Chapter Text
Dick dreams of balancing on a tightrope.
He adjusts with ease, shifting his grip on the pole, as he paces forward with each breath.
The crowd goes wild, and, while Dick can’t see them, he can sense the horses running across the circus ring. Rodeo clowns amp up the crowd, and before he can even question why rodeo clowns were at Haly’s Circus, bright lights shine, blinding Dick.
Dick jolts back, grip loosening on the pole, but Dick adjusts, he always does.
He has never been a natural at balancing acts. It takes patience and strength and other qualities that Dick lacks.
Despite this, Dick plays up the risk of falling, which earns him a roar from the crowd and Dick is in his element, keeping everyone looking at him.
“Now, for the main act,” Haly declares from the center. “The Flying Graysons!”
The tightrope melts away and Dick is standing at the trapeze landing. He’s missing something, he realizes, and when he looks at the crowd, they’re silent, expectant.
The trapeze bar swings towards him, and Dick grabs it. Who—what is he missing?
Dick looks across to the other trapeze landing and takes a deep breath.
The show must go on.
Dick shifts his weight as he dives forward.
I’m flying , Dick realizes and wonders if Bruce is in the crowd, watching. Once he gains enough momentum, he lets go of the bar and twirls in the air, and glee bubbles in Dick’s throat. His parents would be so proud, his parents—
Dick misses the next bar and he’s tumbling towards the ground.
The Last Falling Grayson.
Dick wakes up before he hits the ground.
***
Dick’s cast itched.
“Ow,” Dick hissed as Artemis slapped his hand away from shoving his fingers into his cast.
“You're going to break your cast,” Artemis reprimanded as she continued to work on styling his hair.
“Arty,” Dick whined as his left fingers twitched. “It itches.”
“Then use a coat hanger,” Artemis stated. “We are not wrapping your arm up for a third time, Dick Grayson, not when we have a party in less than an hour. Or, so help me God, I will shove a plate of hors d’oeuvres down your throat.”
“You’re acting like this is our engagement party,” Dick pointed out.
Artemis snorted. “As if you could afford me,” she responded with ease. “I have a lot of stakes in this, dummy. Watching you two together makes me want to slam my head into a wall.”
“Wow,” Dick drew out of the word. “Homophobic much?”
Artemis pulled at his hair and Dick winced. “Funny,” she replied sardonically.
“I’m going to be bald by the end of this,” Dick grumbled with no real conviction.
Artemis ignored him, smoothing out his hair and stepping back. She considered Dick for a moment, head tilting.
“You need more concealer,” she concluded, reaching into his vanity and pulling out a bottle of concealer. She opened the bottle and leaned forward, dabbing the brush against his under eyes.
Dick looked up, eyes twitching against the closeness of the brush.
“You have really bad bags,” Artemis commented as she screwed the concealer bottle shut. She took out a makeup sponge and began blending the concealer out.
“Excuse you, they’re designer,” Dick mumbled.
Artemis clicked her tongue. “Damn, have you even been sleeping?”
Dick shrugged as Artemis pulled back. “Enough,” he responded vaguely.
Her eyebrow arched. “What’s ‘enough’?” She asked.
Dick shrugged again, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The LED lights of the vanity mirror were bright and reminded Dick of a burning spotlight. Dick felt the ghost of the balancing pole in his hands, an uneasiness rolling through his stomach.
Dick smiled, a polite and sharp thing. “Well, you know Wally. He likes to keep me up at night when we—”
Artemis let out a guttural noise of disgust. “Ew, ew—”
“Pillow fight,” Dick finished, and Artemis’ lips curled in annoyance as she threw the makeup sponge at him. It harmlessly bounced off his cheek.
“Jerk!” Artemis huffed. “Last time I help you get ready for your engagement party.”
“I sure hope so,” Dick quipped. “This will be my only engagement party.”
A rogue thought danced across Dick’s mind, something along the lines of Wally leaving him when he realizes who he was really marrying. It was less of a thought and more of a bone chilling loneliness that sunk him to his core.
“Hey,” Artemis cut through the haze with a gentle voice. She tapped his temple lightly. “Where did you go?”
“I’m here,” Dick replied. “I’m here, just tired.”
Artemis gave him an unimpressed look. “Well, tell Wally that you need your beauty sleep.”
“Why? Not like I can get any more beautiful,” Dick playfully gloated.
Artemis rolled her eyes. “Keep telling yourself that.” Artemis paused, staring at Dick through the mirror and Dick wondered if she saw the same thing as him. “Dick, you’d tell someone if something is going on, right?”
