Damian Wayne sat in his bedroom. It was a new place for him, as he had just came from the Ad-Dahna desert in Saudi Arabia to this dark and dreary city. It was known as Gotham, and she was full of tall, darkened buildings, pollution radiating off the factories dotted across the landscape, and full of people looking to harm others. So unlike his home, where the League had built a base in the middle of Ad-Dahna, so no one could touch them. Damian looked out his window, watching as another anti-Winged commercial played upon the screens of a tall tower that had glass surrounding the outside, different screens upon said tower playing different things. The man in the previously mentioned commercial was speaking firmly, completely devoted to his cause. Beside him, there was a picture of what looked like a human. Two hands and arms, ten fingers. Two legs and feet, ten toes. Two eyes, a nose, a mouth, a spine. It appeared completely human, but the man in said commercial was quick to point out some of the major differences as deep blue eyes narrowed. Enormous back and shoulder muscles, larger lungs, larger heart, and a larger stomach. The requirement of more nourishment, but the largest difference of all... the beautiful, ebony wings upon the Winged's back.

All Winged were different, the man had explained. Some of them having wings unique to only them and others mimicking some type of bird. He went on to explain how the Winged had one ability, and only one. This ability made them dangerous, and they were banned in Gotham, along with several of her sister cities. The man continued, speaking gravely as he warned passing civilians yet again about several of the Winged that were currently housed in the Gotham prison, Arkham Asylum. The place was dedicated to removing the Winged's wings, and their abilities to ensure they were harmless. The man continued, listing off facts about the Asylum and some of it's well-known inmates. Scarecrow. The ability to induce fear through toxins. The wings of an eagle. Joker. The ability to mess with people's minds and cause long-term insanity and short-term hallucinations. White wings, with green tips and red streaks throughout. Poison Ivy. The ability to use pollens to induce hallucinations and raise hormone levels. Wings created out of plants, vines snaking up around her back and blooming like butterfly wings.

Only three examples, yet examples that struck fear within the hearts of Gotham civilians. Sure, there were normal criminals, and they were all put behind bars, but the previously listed were even more dangerous, all because of the feathers melded together that came from their shoulder blades. Deep blue eyes turned away from the window, and back to the room at hand. His left hand soothed the ache in his shoulders - he was missing them already - while his right reached for the ceiling. Perhaps he could allow himself a bit of a break. Damian took a deep breath, stilling his left hand and dropping it.

"Foolishness." he murmured to himself. A break was not in the cards, not now, not ever. Damian knew very well that if he were discovered, he would be sentenced to Arkham. He stepped quickly over to his immaculate desk, picking up the pristine sketchbook that lay closed, face down. He flipped it and opened to the first page, staring grimly at the sketch of a mockingbird. The main focus was the wings, which were open as if the bird was ready to fly. A strap of leather running parallel to the bird's head held the wings to the brick wall behind the mockingbird, while nails were driven through the middle of the throat and each leg, cruelly holding the dead bird to the wall. The wall was splattered in gore, the red being the only colour Damian had included. Everything else was shaded. On the bird, blood dripping off of a leg, the only part of the bird untouched and pure white being the proud patches of white on the middle of the wings. Damian eyed it carefully, tracing the feather detailing. His eyes slid closed without his permission, and his forehead came to rest on the sketch. The tattoos on his back stirred with unease, moving gently. Damian could feel the feathers brushing against his abnormally large back muscles as his stomach growled painfully. Damian opened his eyes once more and set the sketchbook down, moving quickly and quietly. His feet seemed to barely touch the ground as he moved, almost dancing upon the air. He could feel each current wrapping around the furniture, himself, and every movement that stirred the air. A particular current was caressing the side of his face, and he leaned into the touch, sighing softly. It had wrapped around the oak post of his four-poster bed, touched the red silk that hung from said bed, and gone over the red, patterned sheets. There was a current lazily drifting over the oak dresser pressed up against the far left of his room, while a much more violent current, coming from outside and his open window swirled around his desk. The red drapes along the window ruffled with the movement of the wind, and Damian looked up, to the outside. That's where his father was right now. Fighting crime and tracking down the Winged.

