"Gotham"
A 'Smallville' fan fiction
All characters are owned by DC Comics, Warner Brothers, and their respective partners.
'Superman' was created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster.
'Batman' was created by Bob Kane
Timeframe: The summer between "Vortex" and "Heat" in season two
Disclaimer: I own plenty, but not these characters (not even Kaminski, not yet anyway…)
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: Instead of having Bruce Wayne come to Smallville, I wanted Clark Kent to come to Gotham. I wanted to re-imagine Batman's origin to a very short extent. You will see many, many of the same things about Batman's past you've always heard. But if you look at it, there is room to grow in the origin of Batman, and since Smallville is all about origins, why not introduce another of the World's Finest? I'm not going to pull a JJ Abrams and make Bruce homosexual, have Alfred be a robot, or the existence of Wayne Enterprises a mere myth. I loved these characters since I was very young, starting with Batman: The Animated Series and with this fiction I am just putting the characters in different places. What if Clark Kent witnessed the murder of Bruce's parents, and who exactly was behind it? I'm only bringing you a "what if?" story that hopefully will entertain and make you happy when it ends.
Twelve: Thursday
The darkness brewing inside Bruce pushed him and filled his eyes with the glow of vengeful adrenaline. The whipping back his gray suit pants and white button up shirt as the border of the gaping hole dropped bits and pieces while it rapidly burned. The flames jumped and the bit of wood fell in bunches of fiery ash.
He stood before Kaminski, eyeing him, waiting for the final chance. He stepped forward.
Kaminski chuckled under his breath and stepped sideward, a smile growing across his face.
Clark hid himself even further into the darkness, suddenly remembering Lex. He crouched down and ran across the floor toward the storage room where Lex would still be lying unconscious, if all had gone to plan…
"Clock tower tango," Kaminski growled.
Bruce didn't answer, just another two steps forward. The room was silent, but the sounds of the police cruisers, whirling choppers, and wind whipping the roaring flames made the room as quiet as an Irish bar on Saint Patrick's Day.
Kaminski reached into his pocket.
Bruce took a quick step forward and reached out his hand in caution.
Out of his pocket he pulled a tiny object, shaped like a bat, metallic and only about one inch in size. If the little trinket was any more like a toy it could have been mistaken for a prize from a box of cereal.
Bruce ran forward and smacked the trinket out of Kaminski's hand and kicked him to the ground. Kaminski flew back and slid near the ledge, the sweat from his palm streaking on the tiles as he struggled to stop himself.
The trinket bounced away from them and landed belly-side up, causing the little yellow button on its back to be pushed in. Its little wings fluttered and it flew up, zipped past Bruce's head as he stared, startled, at what was happening.
He jumped and tried to catch it, but he was too late, it flew through the gaping hole and right into the news helicopter that was floating outside. Before the cameraman could blink, the helicopter was turned into a ball of flames as it blew into a thousand pieces.
The explosion caused a huge surge that flung Kaminski, now on fire from the explosion as well, right into Bruce. The two of them tumbled back as the floor where the hole had been blown out was now collapsing from the helicopter's explosion.
News choppers outside struggled to get a good view of the action, but the inferno crawling up the side of the building caught the fire department's attention, and they were directed to stay far away from any dangerous circumstances until the firemen could get up there.
Bruce kicked back Kaminski and jumped up, watching Kaminski rolling around on the floor, screaming from pain, attempting to put out the fire that ate at his clothing. Bruce walked over to the kitchen and frantically searched through the cabinets. He opened the pantry and found a wonderful tool, the fire extinguisher.
Bruce didn't bother with actually using the extinguisher; he just walked over to Kaminski with it in hand and dropped it on the psychopath's foot.
"Getting hot in here?" Bruce asked, noticing Kaminski had most of the fire out.
"Go to hell…" Kaminski moaned as he frantically swerved his back around the floor, "I am not one to plug silly rap songs!"
"You just killed two more innocent people! Congratulations Gerald!" Bruce yelled over the blowing wind.
"Hooray for me, and boohoo for you," Kaminski laughed obnoxiously, cradling his foot and trying to cover the pain.
And without notice he hopped up on one leg and swung his fist straight into Bruce's nose! Bruce bent back but felt no pain, only a strain of blood streaming from his right nostril. He responded unscathed kicking in Kaminski's knee on his standing leg. Kaminski fell back down and smacked the cold floor yelling, "Stupid little shovel, and obey your owner!"
The floor crashed and it began to sink from the fiery inferno of the explosion's hole. Bits and pieces rose as it began to sink on a ramp, causing everything in the room to start to slip toward the hole.
Bruce jumped for a pillar and clenched on, watching as a yellow sofa from the living room area slid over and picked Kaminski up from his resting spot. He was so badly wounded he couldn't fight it, and barely even tried to bother.
"Get me off here!" Kaminski screamed as the gap between him and Bruce grew larger, but the gap between him and the streets of Gotham grew smaller.
Bruce jumped off the pillar and jogged behind the sofa, watching every step he took
"It has been oh so much fun Kaminski, but the picture of you being drug out of here by a couch…too priceless. Face it. 'Former Head of Wayne Enterprises Killed by Yellow Couch in Late Night Brawl' the headlines will read! And no one will feel any pity for you." Bruce stopped and watched as he reached the edge.
The couch flipped around and smashed Kaminski's broken foot, he screamed of even more pain.
"No, stop!" he waved his arms around and tried to stop the death trap. But he couldn't and was pushed right to the edge where he flung out and grasped the fiery edge of the hole.
But the floor broke off. And the couch swung out of the building and came down over his head – forced by the pink chair smashing in behind it. Down they fell, tearing Kaminski away from the fiery ledge and into the openness of the cold summer air. And they fell together for the one hundred or so stories, until they finally met the padding of the hard, black, cement.
Bruce stood back and watched in amazement. He had finally done what he had set out to do. He was finally pleased, but he couldn't admit to feeling much better. There was still a lot of explaining to do with Lex, and a lot of information to get from Clark.
The floor slumped down a little more.
Lex burst through the storage room door with his cell phone to his ear, gasping for breath. Clark followed closely behind him and handed him an ice pack from the freezer.
"Get the department up here before it all caves," he pressed another few buttons, "Yeah, it's Lex, pull the chopper up to the place where you dropped us."
Bruce gave Clark a quick look, but Clark shrugged and nodded toward Lex; reminding him not to say anything about the powers or Clark's presence that night.
Lex clasped his phone shut and turned to Bruce, "The problem gone?"
"Gone."