The 'I'm so sorry's and 'you weren't supposed to find out this way's fall on deaf ears, because one minute he's throwing up in the trash can as the shock hits and the next he's just gone, jumped out the window and into the distance, because he's still a circus kid at heart and it's his first instinct.

Even his mother knows that.

Everyone acts like knowing the truth makes everything better, like it somehow fixes everything. Like it's always good and true and makes you feel happy and fulfilled like they try to stuff down kid's throats in children's shows, but that's wrong. Honesty isn't the best policy. It's bitter and ruthless, because the truth just doesn't care who it hurts. It is what it is, no matter what, and those deep dark truths can't be sugarcoated. Lies aren't so bad sometimes. Lies may deceive and hurt, but they're so much easier to swallow. Lies keep people happy. Lies keep families and hearts whole.

All three had been shattered for him.

And the worst part? He could have gone his entire life without knowing and he would have been perfectly fine. Happier, even. The truth should have died with his mother in that fall, trapped in breathless lungs and frozen on motionless lips. Buried six feet in the soil and under stone, forever gone.

But it wasn't, because one day she'd just shown up, strong arms holding a four year old version of himself, as confused as the rest of them were.

Though he'd really kept his distance at first (it'd been all too much) and knowing his family was seeing his four year old self constantly trip over things and cut up his feet (being a blind toddler is fucking difficult), he'd grown to enjoy her company again. She was proud to see him grown and happy, living life as well as a seeing person would, not even needing a cane or anything. It wasn't bad or anything to need such, but she'd always told him he could do whatever anyone else could. And she was right. Yes, she was more than proud, and Dick was just happy to introduce his mother to his family, and boyfriend Jason, and simply get to know her again, from an entirely different perspective. Adult to adult. Not to mention he'd really missed speaking his mother (ha!) tongue. It was nice.

Of course, the universe has to fuck up everything when things are getting too good for him. It always happened, and honestly he should have expected it earlier.

And, to top it all off, Slade was the one who forced it all out. Just wonderful, right?

He'd shown up so suddenly. His mother thought it was a good day for a picnic, and it didn't take long for Alfred to whip up some finger food and get everyone outside.

Everyone was laughing and relaxing, and even Damian was having fun, though of course he'd never show or admit it. But he didn't need to. They all knew.

But then Dick heard it, the footsteps. Ones he remembered all too well. He froze instantly, and it didn't take long for the rest of the family to notice. They barely had time to take defensive positions before he was upon them. A voice broke through the silence even the birds didn't dare to disturb.

"You lied to me, didn't you?"

Dick wanted to say, but his mother spoke first, her cautious voice growing softer and more serious as she moved towards his younger self.

"You don't have any right-"

"I do have a right, Mary!" He shot a bullet at where Dick knew his mother's feet were. She yelped and her toddler began to cry. The loud noise probably scared him, even more so than normal children with his hearing. Dick definitely understood. He still hated the sound. "I'm the one who brought you here! Answers. Now."

Dick knew that tone better than anyone, how dangerous it was, how utterly and completely pissed he was, but as always he didn't hesitate to stand up. There were many things he regretted, but at least not doing that wasn't one of them.

"She doesn't have to talk to you. Leave her alone." He knows that Jason and Damian at least have weapons on them. Bruce and Selina are likely to as well. But what this was was very clear, and a fair fight it wasn't. If bullets and swords went flying, Mary Grayson could easily lose her life, and this time along with her young son. Witnessing his mother's death wasn't something Dick was ever willing to risk, and without saying so, he somehow knew that the family wouldn't move unless he said it was okay. Right now it was way too risky.

"You don't know anything." He doesn't sound angry, just bitter and frustrated. Surprising, because that had never happened before after Dick had mouthed off. "You're just as ignorant as everyone else of her dirty little secret."

By now, his mother has picked the little one up and was quietly consoling him. She was suspiciously quiet.