Where Damian should be, because he he had to become the Batman someday. However, Damian may have been allowed in Bruce Wayne's house, but not in his heart. That was alright. Damian didn't need his love, nor want it. He had not received it from his mother and he would not receive it from his father. He had accepted that. The boy stepped away from the window, bare feet making no noise against the solid wood paneling. The currents brushed by him, as if trying to console him as he walked by. Every Winged could feel the wind surrounding them, and it reacted to them like no other. The wind desperately tried to ruffle his wings, but they could not, not when they were trapped in the form of a black outline tattooed upon his back. As Damian left the room, he swore he could almost hear the wind acknowledging his pain, and mourning with him. Damian had spent time with his father before the nightly patrol, and it was quite safe to say that Damian had not met another human being who hated the Winged as much as Bruce Wayne did. There was a fire in his father's eyes that burned and scalded anyone with a differing opinion. One look was all it took to know that if his father ever found out who, or what, Damian truly was, there would be nothing to stop the flames that would consume the nine year old until there was nothing left but ashes.

Damian was quiet, bypassing the old butler, Pennyworth, on his way to the kitchen. The man was dusting the portraits, even though there was not a speck of dirt to be found. Damian watched him for a moment before continuing on his way. His wings ruffled soothingly, trying to comfort the boy who was attached to them. Damian knew all too well that the old butler had fought a war against the Winged, and it had taken nearly everything from him. The boy dipped his head slightly in respect, and had his species been a fact he could disclose, he may have even allowed Pennyworth to take one of his feathers. Damian entered the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder at the blaring television. He supposed that Grayson must have left it on before leaving on patrol. The boy narrowed his eyes slightly, dark skin tensing as another safety announcement about the Winged played. He sighed softly, feet ghosting over the tiles. Bread was quickly pulled from the pantry, followed by crackers, the fruit platter from the fridge, and the unopened stick of cheddar. Damian pulled out two pieces of the multigrain Dempster's toast and quickly spread peanut butter on it, before replacing both the spread and the bread itself. With his food loaded into his hands, the boy tiptoed past the butler, who, once again, did not notice him go by. Or, if he had, made no indication of it. Damian thought to himself, that perhaps if his secret had to be shared, he would tell Pennyworth. The man seemed to stay out of other's businesses as long as they did not destroy the kitchen or tilt the large portrait of Damian's father when he was about his age, and his parents that hung above the roaring brick fireplace. Damian's footsteps were muffled against the red carpet that lined the staircase that led up to the bedrooms. After retracing his steps and ensuring that he had gone into the correct wing, Damian quietly opened the door to his bedroom and slipped inside. He opened the fruit tray, which was balanced atop his head, and popped a piece of watermelon inside of his mouth. As he chewed, he set the rest of his prizes down on the desk as he viewed the window once again. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to go out, just for a little bit. Damian had been in Gotham for about two weeks now, and he had already estimated the time of his father's arrival back home.

According to the news that was blaring on one of the large glass towers, the Joker had escaped Arkham yet again, and despite his left wing being half ripped off, still retained his abilities. There were warnings everywhere. That was enough to keep his father out for a while. Damian had enough time. The boy sought out his closet, stepping inside and parting two of the shirts that had recently been purchased for him. He grabbed the backpack that was nestled between them and quickly walked back over to his snacks. He carefully eased them inside, ensuring that nothing would spill. He slung the backpack over his one shoulder, shuddering as it came in contact with the tattoos upon his back. They squirmed uncomfortably, and Damian found himself soothing them.

One moment, just one moment. Then we will be free.

