Chapter Text
Tim leans forward and grins, practically vibrating off the edge of his seat in excitement. He can’t believe he’s actually watching the Flying Graysons perform. Their posters have decorated the walls of his bedroom for years, ever since the first time Haly’s Circus was supposed to come through Gotham. The show was cancelled, but a much smaller Tim had already seen some promotional clips of a young Dick Grayson doing a tumbling routine, and was enthralled. He’d watched endless recordings after that, begged for and been granted gymnastics lessons himself, and then spent the next four years collecting posters and watching recordings of the older boy—now a world-famous athlete, just like his parents.
Dick Grayson is almost as big a hero to him as Batman. If Tim could fly and tumble as well as the acrobat, he’d be way better at following the Gotham vigilante around at night to take pictures of his feats of heroism.
The acclaimed entertainers are finally doing their famous show right in front of him, and it’s incredible. Their graceful forms arc and flip as they trace graceful parabolas through the air, coming together and separating again in a wonderfully choreographed performance of exceptional acrobatic strength and artistry. Everything’s moving so fast, he can barely follow the movements even though he’s studied their routines and knows exactly what they’re doing.
This is so cool! That’s Dick Grayson up there, and he hugged me. He smiled at me, and called me Timmy, and I think he really meant it when he said he’d do the quadruple tonight, just for me.
He hears his parents chuckle behind him, whispering something and then laughing softly. He’s pretty sure they’re amused by his enthusiastic reaction to the show, but he doesn’t turn around to get confirmation. He’s afraid if he tears his eyes away from the action for even a moment, he might miss Dick Grayson performing the quadruple flip.
Getting to meet the star performers just before the show was an incredible experience, and Tim’s still not quite sure he believes it happened. Dick—Dick Grayson! The best young acrobat in the world, and one of only three people who can do a quadruple flip!—gave him a hug. It’s entirely possible he hasn’t stopped grinning from that moment until now. Both families had even posed for a group portrait together, which he’s definitely planning to have framed later so he can display it proudly in his room.
This is the most amazing night of my life, he thinks, a breathless grin on his face. He can’t believe they finally got to go to the circus. He’s spent the past few weeks worrying that Haly’s Circus will experience travel delays and end up cancelling the Gotham show again, just like what happened the last time they were supposed to come to town back when Tim was only four. It doesn’t matter, though. The Circus is here now, and so are the Flying Graysons.
As Tim watches, starry eyed, Dick Grayson smiles charmingly down at the crowd, then swings out on the trapeze. Letting go at the apex of the swing, he folds his body neatly and flips—once, twice, three and then four times. The crowd roars, and it takes Tim a minute to realize he’s applauding right along with them, calling Dick’s name and cheering wildly.
It’s amazing. Watching the unbelievable physical coordination and dexterity shown by the other boy, only three years older than Tim himself, has his heart pounding. His eyes stay on Dick as the boy lands safely on a platform while his mother waves at the crowd, then swings out again. She flips through the air, catching her husband’s hands and then releasing in another flip, letting him catch her again by her bent knee and hip, one leg extended gracefully. Dick moves to the edge of the platform, catches hold of the trapeze, and then swings out to meet his parents. They swing back toward him, and Mary Grayson beams as she reaches her hands out to catch her son.
Tim’s still looking at Dick the moment he lets go of the trapeze, tumbling through the air and reaching his arms out to take his mother’s hands. So he sees with perfect clarity the expressions of horror on both their faces when the cable on the overloaded trapeze gives, jolting John and Mary. He sees the moment of realization and terror as they all start to fall. Sees the way Mary manages to catch hold of Dick in midair, and then she and John twist themselves around to try to protect their son by shielding him with their bodies before they hit the ground.
It doesn’t seem real at first, like time is suspended for an endless moment before everything comes crashing down.
“No! Oh god, no!” Tim leaps to his feet, screaming denial. This can’t be real. It has to be a nightmare. Nothing so horrible could happen to such kind people, could it? The din of the crowd pounds in his ears and he can’t breathe. He feels trapped, unable to move or do anything to help as he stares at the three forms, lying so terribly still on the ground in the center of the ring. John’s on the bottom, having tried to break the fall for his wife and child. Dick’s lying on top of his mom, with her arms wrapped around him like she wanted to hold him close to the last. Tim stares, and it hurts, an ache so deep and awful he can’t seem to draw a full breath as they continue to lie there, motionless. The horribly wet thump that accompanied their landing keeps echoing in his ears. Why aren’t they moving? Dick and his mom didn’t take the brunt of the fall—shouldn’t they be moving?
