I've had this idea for a while and figured now was the time to do something with it. Rather than pushing everyone's time periods up to be modern, I'm adjusting everyone backward from the beginning of the Batman comics. Dates you'll see will include 1940 (below...), 1942, 1945, 1950, and 1953. One to two chapters for each significant date/meeting. Onward to Dick Grayson, Part 1!
"Never in the field of human conflict has so much been owed by so many to so few."
—Winston Churchill, 1940
April 1, 1940
Bruce Wayne adjusted his tie in the foyer mirror as the scratching of a radio broadcast blared through the oak and marble hallway. His speech, perfectly folded in his jacket pocket, seemed damned determined to ruin him as large chunks of it left his memory banks regardless of his preparations.
"Your worst fears that the world will end are confirmed by astronomers of Franklin Institute, Gotham. Scientists predict that the world will end at 8 P.M. Eastern Standard Time. This is no April Fool's joke. Confirmation can be obtained from Wagner Harrington, director of the Rohlfs Planetarium of this city."*
"Alfred, what in the hell are you listening to?" Bruce snapped.
Instantly, the radio quieted, leaving the master of the house in an agitated silence.
"You requested the news, sir."
"Exactly. So what is that?" he asked.
"The news, sir," Alfred dutifully replied.
Tie and speech forgotten, Bruce stormed through the hallway to the living room radio, determined to take his frustrations out on any inanimate object that saw fit. There was Alfred, of course, but there had always been a certain cap to the frustration he could unload on his faithful butler. The Batman side of him reasoned it would be like biting the hand that fed him, quite literally. The Bruce Wayne side of him knew it ran deeper than that.
Still, it didn't stop him from being a petulant brat as he stared down at the infernal radio.
"There is no way this is the news. It's one of those Mercury Theater programs that drove people insane a couple years back."
"If you say, sir," Alfred said, turning the volume dial back up.
"And, in other news, our fine city will at least end in a blaze of entertainment. Gotham City welcomes Haley's Circus for a charity performance sponsored by Wayne Enterprises. Mr. Bruce Wayne has announced he will be donating the proceeds to this event to the Gotham City Boys' Home and Gotham Girls' Annex… "
Alfred sent his charge a pointed look, or as pointed as the stoic face could get. The radio continued to announce upcoming events with dashes of apocalyptic warnings, leaving Bruce to stand there clenching his jaw.
"And how is your speech coming?" Alfred asked.
A Batman growl escaped from the younger man as he stormed back out to the hallway, ripping his coat from the coat stand and grabbing his hat. For a moment his butler/former foster father marveled at how a man could somehow look so grown-up and yet so much like a child.
"He needs some friends his own age," he mused to himself when the door slammed shut. "At least one other eight-year-old with whom to speak."
With that thought in mind, Alfred allowed himself a rare smile as he pictured Bruce playing pretend throughout the house with a companion, both dressed as ridiculous creatures before they retired for hot chocolate.
A moment later and the smile faded as reality reared its ugly head. Bruce Wayne was nothing if not a loner. Alfred supposed he was partially to blame. Though he had seen fit to ensure his young master was well-fed, well-educated, and well-mannered, it was the well-loved part that came a little too late. Now, a healthy, intelligent, and polite shell of a man sped off in his 1938 Phantom, off to play the part of playboy billionaire.
Not for the first time, Alfred wondered which was Bruce Wayne's true mask.
Gotham, Dick Grayson thought, was a world of its own. The skyline glowed in the last remnants of sunlight as orange settled on the horizon beyond. It was beautiful, looking at it from the outskirts on the park grounds.
More than its appearance, it was the people that gave it different feel. Half of the crowd that filtered through looked panicked, dashing here and there in their fancy clothes and pearls discussing the end of the world.
"It was on the news!" one man insisted.
"Do you really think we're all going to die?" a shuddering woman asked.
"Hell, if I have to go down, I'm going down drunk," another man said, taking a swig of something from his jacket.
Their performance was scheduled to begin within the next hour, and all of the final checks had been completed. Usually at a time like this, a calm settled over the performers as the jitters of the performance died out briefly in the buzz of a new crowd in a new city filing in to welcome them. Today felt different. Half of those crowding in the tent whispered about the news broadcast from that morning, half of those torn between fear and disbelief. The rest spoken about Wayne Enterprises and the man Dick could only guess to be its owner—Bruce Wayne.
