Wings

Prologue

The bird...

Mary Grayson ran her delicate fingers several times over the bright red letter R that she had just finished stitching onto her dear son's costume. She smiled down at the letter fondly, soaking in every detail so she would never forget it, and then called her son into the dressing room.

Young Richard Grayson trudged into the room after being called numerous times and plopped himself down in a folding chair. "Yes, Mom?" He sighed, clearly unamused. Mary could only smile as she held up the new costume for her little boy to see, imagining the amazement in the faces of the audience members once they'd see her son show it off at tonight's showing.

The boy cringed a bit and sighed, "Mom...please tell me that R stands for Richard..."

Mary chuckled, "Why of course..."

Richard relaxed a bit.

"...not," she smirked, causing her eight year old boy to roll his sapphire blue eyes. She placed the costume back in her lap and brought her soft hand up to her precious boy's cheek and caressed it lovingly. "You're my little Robin,"  she stated in a soft maternal tone, "And I can't wait to see you fly in this suit tonight."

"Do I have to wear it?" Richard whined boyishly, causing his mother to laugh heartily...and nod firmly.

The bat...

"Where are you guys off to so early?" young Barbara Gordon asked, stumbling out of her bedroom and rubbing her eyes sleepily.

Thelma Gordon grabbed her light brown purse from the hook on the wall and fumbled with its contents. "Out," she replied bluntly.

Roger poured himself another tumbler full of whiskey, downed it, and slammed the cup back onto the counter, which caused Barbara to jump and wake up completely. She held her lavender colored blankie tight in hand and decided to promptly turn around and walk straight back into her bedroom. She pressed her door shut and breathed a sigh of relief. Upon calming herself, she then leaned into the door and listened closely to possibly catch her parents' mystery destination this time.

"Good," her father breathed gruffly, "Let's get a move on, shall we?"

The drunkard's wife huffed in annoyance, "I've been waiting for you, Roger."

Little Barbara Gordon listened intently to their footsteps. The front door opened. The front door slammed.

And Barbara was yet again, home alone.

The light...

"So. This is Gotham..." Mr. Haly drifted, his tone filled with a peculiar wonder, "the city of darkness, crime, and mystery." The circus owner stretched out his hand towards the center of the city, which lay miles away from the little circus lot, as if he were to touch it. A grin played at Haly's lips and he chuckled to himself as he withdrew his hand. "Gotham City—city of disturbing enchantment," he mumbled to himself in amusement.

"Enchantment?" A young voice asked curiously from behind the circus owner, "What kind of enchantment?"

Mr. Haly, who had believed he was overlooking the city alone, was, upon first syllable, startled by the sudden voice. Yet, the owner of Haly's Circus, knowing the young boy's tone all too well, calmed his racing heart and turned around to see, as he had anticipated, the youngest member of the Flying Graysons—Richard.

"Richard Grayson," Mr. Haly laughed, slapping the boy on the back, "You are far too good at catching people off guard."

The boy of eight years laughed sheepishly, "Sorry, Mr. H."