Chapter Text
Dick Graysons world was a vivid mix of color and sound. At the circus there was always something going on and for an energetic eight year old it was a dream come true. There was never a truly boring day with so much to learn and do.
Today, the bundle of energy had practiced with his Dya and Dat — trying to learn all he could about how to fly. He couldn't wait to join them in the show and he used his excitement to fuel him and try his very best every time they trained. His Dyas praise and his Dats delighted grins left a warmth in his heart and a squirming ball of excitement in his tummy. He was making them proud!
If only it wasn't so tiring. He sighed, flopping onto the mess of blankets and pillows he liked to sleep in, letting his aching and tired body sink into what his Dya liked to call his Nest...
His Dya and Dat liked to call him their little Robin and teased him a lot. It was sort of a family tradition to get a bird name in the Flying Graysons. His Dya was Dove (a name Dat had given her when she started learning the trapeze after they were married) and his Dat was called Solitaire. He liked Robins, they were small, brave and fierce, just like him!
Dickie sighed, cooling down from the busy day as he laid there and waited for dinner with all the eagerness of a growing boy.
'... I hope we have chicken stew again.' He thought idly, his stomach growling as he sniffed at the air for a few moments, trying to smell what was cooking as a cool breeze rolled in from the window. It ruffled his raven hair and gently caressed his skin, calming him.
His eyes roamed over the painted ceiling, all the things his parents had collected as they travelled and —
The back of his hand was tingling. He lifted his left hand with a curious noise, his blue eyes widening as he watched lines appear. They were orange, messy and ticklish. Dickie could only watch, shaken and awed as more colors joined in, the drawing getting bigger...
Was it a sunburnt person? No, that was fur...and whiskers? Green eyes and three long black whiskers. Was those eyebrows? Why was it angry?
Dickie squinted. Was that supposed to be a cat? Or a tiger?
He frowned at it, looking at the drawing... It's like when he drew on his legs with his Dats markers. Did a ghost draw on him with ghost markers?
He sat up, his tiredness forgotten in the face of this new mystery. His Dya and Dat would know what to do about this weird drawing...