Chapter Text
Dick Grayson had to get out of Wayne Manor. Just for a bit. He knew Alfred was concerned about him, mainly because this was the third week in a row that the old man had cooked chili cheese-steak. Dick had mentioned one time that cheese-steak was a favorite and ever since then for the past five or so years, if Alfred noticed Dick was upset, he would, without fail, make chili cheese-steak. And to be fair, Alfred was almost always right. He could read people like the morning paper.
But Dick didn’t want long, worried glances or chili cheese-steak from Alfred. He just wanted a little space. For the past year or so, Dick had taken to long walks outside around Gotham. At first the walks were mostly to help ease his sore muscles from a long night on patrol, but quickly they became an emotional reprieve too.
Walking around Gotham, while perhaps not always the most pleasant (usually reeking of smoke and curbside trash) was so refreshingly normal . Dick could be any other teenage boy. He looked normal enough, in gym shorts and a hoodie. He daydreamed about striking up conversations with random strangers. He’d always been a good talker, especially growing up as a performer. He missed chatting with people. He missed holding handstands for five minutes as his go-to party trick. He missed learning new things about people. It was a weird thing, being such an extroverted loner. Stuck with no one to talk to despite desperately wanting nothing more. When he was a bit younger, Dick would just sit with Alfred and talk while he cooked or did research or cleaned. And that was fine for a while but after a bit a guy needs more friends than his adoptive dad’s elderly British butler. Every interaction with Alfred just felt patronizing now. And lord knows Dick couldn’t talk with Bruce. The man couldn’t hold a conversation longer than three minutes. Again, from ages 12-13, his first year living in Wayne Manor, Dick did try. Dick had been Bruce’s shadow, following his every move.
But he was just so sick of the silence. He knew Bruce didn’t love him going on aimless walks around Gotham, but walking in circles around the (admittedly very large) backyard of Bruce’s family mansion just wasn’t the same thing. If Bruce could still look out a vaulted window and watch Dick pace, that was far too close.
He walked for a few miles in the crisp morning air, as aimlessly as possible, enjoying the constant noise of the city. Besides, Dick reasoned, it was good to stay familiar with Gotham's layout. For patrol.
Something bright suddenly caught his eye. It was the top bit of a red flag, peering out between grey concrete buildings. He then remembered Alfred leaving the poster on his dresser: Haly’s Circus, in town for the next two weeks. It had been Dick’s home from age four to eight. And now it was back in Gotham.
Truly excited for the first time in weeks, Dick sped up his pace. It was roughly a bit after noon, which meant that the circus was probably in between showtimes. He hadn’t bought tickets or anything, but considering he had worked and lived there for four years, they’d probably let him in. If not, he supposed he could just use the batcard.
As he got closer, it did occur to him that it had been a while since he left Haly’s Circus. The staff could all be completely different by now. But he pushed the thought aside and walked on, getting faster and faster the closer he got to the red and white striped tent. The awkwardness of explaining that he used to work there wasn’t worth it, so he simply bought a ticket at the stand and desperately hoped that no one would recognize him as billionaire Bruce Wayne’s adopted son. If he was recognized, he wanted it to only be as Dick Grayson, previously one of the Flying Graysons, and nothing else.
He strolled through as casually as possible, watching kids play carnival games in the grass lot, shaded by the big top. The sound of sizzling deep fryers and shouting children, shrieking on rides or pulling on their parent’s sleeves to get more money to buy things with filled the air. It had been a long time.
“Dickie Grayson!” a deep voice rang out. “Holy hell, you have grown up!” The man was huge. At almost seven feet tall with shoulders that were probably close to four feet wide, if you didn’t know him personally, you’d figure Clayton Williams was one scary dude. If you did know him, you knew he was really just a big puppy dog on the inside. He was maybe a bit greyer, but still just as huge as Dick remembered.
“Clay! God, I’m glad to see you. I saw the posters in the street. How are you, man?”
“Dickie, you should’ve texted me that you were coming! I’m good, I’m good. Same old circus life. How are you? How’s the billionaire treatin’ ya?”
Dick laughed. When his parents had died, Clay had originally planned on becoming his ward, until Bruce Wayne stepped in. Clay still called and texted every so often, but Dick hadn’t seen him in person for years.
“I’m just fine.” Dick answered.
“Goin’ to college soon?” Clay asked.
“Yea, I’m taking classes online.”
“What’cha gonna study?”
“I’m looking at like criminal investigation. Studying how to bust organized crime and stuff like that” That’s not entirely a lie, Dick reasoned with himself.
“Well goddamn, how about that? You better come on back! Everybody’s having lunch right about now.” Clay paused. “Man C.C. is gonna be so stoked you’re here!”
“C.C. Haly still works here?” Dick said, incredulously. Clay had been in his early forties when Dick saw him last, but now the man must be pushing sixty.
“Old man loves this circus more than anything, that’s for sure.” Clay answered.
