The characters in the story are owned by D.C comics, not me. save for my OCs

"Look at how a single candle can defy and defined the darkness"- Anne Frank.

Chapter 1

From the time he was a small child, Richard "Dick" Grayson knew that he was unusual by many people's standards.

Both Gadjo (non-Roma) and Rom alike would look at him funny, but for different reasons. And the really weird thing about it was that Dick found the Gadjo stares to be less hurtful more often than not. After all, their stares made more sense.

How often did you met a half-gypsy kid who work as a trapeze artist in a traveling circus? Not often. And despite what many of the elders in the troop would say most were pretty nice, to his six year old way of thinking.

No, it was when the Romani community of Haley's Brothers Circus meet others like themselves that Dick had trouble. The cycle was always the same-the visiting Roma would come in, and be all pleasant...until they saw him. Or more correctly, saw his eyes.

Young Dick's sapphire blue eyes stuck out like a sour thumb among the sea of brown. And unless he wore shades, there was no way to hide them...and therefore no way to stop the inevitable comments that would follow.

(All and all, he thought that ear purges would have been more helpful than shades.)

"Blue eyes!" the visitors would hiss under their breaths and behind their hands, whenever they thought Dick and his family were out of hearing. (They rarely were though.)

"What proper Roma boy has blue eyes?"

"And his skin! If it was any lighter it could past for white!"

"It all comes from that woman Rikárd let his son marry-that bengesko niamso."

"Noooo...!"

"You can not be serious! German blood has been allow to mix with our own?"

"Are you sure, she sounds like an American to me...I think she's just a Rakili."

"Not as though that's much better."

...when it got to the point where he could stand no more, Dick would sneak off as silently as a shadow, and stay away until the Roma guests left.

It was better for everyone.

That was how and why he came to be where he currently was, up in a large gnarly maple tree a little ways from where the Big Top was set up, outside a city in France, squatting depressedly on the widest branch it had to offer.

Why do they always have to be so mean? the boy thought furiously as he shredded up some leaves. I can't help what I look like! And even if I could I wouldn't!

And that was the truth-his eyes and skin were his inheritance from his mother...they were the only things he had inherited from his mother. Everything else came from his Roma blood. His black hair, high cheek bones, small stature...everything else save his nose. No one seemed to know where his upturned nose came from (the subject was always quickly changed). But unfortunately that didn't seem to be enough.

It's not fair.

"It not fair," he muttered out loud. And from below him came an amused sounding reply.

"What is not fair Robin?"

Startled, Dick looked down to see his grandsire and namesake standing beneath him, looking up at his sole grandchild with an bemused expression. Embarrassed at having been caught mopping, he shook his head.

"Nothing Puri daj," he answered softly.

This caused a white eyebrow to lift. "Oh really? I don't think it's nothing if it can cause a social little bird like you to disappear faster than Houdini."

Dick flushed.

Clucking his tongue the elder Grayson held out arms. "Come down little one."

Without hesitation Dick leapt, free falling a good five feet before grasping a lower hanging branch. After swinging himself around it a couple of times for show (forgetting that there was no one besides his grandfather present) he launched himself forward in the quadruple flip that was the family crowning jewel; before landed safely into a pair of still strong arms, which were as secure as any nest for a young bird.

"Ha!" his grandfather cried out in a bark of a laugh when he caught the falling child. "Dickey you are a wonder! Six years old, and already flying better than most of the professionals! Lord God, I hope I'm here to see you perform as a young man, it will be a jaw-dropper, that's for certain."

Dick beamed at the praised...but then squinted up at that -confused. "Of course you'll be here to see me, where else would you go?"

Rikárd Grayson merely sigh at that as he put Dick down, his face becoming sad. "I may be gone to see the rest of our family by then, Robin."

Dick could feel his unusual eyes widen at that. That was another thing about their family that made them stick out to other Roma...because by Romani standards, the Grayson Clan was small. It was just the four of them. Dick, his parents, John and Mary, and his Grandfather. That was it. There was no one else. No Aunts and Uncles. No great Aunts and Uncles. No cousins, no Great Grandparents. Nothing.

And it always made his Grandfather sad to talk about it, so one day, Dick had asked his father...whose reply left even more answers than it solved. In slow halting tones, John had hesitatingly explained a long time ago, bad people had put their family in a place called Out-With when Grandfather had been a boy. And only he had been permitted to leave while the rest had to go somewhere else. That was also where he had gotten the tattoo on his wrist.

Dick knew it well, he had seen everyday of his life. Z-9267. Stamped in uneven lettering on his right arm, in thick blue ink. When Dick had been five, he had taken a ball-point pen to his own arm, and innocently inscribed his own favorite numbers there (he figured Grandfather had done the same thing, because why else would someone get numbers as a tattoo?). So when it was finished, it read R-4813.

