Dick gave himself a mission.

He has started to observe Batman - his thought process, his research methods, and his social skills.

Even when the room is pitch black, Batman never switches on a lamp. He prefers the dark, as Talons do. However, Batman does not use the darkness for disguise, but for contemplation. Dick finds himself unable to keep up with the myriad of ways used by Batman to dig up secrets about the Court. He finds himself admiring the man's perseverance and intelligence.

And as for interactions with other people, Batman has two sets of rules.

Under Alfred's careful care, the emaciated man slowly recovered to the Dark Knight, his eyes once again piercing. His lips are made for smiling, and yet he never does when donning the cowl.

But as Bruce Wayne, his alter ego, he turns into the man Dick only knows as the playboy he'd seen on television. When Dick was still roaming the streets, he'd heard about the man who only knows how to fool around and lavish expensive gifts on his many lovers. He and Jason had even cursed him for his decadent lifestyle.

The Bruce Wayne on TV is loved by everyone, the Prince of Gotham. He always wears a smiling mask, and trades witty banter with similarly affluent guests at a string of meaningless parties.

But when he dons the cowl, he becomes the night itself, and the nightmare to all criminals. He presses his lips to a thin line as he surveys his city from his perch; a gargoyle.

The Batman Dick knows is a cold and calculating creature with formidable will. He's someone misunderstood by masses and yet continues down the path he'd decided for himself. Even when immersed in darkness, he never negotiates. No matter how severe of a crime, he never deals out his own justice.

Why? They deserve to die.

"He once said, only the law has the right to decide whether someone is guilty or not, and what punishment should be given," Tim explains to him.

The Robin had slightly warmed to Dick after that exchange on the dinner table, yet remained wary. That is, until the night Dick saved him from an attacking Talon. Tim was grateful, and finally accepted this informal newest member of the family - but still suspicious of Jason.

"He's Bruce Wayne. Very different from what I had imagined." Dick says, playing with a batarang.

It's not the first time Tim had heard such an assessment. "It's his disguise. No one would ever suspect that Bruce Wayne could be Batman," he says as he prepares his equipment.

"Even without it, I doubt anyone would suspect Bruce Wayne." Dick's brows furrow in confusion. "What kind of person do you think he is?"

"Hm..." Tim stops. "I've never met anymore more stubborn than he. He's like a tape measure - always gauging out the perfect distance from others. He's hard to get close to, and very strict. Anyway, he's nothing like on TV."

"What I was asking is what kind of personality? Hobbies? Likes?"

That stumps Tim. "I think he only likes Gotham. Maybe justice and the law."

"What about Bruce?"

"Champagne, pretty women, and everything fun? Perhaps. I've never quite paid that much attention to that version of B." Tim said. "It's not the real him."

Thinking back to his own self, Dick suggests: "Maybe he's both. Batman. Bruce. Together they make Bruce Wayne."

Tim jumps, as if startled by the theory. "That's impossible."

The conversation stops there, much to Dick's dissatisfaction. He does not understand why he needed to ask, for he and Jason no longer needed such information on Batman - they are no longer Talons.

But he could not control his curiosity. How on earth is Batman able to control himself, to never cross that final line.

When they'd became Talons, even before the brainwashing, they'd already started killing - if only to protect each other.

But that doesn't make what they did right.

Rather than protecting each other, they were adding to each other's sins, caking their hands with blood - becoming killers and defending their actions for the purpose of survival.

Since freeing himself from the control, Dick has never forgiven himself for this. Sometimes, life is not worth living, and not what's most important.

A few weeks later, Batman finally emerges from his room and steps food into the Batcave. The Robins hesitate in spite of their surprise,  wanting to ask about his condition but not sure how. Instead they shuffled where they stood, pretending to work on whatever task they'd been doing in hopes that Bruce would speak to them first.

Jason spares him only one glance before returning his attention to his book borrowed from Alfred. Sprawled across the chair, he continues his thousandth re-read of Pride and Prejudice.

Bruce lifts his head towards the T-Rex: "Richard, I need you to come with me."

Robin stares in disbelief, unable to control himself. Tim only just manages to hold him back, but is unable to suppress his protests. "Father, why Grayson? He's an outsider!"

Bruce ignores Damian as he continues to watch the T-Rex. Comparatively, Tim is calm as he leans towards the mortified Damian. "This is to test Dick."

Damian calms somewhat, but his cheeks still puffed in annoyance as he crosses his arms.

Dick's head emerges from between the T-Rex's teeth. He glances in confusion at Batman, and then at others, until at last he can ignore the lingering order no longer. He lands lightly on his feet in front of Batman.

