I meant to make this chapter longer, but have fell into a bit of a slump. Here's hoping that posting it gets me back in the swing of things.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, made purely for entertainment. No profit was made and no insult intended if this story is terrible (read at your own risk! lol) In short, I don't claim to own it, so don't sue me...trust me, it wouldn't be worth your while...
Full Author's Notes following chapter (please read)
The bright lights of the circus faded as a growing distance separated him from the only life he had ever known. He sat on his knees in the luxurious back seat of a sleek black car, and stared out the rear window at them. Lights of every color: some strobing, some blinking, some unmoving as they invited people to come and enjoy an evening of fun under the big top. But not all the lights were welcome, and the flashing blue lights of the police cruisers were impossible to miss, and wholly unwanted. Nearby a pair of ambulances pulled away slowly. They had no lights on, no sirens to urge the crowds apart. There was no need for them, for their passengers were beyond the need for haste and urgency.
There was no urgency in moving the dead.
"Master Richard, I must insist that you turn around and buckle your safety belt."
The young boy could not tear his gaze away from the ambulances. He so desperately wanted to see the lights turn on, the sirens to begin wailing, the vehicles to increase their speeds, forcing everything out of their way as they carried their living patients to the hospital. If he could only will the lights to come on...
"Master Richard..."
Dick Grayson said nothing as he turned to face the front. The kind eyes of the driver watched his young passenger in the rear view mirror as the child fastened the belt across him. He then folded his hands in his lap as he looked out the window at the city of Gotham pass by him. He'd only been in the city a handful of times, mostly with his mother shopping. At night his family belonged to the crowds, their sole purpose to amaze and entertain, but the days were theirs to do as they liked. They shopped and laughed, and his mother especially loved to wander around the cities they visited. Some of the towns were smaller, and if his parents were busy, they were send their ten year old son alone to a nearby store or shop for this or that item, but never in Gotham. Gotham City was dangerous, and he was never to leave the circus grounds without one of them. But that was what he was doing now. He was leaving without them...because they could not come with him, ever again.
He sniffed suddenly, and tears burned his eyes. "I shouldn't leave the circus." he said softly to himself.
The cars only other occupant heard the tiny voice, the first words spoken since he'd guided the small boy into the car, and when the car slowed to a stop at a red light he turned to face him. "I know it's been a long night Master Richard," he said, "But for the time being you cannot remain at the circus. Master Bruce has a few items of paperwork to contend with before returning to the manor, but there was no need for you to remain while he did it. Once we are there you may rest, as you are surely exhausted."
He was nice Dick decided, and he smiled weakly at the older man, Alfred. He'd never met any of his grandparents, but he could not help but believe that this was what they were like. "You can call me Dick," he offered, and was rewarded with a pleased smile, "Richard was what my parents called me whenever I got in trouble."
This garnered a slight chuckle before the light changed and Alfred once more resumed his driving.
Dick settled further into the seat, a laid his head against the head rest, his gaze turned back outside the window. Despite himself, his eyelids grew heavy and he blinked a few times.
"My word... what is this?"
Dick's eyes opened at the voice, and he sat up straighter to look over the front seat and out the windshield. Blue flashing lights... just like before. He huddled back as the car came to stop before the police barricade and the young police officer who had his hand held up, stopping traffic. Alfred rolled down his window and the officer approached.
"I'm sorry sir," The policeman said, glancing at Dick a moment before returning his gaze to the driver. "There's been a reported gas leak in the area ahead. It looks pretty major, so we're redirecting traffic towards the docks for the time being."
"Oh my..." Alfred muttered, looking ahead to the fleet of city utility trucks beyond the flashing blockade or police cars. "That far?"
"Yes sir," The officer nodded, "These lines feed most of southern Gotham, so until the leak is fixed we've got to redirect around. It's a little out of the way, but if you're going through old Gotham to the north, it's the shortest path.
Alfred nodded and glanced into the mirror at the still figure in the backseat. Dick was staring forward at the lights, though he probably was not seeing them. The police presence was probably disturbing the child and little wonder. He'd seen enough police cars tonight to last him a lifetime. Anxious to move on, Alfred nodded once more to the police officer and wished him a good night before turning down the indicated street.
