Bruce Wayne is a very high profile man.

He’s rich, essentially, billionaire rich despite how much of his money he keeps constantly giving away and donating, and that gives him the ability to.. walk a line that wouldn’t be offered if he wasn’t.

Batmąn is also somewhat high-profile, in the sense that when thugs see him coming, they run in the opposite direction.

This isn’t very good for gathering information about the mob— specifically the Falcones, this time around— and what kind of rings they have underground. Batmąn can’t go undercover.

Bruce Wayne, on the other hand, can get pretty much anything if he acts ditzy enough.

Which is why Bruce is currently here, having been lead to the most back alley front of a diner he’s ever seen in his life, which is saying a lot, and waiting for the man who brought him here to come out from behind the curtain of the kitchen once more with whatever merchandise he was talking about.

Drugs, is what Bruce assumes. Maybe the newer Viper strain.

Maybe he was being optimistic. Because what Bruce did not expect the man— Don? It was Don, that’s what his name was. He’ll make sure to keep it and his face in mind so he can come back here and beat him into a pulp as the Bat— to do was to pull back the curtain with a child.

He has to fight to keep his expression remotely neutral.

“Heard you liked them young,” Don says, a sort of expression on his face where one can see him counting future cash, “Pretty eyes, too. Just ten years old. Wait until you see them in the daylight.”

“Yes,” Bruce manages, and he knows his voice sounds a bit tight. The child, you, gets pushed by Don closer to where Bruce is sitting at the table.

Bruce can faintly feel his stomach turn at the thought of what you’ve had to endure. Of what this child has had to endure.

Forget the information. He has all he needs— now his sole focus is getting you out of here and keeping you safe.