Note: Hi! This is my first time posting a story. I don't own any recognizable characters and I'm not making any money by using said characters. I use italics to show when a person is thinking something but I also use them to emphasize certain words. I'm bad at keeping people in character so sorry if they are not their usual canon selves. Thanks for reading!
The fall seemed to take forever, yet it was over before he could even blink. Nine-year-old Dick Grayson watched his parents' bodies hit the floor and begin painting red pictures on the dirt. He was frozen, but he didn't understand why. Why wasn't he down there drawing with them?
Screams assaulted his ears and Dick realized that they were coming from him. That was something else he didn't understand. He should be climbing down the ladder to join them, not screaming from thirty feet above them. Why was he still on the platform?
He was going to be in so much trouble. The first rule of the Flying Graysons: never go up on the platform by yourself. Ever. Yet here he was. But nobody was even looking at him; maybe he could get down before anyone noticed that he was breaking the rule.
Dick's eyes shifted from the scene on the floor when he noticed movement to his right. A single man was standing several feet away from the crowd around his parents. He was staring up at the young aerialist with some sort of expression that Dick didn't recognize.
Shrugging off the weird look on the stranger's face, the nine-year-old moved to the ladder and began the long climb down. He suddenly realized that it was completely silent. This was Haly's Circus – it was never silent.
Dick reached the ground and turned around. Now everybody was staring at him, not just the stranger, and it made him nervous. They all looked so…sad.
He walked toward the crowd and people immediately moved out of his way. The boy abruptly stopped: his parents weren't using red paint, they were bleeding. And the angles of their arms and legs, it was all wrong. Something was horribly wrong and Dick was now rooted to his spot.
The people around him began crying and Mr. Haly walked toward him. Dick's view of his parents was blocked and he suddenly needed to be near them. But there were bodies crowding around him and hands reaching out to him. Shaking off the touch of a woman on his right, the boy shoved his way through the rest of the people until he reached a scene that he would remember for the rest of his life.
His dad was lying on his back with one leg bent the wrong way and the other with sharp points of white bone sticking out. The man's right arm was underneath him and his left was stretched out to the side, under the neck of Dick's mom.
She had landed on her right side. Her left leg was curled behind her and her right was so twisted that her knee was facing the wrong way. One arm was outstretched toward Dick's dad, while the other lay across the top of her head.
Both sets of eyes were wide open but there was no light shining in them. Dick knelt down between them and quietly searched each pair of eyes, hoping to see laughter or happiness. Because this…this was all a joke. It was a stupid prank, one that nobody should ever pull, and yet here they were. The boy wondered who had put them up to it and, most of all, why they were still participating in it.
"Okay," the nine-year-old whispered, "you got me. Ha ha, you tricked me."
Neither parent reacted and Dick was suddenly very, very worried.
"You can wake up now," he stated loudly, panic skirting around the edges of the words.
Again he received no reaction and the panic filled his entire body.
"WAKE UP!" he demanded.
The sound of sobbing came from behind him but he ignored it. His parents were being really mean right now, they had never done anything like this to him. They should be sitting up, laughing and apologizing for scaring him. But…they weren't moving. And, he realized, they weren't even breathing.
"Nononononononononononono," Dick moaned softly. "NO! NO! NO!" he screamed. "Wake up! Don't do this to me! Wake up right now or I'll…I'll run away!"
That would do it; his parents would never want him to run away.
"I'm sorry, Dick," Mr. Haly whispered as he crouched beside the boy.
Dick stared up at him, his light-blue eyes glazing over as his mind refused to accept the situation. He felt strong arms lift him up and he automatically curled into the warm, familiar chest. The nine-year-old began hearing sounds that he knew were words. However, he couldn't connect the letters together so nothing was making any sense.
"He has to come with us."
It was a woman's voice, he could tell that much. Dick felt the firm grip around his body tighten.
"His home is here."
"Not anymore. His parents died in Gotham City, he is now our responsibility."
"He has people who love him; we are family."
"Regardless of what you feel you are, the boy has to have a legal guardian. And until you can show me some paperwork stating that you, or anyone else here, is his guardian, he comes with me."
A soft hand grabbed Dick's arm and he released a choking sob.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Haly. My name is James Gordon, Police Commissioner. I'm here to escort the child to a state facility. I wish we could do it your way but I can't change the laws. I truly am sorry, sir."
"Just give him the night with us."
