Haly's Circus, Gotham City
Few hours earlier
The smell of sawdust and cotton candy hung in the air as ten-year-old Richard "Dick" Grayson swung upside down from the practice trapeze, his world delightfully inverted. From this perspective, the worn canvas of their practice tent billowed like clouds, and the scattered props and equipment became a strange upside-down landscape. He released his grip, executing a perfect double somersault before landing on the safety net below with practiced ease.
"Perfect form, little Robin!" his father called from where he was checking the main trapeze rigging. John Grayson's strong hands moved with practiced precision, testing each cable and connection with the attention that had kept the Flying Graysons accident-free throughout their storied career.
Dick beamed at the nickname. His mother had given it to him when he was just learning to fly between the bars. "You remind me of a robin," she'd said, "small and bright and always ready to take wing." The name had stuck, becoming a private endearment among the three of them.
"Do you think I can add another rotation tonight, Dad?" Dick asked eagerly, bouncing on the net. "I've been practicing the triple, and I've almost got it perfect!"
John Grayson's face grew serious as he climbed down the ladder. "Not tonight, son. We stick to the routine we've rehearsed. The triple is still too new, and tonight's performance is too important."
Dick felt his excitement deflate slightly. "But Dad, I landed it three times in practice yesterday."
"And you missed it twice," his father reminded him gently, ruffling his hair as Dick climbed off the net. "No risks tonight, especially with the kind of crowd Mr. Haly says we'll have. Gotham's not like other cities."
His mother, Mary, entered the practice tent carrying their freshly laundered costumes. Unlike the flashy sequined outfits many circus performers favored, the Flying Graysons performed in sleek, simple attire—royal blue bodysuits accented with golden elements that caught the light during their aerial ballet. No capes or frills that could catch on equipment. Safety first, always.
"Is my little Robin trying to change the routine again?" Mary asked with a knowing smile. She set down the costumes and knelt to straighten Dick's collar. "Your father's right, Dick. Gotham audiences can be unpredictable. Better to give them a perfect performance of what we know than risk something new."
Dick sighed dramatically. "I just want to show them what I can really do."
Mary's eyes softened as she cupped his face. "You will, sweetheart. But there's no rush. You have your whole life ahead of you to perfect the triple, the quadruple, whatever you set your mind to."
"Your mother's right," John added, coming to stand beside them. "And besides," he lowered his voice conspiratorially, "we need to be extra careful tonight. There are some things going on that—"
"John," Mary cut him off with a meaningful glance, then smiled down at Dick. "Why don't you go see if Mr. Haly needs help with the programs? I think I saw him by the main entrance."
Dick recognized the adults' code for "we need to talk privately," but knew better than to protest. His parents never kept secrets from him for long—just until they figured out the right way to explain things. That was their way, honest but protective.
"Okay, Mom." He gave her a quick hug, noting how she held on a moment longer than usual. "But I still think I could nail the triple tonight."
"Tomorrow's practice," John promised. "We'll work on it together."
As Dick jogged out of the practice tent, he heard his parents' voices drop to urgent whispers. He slowed his pace, curiosity getting the better of him. His parents had been acting strange ever since they'd arrived in Gotham three days ago. More protective than usual, constantly checking over their shoulders.
"—shouldn't have agreed to testify," his mother was saying. "These aren't people you can just walk away from, John."
"I don't have a choice anymore, Mary. What I saw, what I know—people could get hurt if I stay silent. Besides, Gordon promised protection."
"Where are they, then? Those two officers haven't checked in for hours."
"They probably got called away. It happens. But after tonight, we'll be done. The new IDs are ready, the arrangements are made. One last performance, then we start fresh."
Dick frowned, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. New IDs? Starting fresh? Were they leaving the circus? The thought sent a pang through his chest. Haly's was the only home he'd ever known, filled with the only family he'd ever had—not just his parents, but all the performers and workers who had watched him grow up, taught him their crafts, celebrated his birthdays and achievements.
"Hey, short stuff! Eavesdropping?"
Dick jumped as Ellie, the circus's contortionist, came up behind him. She was in her twenties, with fiery red hair and a perpetual smirk.
"I wasn't—I was just—"
"Save it, kiddo." She tousled his hair. "Your folks are just worried about tonight's show. Big money crowd coming from Gotham City proper. Bunch of suits who probably never had a day of fun in their lives."
Dick nodded, letting her think that's what had concerned him. "Yeah, Dad won't let me try my triple."
"Smart man, your father." Ellie glanced toward the practice tent, a flicker of something—worry?—crossing her features. "Tell you what, help me set up the prop table for my act, and I'll show you that rubber pencil trick you've been asking about."
Dick brightened instantly. "Really? You promise?"