Dick analyzed his reflection, schooling his expression. “Of course,” he answered easily.
Artemis hummed. “...okay,” she settled on.
“’Okay’?” Dick echoed.
“For now,” Artemis added. “Can’t ruin your makeup, not when guests are coming in twenty minutes, but afterwards? We are talking about this.”
“Whatever you say, Mom.” Dick wondered how many drinks he’d have to nurse throughout the night to avoid the conversation.
Artemis opened her mouth, but whatever she was about to say evaporated when there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Dick called out before Artemis could weasel more information out of him Not that he’d ever break.
Not again.
Alfred opened the door, a box in his hand.
“Good evening, Miss Artemis,” Alfred greeted Artemis. “I have come to inform you that Master Wallace is requesting your assistance in his dressing room.”
Artemis groaned. “What does that running disaster want now?”
“He described it as a ‘wardrobe malfunction,’” he relayed to her. “I can finish up with Master Richard, Master Wallace requested you specifically, after all.”
“I’m going to strangle that man,” Artemis grumbled.
Dick poked her arm. “Hey, no murdering my fiancé.”
“Not if you can prove it was me,” Artemis shot back. “If he ripped his suit, I swear...”
Artemis collected her stuff, shooting Dick one more look of discontent before hurrying off to help Wally.
Alfred shut the door behind her.
“So, what’s up with Wally’s outfit?” Dick asked, picking up the blush brush and dabbing some blush to bring more color to his face that the foundation smothered.
“Nothing is wrong with Master Wallace’s wardrobe,” Alfred answered honestly, and Dick paused. “I thought this would allow us to have a short chat.”
Dick huffed. “You’re worse than all of us, Alfie,” Dick joked, never being able to read Alfred’s tells. He turned the chair to face Alfred.
“What's in the box?” Dick inquired.
“A small token,” Alfred answered, stepping forward and presenting the box to Dick.
Dick got out of the chair, wiping his hands clean with a face towel before grabbing the box and opening it.
“It holds quite a sentimental value,” Alfred explained as Dick stared down at the golden cufflinks. Simple yet shiny things with round edges and a blue jewel as the stud at the corner.
“Alfred...”
“They were a gift from my father for my engagement, they were originally meant for Master Bruce,” Alfred continued. “I thought I would have a chance to give them to him during his time with Miss Kyle. Though, I understood who the next owner would be when you announced your relationship with Master Wallace.”
Tears pricked Dick’s eyes and he wondered how waterproof the makeup was.
“Alfred...” Dick’s trailed off, swallowing thickly. Dick placed the velvet box on the vanity and wrapped his arms around Alfred, pulling him close.
Alfred returned the hug.
“You’ve grown into such a wonderful young man,” Alfred said into Dick’s shoulder and wasn’t that thought such a terrifying thrill?
A heaviness pressed onto Dick’s chest as Dick pulled away. Yet, his body ached for the warmth and unconditional safety that Alfred offered.
“I believe sometimes you forget that though,” Alfred added, squeezing Dick’s arm in assurance. “But do know that your family and I are proud of you.”
Dick looked to the side, blinking away the tears from his glossy eyes. Maybe it was the residue of haze from his pain meds for his broken arm or the lack of sleep from the dreams painting his night sky, but Dick had the urge to bury himself into a plush blanket and go have the world melt away.
No people to entertain, just the people he loved and Alfred’s famous hot chocolate.
A knock on the door interrupted them.
Dick looked sharply up to see Tim pop his head in.
“Hey, just letting you know that guests are arriving,” Tim informed them.
Dick cleared his throat. “Thanks, Tim. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Tim nodded, offering a smile before shutting the door.
Dick turned to the cufflinks. “Think you could help me get them on?”
“Of course,” Alfred replied as he carefully picked up the cufflinks and put them on for his free arm. It was tight around his cast, but Dick insisted on still wearing them despite the slight discomfort.
He would cherish them forever.
***
The party was in full swing.
Dick had walked in with Wally, a loud round of applause accompanying their entrance, but they were quickly bombarded as all of Gotham wanted to know the juicy details of their whole love affair.
Dick analyzed the crowd with ease. They had already celebrated their original engagement with the Justice League, this engagement party was a press release in a way. It was Bruce’s idea, of course, to keep their personas in the public eye and draw away from their vigilante lifestyle.
Dick had read the news articles: both the good and especially the bad.