The R was for the first letter of his name and nickname that his Mother and Grandfather loved to call him. But when he had proudly show his Grandfather his work...let it be said that it didn't go as the boy had hoped. For as long as he lived, Dick would never forget the abstract terror that had possessed his good humor Puri daj. Or how he had screamed about an Angel of Death come back from the dead. And speaking of the dead, Dick himself had been scared half to death!

He had run from the trailer like the Devil was after him, and had hidden himself away in the tallest tree he could, only coming down when he heard his Mami calling his name. As he had sobbingly made his way back down, Dick had spewed apology after apology, and asked what he did wrong, and was Grandfather okay?

"Yes sweetheart," Mary had answered. "Yes he's alright, we calmed him down...but you must never do that with your arm again."

"But why was he so sacred?" Dick had demanded. "It was just numbers, they weren't gonna bite him."

Mary's lips had thinned. "They reminded him of something he is trying very hard to forget. That's all you get to know until your older."

"So Grandson," Rikárd voice brought Dick back to the present. "What dog chased you up a tree this time?"

As he talked, he took Dick's hand and began to walk him back to the camp.

Dick looked down at his superman light-up shoes. "The guest said bad things about me again," he confessed in an ashamed whisper. And just like that, the small smile vanished from Rikárd's face. "Did they now?" he said in a toneless voice, his hand tightening around Dick's. "What was it this time?"

"The same Puri daj," Dick replied. Raising his voice a few pitches higher, he recited, '"What proper Roma boy has blue eyes?"' "'Why would Rikárd let his son marry an outsider woman instead of a nice Roma girl?"' Dropping his voice back to it's normal (but still high) tone. "Some even called me a didakai...a half-breed."

Rikárd's jaw clenched. "Oh they did, did they? Well let me tell you something about that. You are Lovari, Dickey. A tribe of Rom that has produced generations of brilliant performers. Our blood comes straight out of Hungary and has been tried and tested again and again. Never let anyone make you feel shame for what you are. And as for the blue eyes...well between you and me, it just sounds like those stuck-up fools are jealous...don't you think?"

Dick had been listening to his Grandfather speech with wide eyes. "Oh wow! Really?"

"But of course," Rikárd said as though that should be perfectly clear. "Who else do you know has eyes like yours? It was those eyes that first caught your Tati when he met your Mami." Smiling playfully, he ruffed Dick's hair. "And I don't doubt you'll break a few girl's hearts as well."

Dick frown. "I don't want to break anybody's heart. That sounds awful...besides girls are icky. They keep pinching my cheeks."

Rikárd allowed himself to smirk. "'"Dost thou fall upon thy face? Thou will fall backward when thou hast more wit. Wilt thou not, Dickey?"' he quoted from Shakespeare. Seeing his Grandson's blank expression, he simplified it. "One day you won't think girls are inky Robin, I promise you that."

Dick stuck out his tongue. He was not convinced.

Y+J

...His Grandfather died that winter, due to a stroke. It was quick, and Rikárd was warm in his bed. It was Dick's first experience with death, and many were impressed with how well he handled it. But in truth, he was still little enough to not have a full understanding of what death was.

His Grandfather looked like he was sleeping, he looked peaceful, and after his mother got done comforting his father, she told her son that Rikárd was on his way to see his family now, and live with them.

And that he wouldn't be back. That was what made him cry. "But we're his family!" he had wailed.

"Yes," Mary had said softly as she held her little bird close, his head on her heart. "But we've had him a long time, and his first family missed him terribly. How would you feel if you had to live without your Tati and me for years and years?"

Latter in life, Dick would wonder if those words had jinxed fate.

Because when he was eight years old, his parents died. No, not died. Murdered. And their bodies didn't look anywhere near peaceful, broken and bloody as they were. There was no way Dick could pretend that they were sleeping. That they were anything but dead.

He knew now, what death was, and what it could do.

Death made you all alone. Dick was the last of his family...or so he thought.

Y+J

four years latter

Another shot rang out in the dark, fired by a wide-eyed, trigger happy thug, who was about to lose his mind in this maze of crates. "Show ya'self ya little shit!" the man border-lined screeched, his dark eyes wildly searching the corner of the warehouse that had gone dark without warning...save for one well-known, and loathed cackle to Gotham's underworld.

"Ahh, but what fun would that be?" drawled a mocking voice that was just beginning to deepen into manhood. This only caused two more shots to be blindly fired.

"Missed me! Missed me!" the voice sang out joyfully. The thug screamed now, the muscles in his tattooed face straining, and he began to shoot without any rhythm or reason...if he had any left that is. "Gah! SHUT UP!" he hollered. "WHO-ARE-YA?!"