He pictured an older man in the stands, horn-rimmed glasses with a cigarette in hand, hair white from age and stress.
"The profits that don't go to help the circus are going to the city's orphanages, you know," Dick heard his father explain.
"That's very kind of Mr. Wayne," his mother replied.
Dick's image of the man suddenly changed slightly. Still with glasses, still with a cigarette in hand and white hair topping him off, but this time the man seemed to smile a little. Just a little. After all, someone who did so much to help children had to smile once in a while.
Before the image had completely cleared from his mind, the eight-year-old acrobat felt himself being lifted onto his father's shoulders. "Hey there, little bird. What are you looking at?"
"Just the city," Dick laughed. "It's pretty."
"It's a world hub. Like London or Paris. We're lucky to get such a big city booked, and you'll be able to show them all what you've got, kiddo."
"Not the dangerous stuff," the boy whined.
John sighed, lifting Dick back up, off his shoulders and down to the trailer floor below. "Not until you're thirteen. We've been over this—"
"Besides, little robin," his mother started, kneeling next to John and resting her hands on her son's shoulders, "you'll still get plenty of time to show them your moves. You've been practicing that quadruple flip?"
Dick's eyes brightened as he nodded furiously. Aside from the moment his parents performed the final stunt without a net, the youngest Grayson performing a quad flip was the highlight of their show. "Twice as good as I ever was," his father had often praised after their set was over. "Imagine what he could do in a few years and just a bit more training."
"Good boy," Mary praised back in the present, kissing him on the forehead. "Let's go get into position. The show is about to start."
She rose, giving her husband a quick kiss on the cheek before they both reached for Dick's hands. Together, the three of them walked toward the biggest show of their lives, right under the now-purple sky. Dick could still hear people every now and then, their panic rising as he got closer to the big top.
"If the world is really ending, shouldn't we go somewhere safe?" a woman shrieked.
"If the world is really ending, good luck finding anywhere safe. Hell, the world is a circus and it's fitting to go down in one," responded the man beside her as her arm wrapped tighter around his.
More and more of the same conversation rang through the filtering audience. Dick scanned the area, hoping to catch any sign as to what in the world they were all talking about. However, all he caught was a truck he didn't recognize and the hushed voice of a man speaking with Jack Haley.
"Trust me, a place like Gotham? She's a rough one. Take my advice, Haley. Your band of yokels could use some protecting from the likes of her."
"My band of yokels and I are just fine," Haley shot back. "I can assure you we do not need any 'help', as you put it. Least of all from the likes of you."
Dick could swear he heard the other man snarl. He watched as the stranger spat on the ground beside his pseudo-grandfather and adjust his fedora. "You'll see. Remember you brought this on yourself."
Suddenly, the boy felt his arm being pulled, and he looked up to see his parents staring at him with mild impatience. "Come on, kiddo," John said, "We need to get ready."
"But, someone was talking to Pa Haley and—"
"And I'm sure he has anything under control. Besides, what have we said about eavesdropping?" Mary asked.
Dick sighed, wrinkling his lip. "It's rude."
She gave him a motherly nod and, with one more gentle tug from the pair of them, he was whisked away into the back entrance of the tent to prepare for their set.
Every minute that ticked by sent a excited thrill through Dick as he waited in the wings for their performance to start. He watched in endless awe as Rumples the Clown balanced pies on sticks, as Esmeralda rode Zitka through the tent, balancing on the gentle giant with various handstands and arabesques, and as Philipe the Fire-eater forced the crowd to momentarily forget the promise of apocalyptic hellfire.
Then, suddenly, a series of loud pops exploded behind the tent, sending a sharp panic through the crowd. Men, women, and children screamed. Dick watched as they transformed into one of the most destructive and irrational forces known to nature—a panicked mob.
Even his parents looked anxious, his mother's forehead creased in worry as John purposefully glanced around the tent for any sign of an answer. Another series of pops, and Dick suddenly realized it was coming from just outside the tent, halfway between the main entrance and the backstage entrance. Without a word, he dashed out.