"Just a little detour Master Dick," Alfred said calmingly, "It will take a while longer to reach the manor, but little matter." He saw with satisfaction the small shoulders release their tension, and continued speaking just to fill the silence. "Going this way you will glimpse the docks, and all the vessels it houses. Have you ever been there?" There was the barest hint of negative shake of the head, but at least the small child was listening to his voice, not left to his own thoughts and where they led. Ironically it was the same tactics he'd used many years ago, when another small boy was shaking with grief that threatened to drown him. That loss led to a silent promise that never again would a small child have to face that sadness, not on his watch, not in his city. Alfred quietly sighed. The slight figure in the backseat was a cruel reminder that one man could not stop a world of evil, despite every intention.
"We...we saw docks in New York one time..."
Alfred's attention turned to the unexpected comment, "Did you now?" He coaxed with open interest.
The black haired head bobbed once, "We went there to see the big green freedom lady in the water."
"The Statue of Liberty," Alfred corrected gently with a smile.
Dick nodded again, "Yeah, her. M-Mom said she welcomes everyone to America, kinda like Arnie does."
"Arnie?"
There was a slight sniff, then "Arnie's the ticket guy at the circus. He welcomes everyone to the show."
"I see."
Dick lowered his eyes and began picking at a loose thread in his light jacket. He tugged on it and wrapped the small red string around his fingers, pulling hard and watching as the tips of his fingers turned red then purple from the cut off circulation. When it began to hurt he unwrapped the strand, and watched the color return to normal. "I would help him sometimes..." He continued suddenly after a few moments of silence. His voice was hushed, and his eyes never lifted from the thread binding his fingers. "Before the show started I would stay with him and help people find their seats. I could do it...because we were the last performance." Blue eyes closed and a tear squeezed from beneath the lowered lids. "You save the best for last, and we were the best."
But not anymore. The Flying Graysons would never fly again, and it was all because of him. That man, the one who argued with Mr. Haley, the one whom Dick saw before the show. Dick had tried to tell his parents, tried to relay the terrible feeling he got from looking at that man; his cruel black eyes and grim unshaven face. Dick had known, he had known that that man, whoever he was, meant harm to the circus, to his family. But he hadn't been insistent enough, hadn't pushed the matter. How could he? The music was playing, the lights were shining, it was their cue to go on! And his father had drilled into him that when they were out there, above the crowds, he couldn't have anything else in his mind. His thoughts had to be clear, even, with no distractions. And so...he had just pushed it aside.
And by doing so, it was no different than if he himself had cut the rope.
A choked sob escaped the backseat, drawing Alfred's attention from the road. "Master Dick..." He pulled off the highway into the well lit parking lot of an all night convenience store, though the lot was empty save for them. "Here lad," He said, beckoning to the sobbing child. Tears flowing, Dick crawled over the front seat, where he was pulled close by the driver. "There now.." Alfred said soothingly, wrapping his arms around the shaking child protectively. They were so the same, this child in his arms, and the one he'd sheltered those many years ago. And just like then, he knew now what barb dug into the heart of this child. "It's not your fault Master Dick, it never was."
"But I should have...I could have..." the boy hiccuped sadly, and a fresh wave of sobs erupted from his small form. "I saw him! And I should have..."
"No," Alfred said, putting gentle force behind his words, "There is one person to blame for this. It was his choices that led to your parents' deaths. Not yours." There was no response, but then, Alfred did not expect one. He held the child for a long while, until the sobs subsided, and the shaking stilled. A few small sniffs told him that Dick had not fallen asleep leaning against him, but was probably close.
Alfred slowly moved to put the car in drive. The unexpected detour toward the docks had taken them into areas of Gotham that were best avoided at night. While that truth rang clear for most of the city, the warehouses and old abandoned buildings in this part of the city made it even more so. It was getting later by the moment, and so Alfred deemed it time for them to move on.
Dick sat in silence as the car began moving again. His eye were dry and scratchy from rubbing them so much, but he was beginning to feel too tired to care. He felt a bit self conscious at crying in front of someone he did not really know, but he had felt so alone. It was like a deep hole had been dug inside his chest. He felt empty and hollow, and could not bear the thought of moving away from the human contact, even if it was just to the other side of the car seat. Blinking his tired eyes slowly, the exhausted child wiped his sleeve across his face once and tilted his head so he could continue to watch out the window at the passing landscape.
