Protector in the Shadows
Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or any version of Batman.
Chapter 4
IV
"When a forest grows too wild, a purging fire is inevitable and natural."
-Batman Begins
IV
Bruce Wayne frowned as he laid out his equipment. A dozen smoke bombs, five mini explosion bombs, seven flash bombs, ten bola ropes, an extra grappling hook, and a few other odds and ends were all that he had stored in his belt. Without a steady supply it was barely enough to get him through two nights.
Sighing and rubbing the back of his neck with a black gloved covered hand Bruce glanced at his watch, which had, thankfully, keep working after he had been pulled through the portal.
The situation that he was in completely baffled him. He was no stranger to poverty, but to have everything taken from him in the matter of seconds was something that he hadn't prepared for, and he had a backup plan for almost everything.
His watch showed one o'clock in the morning, bedtime. His life as Batman had drastically changed his schedule over the years and as such he had become used to spending more time awake at night than he did when the sun was out. In truth, he was more like his nocturnal friends than most people had come to suspect. Even the sunlight had come to hurt his eyes to the point that he had always carried around sunglasses.
While the sleeping schedule was unusual he had become used to it and adjusted everything around it. It had helped that back in his Gotham he didn't have a real job he was required or even expected to show up to, not really. Being the head of Wayne Enterprises didn't count.
Here, though, things were different. Here Wayne Enterprises was a public company, had been ever since the entire Wayne family from here had been killed. There was no one to take the Wayne fortune and it had vanished into the chaos of what had happened. The Wayne legacy had been lost and no one had been there to save it, though he did wonder who ended up with it.
Though it annoyed him, he had been forced to get a job down near the narrows, where they wouldn't ask to many questions on where you came from or who you were. So long as you were a good worker they didn't usually care what you had done in the past. It would through him off a little, but it was a price he would have to pay for a steady income now that he didn't have his trust fund to save him.
With a groan Bruce stretched and stood, collecting his gear and strapping it into its correct places. As he had no other place to live, the cave had become his permanent base of operations until he could find his way back. It was cold and damp, but it was better than living on the streets. There was also plenty of room to make improvements and collect what he needed, if he was going to be here a while than he wasn't going to live in a dump.
Sighing he collapsed into the small, thin mattress he had pilfered from someone's garbage, they wouldn't be missing it, and promptly fell into a restless sleep.
0~o~0
Jonathan Vane glanced up as the door jingled in time to see his new employee walk in. He raised his eyebrow in surprise as he looked over the young man. After yesterday he really hadn't expected the kid to show up a second time. Maybe he really did want the job and not just a quick paycheck.
"You're late," Jonathan grunted glancing at the old and rusting clock that hung on his wall, "I opened about ten minutes ago," not that anyone bothers to come in before ten in the morning around here.
"Good morning to you too," the kid grumbled, rubbing his eyes sleepily as he tried to wake himself up more, "and it's not like I have an alarm clock to wake me up."
Jonathan laughed and through a rage at the kid who caught it out of the air with little thought, "I like ya kid. The counters need wiping down in the back and then there are some boxes that need to be brought in before the scavengers get to them. Water is in the sink, buckets under the counter, and if you want soap you're going to have to steal it from somewhere because we don't have any."
"Oh, ha ha," the kid's voice echoed through the small store as he stepped into the back room to start wiping down the tables in the back. The book store was small but modest and if it had been situation further into the more wealthy districts then it would have been thriving, but as it was not that many cared for books down in the narrows. It did make a nice place to rest though, and Jonathan often had a cup of something for those cold days when the residents were forced out of the rain and had enough money to buy something warm to drink. "Get caught stealing just for a peace of soap? No thank you."
Jonathan chuckled again as he turned back to organizing the old books on the dusty shelves. The books were his pride and joy. Back when he was younger he had dreamed of becoming a famous author but of course it's a little harder than it seems and over time he had lost his drive to write though the ideas still came.
He wondered if the kid liked books too. Probably not, but one could wonder.
There was a sudden creek and a splash of water followed by a soft bout of cursing that had Jonathan turning his head in question. The kid was glaring at his sink with a scowl, soaked from head to waist.
"What happened," he asked mildly, glad that none of his books had been near the young man at the time.
The kid scowled, "Your sink hates me."
Jonathan shrugged, "That might be because you're the first person to try to turn it on in the past ten years."
The kid turned his glare at him, "And why didn't you tell me that?"
Jonathan couldn't hold back his grin, "Sometimes an old man needs to laugh too."
The young man continued to scowl for a couple moments before he relaxed slightly and sighed, "Should I fix it?"
"What, the sink?" Jonathan contemplated for a moment before he shook his head, "No, we don't have the parts for it. I usually just take the top off before I turn it on, so that it doesn't spray me."
"Now he tells me," the kid grumbled, picking up the rag he had dropped and putting in back in the now full bucket of water.
Jonathan hid his smile as he turned back to organizing, "Hay, kid," he paused, contemplating for a moment, "I never got your name."
The kid (it really wasn't fare to call a twenty-five year old that but what did he care?) paused for a second and Jonathan almost thought that he wasn't going to answer. Finally with a sigh the kid replied, "Call me Bruce."
It was better than nothing, "Nice you meet you Bruce. I'm Jonathan, or John if you prefer." The tired smile he got in return made him chuckle. "Now get back to work, rascal. I don't pay you to stand around."