The early spring wind bit at his legs in his small costume, but the boy pushed away his discomfort in the hopes of finding the cause for the hysteria inside. As he rounded the corner beside the animal pens, he saw it—a group of teenage boys laughing their heads off with a set of souped-up firecrackers.
"Hey!" he snapped.
The boys turned on him, their laughter ebbing as a dark look came over them. "What the hell are you looking at, circus freak?"
Some members of the audience began to ran out of the tent, not even bothering in their blind fear to look at the exchange. Dick, however, kept his gaze firm on the four boys staring him down.
"I work here. What are you doing scaring all these people?" he shot back.
"Just having a bit of fun and earning a quick buck. But, hey, I think I have something better to do," one replied.
The pack stood and slowly began to walk toward him, until suddenly the largest two were halted by a grab to the back of their collars. Soon, the other two were in the same position, and Dick looked up to see two imposing figures scowling at the teenage troublemakers.
Dick looked up to see one with horn-rimmed glasses and white hair tucked under his fedora. No cigarette, but the boy knew this had to be Bruce Wayne. Next to him, a taller, bulkier figure that reminded him of Gary Cooper held the older boys. A police officer, he figured.
Not that he got a chance to ask. In an instant, he felt himself being turned around to face his panicked and rather irritated parents. "Where do you think you were running off to?!" snarled John. "You could have been hurt!"
"I'm sorry. I just…"
Seeing his small son shrink into himself, John pulled the boy into a hug as the crowd continued to race around them. "It's alright. Come on. We're up next and there's still a few people in there to perform for."
"I swear I just wanted to help. Honest," Dick insisted.
Mary smiled at her little boy and reached out to touch his cheek. "We'll discuss it later. For now, let's just put it out of our minds. Though, I'm not sure how many people will be left in there…"
"Oh, there will be plenty." The three of them turned to see the Gary Cooper cop smiling at the three of them before he turned his gaze down to Dick. "It was very brave of you to help."
"Thank you, officer," he mumbled.
The cop laughed, and Dick felt his father shift uncomfortably. "Dick, that's not—"
"It's okay. I'd prefer 'officer' to some other names people can throw around. My name is Bruce Wayne, and it's a pleasure."
Dick's jaw dropped open as his image of the billionaire shattered. If Mr. Wayne noticed this, however, he made no mention of it. Instead, he simply continued to his parents, "My apologies about this incident. Commissioner Gordon is making sure the four hoodlums get taken care of. And the security has managed to calm a number of the crowd and invited them to return to their seats with some complementary refreshments."
"Looks like even the end of the world is no match for free food," John joked, earning a nudge from his wife and a giggle from his son. Even Bruce Wayne smiled, giving them one more polite nod and returning to the tent.
"He was nice," Mary said, the three of them returning to their starting points. John nodded and, in between complementing the absent billionaire and lecturing Dick on running off, he went through the everyday routine of mentally rehearsing their steps. Everything was returning to normal, and Dick could even hear the crowd's screeching dying down as Mr. Wayne made his announcement regarding the perpetrators, effectively quelling the crowd's concerns.
Most of it fell on Dick's deaf ears. He felt the gentle bumps as his father walked, but the rest of his attention was devoted to a dark figure crouched down by their trapeze. When the last ounces of anxiety were whisked away from the audience, the figure quietly retreated from the curtain. Dick's eyes widened suddenly in recognition of the man who had threatened Haley earlier.
"Dad?…"
"Yes?" he asked, his voice a bit short from the interruption.
"I saw someone. The man who argued with Pa Haley."
"I'm sure it's nothing, Dickie. You're just stressed from earlier and a bit anxious for the performance," Mary offered.
"But, I saw—"
"Richard," John said, turning his steel-blue eyes down on his son. "We need to focus. If you don't keep your head on straight, you could get hurt out there. Now, are you going to pay attention or do you need to sit this one out?"
The eight-year-old sighed and shook his head, giving one more glance toward the spot the man had hidden. "No, sir. I can go out there. I'll be okay."
John gave his son one last supportive smile, kissing him on the forehead. "That's my boy. Come on, little robin. Let's show them how well you fly out there."
The snap was loud. Deafening. Dick could hear it over and over, above the sound of his incessant heartbeat and the ringing in his ears. Over and over he could hear his mother's scream, his father shouting their names, and the shrill yelps from the crowd before one sickening thug crunched below.