Tim doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he feels his mother’s gentle arms gather him close, her hands brushing the tears off his face. “I know, darling, I know,” she murmurs, voice rich with sympathy and sorrow. She draws him onto her lap and rocks him in a way she hasn’t since he was a much younger child. “Jack—”
His dad is staring down at the scene of the accident. Circus personnel are beginning to approach the still forms which lie there like broken dolls. There are still spotlights trained on them, as though even now they’re still the main attraction. It’s surreal, macabre in a way that no one seems quite sure how to deal with. “Are you sure, Jan?” Jack frowns, seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from where the paramedics are carefully lifting Dick off of his parents and placing him on a stretcher. Tim can barely see through the tears, but he can tell by the size of the body that it’s Dick. He turns away, hiding his face in his mom’s shoulder. “If you think any of them are going to manifest, shouldn’t we stay?”
Janet Drake shifts slightly, probably following his gaze, and her breath catches on a small, hurt-sounding, “Oh.”
Tim blinks his vision clear and sniffs, trying hard to calm his shuddering body so he can see again, too. After all, there’s only one reason his mom would react quite like that. He rubs an arm over his eyes, then turns to look, bracing himself for whatever he’s about to see. Sometimes the recently manifested aren’t very pretty, reflecting the pain and shock of their deaths as a grisly appearance in their ghostly forms. Well, it can’t be worse than some of the other things he’s seen over the years. Focusing on the figures down below, he searches for the one that isn’t quite right—and there it is.
It’s Dick.
Tim isn’t sure if he should be relieved or disappointed. It would be best if none of the Graysons had manifested, honestly, because that would mean they were all at peace, but maybe Tim will be able to help more because the one who needs them is Dick. They had the strongest connection in life, after all, being close in age, and having hit it off pretty well in the few moments they spoke together. The other boy was so kind and friendly, even though Tim was just some kid who idolized him.
His heart twists, thinking of Dick’s cheerful smile. He deserved so much better than a sudden, senseless death. But if he’s stuck now, unable to find peace and follow his parents to whatever comes after, then at least the Drakes can try to help him release his earthly cares and cross over.
Oh, Dick, I’m so, so sorry. But don’t worry, Mom can help you move on. Probably. After all, it’s what she does.
Unfortunately, the Drakes can’t just walk down to the center ring and talk to the ghost. They have to wait around for a while, which is awful. Poor Dick looks so lost and sad down there, arms hugging his chest as he stares at his parents’ motionless forms while the paramedics prepare to remove them.
Tim tugs at his mom’s sleeve. “Can’t we…?” He glances back down at the ghost boy. It feels wrong to leave him alone right now, with no one around him but strangers and the dead.
She sighs, looking regretful. “I’m sorry, darling, but the last thing we need is to arouse the interest or suspicion of anyone here. Talking to someone nobody else can see is an excellent way to find oneself involuntarily committed, as your Great Aunt Agatha discovered to her detriment. No, we must wait until the paramedics and onlookers have left before we approach the poor child.”
Her face twists, probably at the reminder that the ghost they’re discussing is another boy not much older than Tim himself. Jack pulls her into his arms and rubs her back, whispering soothingly to her.
It’s the perfect opportunity to slip away. Most of the crowds have left, shaken by the tragedy, and only scattered groups still remain. Some seem ghoulishly curious, others sorrowful or too distressed at the tragedy they witnessed to leave just yet. He passes more than one sobbing person being comforted by those around them.
Finally, he’s right on the edge of the stands, close enough that if he called out, the paramedics would probably hear him. Instead, he waits until the ghost of Dick Grayson looks up. The other boy is rubbing at his eyes and sniffling miserably as he watches them take his mother away, her glorious auburn hair now covered in a crisp white sheet. His own body is already long gone, having been hurried away first, and the earthly remains of his father are on another stretcher in the back of an ambulance, barely visible through the circus tent’s main entrance.
Tim edges slightly to the right to put himself in Dick’s line of sight, then gives him a little wave. “Hey there,” he whispers.
Looking slightly dazed, Dick waves back.