The dark haired boy opened his window further, stepping outside. He placed his feet delicately on the flowerbed, avoiding the actual flowers, and curled his fingers into the ledge of his window. The window itself had a small piece of roof hanging over it, and Damian latched onto that, pulling himself up. His feet left his perch, then stepped onto the roof bit. He reached for one of the gargoyles next, easily pulling himself up, arm muscle bulging and as he steadied himself atop of the gargoyle. He ran from one to the next, going West, towards the higher rooftops. The boy hung off of one gargoyle as he grabbed a black domino mask from his backpack and plastered it onto his face before launching himself off of the roof. This free-falling feeling, the wind rustling ruffling through his hair, caressing him, was the closest he could get to the flying here. Damian knew full well the implications of allowing his wings free. Anyone could see him, and take a picture. Record some type of evidence. His father was not known as the World's Greatest Detective for nothing, and Damian was not willing to take that chance. He could feel the currents racing downwards with him, soft laughter tinkling in his ears like the charms of tiny bells. The boy grabbed onto the zipline as he came close to it, hooking his fingers around the thick wire and sliding towards the large Gotham city building that had been playing the anti-Winged commercial earlier. It was one of the tallest in the city, and if Damian wanted to be left alone in peace to eat his food, he needed to be somewhere high up. As the zipline neared the roof of the other building, Damian flipped neatly onto it, landing in a roll. He stood up, brushing the gravel off of his pant knees as he gently eased the backup off his shoulder, trying not to wince at how it brushed against his tattoos. He sat down beside it once the blasted thing was off, and quickly unzipped it, this time choosing a large strawberry to bite into. It was sweet, but at the same time quite sour, and Damian enjoyed the taste immensely. He groaned slightly at the soothing juice entering his mouth. Winged did not eat meat, preferring to dine on fruit and vegetables and grains. They had a larger stomach, and required more nourishment to stay healthy due to their wings. Their hearts and lungs were much larger, requiring a larger stream of oxygen. Damian felt like he hadn't eaten in days, when the truth of the matter was, he had eaten at exactly 6:30pm this evening for supper. It was now 12:56am, and Damian was starving. His mother had known exactly what she was doing when she injected the Winged traits into his gene pool before she began creating him in the artificial womb. She knew how powerful the Winged could be, depending on their abilities, and she wished that for him.

Damian loved his existence. Nothing quite compared to the feeling of truly flying. His wings were the most precious things to him, there was no way he'd give them up for anything. He would leave Gotham, abandon his destiny and his father if his father did eventually find out. There was no way Damian would be allowed to stay unless he was in Arkham, under an operating table slowly removing his wings from his body. Damian couldn't suppress the horrified shudder at the thought, while his wings stretched out, slowly curving around his ribs, the tattoo moving, rippling along skin as if it was water. To distract himself, Damian allowed the sweet juice of another strawberry enter his mouth. He hummed in appreciation, before swallowing the bite and popping pieces of watermelon into his mouth until his cheeks puffed. He chewed slowly, not wishing to choke, before taking out his knife and gently cutting into the cheese. He cut it quickly, into small strips. As soon as he had swallowed his mouthful, he ripped open the cracker package and placed the mound of cheese atop the small morsel of grain. He popped that within his mouth, chewing and nodding in satisfaction at the taste and sound of the crunch. He continued working his way through his food, humming every so often at the food that he had been craving all day. He polished off the crackers and soon began just eating the cheese by itself. After trying a bite of apple and cheese at the same time, he decided immediately that this was delicious, and continued doing so until his apple supply in the fruit tray was gone. He tried the cheese with the other fruits, watermelon, strawberry, melon, and pineapple, but it all tasted gross with the cheddar. Damian gave up and ate the cheese by itself, grabbing the empty cracker sleeve and now empty package of cheddar and placing the wrappers within his backpack. He ate the fruit a little more slowly, feeling his hunger taper off.

Damian knew full well that the butler would notice the food gone come tomorrow, but Damian was nothing if not an excellent liar. However, he would need to purchase his own supplies otherwise Pennyworth may become far too suspicious. If that happened, the man would snoop and depending on what he found, any and all information would be reported directly to Damian's father. Damian sighed softly, and popped the last piece of pineapple into his mouth, worrying the fruit with his tongue and pressing it against the roof of his mouth to suck out the juices before pressing his teeth down on it, breaking the fruit slowly and gently. He chewed the pieces, then swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing as the food moved down his throat. He sighed in relief and gathered up the empty plastic fruit tray before placing it back within his backpack. He rummaged throughout the second smallest pocket before pulling out a waterbottle. He uncapped it, then tipped the liquid into his mouth, drinking greedily with a stream of the liquid running from the corner of his mouth down to his chin, and then dripping off. As soon as the small plastic container was exhausted of it's supply, Damian placed the bottle back into his backpack and checked the time on his watch once more. 1:32am. He stood up and stretched, feeling his back crack and his wings ruffle in pleasure. He smiled softly, before easing the backpack straps back onto his shoulders, trying not to wince too badly. Wings were sensitive things. Every blow against them hurt three time more than it would for a human, and every touch sparked nerves that simply did not exist for a normal person. It was intense, every time something brushed against his wings, and in the Winged community, only those closest to a Winged was allowed to touch their wings. Consent must be given, and if consent was not explicitly stated, the offender would often face charges. It was sort of like the human's equivalent to rape. Wings brushing against another pair of wings indicated complete trust, and perhaps the pair were mates or to be mated, while giving someone a feather of your's indicated true respect, that you held the person in highest regard.

