Chapter Twenty

"Richard! Richard, sweetheart, come inside! No more snow angels!" An older woman appeared in the sloping entrance of a large tent, with a striped design of all kinds of wacky colors. She was busy braiding her hair into a thick plait to fall down the nape of her neck. "Dick, did you hear me? If your hands get too cold, you'll spend the entire act bouncing on the net!" At twelve years old, Richard Grayson was shaping up to look a lot like his dad in the face. His black hair was even the same shade as his fathers. His chilly blue eyes set beneath a bold brow, though, were the show stoppers. And it was really the only thing he had inherited from his mother. He sat up from the snow, clumps of it falling from his wildly unkempt hair.

"I never miss the trapeze!"

"What have I told you about saying that?" She put her hands to her hips.

Richard sighed, his breath puffing out before him. Slowly, he peeled his lanky body up from the piles of snow and trekked back into the warm tent his family occupied. His father had his arms held straight out in front of him as he steadily did squats, keeping his breath even. Richard's mother had already laid his costume out and that night, he'd sport a blue jumper with one bold diagonal yellow stripe running across the torso and wrists of the sleeves. His mother proudly made all of the family's matching jumpers. Richard rubbed his hands together to fight off the chill as he slowly kicked out of his boots and shrugged from his coat. After he finished getting dressed, his mother dutifully combed and gelled his dark hair up into fabulous spikes that would stay from his face. She gave his wiry shoulders a good pat before she reached down and gave him a squeeze.

"The cutest little trapeze artist there is!" Richard's cheeks grew red. "Now, you know the deal. Go get your dinner before the act so you have all the energy you can get. I heard Fanny made beef stew tonight!" The young boy was excited by this and hurriedly stumbled back into his coat. "Be back by a quarter to seven, alright, Dick?" She called after him as he piled through the snow in the direction of the clearing between the tents where all the acts gathered. His mother sighed and pressed her hands to her hips again. "Even as a full time acrobat, that boy has a lot of energy."

"He's exactly like I was when I was his age," Her husband replied, stretching his hamstrings. "The only difference is he has more opportunity to exert it. Imagine if we were accountants and teachers like my parents were! We'd be in a whole different world of trouble." Still, she stared out the tents entrance, her eyes following the little footsteps her son had left behind. "Come, Mary, we need to continue stretching. We have an ambitious night ahead of us."

Richard was served a hearty stew with bobbing veggies and meats. At the same time, the snow began to fall gently. The young boy looked up, snowflakes getting caught in his hair and lashes. Quickly, he dashed into the shadows of several canopies and nestled down onto a stool, crossing his legs together. As he slurped the soup, he thought forward to the act. Tonight, his parents would be showcasing a little trick they had been practicing for quite some time. They called it The Pretzel Leg. They would both swing from their trapeze, execute a flip, and interlock their legs in time for the swing of momentum to catch their bars again. It would be in that moment, Richard would soar beneath and land standing on a separate trapeze bar. He speared a chunk of beef and munched away on it.

"After all this time... this is when you wanna throw the towel in?!" Came a heavily accented and angered voice. Richard perked up and furrowed his brow. Carefully, his boots crunched through the dirty, grimy snow that had been trekked beneath the canopy. "You think we're messin' around, Andrews?"

Richard saw two large set men cornering a person the young boy was well acquainted with. He was the owner of the circus he and his family performed for. Mr. Calvin Andrews was his name. He was a wiry, older man, with wrinkled tattoos, a receding hairline, and a heavy nicotine addiction. "I'm not throwing the towel in on you," Calvin shot back. "I just don't think it's necessary anymore. Look, I've appreciated all the help Tony Zucco has provided for me, but I just don't need your services any longer. Send my regards to Tony."

One of the men ripped his cigarette from his mouth and threw it to the ground. "That ain't how it work, Andrews. You don't just tell Tony Zucco 'thanks for the help, we don't need you anymore'. What an absolute joke. Not to mention a very grand insult."

