#circus boy

Stephanie hovered awkwardly for a moment before muttering something about needing a snack and wandering off. Duke, wise enough not to get caught in the storm brewing, made a strategic escape for patrol duty—the perks of being the only daytime hero.

That left Damian and Tim.

The only sounds were the low hum of the Batcomputer and the occasional frustrated curse from Dick as he scrolled through articles, files, instagram accounts—anything he found associated with Charlie’s and unrelated searches that had similar key words. Mainly the unrelated searches, considering there were hundreds of active circuses in America alone, and thousands world wide. He needed to narrow down the key words, Tim noted. 

Tim opened his mouth, ready to force what Dick’s preaches back on the table instead of the silent treatment. He didn’t even deserve it! It’s not like he was running around with the stolen move of his brother’s dead parents. Shit was underserved. 

“You know—,” he started, but was promptly cut off when Damian elbowed him in the stomach. 

“Asshole…” he wheezed out. “What was that for?!”

Damian was caught between fascination and concern for Dick. Or, well, as close to concern as he’d allow himself to show. It was odd seeing Dick like this, he… didn’t like it. He wanted to help in some way, but he wasn’t sure how or if he’d even want Damian’s, Tim’s, or anyone's help, for that matter. 

“We’re leaving.” 

Tim blinked, rubbing his side. Damian hadn’t meant to hit him that hard. “But shouldn’t we…” 

Damian pursed his lips, clearly struggling to find the words he wanted and expressing them. “You are not even helping.” Damian nodded, proud he was able to communicate effectively the issue. Neither of them were helping, maybe even making Dick’s mood worse, because they were pestering him. He likely just needed some time to calm down, Damian thought. 

Tim didn’t seem to take it that well though, lips curling in irritation. “Well, I don’t see you doing anything.”

Damian scoffed, readying a no doubt scathing remark, but glanced at Dick. The teen clenched his fist rhythmically before turning with much less fanfare than expected and just, uh, left. 

Tim stared after Damian like he was an alien creature, watching as he swiftly disappeared in the bat elevator. One second he’s insulting Tim and the next he’s irritated because Tim got irritated. Was he this bad at fourteen? No way he was this bad at fourteen.

This dysfunctional family and its anger and communication issues, he swears…

Tim sighed, massaging his neck as he stepped away from the batcomputer. He rested his hand lightly on Dick’s tense shoulder for a second of comfort, letting his hand fall away as he stepped away to follow Damian’s lead and leave Dick alone. 

Man, he hoped he wasn’t waiting outside the elevator to ambush him like last time… 

—+—

The clicking of keys filled the cave. The glow from the monitor cast hard light across Dick’s face, leaving him with a rather menacing expression. He’d sat stiffly in the same position for what must’ve been hours at this point, leaving his eyes dry and burning. He was still angry, but with the cave empty and no one around to ask all the same questions pinging around already in his head, he simmered down. Just a bit, anyways. 

 He leaned back in his chair and exhaled, long and tired and drained, dragging a hand down his face. 

Someone out there had somehow learned his move. And sure, maybe they couldn’t patent one specific move, maybe there were no legal repercussions to doing it. But there were plenty of physical ones. As a matter of fact, the quadruple somersault had been all but blacklisted as a physically possible move before his parents made the impossible possible. People had broken bones, become paralyzed, even dying trying to learn the technique. So yeah, forgive Dick “child acrobatic prodigy" Grayson if he didn’t think a some random ass teenager figured the move out how to do it— well, not perfectly, but certainly proficient enough to pass off any mistakes as a personal flair and choice rather than what they were: a blatant lack of proper training. 

It had taken Dick years of learning every other trick from his parents before they gave in and taught him. That, along with the decade it took to develop, sometimes the quad somersault took more effort than it gave back. The balance, timing, and instinct required was a big turn off when incorporating the move into, well, anything. It was often referred to as the devil of choreography, when he was a kid. 

So how did this Arach-Kid pull it off just good enough to skirt on by? 

