My birthday was the 22nd so I felt a birthday fic was necessary! Forgive me if the math is wrong. This was something quickly tossed up. I hope you guys like it anyway. I'm hoping it's a cute idea.

Disclaimer: I don't own Young Justice or the related characters.

The square root of 388x2yz. Dick drummed his pencil quick in the air in front of his lips, eyes flitting impatiently about as his mind filtered the numbers through. He could do this one without the calculator. 388 by two was 194. Was that a perfect square? Fourteen twice… no, that was 196. Two off. 388 by three wasn't whole. By four then? No, 97 wasn't going to work either. Five was out of the question, and seven was just a few decimals from it. He went all the way up to twenty three with an aggravated growl beneath on his lips, knotting his fingers in his hairs before it seemed to hit him.

Four was a perfect square. 97 would work just fine. 97 and four, an x and an x, y and a z. Take out the squares and he'd have 2x with 97yz under the radical. He scrawled the answer in under the problem and chastised himself for not coming up with that answer sooner. It was so easy! There was a talk for Batman in the future already formulating in his mind in regards to cutting school night practices shorter.

Alright, next problem. 2z with 964x³z²m under the radical. Oh great. Numbers outside the radical. He could barely sit up straight and breathe, let alone remember what he was supposed to do with those. It would make sense to multiply what he moves out, but adding made a lot of sense right there too. And what about the variables? Would a z and a z multiply to just be z or would that be a z²? Could he have one of those outside the radical or would he have to break it down and move the extras back inside? Maybe he was over thinking this. Babs would know.

Just as he reached for the phone to his left, a brief knock to the door drew his head up and he smiled at his entering guardian. Bruce easily returned the smile, tilting his head a bit to see what his ward was working on and walked over to gingerly sit on the bed's edge.

"What are you working on?" the man casually asked, now studying the homework with his closer range, trying to read the sideways letters.

The younger ebony put his pencil down and propped his head up with one hand, nails lightly skimming against his head.

"Trying to work on, you mean," he sighed with a little laugh, pushing the paper away like it was a bad dish, "Just some radicals. Trying to remember how to do some of it. My brain's still set on defense."

Bruce smiled sheepishly at that, standing up and crouching beside the ebony, picking up his paper and looking at the problem.

"Maybe I can help. It's been a while, but I was always pretty good at math," he offered, slipping the paper back into the lazily outstretched fingers.

Dick gratefully shrugged with a gentle yawn, shaking his head strong to try and lose the exhaustion that wanted to drag him under delicately.

"I'll believe it when I see it," he scoots over in the chair and sets his pencil down on the paper, eyes going from his guardian's face to the paper when Bruce took the empty space on the chair beside him.

The features morphed into a look that was common on Batman's face when he was making plans for getting the younger team into buildings and setting up undercover ops. It was a protective sort of formulative narrowization of his eyes and a twitch joining his frown as his gaze grazed the paper and left its thoughts harsh in the touch like bruises. Ten seconds. The paper was set down.

"Alright, first step, you have to break 964 down. Can you do that?"

Dick looked again and nodded.

"Yeah, uh, four goes into it, right? 241 and four," he watched for Bruce's nod and smiled when he got it, "and the x cubes breaks down into a squared and a singular. You take out the four as a two, the x squared as a single and the z squared as a single. The 241, m and leftover x stay."

Bruce nodded again, a proud smile on his face as he watched Dick write out his work, pausing now with all the numbers cluttered in front of the radical.

"And now, you have to combine like terms. What's two times two?" a warm left his lips at the glare he earned and he went on, "Right, and the x's… I'd say take it to x squared. You're multiplying them after all. The z just tags on."

Dick penciled that all in with a relieved sort of grin, touching his temple to Bruce's shoulder as a silent thanks before he voiced an actual one. The man nodded and stood to his feet before heading for the door.

"You came up here for a reason," his ward called him out and he turned on heel with a hand tenderly to his neck.

He could've played innocent and asked if it was a crime for a man to come up and check in on his son, but he knew he hadn't the right yet to call Dick his son. He wasn't that lucky.

"Yeah… I wanted to know what you wanted for your birthday this year," he managed out awkwardly, still not the best with things like this.

