#its problematic

Damian picked himself up from the dusty ground, his tail lashing through the blood-stained sand as he wiped away the crimson clinging to the corner of his mouth. The fledgling could feel bruises blossoming along his torso, legs, and face, but he at least made it out with his life.  

Damian's opponent didn't have the same luxury.

"Better," a voice commented in the League dialect. 

The harpy eagle straightened, folding his wings tighter against his back as he peered at his mother. The imperial eagle looked him over critically before nodding in approval, "After careful discussion with your Grandfather, we have designed you prepared for training beneath your father. We have forged you into a blade, Damian, and your father will sharpen you."

His mother turns away, beckoning Damian with a sweep of her elegant tail. The fledgling trailed after, carefully keeping his distance from his mother's blade-laced tail. Damian struggled slightly to keep up with the imperial eagle's strides, but he managed. Eventually, they reached Talia's private office- one of the few areas within the facility that was hidden from Grandfather's near-omnipresent eyes. 

Talia waited until Damian fully entered the room before shutting the door with a flick of her heavy wing. She beckoned him closer, and Damian obeyed- eagerly tilting his face into her clawed hands. His mother's palms always smelled like blood, which should've been disconcerting to some, but Damian knew she would  never  use her claws on him. 

The fledgling felt his mother gently brush her tail against his, and Damian returned the action. 

"Will you tell me Father's identity?" Damian asked, suppressing his purrs as careful claws combed through Damian's feathers. 

His mother hums in consideration, "No, I will not. Think of this as... a trial. All I will say is he lives in Gotham..."

———

Bruce swept between the buildings, his dark wings skimming past the apartments' walls. With a flick of his tail, Bruce made a narrow turn and latched onto the side of the building. With narrowed eyes, Batman waited a few seconds before diving.

The harpy eagle slammed into his target, avoiding his spine as he pinned the man's wings against the ground. 

"Where is he hiding?" Batman snarled, grunting as the man tried to stab a hidden knife into Bruce's side. Thankfully, the kevlar was enough to impede the knife, but it was enough to distract him. 

The man screeched, scrabbling in panic and somehow hitting a solid hit against Bruce's chest. His suit's flexible yet sturdy material absorbed and distributed the impact, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

Bruce rattled out a low hiss, looming over the man with flared wings that seemed to suck the light from around them. The man froze in fear, and Bruce took the chance to knock him out, tying up the man for Gordan's men to collect and subsequently interrogate.

With a weary sigh, Bruce spread his wings and took into the sky. The harpy eagle glided over Park Row when a sudden weight  slammed  into his side. 

The eagle hissed, flicking his tail to reorient himself as the weight continued clinging to Bruce's side. A sharp pain stabbed into his side, slicing through the kevlar as Bruce twisted and slammed himself against the side of a building. Still, the assailant continued to cling to Bruce's side. 

He hissed, feeling claws sink into the flesh of his wings, dislodging the two from the side of the apartment. Bruce twisted, flaring his wings to slow their descent before allowing his assailant to crash into the ground. Bruce lurched away, carefully watching the other's movements before realizing that his assailant was a fledgling-

Narrowed emerald eyes glared at him through wild hair, lips pulled back to reveal sharpened fangs. Taking advantage of Bruce's shock, the fledgling lunged.

The black-clad vigilante flared his wings, barely dodging the child's blow before allowing a low, threatening rattle to escape his throat, his voice modulator struggling to keep up with the eagle's snarls, "Who are you?"

The fledgling narrowed his eyes, and faster than Bruce could react, there was a blur, and Bruce's back slammed against the concrete. He could only struggle upright when the fledgling unsheathed a katana and pointed it at Bruce's throat. 

The wicked blade gleamed in the pale light, a mere centimeter away from the eagle's jugular. 

"Hello, Father," the fledgling sneered, emerald eyes gleaming as the clouds momentarily parted to illuminate the young child with a threatening halo, "My name is Damian al Ghul, heir to the Demon Head, and I expected more from you.

———

Bruce paced back and forth in the Batcave, his tail lashing as Alfred stood a few feet away, his impassive expression betraying nothing as Damian watched silently with sharpened eyes. 

Once again, the Batcomputer beeped an affirmation, and Bruce couldn't help his frustrated hiss.

"Sir," Alfred said, interrupting Bruce as the eagle made to run the sixth test, "perhaps it would be better to show young Master Damian his new room rather than obsessing over the computer."

"She said she lost him!" Bruce snapped, frustration and betrayal swirling in his chest, "She LIED TO ME!"

"As if you don't lie as well," the owl sniffed, tilting his head to side-eye Bruce disapprovingly.

Bruce snarled, his atavistic claw unsheathing with his anger. 

"Master Bruce," the butler's voice took on an edge,  "don't  you take that tone with me, lad."

"It's different," Bruce plowed on, "Talia said she'd miscarried! I- I can't-"

"You need to get some sleep, Master Bruce."

"I do not! What I need are answers!" Bruce screamed in frustration, his feathers bristling as he snarled, whirling around in time to see a flicker of fear enter Damian's eyes, and he saw Alfred subtly position himself protectively in front of the fledgling. 

"Mister Wayne," Alfred snapped, and Bruce felt himself freeze, "I think it best you take a shower and calm down. Meanwhile, I shall show your son to his new room. Good night, Mister Wayne."

Bruce watched as his father butler escorted Damian upstairs.

His wings and tail drooped, brushing against the cave floor as exhaustion and defeat filled Bruce's chest. What was he going to do? Bruce was 26- he wasn't... he didn't want to involve a seven-year-old in his crusade against crime, but it seemed like Talia didn't care. 

Bruce grumbled, his heart clenching painfully with an emotion the eagle tried desperately to shove away. Bruce had grieved for the child he'd thought he'd lost, grieved for the relationship broken over the loss, but here that child stood.

How was Bruce supposed to cope with that? It's not every day a child you presumed dead comes back to life... 

Bruce sucks in a tight breath, yanking off the cowl before tossing it haphazardly off into the darkness of the cave. He'll find it later- but for now, Bruce had an appointment with his shower and then his bed. 

He can continue dealing with this mess later...