Chapter Text
Sarasota, Florida – Five Years Ago
Clint stood on the platform looking down at the practice ring. The net was up—a requirement for the winter grounds training areas—but it was so far away that Clint inched away from the ledge back to the pole.
“I know you’re not afraid of height,” Dick said, a teasing smile on his eleven-year-old face. He was dressed in his red Flying Graysons unitard, his hands tossing a powder bag between his hands. “What’s wrong?”
“The net is so far down,” Clint said, tugging at the collar of a black and silver unitard. Dick had outgrown it, and while Clint was the same age, he was smaller than his best friend. “What if I hurt myself when I fall?”
“You haven’t anytime you’ve fallen off the tightrope,” Dick pointed out.
“I know. But this is higher.” Clint rubbed his arm.
“Of course, it is. We have to be up high if you want to fly!” Dick unlatched the trapeze from the jumping platform and climbed up the extra distance. “Now I’m going to do it first, and then when I get back, you’ll try. Okay?”
Clint sighed but nodded, his hand signing yes even if he didn’t speak it.
“You ready Dad?” Dick shouted across the distance to where his father waiting, sitting on the other trapeze bar like a swing.
“Of course.” John Grayson said as he started to pump his legs, getting his side of the trapeze in motion. When he was ready, he slid down and hooked his legs into place before letting his arms swing free. “When you’re ready, kiddo.”
“Now, first we’re going to do a simple changeover. You have to time when you jump off this for when Dad is over the platform. That way you both swing to each other at the same time.” Dick jumped off the platform and swung across the air, easily jumping from the bar to his father’s hands.
Clint watched, taking it all in as Dick and his father laughed. They swung back and forth as Dick helped them gain momentum. Then his father tossed him in the air and Dick twisted in the air before grabbing the empty bar and swinging back to Clint, who had a death grip on the powder bag.
“See, easy!”
“For you,” Clint mumbled, throwing the bag at the raven-haired boy.
“And it will be for you too. Trust us.” Dick held out the bar, which Clint took and climbed up on the jumping platform.
“Don’t let go until you’re ready, Clint,” John shouted from across the tent. Clint nodded, then took a deep breath. “There’s a net to catch me. There’s a net to catch me,” he repeated to himself before opening his eyes and jumping.
He swung across the air, screaming as he flew up and let go of the bar. When gravity kicked in, his eyes opened in panic, but a moment later two firm hands gripped his wrists and he was swinging again.
Clint looked up at John, who was smiling. “You did it, Clint. Next time, think you can do it without screaming?”
“Yes!” Clint laughed now, relishing in the feeling of swinging in the air.
“Good. Now, get us some height so you can head back to Dick.”
Clint did so, using his body like a swing until the empty bar was there and John let him go. When his hands landed on it, he grabbed tight and swung back. Dick caught him and when Clint let go, they fell into a pile on the platform, laughing.
“That was awesome!” they said in unison, dissolving into giggles again.
“Clinton Francis Barton!” The boom of Trickshot’s voice reverberated through the tent. Clint crawled to the platform edge and saw his mentor, Buck Chisholm, standing on the ground, arms crossed and glaring up at him. “Get down here now.”
Clint looked back and Dick, sad. “I have to go.”
“Well, if you have to get down, might as well enjoy it.” Dick pulled Clint up, and led him to the edge and turned, his back to the net. Dick then spread his arms and fell backward, laughing as he fell the distance to the net, bouncing back into the air before he tried to get to his knees.
Grinning, Clint followed Dick’s example and dropped, hitting the net. He sent Dick into the air, and they laughed and bounced until the net settled.
“Come on, boys. Don’t leave Mister Chisholm waiting.” Mary Grayson stood at the edge of the net, helping Clint down after Dick flipped off the net gracefully.
“Sorry, Trickshot,” Clint said. “Dick said he’d teach me how to fly.”
“The only thing flying during our training time is your arrows,” Trickshot stated, putting a firm hand on Clint’s shoulder. Clint winced, feeling the bruise under the unitard that was still fading from last week’s training. “You’re already an hour late. You’re lucky I was able to trade practice times with another troupe.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Now let’s get you out of this ridiculous thing and get to work.” Trickshot led Clint out of the tent, but Clint took a quick look over his shoulder to see Dick watching, Mary wrapping her arms around his neck from behind.
Later? Clint fingerspelled, and Dick smiled and nodded.
Gotham City – Now
The circus tent faded away as sunlight hit Clint’s eyelids. He groaned, fighting he way back to the land of the living. It was too bright, and he squinted, trying to open his eyes and see where he was.
“I believe the young master is waking up,” a strange voice with a British accent spoke.
Wait… spoke?
He reached up with his left hand to touch his ear, relieved to find a hearing aid resting there. A hand gently took his, squeezing it.