Family wasn't his forte, to say the least. Dick paused at the words, eyebrows furrowing before he turned his gaze back down to his desk.

"Actually… no, no, it's dumb," he murmured under his breath, lips furrowing down into a hard thinking frown.

"Anything you want, I'll try and make it happen. Come on, don't be shy," Bruce urged, just barely having caught the quiet words.

There was a comfortable silence, something the two shared like the sisters did their traveling pants, before Dick managed out what he had been tempted to say.

"I've… I've been… feeling… homesick recently…" he started, tensing as he noticed the flicker in his guardian's face, "for the circus, not my parents. I mean… of course I miss them, miss them to death, but you're a great repla-… er, you're great, alright? I didn't mean it like that. I just miss the circus. I haven't heard from Jack since our undercover op to their worldwide tour, I haven't seen Zitka since she was just a baby… it'd be nice to see everyone again, or hear from them… anything like that."

The silence came back and Dick studied Bruce's face carefully, fingers lacing tightly around the rungs in his chair as the eyebrows knotted up and the frown seemed to be defined. He wasn't sure how to feel about this face. He wasn't sure how to feel in general.

"Never mind, just forget it. There's that new game coming out for Xbox, looked pretty nice," the ebony grew anxious after a while and let slip, fingers taut enough to turn his knuckles white.

Bruce raised his head and met the blue gaze with his darker one and shook his head, swallowing and offering an assuring smile to his ward.

"Homesick for the circus. I'll see what I can do," he kept for the door until he stepped from the frame, "Good luck with your homework."

Navy eyes flit back to the paper in front of them, but the words were Enochian to him and nothing seemed quite to translate without the curiosity of his thoughts sweeping in. How was Bruce going to take away his homesickness? Haly's Circus didn't tour near Gotham for another few months. He had two weeks.

Dick had honestly forgotten about Bruce's promise until he got off school on the Tuesday before his birthday, jogging lazily up the stairs with a nod to Alfred only to find a giant dresser in the middle of his room.

When he saw it, he didn't say a word at first. That was probably because he wasn't exactly sure it was even real. A gentle stroke along the seemingly Neem surface confirmed that it was, probing him to drop to a crouch and closely study the intricate designs carved up the sides. Besides the simple three drawers with their respectable knobs, there were a series of swirls and curves worked into the dark wood. One of the swirls looked suspiciously like a G.

The hand that had stroked the top now traced out the patterns with a sudden interest, trying to find meaning in them that might help as to say why there was a giant random dresser in the middle of his room. It wasn't until he straightened up to his feet that Bruce walked in with an explanation hidden in his features. The creak of his shoes on the hardwood alerted the fourteen year old of his guardian's entry and he turned with a welcoming smile.

"Hey, Bruce," he stepped close as if he had been about to go and hug the man, stopping himself before he actually managed to. "Want to explain to me why there's a giant dresser in the middle of the room?"

The man had a chuckle to his lips and he stayed back, leaning against the doorframe with his arms over his chest and a small smirk.

"Why don't you investigate and tell me why there's a giant dresser in the middle of your room?"

Dick rolled his eyes with a frustrated groan, but he looked the furniture over nonetheless. Maybe the secret was inside the drawers? It wasn't like there was anything else on the top for him to 'investigate'. When he grabbed the first drawer's handle, he saw Bruce's smirk widen so he gained some confidence and opened it out to the point he could see the back and sides as well as the bottom. His eyes couldn't leave the bottom.

The drawer was completely and utterly empty, that was without a doubt, but there was still something in it. Messages. Written on the bottom were little notes scrawled in Sharpie, mostly blacks and reds, and all were signed with a dash and a name. Curious, he moved the drawer to the top of the dresser where it was closer to the light and read just the names.

Jack. Raya. Zane. Raymond. Bryan. Jacques. Joey. Samson. Pedro. Wilhelm.

It took him a minute too long to place the names, and when he did, the curiosity in his features faded back to pure awe, his smile just a ghost with his eyes wide.

"No…" he whispered, his smile slightly strengthening until it was visible, his fingers gripping the drawer until his knuckles were white.

A swarm of what could only be butterflies shot up his muscular frame and he had to shut the door to keep from giggling with excitement, his hands covering his face to try and muffle what he considered to be an embarrassing amount of happiness. To stall the feelings, he opened the next drawer and nearly let out a sob.

