Chapter Text
High above the ring, haloed by spotlights and fêted by the cheers of the audience below, three figures wave cheerfully. Heedless of their fragile foundation; of the thin beam which stands between them and the death-defying fall that lured so many spectators in. They leap and twirl, exertion made effortless from afar as their gravity-defying performance begins.
The Flying Graysons have taken to the air once more, and they are magnificent.
Year Zero
Moving day is always busy, but busy doesn’t ever mean boring. In fact, Dick’s not sure anyone in Haly’s circus—himself included—really understands the concept at all. Because one time before a show, some kid had come up and asked him about it, asked if he was bored just ‘hanging around all day’ and all Dick could do was stare at him as if he was crazy. Maybe he was crazy, you know? After all, if there isn’t a show, then there’s practice for a show. And if there isn’t practice for a show, they’re either setting up or packing away, or on the road between bubbles, and just…there’s something in every part of that to hold his attention, isn’t there?
Honestly, even his lessons are interesting, at least a little bit. They might involve a lot of sitting around, but no one ever said his head has to stay where the rest of him is. Any time he might possibly be heading along the road to boredom, there’s something to distract him, or something new to learn, and then, well! He’s not bored anymore, is he?
Moving day is a perfect example of that. See, some people think it’s dull, that they’re just doing all the same things in all the same order. The tent has to come down. The pieces have to be carefully disassembled and stowed away for transport. And all of this has to be done by the adults, so there’s not really a lot of room for Dick to help out, even though he’s seen it happen so many times he’s pretty sure he could direct the whole process himself if he wanted to. Except he’s not allowed to do that either, because he’s not the boss of Haly’s circus. Obviously.
But the thing is, every time they pack up, they’re packing up in a new place. A completely new place altogether! And that means there’s so much to see, so many different things he can look at or learn about, or poke around with even if he’s technically not supposed to.
By now, that’s not a fact which is odd, in and of itself. They’ve been near-constantly on the move for about as long as he can remember. Zig-zagging between bubbles up and down the country, steadily working their way north to south, east to west and back again, in a constant loop which even he’s never been able to remember, it’s so huge. Well, that, and the fact it’s apparently changed a few times from towns falling to the infestation, and one or two more popping up as new bubbles are established.
Because living in the circus means they’re always travelling, they have to deal with the infestation a lot more than the people who live in permanent bubbles. It’s why the first step of packing up is to check all the charms and generators, going over everything to ensure there aren’t any mechanical issues, and that the runes and stuff haven’t faded.
As the most important job of all, typically Dick is told to stay well away from the generator car while that happens, but now that he’s getting a little older, everyone’s mostly calmed down about where he has to be. It’s actually become one of his favourite things to watch. Maybe it’ll still be a few years before they’ll let him help, but for now, he contents himself with listening to all the checks, and trying to memorise the renewal chant they use on the more arcane half of the setup. The rest is pure machinery, all sparks and cogs and shuddering parts, and it makes a heck of a din as the engine’s fired up each time.
Honestly, if there was one thing he could change about the Haly’s Circus bubble, it would be for it to rely on just the magical stuff, the way he’s pretty sure they used to when he was a little little kid. It never used to be so loud, or so dirty. It was peaceful, a song that wrapped around the whole caravan like some kind of blanket, and everyone used to sing along with it.
But singing’s work, or at least, staying up all night to keep singing is. And it’s true enough that the engine doesn’t run out of breath, or fall asleep, so it probably is safer, too. After all, there’s plenty of scary stories about what can happen if a shield fails.
Dick’s not supposed to sit and listen to horror stories while his parents are busy making sure their gear is stowed correctly, but, well. He’s eleven years old! Of course he listens to the horror stories the guys all share. It’s really only a few of them which are scary enough to pop up in his dreams at night, anyway. The rest are…well. Honestly, he’s not that impressed.