“Hey, Clint. I’m here.” Clint recognized Dick’s voice and turned to face him. His eyes were adjusting, so he opened them wider to take in his best friend.
“Give him a minute to get his bearings, Dick,” another voice—Dick’s foster father Bruce Wayne—spoke from somewhere in the room. “He’s been out for a while now.”
A while? Clint let his eyes drag away from Dick to take in the room. The ceiling was different, which was an immediate clue that Clint wasn’t in the same room he had fallen asleep in. His eyes went to find the dry erase board, and what he saw had him panicking.
He had lost four weeks. He was in a different hospital, in a new city—Gotham City—and Dr. Signora’s name was replaced with a Dr. Thompkins.
“Hey, Clint, breathe,” Dick said, squeezing Clint’s hand.
“Why is it four weeks later?” Clint asked, panting.
Dick looked at Bruce, who nodded and left the room. Dick focused back on Clint. “You had a seizure, but Doctor Signora was able to stop it. You’re okay now.”
Clint nodded, then looked down at his body. The casts were still there, but they looked different. “Something else happened,” Clint stated.
“Yeah. Bruce gave the okay for you to have the non-emergency surgeries you needed. That’s why you were out so long.” Dick explained. “He wanted you to only have to recover once, instead of spreading multiple surgeries over months.”
“Oh.” Clint swallowed, taking a deep breath. “Okay. That makes sense… I think?”
“Well, you’re no longer at risk of being paralyzed or dealing with debilitating injuries,” Dick explained. “You’re going to set off every metal detector you get within three feet of, but that’s just temporary.”
“Precisely.” Dr. Leslie Thompkins entered the room with Bruce, and a third man—Alfred, Clint’s memories spat out—closed the door and stepped off to the side. “Hello, Clint,” Leslie moved to Dick’s side, a smile on her face. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Dick has talked my ear off about your childhood antics.”
Clint looked at his best friend who blushed and suddenly was very interested in what was happening outside the window. “Nothing too bad, I hope,” Clint said, amused.
“He stuck to the good stories.” Leslie looked up at the monitors. “Can you tell me how much pain you’re in right now?”
“Um…” Clint had to think about it because he felt something, but he wasn’t sure if it was pain or not. “I don’t know. I think my head is still clouded.”
Leslie nodded, making a note in the chart she was holding. “Well, you are coherent, so I don’t think it’s the drugs as much as having given time for everything inside you to heal. Can you wiggle your fingers and toes for me?”
Clint did so, realizing that his hand and feet didn’t ripple with pain at the movement. “No pain.”
“Wonderful.” She pulled out a penlight and checked his eyes and mouth. “I’m going to take off your hearing aids, one at a time, and put them back on when I’m done, ok?” Clint nodded, and she examined his ears. “I don’t see any signs of damage from your seizure. If you weren’t still a pile of healing bones, I’d give you a clean bill of health.”
“Does that mean we can have him transferred back to the Manor?” Bruce asked.
Leslie nodded. “I can sign off on that, but I will expect progress reports.”
“I will be certain to remind Master Bruce to submit them in a timely manner,” Alfred replied.
“Which means Alfred will write them and forge Bruce’s signature,” Dick said before Bruce’s hand went on Dick’s shoulder, silencing him.
“We have been preparing a room for him where he will be able to relax, and I’ve invested in some therapeutic equipment to help with his recovery,” Bruce added.
“No rushing him into physical activity,” Leslie stated, looking Bruce in the eye. “I don’t want to fix things the other hospital already repaired. He’ll start therapy when I say so.”
Bruce held up his hands in surrender as Dick snorted in amusement.
Leslie sighed. “Also, Clint is severely malnourished for a young man his age. Alfred, I will give you a meal plan to build up his caloric intake slowly as he adjusts back to real food.”
Clint didn’t say anything, because he never got enough food, so he wasn’t sure what to do with this but just let the doctor give Alfred orders. “And what do I have to do?” Clint asked.
“You, my dear boy, are going to relax and let these three gentlemen answer your beck and call until you’re able to stand on your own two feet.” Leslie winked at Clint. “And if they say differently, you just tell me, and I’ll set them straight.”
Leslie tugged on Alfred and Bruce’s sleeves to follow her out into the hallway. Dick closed the door and started laughing. Clint joined him, then coughed a bit. “No, stop, it hurts to breathe.”
“Sorry.” Dick put down one of the guardrails and hopped up on the bed. “So, you’re going to come live with me for a while. Think you can handle that?”
“Pssh, having you at my beck and call? I’m going to enjoy every minute of it!”
“Honestly, it’ll be Alfred doing most of the work. I’ll be back at school during the days, and Bruce and Alfred are strict on my homework and night activities.”
“Night activities?” Clint asked.
“Yeah. Working on my aikido and doing gymnastics. Bruce thinks I could try out for the Olympics, but I’m just happy with my mad flying skills.”