Inside was a fabric, neatly folded, that he couldn't rip out of the drawer quite fast enough. Fumbling fingers tripped in their desperate attempt to lay the heavy material out over his bed, surprised to find it almost big enough to serve as a comforter. It wasn't the size that had the tears burning bruisingly in his eyes; rather, the large red and white stripes, frayed at the edge where they had been sewn—probably cut from the original circus tent that he had grown up in from the way a black dust had faded the white to a more creamy color.

The still fumbling fingers ran wide with a tremor as they skimmed down the fabric, the smile swelling over the ebony's lips now beginning to twitch with every tear more to join the rims of his eyes. Every ounce of his being made him want to gather the thick leather-feeling vinyl up in his arms and hug it tight to his chest like a teddy bear. He settled for grabbing a fist full of it with a shuddery gasp and a grin, looking at Bruce with disbelief in his features, rushing back to the drawer to find a white note slipped there underneath where the fabric had been. His fingers trembled as he raised it to where he could read it.

Hey there, elephant boy. You're smart—tell me, what is that? That fabric there? Yeah, that is from the tent. We had to upgrade to the fireproof vinyl instead of the regular stuff and they were going to trash it. I saved you a bit. I was hoping to give it to you in person, but this will have to do. The circus carries you and your folks around with it; might as well return the favor. We all miss you down here. Try talking your rich daddy there into flying you up to one of our shows. We always save you a slot before Raymond goes on. Some newbies tried negotiating it out, but we're never going to take it out. You're always welcome back home.
Love from the circus,
-Bryan

Dick had to set the note down to keep from getting his tears on it, scrubbing furiously at them with tiny hiccups of sobs, his whole frame shaking with the biggest grin over his lips.

You're always welcome back home stuck in his head like a flesh wound and it wouldn't be undone no matter how many surgeries were applied to try and cover it.

He turned, the butt of his palm pressed to his mouth to keep from sobbing, and looked to Bruce with the happiest grin, stepping close as if to hug him. The man was grinning hard enough to light a room, but he gestured with his hand for Dick to open the last drawer. The ebony couldn't drop to his knees quite fast enough.

When he wrenched it open, the grin faded off to an open-mouthed look of awe, blinking a solid tear down to the floor where it sailed without touching his cheek. A definitely shaking hand reached out and picked up the contents of the drawer. Two tickets. Haly's International Traveling Circus, North American tour. From the dates on the back, they'd be passing by Manhattan in three days. Just the city name had him putting the tickets down with a bubbly laugh and scrubbing the wetness from his cheeks.

"What's so funny?" Bruce leaned back against the door frame and raised an eyebrow, giving Alfred a discrete thumbs up that he could see from his spot in the hall.

Pushing his black locks up from his forehead, the teen cracked a grin again with another laugh.

"Manhattan. My first show," he murmured happily, licking at a rut in his lips delicately and turning his eyes back to the drawer.

Just the tickets had been in there, enough to make his heart throb, but the ebony knew there had to be more in there. The drawer was three inches too short; three inches too obvious. It didn't take long to find a crack he used to wedge the fake bottom away, setting it on the floor and nervously looking back inside.

To Bruce's surprise, the teen covered his eyes and frantically scooted back from the door, closing it with his toes and holding his knees to his chest for a good minute of silence. It genuinely scared the man enough to the point he awkwardly waltzed over and peeked down into the drawer to make sure that they hadn't gone ahead with the costume plan. He sighed in relief when he saw that it was just the pictures.

"Dick?" he turned his worry back down to his ward, kneeling down to touch a hand to his shoulder.

Before he could touch down his palm, the fourteen year old lunged up and tackled Bruce back in what had to be a hug with how he latched on even as the man recovered. Small sobs were contained, the younger of the two not wanting to get his guardian's shoulders wet, until Bruce gently returned the hug.

"Thank you," the word was whispered out like a mantra, to the point the two syllables rang wild in the billionaire's ears, but he never asked them to stop.

Instead, he just laughed softly and straightened up, pulling the ebony to his feet with him.

"I told you: anything," he casually shrugged it off, easing off when Dick pulled back with a small, happy sniffle. "I think you should give those pictures a chance really quick. Finish looking though."

