Flashback Chapter 3 Show's Over

Bruce held still while Alfred stitched his shoulder. The latest in a long line of injuries stung beneath the needle and thread. His mind drifted from Alfred's words, thinking of mobsters, corruption and protection rackets. The rackets were expanding and he couldn't get a solid lead. Then Alfred's words penetrated his inner musings. "Circus tickets?"

"Yes, sir," Alfred said patiently. "You need a night off, and Bruce Wayne needs to be seen."

"Hmm." He had been working hard, and taking quite a lot of hits. Alfred had a point. If he took some time off, cleared his head, maybe he'd see something he was overlooking. And the circus was better than some society ball surrounded by women with a hankering for his money and the belief that he'd fall for a few batted eyelids. No thanks; he'd had enough of that in the last few days to last the rest of the month. "What's the circus called?"

"Haly's. The headline act is a trapeze trio called the Flying Graysons."

Dick Grayson, son of John and Mary and youngest member of the trapeze act the Flying Graysons, was buzzing with excitement. Tonight, for the first time, he was performing without a net. Although his parents were used to it, they'd insisted on the net when he started performing at age five. Now, another five years later, he was flying free.

And he loved the thought of it.

He and his parents were checking out the crowd before the evening show, but Dick could not stay still, cartwheeling and flipping as though he had dynamite in his shoes. His mom had given up trying to make him keep still, and resorted to merely pulling him away from the crowd when he got too close. Now he was doing handsprings off the roof of their caravan. He flipped, spinning into his signature quadruple somersault…

…And landed almost on top of a smaller boy below.

"Woah!" he gasped, springing to his feet and picking the kid up. "Sorry! Guess I wasn't looking before leaping." The kid looked to be no more than two; he was light as a feather in his arms. Despite his youth, he was lean, and very well-dressed. Just like a little gentleman, except for the dirt now dusting his pants. "What's your name?" Dick asked.

"Tim," the boy answered shyly, unnerved by the exuberant young acrobat.

"Well, Timmy, I'm Dick. Where have your parents gone?" He looked around, but there seemed to be no anxious adults looking for any lost children. His own parents were on the other side of the caravan. Tim seemed to realize that he was alone at the same time and whimpered slightly, glancing round in fear. "Don't be scared. They're bound to be around here somewhere," Dick told him. Tremulously, Tim nodded.

"Dick?" Mary Grayson came round the caravan, closely followed by a black-haired woman with hard brown eyes. He looked down at the child still in his arms, seeing the resemblance between the toddler and the woman. Their hair and facial features were very similar, from the tone of their lips to the shape of the eye socket. But Tim's eyes were a delicate sky-blue, not hazel, comparable but not identical to his own clear ice-blue.

Tim squirmed, and Dick gently set him down. He walked over to his mother, very properly, then looked back and smiled shyly.

"Thank you, Dick," Mary said. "Mrs Drake was wondering where he was."

"Sorry, mother," Tim said, hanging his head. "I didn't mean to get lost."

Mrs Drake's eyes flashed dangerously. Feeling strangely protective, Dick opened his mouth to draw attention from the younger boy. Before he could speak, however, his dad and a man with Tim's eyes came over from another direction. "There they are!" John said, smiling broadly. "No worries, Mr Drake."

"Dick, did you get your costume dirty?" Mary sighed.

He looked down, brushing dust from his sequined leotard. "It's fine."

"You're a performer?" Tim asked, eyes wide.

"Uh-huh. It's my first night without a net!" His parents rolled their eyes. Tim looked scared. "I'm not worried. I haven't fallen in years. It's so cool!"

Tim's eyes grew wide. "Can I have a photograph?" he asked, darting looks from Dick to his mother and back again.

"Well-" Mrs Drake started, interrupted by Mary's giggle at Dick's obvious enthusiasm. "Oh, why not?" Tim's mother sighed, pulling out a digital camera.

Dick crowed with delight, loving the attention, scooping up Tim and kneeling in front of their parents. The camera was handed to a passing clown, a flash, and they broke up.

"You'll see me in the ring, Timmy," Dick called out, as he left to prepare.

Timothy Drake had failed his parents, and in a variety of different ways. He had moved from their line of sight. He had got in the way of the young acrobat. He had got dirt on his clothes. And he had acted in a childish and unbecoming manner; begging for a photograph like that.

