A.N: Warning, AU, Twisted Bart. Not Canon, or connected to any of my other stories! You have been warned!
Previously on Life Goes On:
And Bart was Twenty-five when Bob saw him last.
He was in the library, working there at last, when someone entered the library. The sound of a door being opened and then closed shut was clear in the otherwise silent building. Probably some cretin thinking this was a good place to hide from a friend, or make out with a partner.
Bob closed his eyes, still working on the books, when the footsteps stopped directly behind him and a man said "can't a patron get some service?"
"So, Can't a patron get some service?" said the man from behind him. Bob winced, and turned "how can I-" he turned only to see him.
"Hello, Bob"
Bob froze.
Then, screamed "Arrghhhhh! Bart Simpson!" as he jumped back. But he forgot the bookshelves behind him. his back collided with the hard books, and he winced.
Bart stood in front of him with an amused smirk on his face. "So that's how I looked like, all those years ago" he said to himself with a mock look of wonder on his face.
The boy with unruly hair the same color as his skin. Time had fared him well, no longer had he the fat belly his childhood form used to, his fat turned into muscle, the man in front of him had no similarities to the boy other than the hair. The man in front of him didn't wear the shorts and T-shirt, he no longer had the easygoing look of mischief on his face.
The look on his face was the sign of nothing but the hardened look of a cruel sadistic man.
"You really thought I wouldn't find you? what, you thought I was the same dumb kid who'd fell for your trap out of guilt?" he took a step forward, making Bob take a step back. "You thought I was too stupid to notice the new librarian in my area was such a snob nobody even went to the place anymore?" his fingers danced on the bookshelves, dropping the books one by one as he crept towards Bob. "You thought I would be fooled? After all the times your plans fell to me?"
Bob growled, "I suggest you leave this place immediately!", tone calmed in white anger, hands clenched into fists.
Bart simply laughed as he walked towards him, Bob now hitting the wall.
"Sure. That might have worked when you were the big, scary adult and I was the ten-year-old idiot who couldn't solve the easiest problems" he said, and Bob finally noticed that he was, for the first time in the many times the two had faced each other, shorter than the Simpson boy. Shorter, and not even close in strength.
For the first time, Bob was the one in fear. Not yet shaking, but still terrified.
"you always used big words, Bob." Said Bart as he crept closer and closer, "Such big, complicated, sophisticated words. I always wondered how none of your plans ever worked, how you always failed at everything" he picked a book from nearby, the Republic of Plato, and looked at it. "Then I finally realized why you were the worst mastermind ever. It was because you were not smart nor cunning. In fact," walked five more steps, saying one word as he took the step, "Words were All you had!" finally stopping in front of him, eyes cold as the snow outside.
Bob had seen terrifying men before, but never like this. Never was he this fearful just by words alone, but fortunately, he was stronger than what Bart had thought.
If he was going down, he'd give as good as he'd get.
He lunged at the muscle-bound man, planning to knock him down, but then, Bart struck with his hand. The book, The Republic, hit Bob and he span, before falling, grabbing the nearby shelve to stop his fall.
"Why are you here?" he asked as he spat one of his teeth and a lot of blood.
"To end this, Bob. to do what you tried to do thirteen years ago. to end you." he said, a drawn switchblade falling from his sleeve into his hand, one that he pointed at the former Criminal.
Like any other man, the threat of a knife destroyed all logic in bob's mind. He got up to his feet, and began running, escaping further into the library.
Bart laughed mercilessly, "running towards the back of the maze, instead of the obvious front door" he shook his head, but continued to walk towards the man, who now dropped a bookshelf on his way, hoping to block his way.
Bob yelled "Why? Why do you torment me so?" as he ran. Sadly, he was poorly out of shape these days, for after not even a half hour of running, he was already panting. Bart had caught up with him. "What problem do you have with me?"
"oh, I don't know!" Bart, in the same tone as before, one highly amused with a hidden tone of cruelty in it, answered, "maybe it's all those times I had to watch my every move." He punched Bob in the gut, "All those times I was the only one who saw you for what you were!" a punch to the chest, "all those times I was just a second short of death, and had to return from that, only to have it happen to me all over again!" Bart grabbed Bob's shoulder, and slammed him to the wall, his other hand formed into a fist, aimed for his face. "maybe it's because you tried to do the same and worse to me, more times than I care to remember, before I was even a teen!" his aim was true.
Bob saw red, and heard a CRUNCH, before noticing the man had broken his nose, and before the pain settled in.
"or maybe it's because, for once, I am stronger!" he said, and then pulled back his fist for another punch.
Bob spat some more blood, and then said "but what next? What about when they find me?"
Bart said "what? do you think you'll be in a state to tell them whodunit?" he laughed, "Now, I'm going to take some advice that was given to you by Lenny, and kill you without much of a delay"
his fist met the man's face again, and again, and again. by the time Bart had stopped, most probably because his fist was exhausted from all the punching, Bob's vision was already dimming.
"And as for after it?" he pulled his badge out. "Meet Bart Simpson, Chief Detective of Springfield Police Department"
Bob could see it.
How had the boy become a detective that fast?
"and I believe I have the right to self-defense, seeing as you attacked first!" he said with a cruel smirk. "goodbye, Bob. see you on the other side later, if there is one"
And the last thing he saw was the knife, getting closer and closer to his face.
The end
A.N:
Okay, this was something I had to do.
It's not a good story, I know. But it was just something I had to do.
On another note, I found out that I am not capable of writing a crazy killer, because Whatever I did, Bart turned out to be a vengeful killer instead of just plain crazy.
Meh.
Until later (hopefully, with something fluffier, but probably not…)
Davoid, Signing off!