"You know what, Robbie," the other large man said, tilting his head towards his partner. "Let Andrews here send us off. Maybe he's right. Maybe he doesn't need our help anymore." The two men shared a silent eye contact.

"You're right, Mark," Robbie nodded, eying Calvin Andrews. "Sorry. Just kind of flew off the handle there, bud. When really I should be saying is 'best of luck'."

"So... no hard feelings?" Calvin asked, rather meekly.

"None at all," Robbie assured him with a smug grin. "In fact, you've lightened Tony's schedule out a bit so we can get some more jobs on our itinerary. Thanks, Andrews."

Richard was quick to disappear back behind the thick tapestries that divided him from the scene. His brow was furrowed as he slowly made his way back to his stool, now resorted to only staring at the steaming stew. What could they have possibly been referring to? Richard knew Calvin Andrews had his vices; a love for pretty girls, shiny old Cadillac cars, and money. Richard couldn't even begin to guess what those buff looking men were referring to. He hurriedly finished his meal and tossed the bowl carelessly onto the table behind him. He hugged his coat closed as he began making his way back to the family's tent. Through the chain link fence, he saw the lines of people who had come to be entertained. Most of the talent was hidden away in their tents, preparing in the final moments before stage call. When Richard appeared back in the opening of the tent, both of his parents were stretching together, using one another to bend outward.

"There you are, Dick," his father straightened up in the next moment. "Are you nice and limber?" Richard only nodded. "Wonderful. Tonight, we're the opening act."

"Us? First?" Richard's dark brows arched upward. "But we're usually between the tiger and the wizard."

"Calvin Andrews stopped by," his mother seemed giddy by the idea. "He said tonights show should start with us. What an honor."

"About Mr. Andrews..." Richard came further into the tent, looking between his eager parents. "I just saw a... weird exchange while I was eating dinner. Mr. Andrews was talking to these buff guys. They wore bowler hats and were smoking cigarettes. And... and the exchange didn't sound very pleasant."

"Oh, Richard," his mother reached down and squeezed his shoulder. "Mr. Andrews is a business man. Even in an industry likes ours, there will always be negotiations we cannot understand."

"No, but really," Richard continued. "It sounded like they were threatening Mr. Andrews."

"Son," his father shook his head. "Mr. Andrews affairs are none of our business. Put it out of your mind. Tonight, we will wow the crowds with our new trick. It will define us as the greatest act in all of Gotham." Richard pursed his lips and looked away, grinding his teeth together. His father sensed his tensity filling the meager living quarters. He sighed and nodded. "What was so concerning about this exchange, son?" Richard, however, was already annoyed.

"Never mind. Forget it."

When the family was called to the top platform in the large tent, Richard looked through the scaffolding to see the riveting crowd awaiting their show. Both of his parents were quite excited as they stood in the wings. His father, however, paused and furrowed his brow, leaning towards the edge of the platform. His hand fleetingly grazed the trapeze that was harnessed to the railing. He then shared a puzzled look with his wife and looked over his shoulder. When Richard turned around, Calvin Andrews was standing there, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

"Where are the mats?" Richard's father asked. "I only see the net."

Calvin flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette. "Because of the last minute line-up change, we didn't have time to get them out of storage. Lobo is workin' on it now. But you Flying Grayson's don't need two measures of security. You're flawless."

Richard clenched his fists and looked to his parents before his eyes seared back on the director. "We don't go on until we have all of our safety gear."

"Son," his father was quick to reprimand. "That is no way to talk to Mr. Andrews. We will be fine, I promise. The net has always been sturdy enough."

"And besides..." his mother bent over beside him, wrapping her arm around her shoulder. "We aren't prone to mistakes, are we?" She glanced to the noisy crowd below. "Why don't you go to your spot and get set up? It looks like we'll start soon. Love you, honey." She pecked his cheek and Richard only cast one more glance at his father, who was doing squats again in preparation, before he stepped off onto the catwalk. Side by side, Richard walked alongside Calvin until the sharp turn on the cat walk toward the northern platform. Richard's foot met the edge before he looked back towards the fidgety Calvin Andrews.