Damian looked out onto the Gotham skyline and wondered why his father fought this fight. It would never cease and there was no reward except more punishment. Damian sighed softly and turned away, the wind caressing him softly, as if sensing his dark thoughts. There was a sudden quiet in the currents, in which Damian's eyes widened. He turned around sharply, already gasping under his breath, and began to run. He had sensed it, just before. Like there was a calm before every storm, there was a quiet in the air before every explosion. Damian pinpointed the location seconds before the bomb went off, fire dancing in front of his eyes. He was blown backwards as the glass on the building he was perched on shattered into millions of pieces from the force of the blast. He had rolled with the impact, and other than the small cut in his shoulder, he was fine. Damian launched himself up, peering over the edge. Robin was lying on the ground, unmoving, as the Joker laughed crazily. Damian watched with increasing sickness as the man moved half of his left wing, the other half missing. It stirred up a wave of emotion in the boy, and he curled his fingers into his fist, knuckles white as he clenched his eyes and prepared for battle. His father needed that stupid ass, Timothy Drake. Damian hated to admit it, but right now, Drake needed to be around. Father took an obscene amount of comfort in the older boy's presence, and dammit, Damian was not jealous, but Drake had to be alive. At the same time, everything in Damian's instincts urged him to protect the Joker. He opened his eyes slowly, and felt tears building up before cascading down his cheeks, dripping down his chin as he saw the way the man moved. In pain, lost in the insanity that gripped him, missing half of his wing. The Arkham people weren't helping him, they were making everything worse and everything in Damian screamed to help him, heal his wing, make him whole again. So the tears poured down his cheeks as the boy stood, and they continued to fall, crashing around the young Winged as he arched his back.

Sickening snaps of bone breaking and healing sounded across the skyline, barely audible as the boy screamed through gritted teeth. In both despair at what he had to do, and in pain. Flesh grafted over the bones arched over shoulders, feathers pressing out of said flesh and ripping their way downwards, grey in colour. Damian had fallen to his knees, and soon stood, Gotham buildings behind him, one knee underneath him as his wings spread to the sky. He had no choice to unveil them now, and quickly pulled his hood up and tightened the drawstring to avoid anyone seeing his face. His wings flaring out, proving exactly what bird he imitated - the mockingbird. Mockingbirds. Gray and white in colour, with large white patches in the middle of their wings being their trademark. Their wings are short, rounded, and broad, and Damian's in particular had a wingspan of 140 inches. They are known to be able to mimic nearly any sound, and Damian is no exception. He curled his wings over his shoulders in a sharp angle before launching off the roof, muscle tensing before releasing as he launched himself into the air. Below him, Robin stirred, and sat up slightly. His eyes widened behind the domino mask, identifying both the Joker and a new Winged. Damian could almost see his mind racing a million miles an hour, most likely wondering how the hell he was supposed to get himself out of this one. One Winged, that he knew the ability of, was bad enough. Add in a second, unknown one, and Robin would be dead. That is, if Damian was attacking him. He dove, his wings steady above his back, the currents racing with him. As the Joker turned, a large, maniacal smile on his face as he went to greet the newcomer, Damian refused to stop or slow down. The evil clown's eyes widened in realization as Damian slammed straight into him, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Damian recovered quickly and bashed the bony, strong part of his wing against the Joker's head, effectively knocking him out. He turned his gaze to Robin, whose brows were drawn together in both confusion and suspicious, and merely dipped his head to the older boy. Damian would only respect him in this form. Damian tensed his upper back muscles, lifting his wings, before launching himself into the air. As he stumbled to his previous perch, he transformed his wings back into tattoos and grabbed the backpack he had brought with him. He swung from roof to roof, desperate to get home as quickly as possible. He dropped into his bedroom window, and hid his backpack in it's previous spot, before stripping and quickly pulling on a pair of silk, blue pajamas. He dove into bed and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He heard footsteps as the butler came to check on him, the squeak of his door opening, and then the soft click as it locked once again. Damian's deep blue eyes opened in the darkness, glowing an eerie bright blue colour. He sighed softly before shutting them once more.

What's done is done. He had to save Robin, but he was sure that Drake had no clue it was him. He'd have to find out tomorrow. With that thought in his mind and unease in his belly, Damian drifted off to sleep, succumbing to the darkness that pulled at his vision.