Thanks to goirkens and Rambo 103.7/TellatrixForever for proof-reading this.
Last chapter, we witnessed the deaths of Batman and Superman and learned that the Titans existed as their students. Now, we go back in time to see how the Titans were formed.
A reminder that this is AU: Starfire/Kori is human in here and lives under very different circumstances.
I apologize in advance if my Italian is inaccurate.
Prelude: Disenchantment, Part 1
To fly…to make heaven yours and never be afraid again. No one can hurt you or boss you around. Up there, far away from everyone who ever tried to control your life and turn you into their stupid puppet, aren't you truly free?
Such were the innocent musings of the young red-haired girl as she watched with eager young eyes the three angelic dancers twirling, spiraling, and flipping ever so gracefully through the air, always catching each other for support and working with one another in perfect harmony to achieve feats far beyond regular humans. She was captivated, enthralled at the beauty of the spectacle as she sat perfectly still with such wide eyes and a lightly gaping mouth, but above all else, she was inspired.
That's where I want to be…flying with the angels, where we'll always keep each other safe.
The slim older man in the dark suit and fedora sitting next to her allowed himself a rare, genuine smile at seeing the girl so lost to childish enchantment. The whole audience was amazed, sure, but the child…to her, this truly was the grandest show on earth.
The man leaned over to her and said in colloquial Italian, "Y'know, Kori, that boy up there?—he's around your age. Hard to believe someone so young could do what he does. Y'wanna meet him after work?"
After work. The grim prospect of their job suddenly breached Kori's fantasyland and reminded her just why she was there—no charity, no kindness, only business. A business she hated more than anything. This show was nothing more than a merciful detour and she silently cursed at herself for forgetting that. But still, why not take the man up on his offer?
"Sì, zio," she replied in their native tongue, her spirits notably sunken behind an almost stoic façade.
Then came the finale—an amalgamation of shooting stars, pirouettes, pullover shots, hocks saltos, a quadruple somersault by the boy near Kori's age, and many other fanciful tricks—and all the spectators were struck breathless at the exhibition. And once the trapeze artists returned to their post and bowed, the audience roared in thunderous delight. The ringmaster entered the center ring and exclaimed to them, "Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages—the Flying Graysons!"
And so the erupting applause continued, yet Kori and the group of suits around her remained deadly silent, their minds on other things. Even still, Kori allowed herself to solemnly admire the three Graysons as they stood atop their towering platform. They did all of that—all those amazing tricks—with only each other to rely on. No net, nothing. Just faith that they'd always be there for one another and that's all it took. It must be nice having others to help you fly.
She'd hardly noticed that her company was rising from their seats until her uncle—her zio—tugged on her sleeve. "Andiamo," he told her, and with that, she quickly brought herself back to reality and joined the group as they made their way through the aisles and out of the big top. Upon leaving the massive circus tent, they were all harshly reminded of the biting night winter air and tugged onto their coats to keep the chill out, their boots sloshing against the meager layer of snow over the withering grass. It was hard to believe they kept the tents so well heated, Kori noted as she tightened her scarf and beanie. And as they left, she noted the banner draped between two posts overhead: "Wayne Charities Benefit Performance."
There were the empty concession stands and shutdown rides and games—no doubt waiting to be reopened after the main show finally ended—the lesser tents and trailers belonging to the performers where they dressed and prepared for their performances, and some distance beyond that, the freeways and skyscrapers of Gotham City, an unpleasant reminder that there was only a thin veil between this magical kingdom and their everyday lives—One I'll probably break soon enough, Kori lamented.
After the silent group was a good enough distance from the warmth and crowds of the big top, their boss, Kori's uncle, stopped dead in his tracks so that the shady company stood in-between the helter skelter and the haunted house. The leader smirked at the choice of setting and then reached inside his coat for a cigarette. He considered producing the lighter as well, but then decided against it. Instead, his back still facing the group, he outstretched his arm to the side and held the coffin nail out between his fingers so that it was in plain view of his followers.
"Gimme a light, nipote," he said to young Kori.
