Superman’s fingers were laced together, his index fingers pressed to his mouth as he assessed the situation. There was a metaphorical fire in his eyes, as opposed to the literal fire that was sometimes in his eyes.
“I’m going to have to fight you,” he said finally.
Batman rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Between the gloves and the mask, it was not a very effective stress reliever. “No,” he said, “you’re not.”
“You’re leaving me no other choice.”
“Out of all the reasons that you could possibly want to throw me into the sun–”
“What?” Superman was aghast. “I said fight, why are you going straight to starmurder?”
“I’m sorry, did you have something else in mind? Were you just going to knock me over until it accepts you as its alpha.”
Superman made a face. “Ducks don’t have alphas.” He knelt down closer to Batman’s boots. “Do they?”
The duckling peeped. It seemed content enough to be at least close to Batman, after having spent five minutes frantically chasing after him, little feet slapping against the pavement.
“I hate you,” Superman said seriously. “Not you,” he clarified to the duckling, in case it was confused. It tried to hide behind Batman’s foot. “You don’t even like ducks.”
“No one likes ducks.”
“I like ducks.”
“Why are you complaining like I did this on purpose. In all the time that you’ve known me, what have I ever done to lead you to believe that I would want this.”
“Your noted tendency to collect birds?” Superman suggested. Batman said nothing, but Superman could tell that behind his mask, he was giving him A Look. Superman stood, and the duckling circled Batman’s feet to peep up at him. “It wants you to pick it up.”
“You pick it up. You like ducks.”
“It doesn’t want me.”
“Pick it up anyway. You have super speed.”
Superman shook his head. “Super speed is very traumatic for most animals.”
Batman narrowed his eyes just slightly. “Most?” he asked, intrigued despite himself.
“Turtles don’t seem to notice,” Superman explained. “Peepers there would definitely notice, though.”
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