Author's Note: This chapter contains a fair number of Romani words. They're scattered, so they shouldn't affect readability too much, but I've put a key down at the bottom of the chapter as well as on my blog for those who don't like to scroll up and down and would prefer to flip over to another tab. There's also some info on my blog today about a couple of the items Dick receives as gifts, so check that out if you're interested. Happy reading!

The morning was balmy and bright, marking the beginning of a perfect South Florida Christmas Day. Dick couldn't have been happier as he pedaled his battered but much-loved bicycle along the side of a narrow highway. His six-week stint doing dusty and uninteresting construction work in a nearby city was finally at an end; a salt-scented breeze was blowing his long hair back and lifting the sweat from his neck; and the circus would be heading out on tour again in less than two week's time. Best of all, a crooked sign was glinting up ahead, marking where he would turn off. At the end of that road's cracked pavement waited home, and he couldn't wait to get there. His legs sped up their pistoning, and he raced towards his destination with a broad grin on his face.

His mother was sitting on the front porch when he squealed to a stop in front of the tidy little bungalow. "…Hi, baby," she greeted, giving him a warm smile. Setting her darning aside, she rose and came forward. "Mmm, I missed you," her voice grazed his ear as they embraced tightly. "You're earlier than I expected. You didn't leave before dawn, did you?"

"No," he promised. "I just went fast."

"Fast, along a highway, and with no helmet or knee pads..." Shaking her head, she squeezed him. "My little daredevil."

"Runs in the family," John's voice piped up behind them. "C'mere, mo shav."

Dick turned into his father's embrace, and was nearly lifted off of the ground. "Hi, dad. Sar mai san?" It was a relief to feel those familiar words rolling off of his tongue after a month and half of holding them back. For most of the year he communicated using a mixed language that consisted primarily of English syntax and vocabulary peppered with Romani words and phrases, and while he could speak and write perfectly good plain English he preferred the tongue that ran in his blood. It was the private language of Haly's Circus, and he had longed for it almost as much as he had for his parents.

"I finished the chicken coop."

"Ah...now I know what you were working on all this time. When did you finish?" Mary had had the idea many years earlier that the circus should carry fowl along with it to produce fresh eggs for the troupe, and it had become habit for the entire flock to spend the winter break with at the tiny Grayson homestead. During the traveling season they were tended to by the women, but for two months a year John liked to take over. He had just begun building a new coop when Dick had left for his job, and now he crowed over his achievement.

"Owêrish," he said, puffing up slightly.

"Day before yesterday?" Dick grinned. "Just in time for Krechúno."

"I found the wood at the dump. All it cost me was a box of nails and some time. But your mother doesn't want to hear about my chicken coop," John teased, glancing at his wife. "She wants to hear about you, and so do I."

"He's right," Mary said. "I've had to hear about every drop of sweat that went into that coop. I could use a change of topic." She took Dick's elbow gently and began to lead him inside. "Leave your backpack by the door and I'll wash your clothes later. I made the lemonade just the way you like it," she told him. "Extra sugar."

"Aw, mom...you're the best."

A minute later he was sitting in his usual chair under the creaky old kitchen fan and lifting a slippery glass to his lips. He could feel his parents' eyes on him, eating him up as he drank thirstily. Their concern about his time alone in the city amused him; he could spend all day flying around thirty or forty feet above the ground and they wouldn't think twice about it, but as soon as he took a short-term job to get a little extra cash they needed to know all the details. Wanting to spare their feelings, he tucked his mocking smirk away as he lowered his drink. "It's perfect," he complimented. "Exactly what I needed after that long bike ride."

"You were all right without a car, weren't you?" Mary asked. "You didn't have to ride far to get back and forth from work?"

He shrugged. "Eh. Not really. The company has these little trailers that they stick three or four guys at a time in. They're only ten or fifteen minutes away from the main office, so I usually just went in early and caught a ride from there with one of the year-round workers."

"How was it, living Gazhikanes?"

Dick laughed. "I might have been living with the non-Roma, dad, but that doesn't mean I was living like them." He thought hard for a moment. "...They watch a lot of television. I watched some with them, but they're so riveted to it. One of the guys in my trailer never even used his bed. He fell asleep watching his shows every single night."

"Chaches?" John asked disbelievingly.

"Yeah. It's dilo, right? Anyway...I dunno," he shrugged. "I missed being here. I missed the quiet. The city...I never realized how loud a city is to sleep in."