Like the one about the Keystone Shuttle, which set out from Metropolis and got there a day too late, right after the city’s bubble fell and everyone there had already fled, so that all the people inside the shuttle had nowhere to go, and nothing to do except sit and wait while the monsters raged and roared and tore the city apart around them, waiting for the diesel to run out and the bubble to power down. How the engine stuttered, and stuttered, and finally stalled, and then…
“—What, all the monsters got them, Philippe?”
Philippe frowns up at him, sighing. “Well yeah, obviously, Dick. And get down from there, you know you’re not meant to climb around out here.”
Dick rolls his eyes, but grins as he drops down beside them. “You say that like it wasn’t you still getting yelled at for the same thing all of last year. It’s basically tradition, right? Also, that story doesn’t make enough sense to be scary. If they really all died because of the monsters, how’d anyone even know it happened?”
Aaron Fields, the new guy who signed on a couple of months and five towns ago to help work the engine, shakes his head. “You never heard of recovery missions? They showed up a week later and found the—”
“Cool it,” Philippe says, waving the other man silent. “He’s just a kid, yeah?”
Despite his protests, no one actually finishes the story after that, so whatever loophole they thought up for this particular scary incident has to remain a mystery. It definitely doesn’t come back to haunt him anyway though, just the thought of being stranded in the middle of the infestation, surrounded by monsters with nowhere to go. And if it does, that’s probably just because so many spooky stories are like that. Some are good, some are bad, some short and some long, but—and maybe it’s just from where they are—most of them feature caravans or shuttles stranded a long way from the security of a static settlement, with their bubble either on the fritz or out altogether.
The one about the ghost circus, all eaten alive somewhere on the road after their chanter suddenly died, only to show up at the very next city, right on schedule, is probably the creepiest…but only when Harry Lloyd tells it. No one else can do it right. Seeing as Dick’s still ‘just a kid’, everyone else leaves out all the actually spooky parts.
It’s fine though, because he won’t be a little kid forever, and when it’s his turn to tell the creepy stories, he’s going to make sure they’re actually believable. Who’s gonna be scared of a story they don’t even believe, eh?
Gotham’s a weird city. Its bubble isn’t clear like most, and they’re not allowed to keep their own up while they pass through the edge of it. There’s a whole process apparently, and it starts with a massive building which pokes out into the infestation and has a heap of armed guards around it, who direct them into a big courtyard instead of the actual city they’re supposed to be travelling to. Normally they can just go straight in, and do all the official stuff inside where it’s actually safe.
It’s so different from everywhere else that Dick can’t help feeling a teensy bit nervous, even though Mr Haly doesn’t seem worried. Then again, Dick doesn’t have a brilliant view of what’s happening out there from their caravan window, and that probably doesn’t help.
“Dad, what’s going on?” he asks, a couple of minutes after they’ve come to a dead halt. Mr Haly has talked to some guys and then climbed back into his car up front, but that was ages ago, and nothing else seems to be happening.
His father smiles, which is reassuring even before he starts to speak. “Don’t worry, it’s just the Aegis, Dick,” he says. “We’ve not been here in a long time, so I doubt you remember our last visit. Gotham is… Well, it’s one of the oldest cities on the continent still standing. That means their shield works a little differently to most, and it won’t let another bubble pass through it. We’re in something they call the ‘airlock’ right now, so that we can turn ours off and still be safe from outside. I’m not sure exactly what the hold-up is, but we’ll be going in very soon, I’m sure of it.”
The bubble around their caravan stutters out a moment later, and they can see their surroundings more clearly. Gotham’ airlock is massive. It’s almost as tall as the big top, except instead of coming to a point the roof is flat, and clear enough that the place doesn’t need any lights. Glass, then, all held up by columns and beams.
Even as big as the Haly procession is, they’re dwarfed by the scale of it. Dick’s sure he’s never seen anything like it, and they’ve just come from Metropolis, city of a thousand shining spires or whatever. Beside the road they came in on there are two sets of railway tracks which lead from the outside to a set of barred gates on the far end of the airlock, beyond which he can halfway see what has to be Gotham through a shimmering, translucent wall. Even as he watches, it ripples, and a steam engine pulling a string of coaches emerges from the city, coming to a halt close enough that he can see the passengers inside, all squished together like sardines in a can. It’s as packed as opening night, only they’re all squished in a little carriage instead of the airy bleachers around the ring. He sure doesn’t envy any of them.