Dick raised an eyebrow suspiciously with a small smile as he sank back to his knees by the drawer and started rifling through the pictures. They weren't very old, 2006, but it was the contents that stretched his grin widely. They were back when he was nine, stuffed into that uncomfortable suit of his, working alongside the beautiful cast he had come to call family. The trainers, the acrobats, the animals and the ringmaster all crowded tight around him and his parents looked so natural now, as if they had been actual blood.

Some pictures were spontaneous, frozen in those beautiful expressions he had thought he'd never see again. The way his mom's lips would twitch when she'd talk with his dad in Romanian to keep him from understanding because she knew how much it bothered him. The arch in his father's brow when he had a trick in mind. The gape of their guffaws in genuine glee. The old circus tent stretched high with hands held and arms linked and around each other tightly. Gentle kisses, faces that made him giggle into his hands despite the heavy tears.

He was holding his family in his hands.

His memories.

One by one, he set them back in the drawer until he was holding just one on the palm of his hand, careful not to crease the edges, staring with a soft gaze as if he was afraid one of intent focus might burn through the picture. With what could only be described as homesickness, the ebony gently traced over his parents' faces with his index finger, a smile twitching over his lips. It felt like a lifetime ago that they had been there, smiling down at him with the love only a parent could give.

He had honestly began forgetting them, piece-by-piece. The first few months after their murder, he could still hear their voices in his head. Now, all he knew was that his father had a warm baritone voice with a chuckle always on the edge and that his mother was relatively deep for a woman with a trill on her lips. Even something as simple as their faces had began to blur in his mind. Colors were easy—brown, blue and tan. The rest would fade off and frustrate him to no end.

Now, he could replace every detail. His mother's messy ponytail draped over her shoulder, her big blue shirt nearly completely covering up her shorts as she had both arms wrapped around his father. His hair was slicked back as it always had, his smile going straight through to thick dimples, a muscle shirt showcasing his 'guns' with his green shorts that he wouldn't leave the trailer without. In his father's arms and just barely under his mother's kiss, he recognized himself wrapped in a big green blanket with a mess of hair that covered everything but his big blue eyes. He couldn't have been older than three.

A small chuckle left his lips and he touched it back too, covering his face and taking a shuddery breath before replacing the false bottom and weakly crawling to his feet. The first drawer was opened again, back to the sharpie scrawled messages.

It's hard to believe you're this old already, Dicky. When anyone brings you up, all I can think of is that little toddler with girl hair and shirts that went past his knees, tripping over empty air. You used to climb over everything and when you'd fall, we'd all gasp, but you'd just giggle. It was a gift to see you again, after all these years. You should make a habit of it. When I announce the acrobats, I always try to introduce your family and I have to stop myself. Every show. I'm sure Bryan mentioned it, how we always leave the spot open for you? If any day you want to take us up on that, just show up one day. We'll set you up with some acrobats and you can own the sky again, like old times. You know sentiment isn't my thing, but we all miss you. Just a quick visit now and then? Free tickets for our little robin. Or was it flying squirrel? We can get you a new costume, if you'd like. The old ones are still up on display though.
See you 'round, kiddo,
-Jack

Dick bit his grin happily, hands in shaky fists that he soon unfurled and set to the drawer's edges while his head turned skyward. Soft murmurs, inaudible to Bruce, left his moving lips and he just smiled at the ceiling until he seemed to get what he wanted and set his eyes back down again to the text scrawled out over the wood. Each message had him chuckling through his tears, finishing with Raya's and closing the drawer softly. Even then, he wouldn't say a word, just holding eye contact with the dresser's flat.

"They all were pretty enthusiastic about you performing in their show, Dick. Interested?" Bruce asked softly as the teen started to straighten up with the softest of smiles.

The ebony looked over at him with a look that easily cast out an 'are-you-kidding-me?' before he grinned and tousled his own hair with a gentle touch.

"You'll have to drag me off that bar, Bruce."

Want a second chapter where he goes off to the circus to see them all or should I just end it here for your imaginations to play with the idea? Review if you'd like. If you don't want to, no biggie. I'm as lazy as they come when it comes to reading fics. I'll review some, but lazy days come by and I just read and leave. It's easier.

-F.J. III