A/N: Parts of this story will be told in first person but the majority of it is in third person. If there are some parts that don't really make sense in this first chapter, it's because of the point of view. The dots will all be connected in the second chapter. :)

Also, some of the words in this chapter and the subsequent first person sections may seem too advanced for a young child to be using. However, we all know that Dick/Robin is an extremely intelligent boy with an extensive vocabulary. ;-)

For those of you patiently waiting for King Tut vs Mr. Freeze: it's almost done! I got the idea for this story while working on that one and this one just took off. Sorry about the continual delay but sometimes one plot takes over my brain and won't let go until the story is finished. Thanks for being patient!

As usual, Batman and Robin are loosely based off the 1960s TV show but go back and forth between genres and are sometimes completely out of any characterization. I write it the way it enters my head, which is not always "historically" accurate. Italics usually represent thoughts to oneself but are sometimes used to add emphasis. In this first chapter, however, emphasis is added by underlining and bolding. Thanks for reading and sorry for the long note!

Chapter 1:

Saturday, March 20

Today is my eleventh birthday. I found this ratty notebook in a dumpster yesterday so…happy birthday to me, I guess. I'm tired of keeping the pain inside; maybe writing everything down will help me deal with it better. And it's not like anybody will ever read it so there's no chance of discovery.

My name is Richard John Grayson, preferably Dick Grayson, although I haven't used it for a while. You'll find out why later. I have to start at the beginning, the night of March 26 of last year. I remember the details so well that it seems like it happened yesterday. It was supposed to be the best night of my life. It started out that way, but quickly turned into the worst night instead. Here is my story:

"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer's voice echoed around the big circus tent, "we have a special treat tonight! You are about to witness the acrobatic skills of an amazing duo of aerialists – The Flying Graysons! And, making his debut, the youngest member of this artistic family: ten-year-old Richard Grayson! He will unveil his signature move, the quadruple backflip, which has never successfully been performed by any aerialist in the world!"

I stepped in front of my mother on the trapeze platform high above the crowd. I knew my grin was as wide as the empty space between the two platforms as I raised my right arm over my head. The audience burst into raucous applause and I waved before returning to my place behind my mother.

"This is just like rehearsal," she whispered, glancing down at me reassuringly. I was both excited and nervous and I knew both feelings were clearly expressed on my face.

"Just imagine all your friends in the crowd, cheering you on as you practice."

Nodding my head, I flashed her a quick grin and took a deep breath. I was ready to prove myself and I knew I could do this.

My parents began the routine, performing as flawlessly and gracefully as they always did. It was almost my turn and I shook the nerves out of my arms.

Eight. Nine. Ten.

I remember counting the swings; the timing had to be perfect. The number ten meant jump so I did. My first move was a simple double front flip. I curled my body in, rotated twice and reached for Mom's strong hands. She easily caught me and I heard a quiet murmur. "Perfect" was the word and it was whispered with a proud smile.

Grinning at the praise, I let go. This was it, the move that had never been performed by any other aerialist in the world. Ever. I was scared – no, that's not the right word. I guess I was a little nervous, but I had done it hundreds of times in practices and dress rehearsals. Those thoughts gave me confidence and the previous feeling fled. Tucking into a small ball, I executed a smooth quadruple backflip, completely trusting my father to grab my wrists. I think it was the best one I had ever done. At least, it felt that way. I never saw it so I'll never really know for sure.

Anyway, the second catch was performed as perfectly as the first and we swung up to Dad's platform. The landing was solid, my father patted me proudly on the back and we turned to the audience. The cheering increased in volume as we waved to the adoring crowd.

"And now," the announcer's commanding voice brought the eyes of everyone to the ground, "John and Mary Grayson will perform their signature finale..." he paused dramatically before adding the words, "…without the safety of a net!"

The audience gasped, I gave Dad a quick hug and he smiled down at me. It was the last time I would ever see his smile. I never realized how much I loved the crinkles under his eyes or the dimple on his left cheek until they were gone forever.

