Constructive criticism is appreciated and requested.

Chapter 2: The Red Acrobat

Lemmars Park, North Gotham; Nine Oh-Four PM; October 1989

A sleek crow's feathers shimmered in the light of the moon and of Gotham City's hubbub of lights that escaped from between the fickle, gothic buildings.

It flew away at the sounds of heavy fee stomping. Those feet belonged to the newly orphaned Dick Grayson.

His footsteps were rarely anything but light and nimble, as an acrobat's should. As the crow flew away, he was in shock, and could barely comprehend the idea that his life was changed forever.

In his mindless grief, Dick didn't understand that the Grayson's would fly no more anymore than that startled crow.

His parents were just murdered by an expertly designed bomb that quietly melted the steel screws on the trapeze support stands, then knocked them out of place. This process killed his parents. His fathers last words- his last thoughts- were of, for, and because of Dick Grayson.

And for that he could hardly live with himself.

Dick kept running down the cobblestone pathway that he had so calmly walked down with his mother, alive and well, just a day ago. Then seemed so different from the reality of now. The warm bright son that caused his mother worry for his hydration, just as all mothers would, had drifted away. Dick was now faced with a cold dark moon, it's bluish rays shining down uncaring for his tears or his shock or his horror. He hit branches, stepped in mud, slipped, but kept running. He didn't know what else he could possibly do. He got cuts and scrapes, but they didn't slow him down. He was barley in a state of conscienceless, but was as awake as ever.

A statue of one of the original colonists greeted the boy, who had grown frantic at the sounds of police sirens. He ran into it, finally being shaken back into the here and now. It had torn his acrobat costume. The G on the front was gone, and, poetically enough, was replaced by a large red scrape. Dick crawled around, hyperventilation, muttering "No no no," "Mom.. Dad... we...we should've.." "Why, why God why.." "I- I don't want to- to live like this." "What did we do to deserve this." And "This isn't r-real".

He was of Romani ancestry, but was as good of a European Catholic as his mother- but now he was mourning, and was angry. His choked, sobbing, hysterical, saddening whimpers and muttering came to be yells of rage to a Father in the sky that wouldn't answer.

"I hate you! I hate it all!" "Zucco-Z-Zucco! Why why why was he allowed to do this." "God! GOD! Answer Me!.. please..."

He punched the statue, shredding his knuckle skin and jamming his wrist. Dick collapsed on the floor, scrambling around on the floor, getting more and more cuts and scrapes, until he came to a stop, a quivering pile of a bleeding, scared child.

He looked up. It started to lightly rain. Dick took it as a sign. "Yes, God? I'm- I'm sorry I yelled. Please. What will happen to me know?" These thoughts quickly weakened Dick's fragile emotional state. He curled up against a stone bench in the statues round little patio. He could barley breathe through his choked sobs.

"Please, God. I loved you. You loved me. My parents loved you. I.. I'm not the best person. But they were. I don't want to live without them. I can't." He breathed up to the cold sky. "If you ever loved me, please kill me. Just.. kill me." For what seemed like the first time in his life, Dick was praying for something he needed. Truly praying, wanting to become close as possible to God.

"I've never wanted anything more than this. They're dead, so kill me. ... kill me. Kill me. Come one, please. I just... kill me! KILL ME!" He stood up, panting like an exhausted dog. "KILL ME! KILL ME! KILL ME!"

Dick collapsed on the stone ground.

"Kill me."

Lemmars Park, Gate Center, Nine Ten PM

Bruce Wayne had seen the deaths of the Grayson's firsthand from some of the best seats in the stadium. The scantily-clad waitress (probably paid by Cobblepot) gasped at the sight. He was appalled, and his girlfriend Natalya gasped and put her hand on the modest chest area of her one-piece elegant pea-green dress. Bruce got up and walked towards the glass as Natalya slowly rose behind him. They could hear everything from the speakers in their VIP booth.

Bruce had seen Dick curl up on the top of the trapeze before looking down and wincing at the sight of his dead family. He crawled away and jumped down the platform's opposite side, which had a net. Just as the ringmaster tried to coax him down, Dick jumped off 10 feet and ran.

Bruce had soon gotten up and took his suit jacket, and gave the generic black coat to Natalya. "Vait," she said.

"Bruce, vhy are zou going? Zou don't know if vhoever did ztis is still out ztere, and-"

"Look, Natalya, My parents were killed when I was his age, I know how it feels. That kid will be angry, and he will hurt people and himself."