Initially surprised but more so annoyed, Kori resigned the irritation and slipped off one of her mittens and mimicked a handgun with her fingers. In the cold weather, she was already mildly shivering, but without her glove's warmth, holding her hand steady would be a chore, so she cupped her naked hand in the other, gloved one. There was at least six or seven feet between she and her uncle, yet she took the risk anyways and fired a concentrated beam of emerald light from her fingertip—nearly invisible to the human eye yet just as potent as she needed it to be—and directly hit the tip of the cigarette, quickly igniting a delicate flame that made her uncle proud of her skill.
"Buonissimo," he smiled and then took a puff of the cigarette. His crew was growing restless, bored in the snow as they were with all the attractions shut down and without coffin nails of their own to smoke. He checked his watch—half past eight—and then finally turned to face his henchmen.
"Alright, boys, Maroni wants this done by the book. We keep this quiet, and if push comes to shove, we make sure it all looks like an act of God. But if old man Haly knows what's good for 'im, it shouldn't hav'ta come to that. You know your jobs?"
At this, the others nodded, Kori included.
Kori's uncle smiled and continued, "Bene. Any last questions?"
One of the men raised his hand, obviously shivering. "Why did we have to come outside?"
Their leader gave an incredulous glare and then finally answered, gesticulating heatedly, "Well, gee, Vinnie, maybe I just didn't want anyone listening in on us—that ever occur to you? And just maybe I didn't wanna fight those big-ass crowds to get out and get felt up by every grimy schmuck along the way. Maybe I actually wanted to hear myself think, and maybe, just maybe, I wanted a dannata smoke! You ever consider that before you opened your stupid trap, Vinnie?"
The henchman threw up his hands defensively, "Hey, sorry, Tony! It's just, y'know, it's awful cold out. Thought we could'a stayed in a while longer."
Tony—as the leader was called—approached Vinnie and seized him by the collar, scowling at him inches from his face, "You don't like the way I do things?—then show yourself out. Otherwise, can it with the dumbass questions."
Vinnie gulped and nodded profusely and then Tony shoved him back to be caught by his colleagues. Agitated, Tony inhaled deeply, deeply on the cigarette and then released a sizeable cloud of smoke to calm himself down. "Now that we're all on the same page, we get into position. The show'll be ending soon and we gotta make ourselves presentable, so piss if you need to and take your places. Before this tour's over, Mr. Haly'll either be shaking hands with Tony Zucco or watch this whole damn circus burn to the ground."
After the show...
A brilliant flash of light, the sound of a shutter clicking, the residue of film subsiding, and once the photo developed, there appeared the image of two boys just outside one of the smaller tents in the snow—the nine year-old prodigy of the Flying Graysons, changed into his civvies, and a toddler audience member seated atop his knee—and two of the most precious smiles either of the boys' families had ever seen. Another flash, another photo; the boys were being silly now, pulling on each other's cheeks and sticking out their tongues and making faces at the camera. Black hair, blue eyes, fair skin—
"The resemblance is uncanny," pondered John Grayson as his wife, Mary, took the pictures not a few yards ahead.
The other boy's parents seemed mildly puzzled by the remark. "What do you mean?" asked the father.
"Our boys look so much alike," John continued, "and it goes beyond that. The way they interact, how they laugh and horse around…I think they might've been brothers in another life."
The other parents took a moment to draw the connection, and once they did, they laughed at themselves and wondered how they could've missed it. "That's quite an eye you got there, John," remarked the other boy's father. His wife continued, "Our Tim's always said he wanted a brother. Maybe this was destiny."
A finger coated in saliva sunk itself deep into little Timothy's ear and the toddler twisted and shrieked in childish excitement as he spastically threw his arms up to cover his head from further assaults. The Grayson boy was laughing at his own mischief as well, taking some pride in knowing he'd probably just taught this kid how to wet-willy. Young Timmy retaliated by licking the palm of his mitten and then reaching for the older boy's face with it, causing the acrobat to fall backwards as he tried avoiding the counterattack and, since Tim was still seated on his knee, both of them fell on their backs against the thin sheet of snow, laughing all the way. And of course, Mary had to take another picture.
