Yes, I know, I know—the original Teen Titans story had Kid Flash instead of Speedy. I know that. This is dramatic license…it's why it's fanfic, okay?

Part Two Path A: Four Years later

"Master Dick, Master Bruce has requested that you join him downstairs at your earliest convenience." Alfred had gently knocked on Dick's bedroom door; the boy was inside, lying on his bed with several books opened in front of him.

"Sure, what's going on?"

"I believe there have been some problems at the with the Joker again which the Master would like to address this evening—assuming that your homework is finished, of course."

"Almost."

"Then when you are done with whatever is still outstanding, please make your way downstairs. Might you like some milk while you're working?"

Dick shook his head, not really answering though Alfred let it go. It would be quicker without the snack anyway and Master Bruce wasn't always as patient with the child as he might be, which was unfortunate.

"I also hesitate to mention this, but are you aware of Newsweek's current cover story?"

Dick barely glanced up from his Algebra. "I saw it. It's just the usual garbage repeated again. They didn't even try to check the facts with me or Bruce or anyone who might have a clue…just the same old crap about me being 'placed in life threatening situations and living just a hair's breath away from death—and at his young age, no less'. They even tried to bring up the old chestnut about 'young boy and a grown man working perhaps too close together'. I mean give me a break and buy a new record for a change, why don't they? The point of the stupid thing is to try to set age limits and ban any vigilantes below the age of eighteen or twenty-one or something."

"I dislike being the bearer of common sense, but you are, in fact, quite young for this sort of life."

"And I was young for traveling in the circus or watching my parents…" He stopped himself. "And I'm fine, Alf." He slapped his book closed and rolled himself off the bed, landing with unconscious perfect form, finished with the assignment. "It's all good, Alf. Besides, you know me—the bad guys don't stand a chance." He flashed that big smile, deflecting any argument Alfred might make—and there were any number of possibilities as to what he could have said. "'Outta here, see you later."

Changing into his costume down in the cave, Dick started focusing on the night's work. Dick hated the Joker and he could get along with almost anyone. In fact, there was hardly anyone in the world he hated. Okay, he hated Tony Zucco, but that was personal and Dick had won that one—if you didn't count the fact that Zucco scored the final trump card when he'd killed Dick's parents so there was no way to really win that one short of raising the dead. Sure, Dick had caught him, linked him with hard evidence and the man would never see the outside of a prison, but Dick's parents were still dead so it was—as Alfred would have put it—'a pyrric victory at best'. But the Joker just really cheesed Dick off. Oh, sure, he could almost be entertaining if you liked completely nuts but Joker had started crossing the line to just outta control, unlike Riddler who still had a sense of humor, at least.

But, hey, you do what you gotta do, right? Joker, Riddler, Two-face, Cat Woman…all in a day's work.

And, man, despite what he'd said to Alfred, that stupid Newsweek article was bugging him, too. It wasn't like it was anything he hadn't seen before, but couldn't they have even called him to verify the junk they were writing this time? He might even have agreed to an interview or something just to set the record straight a little. Bruce keeping him around because he liked little boys? Please. Bruce hardly took time out for dinner, let alone for being a perv—and he liked girls anyway, which he also usually didn't take time for.

Now Dick would like to take some time for girls and he'd been thinking about asking for some 'personal' time for a while now. His school friends, such as they were, invited him to parties and movies and stuff but he usually had to beg off with some lame excuse because he was really out busting some drug ring or something.

Oh, there were some serious perks to being the Boy Wonder, no question about that no-brainer. How many kids could call Superman a personal friend and co-worker? That was pretty cool.

So he didn't always get to go to a birthday party or spend an afternoon at the pool with everyone. It wasn't like he didn't get to do stuff. Major stuff. But it would be nice to be normal, or close to it for a change, even if it was just a couple of hours. Besides, sure, he was dedicated to what they were doing and all, but cripes—he'd like to have a life too, y'know? Back when his parents were still alive he had a life, they all did in fact. Oh sure, they all worked and worked hard, but there was still time for a baseball game or a picnic in some park or something. They'd take time to have dinner together or with friends and birthdays were always a big deal—there was always a cake and balloons—he missed stuff like that; the dumb stuff. He got to do some incredible things now, but sometimes he sort of wished that…well, you know, he wished that maybe things could be well, maybe a little softer or something.