"Let tze police handle it tzen, he's alvready going to be long gone."

"Nat, I lived with hunters in Sri Lanka for 8 months, I can find him. And... and this is a touchy subject for me. Please, just let me go."

Natalya sighed and nodded, and the 28 year-old billionaire ran down the steps, dodging people and hopping up walls to get to the ringmaster far better than a person his size should be.

In all truth, for the past 2 years he had spent as Batman, Bruce took the time to find and comfort every orphaned boy his escapades brought him into contact with. For the first two months as a vigilante in bulletproof armor and a grey shirt, it was hard. Even since he donned the cape and cowl and armored suit, Bruce was still hunted by the police, but still tried to do everything he could. He went back to reality when he reached the ring, which was now full with onlookers and police.

"Mr. Ringleader! Do you know where he went?"

"Look, son, I've got no damn time for rubberneckers, and- wait- have I seen you-"

"Yes, Mr. Ringleader. I'm Bruce Wayne. I'm sure you know about my parents, and- I just want to help."

"Look, Mr. Wayne, the police officers will answer your questions. Some of my best friends just died here here tonight."

"Yes sir. Sorry sir." Bruce jogged off.

As he went to he officers, he knew he was losing ground on Dick. Bruce liked Gotham's big, wide, tall style of architecture, but it was not helpful now.

"Officers! I'm Bruce Wayne, you probably know about my parents, and I need to help the Grayson boy. Please, tell me where he went."

"Wayne? Look pretty boy, we don't need you trying to get your company PR. We already have guys looking for the kid. Go back to your seat, we have backup to wait for."

Resisting the urge to scoff and the 'hardworking' officers, Bruce jogged backwards with a "Thank you," and went to find Dick, leaving the confused but uncaring (Stupid? Probably) GCPD officers behind.

Bruce had spent the last 6 minutes looking for Dick. He initially followed the vague instructions of GCPD to find which path he went on- without their knowledge of course, considering they weren't fans of the citizens, but they weren't particularly aware either. He then heard Dick screaming, and promptly followed those. He used crow calls to figure out were Dick ran to, which seemed fruitful, but Bruce wasn't sure how smart American crows were in comparison to Sri Lankan crows.

Now we was standing up from looking at the muddy ground, which had a small footprint of what looked like a trapeze slipper. He was on the right path. Bruce continued walking up a hill enjoying (if you could call it that in the current situation) the cool, mist-like rain. At the top of the hill, Bruce saw a patio with a statue of a colonist and some benches. When he walked up to it, he finally found Dick Grayson curled up and crying next to a stone bench. He was covered in his own blood.

"Dick- it's, it's Dick Grayson, right?" said Bruce, his voice entering a calmer tone rarely seen considering his common use of the playboy persona or brutal Batman. Dick nodded, but only seemed to curl up more. Bruce wasn't exactly prepared for this, as it was his first time to come into contact with an orphaned child while not in costume. Bruce opted to simply put his hand on the 10 year-old's back, knowing less abut how to comfort him by the second. Damn it was hard to do this without the cowl, thought Bruce, as this felt much more personal. This was a kid just like him, one who saw his parents get murdered in front of his very eyes with nothing he could do about it. Bruce kneeled over further looking into Dick's fact, right in his eyes. They made contact. Bruce saw himself

"I'm... I am Bruce Wayne." Bruce moved his hand in a small circle, clueless about how to help him but still pushing through, as both of their parents would want. "I... I'm not very good at comforting people, but.. I'm like you. Just like you. I... My parents died, got shot in an alley, when I was about your age. I want you to know that I remember being in your place. When I was 9 I saw what you saw. I just... I just want you to know, and to always remember wherever you go, that life will get better if you let it. The world is still good. You can be good. It will be okay. Can you remember that Dick?"

Dick looked up "Thank-Thank you " This seemed to break the poor boy, and he just went limp and continued sobbing, his athletic body now that of a cripple curled in a tiny ball by a cold park bench.

Bruce saw the glow of the police officer's flashlights as they came up the hill before the patio. Bruce sighed, and looked down at Dick. Bruce heaved as he grabbed Dick as gently as possible,saying "come on, we have to go sometime. Its gonna e okay. Remember what I said? Its going to be alright." Dick curled up in Bruce's arms, his tears joining the light rain and his own blood in slightly dampening the expensive suit.

