A/N: Thanks for reviewing, Bright Anarchy and SoulDream of Fire! :)
The murmurings from the other performers became gasps, and everyone began staring at Marco. Nobody had ever crossed the man – The Flying Rossellis were the featured act of the circus – and now his own son was running away!
Batman stared at the empty spot where Dominic had just been, then shook off the surprise and began running after him. The night was nearly black, but the boy's bright costume was like a beacon in the soft light of the moon.
Dick ran for almost half a mile before Batman finally caught up to him. The flat terrain was easy to traverse, and the Caped Crusader had been worried about losing the boy if he made it into the darkness of the surrounding woods. Luckily for Batman, Dick was not a long-distance runner.
"Stop," the hero commanded.
To his surprise, the twelve-year-old stopped, right at the edge of the forest. He was breathing hard, and he wrapped an arm around his stomach as he bent over.
"I need you to stand up so you can breathe," Batman stated. "Arms over your head, open up your lungs. You're making it more difficult by hunching over."
"Leave…me…alone," Dick gasped.
"That's not an option," Batman almost snapped.
"I'm not worth the trouble, I have nothing left," the boy mumbled.
"You have a mother who loves…"
"SHE'S NOT MY MOTHER!" Dick yelled as he straightened up. "I DON'T HAVE A MOTHER ANYMORE!"
Batman was slightly confused. Dominic seemed so adamant about his family not being his family, but who else could he belong to? He was an aerialist, just like they were, he had similar features, he was in the same circus they were in!
"Better, sir?"
Batman's eyes widened as an inkling of an idea popped into his mind. Dominic, last night anyway, had flown more gracefully and athletically than the rest of his family. It was like he had extra training, from a different instructor.
"Are you…" Batman paused, the question sounding stupid in his mind.
There was no way that Dominic Rosselli was Dick Grayson. It wasn't possible. Dick Grayson was with Haly's Circus, and this was not Haly's Circus. Dick Grayson was a Flying Grayson, not a Flying Rosselli.
Batman had never seen The Flying Graysons, so he couldn't compare their performance to the one he had seen last night. But, it would explain the slight difference in style and athleticism between Dominic and his family members. However, why would Dick Grayson pretend to be Dominic Rosselli for three years, when he obviously didn't like them – hated them, even?
"Am I what?" the boy asked quietly, interrupting Batman's thoughts. "An idiot, as good as dead, not worth the fight with Marco, someone you regret chasing, or all of the above?"
"No," Batman responded. "That's not what I was going to ask, not even close."
"Then what?"
"If you're not a Flying Rosselli, but you are an experienced and talented aerialist, you must have trained somewhere."
"Just…forget it," Dick whispered. "I'm running away, so leave me alone and go do whatever it is a 'duly deputized agent' who 'does things differently' does," he finished rudely.
"You've been here before," Batman said, taking a stab at his idea.
"Here? No," Dick responded, glancing at his surroundings.
"Not here specifically," Batman retorted. "Gotham City. A few years ago."
Dick's breathing hitched, and then it stopped altogether. Something in his chest tightened as memories rushed through his mind. His parents, falling for so long, the crumpled pile on the ground that he couldn't get to, the white-haired man pushing him back into the tent, the sorrow on every single performer's face.
"Breathe!" Batman yelled for the third time, finally putting a hand forcefully on the boy's chest.
The heavy push drove Dick out of the past, and he began pulling air into his lungs. Memories disappeared, replaced with a half-hidden face with dark eyes that were full of some emotion that Dick didn't recognize.
"Who are you?" he breathed softly.
"I'm Batman, who are you?"
"Nobody."
"You're obviously somebody. You exist, so you have a name. It's not Dominic Rosselli, though. So, what is your name?"
Batman waited, hoping that what he thought was true wasn't really true. He didn't want this boy to be Dick Grayson, because he had always thought of Dick Grayson being raised by his circus family. Surrounded by people who loved him and had helped him cope for the last three years.
Please don't say Dick Grayson.
The plea was in Batman's mind, but the longer he waited the more he knew that his plea was going to go unanswered.
"I don't…I can't…no, this isn't happening."
"I'm not going to tell you who you are, because I don't know for sure," Batman said. "I have an idea, but that's all it is."
"Dominic, my name is Dominic," Dick stated, his fear of the unknown overpowering his hatred of the Rosselli family.
