Three Months Later
"Circus?" Bruce looked at the tickets on the silver tray as if they were poisonous. "Absolutely not."
"It is a charity gala, Young Master," I insisted, adjusting a vase of white lilies in the foyer. "Haly's Circus is performing to raise money for the Gotham Children's Hospital. As the owner of the hospital, your absence would be noted. The press is already saying you have become a recluse again."
"I'm busy," Bruce muttered, checking the gauntlets of his suit. "There's a shipment of drug precursors coming in through the East End tonight."
"The shipment is scheduled for 2:00 AM," I countered seamlessly. "The circus starts at 8:00 PM. You have ample time to clap for the elephants, eat some cotton candy, and still have time to break a few clavicles before sunrise."
Bruce sighed. He knew he couldn't win.
"Fine. But no popcorn."
"I shall prepare a flask of protein shake. It will be invisible in the VIP box."
Haly's Circus - 8:15 PM
The big top smelled of sawdust, greasepaint, and cheap sugar. To a human, it was nostalgic. To a demon with enhanced olfactory senses, it was an assault.
We sat in the private Wayne Enterprise box, high above the center ring. Bruce was wearing a casual suit, looking bored. I stood behind him, scanning the crowd.
"Clowns," I whispered with disdain. "Why must it always be clowns? Their makeup is asymmetrical."
"Relax, Sebastian," Bruce said, leaning forward. "Look. The acrobats."
The lights dimmed. A spotlight hit the high wires.
"Ladies and Gentlemen!" the Ringmaster bellowed. "Direct your eyes to the heavens! For the only family that defies gravity! The Flying Graysons!"
Three figures swung out from the platforms. A man (John), a woman (Mary), and a young boy, perhaps twelve years old.
The boy—Dick Grayson—was a marvel. He moved with a joy that was alien to Gotham. He flipped, twisted, and soared through the air, catching the trapeze bar with a blinding smile.
"He's good," Bruce murmured. There was a spark of genuine admiration in his eyes. "Look at his center of gravity. Perfect kinetic linking."
"He flies well," I agreed. "Though the wire tension on the main rig seems... odd."
I narrowed my eyes. My vision zoomed in on the cables holding the parents' trapeze bar.
Acid.
A subtle, slow-acting corrosive agent had been applied to the metal cable.
"Young Master," I said sharply. "The rig."
Bruce looked at me. "What?"
"The cable. It's compromised."
Bruce didn't ask questions. He stood up instantly. "Stop the show!"
But we were in the VIP box, fifty feet away.
On the high wire, John and Mary Grayson launched themselves for the "Death Defying Drop." They let go of the bar, reaching for each other's hands in mid-air.
SNAP.
The sound was like a gunshot. The main cable parted.
The trapeze bar swung wild. John missed his grip. Mary reached for him, but there was nothing to hold.
Gravity took them.
"NO!" Bruce screamed.
He vaulted over the railing of the box. He didn't have his grapple. He didn't have his cape. He was just a man in a suit falling fifty feet.
He landed on the safety net below our box, rolling to absorb the impact, and sprinted toward the center ring.
But he was too late.
John and Mary Grayson hit the ground with a sickening thud. The silence that followed was heavier than the fall.
Then, the screaming started.
High above, clinging to the remaining trapeze bar, the boy—Dick Grayson—stared down. He didn't scream. He didn't cry. He just stared at the broken bodies of his world.
I stood in the VIP box, watching the scene unfold. I saw Bruce reach the bodies. I saw him look up at the boy.
I saw the look on Bruce's face. It was a mirror. He was looking at himself.
"And so it begins," I whispered.
I turned my attention away from the tragedy. I scanned the crowd. Everyone was looking at the bodies. Everyone except one man.
A heavy-set man in a fedora, standing near the exit tunnel. He wasn't screaming. He was lighting a cigar, looking satisfied.
Tony Zucco. A mid-level enforcer for the Maroni family.
I could have stopped him. I could have killed him right there.
But my duty was to the Master.
I jumped from the box. I didn't use the net. I landed on the sawdust floor with the grace of a cat, my coat settling around me.