A whistle fills the air, and then there’s the sound of halfway familiar chanting before each coach is wrapped in a shimmering bubble of its own and the whole procession starts to move once more, pulling out of the courtyard towards who-knows-where. Dick grins, waving ferociously at the passengers as they pass by. He laughs as one little boy sees him, then promptly sticks out his tongue.
“Where are they all going?” he asks as the train pulls quickly away, vanishing out of the airlock behind them.
His father shrugs. “I’m not sure where that line leads, actually. Another town or city nearby I expect…Metropolis, perhaps? The shuttles keep everyone who lives in these places pretty well connected. That’s the one interesting thing about Gotham, I will say. The Aegis slows a lot of things down. You’ll probably see things here which we normally pass right by without particularly noticing.”
They’re already moving again as they talk, and Dick presses his face against the glass to better see as each vehicle disappears through the bubble—no, the Aegis. When it’s their turn, it comes right through the wall of their caravan, and for a moment he feels his whole body tingling from the power of it. Then they’re out, or rather in, and he stares up at the giant arch it makes overhead, going on and on, up and over, like someone draped a huge, shining blanket across the whole city. It gleams above them, all silvery-blue.
“But you can see it!” he cries. “I mean…don’t people ever get to look at the sky here?”
His mother laughs from the driver’s seat up front. “Not in Gotham, little robin. I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to that for the next few weeks.”
Dick just keeps staring, shaking his head. He’s not sure ‘getting used to it’ is even physically possible.
Everything’s great. Everything’s fine.
Everything’s just the way it’s always supposed to be until suddenly the whole world is ending, and he can’t seem to breathe.
The group home is too cold. Too cold, too gloomy, and too big, a massive stone building stuffed with—perhaps unsurprisingly—too many boys and too many girls. It’s deafening and airless, and apparently no one in Gotham ever heard of climbing before, but hey, that suits Dick just fine. Makes it so much easier to wriggle his way out of the little window set high into the wall of the boys’ bathroom after ‘lights out’.
That’s another stupid saying, Dick thinks, because no one in Gotham seems to have ever heard of actual dark before either. Good. That makes it basically their fault he got out. Stupid group home. Stupid authorities. Stupid, hateful city, just full of awful things and awful people, and Dick doesn’t give…give a damn what they say, there is just no world in which a Gotham group home full of cold and stone and anger is a better place for him to live than Haly’s circus.
He’ll come back every night if he has to. Every night until they’re finally allowed to leave, and then they can get out from under this miserable Aegis and never come back.
All he has to do is scurry along the ledge to the corner, hop across the gap to the top of the wall, and then it’s barely even a step to one of the weird, wrinkly trees which seem to be most of what passes for nature in Gotham; their branches all full of lumps and gnarls, twisted and scratchy beneath his palms as he swings. But that’s fine. It’s not comfortable, but it’s plenty of grip, and with a few more back and forths he’s got the momentum he needs to clear the gap above the road. The next tree is just as rugged, which is, again, uncomfortable on his hands and shins, but practically a dream to shimmy down.
From reflex, he looks up to check the time and winces. Aside from having no moon or stars, the sky overhead shimmers with a odd, dull glow, which ripples somewhere between orange-red and brown. It looks dirty. All of Gotham does. So much worse than just clouds.
The injustice of Gotham’s night skies are fuel enough for the march though, granting him a dull rage which simmers in his heart and head and keeps him warm as he walks, runs, and jogs by turns. He’s confident enough not to need directions. All he has to do is follow the same route the ‘children’s services’ car had taken when they’d kidnapped him from his home. Not content with stealing his par—
—Well… Well. Gotham’s not stealing him either, in any kind of way, is the point. He’s going back home, and he’s going to keep going back home until everyone gets the message.
