WHO: Dick Grayson and Clint Barton WHAT: Two circus guys, swapping stories over a beer, what could go wrong? WHEN: August 6 WHERE: The Crooked Wheel RATING: Medium for themes
Dick wasn’t going to lie, having another person there who knew what it was like to grow up in a circus was pretty amazing. Yeah, he knew his brothers understood to a certain extent, after what he’d shared with them. But it wasn’t the same as when he got back together with the old crew from Haly’s or met up with other visiting troupes. Which was why he was so fast in accepting the invite from the archer. Plus they could chat about gymnasiums while they were at it… although, they were already a couple of beers down and they were no closer to deciding on the brand of vault they wanted.
“Okay, okay! I’m putting the pad away because we’re way too indecisive.” He pointed at Clint’s almost empty glass, “Top you off?”
The debate over this particular piece of equipment had edged toward intense, but really only because Clint had started laughing so hard his sides were hurting. He glanced at the thin layer of beer, and the tiny voice in his head warned him against it, but he was nodding before that voice could really take root. "Yeah, why not. I got nowhere to be. And, look, I swear I'm only going to make this argument one more time: a purple vault would be awesome, even if the custom job is a little bit more. Okay, now I've said my piece."
He surveyed the younger guy, but didn't actually feel much in the gap of their ages. He thought it might be something in Dick's eyes, that he had some miles under his belt that didn't yet show on his face. He nudged his mug over with a slow grin. "So, is this where we swap circus stories? You were born into yours, right?"
“What is it with you and purple, man?” Dick huffed out a laugh, his own sides aching a little after the fits of giggles he’d just had, and picked up the pitcher on their table to refill their glasses. “I don’t have duty until tomorrow evening so I’m good for another one too.” He did however take the precaution to ask the bartender for a couple of glasses of water as she passed by, which were delivered a minute or two later, complete with ice. “Always take water with your beer,” he stated solemnly to Clint, keeping his expression serious for all of a second before grinning widely. “Or don’t but, y’know, it helps stave off hangovers.”
Sliding Clint’s glass back toward him now it was replenished, Dick nodded, eager to hear about the other man’s experiences and how similar or different they were to his own. “Yup. It’s officially that time of the evening. I was, yeah. So for the formative years of my life I didn’t know anything different. To me those kids I saw in the cities we passed through were the odd ones. I couldn’t fathom what it would be like living in one place for so long. How about you?”
The wise advice was answered with a knowing look, and then another laugh when Dick broke character. "As someone who's no stranger to the hangover—heh, that rhymed!—I definitely know the value of a good water chaser. Of course, the problem with other alcohol—say vodka, for instance—is that the more you drink, the more you forget. And stop feeling the burn. A vicious cycle." One that didn't stop him from taking another drink when his mug was topped off, although Clint made sure to salute his new circus-friend beforehand. He nodded wryly, just the smallest hint of jealousy worming its way through his thoughts. "The purple thing's from my first costume in the show."
Clint sighed and shifted a little on his barstool. Now was the time for the sob story, but he knew just how to tell it to cut the tragedy to manageable levels. If he'd been looking to get his end down, he might not have bothered, but what he needed more than likely was a friend who would actually get it. "I cut my teeth in a butcher's shop in Iowa with my older brother Barney. Lived all the small town, down-on-their-luck clichés you hear about. Mom was good to us, the best, but Dad drank, got mad. You know that song from Annie? It's a Hard-Knock Life?" He started warbling the relevant words, "'Instead kisses, we got—'" but cut himself off with a dry chuckle. "Well, I'm sure you get it. Long story short, they were killed in a car accident, and Barney and I went to a coupla foster homes before we decided the system wasn't gonna do nothin' for us, so we ran away and literally joined the circus. Silly, right? Like something out of a bad novel or a comic book."
“I’m not one for hard liquor.” Dick gave a self deprecating laugh, “I’m a lightweight, so anything like that absolutely floors me. My first night here I had drinks with Carol. Let me tell you that was a mistake, she had me doing shots, but water was my friend and saviour, so the hangover was minimal.” He lifted his glass in acknowledgement and took a sip, smiling at the reason for the purple. It was similar to his reasoning for the color scheme on the Robin costume. Though he could have done without the cape. “Makes sense.”
A hint of sadness crept into his eyes as Clint spoke of his troubled home life, one of the things he’d hated the most while he’d been a cop was having to deal with men who hit their kids and partners. But he stopped himself from interrupting, instead touching his knee to Clint’s in sympathy. The next part of the story was somewhat familiar, only the complete opposite to his own. “I don’t think it’s silly, it makes sense. The circus was an opportunity to escape, to start fresh and find somewhere to belong again. I can definitely see your reasoning.”