But Dick Grayson had been thrilled. He was so…so…frivolous? Yes, that was the word. Frivolous. His parents hated it when he bounded around, but the Graysons were only amused. When they looked at their son, there was something in their eyes, a certain look he'd never seen in his own parents eyes. It felt like it should be important, but he had no experience with it, and not enough facts.

He carefully filed it away for later consideration. The show was starting.

It was all he could have hoped for. The beautifully adorned elephant opening the show. The strong man, lifting a car and four glitzy ladies. A bunch of clowns emerging from the car and filling the ring with their light-hearted tomfoolery. The lions, scary teeth and claws, yet gently toying with their handler. Then, finally, the Flying Graysons.

It started very slow and proper, ringmaster Haly introducing them as the only three people in the world to have mastered the quadruple somersault. Dick, going first as a solo, began with the simplest of swings and flips, going slowly as if to let the audience appreciate each separate move and hypnotizing Tim with the rhythm. Then he stepped up the pace; almost flying around the ring, still pausing between every move for a moment yet clearly thrumming with energy. Finally, he twisted round with one hand on the trapeze, flinging himself back into the centre of the ring. He curled up, spinning once, twice, thrice, four times before uncurling and landing on a low platform halfway between the heights of the big top and the ground. He turned and bowed as the crowd erupted, before the spotlight flicked off him, returning to the heights and his parents. Tim was ever so slightly disappointed; he wanted to see Dick again. But there'd probably be a bit with all three at the end.

John and Mary's routine was more graceful, gliding rather than flying, apparent from the first moves. John hung by his knees, catching Mary's arms, and then…

And then they fell. Tim rose to his feet, moving forward in horror, as both acrobats hit the ground with a sickening crunch.

What? This couldn't be part of the show. No way. This couldn't be happening…

The child aerialist flung himself forward from his platform, somersaulting again to land by his parents. The other circus folk descended, blocking the scene, as the crowd's confused murmuring was drowned out by a child's wail.

Dick clutched his parents' still-entwined hands. His mom's neck was at an impossible angle; his dad's head leaking blood. Neither were breathing; neither were responding to his touch. Pop Haly bent down next to him, touching their necks. He slowly shook his head. "I'm so sorry, Dick," he crooned. "They're…they're gone."

Tears poured down his face. Sobs caught in his chest. He could still hear the whispers surrounding him as Pop Haly wrapped his arms around him. "Poor boy…so young…terrible accident…" The last one stirred a memory in his addled brain.

"Accident?" he asked. "Like what that man said?"

Pop Haly stiffened. "Dick, I swear, if I'd known…I didn't know the protection racket were serious."

"They killed…Mom and Dad?" Pop Haly nodded. Why? What could possibly make someone do this? What had his parents done? It made no sense. "Will they be punished?"

A sigh. "I don't know. If we had their names…"

Anger flared in Dick's chest. He wanted the man punished, wanted revenge, wanted something, anything that would make the pain go away. "Heard 'em talking" he said. "Heard a name. Tony. Tony Zucco."

Not far away, Bruce Wayne was lurking. The skills he used on the streets worked just as well in the unevenly-lit circus tent. His acutely sharp hearing picked up the boy's words, and the tone. And the name.

"Tony. Tony Zucco."

A lead. The poor boy had a lead. Bruce was torn, part glad that he had enough to break the racket, part heart-broken at the child's bereavement. He looked through the crowd and, for a brief second, locked eyes with young Dick Grayson.

He'd never forget the look in his eyes. The cold fury, the grief and pain, the all-consuming desire to do something to make it better.

It was a look that had stared out of the mirror at him since that night thirteen years ago when he lost his own parents. He'd have to do something for this boy.

AN: Welcome back to the past. As you can see, things are now happening. This is the start of a five-chapter miniseries featuring our favourite aerialist. And, of course, a few others. I hope you're enjoying it, so please review. If you have any questions, drop a PM or leave a review.

If you have not read my other Wayne's Boys fic, Family Ties, may I recommend it? I'm also publishing a WB-verse/Dark Knight crossover and a pre-Flashpoint DCU/Marvel Movie-verse crossover, entitled Black and Red and Little Bird's Vengeance respectively. I'm tag-teaming updates on those, and publish for one or the other around the same time I update Wayne's Boys.

I also have a number of shorts, mostly Bat-related, that I would be thrilled to have read and reviewed.

Back next week.

Katara Harkness.