Chapter Text
It went better than anyone had expected, and worse than Hal Jordan had planned.
Hal had imagined a harmless day of showing off his work to a kid who was too smart for his own good. He had expected questions, and a few wisecracks. Maybe an hour of attention before Dick got bored and started poking at whatever looked forbidden.
He was only kind of right.
The airfield had been busy from the moment they arrived. A whole hangar had been sectioned off for “Take Your Child to Work Day,” with colorful signs taped to equipment cases, folding tables set up with snacks and juice boxes, and a row of demonstrations happening in overlapping bursts of noise. There were flight simulators, safety drills, remote-controlled aircraft, and an obstacle course built for the kids to race through with foam wings strapped to their backs.
Dick had taken one look at it all and gone bright with excitement. Not the kind of excitement that crashed through a room. Dick’s was sharper than that. It lit him from the inside out; his eyes had gone wide, his whole face had opened up, and then he had started smiling that reckless, delighted smile that made adults either worry or give in.
Hal had given in almost immediately.
“Rule one,” he had said, crouching beside him as Dick stood on the edge of the painted safety line, hands clasped behind his back like he was trying very hard to be patient. “You stay where I can see you.”
Dick had looked at him with solemn blue eyes and said, “That's a dumb rule. Why is it my fault when adults can't keep track of me?”
Hal had laughed so hard he had had to straighten back up. “Fine. Rule one is you do not touch anything that looks like it could explode.”
Dick had glanced at the nearest fuel cart, then back at Hal. “That's fair.”
“Your understanding is appreciated,” Hal had said, and ruffled his hair.
Dick had tolerated it with the dignity of a child who knew he was being humored and accepted the bargain anyway.
“Rule two, ask questions,” Hal continued.
Dick somehow became more excited, “Promise,” he said, rocking back on his heels and his smile a little too wide.
Hal smiled back, ignoring the feeling in his gut. From the twinkle in Dick’s eyes, the kid knew it.
“Rule three,” Hal continued, “feet stay on the ground.”
Dick made a face, eyes darting to the obstacle course and back, “Hal!” He cried, “that's not-”
“Within reason,” Hal amended, with a pointed look, “if a random ten year old can't climb it then you shouldn't be either.”
Dick let out a long sigh, which Hal ignored.
“Finally, kid, just have fun.” he said.
Dick lit up again, “really?”
“Really.” Hal agreed as he adjusted the tiny visitor badge clipped to Dick Grayson’s jacket. “It’s just a normal day. Jets. Engineers. Mildly classified tech. Totally normal.”
Dick beamed up at him, mischief fully present. “Uncle Hal,” he said innocently, “You seem worried?”
Hal squinted at him, not fooled by the wide grin and bright eyes. “We’ll both be on our best behavior,” he said diplomatically.
Dick’s innocent, bright eyes didn't fool Hal. Not anymore.
“Normal kid,” Hal reminded him.
Dick wrinkled his nose. “That sounds exhausting.”
“It is, and I’m forcing you to do it.”
Dick leaned in close, as if telling a secret. “You are very bad at that.”
“Yes,” Hal said, “but I am also very committed.”
For the first hour, Hal stayed close. He walked Dick through the hangar, introduced him to people as if he were just a friend’s kid, and watched him absorb everything with unsettling speed. Dick asked questions that were too pointed for ten years old and too precise for casual conversation.
How fast did the smaller simulators respond to input lag?
Why did one of the training planes use a different engine sound in the mock-up than the real one?
Why were there two emergency shutoffs on the east side and only one on the west?
Hal answered what he could and deflected what he could not.
Dick listened with intense concentration, then sometimes tilted his head and muttered, “That is not ideal,” in a way that made Hal suspect he had already noticed a problem nobody else had.
The first sign that the day was going to spiral came from a kid named Marcus, about twelve, whose mom worked with propulsion.
“You don’t look like you know anything about jets,” Marcus told Dick, eyeing him skeptically.
Hal nearly intervened.
Dick didn’t need him to.
Dick cocked his head, studied the partially assembled turbine on the workbench, and said casually, “Your mom’s team -” the began to rattle off a bunch of information that Hal couldn't follow but seemed accurate based on the startled looks on the surrounding engineers.
Marcus blinked.
Marcus’s mom stared.
Hal stared.
Dick shrugged. “I read.” he said answering the unasked question.
“You read classified propulsion reports?” a nearby mechanic asked carefully.
Dick smiled sweetly. “Publicly available trade journals.” he corrected.
Hal was both impressed and deeply, deeply aware that Bruce was responsible for this.
The hands on demonstrations started around midmorning.
There was a flight safety display first, where a couple of test pilots showed the kids how to use harnesses and emergency equipment. Dick stood in the front row and watched with both hands braced on the barrier rope. When they demonstrated the oxygen mask, he copied the motion unconsciously, fingers checking the shape of the strap as though storing it away for later.
