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When a Grayson jumps, they fly.
Dick had grown up far from the ground, between a gymnastics machine and a somersault. Mom stroked his head and told him stories of a magical land, full of fire and smoke, a place where their singing didn't destroy lives and their movements weren't hypnotic. A world where they weren't objects of desire, cogs in the show.
But in that world, the show was all they had.
Dad watched him perform a perfect pirouette and hang face down from the rings and told him he was born for this.
He wasn't lying. He and mom were born for the show. For attention. Their food was the emotions themselves.
Dad didn't care. He smiled as Mary and Dick fed themselves and then, the three of them huddled under a blanket, watched a new movie. Dick would sneak away at night to practice on the trapeze but always come home early, dreaming of bigger stages, more people, and more emotions.
The only emotions he had ever felt were happiness. Excitement, joy, love. Mom said Dick was like a colorful flower, perpetually open. He ran through the tents, fed the animals, and held his secret close.
He smiled without ever showing his teeth, so his fangs wouldn't scare the children.
(<You have to be careful, Dick, my robin. The world isn't kind to the likes of us.>)
His family—the Haly Circus—knew they had to protect them, and so they were good at switching countries whenever people started to get too tired around the Graysons, or when someone swore they saw a vortex in little Dick's eyes.
Then, one day, Dick saw something strange.
Ropes. A jump.
When a Grayson jumps, they fly.
When a Grayson falls, they never get up again.
***
Bruce knew that the creatures of the Other World were mostly evil, or at least deceitful.
But Bruce had been raised by a creature of the Other World who had taught him that nurture was more important than nature.
Bruce was Batman, the monster hunter. But tonight, Bruce was just a human, one of many, watching a crying child.
(Another child, an alley, an Incubus, a gun.)
Bruce was torn between what Dick was—the same horrible nature that had orphaned him—and who he was.
He had grabbed Dick; he didn't want him to see.
Bruce was torn between nature and the individual. Bruce hunted monsters, but the monsters were dead in front of him and the child was looking at his dead parents.
<When a Grayson falls, they never get up again,> Dick muttered, clinging to Bruce. To Bruce, who had climbed over the fence and was wrapping around him, because Dick mustn't see, mustn't see, mustn't see.
And then the Incubus looked up, his eyes were two vortices and, by Gotham, he cried so much.
<I'm falling> he said.
And Bruce really couldn't let that happen.
***
Alfred looks at him, raises an eyebrow, then takes out some muffins.
<Master Richard->
<Dick, i-it's Dick.>
<Master Dick, help yourself. I need to have a word with Master Bruce.>
John and Mary Grayson had been dead six hours earlier. The police had arrived on the scene five and a half hours earlier. Child services shortly after.
<He's a demon, and he's a minor. He has no living relatives. He'll be sent to a containment and re-education facility until he comes of age.>
The circus people looked furious. But no papers, no will, just threats. And the investigation into John and Mary's failure to register.
(Bruce had forgotten that demons were required to be registered "so as not to deceive humans.")
Bruce hadn't let go of Dick yet. His hand was on the boy's shoulder, firm, unable to push him away. They stood up and the boy was staring off into space, unmoving, muttering about falls and flights and ropes. An officer had tried to pull Dick away—hadn’t spoken to him, hadn’t asked him to follow, had just pulled.
Bruce had growled.
(He remembered what would happen to Dick. It had happened before, years ago. Ambulance, visitation, someone talking about inheritances and management and funerals. Estates, arrangements, legal documents, guardians. Small talk, fake smiles, pats on the back and hands in hair. Bruce remembered.)
<Explain to me,> Alfred said.
Alfred, who had pulled him out of the police station years ago and vowed never to abandon him. He was a house spirit, and his loyalty was to Thomas Wayne. But Alfred had stayed. Even when Bruce had screamed, or started fights in the school hallways. Even when he had run away and left for dead for two years. Alfred had always stayed.
