Just his luck. He'd finally gotten a free moment, ran to the Kents' farm, and nobody was there. Just his luck.
It felt pretty good to be by himself for a bit, though. The cows didn't count, though a few of them were looking at him and he wondered if they held a grudge over his role in getting them back in the corral. Corral? Pen? Whatever you keep cows in.
He'd never been around as many people in his entire life as he had in the last weeks. If he wasn't out in the city doing things, helping get water and power back, getting immediately-needed medical supplies, chasing down criminals, or generally patrolling, he was back at the Bat House, figuring out what to do next, or sometimes, eating or sleeping. He grinned reflexively as he remembered last night's dinner. *That* had gotten Bat Boy all on edge. He'd have to make sure he was around to hear when Baton told Alfred. But anyway, the sleeping was the only thing he did alone. Somehow, it was dramatic in a way to patrol alone, but when somebody, usually Wally, was with him, it felt more like being a tourist. Okay, a tourist with a weird itinerary, but still a tourist.
"Here, cow!" he called, out of curiosity to see if any of them would come over to where he was leaning on the fence. "Here, cow, cow, cow, cow, cow!" Nope. Maybe he was a rain-caller instead of a cow-caller, since the wind took on that "it's going to rain soon" feeling, like it was pushing the rest of the air out of the way to make room, and sure enough, a few moments later, it was drizzling, then raining seriously.
He decided that it would probably be rude to go inside their house, even though the door wasn't locked. Not that he'd catch a cold or anything, he just didn't feel like being rained on. Or did not locking the door mean that it was okay to come in? Maybe it did, but maybe it just meant that they forgot to lock up.
The barn doors were wide open and he figured that a barn is different from a house. Stepping in, he looked around at all the bales of hay and various pieces of equipment. Over the last few weeks he'd gotten really good at using his heat to fix things but from looking inside them, all the equipment looked to be in perfect working condition. It was weird, they just looked as though somebody really took care of them, didn't just maintain them, let alone use them until they wore out and then get new ones. He couldn't put his finger on the difference but it was there. Maybe the way that the bits that didn't have to be clean still were clean.
Now that he'd stopped to take a break, God, he felt tired. He didn't want to go back to Bat Central yet, though. Not that they'd mind if he just went to bed--the unspoken rule was that you work until you have to eat or sleep--but he didn't want to go back there. He wandered up the stairs to the loft, where there were bales of hay piled everywhere. Maybe he'd just catch a real quick nap while he waited for the Kents. He kicked off his shoes, pulled his jacket off for a pillow, and lay flat on one of the bales. It was pretty comfortable, actually. The rain on the roof sounded exactly right, there to listen to but not pounding. As he started to doze, he remembered what it reminded him of, the way that Mom would just sing to herself while she was doing things and she thought he was asleep or something. It sounded good.
It felt pretty good to be by himself for a bit, though. The cows didn't count, though a few of them were looking at him and he wondered if they held a grudge over his role in getting them back in the corral. Corral? Pen? Whatever you keep cows in.
He'd never been around as many people in his entire life as he had in the last weeks. If he wasn't out in the city doing things, helping get water and power back, getting immediately-needed medical supplies, chasing down criminals, or generally patrolling, he was back at the Bat House, figuring out what to do next, or sometimes, eating or sleeping. He grinned reflexively as he remembered last night's dinner. *That* had gotten Bat Boy all on edge. He'd have to make sure he was around to hear when Baton told Alfred. But anyway, the sleeping was the only thing he did alone. Somehow, it was dramatic in a way to patrol alone, but when somebody, usually Wally, was with him, it felt more like being a tourist. Okay, a tourist with a weird itinerary, but still a tourist.
"Here, cow!" he called, out of curiosity to see if any of them would come over to where he was leaning on the fence. "Here, cow, cow, cow, cow, cow!" Nope. Maybe he was a rain-caller instead of a cow-caller, since the wind took on that "it's going to rain soon" feeling, like it was pushing the rest of the air out of the way to make room, and sure enough, a few moments later, it was drizzling, then raining seriously.
He decided that it would probably be rude to go inside their house, even though the door wasn't locked. Not that he'd catch a cold or anything, he just didn't feel like being rained on. Or did not locking the door mean that it was okay to come in? Maybe it did, but maybe it just meant that they forgot to lock up.
The barn doors were wide open and he figured that a barn is different from a house. Stepping in, he looked around at all the bales of hay and various pieces of equipment. Over the last few weeks he'd gotten really good at using his heat to fix things but from looking inside them, all the equipment looked to be in perfect working condition. It was weird, they just looked as though somebody really took care of them, didn't just maintain them, let alone use them until they wore out and then get new ones. He couldn't put his finger on the difference but it was there. Maybe the way that the bits that didn't have to be clean still were clean.
Now that he'd stopped to take a break, God, he felt tired. He didn't want to go back to Bat Central yet, though. Not that they'd mind if he just went to bed--the unspoken rule was that you work until you have to eat or sleep--but he didn't want to go back there. He wandered up the stairs to the loft, where there were bales of hay piled everywhere. Maybe he'd just catch a real quick nap while he waited for the Kents. He kicked off his shoes, pulled his jacket off for a pillow, and lay flat on one of the bales. It was pretty comfortable, actually. The rain on the roof sounded exactly right, there to listen to but not pounding. As he started to doze, he remembered what it reminded him of, the way that Mom would just sing to herself while she was doing things and she thought he was asleep or something. It sounded good.