"Cross my heart," she said, making the gesture. "Come on, the matinee crowd will be here before we know it."
As they walked together through the circus grounds, Dick found himself caught up in the familiar pre-show energy. Workers rushed to complete final preparations, the smell of popcorn filled the air as concession stands were stocked (he made a mental note of definitely making sure to grab some of it fresh, he loved popcorn so much), and performers moved between tents in various states of costume and makeup.
This was his world, and he loved every chaotic, colorful inch of it. He'd been born into the circus, taking his first steps on the sawdust floor of the center ring, learning arithmetic by counting ticket sales, and geography by tracking their tour routes across dog-eared maps.
But it was the flying he loved most. The moment when his hands released the bar and his body soared through empty space, suspended in that perfect instant between leaving and arriving. His father called it "living in the moment of trust"—trusting physics, trusting your training, trusting your partners to be there when gravity finally won.
"Hey, Dickie," called Fernando from where he was exercising his horses. "Big night tonight, eh? You nervous?"
Dick shook his head confidently. "Graysons don't get nervous," he recited, parroting his father's favorite saying. "We get ready."
Fernando laughed. "That's the spirit! Hey, Mr. Haly says some big shots from Gotham might be here tonight. Heard rumors about Wayne Enterprises sending representatives."
"Really?" Dick's eyes widened. He'd heard stories about Bruce Wayne, of course—who hadn't? The orphaned heir who'd disappeared for years only to return and reclaim his family's company. While the man himself was probably at some fancy event in the city, even having his representatives in the audience was exciting.
"That's what they say," Fernando shrugged. "Though Mr. Haly's been acting strange about tonight's VIPs. More secretive than usual."
"Everyone's acting strange," Dick muttered, mostly to himself.
Ellie shot Fernando a warning look, which Dick pretended not to notice. Adults were always doing that around him lately—exchanging meaningful glances, changing subjects when he walked in. Something was definitely going on, something they didn't want him to know about.
After helping Ellie with her props, Dick made his way toward Mr. Haly's trailer, curious if he could learn anything more about the night's mysterious "special guests." He'd nearly reached it when he noticed a man he didn't recognize speaking with Haly just outside the door.
The stranger was tall and powerfully built, with white hair that seemed premature given his otherwise youthful appearance. He wore the casual clothes of a circus worker, but something about the way he carried himself seemed wrong—too controlled, too aware. Dick had grown up around performers who made their living through physical mastery; he recognized the way this man moved as belonging to a different category altogether.
Mr. Haly looked uncomfortable, his usually jovial face pinched with worry as he nodded several times. Money changed hands—a thick envelope that the circus owner quickly tucked inside his jacket. The white-haired man said something that made Haly pale, then turned to leave.
As he did, his eye—just one, Dick realized, the other covered by a patch—swept across the grounds and landed directly on Dick. The man smiled, a cold expression that never reached his visible eye, and winked, as best as he could with a patch anyway.
Dick felt a chill run down his spine, an instinctive warning that screameddanger. He ducked behind a wagon, heart pounding in his chest.
"You can come out, kid," the man called, his voice casual but carrying an undercurrent that made Dick's skin crawl. "I don't bite. Not children, anyway."
Reluctantly, Dick stepped out, trying to appear braver than he felt. Up close, the man was even more intimidating, his single eye assessing Dick with clinical precision.
"You must be the youngest Flying Grayson," the man said. "Richard, isn't it?"
"Most people call me Dick," he replied automatically.
"Dick, then." The man nodded. "Looking forward to your performance tonight. I've heard great things about your family's act."
"Thanks," Dick managed. "Are you... new with the circus?"
The man's smile widened slightly. "Just passing through. Helping with some... maintenance." He glanced up toward the big top, where the trapeze would be set up. "Making sure everything runs smoothly tonight."
Before Dick could respond, John Grayson's voice called out. "Dick! There you are. Your mother's looking for you—dinner before the show."
Relief flooded through Dick as his father approached, placing a protective hand on his shoulder. John nodded stiffly to the white-haired man.
"Maintenance crew?" John asked, his voice carefully neutral.
"That's right," the man replied, extending his hand. "Wilson. Just making sure everything's up to code for tonight's performance."
John didn't take the offered hand. "The Flying Graysons inspect their own equipment, Mr. Wilson. It's a family tradition."
"Of course," Wilson withdrew his hand smoothly. "No offense intended. Just being thorough—on management's orders."
"I'm sure." John's grip on Dick's shoulder tightened slightly. "If you'll excuse us, it's our pre-show routine to have dinner as a family."
As they walked away, Dick felt the man's eye on them, tracking their movement across the grounds. "Dad," he whispered, "who was that?"