I walked to the center ring.
The police were arriving. Officer Gordon (now a Lieutenant) was holding the crowd back.
Dick Grayson had climbed down. He was kneeling in the sawdust, his bright costume stained with dirt. He was shaking.
Bruce was kneeling next to him. He wasn't saying "It will be okay." He wasn't offering false hope.
He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"I know," Bruce whispered. "I know."
Dick looked up. His eyes were wide, hollow. The light I had seen earlier was gone.
"They... they fell," Dick stammered.
"I saw it," Bruce said. "It wasn't an accident."
Gordon walked over. "Mr. Wayne. You need to step back. This is a crime scene."
"He has nowhere to go," Bruce stood up, shielding the boy from the flashing cameras. "The circus is traveling. The police will put him in the foster system. Juvenile Hall."
"That's procedure, Bruce," Gordon sighed.
"Not tonight."
Bruce turned to me.
"Sebastian."
"Yes, sir?"
" Bring the car around. He's coming with us."
Gordon blinked. "You can't just take a kid, Bruce. You're not his guardian."
"I am as of tonight," Bruce said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I'll call my lawyers. They'll have the papers filed by morning. But he is not spending the night in a cell."
Bruce looked down at Dick.
"What's your name, son?"
"Dick," the boy whispered. "Dick Grayson."
"I'm Bruce. And this is Sebastian. We're going to take you somewhere safe."
Dick didn't argue. He looked at the bodies of his parents one last time as the coroners covered them with sheets. Then he let Bruce lead him away.
As we walked toward the exit, I paused near the tunnel where I had seen Zucco. He was gone.
But the scent of his cheap cigar lingered.
I made a mental note. Tony Zucco. Status: Prey.
Wayne Manor - 11:00 PM
The ride home was silent. Dick stared out the window.
When we arrived, the Manor seemed larger and colder than usual.
"I'll... I'll show you to a room," Bruce said awkwardly. He was out of his depth. He knew how to fight criminals, not how to comfort a grieving child.
"I'll handle it, Master Bruce," I stepped in smoothly.
I knelt down so I was eye-level with the boy.
"Master Dick," I said softly. "I have prepared the Blue Room for you. It has a view of the gardens. Are you hungry?"
Dick shook his head.
"I understand. However, I have a strict rule in this house: no one sleeps on an empty stomach. I will bring up some hot cocoa and a sandwich. You do not have to eat it. But it will be there if you change your mind."
Dick looked at me. "Why are you helping me?"
"Because," I said, standing up. "My Master has a habit of collecting strays. And I have a habit of taking care of them."
I escorted him upstairs.
When I came back down, Bruce was in the study, pouring a drink. He wasn't drinking it. He was just staring at the amber liquid.
"I saw him, Sebastian," Bruce said. "When he looked down... it was me. It was eight-year-old me in that alley."
"He is a strong lad," I said. "He is an acrobat. He knows how to fall. The question is... will you teach him how to land?"
Bruce slammed the glass down.
"He needs justice, Sebastian. The wire was cut. I saw the acid burn."
"It was Tony Zucco," I said calmly. "He has been shaking down the circus for protection money. Haly refused to pay. This was the message."
Bruce's face hardened. The Batman was surfacing.
"Zucco dies tonight."
"No," I said.
Bruce turned to me, furious. "What?"
"If you kill Zucco tonight," I said, "Dick Grayson learns that murder is the cure for pain. He will grow up to be just like you. Broken. Angry. Alone."
I walked over to the fireplace.
"But if you catch Zucco... if you bring him to justice... you teach the boy that the system can work. You give him something you never had."
"And what is that?"
"Closure without blood."
Bruce stared at the fire.
"Prepare the suit," Bruce said finally. "We're going hunting. But... we do it by the book."
I bowed.
"Very good, sir. I shall leave a thermos of cocoa outside Master Dick's door. Just in case he wakes up."
I turned to leave, but stopped.
"Oh, and Young Master?"
"Yes?"
"We are going to need more cereal. The sugary kind. Children do not appreciate fiber."
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