It's so hard, knowing that I won't ever see the fun-loving sparkle in his blue-gray eyes again. Knowing that I'll never hear the tinkling sound of my mom's laugh or listen to the stories she created for me at bedtime.

"Good luck," I whispered, although I knew they didn't need it. They were the epitome of aerialistic perfection and I was so proud to be their son.

As I watched my parents begin their flight, I noticed a man practically jumping on people as he moved toward the stairs. I shook my head; some people could be so rude. Everyone was standing now, cheering loudly as my mom spun from her trapeze into my dad's arms and immediately flipped back to her bar. The tricks, for them, were simple but they made everything look so beautiful. Nobody could tear their eyes away from my parents, not even me and I had seen the routine hundreds of times!

Then it happened. There was a loud noise, I had no idea what it was, and suddenly Mom and Dad were falling instead of flying. Only one wire held each bar but that was impossible. Dad always checked everything before a performance and we wouldn't have even set foot on the ladder if something wasn't right. And that had never happened.

They fell face up, hands stretching toward me and fear in their eyes. There was nothing I could do, I probably knew that in the back of my mind, but I found myself lying on my stomach and reaching for them anyway. My arms were too short, I realized that right away, and I stopped trying. I quit on my parents!

That was something unacceptable. Even if I was afraid while learning a new trick, they always made me keep trying. I had never quit but I did this time. Of all the stupidest times to quit, I had chosen this one. I was such an idiot; I should have jumped for a bar and flown down. I could have saved at least one. Or so I thought at the time. Looking back, I realize that if I had jumped my body would have ended up on the ground right next to….

But maybe it would have been better that way. I wouldn't have to carry around this constant pain and heavy ache in my heart. We would be together; I would have someone who loved me. Instead it's just me, alone in this awful place called Gotham City.

I stayed on my stomach for a brief moment, just staring down in shock. But I had to get to them so I scrambled down the ladder, jumped off the last two rungs and sprinted toward the center of the ring. Several people reached out to grab me, to keep me away from the horrible scene. But I was strong and fast and easily twisted away from the myriad of hands stretching in my direction.

"MAMA, DADDY!" I was screaming for them even though I already knew they wouldn't answer. I slipped on something and fell onto my stomach. As I skimmed across the slick, red surface, I realized that I was sliding in a pool of blood that was quickly spreading away from the bodies of my parents. It was too much to process and I closed my eyes. Then my head hit something soft and I opened my eyes. The motionless arm of my father had stopped my skid. Motionless…limp…lifeless…dead. My dad was dead.

"NO, NO, NO!" I heard myself screaming again. This was some kind of sick joke. They were breathing, they had to be breathing. Pushing myself up to my knees, I threw my trembling body across my dad's torso. Sharp edges, broken bones, lifeless eyes, torn skin and blood. So much blood, everywhere around me.

"No, please," I whispered. I was sobbing, uncontrollably, and tears were streaming down my face. The red blood underneath us turned pink as the liquid from my eyes mingled with the fluid still flowing out of my dad's body.

Mr. Haly's strong arms were suddenly around my waist, pulling me away from the bodies and into a firm hug. I couldn't leave them, I had to be with them, they weren't dead, I needed them! I struggled against the circus owner's strong arms but he refused to release his tight hold. Everything was blurry and I gave up, curling in to his body. My hands tightened into fists as I grabbed Mr. Haly's coarse shirt and sobbed into his chest.

There was a quiet shuffling sound, which I immediately recognized as hundreds of shoes moving around on a dirt-covered cement floor. Glancing up, I watched the crowd begin to leave as other members of the circus ushered them toward the exits.

I finally realized the truth: my parents were dead! And nobody had tried to stop it! Everyone just stood there, calmly watching my parents crash to the ground. It was like they didn't even care! But I did…a lot.