After a round of questions, they moved on to an engine test.
No one seemed to notice the little girl - a seven-year-old named Lily - who hesitated to follow, no one but Dick. She already had her hands cupped over her ears and anxiety on her face.
Dick noticed immediately. He knelt beside her before Hal or her parents even registered the problem.
“Hey,” Dick said gently. “You know why it’s loud?”
She shook her head.
“It means it’s working hard. Loud isn’t bad. It’s just energy. Wanna see something cool?”
He pulled a little rubber band out of his pocket and demonstrated vibration frequency with his fingers, explaining resonance in kid-friendly terms.
Lily giggled when the band snapped harmlessly against his thumb.
Hal watched from across the hangar, something in his chest twisting.
Dick Grayson was a tiny ten year old explaining complex physics like it was breathing.
Then came the simulators.
That was where things started to get interesting.
The instructor running the station was an older man with a thick mustache and the kind of voice that sounded like it had spent thirty years above engine noise. He invited a few kids up in pairs to try and “see what real piloting felt like.”
Most were wobbling their virtual jets into mountains, or clipped the runways when landing.
Hal had been half-expecting Dick to be nervous.
Instead, the kid had climbed into the seat like he belonged there.
Dick looked over at Hal before taking hold of the joystick. It was a quick glance, but there was something in it that made Hal understand it as a question.
Permission, maybe.
Hal nodded once. He leaned casually against the wall, pretending not to care.
Dick’s hands settled on the controls with far too much familiarity.
The trainer raised a brow. “You ever flown one of these?” he asked lightly.
Dick didn’t look at him. “Of course not.”
Dick flew the simulation like he had been born in the cockpit.
The room went quiet in the way rooms did when everyone realized they were watching something they had not expected. Dick corrected the drift before the instructor could point it out. He compensated for turbulence on instinct. When the sim threw a fake engine warning at him to test his reaction, he did not panic. He checked the gauges and adjusted accordingly.
Dick excited the smoothest landing of the day, surpassing the professional demonstrations from earlier.
Then the instructor looked at Hal, then back at Dick, and said very carefully, “Has anyone ever told you you’re a little terrifying?”
Dick considered that with all the seriousness in the world. “Yes,” he said, breaking out into a bright smile. “Never understood why.”
Hal had to cover his mouth with his hand and turn away before the smile gave him away.
By lunch, the story had spread.
Not that Dick was some sort of miracle pilot. Nothing so dramatic. Just that he was “a really sharp kid” and “weirdly good at spotting problems,” and “maybe do not let him near anything with moving parts unless you are ready to be humbled.”
Dick pretended not to hear any of it. Instead he focused on the people around him. Kids trading snacks. Someone spilled juice. Lily insisted on sitting next to Dick. Marcus sat across from them, peppering Dick with questions. He had gathered a small collection of children who hung on Dicks every word.
“You seem to know a lot,” one of the parents commented with a look Hal couldn't read but didn't like.
Dick just shrugged, shooting Hal a glance, “My uncle is one of the best flyers here-”
Hal preened at the compliment.
“I have to start now if I want to break all his records.”
The room broke out into laughter, spurred on by Hal's offended gasp. Dick sipped the juice and looked smug.
The afternoon demonstrations were louder, busier, and much more chaotic. One of the pilots set up a remote obstacle course using model aircraft, and the kids were invited to steer their own little planes through hoops. It was meant to be a fun, low-stakes, kind of thing where everyone won a sticker and no one got competitive.
Dick got competitive immediately.
He didn’t gloat, because that would have been too obvious. He simply narrowed his eyes, took the controller, and began flying with such calm precision that the other kids started gathering around him in a semicircle to watch.
Hal stood off to the side with the other adults and tried not to look absurdly pleased.
Dick banked sharply to avoid a moving barrier, leveled out, then threaded the plane through two rings in a row without touching the edges. One of the instructors let out a low whistle. Another muttered, “That kid’s a menace.”
Dick heard that too. He turned, grinned, and asked, “Did I win?”
“You absolutely did,” the instructor said.
Dick accepted the verdict with open delight and then immediately offered the controller to the next kid in line. He gently started to explain the controls, offering little bits of advice.
Hal noticed those kinds of moments throughout the day.
There were moments throughout the day when Dick shifted from brilliance to child in a blink. He would be focused aone second, then distracted by a tray of cookies the next. He would ask a technical question and then be derailed by a toy helicopter hanging from the ceiling. He would look at a launch diagram like he could read the whole future in it, then get embarrassed when one of the staff members asked if he wanted a sticker.
He was ten years old.
Hal had to keep reminding himself of that.
At one point, while a group of kids were being shown how to use radio headsets, Dick wandered away from the crowd and stopped in front of a maintenance board covered in clipped forms and color-coded notes. Hal found him there a minute later, standing on tiptoe to read the higher rows.