"Such a shame we have to leave early tonight," Jack Drake commented. "We have dinner plans with a business friend of mine tonight and we're already running late."
"But it was worth it, don't you think?" Jack's wife, Janet, chimed in. "I can't remember the last time I've seen Tim this happy."
"Same here," Jack continued. "And I feel just awful for having to take him away."
"If it helps, we've got another show tomorrow, same time," John Grayson offered. "It's our last one in the tour. If you want, we could meet up again afterwards."
"Tomorrow is Tim's birthday," Janet hinted at her husband.
Jack chuckled lightly and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I guess it is." He looked back to John: "Sounds great. I think we'll take you up on that offer."
"I guess I'll break the news to our son, then," Janet heaved a sigh and approached the two roughhousing boys beside Mary Grayson. She'd approached the toddler as he trapped the Grayson boy in a sleeper hold and chewed on his ear while the young acrobat made playful gagging noises at the hands of his assailant. And it was a good thing Janet interrupted when she did—a few onlookers were showing some interest and it would soon be a mob egging on the little boys' play-fight. Janet looked to Mary with an expression that so obviously read: What on earth were you thinking not stopping them?
To which Mary lightheartedly smirked back: That boys will be boys and roughhousing is part of their sacred culture.
She informed her son delicately, just as a loving (albeit fatigued) mother would, "Tim, honey, it's time to go."
Tim wasn't happy to hear the news and expressed in his toddler accent, "But I can't weave yet! We'ah stiw whessuwing!" Clearly, he still had some syllables to workout.
"But don't you remember?—we're going to have dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Fries tonight. They're going to make that spaghetti you like."
Mr. and Mrs. Freeze? Richard pondered. Those are weird names.
"But I can't whessle wif basghetti!" Tim pouted.
"Not with that attitude you can't!" Richard encouraged him, still in the toddler's chokehold.
Mrs. Drake shot Dick an exhaustedly irate look—Don't you give him any ideas!—but then redirected her attention to her son. "We can come back tomorrow, alright? Then you can play with Richard some more after his show. Wouldn't that be a fun way to spend your birthday?"
Little Tim's face lit up, and in his distraction, Richard slipped out of his sleeper hold and caught the toddler in a headlock, playfully noogying him. "Tomorrow's your birthday? Alright, little guy! How old are you gonna be?"
Young Tim was ecstatic and tried counting his age on his fingers while still in the hold. After a few seconds, Tim remembered he didn't know how to count, let alone how old he was.
"Mommy, how old am I?"
Mrs. Drake sighed. "You're two right now, dear, so tomorrow you'll be…"
Tim lit up again and faced back to Richard and exclaimed, "Thwee!" while holding up four fingers.
The nine year-old Grayson smiled and rustled the younger boy's hair. "So, the next time I see you, you'll be a big three year-old."
"Uh-huh!" The toddler was just full of energy now.
"We have to go now, Tim," Janet reminded her son, "Tell Richard goodbye and you can see him tomorrow."
At this, Richard released the toddler and the new friends embraced in a tight hug.
"Bye-bye, Wichawd."
"See ya, Tim."
The Drakes finally left after Mary returned the camera and they and the Graysons waved to each other one last time, all eager to reunite the next day. Dick remained seated where he was, in the spot on the snowy ground where he and Tim had played and blissfully reflected on how great it felt to enrich another's life like that. Being the Boy Wonder and entertaining thousands with his stunts was one thing, but making a child smile like that…
"I think you really made that boy's night, Dick," his mother commented.
His father added, "How'd it feel to have your own little brother for a night?"
Dick blushed, still seated in reflective contemplation on the ground. "It felt…good…normal."
His parents exchanged satisfied glances—a remarkable ability they shared, Dick observed, how they could say all they needed to each other with only minimal body language—and then his father said to him, "So, son, wanna keep feeling normal?"
Dick looked up at him quizzically. His mother clarified, "Ever since we started working for Mr. Haly, you've only spent your off-time with the grownups or the animals—"
"Well, yeah," Richard interrupted, "Sitka's the best elephant friend a guy could have!"