The hour had been a blur. He couldn't remember getting off of the trapeze platform, or who pulled him away from his parents' broken bodies. He had no idea how fast or how far he ran until his legs burned and he collapsed in a heap beyond the fairgrounds. His first clear memory was looking up through his tears and seeing the familiar Gary Cooper cop standing over him.
"Mr. Wayne?"
The man nodded, giving him a sad smile. "You can call me Bruce if you'd like. And you're Richard, right?"
Dick sniffled, wiping his eyes. "Dick. Everyone calls me Dick."
"Okay, then. Dick. Do you mind if I sit down, Dick?"
He shook his head before resting it back into his arms, nestling his face in their curves as he curled into a ball amongst the overgrown grass. He could sense Bruce's presence beside him, and though he expected him to say something, a long stretch of silence settled over them. At first it was comforting, but the growing void began to make the boy shift, adding to the unease building in his chest.
"I wish I could tell you it's okay," Bruce said suddenly as the discomfort hit its peak. "I wish I could tell you that everything will be all right in the morning. There are going to be people who are going to try to tell you that now. They'll say it until they're blue in the face, and—"
"And it's not true," Dick finished. Suddenly, he allowed himself to dissolve into a pool of tears, pride forgotten. "I don't know what to do," he sobbed.
Bruce shifted awkwardly next to him before resting a gentle hand on the boy's shuddering back. "You take a few moments to yourself. You let yourself feel however you want to feel. Then, how about we take it from there?"
Dick looked up, red-faced and eyes swimming with unshed tears. He peered at the man, unblinking as he dissected the emotions traced over the young man's features. Suddenly, it hit him.
"Did your mom and dad die, too?" he asked, suddenly wincing at the question.
Bruce's hand stilled on his back before patting him once more. "Yes. I was your age. We had left a showing of the Mark of Zorro. I loved it, but I started feeling ill so we took the side exit into the alley before the movie finished. Anyway…"
"They were murdered?"
The typically-stoic man paused at the impact of the words spoken so unabashedly from the youngster. Quickly his surprise gave way enough to simply nod.
"Like mine." Bruce's brow furrowed at the boy. It hadn't been a question or an uncertainty. Looking down at the boy's red-rimmed eyes, it was clear Dick knew for a fact his parents had been ripped from him at the hands of someone else.
"How do you know they were murdered?"
"I saw someone. Mr. Haley was arguing with a man, and after the firecracker thing there was the same man huddling behind our trapeze. He told Mr. Haley he needed protecting from Gotham, but Mr. Haley said no. Then the man said that he should remember he brought this on himself."
"Do you know anything about this man? His name? What he looked like? If he worked for anyone?"
"Just what he looked like," Dick said, wiping away his last tears. "I got a real good look at him, but I never saw him before tonight."
Bruce looked away, staring at the Gotham skyline in the moonlight. Dick watched for a few moments as the businessman's face changed from pensive to determined. Bruce's blue eyes, so like Dick's own, didn't move from the city the nameless man had called rough just a couple hours earlier. If only they had listened… If only Dick had made his parents' listen.
The boy pushed away the dark thoughts and instead chose to look up at the stars. The moon was a sliver in the sky, allowing the stars to shine that much more in its near absence. Strange how just a little while earlier people had been panicking about the end of times, about the stars collapsing and the world coming to an end. He supposed, in some way, they had been partially right. His world had come to an end that night.
"Dick." Bruce cleared his throat and turned back to the small boy, his voice bringing Dick's attention entire to him. "I know that this isn't something I can promise. I know that right now it seems like a lie, at best, right now. But, everything will be okay. I'll make sure, no matter what, that you'll be all right."
*Based off of a radio broadcast from Philadelphia, with the time, names, and locations adjusted. It sent a panic through the city from March 31-April 1 of 1940.
Title is based on the quote: "History is written by the victors."—Winston Churchill
Also, depending on if people enjoy this, and want to see something happen in one of the in-between years, let me know. I'm thinking of having a separate story with the filler chapters to get a more complete picture of everyone from this Golden Age time period. This story will just be the major points for everyone. We'll see where it takes me! Either way, I hope you all liked it!
-Defective
