“Batman, have you noticed the rats?” Robin’s high voice, still on the edge of breaking, echoes over the comms.
“Hn,” Batman grunts, which is code for Robin to continue. Bruce is perched on the edge of a building, looking through binoculars at a window across the street.
He is tracking a shipment of stolen weaponry, rumored to be on its way to Metropolis and then Lex Luthor. As a rule, Bruce tries to keep Gotham shit in Gotham.
It’s a hell of a place to live, but he can’t give it up. The city sank into his bones, chaining him as surely as his parents’ death. As does the alley, haunting him in stereo. First, the gunshot, the scattered pearls. Then the tire thief, the son he lost to the Joker.
To give up on the city now would be to spit in the face of everything he lost. Bruce would be forced to admit he should have left a long, long time ago. That healing might have been better than a bat suit and a glowing symbol.
But all little boys want to be heroes, and Bruce is no exception. He made his dreams a reality. He fought back against the city that took his family. He made a new one out of the broken remains of other families. He chose this path.
Across the street, the thugs argue and gesture.
“What about them, Robin?” Damian always has such a soft spot for animals. Although why rats had to be on the list…filthy creatures. Much like Gotham. The thought tugs the corner of his mouth.
“They are acting strangely. One did not run away when I approached.”
“Disease. Don’t touch them.”
Silence. Then, “Can we vaccinate the rats?”
Batman drops the binoculars and pinches his nose, even though it’s covered with a cowl. “No, Robin, we cannot vaccinate all of Gotham’s rat population.”
“We could aerosolize it!” Damian is not listening. “Like how Scarecrow spreads his gas. But this wouldn’t be harmful. If I can get one of the rats, I can test–“
“No, Robin. The current menagerie is bad enough. If you bring home a rat, or hide a rat, or get someone else to give you a rat, or any other variation you are clever enough to think of, you are benched.”
Silence. It glowers across the building even though Batman is looking at the meeting again. Much longer and it will grow teeth.
“Affirmative, Batman. I am going to patrol the premises again.”
Damian is mad. He doesn’t stomp away; he’s too well trained, but there’s riled emotion in every excess movement.
Bruce does not budge. The kid has too many pets already. Between those, the rehabilitation rescues, and whatever else he’s managed to sneak past–well, Wayne Manor may need to open a private zoo.
Gods. What if it bit someone?