Alfred's words stayed with him, and Dick knew the truth in them. There was only one person to blame for the tragedy that had befallen his small family. And for the first time in his short life, Dick felt the white hot fires of hatred fill his heart. It burned inside him, and filled the emptiness that had grown within him with it's searing heat. He wanted that man dead. He wanted him dead so that he would never again steal parents from children. He wanted him dead because that might soothe the ache that had been threatening to take him over ever since he watched his parents, always so graceful in flight, fall to the ground, their blood soaking into the sawdust and hay of the circus floor.
And suddenly, the man who's face was forever in his mind, was there. Dick blinked. Maybe, because he was thinking about him, he'd mistakenly seen the face on the man who stood at the street corner they approached. The light turned red, and the car came to a steady halt. The man pulled his jacket collar up around his face as he stepped off the curb, crossing the street in front of them. The child's blue eyes narrowed as he followed the obscured face, desperately trying to see past the cloth barrier. As the man reached the other side, he glanced over his shoulder, and Dick gasped audibly as he saw the face of his parents' murderer.
"Master Dick? What is it?" Alfred followed the child's line of site, but he was too late, the man had slipped into the side door of a darkened warehouse.
The light turned green, and Dick looked at the street sign. Nelson Drive he committed the name to memory as the car began moving once more. "Nothing..." He said, letting a sleepy note fall into his voice. "Just a dog..." He fell silent, wondering if he should tell Alfred what he saw. No, he couldn't. Alfred had told him that that man was solely to blame. What if Alfred stopped the car and tried to go after him? He might get hurt, something Dick did not want to have happen to the kind man. So he kept his jaw clenched shut for the rest of the drive, so much so that it began aching as they turned down a long, tree lined lane that led to a castle in the distance.
It wasn't a castle, Dick decided, but it was large enough to be, and imposing enough. Stone walls rose into the air, blocking out the moon with their immense height. Dick stared in awe, there was no way someone lived here. It was like a museum, or a fortress, but not a home.
"Welcome to Wayne Manor, Master Dick." Alfred said with a hint of pride in his cultured voice. The car continued around the home and into a car filled garage larger than most circus tents. They pulled alongside a waiting man who stepped forward and opened the passenger door. Dick stared at him curiously until a reassuring pat on his shoulder from Alfred moved him. He stepped out of the car and stood silently in place until Alfred had joined him at his side.
"Daniel, this is Master Dick," Alfred said to the man who'd met them. "He will be staying with us a while. I trust his effects arrived ahead of us."
"Yessir," Daniel, a young man with short red hair said crisply, glancing down and offering Dick a bright smile that touched his green eyes. "They arrived a half hour ago, and have been taken to his room, all save for the bike there."
Dick followed his gesture and spotted his bicycle, already secured to a bike stand with many others. It was shorter than the others it was housed with, built for a child's stature. It's worn and battered red paint stood out next to the glistening graphics on its neighboring mountain bikes, all of which appeared to have had very little to no wear. Still, Dick had gotten that bike when he was seven, mastered tricks with his father in the gravel parking lots of the circus, and wouldn't trade it for the world.
Tearing his gaze from it, he followed Alfred through a door into the house, leaving Daniel behind to park the car. They passed a few men and women dressed in uniforms of gray and dark blue, and Dick wondered if all those people lived in the house too. There were certainly enough rooms, and Dick lost count of the closed doors they passed until Alfred stopped in front of one on the second floor. It was not unlike the rest of the doors, and Dick wondered how Alfred was ever able to keep them all straight in his mind. But obviously he was able to, for he opened the door and gestured for Dick to enter after he clicked the light on.
The room was large, but Dick had begun to realize that when it came to Wayne Manor, no other adjective was necessary. He had a sneaking suspicion that his family's entire trailer could have fit neatly in one corner of the bedroom. The walls were a light blue, with darker blue on the bed and chairs, but Dick was not looking at that. Instead the young child walked through the door and stopped in front of a neat stack of boxes. The top box was open, and he quietly looked inside, pulling the top most item out. Dick had always been used to seeing his picture. Flyers and posters adorned just about any flat surface on the circus grounds, heralding the stars of the show for the visiting crowds. But the photo he held in his shaking hands, this was not a picture of the "Flying Graysons", aerialist extraordinaires. No, this was the Grayson family, on their last family vacation to Disney World. The three of them stood in front of the giant castle, all wearing fake mouse ears and grinning ear to ear as Dick sat perched on his father's tireless shoulders.