Yet, the party fluttered with bubbly energy as Dick told them their harrowing love story—or, at least, part of it. They couldn’t exactly tell them the whole childhood sidekicks-to-friends-to-lovers story, but it was easier to spin something closer to the truth. You know, minus the near-death experiences.
Dick did most of the talking and the crowd clung to every word. With each new wave of guests, the story expanded to disguised anecdotes that were truthful in spirit. Dick plastered on his best smile, using his hands to add an extra layer of expression. During one story, a server had passed by, handing out champagne flutes and one found its way into Dick’s hands.
At one point, Wally left his side, but Dick was enraptured by his own storytelling to notice immediately.
"What happened to your arm?” A young lady asked, eyes filled with sympathy. Dick didn’t recognize her.
Dick’s skin crawled, a flush from the alcohol spreading across his neck. “Fell off the balance beam a little too hard,” he lied.
“’Balance beam’? Like the thing gymnasts use?” She inquired further.
Dick opened his mouth, but another guest beat him to it.
“Richard here is a real acrobat,” an older gentleman answered. Dick recognized him as Mr. Davis, an old-time investor of Wayne Enterprises, who had been coming to every Wayne Enterprise sponsored event since Dick had been taken in.
The young lady’s eyes went wide with wonder. “Wow, that’s amazing. Can you—oh, never mind.”
Mr. Davis bumped into the shoulder of the young lady. “Go on, ask. You should see him do one of his tricks.”
The young lady frowned. “I couldn’t possibly. Look, he’s injured, he can’t do anything.”
Dick’s mind went blank as his mouth moved.
“Sure, I can,” Dick jumped in.
“You should see the fountain trick he does,” Mr. Davis informed the young lady. “I believe the last time you did it, you also had an injured arm.”
Dick chuckled. “That’s what you remember from that night? Not the burglars?”
Ah, yes, that night when he was thirteen. He had broken his arm due to a mission prior to that as well. A lot of things had happened that night: burglars, freeze rays, falling from the chandelier... Wally catching him.
Revealing his identity to Wally.
“Dinner and two shows never hurt anyone,” Mr. Davis answered jovially.
“Why don’t we go outside?” Dick offered. “I’m sure another show wouldn’t hurt.”
“But your arm—” the young lady protested.
“Now, now, Claire, this man is a professional, he knows what he’s doing,” Mr. Davis told the young lady—Claire. A murmur of agreement spread across the circle of guests and well, Dick couldn’t disappoint them.
Dick downed the rest of his champagne—his vision clouding at the edges—and made his way to the garden. The clouds were dark, the air humid as a sliver of the sun and storm painted the sky a swirl of muddled gray and luminescent silver.
As they walked throughout the garden, the motion detectors for the lights turned on. Dick winced at the bright lights, using his hand to block it out.
They made it to the fountain, a twin structure from his memory, and the rushing water filled Dick’s ears.
Look at me! Look at me! Dick had practically begged for attention as a child when in the Manor. Never at the circus. No, everyone was eager to fill Dick’s hours with skills, lessons, attention.
That’s when it happened, when he had started collecting faces to wear. Everyone thought that living with Batman had been the thing to fuck him up, but that was wrong. Learning when to smile, to pause, to attack or play along; it was a rotten skill that festered within him and seeped into his mind.
Dick could never be himself, there was nothing there. And tonight, the crowd owned him.
Dick stretched, noticing the way he couldn’t command his limbs like normal, but whether it was obvious to the crowd, they didn’t comment.
Dick got on his highest tiptoes, swaying his arm out before doing a twirl. The crowd clapped, someone whistled in the distance.
Dick settled on his feet, facing the fountain. He took a deep breath as he did a flip onto the rim of the fountain basin. The crowd cheered louder, and Dick could no longer see their faces, just the ringing of encouragement over the dashing water.
Is this a dream? Dick wondered, steading himself as he swayed slightly.
Dick stared at the top tier of the fountain, figuring out the logistics of getting up there in an entertaining manner. While the move necessary to complete the task was built into his marrow, it was much easier to do as a child when he was smaller, nimbler.
Dick squatted down, inhaling fully, and catapulted himself forward. He did a twist in the air, earning him an “Ooo” from the crowd, and landed on the fountain’s spire with his good arm.
The crowd roared as Dick tottered to the side, his arm quivering. Despite the danger, he leaned into the rocking motion, playing up the risk of falling and the crowd went wild.
All eyes were on Dick.