“Once I’m out of these things, I can join you.” Clint lifted his cast-free arm and rotated his shoulder. “At least I have one limb free.”
“Technically two, but they cast the other leg to give better conditions for your hips to heal.” Dick slid a sharpie out of his sleeve and uncapped it. “Doctor Thompkins thinks your bones will be healed enough to remove the pins and plates in another month.”
“And using them?” Clint tried to look at what Dick was doodling on his leg.
“Depends on how much they healed under the plates,” Dick said with a shrug, focusing on his drawing. “You’re going to have pale, skinny legs when they take these off.”
“I already have pale and skinny legs. What are you doing?” Clint felt his neck straining and gave up trying to look. “You better not be drawing a penis on my leg.”
Dick looked up and grinned. “I wasn’t, but now I will.”
“I hate you,” Clint groaned.
Capping his sharpie, Dick admired his work. “I drew a bow and arrow for you.”
Clint sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “You think I’ll be able to use it again?”
“Of course,” Dick said with certainty. “Bruce is a drill sergeant when it comes to physical activity. If you want to get back your bow strength, you tell him, and he’ll come up with an entire plan to rebuild those muscles. You’ll be in pain and crying for it, but he will get you there.”
“That’s good. I guess?”
Dick nodded. “The bedroom they gave you is right next to mine. There may be a secret door between them, but I’m not certain. I do know that I can climb out my window and to your ledge to climb in.”
“Instead of just using the door?”
“Of course.” Dick grinned. “It’s more fun that way.”
Bruce opened the door and reentered, closing it behind him. “I sent Alfred home so that he can prepare for Clint’s arrival. Leslie’s getting us transport.”
“Thank you,” Clint said. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
“I wanted to.” Bruce looked at Dick’s drawing and smiled. “I do have something to tell you before we leave here, so you are aware of certain things.”
Dick looked up at Bruce, squinting his eyes. Clint noticed it and stiffened a bit. “Like what?”
Bruce shook his head at Dick, then made Dick stand so he could sit next to Clint. “While you were unconscious, Dick gave me a background on what kind of life you’ve had.” Clint shifted uncomfortably at that, but Bruce continued, “but in order to get you transferred here, I needed to be able to make these decisions for you.”
“So what, I’m your ward now too?” Clint asked.
“Not exactly.” Bruce took a deep breath. The only way I was able to get you out of Nebraska’s juvenile system was to adopt you.”
Clint’s eyes widened. “You did what?”
“It was a life or death situation, Clint,” Dick explained. “I didn’t want you to die.”
“You’re less than two years from turning eighteen, so I felt it would work for the immediate need, and if you desired not to stay adopted next year, you could file for emancipation.” Bruce shrugged. “It was that or you entered child services, and Dick agreed this was the better of two choices.”
Clint turned his head to look at the dry erase board. He didn’t want a father. His own was a drunkard with a temper that left too many scars on Clint. The foster families weren’t much better, and even with Jacques, he had no experience with stellar parenting.
But Dick had lived here for four years now, and except for the typical father-son tiffs that Clint heard on the phone when Dick wanted to vent, Bruce had treated Dick well. Maybe he could give Bruce a chance as well.
“Okay,” Clint said softly, nodding as he looked back at Bruce and Dick. “But I’m not calling you Daddy.”
Dick burst out laughing, slapping his hands over his mouth to muffle himself. Bruce chuckled as well. “I appreciate that. The adoption, legally, is a sealed file and not public knowledge. You don’t have to acknowledge it at all, and in some ways, that may be for the best.”
“Let me guess, it’ll keep me from getting kidnapped?”
“That, and a few other things. On the plus side—you and Dick are now officially brothers.”
Dick beamed. “Not that was ever going to change.”
“Does this also mean I get your money if you die?” Clint asked.
Bruce laughed. “Legally, yes. As of now, you’re my heir. Though I’d hope you’d at least take care of Dick and Alfred.”
“Alfred, sure.” Clint looked at Dick and smirked. “I might make Dick beg a little.”
Elephant butt, Dick signed with a frown, and Clint just laughed.
Bruce smiled at both of them, then stood as Leslie entered with a small team of people. “Alright, you two in the hallway while we get Clint wrapped up for the ride.”
“Can I ride in the ambulance with him?” Dick asked.
“We’ll see.” She shooed the billionaire and his ward out and faced Clint. “Alright, kiddo. I’m going to give you a shot of morphine so that you don’t feel any pain during the trip. Feel free to sleep.”
“When I’m healed, I don’t think I’m going to sleep for weeks,” Clint said as he watched Leslie press the morphine button on his bed.
“Knowing how little sleep Dick gets, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Clint wanted to ask what she meant by that, but his eyes fluttered shut and he was asleep almost immediately.