"Nurture is more important than nature. And there are no naturally evil creatures. It's all about predators and prey, my boy. And civilization."
<I couldn't let him go,> Bruce said.
Alfred stared at him for a long time, then nodded. <Good, my boy. Then I suppose we'll have to make some arrangements for the young master.>
***
Dick was at a hunter's house. A hunter who knew Dick was an Incubus.
<Don't look, kid. Don't look.>
Dick wasn't sure what mattered.
Alfred- the spirit- had given him muffins and juice. And Dick's throat was dry, his stomach was empty, and it didn't really matter whether he was going to die or not.
<Don't look, please, don't look.>
The hunter's emotions were warm and protective. Dick felt the emptiness.
Maybe he was going to die.
(Would he have seen his parents again? Would they have flown again? Would it have hurt?)
The muffin felt nice, the juice was fresh, and his throat hurt almost as much as his head.
<You can't take him away! We're his family. John and Mary would never want->
<No one cares what two attention whores wanted for their infernal brat.>
The house was warm, and the spirit's emotions tasted of care and attention.
Bruce was a hunter and maybe he would kill him.
Dick closed his eyes, saw blood and couldn't care less.
***
The first week, Dick lived between a bed, a table, and the bed again.
Getting up. Having breakfast. Back to bed. Lunch. Bed. Dinner. Bed.
Yes, the food was good. No, he didn't need a blanket. No, he didn't want to talk about it. Yes, he was fine.
The first week, Dick didn't care about anything. Death and life seemed the same. He slept, slept, and did nothing else. He finished his meals quickly and went back under the covers. Alfred looked at him and always asked if the food was good.
Bruce- the hunter- never asked him anything. He barely smiled at him but his eyes were sad. Dick never touched his emotions again. He didn't know what to do with more sadness.
***
At the beginning of the second week, Dick began to shake. The house was full of love and care, signs of Alfred but Alfred was a spirit and his emotions about things were subtle. It was like eating blades of grass: almost no nourishment, very hungry. Dick needed to eat.
(Was this how the hunter would kill him? Starve him? Dick knew humans hate demons, especially tempting demons like him, but it still seemed cruel.)
At dinner, Alfred asked him for food. Dick couldn't say "good."
***
Halfway through the second week, Dick began to realize how serious the situation was. It had started as nothing, just a sentence from Alfred.
<Young master, would you like to take some of your personal items from the circus before they leave the country?>
Leave the country. Leave the country? Without him? But-
Oh. They would have left the country. Without Dick, because Dick couldn't be with them anymore. Because his mom and his dad...
Dick burst into tears. And an Incubus' cry was a loud, heart-rending, inhuman scream. He cried and screamed and wanted mom and dad, and he wanted to eat, he wanted excitement and happiness and joy and the smell of peanuts and the sound of fireworks. He wanted to fly.
(When a Grayson falls, they never get up again.)
(Dick had said he was falling.)
Alfred took a step forward, perhaps to console him or to remove the still half-full plate from the table (Dick hadn't finished his food for days).
The hunter came first. He ran his hand through Dick's hair.
(<Your voice will change, my robin. It will be as loud as mine. The whole world could be watching you. But you still have some growing to do. Now come here, eat some vegetables.>)
The hunter said nothing but the emotions were there, accessible, almost pushed toward him.
Dick cried and screamed and Bruce- he couldn't bring himself to call him "the hunter" as the empathy flowed toward him- said nothing. He just kept holding him and his emotions were only sadness, pain and that sense of understanding.
It was the first time Dick tasted pain. It tasted like ash and gunpowder.
***
The screams of an Incubus should have killed. But all Bruce saw was himself, completely broken, alone in the world.
He watched Dick Grayson scream until he was almost speechless and his training slipped away. He just felt tired.
***
Dick woke up on the couch. He had a blanket over him and his head was resting on Bruce's knees.
