literature

Complications

Deviation Actions

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Literature Text

Indy was being chased.  Again.

He pounded through the cool night air, boots thudding pavement, whip and holster jostling on his belt with a familiar rhythm.  He was always running.  What was up with that?

And behind him: Nazis.  Always Nazis.  Some things never changed…

Starting to feel the bloom of a stitch in his side, Indiana Jones found the end of this particular dark alley and turned a corner, skidding slightly on one boot, balancing himself with the touch of a gloved palm against brick.

Shouts of Anhalten! from behind as he disappeared from sight.  But soon, they'd make the same corner and probably start shooting.  They'd held off for now, thinking they could maybe catch him, retrieve the Prize without damaging it.  But they wouldn't risk losing him again.  He knew only seconds remained before—

Shit!  A dark shape emerged from the night before him, rising from the steam of a sewer grate.  A demon with pointed ears, glimpse of jagged rune upon its chest.  That's all Indy saw as he frantically cast around for an exit, eyes darting above, below, around.  No way out.

Except through.  

Without slowing, he twisted the revolver clear of its holster and fired twice from the hip.  Explosions rang out in the alley's close space, but it worked: the shape was gone.  There was no time for wonder as he ran through the mists that moments before hid—

Erk!

Indy found himself grasped by strong hands, slung around and thrown flat on the ground, the back of his head cracking pavement.  Bolts of white shot through his skull, and he knew the familiar sickening pain that would come… but by some miracle he remained conscious.  He lay, stunned, across the very smoking manhole cover from which emerged…

Him.  The ears, the mask.  The demon was back, straddling him, fists gripping his lapels and holding him inches above the ground, effortlessly.

"Doctor Jones?"  The voice was deceptively gentle, cultured.  Quietly menacing.  

He knew that voice… the shock of recognition flooded him.  This was too much for one night.

"Batman?"

"Doctor Jones, we have no time.  Your pursuers?"  

"Nazis.  About… six of them, I think.  They have--"

"Nazis?  In Gotham?"  He glanced up, back down. "Interesting."

"—they have…"

Indiana struggled to get the words out as the Batman lifted him to his feet, shoved him against a wall.  He did something to his belt with his free hand.

The sounds of a revving engine came to them from around the corner.  Something big and German, with too many cylinders.  Indy'd only caught a glimpse as he ran past, but it was huge.

"—they have," he gasped out, "a car."

The Nazi sedan exploded around the corner, its engine bellowing.  It fishtailed to a stop, headlights pinning them in blue-white beams.  Bulky shapes leaned from the windows, armed with machine guns.  

"So do I," murmured Batman.  He found the thing he sought on his belt, and twisted.

From the other end of the alley twin beams of yellow snapped on, an explosion of sound deafening Indy, drowning out the roar of the Germans' car.   It was the throaty roar associated with the new, experimental jet aircraft engines he'd heard before.  

He realized with a blink the jet noise was suddenly, instantly… much closer.

Batman pushed him against the wall, shielding him with his body from heated jet exhaust as the low, sleek shape whistled past.  It was like being buffeted by a flaming freight train, the clap of continuous thunder dopplering away crazily towards the Germans—

KA-THOOM!

Impact, flash of flame, overpressure blasting them both sideways as the two bulks merged and exploded.  Bits of burning rubber and upholstery pattered down around them, amidst the lone dying scream of a Nazi begging for his mother.

"Well, I had a car," Batman turned back to Indy.  "Not to worry… I can afford a new one.  Now," he stood back from Indiana Jones, crossing his arms.  "Talk.  Why are there Nazis in my city?"

The wail of sirens rose in the night, their intensity growing.  

"Shouldn't we, ah--"  Jones gestured helplessly.