"Master Dick," Alfred said softly, coming up behind him and laying his hand on the boy's shoulders. "How would you like some cocoa before bed?" Dick nodded wordlessly, still looking at the photo. He heard Alfred say he would return shortly, the retreating footsteps and the closing door. Then he was alone.
Dick gingerly returned the photo to its box before taking a seat on the soft bed. He looked at the boxes stacked in front of him. There were four in all. Was that all there was? Was that all that the Grayson's lives had amounted too? Four boxes stacked neatly on the floor of a strange room. He knew his parents had never been the type to hold onto material possessions. In the circus, you had your trailer, and that was it. Unneeded items were not practical in such a limited space, and so they did not hold onto much. But somehow, he thought there would be more representing their lives. Part of him wanted to go through the boxes now and see what was there, but another part of him resisted. Lastly, and mostly, a part of him hoped he would be able to return here eventually and sort through the items properly.
Alfred entered then with a tray on which rested a mug of cocoa and a few sugar cookies. He sat them on the bedside table, then walked to where a few small luggage pieces Dick had not noticed till then rested. He opened one bag and pulled out a pair of Dick's pajamas, his favorite pair, the ones with tiny gray elephants all over them.
"The police agreed to release your belongings," Alfred said, laying the soft shirt and matching pants on the foot of the bed. "They believed no evidence of motive would be found in your trailer, and so Master Bruce persuaded them that the items best belonged with their owner as soon as was possible."
Dick nodded, letting the heat of the mug warm his hands. "Thank you," he said softly, but sincerely.
Alfred nodded, "Well then, I believe it would be best for you to get some rest now." As if in response to that, a wide mouthed yawn racked the young form still seated on the bed. Alfred smiled and walked to the head of the bed. He turned the covers back neatly, then picked up the tray and tucked it under his arm. He walked to the door and paused with his hand on the doorknob. "I would have much enjoyed meeting your parents Master Dick. They must have been very special, for they gifted the world a fine young man."
Dick smiled weekly, "Good night Mr. Alfred."
"Good night Master Dick."
The door closed silently, and Dick heard the footsteps slowly fade before he was left in silence. He sat for a long time, his gaze rested unseeing on a spot somewhere in the corner, his mind wandering and wondering at how it could have all come to this. Where would he be right now, if his life had not fallen with his parents? Cake and ice cream...they always had cake and ice cream after a successful show, provided by Mr. Haly to all the crew. His favorite was chocolate, packed to the rim with sprinkles so that they fell off his plate when he tried to move it. Cake and ice cream...
But no, that wasn't right. They had been the last act, so the cake and ice cream would have been long over. Instead, the tiny Grayson family would have by now retired to their trailer. In an attempt to settle down from the adrenaline and sugar induced high of the night, they would have went over the show. Dick may have been their son, and he may have only been a child, but when it came to the Flying Grayson's act, he was an equal partner, and his parents would listen to his opinion with rapt attention as the three would go over their art. The lines were a bit uneven tonight, leading to a jerky swing, better have Harold look at that before the next show... the western lights were at a bad angle, a bit blinding on the back swing, Tommy should know better than to set them like that... Back and forth they would go, over every detail, leaving no subject untouched until they were satisfied that the next show would be perfect.
Dick had no idea how much time had passed when the approaching footsteps knocked him from his reverie. He jumped to his feet, clicking the light off then all but diving into the bed. He pulled the covers to his chin, covering his still clothed form as the steps paused outside his door. He could see the shadows moving under it and the faintest sounds of the doorknob turning made him clench his eyes closed and slow his breathing, pretending he was asleep.
"Master Bruce." Alfred's voice sounded softly from further down the hallway and it's approach stilled the movement beyond the door.
"How is he?" A new voice sounded.
