A/N
Loosely based on the song Circus Monster by CircusP.
I've had this plot in my back pocket for ages, and I hadn't meant to start posting this already, especially at the beginning of Camp NaNoWriMo, but inspiration struck a few days ago and I had to begin this fic. Updates will be sporadic.
"Little Robin, where are you?"
The six-year-old boy in question sniggered madly and slithered further underneath his family's caravan. His mother, Mary, was so close, but she didn't seem to have heard him shuffling. He watched her feet pace around the caravan, occasionally halting as she looked about crates and banners or in baskets of dirty laundry. Finally, she stopped two feet away, near enough for him to reach out and grab her ankle.
"Maybe you're — here!" Mary exclaimed, and Robin heard the swoosh of curtains opening. He smacked his pudgy hands over his mouth in a furious battle to hold back his peels of laughter. He had to win, if only to have the satisfaction of winning; at best, he wouldn't have to take a bath. He couldn't afford to lose. Giggles slipped by nonetheless, his shoulders shaking wildly. Upon realizing how absurd he sounded and how ridiculous he must look with his red, puffy cheeks, gave in, releasing high-pitched gales of laughter.
"Ah-ha! There you are!" said his mother humorously, her long red hair, green eyes and athletic figure coming into view. His mirth was unrelenting, even as Mary dragged him out from his hiding spot. She pulled him into her arms, chuckling gaily, and asked, "What's so funny, Robin? Is it — this!" Her hand dove at his tummy and tickled him mercilessly.
The effect was swift: Robin' hands morphed into scaly, black claws as he stuck out at his mother's arm. She jerked back, dropping Robin onto the dusty ground. Neither was laughing anymore.
"Richard!" said Mary sharply. Robin recoiled, guilt and revulsion pouring into his stomach like some wicked potion. He didn't know where to look — his mother's eyes exuded distress and his once-again human hands had fresh red blood beneath the finger nails. The sickness reach new heights when he caught sight of the way his mother was clasping her forearm, rivulets of blood seeping between her fingers, dripping one drop after another into the dirt. An aching force pushed at the backs of his eyes. Breathing became an arduous task.
"Mom-Mommy — I'm sorry. I didn't mean to —"
"It's all right. It's okay. Let me fix this now —" Mary stated firmly, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. She retracted her hand, revealing four deep slashes near her wrist. But suddenly her pink human flesh was replaced by black scales. Her hand grew to almost twice the size, taking on a shape closer to a bear's claw. Her nails became thicker, sharper, and three inches longer, like the talon's of an eagle, only more intimidating. Robin was not afraid, though. He was the same as his parents, and the three of them transformed whenever they could without the threat of getting caught. He was, however, mesmerized when the flesh of his mother's arm slowly sealed up as if by four invisible zippers. After several minutes of intense concentration, the slashes were fully healed, leaving behind thick white scars.
Mary let out a sigh, her arm morphing back into a human one, and shot Robin a reprimanding look. The guilt of hurting his mother welled up, and, try as he might, Robin could not prevent his lips from trembling. He shut his eyes tight and shook where he sat haphazardly on the ground.
"Come here."
His mother's voice was soft, yet firm. Robin didn't move, but when he felt the inviting caress of his mother's arms, threw himself into her embrace and belted out a loud, pitiful sob. Apologizing between sobs and sniffles, he wailed, "I'm s-sorr-ry. I-I'm sorry, M-Mommy —"
Mary gently shushed him, rocking him back and forth. It was incredibly relaxing, like sailing on a peaceful sea. He curled deeper into his mother's breast, seeking comfort and forgiveness in her warmth and proximity. Mary hummed a little tune, and Robin's cries quietened as they sat on the ground. She kissed his mangy black hair, then settled her cheek on his head.
"It's all okay, Little Robin. It was my fault. The same thing happened with my mom and me when I was your age. Shhh…it happens to all of us."
Robin sniffled, still too sorry to speak.
"Do you know why I was upset?"
He nodded into her shirt. He hurt his mommy, that was why. Mary didn't seem to believe him, though.
"I was upset because I am scared at the thought of the wrong people discovering our secret. We need to resist the instinctual habit to revert to our other form, unless it is a life or death situation. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Robin squeaked. There were some words he didn't understand, but he got the gist: Don't let anyone know what you are unless Mommy says so. Mary set him back down and brushed the dust from her jeans, then from all of Robin's clothes. Once satisfied, she clasped his hand and the two of them trod around and into their caravan. The inside was tight, but also homey and tranquil, decorated with deep reds and brilliant yellows.