"...but I can see, for the moment I am outnumbered." That hasn't stopped him before in Dick's memory, so it's doubtful that's actually the reason, but he doesn't speak. "If I am followed, I will not hesitate to put a bullet in her skull. I don't miss."

That, Dick has no trouble believing.

"Dick, honey, we need to talk," she says somberly. He agrees, and she gives little Richard to Damian (they'd somehow gotten quite close) and they walk off into the manor and starts.

He isn't prepared, because as her story goes on he begins to realize it. Then she just stops in the middle, voice hitching.

"I'm really sorry. I know you don't like him…"

Oh, she doesn't know the half of it, his mind tries to distract him with. Or even a fourth. An eighth. And she never needs to. "I-I can't delay it any longer for your sake." His heart stops.

"Please don't-" he starts,chokes, but her calloused hands softly brush his own as she says it.

"Slade Wilson is your biological father."

We met when I'd just turned eighteen, married six months later. He was so charming back then, kind. We had everything in the world, and a baby was going to complete our perfect life.

But then the military called him back, and he left. I waited. When he came back, he wasn't the same person he used to be, and we both knew that. We tried, but each passing day he was losing himself more and more. He started to become stronger, leave bruises accidentally. I know he didn't mean it, and he didn't ever beat me or hurt me on purpose, but if I'd stayed I knew that wouldn't last. But I still wanted to try, because deep inside I still loved him, even if I wasn't sure he still loved me.

Of course, that's when I found out about you, sweetheart.

You were why I left. I couldn't bring a child into that kind of environment, and I was so afraid that he'd hurt you. So that very night I packed the bare essentials, and I left my ring and ran.

The circus was perfect. Every few days was a new city, and no one knew about me or my past. Myself and John… we hit it off quickly. Even when I was obviously pregnant, he still loved me, and already loved you too. We tied the knot quickly, before your birth. We both decided it would be better for you that way. You'd know a father, then, from the very beginning.

Slade found me two weeks before you were born, heavily pregnant with a new ring and a new man. He told me the truth. He'd taken a serum, one that gifted him amazing abilities, but came at the cost of a much quicker temper and… other side effects.

(It's… probably why you're blind, sweetheart. Side effects like that were possible.)

He wanted to know if you were his.

I lied, and he left. He wanted nothing to do with an ex-wife with another husband and a shiny new baby on the way.

I cried when you ended up looking like me. Like us. Mixed races can go either way, and it was so much easier how it turned out. The less suspicious he was, the better.

John thought we should tell you early, but I didn't want you anywhere near Slade. If you went looking, he'd know I had lied and he'd take you. You were what he always wanted. We both decided to tell you when you were older.

I guess I never had the chance to. But know that John loves you. Even if you aren't his blood, he loves you so much. He never asked for another child. You're his.

I just… I'm so sorry. You were never supposed to find out this way.

When he's finally far away enough that no one can or will hear, he cries. Sobs, because John is his father but he isn't. Because Slade is not just in his head, he's in DNA. Because he doesn't even know his mother anymore, never did, and it takes everything to keep himself together as his fingers come up to scratch at the brand.

He has no mark, no claim on me, he repeats as his fingernails dig so deep they draw blood. No matter, the thin scars around the burn betray that this had happened before. He doesn't even notice the physical pain and streams of liquid down his arm with the storm brewing inside.

How can he even go home? He knows at least someone had to be eavesdropping. They all have to know by now, know that the person he hates the most in the entire world helped create him. The person who beat, abused, and fucking branded his skin was half of him.

He wants to scream. He does, and the fingers dig deeper.

He feels dirty, and his own blood crawls in his skin now. He's disgusted by himself in ways he didn't know were possible. He wasn't Dick Grayson anymore. He wasn't even a fucking Grayson. So what did that make him? Slade's lineage? His lying mother's unwanted child? Some other dude's kid John got saddled with? He just didn't know. Everything was different now. He just wanted to know one thing, that's all. That one thing.

Who am I?