"I have him," Bruce called to the officer with the flashlight.

"Wha-? Who are-" The officer squinted, "Bruce Wayne?" Bruce nodded.

The officer got on his walkie-talkie "We found him at the colonial statue in quadrant 3. Hes bleeding. Needs some first aid, over."

"Mr. Wayne," muttered Dick.

"Yes?"

"Its going t-t tuh be f-fine, r-right?"

Bruce hesitated as he peered into the boys eyes. "It was for me," He told the red-covered acrobat.

The rest of the police officers gathered closer. Bruce kept Dick in his arms despite their glares. Some seemed to distrust Bruce with the boy, which he saw as fair, considering his public persona, some were jealous of him being the one to find the boy, and one or two were fine with it. They all walked down the path around the hills of Lemmars Park and back to the Gate Center where this horrific ordeal began. There were light sloshes and splashes from the water beneath their feet, but the raining had stopped for the most part. It was Nine Fifteen when they got back to an ambulance, several police cars, what looked like unmarked police vehicles, four news vans, and many, many journalists.

The lights seemed to bother Dick, as he tried to get away, but even though he had been carried the whole time, he jest went limp, like an exhausted first time marathon runner. As they got closer to the center of the hubbub Dick's head turned further and further away from the light, as if he didn't want his eyes to see the cold, harsh, uncaring truth of the world that Bruce had known so well for the past 19 years. The light did nothing but hide the darkness, and in Gotham darkness was a parasite that outsmarted any who tried to stop it, even the Batman.

Bruce looked down at the boy. His limbs were hanging limp and his breaths were shallow. He had large red scrapes on his knees, feet, right calf, hands, left elbow, and knuckles, but these were far from major injuries. No, the cause of his pain and suffering was what he had just witnessed. Bruce knew the pain, and that the light wouldn't help do anything but emphasize the shadowy darkness, and the world wouldn't try to save you. Bruce knew about the 5 stages of grief, and while their experience was different for every person, he knew everybody got angry, and goddammit Bruce was angry. He was angry that his parents' killer was never brought to justice, he was angry that all these officers wanted was a paycheck and a chance to itch their trigger finger, he was angry that these reporters only cared about the most intriguing headline, and he was the most angry at how a bunch of low-life criminal cowards ran this city and allowed all of this to happen- to allow a young acrobat with a beautiful life ahead of him to have his life ruined simply for coming to this god forsaken city.

As he was almost at the police car with the ringmaster next to it, Bruce swallowed his negative emotions, not wanting them to affect Dick's life from now at this pivotal point onward. Maybe he wouldn't be like Bruce. Maybe Dick was just a better person than he was, than he would ever be. That was all Bruce could hope.

"Um, mister ringleader, I never caught your name." Said Bruce as he walked up, slowly letting Dick down onto the ground.

"What- Oh, Dick, thank God you're alright. You look a little beat up though, can you stand? Can you walk?"

Dick nodded. The pain was mental, not physical. His body was numb.

"Oh, good my boy. Amen," He stood up, "Sorry, Mr. Wayne. I'm Jack Haly- this is, of course, my Circus."

Bruce gave a subtle nod and a small, but by no means weak, smile. "I'm glad I found him too."

Haly put his hand on Bruce's shoulder. "I-I'm, just, thanks. Thank you, Bruce Wayne."

The man's sincerity warmed Bruce's cold heart. "No need, Mr. Haly." Haly began to walk away, but Bruce grabbed his shoulder. "Mr. Haly, I- you- don't let him turn out like me. I know your aren't entirely sure what I mean, but he can't go through what I have. I don't know him, but remember to raise him right, however he has to." Haly looked confused, but nodded and turned around. "One last thing, Mr. Haly. Do you have any idea who could have done this? Has anybody unusual come by in the past few days?"

"Yes. 2 days ago, a guy named Zucco came by. But I already told the police, so I'm sure they'll call him in."

As the two men walked away from each other, Bruce sighed. He knew that the police force were all on the Mob's payroll, even Commissioner Loeb. They would never help catch and convict Zucco.

Bruce loved Alfred Pennyworth, the ma who raised him, as a father, but as well as he raised, he wasn't satisfied. No, he was never given the justice he searched for, and as he reentered the Gate Center to find Natalya, he vowed to find Tony Zucco and bring him to justice not as a police supporter, but as his true self; Batman.