Was Dick crazy for being pissed that the last physical link to his parents—the move that was supposed to belong to them, to him—wasn’t his anymore? Not just metaphorically stolen, but literally? 

He feels pretty justified, honestly. 

He does feel bad about losing his cool, though… Maybe he could get some apology cheesecake. 

He opened another search window, diving deeper into mentions of “The Amazing Arach-Kid.” The results were frustratingly shallow—cheap local coverage, carnival blogs, a few clips on social media recorded from the audience. No name. No mentioned guardians. No background. Just a mask and a tagline from two months ago: The Amazing Arach-Kid On The Rise.

If there were no mentions of the Arach-Kid from before two months ago, that implies he’d only been with Charlie’s circus for a couple months. As a performer, anyways. So now he just had to narrow down whether Arach-Kid leveled up to a performer after a couple years, like Dick had as a child, or if he’d only been picked up recently. Which would open up the can of worms that was guardianship and whether or no he was being exploited by his guardian. 

He rubbed his temples. Nothing could ever be simple.

He could ignore it. Pretend it didn’t bother him. Leave some things unanswered and let Charlie’s keep using the quadruple somersault, as long as they didn’t steal any choreo. But, in the wise words of Barbara, it all bumbled down to one fact: Dick was a nosy control freak. Which was a problem everyone in the family had, not just Dick! He was just a little more self aware, so it canceled out. 

He smirked as he opened an app he hasn’t even glanced at in a year; his Wayne Mail. Avoiding the unopened spam mail with grace and dignity, Dick began typing an email. 

To: [email protected] Subject: Potential Collaboration — Dick Grayson-Wayne

Hello,

My name is Dick Grayson-Wayne. You might recognize it—former performer, Flying Graysons, Haly’s Circus. I recently attended one of your shows and was impressed by the aerial routines, particularly your young performer, “The Amazing Arach-Kid.”

I’m currently exploring opportunities to reconnect with my circus roots and would love to discuss a short-term collaboration or workshop with your performers. My experience with trapeze and aerial acrobatics could bring valuable exposure and training opportunities to your team—and, of course, generate good press for your troupe.

Please let me know if you’re interested.

—Dick Grayson-Wayne

He hit send before his siblings could find out and argue, or worse; tag along. 

—+—

“Tell me you didn’t actually do that,” Tim said flatly from behind him.

Dick didn’t even turn around, lounging comfortably on the living room couch. “They’ll respond.”

“Dick,” Tim tried again, stepping closer, “you’re not actually planning to join the circus, right? You can just—investigate it like a normal person? From the outside?” Everyone collectively snorted at the irony of Tim being the one to say that. 

Dick’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You forget I am the circus.”

Tim groaned, muttering something under his breath about terrible ideas and listening to Damian. “You realize this sounds insane, right? You’re going undercover as yourself.” Ok, so maybe he had a point there. 

“It’s called infiltration through celebrity branding,” Dick said, mock-innocent. “They’d be idiots to turn down a Grayson. Or a Wayne. I can learn more from the inside than we ever could by surveillance.”

“Perhaps we should give more credence to Thomas’s abilities.” Damian piped up from where he was playing Pokemon Sword. 

Dick ignored him, though he raised an eyebrow. It was a bit of a random statement, though he was probably just missing context. “If they take the bait, I’ll go in as a consultant. A week, maybe two.”

“I want to go with you,” Damian said immediately, even going so far as to pause his game. 

Tim nodded. “That’s not a bad idea. The someone could be around to keep you from doing something—”

“—fun?” Dick offered.

“—stupid.”

Before Dick could argue, a soft ping echoed from the computer. New message.

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: Potential Collaboration — Dick Grayson

Mr. Grayson,

We would be honored and overjoyed to host you. Your legacy speaks for itself, and our troupe would greatly benefit from your expertise. At your earliest convenience, we are ready to incorporate you into our troupes routine as a consultant, and possibly more. 

We look forward to your visit.