This caused a noise of surprised to be made. "You don't know? Huh, I guess you must be new around here." And then again with that fucking cackle.

"Ya a cocky little dick aren't ya?" the Boston native hissed furiously, while inwardly wondering if he was going insane. When he had sign up for this gig, no one had told him that Gotham was run by loonies at night! Oh, at first everything had gone fine. He and a dozen other guys had just dropped off the crates containing conflict diamonds fresh from the mines of Bialya, and a hoopla of illegal drugs to boots, at the warehouse the boss had told them about, with the promise that there would be hefty little paychecks for themselves.

Then things had gone south, in the form of nightmare spawn of Count Dracula appearing in a cloud of smoke, picking people off with punches that would have sent professional wrestlers running for their mommas. So naturally, he had done the smart thing, and had run for it with three others who wanted to see tomorrow. The warehouse door had barred and locked after they had slipped inside. They had thought they were safe...until the first round of laughter had been heard, echoing off the walls and down their spins.

"Shit!" one of his comrades had sworn. "The Bat brought the Brat."

Well that was helpful. Really made thing clear it did. Well, he couldn't pretend to be a Harvard graduate, but he wasn't totally brain dead. The "Bat" was obviously loony number one, who was wailing on the poor suckers outside. Which meant "Brat" aka loony number two was his accomplice.

Then the lights had flickered, before going off completely. One of the guys had panic and ran like a little bitch...straight into their opponent's hands. The man hadn't gotten five feet when suddenly he was being hulled up into the air, screeching, by a line that had ensnared his ankle, like a trap used to catch animals. From their spot on the ground, the two remaining men could just make out a shadowy figure delivering a knockout punch to their comrade.

"I GOT YOU YA LITTLE-" the other guy had roared as they both raised their guns to shoot the "Brat". But before they could pull the triggers something small and black land before them and released a cloud of throat burning smoke. Choking, he had stumbled away...which mean he had a front row seat for viewing the smooth yet sound thrashing the shadow brat gave to the unfortunate man who had stood besides him.

By this point he had had enough, they weren't paying enough for him to take this shit. So he ran again. But with the warehouse dark, it didn't take long for him to get lost...but it wasn't long at all for the "Brat" to find him, which brought him back to where he was now.

There was a snort. "You don't know the half of it," the voice said drily, in response to his question. "Now," it continued in a light cheery tone. "Not to sound cliché...but we can do this the easy way...or the hard way. Take your pick."

Cold sweat was running down his brow now. "Go to hell."

The disapproving clucking of a tongue. "Hard way it is then."

There was the sounds of a nimble figure leaping down from higher levels...and then nothing.

"Where the hell are ya," he muttered to himself.

"Right here," said the voice...from right behind him. Instantly whirling around, the only thing he saw was the dark black glove that soon collided with his jaw. Meanwhile, the shadow's other hand slapped away the gun that had still been held in his grasp. After that...well, he was a little burly on what happened after that. Punches. He definitely remembered punches.

Some to the jaw, the stomach, the chest-possibly a few to the head. Quite likely in fact, all things considered. All he knew was that he was soon slinking down a wall, while directly in front of him, the shadow brat was staying just out of the moonlit spot-light provided by the window above them.

"Who...who the hell are ya?" he had managed to chock out.

The shadow brat didn't respond for a moment. But then he stepped into the silvery light, and the man thought his eyes were going to bulge out of his head. Standing before him was a boy. A kid who couldn't have been a day older than his youngest brother. (Which, some small part of him had to admit, made him a little glad he hadn't shot him). His head was cover with inky black hair, cut short with bangs that just barley staying out of his masked eyes.

His face was pointed, pixie-like, which perfectly match the hellion's smirk that was twisting his mouth. The kid was slender, wiry. Yet at the same time, it was obvious that underneath his clothing he had some serious muscles (his forming bruises would testify to that).

And man...what a get-up. The boy wore a black cape with a sunny yellow underbelly, over a scarlet vest with quarter length black sleeves and matching red-black tights. Steel-toed black boot tapped a rhythm on the cold floor. (Well, that explained why his side hurt so bad) and all of it look as though it had been made with some kind of body armor.

"The name's Robin," the boy told him smugly. "And if your going to be hanging around Gotham, than you'll be getting to know me and my partner real well."

"Jesus kid how old are you," the man blurted out. He couldn't stop himself. "Ten?"

Suddenly all merriment was gone from Robin's face.

"I'm thirteen you jerk," the boy growled out, hands clenched.

Review=happy author

Okay, how was that for a first chapter? Thoughts?