The spotlight shimmered off the bright colors of the trapeze as the boy soared through the air, limbs tucked with perfect precision. Gasps and cheers filled the tent as he landed on the platform with effortless grace, arms raised in triumph. Below, in the crowded seats of Haly’s Circus, a small boy no older than four sat in wide-eyed awe, clutching a cotton candy bigger than his head. His tiny legs dangled off the edge of the folding seat, bouncing with excitement.

“Mommy, look!” the boy squeaked, pointing at the acrobat. “He flies!”

That night, after the show, the boy insisted on waiting in line to meet him—the Flying Grayson who wasn’t quite a teenager yet, but already carried himself like someone who belonged in the sky. When it was their turn, the older boy knelt beside him with a warm smile and ruffled his hair. “You want to be in the circus too someday?” he’d teased.

The younger one had just nodded, starstruck. They took a picture together—Dick Grayson with his showman’s grin, and little Tim Drake, eyes bright and awe-struck, hugging a signed program to his chest. He kept the photo hidden for years, tucked away in a place even Bruce Wayne would have trouble finding.

Now, years later, the Batcave was quiet—save for the occasional clack of keys and the hum of the supercomputer. Dick leaned casually against the console, arms crossed, talking with Tim about patrol routes and backup plans.

Tim hesitated. Then, without a word, he reached into his utility belt and pulled out a slightly worn photo. He held it out.

“What’s this?” Dick asked, taking it.

And then he saw it. The colors had faded a little, but the memory hit him like a gut punch. Him in his old costume. That cotton-candy kid with the big smile.

Dick blinked. “Wait a second… This was you?”