—Charles “Charlie” Duvall Ringmaster, Charlie’s Circus

From: [email protected]<br>

Subject: Re: Potential Collaboration — Dick Grayson

Mr. Grayson,

We would be honored and overjoyed to host you. Your legacy speaks for itself, and our troupe would greatly benefit from your expertise. At your earliest convenience, we are ready to incorporate you into our troupe's routine as a consultant, and possibly more.

We look forward to your visit.

—Charles “Charlie” Duvall

Ringmaster, Charlie’s Circus

Tim frowned. “That was fast.”

“They’d be foolish to have responded any slower.” Tim… Didn’t know whose side Damian was on. 

“Adds to the suspiciousness, right?” He gave Tim a smug look. 

“Oh, now I’m allowed to be suspicious,” Tim muttered, throwing up his hands. “‘No, Tim, stop being so skeptical all the time, just enjoy the circus,’ you said.” He rolled his eyes, indignant, as if he were the one whose family legacy had been stolen by a middle schooler.

Duke announced his presence with a ‘POP’ of a bag of chips, crunching thoughtfully. “To be fair, that did happen.”

“Don’t say that too loud,” Stephanie appeared, snagging a handful of chips as she passed. “His head might actually pop off.”

Tim snatched the bag from her in retaliation. “Hey!”

“Sharing is caring, Timothy,” she teased, plucking one last chip before he could pull it away.

Duke sighed, tossing his hands up. “Unbelievable. Can’t even have snacks in peace around here.”

“Wait, hold on,” Stephanie said, watching him. “Do… we get to tag along?” Her grin was already mischievous. “Because, you know, support and whatever, but also their funnel cake was unbelievably good. Do you think they put coke in it?”

Dick turned, expression an impressive imitation of Alfred’s flat stare of disappointment. He looked at Steph. Then at Duke. Then at Tim. Finally, his eyes landed on Damian, who puffed out his chest like he was about to be knighted.

Dick sighed. “No. Absolutely not.”

Steph gasped dramatically. “Wow. Shot down faster than Damian’s social life.”

“I will end you,” Damian said darkly, though distinctly lacking a real threat.

Tim folded his arms. “You’re going to get yourself blacklisted from the entire entertainment industry.”

“You’re assuming they’d dare,” Dick said dryly.

“They would if they’re smart,” Duke muttered.

Steph grinned. “Then they’re definitely not. They’d never risk hurting ‘Richie’ Wayne, then Bruce would use it as an excuse to put them out of business. For, like, ever.” 

Dick groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You guys are not helping.”

“Wasn’t trying to,” Tim said, tone far too casual considering the sheer amount of bullshit he routinely pulls. And gets away with, somehow. 

Dick rolled his eyes. “If you’re so eager to help, then do me a favor—tell B for me, yeah?”

The room froze.

Duke blinked. “Wait. Tell him?”

Before Dick could confirm, Duke bolted. “Not it!” he yelled over his shoulder, vanishing up the stairs in record time.

Stephanie scrambled after him. “Nope, same! I value my peace of mind!”

Their footsteps echoed out of the room, growing fainter until the living room was quiet again—save for the low hum of the TV and Dick’s unimpressed sigh.

Tim snickered. “Scaredy cats.”

Damian tilted his head. “They are wise to fear Father’s reaction.”

Tim side-eyed him. “You volunteering, then?”

“I am not foolish,” Damian said primly.

Dick snorted, shoulders loosening just a fraction. “Glad to see I’m not the only one avoiding Bruce tonight.”

Tim smirked. “Oh, he’s gonna find out once he gets back from his meeting anyway.”

“Yeah,” Dick said, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. “But by the time he does, I’ll be comfortably asleep in Bludhaven.”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “And infiltrating a, as Brown said, “sketchy as fuck” circus under your legal name?”

Dick shrugged, lips quirking in that reckless, too-bright way that meant trouble. “What can I say? Old habits die hard.”

Tim stared, largely unimpressed. What old habits? They had hundreds of undercover and fake identities! Dick was just a sour puss and salty he’s getting shown up by a tween. 

Dick’s smile twitched.

Tim blinked. “...Oops. Did I say that out loud?”

“Go take a nap, Timmers,” Dick said flatly.