Something snapped in my mind and I quickly twisted out of Mr. Haly's arms. Effortlessly landing on my feet, I paused to stare at the unfamiliar face of a man lying on the ground. There was some sort of weapon on the floor a few feet away and I instantly connected the dots. This was the person who had ripped my life apart in a matter of seconds. It was a face I will never forget, not even a million years from now. The crooked nose, the light scar that ran from his forehead to his left ear and the cruel, green eyes that were slowing opening and beginning to blink rapidly.

Then I ran. Samson's large body immediately loomed in front of me but I wasn't going to stop running. The strongman's muscular arms reached for me but I easily ducked low and dodged away from the grasping hands.

Wilhelm the lion tamer was next to enter my vision, coming from my right. Unlike Samson, this man was quick – he had to be in order to play with the lions – so I veered left and threw myself into a round-off followed by three, rapid-fire back handsprings. I angled my tumbling, creating a half-circle that Wilhelm wasn't expecting, and he got turned around. I'm pretty sure that by the time he found me, I was almost to the exit.

Joey, the security guard, was ahead; he was strong but slow. I raced past both him and Harry the Clown. The second man's hand reached for my shoulder but only grabbed air. There were so many emotions flowing through my body and I was panicking. I'm fast and athletic and now I was scared, angry, confused and – most of all – heartbroken.

Then it was fury that took over. Why? Why was it only my parents that died? They, we, were the headline act of the show! If they had to die, it was only fair that everyone else die, too…right? I was furious with every single other member of the circus, although deep down I think I knew they were blameless. But it wasn't fair: they were alive and my whole world had just crashed to the ground.

The large hole that was the back exit loomed in front of me and I increased my speed. People were yelling my name but I ignored them all. The stars of The Flying Graysons were gone and I couldn't fly by myself. Therefore, I was no longer part of a circus act. I had nothing left, except the costume that was now stained with my parents' blood.

Footsteps; I could hear loud, pounding footsteps all around me. I knew my bare feet would leave prints for them to follow so I dove out of the tent, over the patch of dirt that I knew was back there, and easily rolled up to my feet. I landed in grass and realized that a trail in the grass would be much more difficult to follow in the dark.

I was quickly running out of energy but there was no way I was going to stop. If I stopped, they would find me and for some reason I decided that being found was unacceptable. That thought gave me extra fuel and I began sprinting, straight for the small forest of thick trees that formed a half-circle behind the colorful tents of the circus. But I wouldn't get away if I kept running – I'm definitely not a long distance runner. So, I scampered into the darkness and climbed the first sturdy tree I found. Like I said, I'm fast and athletic. I was in the top branches, completely hidden by large, green leaves, before the first person even arrived at the edge of the trees.

"Dick, Richard, Son, Sweetie, Honey," a plethora of voices were shouting my names and nicknames, searching for me in the darkness. I was an active and, I admit, quite chatty ten-year-old but somehow I kept myself from responding; I didn't even move. I guess I could have been part of the tree, if not for the large, silent tears still streaming down my face.

The voices faded away as the performers took their search farther into the forest. But one man stopped and, in a deep voice that I didn't recognize, quietly choked out an apology.

"I'm so sorry, kiddo. I chose the wrong path, I should have, I couldn't do both. I should have chosen…"

The words trailed off into an indistinguishable mumble that was full of anguish.

WHAT?! I almost screamed the word out loud. What was the choice this man had made and why was it the wrong one? He couldn't do both what? Was he calling me kiddo?

I didn't understand why this man, someone I didn't even know, would be apologizing for something that couldn't be his fault. The man with the green eyes was back in the tent, probably being held down by Mr. Haly. Lots of policemen should have arrived by now and the man – no, the murderer – was most likely in handcuffs. Besides, if he wasn't, why would the guy who had just torn my life to shreds decide to come out and express regret?

