, "but I'm not interested in money."

Falcone raised an eyebrow. "Well then, what are you interested in?"

Bruce looked at Falcone quizzically. He decided to be honest and answered, "I want to find my parent's killer. I want to make him pay for what he did."

Falcone dropped his gaze to the table. "Bruce, I need to tell you something that you can never repeat again for the rest of your life. I lied. I know who killed your parents, or at least, I know of him."

Bruce's jaw dropped. "Who?"

Falcone pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "A dangerous man, Bruce. I deal with dangerous men for a living, but him…he's something else. He's something worse than a man. He appears, kills, and disappears into thin air."

"What is his name?" Bruce asked.

Falcone sighed. "No one knows who he really is, but he goes by an alias. The few survivors said he had a psychotic laugh, and one man who'd seen his face said he had a blood red lips and deformed smile. People call him the Joker."

The name passed through the room like a wave of cold.

"The Joker?" Bruce asked. He stood from the table and told Falcone, "Thank you for your help," before abruptly turning on his heel and walking towards the back.

Falcone called for him to come back, that it all was too dangerous, that this business was no place for a child, but Bruce was already out the back door of the pub and onto the streets of Gotham.

He scaled the side of a brick building and found his way onto the rooftops where he sat and thought over the new information he'd received. "So, the Joker, huh?" he asked aloud.

A/N: Sorry for the abrupt end, but I realized that the Pilot was gonna be too long if I kept it as one chapter, so I'm going to split it into two parts. The second chapter should come out very soon after this one, so stick around. If you enjoyed or have any questions about this story/Elseworld timeline, make sure to review. Thanks for reading!

(PS. If the creator of the fanart has written a series based off of these characters, please let me know. I looked all over fanfiction and found nothing, so I don't believe that that is the case, but I might've missed something. I don't want to steal her work. Thanks)