It was a beautiful spot. Rolling green hills, and perfectly manicured trees. It overlooked the water, and a warm, lazy breeze carried the scent of the sea and green, growing things.
It was hard to believe such a place could be found within a hundred leagues of Gotham. The private cemetery wasn't quite the Wayne Manor Grounds, but it would do. Dick stared down at the three graves sitting side-by-side. Pristine white marble tombstones topped by angels, wings, etched with the finest detail, spread wide. Faces turned upward in glorious flight.
John Grayson
Mary Grayson.
Richard Grayson.
The littlest grave was nestled between the other two. The angel atop that grave was smaller as well, hands stretched out to his sides to clasp the closest hands of the other angles.
Dick could see Bruce's money and Alfred's attention to detail in this.
It was strange. When he had gone looking for his grave, finally driven to it in a fit of masochistic curiosity, he had expected bare, impersonal plots in the county cemetery. The Circus would have done all they could, but none of the had very much spare cash.
Instead, he found this beautiful little idyl. Found his family's remains and memory treated with the utmost respect and care, just as they had been in his own world. He hadn't known what to think, or how it came to be.
Some digging in the newspaper records showed that, beyond all logic, chance, or expectation, he once again had Alfred to thank for it. In one of his rare appearances, Alfred Pennyworth, trustee of the Wayne fortune with Bruce missing, had been at the circus the night the Graysons had fallen to their deaths.
Young Richard Grayson had been only 8.
A bright young couple dying with their young son. The similarity to what could have happened to the Waynes that dark night apparently moved him greatly. Doubtless in part because no one knew what had happened to Bruce, who could be dead for all Alfred knew.
The former Butler and current caretaker had arranged to have the funeral expenses taken care of, and picked the burial location and design for the tombstones himself. The gossip pages had been alive for weeks, over the rare activities of the reclusive man.
Hot wetness trailed down Dick's cheeks. He'd never hoped, never imagined that his parents would have anything like this. Not with Bruce still out of the country, with no connection to one more tragedy in his home city. He never could have imagined that his parents would receive the same care from the man he thought of as his Grandfather, when the man didn't even know him. That his counterpart in this universe would be given the place Dick himself would have wanted for him; cradled in the strong hands of his parents, his anchors. The place he had never wanted to give up, the memory of which had sustained him throughout his life.
They had all died so young in this universe. One of those differences that could change everything. It had gone down about the same way. It was dangerous to turn down a protection racket in the nation's darkest city. (Tony Zucco would get what was coming to him, though. With no survivor, no witness, and no Bat, Zucco was sitting pretty, totally secure in his little empire. Not for long, though.) The plan had been the same as the one that killed Dick's parents in his own universe. Weaken the ropes and the acrobats fall to their deaths. That would teach the circus owner to turn down his generous offer.
Only it happened a few years too early. A small change in routine to accommodate his youth, and Dick was up on the trapeze too when the ropes gave out.
Did he clutch to whoever had been holding him, as they plummeted to the ground? Or did he find himself suddenly without anchor or catcher, suspended for one infinite moment before he too began to fall?
Did he feel like Dick did now?
He had lost his final anchor when his Jason had stepped between him and a blade, bright blood spilling out, body growing cold. He was spinning too fast to see if his catcher was even there, colours and impressions whirling past him as he searched desperately for something, someone, to cling to.
Had little Richard felt like that? Suddenly bereft of the steady forces in his life?
Dick was sure the smile on his face was more than a little cracked, as he sunk to his knees in front on the graves.
"Hello Mom, Dad," he paused, not really sure how to continue. "Little brother, I guess. It's not the strangest way I've ever gained a little brother. Damian might win that prize, though little-stalker-Timmy is a close second. Then again, your dad bringing home the person trying to steal his tires isn't exactly normal, either. I guess I don't even know what I'd do, if a got a brother the 'normal way.' I'm sorry this happened to you. I should have-!" Dick grit his teeth as the regret swelled. When Zatanna had said he didn't exist in his world, he'd mostly been assuming he'd never been born, or his parents had a girl. Not that the same tragedy had occurred, once again. He wondered if it was fate. If even in a world so different as to be almost unrecognisable it was still the fate of the Grayson's to plummet to their deaths, and leave Dick behind to mourn them.
Even when he died as well.
These weren't his parents. The small grave between them didn't really belong to his little brother; in fact belonged to himself. But since all his family was determined to leave him, he'd developed a tendency to become attached quickly to people who could fall under that category.
Even if they were already dead.
But blaming himself for something that had happened before he'd even gotten into this world was stupid and pointless.
"Hi Richard," Dick started again, his smile a lot more gentle this time. "I wonder if you went by Dick too? We got a lot of grief for that over the years, but it was worth it for the look on people's faces when we introduced ourselves."
They had gotten some rather priceless looks, and been the butt of many jokes. Dick pulled off his shoes and settled down into a comfortable Lotus pose that had always made Jason's eyes cross when he saw Dick do it.
"I'm sorry this happened to you. Something sad was going to happen to you in a few years, but you would have found a new family, with a father, and brothers and sisters. Lots of good friends."
This Richard would never get to experience those things. So Dick settled in to tell him all about Bruce. About Jason, and Tim, and Damian. About Steph, and Cass, and Alfred. He talked for hours, telling stories of his time with the Titans, and the trouble he, Roy, Garth, Donna, and Wally had gotten into. He laughed. He cried. He screamed out to the universe. He paced and did flips and handstands and walked on his hands. He sat still, still, still, and tried not to shake.
He told his first family about the one he had built for himself. About the good times, and the bad times, and the times they were all bored stupid and the resulting disasters as they tried to entertain themselves.
He told them about favourite little princess in the whole wide world. Lian, who had liked her "Uncle Dick" much more than her "Uncle Wally" no matter how much the speedster bribed her with rides around the world. He told them about loosing her, and the way Roy had fractured. About never being called "Uncle Dick" again. About the way Wally had cried in his arms, unable to even face the broken echo that had been one of their oldest friends.
He wanted them to know the people he had loved, in another world. He wanted his friends to know he had loved them, missed them, if they were out there watching. He wanted this family that could have been his to know the family he had made. To know what kind of person he was. He hoped they thought he was a good one.
He told them about the end of the world. About desperation, and blood. About the creeping, raging madness, and the things he had done. He told them, voice cracking and staring unseeing into the distance, about clinging so hard to all you had known, and watching it slip through your fingers anyway. About bonds deeper than family, deeper than fate or destiny.
He told them about the desperation that had sent him into this world, about his plans to find his brothers, and make sure that nothing like what had happened in his world happened here.
He laughed when he told them about finding Jason, about the way he was so similar to the brash young Robin he remembered. How he would do his best to make sure his little brother never had cause to turn into the hurting, broken man he had been, for a while. How proud he was that his little brother had made it through that trial to become the rock-steady anchor of Dick's life, as the world fell down around them.
He talked as the sun made it's stately way across the sky. Until blue was shot through with pinks and golds and the shadows were growing long. Until the moon sat fat and heavy on the horizon, almost full, and hauling itself into the gilded sky.
When he finally left, it was with a lighter heart, a promise to return, and a renewed determination to find his family again. To keep them safe this time.
To keep them, this time.