0~o~0
Bruce sighed as he slipped into one of the darker alleyways. His first full day at work had been strange. He hadn't realized that the narrows had someone like Jonathan who both loved to laugh and play innocent pranks on his employee's. The man was, in a way, different from anyone that he had ever met but at the same time almost grandfather like.
As he reached the darkest part of the alley he pulled his bag off of his shoulder and brought out his grappling hook. He had left his armor on an inaccessible rooftop where only he could find it and, as it was nearing dark, he figured it was time to get to work.
His first set of business was to find out exactly why he had been pulled into this universe. He doubted that someone like the Batman was what they were expecting when they pulled him through, so the question was who were they expecting? He was almost sure that it had something to do with the differences he had noticed in his first search through the internet. He needed answers, though, not assumptions, and it was best to get it from the source.
It was time he paid Gordon a visit.
With a near silent whoosh the bat shaped hook spiraled into the night and retracted, taking him with it into the sky.
From under a small blanket and unseen in the darkness of the alleyway a bearded homeless man could only stare at where the shadowed man had been just moments before, left wondering if he had finally cracked or if that man had really just flown.
0~o~0
Gordon grunted softly and rubbed the bridge of his nose, a habit he had picked up after years in the force. It had been two days, two whole days, and there hadn't even been one sighting of a man in a giant bat costume. How hard was it to find someone like that? Apparently, it was a lot more difficult than he had thought.
Their cave theory turned out to be a bit harder to expound on then he had first thought, due to the sheer amount of caves riddling the underground of Gotham. Who knew that they had a giant cave system down there? If the Bat really was down there it would be like looking for a needle in a mountain of hay.
It was late, he knew, and his wife was probably worrying about him. The nights in Gotham had gotten a lot worse ever since that fear gas attack. The police force was overstretched as most of the officers were still recovering from being exposed to the gas. For some, the antidote had come too late and even then it didn't work completely. At time Gordon swore he saw things in the shadows that weren't really there. It made him and the rest of his remaining officers jumpy.
Sometimes he wondered if the Joker was a result of the fear gas.
Closing his eyes Gordon rolled his shoulders, knowing he should clean up and head home before it got too late but not wanting to get up. The machine had been used to help stop their problems, not create new ones. He was regretting ever activating it.
The light over his head flickered and then went out with a pop, making Gordon glance up. Looks like he would need new bulbs, the old ones were already blowing out after only being on for a short while. Without the light the entire room had been plunged into darkness with only the faintest of outlines seen with what little light came through the window.
A cold breeze swept through the room and Gordon shivered. Had he left the window open?
Something cold pressed against the back of his neck and Gordon stiffened suddenly as his mind immediately flashed to the face that he was being held at gun point . . . again.
"Don't move," the dark, gravely voice was both familiar and terrifying.
"What do you want?" he silently cursed his voice for shaking in front of what could possibly be an enemy. From the way that the Bat had reacted on the rooftop two nights ago he had assumed that his counterpart worked alongside this creature of the night, but he had been wrong before.
"You brought me here for a reason; I want to know why," the Bat spoke softly, but the deadly intent and pressure of the cold metal on his neck were all the warning he needed to not call for help.
Gordon gulped, gripping his hands together to keep them from shaking. Why hadn't he kept his gun in arms reach? "W-we needed someone to help defeat the Joker, a new villain running around. I've only got half of the police force currently active and most of that half is completely terrified of him. T-the machine was meant to bring someone who could help us here, but it wasn't specific on who it would bring."
"The Joker?"
Was it his imagination or did the Bat just get a lot angrier?
"That's what he calls himself," Gordon replied, desperately searching for something that could help him get out of the situation. He had a gun in the bottom drawer of his desk, but he was unsure if he could reach it in time or if the masked man behind him would see him move. Even if he could get a hold of the gun, though, there was only one escape he could use: the door.
Come to think of it, how had the Bat got in here in the first place? They were about thirty stories above the ground and it was too far between this building and the next to jump from one building to the next.
Of course, there was the possibility that he flew.
The silence was almost worse then the voice. It pressed down on him and forced the air out of his lungs little by little. He needed to talk, to say something.
"Do you know him? From . . . where you come from?" Gordon asked and then winced as the metal at his neck twisted slightly.
"The Joker is unpredictable and unplanned. He doesn't care for money or even his own life. What he craves is the attention and he will do anything to get it," the Bat paused for a moment, "If left unchecked, the Joker wouldn't care if he took down Gotham with him, so long as there is suffering and he is the cause of it."
Gordon shivered at the ominous words, his eyes widening slightly. It had almost sounded like the Bat had lived through it already.
Which he probably had lived through it, now that Gordon thought about it. Is that what had created the Bat?
"What are you going to do?" Gordon asked.
There was silence again for a few seconds before the Bat seemed to shift slightly, "I promised that I would protect Gotham from people like him. Even though this is not my home, it is still a version of it," the metal at his neck was suddenly gone, "Be ready, the Joker never comes quietly."
Gordon had spun around the moment he had been freed, his hand going to his side holster, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Bat and to stop him from getting away.
"Freeze!" Gordon shouted, only to hesitated and lower the small gun as he glanced around in the darkness of his office.
The room was empty. He was alone.
The Bat's last words echoed through his mind though, chilling him to the bone.
"The Joker never comes quietly."
What had they gotten themselves into?
IV
Thanks to all of you who read and reviewed the last chapter.
If you see any typos please tell me, they are really hard to find and no matter how many times I run through this I will never be able to get them all.
Next Chapter:
The Joker makes his first appearance.
Review!? Please?