Right. Like that would ever happen with Bruce and Alfred calling the shots but you don't ask, you don't get, right?

"Hey Bruce, you got a minute?"

No, he was talking to Batman now. The cowl was always a big giveaway—that and the stoic scowl he was getting. "We're late getting started. Talk in the car."

Okay, whatever.

They were halfway to the bridge when Dick finally got the conversation—or the usual lack of conversation to where he wanted to take the jump. "I was thinking—you know how I have spring break next month?"

Silence.

"Some of my friends are going down to Pat's shore house—his parents are going to be there and everything. Is it okay of I go?"

"That's when the terrorist threat is greatest in Gotham because of the presidential visit and that economic conference."

"Yeah I guess, but do you really need me to be there? I mean, the JLA will be watching, right? And the regular cops?"

"We'll talk about it later."

Dick knew what that meant. No. Forget it. Put it in the circular file. "Ah, Bruce, c'mon…"

That was as far as he got before the Bat glare stopped him cold. Period. No week at the shore. No hanging with normal kids. Zip. Work, Dick—that's what you do. Work Robin. Honor roll, practice, study, concentrate, homework, research, eat, sleep, start over.

Two moths later, and after no trip to the beach, Robin was waiting for Batman to finish a JLA meeting. Normally he wouldn't have even been there, but they'd just finished a collar an hour before and Alfred wasn't around to pick the boy up and he didn't have his motorcycle so here he was. Hanging out in the lobby of the place, he was spending the wait time on an English essay when a boy walked in and sat down a few feet away. He was about Dick's age, had a red costume on making him look like Robin Hood crossed with Will Scarlet—complete with bow and quiver and had enough attitude to sink a ship.

"You're Robin, right?"

No, I always dress like this when I forget to do the laundry. "Right, and you're…?"

"Speedy, back half of Green Arrow."

"Yeah, I've heard of you." He hadn't, but was trying to be polite out of habit. "Hi."

"So how do you stand working with the Bat? Ollie says he's a major pain and completely anally uptight."

Screw this guy. "At least he'd not a drunk."

"Fuck you."

"'Right back atcha."

Dick went back to his essay, tuning out Speedy who was doing everything to gain attention—cracking his knuckles, blowing bubbles with his gum, messing around with his bow and arrows. Dick ignored him.

"So, have you heard about Mr. Twister?"

"Hmm?" Dick didn't bother to even look up.

"Mr. Twister—he's a nutcase Ollie thinks I could take solo. He's right, but if you want, I wouldn't mind some company."

"You asking me to help you with a collar?" He still didn't bother to look at the other kid, making Speedy uncomfortable, just as he'd intended. Hey—always good to have the upper hand, y'know?

"I'm saying maybe we could work together, maybe have some fun."

"Fun?" Dick looked like the other kid had lost his mind before he flashed on the thought that Speedy was right—this might be fun. "Well, yeah, maybe."

"Cool. I'll give Wally a call and maybe Garth would like in on this—you know those guys?"

"Not exactly." Dick had heard of them but had never actually met them.

"They're okay—Garth's a little shy and Wally's a little hyper, but you'll like them."

The door to the main meeting room opened, Batman gave Dick a quick glance and a curt nod; his cue to get going. "Um, Batman? I have a case to work on, okay?"

"Excuse me?" Semi-Bat glare.

"Speedy asked my help with Mr. Twister and we have to leave like now."

"The two of you alone together?" Bruce made it sound like a death knell.

"And Kid Flash and Aqualad." He went on before Bruce could cut him off. "I'll call in."

The two kids left fast before they could be called back or refused permission, the two of them exchanging a look that immediately became mutual grins of accomplishment. "Hey, Speedy…"

"Roy."

Real names—excellent! "Yeah, Roy—this is gonna be awesome, four of us—we'll be like a junior JLA!"