So, I remained quiet and sat motionless in the cover of darkness and leaves, allowing a black hole to take up residence in my heart. It would never be whole again; I had nobody to fill it. I was completely alone between two worlds: the one where I had grown up but was no longer useful – because how could a ten-year-old trapeze artist perform by himself? – and a new one that was cold, bitter and entirely foreign.

I knew nothing about this place, this Gotham City, but here I was going to stay. I would stay because my parents would be here, both in body and spirit, and I would stay because they would tell me to make the best of things. I was done with Haly's Circus; Gotham City was my new home and, for my parents, I would make the best of things.

The darkness of the night gave way to the brilliant light of the morning sun. I had been awake all night and I watched the sunrise with weary eyes. I'm sure it was beautiful – I can imagine pinks, reds and oranges blending together and dancing in perfect harmony. But my eyes only saw a pair of smiling faces superimposed over a bloody floor. I stared absently at the leaves around me with that image refusing to leave my mind.

The other members of the circus had called off the search in the early hours of the morning. They had probably slept, at least a little, and would return to find their youngest member – former member, although they didn't know that yet – soon. I assumed they would decide that I couldn't have gone far and would come back to them. Isn't that what any normal ten-year-old would do after such a traumatic experience: return to a familiar place?

However, I wasn't a "normal" ten-year-old. I was a Flying Grayson and would never abandon my parents. There had to be some place in Gotham City where I would be safe and able to begin my training.

Because that's what I had decided to do. I was going to learn how to fight back against the bad guys in this world. Nobody should have to go through what I had just experienced and I vowed to do my best to keep it from happening again. But first I had to train myself how to fight and become stronger. I wouldn't be useful against criminals if I was unprepared and weak. Heroes fought back, I'd heard that from people in the circus, but I wasn't going to be a hero. I was just going to give other children what I would never have – the chance to grow up in a real family. And I was going to do it on my own because who would allow a ten-year-old former aerialist to become a crime-fighter?

I knew, however, that I needed a disguise. I couldn't just go around fighting people as Dick Grayson. Anonymity would be best for both my safety and that of Haly's Circus. If any criminals discovered where I was from, they might go after my former friends.

Glancing down at my red costume, which was much darker than it should be, I decided to alter it in order to become invisible. The sparkling long pants would immediately be seen so they would have to be removed. But that was okay because we all wore sheer tights underneath our green leotards. I had nothing with which to clean the red tunic that covered my leotard and torso. The blood of my dead parents would always remain across my chest, forever reminding me why I was doing what I was about to do.

I needed a name – anonymity for safety. But I had no immediate ideas. What do crime-fighters who want to be invisible call themselves? Ghost? The Invisible Boy? Nothing at all?

Robin.

I heard Mom's voice in my head. She had always called me her "little robin" and it would be another way to honor their memory. I would never truly fly again but at least her little Robin would still exist.

The only thing left was a place to stay. But now voices were calling my name so I made myself as small as possible. They would search today and give up again at night, I was positive about that. The circus had planned to pull out tomorrow and everyone knew they had to stick to their tight schedule. I would leave in the cover of darkness and find a new home.

My stomach growled at me, I hadn't eaten since yesterday at lunch, but I was exhausted and my eyes were begging to be allowed to close. My usually strong body was drained both physically and emotionally so I, Richard John Grayson now Robin, settled into my cozy nest of branches, covered myself with more leaves and went to sleep.

I woke up sweaty and hungry. The sun was leaning west and I heard the familiar sounds of the circus being taken down and packed. They were actually going to leave me here. I thought that, maybe, I would be important enough for them to search for at least another day.

But…isn't this what I wanted? I needed them to leave but a small ache in my chest made me realize that I also needed them to stay. However, I was no longer useful to them; I wasn't worth the time it would take to thoroughly search the surrounding area. I was one-third of The Flying Graysons – the youngest, most inexperienced one who would never be able to pull off a trapeze performance alone. Mom or Dad could, of that I was sure, but not me. I had flown in front of a real audience exactly once and my part required both of my parents to catch me.

