Obsession reinforced by experience. Batman!Dick+Robin!Bruce, may continue in future
Bruce scrutinizes the mechanism of the batarang.
There's nothing visibly different, no sharpened edge that pierces with the slightest touch. No tip more pointed than aerodynamically necessary. Only the blunt black metal he'd developed to bruise and disarm.
He glances at the bloody body suit he's pinned to the wall, to dismantle and improve on later, and back to the bloody batarang in his hand. Twirls the metal in his hand before hurling it as best as he can, parallel to the entry hole made only hours ago.
The batarang bounces on the reinforced armoring of the chest piece with nothing but a loud, unhelpful thunk.
Nothing changed at all.
"C'mon Bruce, it was just a lucky shot," Dick's voice drifts from the locked door, "just pure luck into a weak spot."
Both of them know it's a lie so Bruce ignores the older man, sparing the shaking doorknob a glance. He knows Dick is trying to pick the lock, but Bruce's learned to modify it from the times the older man thought he needed less brooding time.
He shakes his head ad walks closer to the armor, picking up the batarang on his way.
Traces the hole's edges with the batarang tip, noting the slight unnatural glittering of the weapon as dried blood fell with each agitated pass.
Nothing about that shot was chance.
And he'd be damned if he let it happen again.