"Junior League—you mean bush league—the hell with that, dude—we're frigging teenaged Titans!"

Titans—oh yeah.

And maybe friends, too. Excellent.

"I don't care, Alfred, he just took off without so much as a by your leave. He didn't even tell me where this supposed case is happening and that other kid, that Speedy Oliver Queen is raising, Christ!"

"Master Dick is fine—he's bright and well-mannered, talented and popular with fans and his school friends alike. And you said yourself that he was happy when he left with the other young man. Really, Bruce, what more could you want for him than that?"

Path B

"Hey Dad, did you see this?"

Dick was holding the letter that had finally caught up with them this morning. John and Mary had read it, but hadn't made any decisions yet. They were in the little house down in Venice, Florida they'd owned for years; the one they spent most of the winter break in—them and almost every other circus act in the country.

"It's from Ringling Brothers; they want us to join their winter tour in Europe, three months, eleven dates in different cities and seven countries. Are we going to do it?"

"Your Mom and I were just talking about that. Think it sounds like fun?"

He called from his tiny bedroom, "…Well, yeah. Maybe we could get some skiing in—we'll be in Innsbruck and Grenoble. Sounds like a plan to me, anyway." Dick changed his tee shirt, was now wearing his swim trunks and was half out the front door when he paused for half a second. "Besides, it would be money."

"True. We'd have to be in Paris by Monday, though, so we'll have to decide by morning. Where are you going?"

"The beach."

"With…?"

"Joe, Sarah, Christian, Buddy, the usual."

"And you'll be back by three so we can work on that new pass, right?"

"Four?"

"Three."

"But…"

"…Thirty."

"Deal."

The group were at their usual, favorite part of the beach, right on the Gulf and it was a sunny, hot, perfect beach day even with a bunch of tourists wandering around. The kids were all circus rats—Dick, of course, Joe's parents were both clowns, Sarah was an equestrian and did stunts on her family's horses, Christian's Mom was a costume designer, his Dad was a lighting designer and all the kids were going into the family business. They'd grown up pretty much together, often traveled together and were tight. There were a few more in the crowd, but not everyone wintered in Venice and a few families had picked up gigs here and there. They'd all meet up sooner or later, they always did—it was just the life they led.

"Hey Dick, how come you didn't say anything about that article last week? You think we wouldn't find out about it?" Joe pulled the Sport's Illustrated out of Sarah's beach bag, opening to the right page. There was a two page spread about Dick, calling him the best young gymnast in the country no one had ever heard of and what a shame it was he wasn't competing and being groomed for international level events. There was a full color picture of him stretching out to catch the bar and comments from his parents, Haley and some guy who was supposed to be the top coach in the US, all saying he could go as far as he wanted with his talent, brains, personality and looks (okay, the writer added that herself) and even a quote from Russia's head gymnastics coach saying that Dick was the only American he'd seen in years who he'd consider taking on for training. The sky was the limit, pun intended—college scholarships, circus work, stunt work, pro athletics; whatever he wanted. He could even do modeling if it struck his fancy.

"Oh, please—you know Mr. Haley plants these things for publicity. He probably called them and invited them to the show, for God's sake."

"Uh-huh." Sarah laughed out loud at that. "He never called Horse and Hounds to do an article about me, Richard"

"Guys, c'mon." Poor Dick was seriously blushing—he didn't mind doing publicity to help the show, it was part of the job in fact, but spare me.

His friends smiling at his embarrassment but decided to let it drop—besides, that was just so Dick; modest. He really was all the stuff it said in the stupid article, but that didn't mean he wanted it spread around. Besides, he probably didn't believe what they'd written, anyway.

"So did you finish that stupid essay in English? Scarlett Letter? Cripes, talk about something that means nothing in my life." Joe wasn't what you'd call the literary type, but he was as a good guy, solid and down to earth and dependable as you could get.

"It wasn't that bad, just a little dated, that's all. But yeah, Catcher in the Rye was better."