"And have you spirit him away?! No, certainly not! He comes with me now or the commissioner here will take you to headquarters. You and the rest of your lot."
At that, Dick lifted his head and stared at the lady with the angry expression.
"Are we going to jail?" the boy whispered.
"No, son, nobody's taking you to jail," Mr. Haly stated softly.
The man's expression went from hard to gentle when he looked down at the small boy snuggled in his arms.
"Don't lie to him," the woman snapped.
Mr. Haly glared at her, both fury and confusion in his eyes.
"What is that supposed to mean," he growled.
"We have no room for extras in any of our group homes or orphanages right now. I have to temporarily place him in a juvenile detention center."
"WHAT?!"
The exclamation came from the commissioner, Mr. Haly and some voice that Dick didn't recognize.
"If there's no room, why can't you leave him with his circus family, Miss Jameson?" Commissioner Gordon asked.
"It's the law, Commissioner, and you know that," she nearly snarled.
"Isn't that a…a jail for, um, kids?" Dick whispered again, his voice full of fear.
His already tight grip on the shirt of Mr. Haly suddenly became stronger and he turned his head back to the man's chest. He really didn't want to go to jail. Mean people went to jail and he didn't think he had done anything as bad as those people.
"Well, yes," the woman stated. Her voice softened slightly and she continued, "But you'll only be there for a night or two. There's nothing to worry about."
"Where will he sleep?" a gruff voice, the one Dick didn't recognize, asked. "Surely you're not going to put him in a cell."
"You don't really have anything to do with this matter, Bruce," the lady declared snidely. "So I don't know why you're even here."
"Please answer the question, Miss Jameson," Commissioner Gordon stated.
Heaving a sigh of irritation, she replied, "The only place to sleep in a juvenile detention center is on a bed – or the floor, if he wants to – in a cell."
"But he hasn't done anything wrong!" Bruce Wayne growled.
Dick sensed a strong presence next to him and, for some reason, felt slightly less fearful. There was a long stretch of silence. If Dick had been looking, he would have seen a haughty scowl on the face of Miss Jameson, a surprised and worried expression on Mr. Haly's face and something close to a death glare from Bruce Wayne.
"I'll take him, Jim. Until they have space, let him stay with me," the latter man demanded. "He doesn't belong in a place like that and he won't survive the night."
The commissioner looked thoughtful while the woman rolled her eyes.
"You have no claims to him, Bruce," she sneered. "You probably don't even know his name. The only person you care about is you."
Bruce really wanted to take out his frustration on somebody but that would definitely hurt his case.
"His name," the man started and realized he was still growling. Clearing his throat and shoving the anger into the back of his mind, Bruce tried again.
"His name is Richard John Grayson. He is the nine-year-old son of John and Mary Grayson and one-third of the family of acrobatic aerialists known as The Flying Graysons."
There was another long pause and Dick finally lifted his head. The man standing next to Mr. Haly was tall and muscular with dark hair and angry eyes. They were dark-blue, the nine-year-old noticed when the man looked at him. And his eyes, as soon as they connected with Dick's own, went from angry to concerned.
Bruce glanced at the small child, whose eyes were full of dread. He was only nine, had just lost both his parents less than fifteen minutes ago, and was about to be ripped away from everything he knew and left in a detention center until who-knows-when. The man's gaze softened, and he decided to fight for the young orphan.
"Come on, Jim," Bruce turned to the commissioner. "He'll be safe with me. You know you can't say the same thing about the center."
"He makes a valid point, Miss Jameson," Commissioner Gordon stated. "I don't believe that the compassionate citizens of Gotham City would want a newly-orphaned child to be thrown in with kids who are in the detention center for a legitimate reason."
"The legitimate reason here, Commissioner, is the fact that we have no space anywhere else. Now do your job and take the kid out of the circus owner's arms."
Turning to Bruce, the commissioner stated, "You can take him tonight, Bruce. I'll talk to the mayor in the morning and get permission for you to keep him until a room opens up in a group home or orphanage."
"I want to stay here," Dick said as he burst into tears. "Why can't I stay here?"
"It's the law, son," Mr. Haly answered softly. "But we will fight to get you back, okay? We won't give up, I promise."
"O…okay," the boy whimpered.
"But you have to let go, Dick," the man continued. "Mr. Wayne is a nice man and he's going to let you stay with him tonight. But you have to let go."