The man was awake and reading a newspaper. He seemed completely indifferent to the sleeping little demon.
<Hi> Dick said shyly, not knowing whether to get up or not.
Bruce peered over the top of the newspaper. <You're awake.>
Dick nodded, not knowing what to do.
<Okay, chum. Want to eat some pancakes?>
***
When the story hit the papers, the Daily Planet was the only one with any tact in its treatment of the story.
Bruce didn't know what was worse: the insinuations that he had taken a child into his home as a sex object or pet (seriously, was that how people saw the little Incubus?) or the ones that the eight-year-old had arranged the murder of his parents and subjugated Bruce to inherit his fortune.
<You're mad,> Dick's little voice said. Bruce looked up. Bruce looked up. The child— eight year old, eight, Vicky Vale, for Gotham's sake!—looked at him like a deer in headlights. His big blue eyes were swirling. He had just poked his head into the room.
<It's okay, kid. I'll get over it. Don't pry into my emotions.>
<Sorry. I don't mean to.>
Bruce had been imagining something like this. If he fed on emotions, it would be hard not to absorb everything around him.
<Fine,> he tried to sound calm. Dick's grimace suggested that the attempt hadn't gone so well.
The boy had been there for three weeks. They hadn't talked about the circus or custody yet. He had a vague memory of yelling at an officer to “Don't lay a finger on the kid.”
Okay. And now?
Bruce tried to think. The boy needed clothes that weren't his old ones, something more modern and colorful. And he had to go to school. Probably. He was a kid, right? Yeah, he definitely had to go to school. And he should probably buy him a couple of Disney DVDs or some comic books. Toys? Or was he too old?
A noise. Dick was approaching, his gaze down.
<When… when can I start working?>
Bruce frowned. "What the hell...?"
Dick seemed to pick up on how he was feeling, because he pulled away, squeaking an apology.
<I... working? Why? >
<Because... is that what Alfred does?>
Bruce took a sharp breath. He had to think. And he couldn't lose control of his emotions.
He had to calm down. He was a literal child. Gotham, working? Not until he was dead.
<Alfred is a centuries-old spirit. And this is his house, so he takes care of it.>
Alfred was like a father to him. He had kept Bruce from starving or getting drawn into endless inheritance fights between relatives. Bruce was so grateful.
<And, like, you have to keep your stuff in order. And your room. But you don't have to do housework. You're... you're a child.>
And then, a horrible thought crossed his mind.
<Did you have to... keep house when you lived with your parents?>
Dick, thankfully, shook his head. <They were like me, though.>
"Like me." Demons. Right.
Bruce wasn't a demon. Dick must have been so lonely.
<Right. Um... do you want to go buy something? New clothes?>
***
The next day, they went shopping. Alfred watched them walk to the car like they'd just saved the planet, and Bruce felt a familiar pang of warmth. If Alfred approved, he was doing the right thing.
***
Dick tried on every color. Every. Single. Color. Bruce had just discovered salmon color and they were only halfway through their wardrobe.
He suppressed a smile. He had to talk to Dick. About the custody, his future and the box of personal items he had taken from the ringmaster and dumped in the attic.
And Batman.
<B, look, there's an elephant printed here. Can I have it?>
<Sure, kid. I told you, you need clothes. Take whatever you want.>
"Not today," he thought. It was the first time he'd seen Dick smile since the funeral.
(Many years later, Dick would confess to him that he didn't remember the funeral. He didn't remember anything about his first week with the Waynes.)
***
Bruce continued to buy Dick toys, clothes, and books. He didn't want to spoil him, no matter what Alfred said. The kid needed it.
Even if he wasn't here to stay.
***
<Can I put a poster up in my room, B?>
<Yes, no problem. You can take them down when you leave.>
Dick raised an eyebrow, then chuckled and ran to put up the new poster for "The Greatest Show." He seemed to be feeling better.