Dick did a push up with his arm, his arm aching and locking at the elbow. A murmur passed through the crowd and Dick met his distorted reflection in the water—wavering and lapsing through the cascading water.
He felt sick.
“Dick?” Wally’s voice pierced through Dick’s foggy mind.
Elevation , Dick rationalized to his quickening breath and churning stomach. Perspiration speckled his forehead.
The crowd’s cheering dissipated slowly as they scattered around the fountain, pretending to be in deep conversation with one another. Yet, Dick didn’t need to see that they were paying attention. The upper-class crust of Gotham heard everything.
“Dick, get down there, you’re still recovering,” Wally called out to him. Dick angled his neck to see Wally’s confused and worried expression. Claire was right behind him, gripping horror written on her face.
Look at me! Look at me!
“You’re no fun!” Dick giggled which turned into a tight cough. His figure shook as he tried to regulate his breathing.
Wally took a step forward, hands up in a placating manner. “Let’s get down, babe, I don’t want to see you fall.”
“I won’t fall,” Dick replied sharply.
“You’re just looking a little unsteady,” Wally pointed out.
Dick attempted to do another push up, but his elbow remained locked. Dick leaned to the side, trying to alleviate pressure on his elbow, when he began to wobble.
Wally lunged forward, but he wasn’t fast enough.
(Oh, the irony).
Dick plummeted into the fountain basin, diving into the water. Not hard enough to break anything, but definitely hard enough for pain to blossom across his body.
Hands grabbed Dick’s shoulder and pulled him out of the fountain. His clothes were waterlogged, and Dick dully noted how he would need another cast.
“Dick! Dick!” Wally fretted; voice high pitched.
Dick coughed out water that he had snorted due to the shock of the fall. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” Dick pleaded, but he was unsure if it was an attempt to convince Wally or himself.
The hot air clung to Dick as he became aware of the crowd circling them.
“I’m okay,” he repeated, words tinged with desperation.
Tim came running towards the fountain, a space blanket and towel bundled in his hands. Wally grabbed them from him and layered the towel then space blanket on Dick’s shoulders.
“You good to stand up?” Wally prompted softly. Dick could hear Tim herding the crowd away and Dick dully wondered if the show was over.
“Dick?” Wally repeated and Dick looked up at him, expression hazy. “We can do this one step at a time, okay?”
Dick nodded as Wally guided him to his feet, up the garden path to a doorway that led to the kitchen.
They crossed the kitchen, leaving wet footprints in their wake, and Dick could hear the music from the engagement party radiate from the ballroom.
Dick followed Wally out of the kitchen and up the grand staircase. Guests lingered at the entrance of the ballroom, going quiet when they spotted the couple.
Dick paused on the staircase, but Wally pulled him along, away from the whispers.
Wally closed the door to Dick’s childhood bedroom once they were inside. He rummaged through the closet, grabbing two towels that he placed on the bed then guided Dick to the bed. He sat next to him, a hand rubbing circles on his back.
“You with me?” Wally inquired softly.
Dick blinked. “I’m okay,” he answered, a shattered record.
“I don’t think you are,” Wally told him.
Dick’s eyes snapped up. “Well, I didn’t ask you,” he bit out.
Wally’s hand stilled. “You didn’t,” Wally placated as if he was diffusing a bomb.
Dick swallowed thickly, rolling his hands into fists. He didn’t know how to fix this. He had ruined their engagement party, made a mockery of their relationship by turning it into a circus show to showboat for attention.
He had to fix this.
A grin spread across Dick’s face; a cross between mischievousness and reassurance. “Just had one too many tonight,” he reasoned, not quite a lie. “You know how I am; I can be pretty loopy.”
Wally pinched his lips together, eyebrow creasing. Maturity looked so well on Wally.
“You’re doing the thing,” Wally stated.
Dick tilted his head, widening his eyes. “What thing?”
Wally let out a frustrated sigh. “The thing where you act how you think I want you to act. The thing you promised you’d stop doing.”
Dick evened his expression. “I’m being reassuring.”
“You’re being manipulative,” Wally countered. “And, yes, I know it’s hard for you, that you revert to this when you’re stressed, but, Dick, I’m not dumb. I know something is going on. We sleep in the same bed.”
Dick blinked. “What, you think because you fuck me that means you know everything about me?”
“I do know you,” Wally replied. “And I know you’re lashing out and I know you haven’t been sleeping.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Everything,” Wally persisted. “I know about the nightmares, okay? And I know you don’t like it when I pry so I’ve been waiting for you to come to me, but you haven’t and tonight? Tonight just proved you’re not okay.”