"No, it's not," Batman responded firmly. "We both know that you are not Dominic Rosselli, so don't try to answer that way again."
"I'm nobody," Dick repeated, running his left hand through his hair and dropping his eyes to the ground. "I failed them, so I'm nobody."
"Who did you fail?" Batman asked softly.
"It doesn't matter."
"It does to me."
"Why?"
"Because I want to help you."
"Why?"
"Because…I don't know," Batman admitted, his harsh tone coming from his frustration.
Dick, however, took it as anger. He lifted his head, and the look in the man's eyes convinced him that it was anger.
"You don't have to help, I'll be okay. Thanks for getting me out of there."
Turning away from the Caped Crusader, Dick began walking down the dirt road, away from the forest. Batman shook his head and used his long strides to catch up to the twelve-year-old. He slowed his pace and began walking beside him.
"I don't want to tell you who you are, although I think I know. But I don't want to say it out loud if I'm wrong. And I really don't want to say it out loud if I'm right," Batman finished with a sigh.
Dick thought about that for almost a quarter of a mile. Batman stayed silent, matching the boy's pace and still hoping that he was wrong.
"It's…a long story," the twelve-year-old finally said. "Are you sure you want to hear it?"
"Only if you want to tell me."
"No."
"Okay."
"I don't…I can't tell you. It…" Dick abruptly stopped and looked up at the sky. "It hurts too much," he whispered, his voice hoarse from more than just the position of his head.
"I'm not going to force you," Batman stated as he folded his arms across his chest to try to soften whatever had just made his heart crack.
It was the emotion in the boy's voice, the raw sorrow that accompanied the silent tears as he stared up at the moon. Batman had felt that himself, long ago when he was just eight years old. The hope that the twelve-year-old was going to tell him a different name faded.
Dick lowered his gaze from the sky to the hero's face. He took a deep breath and forced the grief out of his voice.
"My name…"
He stopped, closed his eyes, and swallowed hard. Reopening his eyes, he stared straight into Batman's eyes.
"My name is Richard John Grayson. My parents and I were The Flying Graysons, but they…"
Dick's voice cracked and he looked up at the sky again. It was a full three minutes before he could continue.
"They died three years ago, when we were here," he finished softly.
He kept his face to the sky, not wanting to see whatever emotion was on the face of the man he had met only an hour or so ago.
The answer didn't surprise him, but Batman didn't expect a ball of guilt to roll into his chest. He should have made sure the boy was safe before the circus left.
Batman wanted to ask Dick why he had been masquerading as a Flying Rosselli for three years, but he was fairly certain that he already knew the answer. He was, after all, the World's Greatest Detective.
"Now I know why you're better," the hero stated quietly.
Dick huffed a sorrowful chuckle as he lowered his gaze to Batman's eyes again.
"We were always better," he replied, confidence threaded through the statement. "They tried to 'train the Grayson out' of me, but I didn't let them. We were always better," he repeated.
Questions were racing through his mind, but Batman forced himself to keep them inside. He decided to let the boy take the lead in the conversation. If Dick wanted to tell him something, the hero would listen, but he wasn't going to interrogate him.
They started walking again. Batman watched the twelve-year-old out of the corner of his eye. Several times the boy opened his mouth to say something, but he closed it again every time. Ten minutes passed in silence.
"I tried to run away," Dick suddenly said. "So many times. Almost every night. He started chaining me to the wall so he could sleep without having to make sure I was there."
Batman internally growled at the image of this graceful aerialist chained to a wall like an animal. For three years, every night. He almost turned around to find Marco and beat him to a pulp, but in his mind Alfred's voice told him to stay with the boy.
Another five minutes of silent walking. Dick was aimlessly wandering, but Batman knew exactly where they were. Soon he was going to have to steer the twelve-year-old west, because Crime Alley was only six miles away.
"I did it on purpose."
Batman had no idea what the boy was talking about, so he allowed himself to ask.
"Did what on purpose?"
"I took out the twist and added a flip. It was last night, so you didn't see it. They changed the sequence, but it was still a copycat. The only person who could do the quadruple was a Flying Grayson – me – so they couldn't let a Flying Rosselli do that. A double with a half-twist was still impressive. So, I took out the half-twist and added the flip on purpose. Kind of a tribute, I guess. I even thought about doing a quad, but Maria had never caught one."
Bruce had seen it, but of course Batman didn't mention that fact.