"Nobody you need to worry about," John replied, but the tension in his voice suggested otherwise. "Just stick close to your mother and me tonight, okay? No wandering off."
"But why? What's going on?" Dick pressed, frustration building. "Everyone's acting weird, and I heard you and Mom talking about leaving the circus and getting new IDs and—"
John stopped abruptly, kneeling to look Dick in the eye. "You were listening." It wasn't a question. He sighed, running a hand through his hair—a gesture Dick knew meant his father was making a difficult decision. "You're old enough to understand some of this, I suppose."
He glanced around to ensure they weren't being overheard. "Before I joined the circus, before I met your mother, I was in the military. Special forces. I saw some things, Dick—things that weren't right. And now some important people in Gotham have asked me to tell what I know."
"Like being a witness in court?" Dick asked. He'd seen enough TV to understand the concept.
John nodded. "Something like that. The problem is, the people I'll be testifying against are dangerous. They don't want me to talk."
A cold weight settled in Dick's stomach. "Are they going to hurt us?"
"No," John said firmly, gripping Dick's shoulders. "No, I won't let that happen. That's why we're being careful. That's why after tonight, we might need to go away for a while, start fresh somewhere new."
"Leave the circus?" Dick couldn't keep the dismay from his voice. "But this is our home!"
"Home isn't a place, son. It's people." John smiled gently. "And as long as we're together—you, me, and your mother—we're home. Understand?"
Dick nodded slowly, though the thought of leaving still hurt. "Is that why the police were here earlier?"
"Yes. Commissioner Gordon sent officers to keep an eye on things." John frowned slightly. "Though I haven't seen them recently."
"Will we come back to the circus? After the bad guys are caught?"
John hesitated, and Dick knew he was considering whether to offer false comfort or honest uncertainty. The Graysons never lied to each other, even when the truth was difficult.
"I don't know, Dick," he admitted finally. "But whatever happens, we'll face it together. That's what families do."
He stood, offering his hand. "Come on. Your mother's waiting, and you know how she gets when her meatloaf gets cold."
Dick took his father's hand, drawing comfort from its familiar strength. Whatever was happening, whatever changes were coming, they would face them as a family. That was the Grayson way.
Mary had set up their small folding table outside their trailer, the checkered tablecloth and mismatched plates somehow making the simple space feel like a proper dining room. She'd prepared Dick's favorite meal—her special meatloaf with the sauce made from Pop Haly's secret recipe, mashed potatoes swirled with cheese, and green beans that Dick would eat without complaint because they were cooked just the way he liked them.
"There are my boys," she smiled, though Dick noticed the worry behind her eyes hadn't fully disappeared. "Dinner's ready. Let's eat before everything gets cold."
As they settled around the table, Dick felt a surge of love for his parents. His mother, graceful and strong, who could perform breathtaking aerial feats by night and still remember to cut his sandwiches into triangles just the way he liked them. His father, solid and dependable, who never missed a chance to teach Dick something new, whether it was a trapeze trick or the right way to treat people with kindness.
They were his whole world, these two people. Not perfect—his dad snored loudly enough to wake the dead, and his mom could be overprotective sometimes—but perfect for him.
"I told him," John said quietly as Mary served the food. "Some of it, anyway. He overheard us talking earlier."
Mary's eyes widened slightly, then softened as she looked at Dick. "I suppose it was only a matter of time. Our boy's too smart for his own good sometimes."
"I won't tell anyone," Dick promised. "About the testimony or leaving or anything."
Mary reached across the table to squeeze his hand. "We know you wouldn't, sweetheart. We're just trying to protect you."
"But who's protecting you?" Dick asked, suddenly afraid. "If these people are so dangerous—"
"I can take care of myself," John assured him. "And your mother. The police are here, and after tonight, we'll be somewhere safe. I promise."
They ate their meal, trying to maintain the illusion of normalcy. Mary quizzed Dick on his schoolwork—they'd been studying American history through their homeschool curriculum—while John told jokes and stories from his early days as a performer. For brief moments, Dick could almost forget the undercurrent of tension, the strange man with the eye patch, the plans to leave the only home he'd ever known.
As they finished dinner, the distant sound of cars and voices signaled the arrival of the evening's audience. Mary glanced at her watch.
"Time to start getting ready," she announced, standing to clear the plates. "Opening act starts in an hour, and we go on in two."
Dick helped clean up, then retrieved his costume from where his mother had laid it out in the trailer. The royal blue fabric was soft against his skin as he changed, the golden accents catching the light as he moved. When he emerged, his parents were similarly dressed, the three of them matching perfectly as they always did for performances.
"Let me fix your hair," Mary said, wetting her hands and smoothing down Dick's perpetually unruly black locks. "There. Handsome as ever."