"Since when were the padded mats kept in storage?" Richard asked, sharply.

Calvin tapped the ash away from his cigarette again. "A lot has changed, kiddo. Just go be a wonder boy, like you know best."

Richard's face tightened. "This change of line up has nothing to do with Tony Zucco...?"

In the next moment, Calvin Andrews carelessly threw his cigarette from the catwalk and knelt before the young boy squeezing his arms tightly. "What did you hear, boy?!"

"Just something about a towel... an agreement upended," Richard shook his head, his blue eyes staring intently at Calvin.

The old man eyed him tentatively before he shook his head and stood. "You're just a dumb kid. Get on with the show."

Richard's face hardened and he watched Calvin Andrews before, finally, he walked himself across the catwalk and took his position on his platform. He noticed both his parents on opposite ends of the tent. They blew a kiss to each other as the lights went out and animated announcers voice filled the room, causing cheers from the crowds. The spotlights began swirling all around as people clapped and whistles. "Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome tonight to our fabulous show, the greatest and most entertaining act in all of Gotham, and most likely, the world!" More hoots and hollers. Richard grabbed hold of his trapeze and planted his feet, staring down at the far length below him where only a net dangled, exposing the dirt clearing beneath. As the spotlights ran through the room, Richard noticed someone below. No one should have been down there. He felt goosebumps puckering across his skin and his breathing shallowed as he caught snippets of two thick silhouettes at the corners of the net. He was startled when the announcer continued, hunching his shoulders. He was unable to tear his eyes away from the movement down below. "Tonight, and tonight only, we have jostled the line up of acts, so you can enjoy your favorite show in a brand new way! We are pleased to treat you to the first act! A family of three, who have perfected the art of balance and flight; The Flying Grayson's!" The lights came up, exposing the two gruff men from before stealing out of the scene. Richard looked hurriedly to his parents, the cheering crowd falling deafly on his ears.

"Mom! Dad!" He tried to shout, but his voice was drowned out. "Don't jump!"

They had both already bent their knees, however, and, in unison, swung towards each other. Richard's parents were so at ease in the air as they catapulted from their trapeze, barely missing each other and grabbing hold of each others crowd boomed with excitement. Richard's father tucked his legs over the top and hung upside down, reaching for his wife. She sailed below him and when they swung back, she did a triple flip and flawlessly connected with her trapeze again. Richard's heart was hammering in his chest as he watched them continue, knowing his cue was coming up. Richard readied himself by leaning back to get his momentum. His parents separated across the open space before they began swinging back towards each other. Richard inched his feet closer to the edge of his platform. His first move would be swinging between them as they leapt for the other trapeze. Just before Richard stepped off, though, there was a noise.

SNAP!

Both of the elder Flying Grayson's trapezes strings came spiraling down just as they both began to fly. The crowd gasped. His parents both seemed taken very off guard, but instinct kicked in and they folded their arms across their chest as they fell below. When they collided with the net below, the unthinkable happened. It also gave way and his parents fell another fifteen feet to the ground below. The onlookers began standing and shouting. Richard let go of his trapeze, absolutely petrified. There was no stirring. All Richard could focus on was their tangled, motionless bodies. Adrenaline kicked in and with ease of finesse, he began spiraling down the scaffolding towards the scene below. The medical team was already prepping and hurrying out on the field.

"One moment, folks! Just technical difficulties!" Boomed through the shocked arena.

Richard pumped his arms wildly as he fell to his knees beside the medical help who were laying his parents out. They were bloodied and unmoving. "Mom! Dad!" He cried out, trying to reach for them. In the next moment, Mr. Arcane, the magician, grabbed Richard and began pulling him away from the scene. The young boy fought back with great vigor. "No! Let go of me!" His little elbows and fists, though, were no match for the grown man.