They walked into the big top, through a small corridor of the tent. Dick’s favorite thing about circus tents was the way light filtered through the tarps. Everything inside the tent was rendered in a golden shadow.
They turned through a side flap that led back to the outdoors, into a private asphalt lot lined with six trailers. Dick could still remember when he lived in one of those trailers. Clay’s small talk continued as the pair walked into the main trailer, marked with a large, faded Haly’s logo on the side.
Inside, sitting at a large wooden desk and eating a chicken leg was C.C. Haly, looking the same as he did almost ten years ago. A bit stout and about fifty percent bald, he kinda looked like if Santa Claus shaved his beard and didn’t shower. He was so engrossed in his lunch that he didn’t notice Clay and Dick enter. Clay not-so-subtly cleared his throat.
With surprising agility, the old man leaped out of the cushy office chair and gave Dick a huge bear hug. Though he stifled a laugh, Dick genuinely savored every second of the hug. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he’d received, just like, a normal hug from someone. Although, he supposed Alfred probably would accept a hug from him. Dick made a mental note to hug the old man more often.
“Dickie’s a college student now! You believe that, C.C?” Clay said.
“No way! How old are you, then?” C.C. asked, now holding Dick by the shoulders and examining his face.
Dick laughed. “I’ve been eighteen for a little less than a month.”
“I can’t tell you how happy it makes me that you’re living a good life, Dick. I really mean it, I’ve never really-” Two quick knocks came at the door of the trailer, interrupting C.C’s heartfelt moment. Dick felt a bit relieved. He didn’t know if he wanted to hear C.C.’s recounting of the guilt he felt over his parents’ deaths.
A youngish girl shoved open the door of the trailer. “C.C. I-” she paused, noticing Dick and Clay both inside the trailer. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?” She asked.
The girl was absolutely, gobsmackingly gorgeous, and she clearly knew it. She had long black hair with loose curls and almond shaped eyes, tightlined with black eyeliner, making her already piercing eyes even sharper. She wore some kind of show outfit, with a white collared shirt, and a black jacket with red lining.
Clay cut the silence. “Nah, you’re not interrupting, Zee. Me and C.C. were just catching up with Dick Grayson.”
“Oh? Dick Grayson of Flying-Graysons-adopted-by-billionaire-fame?” The girl said, looking straight at Dick. More like straight through, he thought. “I’ve heard a lot about you. These two are your biggest fans, you know.” She smiled warmly. “I just came in to get my check. C.C. you said you’d have it to me by eleven?”
“Shoot, Zatanna I’m sorry. I have it right here,” C.C. said, rummaging through a door in his desk. He grabbed out a small envelope and handed it to her.
“No worries, I just wanted to get it before my show today” She said.
“So you’re a performer here?” Dick asked her.
“She’s our first ever magician,” Clay interjected.
Dick raised his eyebrows. “C.C, I thought you hated magicians? Said they were all hacks.”
C.C. blushed. “Well no-”
Zatanna just laughed. “It’s okay, I’m happy to be the exception.”
“She’s the only magician who does tricks I can’t figure out. It’s absolutely fascinating. Her show’s at two o’clock in the big top. You should go watch it.” C.C. said.
“Yeah, that sounds great,” Dick said. “I mean I definitely want to come see what you guys have, and -well- I think a magic show might be a better choice for me than, say, the acrobatics show.” Dick had meant the comment as a joke, but C.C. and Clay didn’t seem to take it that way. The two men went completely silent, eyes wide. It had been almost ten years since his parents’ accident, but apparently that was still too soon for C.C. and Clay. Zatanna, on the other hand, just threw back her head and laughed.
“Well I’ll see you then, Dick.” She said, turning on her heel, check in hand, leaving Dick to deal with the awkwardness left in the circus trailer.
He decided to move the subject as far away from his parents as he could. “She seems nice,” he said, gesturing at the door.
“She really does have a great show.”
“Oh yeah,” Clay said, “She has the perfect target audience. The little kids love her, and the kids’ dads love her even more!”
C.C. scolded him. “Clayton I really wish you wouldn’t joke about that. She’s only nineteen and I don’t want you saying that older men are attracted to her,”
“She jokes about it! Why can’t I? And you know if anyone ever tried anything with her I would pummel them. Also, remember Pittsburgh? The girl can handle herself.” Clay answered.
“What happened in Pittsburgh?”
“Some gross guy followed her to her trailer. He ended up with a broken nose and 2nd degree electrical burns”
“Electrical burns?”
“Yep,” Clay responded. “Wanna know how she did it?”
“Uhm, magic?” Dick guessed sheepishly.
Clay laughed. “Nope, she stuck his fingers in her toaster.”
C.C. wasn’t as amused. “Clayton I’d still rather you not joke about men hitting on one of my performers.” He checked his watch. “And Dick, I’d say you better go get yourself a seat while there’s still one open”