"There's a reason we always camp on the edge, darling," Mary smiled. "The quiet, and because city councils don't tend to like it when elephants go marching down Main Street."

"Now that's crazy," Dick grinned. "Who doesn't like elephants?"

"Ahh..." Leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head, John smirked at his offspring. "So after six weeks, where's your piramni? You must have had at least one. You should have brought her home with you."

"Oh, John, really," Mary laughed.

"I didn't get a girlfriend while I was in town, dad," Dick chuckled.

"Why not?! All the Gazhi love a Rrom; ask your mother."

"He doesn't have to get a girlfriend until he wants to," Mary defended her child good-naturedly. "And when you do, Dicky, it doesn't matter to us if she's Romani or not."

"Either way, I don't want a piramni until I finish school," he said firmly. "I'm only twenty. There's time."

"Yes there is," his mother nodded. "...Did you make enough for what you want to do? We might be able to take a little from our savings if not."

"Don't touch your savings just so I can take online classes," Dick frowned. "I made enough to get a cheap computer and pay for a couple of courses. It's good enough for a start."

"These buki classes...I don't know why you need them," John objected. "Pop will give you the circus anyway."

"I just feel like I can be a better manager someday if I have some idea about how successful businesses are run, that's all. Maybe that way somebody else won't have to spend six weeks away from home when they want to try something extra, you know? Maybe that way we can all do a little better financially." Dick held his father's gaze for a long moment. "That's not an indictment of what we have now; it's just an attempt to make it greater."

"'Indictment'," John repeated. Shaking his head, he stood up and moved to stand behind Dick's chair. "You go out there and you come back to me talking like you mother did when I met her."

"Well, you still love her, so I figure I'm safe," Dick joked.

"I do still love her," the older man verified as he ruffled his son's hair. "And you. Now, háide; that Gahzi I stole away so long ago made mariki, and I've been waiting all morning for it."

"Cake? Excellent. I'm right behind you."

The rest of the morning passed blissfully. Mary's famous sponge cake made a perfect breakfast when topped with berries and eaten alongside fresh eggs, and Dick savored every bite. After six weeks of eating as cheaply as possible at food trucks and grocery store hot bars, he'd been aching for his mother's cooking. By the time she presented them with a plate of chocolate-dipped orange slices his head was buzzing with happiness. It had been nice to get away and be his own man for a while, but he was immensely glad to be home. This, he knew for absolute certain now, was where he belonged.

Mary interrupted his idle thoughts by setting three small packages down before him. "Presents, sweetheart," she smiled. "Merry Christmas."

"Thanks," he replied, his lips curving to match hers. "I have things for you guys, too."

"Don't get up," she waved him back down into his chair. "You worked hard enough just to come back to us. I'll bring them."

Each item that Dick unwrapped had clearly been chosen with great care. First was a CD set from his father, the front of which bore a familiar face. "Is this all of his songs?" he gaped as his eyes skipped down the track list.

"That's what it looked like to me. Every Django Reinhardt song ever recorded." John puffed up as he had over the chicken coop.

"You should have seen him checking the discs in the store," Mary shared. "So meticulous. He didn't want you to miss a single song."

"How many Rrom made it big like Django?" her husband countered. "...It's important he hears all of him."

"It's great," Dick beamed. "I love it."

Next was a book from his mother. "That's the first time anyone's translated the original Grimm texts," she told him.

"So it's got all the stories with the 'too terrifying for small children' endings?"

"Yes."

"Wow..." He ran his hands along the smooth cover. Flipping it over to look at the back, he frowned. "...Did you buy this new?! There's no resale sticker like normal."

Mary blushed. "It just came out. I remember how much you loved those stories when you were little, and I didn't want you to have to wait another year for it to be available in the used stores. I had to scrimp a little, but that's all right."

"Aw, mom...thank you. I can't wait to read it." He wasn't sure he could remember the last time he'd had a brand-new book, and as he set it aside he made a mental note to take extra care with it.

Last was a gift from both of his parents. It was the largest of the three, and the heaviest as well. His fingers faltered as the paper fell away. "This...this is the textbook for one of the classes I wanted to take," he breathed.

"We know," John nodded.

"But...but this is expensive. Even used it was over fifty bucks. Mom..."

"Your father might purport not to understand why you want to take business classes, Dicky," Mary explained, "but that doesn't mean he doesn't support you." Reaching out, she covered both of his hands with her own. "We both do. You have to do what you think is best, and if this is so important to you that you went out and took a job in order to do it then we want to help."