"Isn't that dangerous, changing the routine while performing it?"
"Maria was good enough to catch me. Not as good as my mom, but nobody was as good as my mom. Except my dad," Dick added with a slight grin.
Another seven and a half minutes, and then the boy whispered, "I miss them so much."
The raw sorrow was back in his voice, and Batman saw his own parents lying on the ground…dead. He had been able to go with Alfred, though. Dick Grayson had been taken away from the only family he had ever known. And Batman knew that it was not by choice.
Hoping the boy wouldn't notice, the Caped Crusader slowly turned their path west. But Dick was both intelligent and observant.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"Away from that part of the city," Batman replied, pointing toward the dim lights of Crime Alley.
"Why?"
"Because no child should be going there unless he lives there."
"I don't have anywhere to live."
That stopped Batman in his tracks. He hadn't thought about that. The hero knew he would eventually have to take Dick to Police Headquarters, but he felt like the boy was beginning to trust him. It would take a while for Dick to learn to trust anyone, and depositing him at headquarters wouldn't help that.
Dick had also stopped, and was looking at him quizzically.
"Is something wrong?" he asked.
"No, I was just thinking," the man responded truthfully.
"What are you going to do with me?"
Batman had no answer, so Dick let the question hang in the air as they began walking again.
"You can just let me go. I'll find a way to survive. I've been doing it for the last three years anyway."
"How did he…"
Batman cut himself off. He was supposed to let Dick take the lead.
"I don't know if this is what you're asking, but he grabbed me out of the main tent when I was cleaning the bleachers after a performance. I had no idea was what happening, I was such an idiot."
"You were nine," Batman responded. "You were probably scared."
"They said I could fly again, so I hesitated. By the time I figured everything out, it was too late."
There was another long pause, almost ten minutes again.
"You probably want to know details, if you're really a policeman or whatever."
"I'm not going to force you to tell me, but it would help."
Dick suddenly dropped to the ground. Crossing his legs, he cradled his right arm again.
"Help what?" he asked.
"Help me take care of the guy," Batman growled.
"Sorry."
"For what?"
"Making you mad. I make everybody mad."
"I'm not mad."
Dick shook his head and sarcastically mumbled, "Right."
"At you," Batman clarified. "I'm not mad at you."
"How are you going to 'take care' of him?"
I'm going to beat him to a pulp and then throw him in jail with criminals who hate people that hurt children.
"I'll hand him over to the police."
After I beat him to a pulp.
"What will they do?"
I'll make sure they put him in maximum security with criminals who hate people that hurt children.
"They'll put him in a jail cell, and there will be a trial…"
"What's a trial?"
Batman raised his eyebrows, then remembered that the boy was in a traveling circus.
"All you need to know for now is that he'll be locked up and have no access to you."
"They can't be a duet, Rob's not ready for that, so I have to go back."
"No, you don't."
"The Flying Graysons didn't finish their performances here three years ago. I can't let that happen to The Flying Rossellis, no matter how much I hate them," Dick replied, dropping his eyes to the ground. "A Flying Grayson always finishes a performance," he whispered.
"The woman will go to jail, also. She allowed it to happen without trying to stop it."
"So Rob will be left like I was three years ago – on his own. I can't do that to him, I know how it feels."
"He's much older," Batman remarked, not an ounce of sympathy in his voice.
"He's only sixteen."
"A teenager, so he can deal with it."
Dick shook his head.
"You don't get it. I can't just leave him on his own. You don't know what it feels like to be completely alone."
It was a true statement, Batman had to admit that. When his parents had died, he had still had Alfred. The butler couldn't fill the void left by his parents, but he had still been there. Bruce Wayne had never been completely alone.
"If you really want to go back, that's your choice. But I won't let you go back alone."
For some reason, Batman felt he had to protect the boy. However, what was he going to do with him? Commissioner Gordon would have to hand him over to the Department of Child Services, and the kid would become just another lost orphan in an already overflowing system.
"I don't want to go back, but…"
"Then don't," Batman interrupted flatly.
"But I can't do that to Rob," Dick finished softly.
Changing the subject, Batman crouched down and asked, "Why do you keep supporting your right arm? What happened?"
Dick immediately separated his arms. He was not weak, and he was not going to admit to being hurt.
Batman listened to the silence and waited. The longer it lasted, the more awkward it became. Dick finally gave in.
"I bumped it on a…table."