And past the first half hour, it’s a pretty straightforward task. Even with the shows all shut down, the distinctive shape of the big top is easy to spot across the bridge. It’s a bit of a terrible walk what with all the cars rushing past, belching out their stinky smoke, but no one seems to pay him any mind if he wrinkles his nose. Honestly, no one seems to really care that much about a little kid being out at night at all. Yikes. Some place, huh?
Good thing he isn’t stuck here. Good thing everything’s gonna be just fine. All he’s got to do is go home.
Home to the trailers and the tent, stalls and stands already packed away. It’s alien too, this halfway state between setting up and setting out, but it’s still a whole heap more familiar than anything else. It screams safety too, in a way he hasn’t felt since…since…
Dick halts outside Mr Haly’s caravan, clutching at his stomach and squeezing his eyes shut as tight as they’ll go. He’s not…he can’t. He’s got to get home first. Get back home, where he actually feels safe. Everything else can come after.
But the moment means he’s come to a halt right outside, and before he can fully pack his feelings away into the safety of anger and survival, he hears voices. One of them he knows, and one of them he doesn’t. They’re arguing, too, not seeming to notice that the window is open and pretty much anyone can listen in.
Anyone…like Dick, say. Who isn’t trying to eavesdrop on the whole thing, honest! It’s just…well. Bad timing, maybe.
“…told you, we’re not interested in that stuff, Zucco! Listen, I don’t want—”
“—What, problems? Well, it’s a little late for that, Haly. You’ve already had an accident. How many more until things start to come apart at the seams?”
“Now you don’t—I mean what are you trying to say here, exactly?”
“I’m saying, how many more acts can you afford to lose? Not much of a show to go on if they’re dropping like flies. Oh. That hit a nerve?”
“You’re a real piece of—
“I’m gonna make one more suggestion, Haly. And if you care about your remaining performers I suggest you listen up, or falling’s gonna look like a real merciful way to go. You get me?”
Dick’s heart is in his actual throat. He feels sick. He feels sick and hot and cold and also numb all over. What. What. He…no. No, he can’t. He doesn’t mean—
Mr Haly doesn’t reply. Doesn’t deny anything. And actually, the whole time Dick’s been listening, he’s sounded really off, too. Like…the same kind of voice he got when Madame Dumouchel had that whole business with her weird ex-boyfriend and all the guys had to stand guard outside her trailer. So does that mean—
“Alright. Thought so,” the Other Voice says, cutting off Dick’s train of thought. “Here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna pack up shop and leave early. Head to Blüdhaven, just like on all your fliers.”
“But-but we can’t. You can’t ask us to leave now. I mean, the poor boy…”
“Oh the boy, eh? Maybe you’re right, Haly. Maybe I ought to go find him, send him along with one of my lads.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Well. If you get your act together I won’t have to. Pack up. I’ll send a few of my men with the necessary equipment tomorrow evening, and they’ll even handle the paperwork for you. Once they’re all safely in Blüdhaven, your little caravan is free to go.”
Heavy footsteps, heading towards the door. Oh no, he’s gotta move!
Dick bites down a gasp and drops to the ground, rolling into the shadows under the caravan before pressing both hands against his mouth. If feels like…like he really is going to be sick, and his eyes pinch, prickling as if they’re full of needles. His whole body’s shaking and shuddering too, and he can’t seem to breathe quite right, though that might just be the shock of hitting dirt.
A shaft of light opens out onto the grass beside the caravan, framing a long silhouette.
“I’ll send my man around to explain the details tomorrow morning,” the Other Man—what was his name?—says, hopping down the three steps like he’s dancing or something. “The extra car will join your little procession after dark, and you can all head out for the airlock together once it opens. Make sure you’re ready.” He sounds happy.
Dick wants to punch him in his face. No. He wants to punch him down where it hurts and then punch him in his face, and then keep punching him and punching him, and maybe just never actually stop.
Heedless of the rage directed at him, the man walks away, halting when he’s far enough that from Dick’s vantage point behind the caravan wheel, he can just make out the bottom of his face. He’s got a nasty sort of half-smile, and some wisps of reddish brown hair poking out from under his hat. Dick presses his head down further into the grass, trying to see more. He needs to know what this guy looks like.