"Give them space," Mr. Arcane said, finally relenting on dragging him away. He kept his arms drawn tightly around Richard's wiry shoulders. "Let them do their job."

Richard panted heavily, his eyes darting all over the arena. The medical personnel raised a signal hand.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I know the show has only just begun, but we are being asked by our professionals to begin an orderly evacuation of the tent! Please hold onto your tickets. They will be honored at another date."

Richard broke free from the magician and went racing forward yet again. As he came closer, through the commotion, he heard the medical staffs voices. "Calling it. Time...?"

"Seven oh-eight, sir."

"Write it down, please," the nurse looked over his shoulder to see the young Richard watching with eyes as large as saucers as blankets were pulled over the mangled and bloodied bodies. "I'm sorry, son."

Richard's light eyes pierced him heavily. "Don't... don't call me that!" He ripped away from the scene in the next moment, taking the exit out the back of the tent. He raced through the little community of tents for the act, heading directly on a known path to the back corner. The chain link fence was ripped in one corner, allowing him an easy escape with his small body. In his sorrow and carelessness, though, he caught his arm and tore through his sleeve. Warm blood now trickled down his arm, but he didn't care. Richard powered through the snow. He tripped and fell forward, his sharp breath puffing out in front of him. His entire body was shaking, but not because of the cold. Slowly, he lifted his head to watch the sea of people leaving and heading towards their cars. No one noticed him. Richard froze, however, when he saw the two mobster-esque men piling into a dark car. Quickly, he came to his feet and went closer to the street, watching as they pulled away. "RNSB32... RNSB32..." He chanted to himself over and over, watching until their plates had disappeared from view.

Sharply, Richard turned the other way. Tears were now streaking down his eyes as another light snowfall began and he fought against the snow with all his might. "RNSB32.. RNSB32..." He kept whispering to himself. His teeth soon began to chatter as he hurried down the sidewalk as fast as he could. The city of Gotham with all its tall buildings were around him now and he took a turn down an alleyway, picking up pace over the cold, wet cement. It was becoming increasingly harder to breath, his vision blurred with salty tears. A noise overhead, though, had him gasping and stopping in his tracks. His eyes darted upwards, catching a small blur of black. His heart was hammering in his chest as he looked everywhere, backing up further down the alley. He walked straight into a garbage pail, almost knocking it over. As another flash of shadows past by him, Richard noticed a broken bottle in the bin and grabbed it, holding it forward with a shaky hand, spinning in a circle. "Who's there!?" His voice was sharp and hoarse. "Stay away from me, whoever you are!"

"Don't do it," came a deep, gruff voice from behind. Richard whirled around, ready to fling his broken glass, but his entire body became still. Standing before him, draped in glossy blacks with a mask of pointed ears and a flowing dark cape, was, none other, than Batman. Richard had always heard a lot about the hero and what he did for Gotham. He was mysterious and intriguing, and Richard usually read all the articles in the newspaper about his crime fighting because it seemed so exhilarating, like something out of a movie or a comic book.

"Batman...?" Richard's voice cracked as he lowered his make-shift weapon..

"Did you hear me?" Batman asked, evenly, his cape waving in the wind. "Don't do it."

"Don't do what?"

"Exactly what you were about to do," Batman took a step towards him, but Richard found himself backing away, tears still stinging his eyes. "You can't go to the police."

"And why not!?" Richard's grief was welling up inside him. "I've got their license plate number. I can describe exactly what they look like!"

"They'll kill you, Richard," Batman told him, plainly. "You'll be long gone and missing before the police can make any headway. Tony Zucco is not a man to be trifled with. He has a very intricate system weaved into the underbelly of Gotham. And he will stop at nothing to protect it. Even if it means killing an innocent twelve year old boy."