Teary-eyed, Dick turned to John. "...Dad?"

John's pride-filled gaze scanned his face for a second. Before either of them could start to cry, though, he looked at his wife and rolled his eyes. "...'Purport'," he jested, and they all burst out laughing.

Once his parents had exclaimed over the small presents he'd brought them from the city, Dick gave out a long sigh. Christmas dinner was several hours away, and as much as he wanted to use the time until then to catch up he was suddenly exhausted. A mild throbbing was beginning just above his left temple, and he had the feeling that it would only intensify if he didn't do something about it. "Will either of you be hurt if I go take a nap?" he asked sheepishly. "I've just got a little headache, and I think I need to sleep it off for a bit."

"Of course we won't be upset, darling," Mary promised. "You rode a long way in a hurry this morning; you should go take a nap. I'll wake you when dinner's ready."

"And then after that you can see the chickens," John suggested.

"You mean after that I can see the coop?" Dick teased.

"Isn't that what I said?" his father grinned back. "Go do what you need to do, mo shav. We'll see you when you're ready."

The miniscule second bedroom at the back of the house always felt foreign to him when he first stepped into it after spending time out in the world, and this time was no exception. He tumbled under the covers without hesitation anyway, knowing from experience that they would lull him to sleep before long. It worked as it always did, and he passed out almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He didn't know how long he'd slept when he heard his name being called. His temple still hurt, which was odd; normally a nap chased away his headaches. Strange, too, was the voice speaking to him. His brain told him it was his father, but the tone was deeper and more serious than John's had ever been. It was an even further cry from Mary's soft lilt, and yet a hand was brushing his hair back from his forehead exactly the way she always did...

Utterly confused, he opened his eyes. The room was dusky, and for an instant he thought he'd overslept. His mother would be holding dinner for him, and now he'd have to wait until the next day to listen to his father ramble on about every detail of the new chicken coop. Aggravated with himself for having spent so much precious time in la-la-land, he tried to roll out of bed.

"Whoa, whoa, kiddo," that foreign-yet-known voice spoke again. Strong hands held him down against a mattress that was thinner than the one he remembered falling asleep on. "Stay calm. Hush. You're all right. It's okay. Just relax, chum..."

That last word triggered all of his memories. Twelve years of his life clicked back into place, and he suddenly knew who was pinning him. "...Bruce?" He tried to turn his head to look, but his neck wouldn't cooperate and he was left staring at the shadowy ceiling.

"Hush, Dicky. Don't talk. You're okay, just...just don't talk. The doctors said you shouldn't push yourself yet."

"Doctors?!" What the hell did he need doctors for? His eyes grew hot. He knew now what had happened to that beautiful life he'd been living in until a minute ago, but he didn't want to believe it. How could something so perfect, so real, have never been?

"Shh, shhshhshh..." Fingers carefully brushed away the few tears that had spilled onto his cheeks. "They said you probably wouldn't remember. They also said not to tell you right off, but I know how you are so I'll ignore them.

"You were involved in a high-speed pursuit," the billionaire explained. "Your sergeant said you tried to pull someone over for a normal stop, but they took off. He headed for the East Bridge, trying to come and hide in Gotham most likely. It was rush hour, and he was speeding between cars...the dash camera video is chaos. You were right on his tail, but he misjudged his timing and slammed into the back of a tractor-trailer. You...you..." He trailed off, his voice thick.

"...I slammed into the back of him," Dick finished. His voice was hoarse and unrecognizable, but he wasn't sure whether that was due to heavy emotion or lack of use. "Was…was anyone else injured?"

"A couple of the people he side-swiped had minor injuries. You…you were the worst."

"What about-"

"Stop, Dick. You shouldn't be talking so much." Bruce sighed. "…Your criminal didn't make it."

"He died?!"

"…Yes. I'm sorry. He went under the back of the trailer; there was nothing the paramedics could do."

He closed his eyes again and wished the world away. Why couldn't he go back, back to where everything was beautiful and nothing hurt? Back to his parents, back to Florida, back to Christmas… Barring that, he begged, couldn't he at least go back to before his fight with Bruce, to before he'd been a cop with an invisible gash in his heart? He'd work boring, dusty construction forever if he could just go back to one of those other realities…

The fight, he winced. That god-awful, soul-rending fight they'd had over his future. What was Bruce even doing here, considering what had occurred between them, what had been said? "…So what, then?" Dick ground out, suddenly angry. "You're here to try and get me to quit my job? It won't work, Bruce." Something twinged in his chest, but he ignored it and pressed on. "As soon as I get out of this – ow – bed, I'm going right back to work."

