Notes: Many thanks to Emaniahilel for introducing me to her fic "Fable" as well as Robin and Raven's fan-made progeny, Jonathon Bruce and Victoria Grayson, then letting me borrow said progeny again and again.

Brush Strokes

I. Sand Castle

By Kysra

Vicky is five when she first understands that – even though he teases and ignores her – Jonny loves her.

She plays in a sandbox, trying and not succeeding to build a castle with nothing but her hands. Her tongue is sticking out and strands of stray hair tickle her nose, but her eyes are focused, mouth in a serious line and brow creased. There is nothing in the world but herself and the uncooperative sand that sifts through her little fingers, stubbornly refusing to take shape despite her best efforts; and she swiftly loses track of Uncle Roy's apple red aura to growing frustration as she again attempts to pack the sand into some semblance of a foundation.

It only looks like a simple hill.

Tears begin to form in her eyes as she drags sand spotted fingers across her brow to somehow get that one strand away from the tip of her nose. Her legs are beginning to cramp from being crouched and bent for so long; but she is determined to build a castle, and Mama and Daddy have always told her that she can do anything she puts her mind to.

So, she tries again and again and again as the time ticks past and the sun begins to lower. Uncle Roy is calling for her to get her things together because Daddy will kill him if he doesn't get her and Jonny home before supper; but she doesn't want to leave until the castle is built and done even though she is no closer to finishing than she was when they first got here.

"C'mon Tori." Jonny is suddenly next to her with that authoritative look he gets when he wants to communicate that he's the eldest therefore his word is law.

Usually she would listen because Mama and Daddy have always said that she's to listen to Jonny when they are not around; but she needs to do this for some reason that her young mind can't understand yet. So she looks at him with a frown and defies him for the first time in her life.

But Jon doesn't get angry – he never does. Instead, he stills her flailing hands and urges her to standing before taking up a foam cup littering the ground and making his way to the central water fountain. Soon enough he returns and pours the water on the sand, pulls her down to kneeling with him and begins to pack the wet sand into the cup.

It takes only minutes for the turrets to be constructed, but more water must be fetched to sculpt the rest of the façade. They work in tandem, not speaking but seeming to know who is in charge of what section and why. Uncle Roy watches nearby, and she can feel the warmth of his pride and love. It is only slightly muted by the cloaking devotion of her brother.

When they are finished and the castle stands proudly – if slightly lop-sided and with not an entrance to speak of, Vicky smiles at Jonny and Jonny smiles back as he takes her hand. The sand is coarse between their dirty palms, but Vicky grasps a bit tighter.

She has only ever felt so safe with her parents.