Dick risked opening his eyes to tiny slits at the sound. He'd heard that voice earlier, at the circus, but it was a little different now. That was Bruce Wayne. He'd been the one to come over as Dick sat in the back of the police car, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, as the police tried to keep curious onlookers from hounding the poor child. He'd laid his hand on Dick's shoulder and promised him in a soft voice that he'd be taken care of. Softly spoken words and loudly speaking actions. It had not been long after that that Alfred had arrived and whisked Dick into the back of the black car. He understood the basics. He was a witness in the crime that had claimed his parents' lives. He couldn't leave the city, but the circus could not be put on hold, regardless of Mr. Haly's words to the contrary. So Mr. Wayne volunteered to take the child in, to provide a safe place for him to stay until his parents' killer was captured.
"He is exhausted, but strong," Alfred's reply came after a moment. "I believe a good nights rest will help where nothing else can."
"I'd...I'd like to speak to him,"
"I know lad, but he is already asleep, and I believe it best to wait till morning."
The hand released the doorknob, and the two stepped away from the door. Their voices faded a bit, but Dick could still hear them.
"Alfred, do you think this is the right thing to do? He saw his parents...and I couldn't do anything. He and I, we're..."
"I know Master Bruce," Alfred interrupted quietly, "And that is precisely why I believe that this is the right thing to do."
There was a pause before Bruce spoke again. It might have been the distance that had grown between Dick and the speakers, but something changed in the soft voice. Something that made Dick pull the covers a little tighter under his chin. "This shouldn't have happened. And the killer is still out there."
"Yes, you are correct." Alfred agreed.
"I'll be downstairs."
"Of course, Master Bruce."
The speakers either finished talking, or had moved too far away to be heard. He waited a few more minutes, watching the slit at the bottom of the door for what seemed an eternity. Finally, Dick sat up and pushed the covers off of him, swinging his legs off the bed.
The killer is still out there...
The words echoed in his mind, giving him the resolve to stand up and walk over to the french doors leading out onto a small balcony. The killer was still out there, and Dick knew where to find him. Dick's eyes darkened as he thought of the man crossing the street and disappearing into the shadows of the old buildings. He could see his eyes clearly, they were the same ones he'd seen slipping out of the tent as he and his parents watched for their cue, the same eyes he seen glaring and angry as he yelled at Mr Haly, promising that without his "protection" the circus would suffer. Dick had not realized what was meant by that then, but he understood now. He understood, but that understanding came at a price he'd never been willing to pay.
He stepped out onto the balcony and walked to the iron railing. For a moment he stood, staring into the black of the night as it swallowed the ground beneath him. He ignored the cold biting at his hands and cheeks, and stared into the blackness, gathering the courage to plunge into it and face the monsters it veiled…..
To be continued
Ch 1 Author's notes
On this website, an author named Cmar asked "What if Bruce Wayne never went to the circus that night?" What follows was a wonderful set of tales labled under the series name "Birds of a Feather" I highly recommend anyone read it because it's a great set of stories. They are also in some way an inspiration for my own story. I have been kicking this idea around for a while, and stumbling across Cmar's stories gave me the push to finally set pen to paper and finger to keyboard and see what happened. Cmar's literary wrench was driven in at the very beginning, creating Bruce's decision to pass on a night at the circus; I drive my wrench in a little later, asking, "When Dick went to find Zucco, what if someone beat him to it?"
I want to explore a little bit of how life in Gotham would have progressed without the influence of a teenaged superhero dressed like a streetlight, witty quips, bad puns and all. I hope it turns out readable, and if it also happens to be enjoyable, then I will definitely have a grin on my face (end subtle "please review" hint)... (end blatant "Please review" hint) I tossed this in the Batman section because it just didn't seem like it would fit into the Nightwing section.
This is my first piece of DC fiction, and while I do have a working knowledge of the comics, there's bound to be inacuracies around. Some are on purpose, such as the inclusion of a certain character in the second chapter. I know that in canon he is introduced after Robin's debut, but in this fic all DC is fair game, and I may twist somethings to make it fit. I pray I don't butcher anything to the point of pissing off the fans, and I appreciate any feedback to let me know how I'm doing.
About the Title.
There is a Rom quote:
Jeck dilo kerel but dile hai but dile keren dilimata
"One madman makes many madmen, and many madmen make madness"
Using my limited (read: nonexistent) knowledge of the Romani language, I deduced that Dilimata probably means madness...or some variation of the word. It's a fitting name since this story turns the canon upside down just to see what madness ensues. I apologize if I'm incorrect on the translation, and will be very grateful if someone lets me know for sure.