"As soon as you get out of this bed, Dick, you're going to physical therapy for three or four months. Both of your legs are broken, and you've had a head injury besides. Anyway, that's…that's not why I'm here."

His ire drained away. "…Oh. Then why-"

"Stop talking. I shouldn't need to tell you that you have a punctured lung – I know you can feel it, even through the morphine."

"…Yeah." He'd thought that little pinch felt familiar.

"Stop!"

"Sorry!"

"Oh, you're impossible…"

"Like you."

"…Yeah, chum. Like…like me." A beat passed. "…I'm sorry, Dick. I'm so sorry. I've been sorry this whole time, and I just...I just couldn't tell you. I just didn't tell you. I knew I was being a damned idiot, but when they said you might not…might not wake up…"

Unable to stand the sound of the billionaire's half-stifled sobs of regret, Dick ventured a question. "How long have I been out?"

There was a sniffle. "Almost four days. It will be Christmas in a few hours. Dick, I-"

"Stop," he bade him. "…Just stop. It's okay."

"It's not. I never meant-"

"I know." Groping out, he found the other man's trembling hand and wrapped his bandaged fingers around it clumsily. "I don't care, Bruce. I just – ow – want things to be the way they used to be. Okay?"

"Okay. Yes. Of course. I…I want that too."

"But I'm not quitting my job," he made clear.

"…I know you're not, kiddo. You never quit. It's one of your best qualities. But Dick…listen…I know I was mad at you for picking something so dangerous as a profession…I know I didn't give you the support you deserved…but that never meant that I wasn't proud of you." His hand was turned over so that it lay beneath Bruce's warm, heavy paw. "…I've never not been proud of you. Not for one moment."

"…Bruce?" Dick whispered.

"Yeah, chum?"

"I think that's the best Christmas present you've ever given me."

There was a rustling sound, and suddenly the man was leaning over him. The misery of the last four days was etched large on his face in the form of deep worry lines and reddened, puffy eyes. Dick felt a spike of guilt at having caused such hurt, but he knew he couldn't have helped it. Sooner or later, whether it be because he was patrolling as a member of the Bludhaven Police Department or as Nightwing, he was bound to get hurt, and every time Bruce would put on that same agonized look. It was simply inevitable.

Their foreheads met. "…It's nothing compared to what you got me, baby," Bruce moaned. "You woke up, and that's all I wanted. That's everything I wanted."

"I know. I'm sorry…"

"Hush…"

They stayed like that, silently soaking one another in, for a long time. When Dick spoke, he did so in the same apologetic voice he had used at the end of his concussion dream. "…Will you hate me again if I go back to sleep for a little while?"

"I never hated you, Dicky. Never. But if you need to go back to sleep, then do it. You need to rest so you can heal." A palm cupped his cheek. "…Just promise me you'll wake up again."

He hesitated. How hard would it be to do what was being asked of him if he closed his eyes only to find himself waking up for Christmas dinner with his parents? If he could choose between the life he might have had but for Tony Zucco and the life he had truly lived, where would he stay?

"…Dick?!"

"Sorry. I just…I don't know, wandered off for a minute." Opening his eyes, he found Bruce staring at him with a panicked expression. In that moment, his decision was made. If he never returned to the dream, or if he returned and then had to leave again, his long-dead parents would remain completely unaffected; if he never returned to wakefulness, though, it would crush the man leaning over him. Hadn't they put each other through enough already? "…I'll wake up," he said. "I promise."

"Okay. Then go to sleep, and I'll be right here when you wake up." A soft kiss landed just below his hairline. "I'll tell Alfred to bring a few presents with him when he comes over later. Maybe we can sit you up long enough to open them. It's something to look forward to."

"…Sounds good, dad. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, son. Sweet dreams."

Smiling, Dick closed his eyes once more and prayed for the smell of salt.

Romani vocabulary guide:

mo shav: my son

sar mai san: how are you?

owêrish: day before yesterday

Krechúno: Christmas

Gahzikanes: like the non-Roma

chaches: really?

dilo: crazy, insane

piramni: girlfriend

Gazhi: non-Romani women

Rrom: Romani man

buki: business, economics

háide: let's go, hurry

mariki: cake

As an additional note, the line 'everything was beautiful and nothing hurt' is a Kurt Vonnegut quote. Happy reading!