"You don't understand!" Richard wailed. In the next moment, he hurled the bottle at a wall and it shattered into several little pieces, like his own heart. "They killed my parents, Batman!"

Batman observed the shards of glass all over the floor before he looked back at the young boy who was both seething and sobbing. His boots scuffed against the grimy, snow covered ground as he slowly approached Richard. "You know... I was once in your shoes. I was no older than you when both of my parents were killed right in front of me. Unfortunately, the police aren't the way to go in this situation." His dark eyes pierced Richard's knowingly. "In a scenario like this... you have to take things into your own hands, Richard."

"How...?!" Richard rubbed at his angry tears, a sob ripping up his throat. "I'm just some twelve year old kid who grew up in a circus! What could I possibly do?!"

Batman watched him wax and wane through all the emotions. He was reminded of his own terrible night decades before. After a moment, his gloved hand extended out from his cape. Richard only stared at it before looking to Batman. "Come with me, Richard. I will show you all the possibilities."

"How?" He asked again.

The hero smiled lightly. "It starts with a warm meal and a bath. And then we expand on your training."

...

Robin blinked rapidly, returning to the bright living space where three sets of eyes were on him and a cold breakfast was between them. Beast Boy set back in his chair, releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He raked his hands through his hair and shook his head. "Dude..."

"Geez, Robin..." Cyborg muttered, pursing his lips. "You've just been carrying that with you all this time?"

Robin only shrugged. "What else can I do? I can only go forward. Batman saved my life. He channeled all that grief and anger into something tangible that I can live with."

"Why did you leave?" Raven asked, furrowing her brow. "You seemed to have it good with Batman. Why come to Jump City and leave that behind?"

The leader of the Titans could feel a sudden searing pain in his collarbone. "After three years of working together... Batman wanted me out of the game. He didn't want me to fight crime anymore. We had avenged my parents and brought down Tony Zucco. And in that time, Batman came to think of me like a son. And he had become a father figure to me."

"He didn't want you to get hurt," Raven nodded, casting her eyes down.

"He made the decision after I was," Robin said, now not looking to anyone. "One night, we were out on our rounds. It was just another typical Tuesday evening. Bagged a few cat thieves, stopped some petty crime. But then, we were ambushed. We never saw it coming. And I got shot."

"Shot!?" Beast Boy echoed, leaning forward again on the edge of his seat.

"Right here..." Robin's voice was somewhat strained as his hand slid up his chest and rested only an inch beneath his throat. "I almost died. And Batman couldn't live with that. When I recovered, I knew I wasn't quitting. Fighting crime had become my life. It consumed the entirety of me. But still, he persisted. So I left for Jump City. I intended on being solo. The lone hero of Jump City to prove to Batman I was his equal. Not his sidekick."

The table was quiet for a few beats before Raven's onyx eyes fell across the side of his face. "How do you feel about all of that now, Robin?"

"Relieved," he replied after a hesitant moment. "Because I met you guys. And who I was in Gotham is not who I am now. I'm healthier now. Even when I was with Batman, before I ever got shot, everything in that stupid city reminded me of my parents. I'd freeze up or have panic attacks at the most random times from something as small as a littered poster with a circus advertisement. I thought about killing myself after I avenged my parents because taking Tony Zucco down didn't take away the pain of losing them. It did nothing for me. So I left. And it's all history. Now I'm a Teen Titan and only that. I'm not a sidekick or an act on parade in a circus. I'm Robin. Richard Grayson is dead. And... I'm relieved."

Slowly, the Titans came to see their leader in a new way. They understood now his endless devotion and tireless passion to do things right and fight for what he wants. It was all he'd ever known. His entire life had been nothing but a tug of war. Raven placed her hand to Robin's, where it still rest frozen on his chest. Her slender fingers tangled through his and gave him a squeeze. Everything on Tamaran was suddenly symbolic and a testament to who Robin was. And no one in that room doubted him, blamed him, or wanted to change a thing about him.