The extended Grayson family, which consists of John's brother Richard, his wife Karla, and their son Johnny is from Young Justice.

Clint is twelve, Dick is eight, Barney is sixteen, and Johnny is fifteen.

And I own neither DC nor Marvel. (If only!)

"Hey!"

Clint risked taking his eyes off of Barney's angry face and curled fists long enough to see who had interrupted. No one ever interfered from Carson's.

The teenager standing there, arms folded across his chest, blue eyes glaring at Barney, isn't from Carson's, but he doesn't look like a townie either. He must belong to the bigger show they're working with while in Gotham, Haly's International.

Barney sneers back at him, seemingly unintimidated, even though the boy is almost his size (a lot bigger than Clint) and has plenty of muscle.

"Get lost, Grayson. Don't poke your nose into other's family business."

Grayson's glare deepens and he unfolds his arms. His skin is several shades darker than theirs, making him a little harder to see in the fading light if it weren't for the white hoodie he wears, and he has a look that fits what Diana the contortionist described once as "exotic".

"I'm not sure about you," Grayson says evenly, taking a step closer. "But around here we don't beat up on our families."

He has an accent, though Clint can't place it other than it sounds vaguely eastern European, like Anastasia the horseback acrobat, who is Russian and showed Clint how to do a backflip back when he and Barney were just roustabouts. Before Clint became part of the show.

Grayson takes another step, so that he is almost toe to toe with Barney.

There is a long moment where they stare at each other, before Barney backs off and, with a huff, storms off in the direction of Carson's camp.

Clint hesitates a second too long before following, and finds his head being tilted to the side by surprisingly gentle hands as Grayson inspects the forming bruise.

"Why don't you come with me and we can get some ice on that?"

And Clint's brain stutters to a stop because he's not completely stupid and as soon as Barney called the other teenager "Grayson" he'd made the connection to "The Flying Graysons" a world-famous family of aerialists. Haly's star attractions.

Grayson flashes him a brilliant grin, his teeth white enough to be easily seen in the gloomy dusk that seems customary to Gotham.

"It's almost dinner time anyway, and Majka always makes too much gulaš."

Clint takes a step back, eying the older boy suspiciously. "Why?" he asks, why are you being nice, why do you care?

The grin dims a little but doesn't go away completely. "Because if I treated my cousin the way your brother was treating you, my Dat would tan my backside." He's completely serious now. "Hitting on people just 'cause they are smaller than you, that isn't okay."

The grin comes back as if it never left. "I'm Johnny Grayson." He sticks his hand out and Clint, overwhelmed and (despite himself) drawn in by Johnny's infectious attitude, shakes it.

"Clint Barton."

It's only a short walk to the Grayson's trailer and Clint can't help but be surprised. He would have thought a world-famous act like them would have somewhere a little nicer to live than a cramped travel trailer with three beds and no door on the toilet and a camp shower hung up outside.

Johnny must notice his confusion because he laughs. "That's my parent's bed." He points to the alcove that extends out of one side of the main trailer. "That's mine." A bench bed, sandwiched in between his parent's bed and the tiny little refrigerator next to the door. "And Uncle John and Aunt Mary's." the opposing alcove. "Dickie bed-hops."

"Dickie" proves to be Johnny's cousin, an eight year old who looks about six, can twist his limbs into impossible positions (and Clint thought he was flexible) and doesn't speak English.

Or rather, doesn't speak only English. Clint thinks that he can understand maybe one word in ten out of the cheerful chatter that the little boy bombards him with.

Johnny laughs harder.

"Dickie doesn't really speak much English," he explains. "We've only been back in the US for a few weeks and he prefers Romani over any other language anyway." He ruffles the kid's hair in a gentle way that reminds Clint painfully of how Barney used to be. "He understands most of it though, just doesn't talk it back at ya." (Apparently that is what happens when a kid spends the first seven years or so of their life traveling around Europe with a circus full of people who have English as a second language.)

The hair ruffle switches to a noogie, and Clint watches in amazement as Dickie bends and contorts out of his cousin's grip, before flipping up to perch on the small counter beside the sink and watch Clint with a curious face like a little bird.

The adult Grayson's are great. Not asking Clint awkward questions about the bruise on his cheek. (Though from the way Mr. John and Mr. Richard exchange glances he thinks they will someday soon.)

Mrs. Karla, Johnny's mom, refills his bowl with gulaš twice, making a comment about how thin he is. Mrs. Mary, Dickie's mom, asks him gentle questions about his act, seeming genuinely interested and not just like she is being polite.

Sitting with them, outside around a fold-out table on camp chairs, watching Dickie do back flips and chase his father around the campfire as he munches on the sweet roll he'd been given for dessert (it has some Croatian name Clint can't remember) he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't mind if he and Barney could stay with them instead of Swordsman.

Two nights later, as Clint crouches in the shadows and watches Dickie cry over the broken bodies of his family, calling them in languages Clint doesn't understand, he knew it could only ever be a dream. He ruined families. He didn't get to be a part of them.

A/N: Please note that the only languages I am fluent in are American English and American Sign Language. With that in mind, if you see a mistake in my not-English, please let me know so that I can correct it.
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Majka is Croatian for Mother/Mama and Gulaš is Croatian for Goulash, an eastern European stew.
Dat is Romani for Dad