My stomach growled loudly and I realized I needed supplies. I would have to return to our…my…trailer that night before leaving. There was food, clothing and a little bit of money – all necessary if I wanted to stay alive.

Darkness came slowly. I waited for the clattering of dishes to stop and the conversations to die down. Then I waited for the tell-tale sounds of metal creaking and soft whispering that meant everyone was bedding down for the night. Then I waited some more, just to be sure, and counted to one thousand.

Everything was sore. Climbing out of the tree was painful and my muscles were stiff from sitting and lying on branches for an entire night and day. But I needed supplies and the circus was the only place to get them.

I carefully and quietly left the safety of the forest. Every small movement caught my attention and made me freeze in anticipation of discovery. It was always the wind, nobody was awake, and I made it to my trailer with no trouble. It was helpful that we had parked on the side closest to the forest.

After softly climbing the steps, I opened the door and walked inside. I half expected to see Mom and Dad asleep in their bed, or sitting up waiting for me to return. Of course they weren't, but there had been a tiny tinge of hope in my heart.

A lion growled and I recognized the need for speed. The biggest blanket was on their bed so I grabbed it and laid it out on the floor. Everything I needed was piled in the middle – two sets of regular clothes, all the food, three bars of soap, and a large, clear bottle for water. I tore off my bright pants and dropped them on my bed. That almost did it; I almost decided to lie down, curl in a ball and cry. Instead, I forced the thoughts away but allowed silent tears to slide down my cheeks and drip onto the floor.

Money; that was the last thing I needed. I went through the entire trailer, grabbing all the money I knew of and then searching every nook and cranny for more. Anything would help, even if it was only a penny. The change would fall out of my already full blanket so I slipped the pillowcase off my pillow and stuffed all the money in there. It was a pretty good stash, my parents had been very thrifty, and I figured it would last for at least six months if I was careful.

Tightly tying the pillowcase into a knot, I placed it on the large pile resting in the middle of the blanket. I pulled the four corners together and tightly tied them, also. I had learned all about knots from our resident magician and I knew I wouldn't have to worry about them coming undone. Taking one last glance around the room, I noticed a small pile of miscellaneous fabric that mom used to make quilts. It was light and could be useful so I grabbed it and shoved it inside the small hole right beside the knot on top.

I grabbed a pair of socks and my tennis shoes and quickly put them on. Running around barefoot would be detrimental to my new career. Finally I was ready. The blanket was heavy but not enough to keep me from slinging it over my shoulder. The weight nearly bent me in half but after a few adjustments I found the perfect spot for it to rest.

I whispered a few words, I don't remember the exact ones, but I know I was saying good-bye. Good-bye to the circus, my friends, my trailer and my…my parents. Someday I would search the cemeteries and find their graves. Maybe when it hurt less, though I doubted that day would ever come. But someday I would find them.

The tears had stopped and I left the trailer. I turned right and my gaze landed on the large poster advertising "The Flying Graysons – the most spectacular aerialists in the world!" The blanket dropped off my shoulder and I fell to my knees. I couldn't stop it this time; quiet sobs wracked my body and I covered my face with my hands. A small puddle of tears turned the dirt underneath me to mud but I didn't care.

A lion growled again, startling me out of my mourning. I jumped to my feet and gently removed the poster from the side of the trailer. Almost reverently, I rolled it up and carefully slid it into the top hole of the blanket. The pack went over my shoulder again and I turned away from the only home I had ever known. It was time to find a new home and time to make the best of things. I could cry when I had a safe place to stay but right now I had to leave before I was discovered.

I whispered a quick "I love you" as I trudged away into the small forest. Gotham City was in the opposite direction but I had to wait for the circus to pull out before I could go that way. Another night in the trees and then on to a new life. I walked away without looking back.