Gotham was a regular stop, which seemed strange after all the unpleasant things that tended to happen there.  But, no matter what, every October Haley’s Circus would come to town, set up for a night, then leave the next morning.  They certainly never stayed longer than necessary, as if stopping was less of a choice and more of an unwelcome duty.  Duty to whom, Dick never really knew.

They’d come in earlier than normal so most of the set-up was done before the unseasonable heat of a lingering summer became too unbearable.  Dick was back in the trailer he’d shared with his parents ever since birth.  It was a bit crowded now with three adults, but they made do just fine.  Family always stayed close and if that meant tripping over each other, then that was just fine.  The heat had done him in, so, with only mild coaxing from his dad that Dick would be fine on his own to just rest and didn’t need Mary fussing over him, his parents were off to visit and sympathize with everyone else about the weather.

Dick lay sprawled out on the pull-out couch, half-tempted to just slide to the floor in case it was a half-degree cooler.  His one concession to decency in what could be a very busy camp was a stretched-out dance belt.  Between the heat and the migraine it was causing, Dick was about ready to try clawing his way out of his bare skin for some sort of relief.  He’d just managed to set up a sheet/pillow combo that blocked out the light from the window enough to make his head stop throbbing so much when someone knocked on the door.

“Nnnno….  Go away."

But they wouldn't.

Dick growled and flopped over, glaring at the door as if he could will them to walk away.  A few more seconds of silence passed before the knock returned.  "What do you want?"

"My name's Bruce Wayne.  I was told this is the Graysons' trailer."

The name registered some kind of recognition, but it wasn't clear enough to really know.  "Come in."

Tall.  That's the first thing Dick noticed when the stranger entered the trailer.  Of course, his angle on the couch and the compactness of the trailer itself certainly aided the effect, but just by a quick once-over, he was big.

Dick stretched and watched him, the heat overriding his instinct to stand and give a polite greeting.  "I'm Dick Grayson.  Is there something I can help you with?"  It was subtle, but he noticed the way the stranger looked him over, disguising it with a glance around the trailer.  "Like what you see?"

"You have a very nice arrangement.  It's quite...welcoming."

"It's hot as Hell," Dick replied, all niceness buried under ridiculous heat.  "Can I help you?"

"I just wanted to see you.  I come to every show when you're in town."  The man hesitated for the briefest of moments.  "I was there that night."

Dick cocked his head unsure what he meant.  "That night...?"

It came back to him in a rush.  The nightmare he'd had the night of the show, the way he cried and begged for them to put the net up, even though the whole performance was billed without it, but he just felt, he just knew it had to be up that night.  The way the show had gone better than ever, everything running smoothly.  The embarrassment he felt on the platform for throwing such a tantrum about the net when everything was going fine.  The terror in his parents' eyes as they watched him plummet with the bar.  The shock of pain as he hit the net wrong, his collarbone fracturing on impact.  The screams of the crowd.  The ambulance.  The hospital, where everything was a blur.  The few and far-between moments of lucidity with his mother standing over him, his father talking to Pop Haley and some strange man, the stranger looking over at him with concern, an odd severity for someone so young.

"You....  You were in the hospital room with me."

The man nodded.  "I paid for your treatment."

Dick nodded, finally sitting up.  "What'd you say your name was?"

"Bruce.  Bruce Wayne."

Dick shook the offered hand, looking Bruce over more thoroughly.  Handsome, a young-looking mid-thirties, well-dressed.  Rich.  Well, he'd have to be to have paid for all that.  "Thanks.  That was...really generous of you."

Bruce's eyes drifted to his collarbone.  "How's it healed?"

"Fine."  Dick rubbed it unconsciously.  "It got fixed up right."

"I--"  Bruce smiled gently.  "I'm glad."

Dick smiled.  The heat was feeling less oppressive with the nice company, but he couldn't imagine how Bruce could stand the button-up and slacks he was wearing.  Gothamites were crazy.

He scooted over and patted the sofa-bed, smiling a little brighter when Bruce sat down.  "So, you've come to every show.  Are they good?"