The slight hesitation was very telling, and Batman hated that the boy was continually lying to him. But he had been lying to everyone for three years, so the Caped Crusader decided to give the twelve-year-old a break.
"How did you get those bruises on your cheeks? I don't know of anybody who randomly bumps their face into a table."
Dick immediately turned his head away and stared at the lights glowing in the distance. He had no idea how to get himself away from this line of questioning.
"It doesn't matter," he finally answered, turning his gaze back to the hero.
"The fact that your left arm has unconsciously begun cradling your right arm again shows me that it does matter. I need to know if it's a serious injury, because if it is then it needs to be taken care of as soon as possible."
Dick hadn't even noticed the change in the positioning of his arms. He immediately separated them again.
"I'm fine."
Batman sighed, then sat down.
"I'm not going to force anything, but if you want to perform again, you need to take care of that arm."
"No duets, remember?" Dick responded quietly. "Even if I do go back, I'll never be able to perform again. Unless you let Marco and Maria go."
"That's not going to happen," Batman replied, fury surging through his voice. "I will not let a kidnapper go free. Especially since he apparently has anger issues."
"It's only for a few more years," Dick said despondently, his gaze returning to the distant lights. "Then I'll find my own job somewhere, or try to find Haly's. I don't know if they even care that I'm gone."
"You're twelve," Batman commented.
Dick nodded.
"You can't legally work until you're sixteen."
The boy shrugged.
"That's four years away."
"Yeah. That's not very long."
"And how long have these past three years been for you?"
Batman was frustrated because it seemed like Dick was resigning himself to a fate that the hero was not willing to allow.
"Long," the boy replied after almost a minute. "But I'm a Grayson, I can make it."
Batman saw a sad smile grace the face of the twelve-year-old, a smile that didn't even come close to reaching his eyes. It disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.
"I wish I could be more like them," Dick whispered.
Grief filled his voice again, and the crack that had opened in Batman's chest grew a little wider.
"They would have been able to escape," he continued. "I gave up, I failed them."
"You were nine!" Batman exclaimed.
"But I'm not anymore. And I'm still performing, grinding the name 'Grayson' into the dirt by pretending to be someone I'm not."
"You told me you tried to escape."
Dick turned his head, his blue eyes locking onto Batman's own.
"Every. Single. Night."
There was steel in his voice and fire in his eyes.
"Then you didn't fail them," Batman stated. "You were kidnapped, you are not a performer in Circus Fazioli by choice, and you were chained to a wall so you couldn't escape. You're alive."
"I'm not alive. I just…exist."
"Dick, I know…"
Batman stopped. He had been about to tell the boy that he knew what it felt like to be dead inside. That he knew the despair and sorrow that came from losing both his parents on the same night in a horrible way.
"You know what?" Dick asked.
The hero shook his head to straighten out his thoughts. Obviously, he couldn't tell the twelve-year-old that he was Bruce Wayne. He couldn't say what he wanted to say to the boy without giving away identifying clues.
Dick shrugged and said, "There was a guy last night, a rich guy. I got chalk all over his hand when I shook it. That was on purpose, too."
Batman raised his eyebrows in surprise, knowing that Dick was talking about Bruce Wayne.
"Why did you do that?" the man asked.
"I knew Marco would get mad. But I didn't think he would be able to control his reaction so well. The guy was rich, and Marco hates when something happens to a rich customer. He was supposed to lash out at me."
Dick went quiet, so Batman elaborated.
"He didn't until later," the hero commented. "Which explains the bruises, or the injured arm, or both."
The Caped Crusader waited, hoping Dick would elaborate, but the boy just shrugged again. Three minutes passed. Batman hated waiting, but the more details he could get out of the twelve-year-old, the better.
"The guy laughed it off – he was nice – so Marco let it go for the moment."
Another long pause. Batman almost smiled at the thought of being 'nice'. If the kid knew what Batman's life was like, he wouldn't have used that adjective.
"He came to me first. I saw him walk around the entire circle of people. I didn't expect him to acknowledge me, though. Most people don't."
You tend to hold yourself back and try to hide.
Batman couldn't say that, because Batman hadn't seen the performers greeting people after the show.
"Does that bother you?" he asked instead.
"Pretending to be a Flying Rosselli bothers me," Dick answered, turning his head away again. "I used to love talking to people after a performance, when I was a Flying Grayson. But I wasn't allowed to for a while as a Flying Rosselli, because I might have tried to give a clue or something. And when I was allowed, I just…didn't want to anymore."