"Hmmm, tough call whether I should encourage you to build up your tolerance or save you from a lifetime of hangovers and bad decisions. But, damn, shots with Danvers? And they say I'm ballsy. I'm surprised she didn't drink you through the floor." Clint laughed and drank deeply. He was barely buzzed, and this was his third beer. But he made sure his next sip was the water Dick made sure they'd gotten.
Wasn't his first choice, but he supposed it was probably better to make some attempt at being a good role model or whatever. Clint ducked his head and gave a small shrug. "It worked like that for a while, picked up all kinds of skills. Got really good with a bow and arrow. But it wasn't exactly a family business, unless you're talking the criminal variety. My brother got in deep, tried to drag me down with him, took it bad when I wouldn't go. In the end, we parted ways—mostly because they left me for dead." He sighed and shook his head. "Look at me, makin' things maudlin again. Sorry."
“She drank me off my stool, which is an incredible feat. I never lose my balance.” Dick chuckled at the memory, Carol had even gone so far as to call him a cute drunk. Which he wasn’t entirely sure was a compliment. A little smile of satisfaction came to his lips when Clint took a sip of his water, ever the big brother, he was always stoked when people did what he suggested and didn’t balk at his caution or concern.
A scowl came to his face as Clint divulged a little more about the circus he’d found himself in. So many had nefarious activities hidden in the shadows of the glittering shows, even Haly’s had had it’s brush with the darker side of the world. What happened with Zucco’s men being one prime example. “It’s okay, if you want to hear my full circus experience it’ll get maudlin anyway.”
"'Swhy we're here, Dick." Clint gestured with his glass. "Spill away, if you want. Tell you what, for every sad thing we tell each other, we have to find two more experiences, not necessarily from the circus, that have been good."
“My parents were murdered while Haly’s was in Gotham, by a local crime family. It was a message sent to the owner, that he should have paid protection money. We were on the finalé of our act, the lines on the trapeze had been partially cut through, they fell.” Dick’s jaw clenched at the memory, even though it was old, it still felt raw at times. “So I was put into state care and the Circus moved on without me.”
Taking a gulp from his beer, he swallowed and wiped the back of his wrist across his lips. “Two good experiences… I guess being taken in by Bruce was one, living with a billionaire sure beat the orphanage. Meeting Batman was another… eventually.”
"Jesus," Clint swore under his breath and stared in horror at his drinking buddy. After a second or two he shook his head and laughed weakly. "Know what sucks? Hearing a story so much like your own, like mine, but five times worse. Not because you want to win the pity lottery or some jackassery like that, but because you really hope someone's life was better than yours." Clint dragged his fingers through his hair and sat back on his stool until it tipped back precariously on two legs. He wasn't worried about falling. There were more important things to focus on than pesky things like gravity or physics."I guess sympathy is an old song and dance at this point, but for what it's worth, I'm really sorry. That's a shitty thing to have happen when you're a kid. Or anytime really."
He matched Dick in taking another drink, either in a show of camaraderie or some other masculine bullshit. Didn't matter. Went down like water anyway. The name didn't ring a bell, but that didn't surprise him, since they were from different worlds. Clint had to chuckle at Dick's literal change in fortunes. "Damn, circus kid to billionaire's ward? Hard to beat that. Who's Batman, anyway? Some kinda superhero like the Avengers? Doesn't have as good a ring as Hawkeye—" he winked in Dick's direction —"but it's kinda got a cool vibe to it." He lowered his voice to a growl and intoned "I'm Batman," before breaking off in an honest-to-god giggle. "I could never pull that off."
He winced at the look he was being given, it was one he’d seen on every single face when they’d learned what had happened to him. Dick’s shoulders dropped a little, hating that he’d made Clint feel bad, that was never his intention when talking about his past, probably why he didn’t usually talk about it. (Also the fact it was well documented in his world and usually as soon as people heard his Surname they got the look.) “We both had shitty starts in life. I’m sorry about yours too.”
Smiling when the mood lightened a little, he nodded, “Right? It could be a Disney movie or something.” Chuckling at the wink he shrugged, “I think both have their cool factor. I’m partial to Nightwing myself.” A proper laugh followed the impression and he gave a little clap of applause. “Not bad, I had the same trouble when I took on the mantle for a while. Batman, he is part of a team like the Avengers, but usually he’s like the guardian of Gotham. Like Superman is for Metropolis. I’m sure Hawkeye hangs out in his own city until there’s a Big Bad that needs all the Avengers to work together to defeat?”
