The harsh winds of Gotham's heights whip around the Bat as he broods over his vantage point. His cape billows behind him as he stays perched on top of the gargoyle, looking out to the myriad muted lights of the restless city below.

The din of the streets and sirens fade when he hears the chirping of bats fill his ears and their wing flapping surrounding him.

Bruce is used to the winged mammals swarming around him either in the cave or when he's just leaving. But that's the thing - they don't typically follow him out this far.

Only you do.

One of your bats flap in front of his face to titter at him and he blinks.

"You know how to use comms back at the cave to reach me." Bruce reminds you as the rest of your bats make themselves at home on his broad shoulders. "I taught you how to use them. Several times."

It really shows your age when you refuse to use his gadgets.

"Aren't you cold?" he asks, raising one hand to let the forefront bat hang from his glove. There was no need for you to go out and find him like this. But you seem to have a keen sense of where he is and what he's up to. Granted, you did raise him alongside Alfred and you taught him how to skulk in shadow.

Or perhaps it's your hunter's instinct, or one of the many supernatural quirks he has yet to document about your kind. All these years spent together, and he still can't sense your presence unless you make it known. Like right now.

Some things never change, he supposes. You watched him grow from a terrified little boy into Gotham’s staunch protector yet remained physically unfettered by time’s reaches. And you never stopped dropping in on his patrols or looking after him even though he’s well into his forties.

His free hand gently traces the fine bone lines of your filmy wings. "Well? What did you need if you had to come all this way to see me?"