“I am okay,” Dick insisted. “I barely have a bruise from falling in.”
“Emotionally, Dick,” Wally said. “You need to talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about!”
“You promised you’d be honest,” Wally brought up again.
“When I was a kid,” Dick shot back. “I’m not a kid anymore.”
“Well, you’re acting like a scared kid now,” Wally stated.
“I’m not scared,” Dick scoffed at. He was Dick Grayson, he was on top of the fountain, on top of the world. “I’m tired.”
“Then talk to me—”
“I don’t want to!” Dick raised his voice. “Not everything has to be a big discussion, Wally! Okay!? Sometimes I just want to be fucked up!”
Wally stared at Dick.
“They protect me,” Dick added, softer. “The masks, they protect me, and I know it’s bad, but sometimes I need to feel protected.”
Wally searched Dick’s expression before sighing deeply. “Okay,” he settled on. “Okay, I’ll just, I’ll give you space.”
He got up from the bed, placing his hand on one of Dick’s fists and giving him a reassuring squeeze.
“Just, please find me when you want to talk?” Wally asked.
Dick looked up at Wally. “I will,” he promised him.
Wally kissed Dick’s cheek before slipping out of the room and shutting the door gently.
Dick brought his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. He closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing and trying to block out the panic that crept into the edge of his mind.
Dick didn’t know what was worse: Wally leaving or Wally staying.
A soft knock came from the door and Dick looked at it. Had Wally come back?
Dick’s throat constricted, wiping at his face. “Come in,” he called out.
Alfred appeared on the other side of the door, balancing a tea tray in his hands.
“Alfie?” Dick asked, voice small.
Alfred smiled gently at him. “Tea, Master Richard?”
Dick nodded. “Please.”
Alfred placed the tray on his nightstand, pouring him a cup of tea with a dollop of honey. He stirred the tea thoroughly and handed the saucer to Dick.
“Careful, it is hot,” Alfred warned lightly. Dick took the saucer, the steam from the tea wafting into his face and soothing his chills.
Dick took a tentative sip, wincing as it burned his tongue.
Afred clicked his tongue. “I warned you.”
“And I never learn,” Dick joked, but it fell flat. Dick placed the teacup back on the tray.
“Thanks, Alfie.”
A comfortable silence between them.
“It was originally Master Bruce’s idea to take you in,” Alfred reminisced, staring up at the Flying Grayson poster on his wall. “I was surprised when he had brought up the idea, he had seemed to enjoy isolation growing up.”
“Is that so?” Dick asked, but he knew the answer.
Alfred hummed. “I’m afraid I was skeptical of the idea. I didn’t believe someone who fought crime dressed as a bat was an adequate guardian or environment for a traumatized child.”
“When did you change your mind?” Dick asked.
A ghost smile appeared on Alfred’s face. “When you broke your first vase.”
Dick snorted. “What? Why?”
“You didn’t hide it,” Alfred recalled. “You gave me this look of childish innocence. I wasn’t upset, it was clearly a mistake, but you tried to charm your way out of the consequences. That’s when I understood you the most, watching you go through your faces.”
Dick stayed silent.
“And that’s when I understood that I would love every version of you, no matter what.”
Dick shattered in a million pieces.
“What’s wrong with me?” Dick choked out, tears overwhelming him. “I feel—I don’t feel real anymore. I know that the circus has been called off, that everyone went home, but I’m still on this tightrope, constantly putting on a show.”
“You are here, Master Richard,” Alfred’s voice grounded him. “You are with us.”
Dick shook his head. “I know, I know, I just—all I do is try and try and try and I keep believing that I can get better.”
“You can, my dear boy,” Alfred assured him, presenting him with a handkerchief. “But not alone.”
Dick nodded, scrubbing at his face with the handkerchief.
“I fucked up,” Dick confessed. “With Wally. He wanted to help, but I kept pushing him away.”
“He will understand if you explain it to him,” Alfred replied. “That boy loves you dearly.”
“I don’t know why.”
“Because every version of you is worthy of love,” Alfred told him.
Dick hugged Alfred, holding him close as his tears subsided and his tuxedo clung to his frame. The circus would always be there, but tonight? Tonight, Dick was home.
And after every guest went home, and Dick promised to talk to Wally in the morning, Dick got ready for bed.
Maybe, just maybe, Dick would learn to love every version of himself, one night.