John checked his watch. "We should head over to the main tent. I want to personally inspect the rigging after that 'maintenance' crew Wilson mentioned."
The name sent another chill through Dick. "Dad, that man with the white hair—I don't think he really works for the circus."
John's expression darkened. "Neither do I, son. That's why we'll check everything twice. Safety first."
"Always," Dick and Mary responded in unison, their pre-performance ritual.
As they walked toward the main tent, Dick could feel the familiar pre-show energy building within him. Despite everything—the mysterious man, the missing police officers, the plans to leave—the thought of performing still filled him with joy. Flying through the air with his parents, their bodies moving in perfect harmony high above the awed crowd... there was nothing better in the world.
The big top was already filling with people when they arrived, the expensive seats nearest the center ring occupied by well-dressed Gothamites in their fine clothes and jewels. Dick peeked through the curtain separating the performers' area from the audience, scanning the crowd.
"Looking for anyone in particular?" his mother asked, adjusting his collar.
"Fernando said Wayne Enterprises people might be here," Dick admitted. "I wanted to see what rich people from the city look like up close."
Mary laughed softly. "I'm not sure they'd appreciate being gawked at like one of the sideshow attractions."
"Look at that lady's necklace!" Dick pointed at a woman in the front row wearing an elaborate diamond piece that caught the light with every movement. "It must be worth more than our whole trailer!"
"Probably," John agreed, joining them. "Gotham's elite do love to show off their wealth. Even at a circus."
Dick continued scanning the crowd, fascinated by these glimpses into a world so different from his own. He'd traveled all over the country with the circus, but there was something unique about Gotham's particular blend of opulence and darkness. Even their smiles seemed different—tighter, more calculated, as if happiness itself was something to be carefully measured and displayed rather than simply felt.
For just a moment, he wondered what it would be like to live in a place like that—a city of mansions and skyscrapers instead of trailers and tents. The thought was quickly dismissed. No amount of wealth could compare to the freedom of circus life, to the joy of performing with his parents.
The moment was broken by Pop Haly's booming voice as he entered the center ring, beginning his welcome speech to the crowd. The show was starting.
"Places, everyone!" called the ringmaster's assistant. "Flying Graysons, you're on after the elephants!"
Mary knelt before Dick, straightening his costume one last time. "Remember, just the routine we practiced. No improvising tonight."
"I know, Mom," Dick nodded. "The double somersault, not the triple."
"That's my Robin," she smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "You're going to be amazing, as always."
John returned from his inspection of the equipment, his face relaxed for the first time all day. "Everything checks out. Cables, connections, tension—all perfect."
"See?" Mary smiled, squeezing his hand. "Nothing to worry about."
Dick felt the tension in his own shoulders ease. If his father said the equipment was safe, then it was safe. John Grayson never took chances with his family's lives.
They watched the earlier acts from the sidelines—Fernando's horses prancing in perfect synchronization, Ellie contorting herself into impossible shapes, the clowns drawing laughter with their practiced routines. Through it all, the white-haired man's words echoed in Dick's mind:"Just passing through. Helping with some... maintenance."
But his father had checked everything. Multiple times. There was nothing to worry about.
Finally, it was their turn. Pop Haly's voice boomed throughout the tent:
"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls! The moment you've all been waiting for! Haly's Circus proudly presents the world-famous, death-defying FLYING GRAYSONS!"
The spotlight found them as they climbed the ladder to the high platform. Dick waved to the crowd, drinking in their applause and excitement. This was what he lived for—this moment when the world fell away and there was nothing but the trapeze, the air, and his family.
At the top, his mother gave him a quick hug. "Remember—"
"Safety first, always," Dick finished with a grin. "I know, Mom."
His father ruffled his hair one last time. "That's my boy. After you, Mary."
As his mother took her position on the platform, preparing for the opening sequence of their act, Dick caught sight of the white-haired man standing near one of the support poles. He wasn't watching the show; he was watchingthem, his single eye focused with unsettling intensity.
For just a moment, Dick felt a premonition—a cold certainty that something was wrong, that danger lurked unseen. He turned to his father, opening his mouth to voice his concern.
"Dad, I think—"
"And now," Pop Haly's voice boomed through the tent, "without the safety of a net, the Flying Graysons will perform their death-defying aerial ballet!"
The music swelled, the crowd hushed in anticipation, and the moment passed. His mother gripped the trapeze bar, smiling back at them with love and confidence.
"Showtime, Robin," his father said with a wink. "Let's fly."
And as the act began, as his mother swung out over the center ring to the crowd's gasps and applause, Dick pushed away his fears. They were the Flying Graysons. They were professionals. They were family.
Nothing could go wrong.
Not tonight.