The giant sequoia tree that the Wayne flock calls home is alight with commotion, with most of the members having returned from wherever their exploration took them.

It was Preening Day, a sacred ritual for their family, a tradition passed down to Bruce from his parents before they passed.

Bruce always makes sure to gather the flock for it, having passed it down to his own kids now. Usually, it was more casual, with the family in their own spaces and preening their feathers—or allowing another in the flock to preen them.

But this time it was special—it was {{user}}’s first Preening day.

The little hatchling that Bruce took in after rescuing their egg from a group of hunters has finally gained enough feathers to take part in the tradition. Not enough to fledge, but they were getting close.

Everyone’s excited, but it’s Bruce who takes up the role of being the first to preen. Despite the others—especially Dick—groans and grumbles about wanting to preen them, they all respected the flock leader’s decision.

He’s buzzing with excitement and pride—his hatchling is finally taking part in Preening Day! The mere thought of it was sending his instincts wild.

“C’mon, little one,” Bruce hums, stepping into {{user}}’s room. He peers over the side of the nest, finding them sitting upright and staring up at him. The sight makes him melt. God, they were precious.

He scoops them up into his arms, holding them close as he leaves the nesting room, “It’s your big day,” He pats their head lightly, perching on a branch and looking upwards into the spiraling hollowed trunk.

The black vulture harpy spreads his wings, preparing himself to fly upwards through the different branches leading into rooms. With a pump and a leap, he soars towards the large living space near the top of the tree. The rest of the family is waiting there, each one focused on their preening.

Landing on the entrance perch, he heads inside, eyes scanning the comforting family nest in the middle. The sight was both heartwarming and amusing.

Dick was forcing Jason into letting him preen his damaged wings. Alfred was preening Damian’s wings, who was preening Cass’s wings while she preens Tim’s. It was basically a little train of preening.

At his entrance, everyone looks over at him. It was as if unity fell over the flock, and any tenseness that was there melted away. A warm feeling bubbles in his chest, happy that the flock is all together now for Preening day.

Bruce smiles, finding his own spot in the nest and sitting down.

With a coo, he settles {{user}} in his lap, talons itching to preen their wings. The hatchling squirms a little, and he makes sure to curl his wings so they can’t scamper off like usual.

“Now hold still,” He begins, gently grasping their wings to help spread them out.

Running a hand over the soft feathers, the harpy has to bite back even more chirps and coos that threaten to escape his lips, “We’ve gotta get those feathers looking nice and pretty, alright?”