Work Text:
In the back of his mind, Dick knew a day like this would come. He'd had his suspicions a few years ago when the elephants were retired.
But now, the reality sets in as he reads the headline.
The greatest show on earth is closing its doors for good. No more clowns. No more performances. No more aerialists.
And even though it's not his circus, it's still a circus. One that had delighted the hearts of millions during for over a hundred years.
The last show is in New York.
It's a matter of seconds to decide to go.
He buys his ticket online (no last minute entries here; not on the last day).
A few days later, in passing, Bruce asks him if he's heard the news.
"Yes," Dick replies quietly, not wanting to talk about it. It's stirring up memories he'd thought he'd forgotten. Of traveling on a train from town to town, of learning how to juggle, of running around with the clowns and putting on face-paint (before he had a reason to fear clowns).
"Are you going?" Bruce doesn't look at him, doesn't look up from the computer.
"Yes," he says again. "The very last show." He walks out of the room.
The day arrives. As Dick readies himself for the drive up to New York, there's a knock on his apartment door.
Opening it, he finds Bruce standing there. He's dressed casually and wears a somber expression.
"We're going together," he says simply.
Dick's shoulders slump a weight he didn't even realize he was carrying leaves him. He didn't want to go alone. Didn't think anyone would want to (there's a reason there's no more circus a voice whispers in his mind; no one gets it anymore).
Together, they drive to New York.
And in the cramped arena seats, Bruce sits by his son and watches him mourn the end of an era.