Team Anarchy, Round Two Fanfic: Bang-bang (my Daddy shot me down)
Title: Bang-bang (my Daddy shot me down)
Author: fairlyfelonious
Prompt: Crossover (Kill Bill/Nolanverse)
Word count: 1,163 (not including lyrics and footnotes)
Disclaimer: I don’t own the Dark Knight, Batman Begins, or Kill Bill, and I’m not making any money off of this story. The slightly altered lyrics are from a song preformed by Nancy Sinatra, Frank Sinatra and others.
Rating: M
Warnings: Gallows humor, violence, melodrama, crack
Genres: Parody/Humor, Adventure
Characters/Pairings so far: Bruce, Jack/Joker (as the Bride), Bill, Jim Gordon (as the Sherriff), Harvey Bullock (as the deputy), a forensic pathologist known only by the name ‘Myers’
Summary: After meeting Bruce during his travels around the world, Jack Napier runs away with him to escape his life as a high priced assassin. His adoptive father, Bill, has a somewhat extreme reaction to his betrayal. Features Bride!Joker
Bang-bang (my Daddy shot me down), part one
I was five and he was thirty six
We rode horses made of sticks
He wore black and I wore white
He would always win the fight
“You may think me sadistic,” the man said in a deep voice that was more gravel than silk. He bent down and gently wiped some blood out of the bride’s eyes in a perverse mockery of paternal affection. “But kiddo, this is me at my most masochistic.” (1)
He gently pulled his hand away from the bride’s cheek and stood up, cocking his antique silver revolver. The bride stared at him with horrified betrayal and began taking in breaths in rattling, panicked gasps. Bright green eyes that were nearly swollen shut met cold blue ones with determination.
“You bastard, you’d kill your own-”
The shot echoed throughout the room like thunder, and blood splattered in an obscene halo behind golden curls.
Bang bang, he shot me down
Bang bang, I hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, my daddy shot me down
***
Lieutenant Gordon sighed as he looked down at the broken bodies spread across the mahogany inlay floor of Wayne chapel. It was a wedding turned slaughter, and Jim wasn’t looking forward to telling the young groom that his new wife was now as dead as his parents. For the second time, more than a decade after the first, Bruce Wayne’s life had been shattered. He wouldn’t bother telling him it was going to be alright this time, because he had a feeling it never would be again.
A figure in an elegant white bridal gown was sprawled in the middle of a pool of blood on the chapel floor, her face so mangled that it looked like an obscene realization of a Picasso painting, splashed with bright color and strangely distorted, but still recognizable as human.
Jim approached the body with caution, taking care not to step in anything and mess up the crime scene for the forensic investigators that were still diligently going about their work.
“Any leads?” he asked with the wary resignation of someone who had looked upon too many tragic scenes in his lifetime, hearing Sgt. Harvey Bullock, one of his oldest friends and most trusted subordinates, approach him from behind.
“There were two ID’s on the bride, one for a Nicola Machiavelli, one for Jacqueline Napier. Unsurprisingly, they both came back fake,” he said dryly.
The Lieutenant raised his eyebrows at that, wondering what kind of strange things young Wayne could have gotten mixed up in during his four year* disappearance if he was involved with someone who went by such obvious aliases.
“Anything else?”
“Wayne and his butler are the only ones that survived, and they’re in no shape to tell us anything right now.” He scowled, then bit off a hunk of tobacco and started gnawing on it. “Whoever did this was one cold dog. Came in, shot the entire wedding party, even shot that old colored fella that plays the organ.” (2) Jim sent Harvey a displeased look at his choice of words. Who did he think he was, a small-town Texas deputy? Just as he was about to open his mouth to reprimand him, he heard someone call his name over the controlled chaos that was a dozen CSI’s and cops trying to work together.
“Hey, Lieutenant, you might wanna take a look at this,” said the young forensic pathologist kneeling over the bride’s body.
“What seems to be the problem, Myers?”
Myers looked more amused than Gordon thought was warranted in the midst of a grisly murder scene.
“Well, this…bride…is not a lady, boss.” He snickered.
Gordon furrowed his eyebrows.
“Pardon?”
“She’s a man, Gordon.” (3)
“…I see.”
“I’ll prove it to you, look!”
He enthusiastically grabbed a fistful of the bride’s bloody golden locks and tugged hard, pulling her limp, bloodied head up off the ground and then slamming it down several times in succession, becoming more frustrated each time the ‘wig’ wouldn’t come off.
Gordon just stood there in shock, too horrified by the man’s actions for a moment to make any move to stop him. He made a note, with slightly hysterical detachment, that he would have to recommend a psychological evaluation for the young man when he got back to the office.
Eventually the horror stopped, and Myers at least had the grace to look embarrassed, gingerly letting go of the corpse’s hair.
“Well, okay, I guess the hair is actually real, but it looked too long and pretty… Anyway, she has an Adam’s apple, so I checked under her skirt, and she’s…uh, she’s definitely a man.”
“…Are you sure?” Gordon said dubiously, glancing, with some guilt, at the corpse’s slim figure and noticeable bosom.
“Yeah. These are fake,” he said, poking the corpse’s chest shamelessly. “Stuffed bras can be pretty deceiving, if you do it right.”
Myers gave the corpse’s chest a particularly hard prod, and it suddenly began to convulse, spitting out a huge wad of blood right onto Myer’s chin and neck.
“Gah! Oh, that’s nasty, man!”
Well, that will teach him, Gordon thought, feeling somewhat giddy.
‘Jacqueline Napier’ fell back onto the floor limply, now taking in shallow breaths, but still unconscious.
“Well, I’ll be damned!” Harvey exclaimed, and Gordon was sure that he heard the beginning of a Texas drawl in his voice, this time. “This tobacco spittin’, tall-drinkin’ cocksucker ain’t dead!” (4)
***
Six months later…
Bruce stood over Jack’s hospital bed, watching the comforting sight of the steady rise and fall of his chest. He reached out to touch his hand, but drew back at the last minute, always afraid it would be cold like his parents’ were after-
No, no don’t think of it, he scolded himself. Jack’s going to be okay, the doctors said there was still a chance he could wake up, a slim one, but a chance.
Oh, God, that wasn’t comforting. He needed to leave. He needed to complete his training. It was what Jack would want, and completing his training was the only way either of them could ever be safe from Jack’s father. They had put up a good fight, but neither of them had been skilled enough to win against a dozen armed assailants who had the same amount of training as they did, especially with Jack trying to fight in a floor-length skirt and high heels.
Since Bill hadn’t sent someone to kill Jack after he’d put him in a coma, he must have been content to leave the job unfinished, for now, but if he found out that Bruce was planning to bring him down, he wouldn’t think twice about holding Jack’s life for ransom. If Bruce wanted to save both Jack and Gotham in the long run, he would have to fake his death and disappear again into the unknown reaches of the vast Asian continent until he was capable of protecting both the city he loved and the man who held his heart.
If Jack woke up before he came back, he could only hope that he would be able to forgive him his deception. It was the only way they would ever be free to live a normal life together, or at least, as normal a life as two people like them could live.
~~~
* In this story, Jack and Bruce met in Europe, in the middle of Bruce’s travels. He came back to Gotham briefly so that he could get married to ‘Jacqueline Napier’ on his ancestral estate.
(1, 2, 4) These are all direct quotes from Kill Bill. The quotes won’t be as frequent when the plot diverges more from the movies.
(3)A sort-of quote from Austin Powers. Yes, given the Joker’s penchant for cross-dressing, I couldn’t help myself.