“If you want, Haly, I’ll make sure you’ve got time to head down and visit the kid one last time to say goodbye. I’ll even grant you an escort for the trip.”
Mr Haly must be standing in the doorway, because Dick hears him actually growl.
“Don’t you even think about it, Zucco. I’ll meet with your man right here, and we’ll head straight out the day after tomorrow. That’s all. You leave that poor boy alone.”
The man—Zucco—grins, showing all his teeth. “Seems we got ourselves an agreement then, Haly,” he says, turning away with a wave. “Suppose you’d best get to packing up.”
Dick waits, lying on the cold ground with his whole body shaking, until Zucco’s completely gone. It’s weird, because it happens a little bit too fast—like he blinks and the man’s halfway out of sight already, then another blink and he’s just gone.
He feels cold all over, too. Gradually, it’s like the world starts to reappear—when did it go away? But it must have, because it’s coming back now, and with it is the realisation that he’s not just angry-shaking, but really shivering. His face is all wet too, and his eyes ache terribly.
It’s…well, it’s obvious that he’s been crying. He’s not stupid. But it’s not like crying when he tripped over that bucket because he wasn’t paying attention, and scraped up his legs and arms something fierce. It’s not even like when they’d been in New York that time and a bunch of kids had surrounded him and called him all kinds of nasty stuff which made his parents super mad. It’s like…he’s been crying, but he hasn’t really been here for the crying. Like it completely took over, and he only came back for the afterwards part.
All of it just feels awful. It’s yet another awful thing piling on the list, and he hates it. He hates this feeling, hates this place, hates that…why is it happening? Why is any of this stuff happening? Is it really all because of this Zucco guy? Because that means….that means he… Well isn’t anyone going to do anything? What, he just gets away with it?
It’s not right. It’s wrong, so so so wrong, the most wrong thing that could ever happen. But Haly can’t do anything because he’s scared that this Zucco guy is gonna…
Dick freezes, choking on spit as he gasps. Haly’s scared because Zucco said he can send men to come after Dick, even though it’s supposed to be sooo safe and perfect or whatever in that stupid group home. And Haly believed him, which has to mean Zucco’s the sort of guy who does stuff like this all the time. Like, maybe a mobster? Gangster? Mafia?? Whatever it’s called, that’s bad. That’s really bad.
Still. The most important thing right now is, Zucco was trying to threaten Mr Haly by saying he’d come after Dick. But Zucco doesn’t know that Dick’s already here. No one does! He’s meant to still be in the stupid group home, trying to sleep on that rotten bed in the same room as about a million other people and all their noise. And that means, if they can just…leave right now, then everything’s got to be okay, right?
…Except.
Except there’s a lump in Dick’s throat, and his eyes are stinging again. Because it’s not going to be okay. His parents are still gone. The police took their—they took them somewhere, and he’s not even sure where that is. But… but he’s meant to be allowed to say goodbye, right? People don’t just die and then vanish into thin air. Not outside of horror stories.
Their…their bodies are somewhere in Gotham right now. What happens next? What happens to his parents if Haly’s circus isn’t around anymore? What does Gotham do with dead bodies, anyway?
Despite the cold, and how wet and uncomfortable the grass beneath Mr Haly’s caravan is, Dick can’t bring himself to move at first. The door had slammed shut as Zucco marched away, footsteps overhead suggesting Haly was back…back at his desk? Or his table. It sounded like that, anyway. So he’s still awake. And Zucco’s still gone.
Dick knows he ought to get up. Climb out from his hiding place and do something. Go somewhere. Go knock on the door and let Haly know he’s here; he’s safe. But for long minutes, all he can manage is just to breathe, because if he doesn’t, it means thinking about the fact that Zucco was right there. He was right there, and Dick let him leave. Even though he knows—he knew—that this guy is the reason his parents are dead.
His parents were murdered, and he just let the man who did it walk away.