"—but when was the last time you played with kids your own age?"
Richard held his tongue and averted his gaze, obviously without a satisfactory answer. John continued for his wife, "You're not gonna be a kid forever, Dick, and our lives are anything but normal. Take the chance while you have it and be young for a while."
Their son crossed his arms and pouted under his breath, "I don't wanna be young…"
"Your mother and I'll go back and hang with the grownups. You go on and mingle with the other kids." With that, John and Mary Grayson left their son behind as they made their way to the after-party.
"I worry about him, John. Dick hasn't had a normal childhood in so long—not like we did. What do you think that'll do to him?"
"If you'll recall, Mary, you were once just like him. Reserved, serious—it wasn't easy getting you out of study hall, but all it took was the right push and, next thing you know, we were scaling walls and jumping rooftops together."
Mary chortled at the memories. "My God, we're weird."
"Yes we are, dear. And I wouldn't change any of it for the world."
"Then, there's hope for our son after all. He only needs the right push and the incentive to follow it from there."
"And he's sitting in the middle of a crowded fair. This shouldn't take long."
And yet, young Richard was adamant in his resolve to prove his parents wrong. Even after they were out of sight, he remained stubbornly cross-legged on the ground. This is stupid. Don't they know I don't fit in with kids my age? I belong with the grownups—not these children.
He finally noticed that the crowds passing him were growing in number and if he stayed in everyone's way, an accident was bound to happen. That, and he was certain there was someone standing directly behind him, no doubt waiting for him to move. So he reluctantly stood, hands buried in his coat pockets, and begrudgingly joined the current of faces, determined to stay as much out of sight as possible. There's people everywhere. I'll just have to find someplace quiet to wait this out.
Lost in thought as he was, he never once noticed the redheaded girl behind him. As he played with young Timothy, she observed him wistfully from behind a nearby tent, only wishing nothing would interfere with his happiness. While he argued with his parents, she couldn't help but stomach a twinge of envy, for he didn't know how lucky he was to have parents to be embarrassed by. When he was stubbornly meditating on the ground, she debated with every churning gut how to approach him and feared what the consequences might be. She had even formed a snowball and readied an arm to pelt the back of his head with it from behind the tent—but what might've seemed a moment of childish fancy to an observer was remorsefully tainted by her uncle's haunting instructions, and Kori choked back every temptation to weep at how this could all end. I should be used to this by now! I've been helping Uncle Tony long enough to keep guilt out of the way! …Uncle Tony? No—how could I let myself actually believe that? He's not my uncle…I'm just a tool to him. Don't ever forget that. …I'm sorry, boy. I never wanted you to be part of this.
And as if some unseen force intervened, as she was about to hurl the snowball at him, the passing crowds began to thicken around the boy whom she was ordered to deal with, rendering a perfect shot impossible. She both sighed in relief and grunted indignantly, but still forced herself to move quickly, quietly with the flow of the circus-goers to reach the boy before he could move. And so she reached him and stood reposed not more than a foot behind, contemplating how to get his attention. Not long after, she decided and raised her snowball-laden arm overhead, ready to blast him with it.
Another stroke of luck—be it good or bad—for he stood then from his seat in the ground, hands in his pockets, and walked off, joining with the crowd. Kori lowered her arm and sighed. You're a lot of trouble, you know that, boy? With that, she reluctantly followed him, careful not to make any noise that might draw his attention.
They walked for half a minute when Richard finally diverged from the crowd and withdrew to behind a neglected stall, where he could wallow in peace. Kori remained a couple yards behind, biting her lip as she battled with herself one last time before she forced the moment to its crisis. His back is turned. Do it now. You don't have any choice. Do it, or Tony will…oh, boy, I'm sorry you had to be involved in this.