Mary sat him on the window seat next to a three-cupboard kitchenette before disappearing into the single bedroom. Robin wiped the last tear stains from his face, listening to the light thumps of his mother searching for something. When she padded into the living area a minute later she had an old worn-out brown leather photo album with her. She sat onto the bench without her usual grace and flipped the album to the first page. They came face-to-face with dark scaly creatures. It was the album containing pictures of his family's true selves — well, the other half. There was another album somewhere, a white one, with pictures of them in human form which they'd show to people not in the know. Robin much preferred reminiscing through the brown album.
"We all feel fear, you understand that, right?" Mary asked Robin. He nodded idly as he scrutinized a photo of himself climbing on the broad back of his father, John. His toddler-self was pulling John's hair while his mother laughed and patted the man on his arm. "It's okay to be afraid. There are people afraid of spiders, the dark, failing a test, losing a loved one…and many other things. But some people have fears that make them dangerous. These people can be afraid of losing control over their own lives or the lives of others...They can also be afraid of other people and…creatures they don't understand."
Robin's nose scrunched up and he shifted uncomfortably on the squashy rubber seat, accidentally creating rumbling fart noises. He burst into another fit of giggles. Mary chuckled softly, but the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Robin wasn't stupid — he knew that look. He knew his mother was sad.
"Are you okay, Mommy?" he asked quietly, grabbing her hand like his father usually did.
"I'll be fine, Little Robin. Thank you," Mary said as she stroked back his bangs and cupped his cheeks in her hands, lifting his face toward hers. "Do you understand what I was saying?"
"No."
Mary's face became strained, and for a moment Robin panicked, thinking he had disappointed her and should have answered 'yes,' but then her gaze softened and she continued.
"Listen very carefully now — There are people who fear us because we are only part human. This fear makes them want to hurt us, belittle us, and control us. If they cannot do those things, then they'll seek to destroy us. I don't want you to be afraid of these people, only cautious...But if you are afraid at any time, for any reason, do not forget who you are. Do you know who you are?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
"Dick Grayson — Merondach. Part human, part creature."
"Yes, but that's not all. You are also kind, curious, accepting, and more…so much more…. Whenever you're afraid, remember who you are, and you can get through anything —"
BANG!
The sharp echo of a gunshot tore through the air. The blast seemed to pierce Robin's heart, paralyzing him. None of the circus acts involved firing guns, unless the cannon counted. He made to ask his mother what was going on, but she had already snatched him up, the photo album thudding against the floor, and was running into the bedroom. It was then that he heard both pained and angry shouts emanating from the big top, before they were drowned out by a barrage of gunfire.
Mary thrust of a tiny closet, sat Robin on the floor inside, and hastily began pulling clothes from their hangers, throwing them haphazardly over him. Her hands were shaking so violently she could barely manage to grip the clothing, and her eyes were wide with worry. Robin had never seen his mother like this before, and it make him that much more frightened. He wanted to cry and cuddle up in his mother's arms again. Once he was covered so thoroughly that only his eyes were peaking out from beneath the layers, Mary squatted and pointed at a ring latch in the floorboard.
"If anyone walks in here," she said urgently, "and it's not me, Daddy, one of the strongmen or Pop Haley, or they don't use the code word, open this hatch. You'll fall through. When you do, run. Disappear. I'll find you."
Robin felt his mind swirl. Everything was happening too fast and he didn't understand. Another gun set off, much too close to their caravan, and the two of them winced. His mother grabbed him where she assumed his cheeks were and gave Robin a kiss between the eyes.
"Be strong. I'll be right back," she said vehemently, then sprung from the floor and slammed the closet door. The sound of rapid footfalls grew quieter as she retreated from the room, pausing at the creak of the door, and continued past the bedroom window.
And so Robin waited with baited breath, straining his hearing to catch what was going on. The shouts and gunfire raged on, accompanied by the occasional crash of wood and explosion from the cannon. The closet was snug, hot from the summer heat, and pitch-black. Robin would've thought it a good place to play had his veins not been flowing with ice cold terror. Where was his mother? She said she'd be coming back, but as the battle outside grew louder he began to think it was an empty promise. Biting back a sob, he rubbed at his eyes. The trumpet of elephants blared and Robin felt the Earth tremble.
Zitka! Eleanor!
He had no time to panic — a prominent bang resounded, then a scream and the roar of lions. One last gun went off, and all fell silent. The world seemed to slow down. The gears in Robin's head didn't want to turn. Instinct took over. He could feel in his heart a terrible truth. No matter how hard he tried to deny it — his parents were dead. He was alone.
"Mom…?"
*Merondach is pronounced "mer-on-dak." It's a creature I created for the purpose of this fanfic.
