serendipity. [superbat]

change.

Robin hasn't spoken to Bruce in a year. It's not necessarily surprising. Bruce tends to have that kind of effect. He doesn't dwell on what he's done, doesn't plan to make amends. He doesn't even know if he'll ever see Robin again. It's a strange kind of peace he has made with himself. 

Though, as much as Bruce managed to push people away, they had this eerie way of finding themselves stuck with him. 

He's on some rooftop in the center of Gotham when he senses the figure lurking behind him. He doesn't move from his perch as he peers down at some goon clearly playing security guard in front of a club with a lot of bad people inside. He knows who it is without having to look. Very few would even notice his presence let alone sneak up behind him. That, and he can hear the flamboyant bounce of Robin's footsteps as he feigns casualty. 

Foolishly, for a second, Bruce thinks he wants something. Maybe he needed intel or to pick Bruce's brain. Though, the abrupt pause about five feet away tells Bruce otherwise. No huffing and puffing and long speeches before he eventually tells Bruce what it is that brought him here. Instead, he stands there hesitantly, waiting for Bruce to finally acknowledge him. 

Bruce turns his head to the side to let the kid know that he was indeed listening. 

"Diana called," Robin starts, hands going to clasp themselves behind his back, "uh, said you had something to tell me." 

He can tell by the way Robin words it that it wasn't some casual phone call. She'd probably said some choice words to him, yelled at him for being stubborn. He'd know, he used to get those kinds of calls all the time. Now, she just drops in and glares at him until he does what she asks. However, this time she hadn't said anything to him, hadn't even mentioned it. Rightfully so, because he would've just stared at her blankly while she glared at him. Dick had made his choice. 

He'd made his choice to go out and find his own way. Who was Bruce to stop him?

As far as Bruce was concerned, he had nothing to say. 

He just continues to stare at him in silence until Dick lets out a sigh and traipses closer. 

"Look, I know you're 'Just fine with being alone.' and all of that other bullshit, but if this is serious, could you drop it for a sec?" he huffs, arms crossing and weight shifting to one leg as he waits for a response. 

There's a moment of silence and he can see Dick's resolve crumbling.

"C'mon, man. Are you dying or something?" he seems legitimately concerned. 

Bruce lets out a sigh of his own.

"I didn't ask her to call you," he grunts, eyes once again scanning the streets below as a familiar car makes its way towards the club.

"Okay, that's not surprising," Robin says with a roll of his eyes, "but she also has much better judgment than you of what's actually important to tell family and what's not." 

Bruce only hums as he watches Penguin toddle inside of the building before the doors are slammed shut behind him.

"C'mon, B!" Robin hisses stepping closer, huffing when Bruce doesn't avert his attention, "Is it something curable? Are you in some kind of trouble?"

It's honestly not the reaction he's expecting from the kid. He hadn't necessarily thought about informing Dick, but if he had, he'd expect a much less empathetic response. After all, he wasn't exactly a 'soft' mentor. Bruce demanded a lot of him, gave no leeway. He didn't stop, didn't take time to assess emotions, because that's how people got killed in their line of work. So, if Bruce had thought about it, he'd expect Dick to saunter up with a chip on his shoulder and a steely gaze, ready to laugh at Bruce's supposed need for help.