His stool continued to teeter, but Clint paid it no mind. Dick said the names "Gotham" and "Metropolis" like they should mean something, and Clint was starting to wonder if they might be analogous to cities like New York or Chicago where he was from—or from here. Not that it really mattered. He took a bit of a bow at Dick's response, and it reminded him just a little of hearing the crowd's reactions way back in the day, how it gave him a buzz. "You're right. Nightwing is a far superior name to Batman, for sure. I'd take him or her or them way more seriously, that's for sure.
"And I'm guessing since you were Batman for a while, maybe you were Nightwing too? If I'm overstepping, just let me know. I ain't been great with my own secret identity in basically forever, so sometimes I just forget." He chuckled at himself and carefully lowered his stool back to the floor without incident, all so he had the balance to rub the back of his neck while still holding on to his beer. "And, uh, it's more like he hangs out in a single apartment building in Bed-Stuy—and that's just been lately. Mostly I've just run with a team, here in New York and out West in L.A. I founded that one, actually, so maybe I'm only sometimes a disaster."
Another laugh, because he knew exactly what people said about him. It was fine, Clint had been rolling with it his entire life. "Pretty sure I still owe you two good things. Hmm, I got no billionaire guardian in the offing, unless you wanna count Tony, and he didn't waltz into my life until I was trying to take him down—long story—but my first kiss was with Annamaria Cortez when we were set up outside of Santa Fe for a coupla weeks. My first kiss, definitely not hers. Wow. And for the second? I'll never forget the first fiver I got off o' somebody who doubted my ability to hit a target. The look of shock on that guy's face was almost as good as the money in my pocket. Unfortunately, nobody wants to take you up on bar tricks anymore when your face is plastered all over the media, and everyone knows you're the 'Amazing Hawkeye.'" He sat back, smile just a little wry. "So, Tim and Babs—are they family-family, or just like?"
A tiny amused smile tugged at his lips when Clint said he’d take Nightwing more seriously than Batman. Everyone took Batman extremely seriously, well mostly everyone, Hal still had trouble with it. In fact, Clint reminded him a little of the Lantern. “The Bat is good at lurking in the shadows. Nightwing is getting better now he’s ditched his red, green and yellow ensemble.”
As his drinking buddy came to the correct conclusion, Dick nodded. It was actually kind of refreshing not to have to keep his secret identity too secret around the other man. “I still am. Not long ago my secret identity was revealed to the whole world. I became someone else for a while, but I’m back in the black and blue suit now. It’s here with me, so is the other guy, but I think I’d prefer not to use my guns again any time soon.” Watching as Clint settled his chair back onto four legs, he listened in interest as the archer explained about the different teams he’d been on and even founded. It was quite a familiar story and he found himself smiling again at him over the rim of his glass. “I hang out in Blüdhaven, in my own apartment. It’s the city across the bay from Gotham. But I did a stint in New York and San Francisco too.”
“So never take you up on a bet involving anything which requires showing or throwing things. Got it.” He smirked then, “I don’t have any of my trust fund here, or I’d adopt you.” Dick chuckled, “Though I might have to lend you a Wingding, see what you can do with it. As for first kisses… mine was Babs.” Dick took another sip from his beer glass, “But you’re right, she’s more like family now. I have three brothers; Jason, Tim and Damian, and two sisters; Steph and Cass, my new found family. Babs is like my hot cousin.”
The whole identity thing sounded like a story, and Clint wasn't sure it was one his companion wanted to share. Before he could ask about the "someone else", however, talk turned to the slightly awkward occurrence of inter-team dating. His mouth twisted in understanding, but cleared into a smile when Dick continued. "That kind of family can be the best family, when you can't have your own for whatever reason. That's what the Avengers were to me, throughout the years. Cap and Thor were practically my brothers, while Tony got to be everyone's favorite drunk uncle. Janet was definitely my sis, and Nat—well, like you and Babs, in the beginning we were too tied up in each other to ever get familial. It's different now, of course, like I was saying. And I've definitely expanded the fam: Kate, Melissa, Bobbi, Jessica… Y'know, do you ever sometimes sit down and look back at your life and realize it definitely skews a certain way because of your proclivities? Although, Kate, no, ew. Bleh. She is definitely my little sister."
“I mean, yeah, it has to skew different ways for a reason. Look at us, we got talking because we’re both acrobats wanting a better place to train. I don’t know how I fit in here, but it’s rad that I found someone with a similar-ish background.” Dick smiled, tapping his glass with his fingertips. “So thanks for that.”
Clint grinned, wide and broad, and shrugged. "Hey, us circus kids gotta stick together, right?" He was glad to have flocked to that net post like a kindergartener eager to share his new box of crayons. "They've got darts and a pool table here. Wanna go see if we can harmlessly hustle the locals?"
“Definitely, I used to tend bar so I’m decent at pool.” Dick’s smile turned mischievous, “Not that anyone else here tonight needs to know that.”