<Thanks, B! You're the best.>
Bruce sighed. When had she started calling him B? What did the B stand for? Bruce? Or was it Batman? No, Dick didn't know about Batman... probably. For a moment, he found himself staring at the boy, his head full of doubts.
<I hear your noise, turn it off> he groaned, and something passed through his emotions. It was as if someone had given his entire psyche a playful shove.
Dick froze.
It took Bruce a moment to react. But one step forward was enough to make Dick burst into tears.
Gotham, this child. Bruce wasn't sure what had happened but he couldn't really find the strength to care.
<Hey, it's okay, you didn't hurt me.>
Dick hugged himself. He wasn't looking at him.
<Do you want... I don't know, do you want a hug or something?>
Dick's head shot up. <Can I?>
And then he found himself hugging a literal Incubus. (Dick.)
Bruce sighed. It was fine.
***
<No way, I'm not letting you watch another movie. It's half past eleven, you should have been in bed for hours!>
A push.
<And don't be a snob now. I said go to bed. Or I'll tell Alfred not to give you any cookies tomorrow.>
A snort and another push in his emotions. Bruce rolled his eyes and poured himself some water.
***
<Did you know?>
<Knew what?> Dick looked up from his controller.
<I told you not to play before bed. Actually, you know what, it doesn't matter. Did you know?>
Dick rolled his eyes. <I've yet to develop the ability to read minds, B.>
<Did you know I'm Batman?> Bruce was almost hysterical.
Dick raised an eyebrow. Then he looked at Bruce. <Well, yeah. I've been warned about hunters my whole life.>
A pause. <You didn't know I... why did you think I was so scared?>
<You were... scared?>
Dick looked at him like Bruce was the ugliest mathematical formula in existence. <Dude, your ability to read situations sucks, human or not.>
<Umh.>
<I'm not scared now.>
Bruce nodded and Dick could feel the relief and parental love. He had been feeling it for months now. A warm blanket, like his mother's emotions. He doesn't know why Bruce sounded more like his mom than his dad, but he did. Maybe it was because his mother was the leader of Dick's pack. And Bruce was the new leader of the new pack.
Better not say, Dick decides. Bruce wasn't very comfortable with the whole demon thing.
He stood up and spread his arms. <Hug?>
<Sure... Yes. Yes, chum, come here.>
***
<Dick, about yesterday...>
<Yes?>
<Will you develop the ability to read minds?>
<Of course not, I'm an Incubus, Bruce. Don't be an idiot. You know that.>
(Years later, when Jason joins them, Dick realizes that Bruce knew absolutely nothing.)
***
<Listen, Dick, about you leaving...>
Dick looked at the book, then at Bruce. Bruce, who must have gone crazy. What leaving?
Dick leaned in. It had been six months since he’d arrived, and Bruce no longer flinched when Dick plucked his emotions like a guitarist.
<It’s not unpleasant. Just weird,> he’d said once, and Dick had rolled his eyes.
<I know, B. I’d never do it the unpleasant way. Don’t be stupid.>
<What’s the unpleasant way?>
That guy. <You don’t have to pretend you’re not a hunter anymore, remember?>
Bruce’s emotions were the same as they always were: parental love, pure and soft. Happiness. And ash and gunpowder. No matter how much joy Bruce conveyed, the pain was always there. Dick had started to get used to it.
<About you leaving,> Bruce repeated. <I... I was wondering if you wanted to think about... I have an alternative to suggest, Dick.>
Dick still didn't understand, but Bruce's love was almost being pushed at him.
<B, I know I'm your son but I've already eaten, you're going to give me indigestion.>
Bruce froze as his emotions exploded. Not figuratively. Dick was almost blinded.
As always, Bruce's voice didn't match the turmoil. <Yes. Yes, sorry. I just wanted to ask you to sign to officially have custody of you. You know, human bureaucracy. Totally unnecessary.>