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The night the Flying Graysons fell would become a core memory for him, not only because it was his first witness of death but because it was his earliest encounter with the voice he now calls Mama. As he got older, the memories of that night would only come as flashes of key moments; vivid in a way that should have been impossible but truthful nonetheless.
Walking past the ticket booth into Haley’s circus had felt like a dream. There were lights strung above the area leading to the main tent; small incandescent bulbs, no doubt all replacements several times over from decades of use, that covered the area in a warm light. To a three-year-old Tim, they were magical balls of warmth that fought off Gothams’ pervasive darkness. When his dad had lifted him into his arms to avoid him being crushed by the crowd, he had reached his hands out for the lights, wanting to be enveloped in their loving embrace.
Noises came from every direction, intriguing and almost overwhelming to his underdeveloped brain. The hum of voices from the crowd dotted with carnival music and machines whirring would be annoying to most, but to Tim it felt like a fairytale. The constant noise sounded like magic to the toddler that was so used to living in a near permanently silent house.
The star acrobats were outside the tent before the show for a photo op, all down on one knee to make the photos dynamic though their bedazzled leotards did that job well enough on their own. There were three Flying Graysons, but the only one that mattered to Tim was the boy, years older than himself that smiled so brightly it put the sun to shame. His parents indulged him, lining up in the short queue and after what had felt like years to him at the time, he was finally able to meet the boy who swept him into his arms the moment Tim had made grabby hands at him, pulling him into the tightest hug he’d ever felt. His hands had been sticky, covered in saliva and syrup from the cotton candy he’d been allowed earlier but the older boy didn’t seem to care, allowing Tim to wrap his arms around his neck as he was plopping him on his knee.
Tim had never met people as kind and friendly as the Graysons; thought that people like them were a made up construct for tv yet here they were, constantly smiling and laughing together, always maintaining touch in one way or another. They were so far removed from his own family, it was like watching a different species. Dick was especially friendly, clinging Tim to his chest and promising to dedicate his special quadruple jump for him. It was such a special moment that even at such a young age, Tim could feel the weight of their interaction and knew that he would never forget the nice acrobat boy who showed him so much love despite being strangers.
The lights, the sounds, the promise; they all bunched together to form his greatest memory only to be torn to shreds hours later by the death of the nice people he’d met before. The arm of the man who had ruffled his hair now lay outstretched to his wife, bones shattered, pierced through the skin into the open air. The face of the woman who he’d watched kissing her son’s head moments before the performance began, now laid in the growing puddle of blood, an incomprehensible mess of flesh and bones.
It was then that he heard Mama for the first time, comforting him and assuring him that the boy who was so nice to him would be taken care of as his parents joined the mass exodus that had begun to flood from the tent, leaving him behind in what he likes to assume was an accident. It was only Mama’s soothing assurances and guidance that kept him calm enough to find his parents again. And when he was put to sleep after they got home, alone in his bedroom, it was Mama that comforted him as he repeatedly woke from nightmares.
She stayed with him after that night, never leaving him alone ever again.
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His parents never stayed around much after that night. They had travelled before, occasionally leaving him in the care of a nanny for a few odd weeks out of the year but they became near ghosts in the circus' aftermath; fleeing the country for the majority of the year, only returning for important meetings or parties. It was heartbreaking to Tim at the time, having parents who seemed to care when they were present but couldn’t be bothered to stick around longer than 3 weeks at a time. Later, Mama would help him realize that they had been just as affected by the death of the Flying Graysons as he had been. Watching these parents who seemed to love their child so much leaving him alone forever in a moment you could have blinked and missed changed something within them; it left them traumatized at the idea of being parents. Not that realizing their reasoning changed the results their choices caused for Tim.
What hurt the most was the clear love they showed for him when they were around and knowing that it was never enough to make them stay. It would have been easier if they hadn’t loved him; if he wasn’t left yearning for them because of the precious memories they left behind. If they hadn’t loved him, he wouldn’t feel disoriented by his fathers absence when he’d turn to ask his father endless questions about the insects he would find in the garden only to find empty air behind him. If they hadn’t loved him, he wouldn’t feel a cold chill racing through his body when he tried to watch morning cartoons without being pressed into his mothers side. If they hadn’t loved him, he would be crushed with disappointment whenever his parents’ trips were extended or they missed his achievements.
But they did care, which was why he found himself under the negligent care of Mrs. Nancy. She was a better caretaker when he was younger but as time went on, she began to push boundaries to see how much she could get away with. It turned out to be a lot. His parents checked in with him occasionally but most of the weekly check-ins were done by their secretary who began to do them over the phone after years of the same updates from the same nanny. She never realized that her complacency led to his abuse.
By the time he reached his 6th birthday, Mrs. Nancy was sloppy in her care; inattentive at the best of times and criminally negligent at the worst. Gone was the woman who had been so diligent in his care, in her stead stood an inattentive caretaker that barely looked at her charge most days. The only times the facade of her previous caring persona returned was in the week before one of his parents' rare reappearances. For the rest of the year, Tim considered himself lucky if she did even half of the bare minimum that her job required.
It would have been near impossible for him to have survived under Mrs. Nancy’s care if it wasn’t for Mama. Her care wasn’t perfect, afterall, she wasn’t like most adults. She had no body or real understanding about human needs but she did her best to care for him by observing the world around him. She taught him how to care for himself when Mrs. Nancy forgot, basing her own knowledge on watching Mrs. Nancy and the daytime tv she watches all day long. It’s how they learnt most of their knowledge of how to keep him alive. It was from old sitcom reruns that Mama learnt basic food preparation like microwaving food or making a bowl of cereal so he wouldn’t keep going hungry when Mrs. Nancy doesn’t prepare meals for him. Mama also learnt from the radio, singing the songs he’d enjoyed to him when he was scared or alone. She even walked him through learning to brush his teeth based on a segment about proper oral hygiene that they’d overheard Mrs. Nancy complaining about. It was nowhere close to an ideal system but it was all Tim had and he knew even at the tender age of 6, he’d be dead if Mama hadn’t been there to catch him as he fell.