Dick began to sob but released his tight hold on the rough shirt of Mr. Haly. The man gently held him out to Bruce, who stared at the scene in confusion.
"Bruce? I don't think he's going to be able to walk," the commissioner commented. "You're going to have to carry him."
"Oh, right," Bruce replied. He held out his arms and accepted the small bundle of trembling flesh.
Dick immediately curled into the strong chest and grabbed on to Bruce Wayne's expensive suitcoat. His sobs turned into soft cries and were soon muffled by the man's shirt.
"This is ridiculous," the woman muttered. "I'm having a talk with the mayor myself tomorrow, Commissioner, and you can bet that I will find a way to keep this poor child out of the house of an arrogant man who thinks of nobody but himself."
Bruce was aching to say something but the look he received from Jim Gordon silenced him before he even started. The meaning was obvious:
Don't jeopardize this.
So, instead of giving the social worker a giant piece of his furious mind, Bruce Wayne turned around and left the tent. Three minutes later he was approaching his limousine, where his faithful butler, Alfred, was patiently waiting.
"I picked up a little something extra, Alfred," he stated when he saw the surprised expression on the older man's face. "I'll explain on the way home."
Erasing the surprise off his face, the butler nodded politely and opened the car door. As the younger man climbed in, Alfred received a glimpse of a small head of dark hair and heard quiet sniffling. His eyes widened imperceptibly.
This is going to be an interesting story.
Bruce didn't know how to handle the situation. Should he make small talk? What would they talk about? How about those Gotham Knights? The boy probably didn't even know anything about the Knights.
Fortunately for him, Dick fell asleep almost instantly. Sighing gratefully, the millionaire gently laid him on the seat as Alfred climbed into the vehicle.
The butler was patient, staying silent as he drove through the streets of Gotham City. Bruce would tell him sooner or later and Alfred was used to waiting for his charge to decide how to deal with whatever was happening.
"He's staying with us, Alfred, for an indeterminate amount of time."
"If I may, sir, who is he?"
"He's part of The Flying Graysons, the trapeze family I was telling you about earlier."
There was a long pause, broken only by a nearly inaudible sigh. Alfred recognized that sound – Bruce was feeling indecisive about something.
"His parents fell, Alfred, they died right in front of him."
The millionaire was whispering and the sentence was full of grief.
"Oh, dear," the butler murmured, glancing at his charge in the rearview mirror.
Bruce was staring down at the boy and, to Alfred's surprise, gently running a hand through the dark hair.
"Social services was going to put him in a juvenile detention center but I convinced Jim Gordon to let me take him for the night."
"A detention center, Master Bruce?!" Alfred exclaimed, shocked at the revelation. "But he's done nothing wrong!"
"It was Susan Jameson. She said there's no room anywhere else; it was her only option. I presented an alternative and she was furious."
"Ah," the butler stated, understanding in his eyes.
Miss Jameson had recently been Bruce's date to a social gathering. And Bruce Wayne usually didn't go on second dates. Obviously, the woman was holding a grudge.
"Jim's going to talk to the mayor in the morning and try to get permission for Dick to stay with us until there's space somewhere else. Of course, Susan is also going to speak to the mayor. And she already wants him out of my house. She's a social worker! Shouldn't she want what's best for him? Shouldn't she want him to be safe?!"
The last word was shouted. Dick stirred but didn't wake up.
"In my opinion, Master Bruce, he should be with his circus family, not on his way to a stranger's house."
"I agree but she was adamant about him leaving. What I don't understand is why she would still want to take him even though the system is overflowing! Why can't he just stay with people that he grew up with, people who love him?!"
"I wish I could answer that question, sir. But I most definitely prefer him to be coming home with us instead of being shipped off to a place where he probably won't survive for more than a day."
"If that," Bruce grumbled. "It's just so unfair, Alfred, and you know how I feel about injustice."
"Of course I do, Master Bruce. And we are now home. Why don't you carry him inside while I go prepare a room for him."
It was a statement, not a question, but the millionaire wasn't offended. Alfred was much more capable than Bruce Wayne at handling something like this. Although something 'like this' had never happened at Wayne Manor.
Bruce suddenly noticed that Alfred was gone. The front door was open and he could just see the butler climbing the stairs. Shocked at the man's speed, the millionaire carefully picked up the child and got out of the car. Gently situating the boy in his arms, Bruce Wayne carried Dick Grayson into Wayne Manor for the first, but certainly not last, time.
