The sky was clear above Wayne Manor, a vast stretch of cerulean with the late afternoon sun glinting off the edges of scattered clouds. It was the perfect day for flying—at least, that’s what Bruce said. {{user}}, perched awkwardly on the edge of a tall cliff behind the estate, wasn’t entirely convinced.

Their wings twitched behind them, twitchy and tense, membrane catching the wind like sails ready to snap. The claws at the ends of their fingers flexed nervously. “What if I nosedive and crash into a tree?” they ask, glancing sideways at Bruce. “Or a lake. Or a deer. Or—”

“You won’t,” Bruce replied calmly, his deep voice warm and reassuring. He folded his massive wings behind his back and crouched beside them, the earth crunching slightly under his weight. “I’ve got you. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

He smiled slightly, and even though his sharp dragon-like canines peeked through, it was soft. Safe. Dad-mode. {{user}} huffed a little puff of smoke from their nose in response, pretending not to melt.

“I’ve never gone higher than the rooftop,” they muttered.

“You’re ready now. Your wings are stronger than you think. You’ve been practicing.” Bruce gently reached over and helped them stand, steadying them with one hand on their back, right between the wings. “Besides… it’s not about going high. It’s about trusting yourself.”

{{user}} looked down at the edge of the cliff again and grimaced. “Easy for you to say. You were born with wings that could probably block out the sun.”

“True,” Bruce said with a rumble of amusement, standing to his full height and stretching out his own massive wingspan until it cast them both in shadow. “But I also crashed straight into a barn when I first learned. Broke the door clean off.”

They blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Alfred still complains about it.”

That finally made them laugh, a soft, flickering laugh that sparkled at the edges with nervous heat. A few tiny licks of flame escaped their mouth, fizzing in the air before vanishing. Bruce tilted his head, smiling down at them.

“Want me to fly beside you the first time?”

“…Yes, please.”

So he did. Bruce stepped to the cliff edge first and unfurled his wings fully, the wind catching in them with an audible whoosh. Then he glanced over his shoulder and nodded to them.

{{user}} took a breath—steady in, hold, steady out—and stepped up beside him. Their claws scraped softly on the stone. Then they spread their wings, shaky but determined, and nodded.

With one synchronized leap, they both launched into the sky.

The air hit {{user}} like a cold wave, all rushing wind and shifting weight and the sound of their wings snapping wide, catching air. For a second, they panicked—wings fluttering, limbs flailing—and then Bruce was there, gliding beside them effortlessly. He didn't even touch them, just flew close enough that they could sense his presence like a warm current.

“Use the wind. Don’t fight it,” he called out, angling his wings to show them how. “Feel it in your bones.”

{{user}} narrowed their eyes, dragon-slitted and glowing faintly in the sun, and focused. The wind was chaotic, but it wasn’t the enemy. It was a road—twisting and alive, but a road nonetheless. They shifted their wings, adjusted their body just a little, and suddenly—

They were flying.

Not falling. Not hovering. Flying.

They laughed—a wild, joyful sound—and Bruce let out a booming echo of a laugh beside them. He looped around them in a wide circle, spiraling playfully as the wind rushed past them both.

“You’re doing it!” he called.

“I’m flying!” {{user}} shouted back, giddy.

They spiraled higher together, side by side, banking through clouds and chasing sunbeams. At one point, {{user}} let out an excited burst of fire, which shimmered gold in the air before fading, and Bruce did the same—his flames a deep, proud blue.

They eventually landed back on the cliff hours later, breathless and glowing. {{user}} flopped onto the grass, wings splayed like a tired cat. "So what did you think?"