Dick's voice faded at the end. He pulled his legs into his chest and rested his chin on his knees. His eyes now faced the darkness in front of him, and he stared absently into the blackness. Batman noted the fact that the boy wrapped his left arm around his legs while his right hung limply by his side.
"I really need to take a look at your arm," the hero stated.
"I'm fine. It doesn't hurt."
The answer frustrated the Caped Crusader. Dick obviously was not 'fine', but he couldn't just force the boy to show him the injury. Although Batman didn't know it, that word – fine – would fly into his ears a lot in the future. And it would frustrate him just as much as it was right now.
"Whether it hurts or not doesn't matter. I need to make sure nothing is broken."
Dick glanced at him sideways with his eyes while keeping his face forward.
"He's not that strong."
"The injury came from Marco," Batman remarked. "Again," he growled.
The hero didn't know exactly what had happened, but he had suspected that it had happened because of Marco Rosselli. Dick had nothing to say to that, so Batman continued.
"What happened? And is that arm the reason you were cut from the performance?"
Dick unexpectedly stood up in one fluid motion. Batman quickly jumped to his feet.
"I learned how to fly one-armed when I was six," Dick practically snarled. "There was no reason for him to cut me, other than the fact that he wanted to humiliate me. I'm better, I've always been better, my family has always been better!"
By the time he finished his short speech, Dick was yelling. The fury in the boy's voice would have worried Batman if it wasn't for the deep sorrow woven throughout the words.
"Look out!" Dick suddenly yelled as he threw himself into Batman's chest.
The twelve-year-old wasn't even close to being remotely strong enough to push the hero back. But Batman was thrown off balance and he stumbled slightly, which may have saved his life. He heard the whistle of the bullet as it grazed his forehead, and felt the trail of flames it left in its wake. Blood trickled into his vision, and he blindly fumbled in his utility belt for a Bat-towel.
The fading sound of running feet escaped his notice as his vision slowly went from light-crimson to clear. By the time he was pressing the Bat-towel to his forehead in order to stop the bleeding, Dick was gone.
Dick saw Marco, and saw a moonbeam dance off something metal. The twelve-year-old had no knowledge of guns, but he was intelligent enough to figure out that Marco had a gun aimed at Batman.
"Look out!" he yelled as he attempted to shove Batman out of the way.
It didn't work, he wasn't strong enough, but at least the man stumbled a little, causing the bullet to fly past his head instead of into it. Dick glared at Marco, who was lining up another shot, then began running. If he went back with the Rossellis, Marco would have no reason to shoot the guy that Dick – for some reason that he wasn't going to try to figure out right now – slightly trusted.
So he ran, straight into Marco's line of fire, because he knew the man wouldn't shoot him. Or, if he did, it wouldn't be a fatal shot. Dominic Rosselli was too valuable. Dick couldn't say the same thing about Batman, who was a definite threat to Marco.
"Okay, I'm back, let's go," he gasped when he finally reached the spot directly in front of Marco's gun. "I won't run away again, I'm sorry. Punish me, but leave him out of it."
Marco glared at the twelve-year-old for thirty seconds, then lowered his gun.
"You will sleep in the customs box," he said harshly, and Dick nodded. "You will not be performing for three weeks. You'll work with Ludmir, you will do exactly what he tells you to do. You will stay quiet, and you will eat by yourself in the elephant cage after you have cleaned the main tent. Is that clear?!"
Dick nodded again, already obeying the command to remain quiet.
"If you do not follow these rules and accept your punishment completely, we will leave you in the middle of nowhere. If that happens, you will die, because you can't survive on your own. Do you want to die?"
Dick shook his head, his eyes on the ground.
"Tell me your name," Marco demanded.
"Dominic Rosselli," Dick whispered.
Marco glanced in the direction of Batman, then said, "He's almost done cleaning himself up. Go to the forest and wait for me. If you make any sound, no matter how small, you will fly solo tomorrow without a net while the rest of us pack up. Do you understand?"
Dick nodded again, then sprinted away toward the forest. As he ran, he realized that Marco had said nothing about not shooting Batman. He curved his path and ran back toward the man, who was lining up another shot.
"Don't!" Dick yelled, throwing himself at Marco just as the man pulled the trigger.