Chapter Text
Once upon a time in a land very very far away but not actually that far away it was just shitty and no one cared about it there was a city called Gotham. In that trash city there was a big family of super nice rich assholes, they were called the Waynes. This family was old money. Like all the way back to the dinosaurs. That's where they made their money. In fact, they made their money from everything. If it exists as a company? Chances are it’s owned by Wayne Enterprises. Greedy bitches.
Anywho this oh so wonderful family was made up of Martha Wayne (NOT Martha Stewart. That’s the only other Martha I know and it’s NOT HER), Thomas Wayne the tank engine, and Bruce Wayne, their son. They also had a butler, Alfred Quarterworth (because he’s worth a ton more than just a penny. Cowards), who was a good father figure to Bruce and very important and prominent in this story for absolutely no reason. It’s not like he’d play the part of anyone’s father after anything tragic happened. God no. He’s their butler dw guys. 👍
One night this wonderful little rich ass family decided to go to the theater to see the mark of zorro. A really freaky zombie movie I bet. I don’t know. I found out that it was a real movie like five minutes ago. But good for them, family bonding. After the movie ended they went to walk back home, deciding to skip a nice limo or some fancy car and instead walk down a dingy alley in a notoriously dangerous city, because nothing bad ever happens to rich and famous people. All of a sudden a man popped out of the bushes, which were the only plant in the alley and there for the sole purpose of having muggers jump out of them.
“Haha! Stop right there! I'm Joe Chill! I’m mugging you! This is a robbery motherfuckers!” He said, pointing a nerf gun at the family.
Little boy Bruce Wayne looked up at the man with wide eyes full of wonder. “Woah… like snoopy?” He asked sweetly, holding up his peanuts lunch box which he brought to the theater for absolutely no reason towards the criminal in awe.
Joe chill scowled a nasty scowl. “No you dumbass child. That’s Joe cool. And I’m allergic to peanuts” and just like that he dropkicked the lunch box all the way to Metropolis, where a little kid named Clark Kent found it. But that kid gets enough spotlight and we’re NOT TALKING ABOUT HIM.
In a fit of rage and frustration Joe chill shot right at Martha, 24 caliber bullets coming out of the toy gun at alarming speed. She fell to the floor, gasping for air as blood started to pool in her stomach. Now little Bruce was so excited! He remembered this from school! He would get to show his parents how smart he was. He pointed to the wound as his mother held onto life, smiling up at his dad. “Look father, look! It’s menstruation!”
Thomas paused. He had never learned about female anatomy, and was kind of curious if it was menstruation. He leaned down to Martha, quietly asking, “dearest darling are you on your period?”
But he couldn’t finish as Joe Chill slapped Thomas right across the face. “Are you stupid? I just fucking shot her! She’s dead! I can’t believe you don’t know what menstruation is. I bet you don’t even read feminist literature.” He scoffed as he sipped on some matcha that he pulled out of thin air in the hand that wasn’t holding the gun. Then he turned to the alley wall, “I’m 7’3” by the way” before anyone could ask he said- “that brick identifies as a woman. And the only other woman in the vicinity is a fucking corpse.”
Thomas raised a brow, intrigued. “…Is the brick hot?”
“Don’t objectify women” Mr chill said, and then shot him in the forehead to teach him a lesson about feminism and being the alpha.
Bruce watched on as his parents bled out in the dingy alleyway, face stained with tears and kneeling down next to their fallen bodies. “Are… are you going to kill me too?”
“WOAH WOAH WOAH KID” Joe protested firmly, putting up a finger to shush the kid “I’m Joe CHILL, it's in my name. No one chill would ever kill a child.”
Bruce’s voice came out weary and sad, “w- what do chill people do, then?”
“Smoke blunts, mostly” he said, pulling a joint from out of his ass and smoking it.
Bruce watched for a minute or two, quiet as the man got high off of his fucking ass and got out his iPhone 16 pro and dialed up Alfred. “Mother and father are dead”
Alfred’s voice came back out, calm and collected, wrapped up in a professional British accent “master Bruce you bitch ass child where did you get an iPhone it’s like 1917 or some shit”
Joe Chill rolled his eyes, having heard the conversation from Bruce’s phone. But rather, Adam ruins everything’s voice came out. “I can see that you’re attempting to correlate the first release of Batman with how old Bruce would’ve been at the murder, and account for the years he would’ve spent growing up to be Batman, but if it was 1917, how would they have seen the mark of zorro, which came out in 1940?”
Alfred was an amazing butler, and appeared out of the shadows in an instant, wearing all black and an eyepatch. “Shut your bitch ass up mothefucker. I’m Nick Fury and I don’t give a shit about the fourth wall. Leave the story be.” Alfred looked down, and he had turned into Samuel L. Jackson! “fuck I think fuck I’m fuck in fuck the fuck wrong fuck fandom fuck.” And just like that bitchass from marvel disappeared, hopefully gone from dc forever. See, he has to say fuck every other word since he’s Samuel L. Jackson.
In order to replace the Alfred that had turned into Samuel L. Jackson, a nearby lamppost slowly morphed into the butler, walking over and punching the shit out of Joe cool until the demonic presence of Adam ruins everything was gone. And Joe was also dead. “I didn’t mean to do that. But with the amount of weed he was smoking I doubt it hurt.”
Bruce looked up in awe at Alfred. He was so wise. “Should I do pot whenever I get hurt?”
Alfred smiled fondly, nodding. “Absolutely master Bruce. It makes everything feel better. The only thing it can’t fix is the economy. But it can make you delusional enough to believe the economy is okay, which is basically just as good.” He patted the child’s head. “An apple a day keeps the doctor away, and one blunt a day keeps your worries for the socioeconomic state of the world at bay”
And with the last helpful tidbit of information Alfred called over the car, which was actually the delorian from back to the future, and they hopped in. But when they went to the manor- they accidentally went to the future! Woah! Old guy Bruce Wayne was in the foyer, waiting for their arrival. Little Bruce looked up, eyes wide. “Golly! Are you me?
Bruce the geezer kneeled down to his level, giving him a smile. “That’s right kid. And when you grow up you’ll be a furry who beats up homeless and mentally ill people. godspeed.”