She choked back a tear and noticed her hands and knees were shaking, halting her from advancing any further—and so her blood congealed before signing the damned pact. No! I have to—keep going! Don't stop! I'm sorry! I'm sor—so—"
An unexpected rush of cold slush slithered down Richard's back and the unsuspecting Boy Wonder yelped in frozen agony. He danced and squirmed maniacally, trying to get whatever was stuffed down the back of his shirt out, all the while listening to the bubbly laughter of the redheaded girl right behind him. As he hurriedly flushed out the last of the snow, he turned and glared indignantly at the insolent girl holding her aching sides and pointing at him, her face red with laughter and eyes welling with joyous tears. "Look at you!" she bellowed in her young Italian accent, "That was priceless!"
She guffawed further and Richard remained there, emblazoned with juvenile anger. "Why you…" he seethed through his teeth and then quickly scooped down and threw a snowball of his own. Kori effortlessly dodged the counterattack and pulled her lower eyelid and stuck her tongue at him. Then she spun and ran away laughing.
"Get back here!" Richard screamed and then bolted after her. The two troublesome imps darted every which way through the crowds of circus-goers, in-between, under, and over stalls, through various booths, and even in-between a tall clown's stilted legs, nearly knocking him over and drawing quite a ruckus. Yet, none bothered to pursue the speedy rascals, convinced that it'd be too troublesome, and so Kori and Richard pursued each other in what many mistook for a bout of childish fancy. But Kori knew better. Every cheery laugh from her mouth was nothing more than a concealed plea of penitence for what she was about to do.
Meanwhile...
C. C. Haly paced frantically in his trailer. The alarmed ringmaster found himself drenched in sweat after the visit from Maroni's thugs and so decided drastic measures must be taken. He blared into his communicator-watch to the one person on earth who could save him, "This changes everything! Unless you can take care of them, we're done! Everything we've worked for—!"
"Calm yourself, Haly," the cold voice on the other end coolly replied from the comfort of his reclining chair, his feet kicked up atop the expansive console as he kept his eyes on the screen. "Our schemes may appear lost, but I assure you this is only a minor setback. I'm watching the footage right now. The spy contact-lenses I gave you worked like a charm."
"I know—I know! But listen, there's something you need to know—"
The other man burst out in laughter from viewing the recording. "What the hell? They brought a little girl with them? Was it 'Bring-your-kid-to-work Day?'" Kori had obviously been revealed amongst the group.
Haly swallowed the resurfacing dread in his gullet and asserted himself once more. "That's her! Please, whatever you do, don't underestimate…" The panicked ringmaster forced himself to silence. He could tell from the sounds of the recording that his associate had seen what haunted him and justified his terror. Some seconds of silence from the two men passed as the image played of young Kori firing a thin, concentrated beam of energy from her fingertip and holding it just long enough to inch slowly closer to Haly's face, stopping just short of singing his cheek. The present Haly glanced to the seared line along the floor, right beside where he'd been held down, and still he felt the looming heat.
"You've seen it, right?" The ringmaster asked. "That little girl…she's a monster."
His partner, a middle-aged man bearing greying-blonde hair, a pointed goatee, and two blue eyes was slow to respond. "So, it seems Maroni's using mutant children to do his dirty-work now. We could learn something from him, Haly. Proceed as usual and I'll remove these pests from your sight."
"Even…the girl?"
The other man sealed his mouth to think, then at length, answered. "She may yet be useful. But if she proves too dangerous to tame, then yes, I will eliminate her too."
Haly sighed in greater relief than he'd ever felt in all his years. Small droplets of water trickled from his eyes at knowing he and all he loved would be saved. "Thank you. Thank you, Slade."
"Don't get all misty-eyed, Haly," the forty-something Slade Wilson responded. "This changes nothing. After your closing show tomorrow night, the Graysons are mine as per our arrangement."
Haly's breath stopped momentarily short at the grim reminder, but he collected himself some few seconds later. "Yes. I know. Thanks again, Slade." He then noticed that his partner had already hung up on him. The aging man sighed and slid down against the wall of his trailer, sunken by the bittersweet weight of relief that his business—his family—would be saved and the remorse that three of his dearest children would be soon taken from him forever, and so seated himself on the floor, unsure of which emotion to ascribe to the coming tears.