"That is such a Grayson comment. You even liked Shakespeare, for Christ's sake." The four of them were lounging on old blankets, drinking the bottled water they'd brought and Dick was secretly wishing Sarah liked him as much as she liked Joe. Christian, over a little to the side, had fallen asleep. His father had picked up a few days work up at Disney designing some show or other and Christian had been dragged along as his assistant to help direct the crew. The men had balked at taking orders from a kid, until they'd realized he knew more than all of them put together. The put in had gone late, though, and so he was pretty tired today, but a job was a job and they all understood about that. They left him alone so he could get some rest.

The whole thing about being in regular school always took some adjusting for everyone, too. Most of the year they kids were pretty much home schooled while they were on the road and that seemed to work out pretty well, but then they'd get to Florida, have a couple of months off and have to spend five days a week in a stuffy classroom from eight in the morning till two-thirty and it was a pain. Thank God for the weekends, anyway.

And weekends were to be used.

"So you guys want to go up to Disney later? We can catch a ride with Christian's Dad and we got comped for some day passes—you all up for it?" Professional courtesy between shows was a beautiful thing.

Dick shook his head. "'Have to practice. My Dad wants to work on a new pass later."

"Do it tomorrow, it's not like you need it tonight or anything. C'mon—this is supposed to be winter break, right? Your Dad is a good guy, he'll be okay with that." Joe gave Christian a small kick. "You working the show tonight?"

He didn't even bother opening his eyes. "Yeah, I'm working follow spot; the call is six and we're leaving around four-thirty. Dad said we could give you all rides both ways and I can meet you when I'm done—that should be like eight, eight-thirty. And the park is opened till midnight tonight."

"Dick, c'mon, ask your mother. You know she'll let you go."

Yeah, she would, even knowing they might be on a plane to France in two days and they had a thousand things to do, she'd probably let him go. He got up, went over to the pay phones by the snack stand and five minutes later had permission. The tradeoff was that he'd be mowing the grass in the morning, working that afternoon on the routine and probably packing tomorrow night and he was fine with that. Fair was fair, he knew that, he knew he had to work and he loved what they did so he'd do what he had to do.

"Hey Dick, 'help me with the essay tomorrow?" Joe always had trouble with stuff like that.

"Sure, after dinner. No problem." No point in telling them he might be leaving until he knew for sure and they'd all see one another in a few months anyway. It was just the way they lived and they were all used to it. No big deal.

"Thanks, man."

A few hours later, up at Disney world, the kids stopped by the live show Christian was working in Epcot just as the thing was winding down to the last twenty minutes or so. It was some college-aged German dance troupe that had come over for some tour or other and this was their main stop. They were all lederhosen and dirndls and om-pah-pah and the crowd seemed to love the show, so that was good. The kids were too polite and too professional to say anything but Dick and his friends thought it was pretty lame and were glad when the final bows were over. After the audience cleared they automatically started helping the crew with the strike, Dick was carrying some costumes over to the racks and uncharacteristically tripping over a sound cable. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

He was fine, embarrassed, but fine. He was a flier, an acrobat, for Chrissake, he was supposed to be able to walk and chew gum, thanks, not trip over his feet. Looking up, he saw a blonde girl about his age, smallish, slender and with eyes a shade of green he'd be at a loss to describe—emerald? Leaf? Sea green? Grass? Whatever color they were, he liked it.

"I'm sorry I dropped the costumes—they didn't get dirty, did they?" Smooth, Grayson, real smooth.

She smiled at his embarrassment and shook her head. They were fine. "Are you new? I haven't seen you working here." She gave him an encouraging smile. "I'm Amy."

"I'm Dick—I'm just here with a friend; he's with the light crew—I was helping out until he finished so we can all see some of the park."

"Tower of Terror is awesome and they have some pretty impressive fireworks around ten—have you ever been here before?"

"Um, oh yeah. We usually get here a couple of times a year when we're around—you know, spend the day, see the sights and stuff." Jeez, she was really pretty and she seemed nice, too and now he was babbling like an idiot. He stopped himself and screwed up his courage, c'mon, Grayson, you can turn a quad in front of an arena crowd, you can do this; "Maybe you'd like to come with us? I mean, if you're not busy or anything." She hesitated, probably not wanting to hang out with vacation kids or something, and they didn't know each other … "Hey, we're not tourists or anything, honest. Christian's father is the LD for the show and we all live around here—well, down in Venice during the winter. You can meet his Dad if you want if he hasn't left for the other show he's working tonight. A few of us are just going on some of the rides and stuff—really—nothing bad is going to happen or anything."

