AN: Alternate title: 'Feed The Birds' (tuppence a bag...). 'Fear of waterfowl'. They're in college here, hence the 'sun is out and so are we'.
Geese are mean. Gotham, which takes 'unfriendly wildlife' to unfair levels, has Satan's Geese. Nobody fucks with them. Batman includes them in his 'never ever approach' slideshows for the Robins. (Jason approached them anyway. Pictures of the incident were included for Tim.)
Forbidden Moons-Sharing is not caring, child. I assure you, given the opportunity...well. Eh, they're easy to remove, most people don't like it when I take them out, and Jonathan likes a sense-deprived subject sometimes.
"Done with your sandwich?"
"Yes, why?"
She pointed to the pond, where a handful of ducks were resting.
"Ducks."
"Uh-huh."
"You've never fed the ducks?"
"Kitty, if something can be labeled 'happy childhood moment', the answer is no. I have not."
"God, you're deprived..." She kissed his cheek and laughed at him when he blushed. "You get the crust, and you crumble it up, and you toss it in the water."
"Why."
"Because."
"Because why?"
"Because it's what's done, that's why."
"Sounds pointless."
"It's soothing."
He shrugged and returned to his book, ignoring the quacking from the pond. He lost track of time, actually, lulled into a trance by the rare Gotham sunshine and the words of Collins*.
At least, until Kitty tugged on his sleeve.
"We need to go."
"Why?"
"I'm out of crust."
"So?"
"Geese."
Oh.
Oh, god. He hadn't realized there were geese in Gotham. It just hadn't occurred to him, really.
He raised his eyes from his book and looked at the pond. The ducks had vacated the area, and in their place sat three geese. The middle one honked and the other two came forward. The sight was comical, in a horrible way. A regular goose mafia.
Of course Gotham would have a goose mafia…
"Is this a happy childhood moment?"
"You're not funny."
"It's an honest question."
Honk!
"No. This is a traumatizing childhood moment."
Oh.
There were children skipping a few feet away. If they ran now, perhaps the geese would take them instead.
"Well?"
"If we stay very still and don't make eye contact, they might leave."
He closed his book, quietly and deliberately, and stood up. The geese hissed. One of them flapped angrily.
The children stopped skipping. Now or never.
"How guilty do you feel about throwing them under the bus?"
"No one ever has to know."
Never leave me.
She suddenly grabbed his hand and sprinted across the grass. There was a flurry of honking and hissing and splashing, followed by the sounds of children screaming.
Oh, well. It was never too early to learn that A) life was unfair and B) when you saw geese, you fled.
THE END
*Wilkie Collins, author of what is considered to be the first English detective novel. Owner of an impressively horrendous beard.