"Why me?"

Dick glances at Jason, who is still immersed in his own world. Since coming back with Damian, Jason has been given more freedom to move about the Manor. But he seems to hold no interest in life above the ground, preferring instead to remain in his tiny cell or within the Batcave, like now.

Their wardens don't seem to care where they go either, confident that they'll always be able to find them.

Bruce turns abruptly, not answering the question. "Come."

"Do I need weapons?" Dick follows, curious.

"No."

The cave falls silent as they leaves. Damian, still annoyed, jumps onto the table and crosses his legs. "Why does he always do this?! He never tells us anything!"

"Relax. We might have a new member soon." Tim rubs Damian's spiky hair, as if comforting an angry porcupine. "Maybe even two."

Damian turns his attention to Jason, who appears apathetic towards what has just transpired. His green eyes, however, flashed from between the book pages.

Batman's first stop is an explosion site at downtown. About one month ago, a four-story building suddenly exploded, killing dozens. The media crowed at the damage done, demanding to know where Batman was when it'd happened.

Dick surveys the area, realizing the limited information the newspaper chose to gloss over. Dark red tiles scattered everywhere, mixed with broken glass and crumbled concrete. They glittered under the vestiges of sunlight. The scene has not yet been cleaned up, with the rubble crowding out half of the narrow street. Scraps of possessions had mixed with dead leaves, and blood traces not yet removed by the rain.

A few people dug in the rubble for anything of value. Dick stoops to look at an abandoned stuffed toy - a pink elephant with it's trunk extended. It'd have been cute if clean. Pity now it's only garbage.

Batman scans the rubble, and then starts digging. Within minutes, he straightens, a small knife glittering in his palm. A gold coin had been carved onto the handle, the face of an owl imprinted on its surface.

Of course Dick recognizes the knife - he has a few just like it in his pockets. "Did Talons do this?"

"At the time I was tailing the Talon that tried to assassinate me and my friend. We found his base here." Batman puts the blade into his pocket. "I didn't expect it to be a trap. Then the explosion."

Batman is without his armour, his tailored suits. With only old clothes and the fatigue between his brows, he fits in perfectly with the surroundings.

Dick does not know what to say. For the purpose of capturing Batman, the Court is willing to bring down an entire apartment building. He could not help but ask himself if he'd done similar things.

Batman takes him to subsequent crime scenes, examining the evidence. He does not ask Dick for his opinions, only questioning about the methods of Talons when absolutely necessary.

It discomforts him, making him feel as if the guilt of these crimes have been added to him. He is in no position to defend himself, or to apologize. His heart sank, his legs leaden.

That was when he sees the circus.

He recognizes it immediately. It's his parents' home - his home. Haley's Circus.

Dick grabs Batman by his clothes, pointing desperately at the dusty tents. "Can we go there?"

Batman nods, understanding.

It's mid-autumn, a time when it's most windy in Gotham. Only stragglers are in the circus, and students skipping class. They peruse the exhibits, but rarely spends any money. Dick follows the crowd, trying to relive his memories amongst the dusty old tents.

At the fortune-tellers', he realizes that the Roma woman he had known had been switched for someone younger, sexier. The performers at the human exhibits aren't people he'd known either. Even when the objects are still the same - he even found the graffiti he'd done as a child - the familiar people had gone.

Everything is old, yet new.

If there's one thing still of comfort, it's that the poster of the Flying Graysons remained on the billboard - as if to tell visitors about an indisputable legend.

Batman has vanished, but Dick doesn't mind. He prefers it, in fact.

He sneaks into the performer's tent, just in time to see the trapeze artists rehearse. Two men and a woman flip through the hair, turning, twisting, bringing the heart of anyone who watches to a halt. Good thing a safety net has been stretched out beneath them.

But Dick knows that when the performance starts at night, the net will vanish, as does any safety ropes.

His mother's panicked face flashes before him - his body suddenly falling - his entire family was falling from a height even greater than that of this tent - a sensation heavier than a boulder rolling off of a cliff.

"Hey, this isn't open to the public." A girl reaches out to pat his shoulder.

Before she could make contact, Dick turns and grabs the calloused hand. He only just manages to control himself not to snap that arm.

The girl jumps, and then laughs. "Fast reflexes."

Dick doesn't know what to say, and only smiles.

The red haired girl is short, only to his shoulder. She's dressed in the tight silver costume of the trapeze artists, her slim body made for wrapping around the ropes in midair. A splatter of freckles livened her face, suggesting a person who can't sit still for any moment. She reminds him of his old friend Layla.

She freezes, staring at him, even touching his face for one moment. "Dick? Are you Dick?"