"Venice in the winter? Do you live with all those circus people?"

"Well, yeah, we're all circus people, we all live there for Haley's winter layoff—my family has a trapeze act and Christian's parents work lights and costumes, Joe's parents are clowns, Sarah works the horses—why, do you have a problem with circus'?" A lot of people did—that old cliché about Carney's all being thieves and stuff was still pretty deeply rooted and when you added 'gypsy' into the mix, well—forget it.

"God no—I think that's awesome! My Mom does wardrobe for Ringling Brothers and circus people are the best. Um, look, my Mom is backstage, I'd have to ask her if it's okay and I know she'll want to meet you and the others and probably your friend's father if he's still here. Do you mind?"

Mind? Was she kidding? "Nah, that's fine—my parents get the same way."

He half followed her, close enough to hear, "They're with Haley's, Mom and you know how good those guys are—I mean, God, weren't you telling me that Ringling is always trying to steal their acts?" Dick heard another voice, but couldn't make out the words then Amy's voice again, "He's completely gorgeous and he has the most incredible, bluest eyes you've ever seen and he's a flyer, Mom—he's a real flyer! God, you should see his arms! Please?"

Amy came out from the dressing area, "Dick, this is my Mom, Donna Skeller. Mom, this is Dick."

"I'm Dick Grayson, it's nice to meet you."

"Grayson? The Flying Grayson's?" He nodded and she gave him a good hard stare "My God! You're related to Johnny, aren't you? I swear you could be his twin—well, his younger brother, anyway—and what's he up to these days—still breaking hearts?" Amy's mother was laughing a little too much.

"You know my Dad?"

"Well, I used to, a hundred years ago, anyway. So he's still with Haley's and he's got you working in the family business, does he? You tell him Donna from Barnum and Bailey was asking for him, okay? My God, you're even better looking than he was and he was a damn beauty, let me tell you—had all the girls heads spinning!"

Uh, right. Mom would be thrilled to hear this. Not. "Is it okay with you if Amy comes with us for a few hours? My friends are right over there and Christian's father is over by the light board." Mom Donna walked to the back of the audience, speaking with the Dad for a long couple of minutes while Dick and Amy made eyes at one another. Finally, the two parents were walking back to the stage together, laughing.

"I didn't know your friend's father was Peter Schmidt—good Lord, we were touring together before any of you were born. Now you keep your phone on, Amy, and you meet me back at the costume shop at twelve, sharp, understood? I'm going to be tired and I don't want to be waiting forever for you."

The kids hit the rides they could in the time they had, choosing to stay at Epcot to not lose time shuttling back and forth between parks. By half way through the first ride Dick and Amy were holding hands and by the third he'd learned that Donna was thinking about switching jobs to Haley's 'B' troupe this coming spring and the kids were starting to talk about meeting up again.

"I'm not sure which tour we're on this year; we did the American one last time, the blue show, so that means we usually switch to the red, the European tour this year, but Mr. Haley has been changing things around but it would be awesome if we were all together this time out."

They ended the night with promises to stay in touch and an exchange of addresses and Dick saying that if she didn't hear from him for a couple of weeks, she shouldn't worry. Really.

"I know how you feel about it, but he should have been here this afternoon to work on that pass and I wanted to talk about the new tour, too. You're too easy on him, Mary."

"Oh, really John, he's twelve years old and he's just fine. Besides, we're leaving tomorrow night and he won't see his friends for at last three months. There's no harm done."

"My father would have worn me out if I'd skipped a practice to see my friends…"

"Um-hmm. Like he did when you were sneaking out to see me?" She smiled at him; she had him there and they both knew it. Dick was fine—he was bright and well-mannered, talented and popular. And he was happy.

That was all they could hope for him—and more than most ever have.

TBC

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