Janet stands in the doorway to the library and sips a cup of excellent black tea, watching her son entertain their new guest. Dick Grayson was a handsome child, with vivid dark blue eyes, golden olive skin flushed with health, and wavy hair as dark as her own son’s. He’s still a fine-looking boy, even in his somewhat transparent state, handsome with a natural charm that comes through even though he hasn’t quite mastered projecting his will enough for audible speech yet. He’s kind as well, listening to Tim prattle on about his photography and showing interest in the various photos her son has taken of the family and estate.
I wonder…
She watches as Tim eyes the other boy carefully, gaze darting to the glistening, opalescent tracks of tears still visible on his face. After a moment of quiet regard, he smiles gently and asks if Dick would like to see the rest of his photograph collection. He’s doing a wonderful job of putting the ghost at ease, creating a sense of normality and safety the recently deceased so desperately need in order to be able to make sense of their own state and, eventually, realize and communicate exactly what they need so they can move on. This is the first time she’s allowed him to interact with such a recent ghost. Usually, anyone she introduces him to is much further along in the process. It’s impressive to see how well he’s managing.
The boys dart past her, one tangible and one not, and she hears Tim continuing to chatter to his new friend as they move up the stairs and, presumably, to his room. Jack approaches after they’re gone, not having wanted to crowd the poor child with so many strangers at such a sensitive time. “Well? Any luck?” The expression of concern and slight bafflement on his handsome, good-natured face reminds her once again that he can’t see the dead like she and Tim can.
“Oh, it’s going quite well, really,” Janet says, raising one eyebrow as she considers the notion which occurred to her as she watched her son talking to the ghost child. “Timothy is doing wonderfully. I think he may be ready to handle this one on his own, actually.”
Jack’s brows fly up and he spins on his heel to look toward the staircase, as though trying for a glimpse of the children. “What, really? Our little boy? Janet, are you sure?”
She laughs at his reaction. “Don’t fret, darling, I’ll be right there every step of the way to help. It isn’t as though I’m tossing him into a truly dark case, or one with the least hint of anything dangerous. Why, the boy died in an accident, not a murder or anything as grisly as what we’ve run into on some of our digs.”
He shakes his head with a rueful smile. “Well, you know best when it comes to spirits, of course.” He continues with a thoughtful expression. “I suppose we’ll have to postpone the Mesopotamian dig a while, eh?” He brightens slightly. “Get to have the holidays at home for once.”
The pull of duty toward spirits longing for their rest will grow quite strong if she resists it for that long, but—she really does need to be here for Tim, to guide him through his first attempt to bring a spirit peace. And the idea of spending so much time with her whole family at home is enticing. “Yes,” she decides, laughing as Jack draws her into his arms with a broad grin, “that sounds like quite the best plan.”
The rest of the spirits will have to wait, she thinks, watching as Tim troops down the stairs again. It seems he’s managed to help set the ghost even further at ease, because he’s audible now. Dick floats through the air, doing flips and tumbling as he follows the living boy. They are chattering back and forth about—oh dear, teaching Tim to do flips? Well, that will be interesting—and she knows she’s made the right choice.
It will be quite fascinating to see what comes of this.
Mind awhirl with plans, she turns back to her husband. “Shall we follow them?”
He looks mildly anxious as he edges after the boys. “Did Tim just say something about flips off the chandelier?”
Good heavens. She hadn’t quite caught that part of their boyish plans. Janet takes Jack’s arm and begins following the children at a rather brisker pace than she might otherwise have chosen. “I think things are about to become considerably more interesting around here.” She tries, but can’t quite suppress a little smile when they enter the foyer and find Dick is the one doing flips off of the chandelier while Tim watches safely from the floor.
“Hi Mom,” he says. “Dad. Isn’t he amazing?” He rubs his eyes, looking quite tired, poor boy, then turns back to resume watching Dick’s antics with an expression of sheer delight. Jack laughs and goes to stand beside Tim, asking him to describe what his friend is doing. He does so with alacrity, and the ghostly performer responds by cartwheeling and tumbling across the foyer, only passing through a couple of items of furniture in his excitement.
Another mild worry begins to grow in the back of Janet’s mind as she watches the boys play.
Oh dear. I hadn’t thought of that—but if they become friends, whatever are we going to do when Timothy must say goodbye?
Well, she and his father will be there for him. If necessary, they can delay their trip longer, or even take Tim along with them, though she hates the idea of putting him in potential danger. Anyway, perhaps Dick will pass over easily and leave them soon, before Tim grows too attached.
Watching them play and chatter together, she has a strong feeling that it’s already too late.
Seeing how happy they are and how well they seem to get along, it’s difficult to regret it.