Batman: A Maroon in Midnight Blue (Wattpad Edition)

CH 10.1 With Dick and James

Dear James,

This is a letter that I'd been meaning to write for years. I didn't want to lose touch with you, I didn't want to lose touch with anyone. But I couldn't help it, my life got complicated after my parents died, and I was in a dark place for a long time. By the time I came out, you were gone.

What happened to you, James?

-Richard "No one wants to see ya, Dick" Grayson

I best remember him with a trail of snot running down his nose. Looking back, it was obvious that he was allergic to the animals, but no one really said or did anything about it. Everyone figured that little boys had snot running down their nose all the time. Little boys often ran around laughing at nothing, too, and I James was typical in that regard as well. Sometimes, I'd find myself running with him. Not all the time, though, and I regret that. I played with James enough to be casual friends, but not long enough that our friendship lasted beyond Haly's Circus.

James was always younger than me, and I liked that. It made playing with him easy. The things that fascinated him were far simpler than what fascinated me. He wasn't very demanding, either. He was so happy to have someone that wanted to engage with him that he was willing to do just about anything I recommended. I don't want to overstate how important he was in my life, because the fact is that I forgot about him for years after I left the circus. But still, on the days where I was bored or sad or disappointed with life, playing with James helped me feel better, and I'll always be grateful for that.

"No one wants to see ya, Dick," James would often comment whenever I made my way over to him. He never meant it, though, and he often flashed me the same, toothy grin to confirm that we were still friends. The joke always got a laugh from everyone that heard it, due in no small part to James's young age. None of us had to wonder where he'd picked up the language from, his father and some of the other adults only censored themselves when a paying audience was around.

When I think back to those moments when I'd go to see James, I often remember him handing something to me. I think that was because I often found him with the animals. He liked feeding the elephants, and on more than a few occasions the tamer had to kick the both of us out of the tent for playing too close to the lions.

"My mom liked animals. She wanted to be a zoologist," he would often tell me. He always said it in the past tense. I always wondered about his mother, but at that age I was smart enough not to ask about her directly, but not smart enough to ask indirectly. So I'd change he subject a little.

"Is that what you want to be when you grow up?" I'd ask.

James would always shake his head and then correct me, "No, I want to be—" but he never continued the sentence the same way. The answers often differed, as if his soul weren't yet settled on what or who he was. I remember days where he said he wanted to be president, or a secret agent. Sometimes he'd say that he wanted to be an astronaut so he could see space, or a pilot so he could see the world. James didn't know what he wanted to do, but he knew that he wanted to be somebody.

"What do you want to be," he'd ask after telling me about whatever career was occupying his mind that week.

I'd always shrug my shoulders and look towards wherever my parents were.

"I think I'll just stay in the family business. I'm really good at it, after all."

To prove that point, I'd do a couple flips. And even though he'd seen me perform on a real trapeze dozens of times before, he always clapped and laughed.

I wish I could say that this was a regular experience. Though it was frequent, it was hardly ever regular. I liked James, but he was still four years younger than me. We both still lived in a circus, where we were encouraged to work, and eager to help our parents. We played together infrequently, and there were many days where neither of us even crossed paths. The moments we did have together, though, we cherished as best as we could.

When my mom and dad were murdered, I entered a cycle of obsession. First, I was obsessed with revenge, and later I was obsessed with justice. I let being Robin take over my life until there was little room for Dick Grayson to be his own, independent being. Seeing what that same thing did to Bruce has helped me stop that obsession from getting as bad as it could. I think I've gotten better at juggling these dual identities of mine, but for a long time, anything related to Dick Grayson was a second priority, and anything related to Dick Grayson's life before Batman was fourth.

I was 18 years old when I finally managed to reach a point in my life where I started thinking of catching up with James again. I don't really know what spurred those feelings, I guess the time just finally felt right to reestablish contact. I wrote a letter to C.C. Haly, catching him up on my life since we last talked some months before, and I asked if James and his dad were still around. Haly told me that James and his dad left the circus not long after I did, following a pay dispute during a difficult time for the circus. Despite their disagreement, they ended things on friendly terms, which is why Haly was surprised when Malcolm Byrd stopped calling and writing. According to Haly, two years after I left, James and Malcolm Byrd fell off the face of the earth.

I wish I could say that I put all my hero training and resources to good use to track them down. The truth is that I shrugged and thought "Oh well", then forgot all about James. I wish I'd done more--I should have done more. Maybe if I had, things would have turned out differently. But I was an eighteen year old pessimist then, and figured that if James and Malcolm fell out of contact with Haly, they just didn't want to be bothered. I honestly felt a childish embarassment for even asking about them to begin with--of course they'd moved on with their lives.

After Minstrel revealed he knew my identity, I decided it was time to find out what really happened to James. It didn't take Oracle long to find the whole story. He wasn't living on the streets, he hadn't been in jail, he didn't join the military, and he didn't even join another circus. James Byrd wasn't in some far away state or city, living an anonymous, secluded life. James Byrd was living right in Gotham City with me and Bruce, and he had been here for years.

Continued in Chapter 10.2