Batman narrowed his gaze, and Indy straightened.  "Right.  Well, it might have something to do with this…"  Indy pulled the small, leather-wrapped Prize from his inside jacket pocket, unrolled enough to reveal a golden edge, one corner of artistically milled wing, the unmistakable shape of—

"Yes, that would make sense."  Batman looked away, looked at the burning wreckage of the Batmobile, considering.  

Jones gestured at the flames.  "That was a… hell of a trick.  It's damn hard to take out a Mercedes like that.  How'd you..?"

Batman turned back, his eyes curiously flat.  "That was no Mercedes," he mused.  "It was a 1936 Avions Voisin, French built.  From its distinctive sound, that one was equipped with the 7.2 liter inline 12-cylinder engine.  Very rare.  In fact, it might have been a prototype.  But the important fact: it's a car made in France.  What are Nazis, nationalistic to the extreme, doing in an American city driving a French automobile?"

"I can tell you this much," Indy sighed, "they are not here in any official capacity."

"Ah.  Not the Furher's mission, then?  Or perhaps Adolf," Batman frowned at the taste of these particular words, "wishes not to be connected to this project?"

"Nothing that complex, uh, Batman."  Indy felt silly calling the crimefighter by name.  It was like something out of a movie.  "Hitler's got a well-known fascination with the occult, and what well-known occult figure keeps a home in Paris, with connections in Gotham City?"

Batman nodded. "It makes a kind of sense: Ra's Al Ghul."

"I bet he owns an expensive French automobile or two," Indy observed.  "One fewer, anyhow.  Say, are we gonna stand around waiting for the police?  How's that work?"

Indeed, the sirens were closing in.

The Caped Crusader paused, marshalling a decision.  "I guess I'll take you to the Bat Cave, Doctor Jones."  

Indy had no idea what that meant, but soon learned.

--

The Bat Cave was Batman's secret underground lair, he'd explained.  It seemed obvious he'd need something like a hideout, a headquarters… but the man's theatrics tended to the extreme.  Really, was it necessary to convert an actual bat cave into your super-secret HQ? Granted, he was the Batman, but still.  

But Alfred was nice.  The faithful butler had come to collect them, after being summoned by Batman's amazing wireless radio telephone.  The prim English manservant (wearing a chauffeur's cap!) had rolled up silently in a silver Rolls Royce, and would not permit them entry until he had disembarked, held the door for them, helped Batman with his cape, and closed it securely behind.  

All this not 200 feet from the smoking wreckage of a two-vehicle crime scene, the charred corpses of half-a-dozen Nazis, all surrounded by Gotham City police and firemen, lights flashing merrily.  

Only in Gotham City, Indy supposed.

"There was a problem with the car," Batman explained to Alfred, who did not even blink.

"Regrettable, sir.  I shall have a backup car unpacked and prepared immediately.  Will Doctor Jones be joining you for dinner?"

Batman eyed Jones sideways, came to a decision.  Reached up under the back of his cowl and released a secret catch, pulled it forward over his head, revealing a shock of dark hair and a lopsided grin.

"Yes, Alfred.  Dinner for two.  In the Batcave."

"Ah… of course, sir."  Alfred shook his head gently as frosted glass hummed up, sealing the passenger compartment with a gentle thud.

It was too much for Jones.  His heart pounding, he reached one gloved hand up to touch Batman's chiseled face.  "Millionaire playboy Bruce Wayne?"

"Yes.  And now you know my secret, Indy."

"Henry," he swallowed.  "Call me Henry.  And now you know mine."

They fell together, Nazis and explosions forgotten in the kiss.

And above the city, hanging from a building cornice, watching through binoculars as the Rolls accelerated away, Robin screamed in rage.
EVERYTHING MAKES SENSE NOW.

All my favorite things... uh, together at last. Sigh.

This was supposed to be a bigger piece, but I just couldn't bring myself to imagine how it'd all work out in the end.
© 2011 - 2024 RalfMaximus
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Kavahle22's avatar
Oh. MY. GAWD!!!!!! I have to agreed with :iconangelofgod87: here. Why??????