“You know,” Hal said lightly, coming up beside him, “most children at work day spend the afternoon making paper airplanes.”
Dick did not look away from the board. “This is more interesting.”
“It is.”
Dick finally turned to him, expression entirely innocent, “You said to have fun.”
Hal nodded, “it was a rule, in fact.”
“You said I could ask questions.” Dick stared up at him, searching for something.
“Rule number two,” he agreed.
Dick pointed at one of the tags hanging from a clipboard. “What does that mean?”
Hal looked and frowned while looking again.
Then he smiled very slowly. “That means somebody forgot to update the inspection log.”
Dick’s eyes widened. “So it is wrong?”
“It is wrong,” Hal agreed.
Dick’s grin came back at once, bright and feral and delighted. “I knew it.”
“Of course you did.”
By late afternoon, the other parents were looking tired. Their kids were sticky with juice, clutching stickers and model planes, and a few had already fallen asleep against shoulders or in folding chairs. The hangar had emptied enough that the noise had gone soft around the edges.
Dick was still going.
He had one final burst of energy left in him, apparently reserved for the obstacle course demo set up near the hangar doors. He begged Hal to let him try it, and Hal, who had spent the day watching him be careful and bold and brilliant in equal measure, finally relented.
Dick took off running.
He was fast for a kid his age, but that was not what made people turn and stare. It was how he moved: sure-footed, quick to adapt, light on his feet in a way that looked almost improvised until you realized it was the opposite. He understood space, angles, and balance. He changed direction mid-stride without losing momentum, vaulted a low barrier, and landed with the smoothness of someone who had practiced falling as much as running.
Hal’s pride hit him so hard it was almost ridiculous.
Dick finished the course in a blur of motion and laughter, then skidded to a stop near the end and threw his arms up like he had conquered a kingdom.
The kids erupted into applause, even a few adults joined in.
Dick’s face went pink with pleasure.
When he ran back to Hal, breathless and triumphant, Hal bent down to whisper, “You were showing off.”
Dick gasped as though offended. “I would never.”
Hal raised an eyebrow.
Dick tried to keep a straight face, but failed. He smiled instead. “Okay, maybe a little.”
Hal laughed and offered him a fist bump. Dick bumped it with grave seriousness, like this was an important ceremony.
On the walk back to the parking lot, Marcus ran up.
“Hey, Grayson,” he said. “You’re coming next year, right?”
Dick glanced at Hal.
Hal didn’t hesitate. “Yeah,” he said. “He is.”
Dick’s smile turned softer this time.
As they reached the car, Dick tilted his head up at him. “You were worried,” he said casually.
Hal snorted. “About what?”
“Me.”
Hal opened the car door.
“Kid,” he said quietly, “I’ve seen you fight things that would terrify grown men.”
Dick’s expression didn’t change.
Hal caved. “But this?” he continued. “This is different. This is kids. Normal stuff. Wasn't sure if you knew how to be one of those.” Hal shrugged, “Turns out you did.”
Dick looked at him for a long moment. Then he bumped his shoulder lightly against Hal’s side. “Okay,” he said.
Hal ruffled his hair.
They left gift bags and some group photos. Dick stood beside Hal in the last picture, a little crooked from trying to make a face at someone off-camera, and looked for a second exactly like what he was supposed to be: a kid who had had a good day.
Hal saw that photo later and kept it.
Not because Dick was a genius. Not because he had embarrassed half the staff by being better at the simulator than some of the trainees. Not even because Hal was absurdly proud.
He kept it because for one whole day, Dick had been allowed to be both extraordinary and ordinary at once. Bright, curious, stubborn, funny, and alive.
And because Dick had looked up at him near the end of the day, sticky with soda and dust, and said, very softly, “That was really fun.”
Hal had smiled and put a hand on the back of his head.
“Yeah, kid,” he had said. “It was.”
Dick had leaned into the touch for just a second before straightening up again, already looking toward the next thing.
The day hadn’t just been noticed by the people in the hanger.
Far beyond Earth, across sectors mapped in willpower and light, something had shifted - small, but distinct. The Green Lantern Corps did not watch children. They did not monitor ordinary days, or quiet moments of curiosity and laughter.
But they did watch for will.
And that day, on a crowded airfield full of noise and motion, Dick Grayson burned with it.
A will that adapted without breaking, that learned without hesitation. That bent itself to the shape of a problem and then solved it faster the second time. He did not push against the world blindly; he understood it, and then chose how to move through it.
That was rarer than raw strength.
A ring did not choose him. Not yet. He was too young, his future branching in too many directions to be claimed.
But the moment was recorded.
Somewhere in the vast network of the Corps, a quiet notation existed:
Earth - Sector 2814.
Richard Grayson : Potential