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fearfulkittenwrites · 4 years

Text

Gala and “I’m allergic to bullshit.”

Word count: 2244

Link for it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26180371

Notes: Hey! This was beta'd by @3ambird , who is an amazing sweetheart and improves evertything they touch. Thank you for the help!

Galas were never fun. Bruce had hated them as a kid, and hated them as teen, and he hates them as an adult. Still, he has to maintain appearances, so he always attends. And as his family grew, his kids were forced to attend as well.

Dick Grayson was particularly good at socializing. After he moved past his teenage rage, of course. He used to get in passive aggressive arguments with the rich CEOs and company owners all the time. He still does, but at least now he was good at it to the point where it almost couldn’t be recognized as an argument, instead of jumping on the necks of greedy millionaires that bought land out of poor people.

That was an interesting headline.

Jason sucked at galas. Soon enough, he figured out that if he started enough awkward conversations, people wouldn’t want to talk to him anymore. Especially the creepy single older women, pinching his cheeks and squeezing his biceps.

“Say, Claire, what’s your opinion on the alarming rate at which the bees are disappearing? They say that’s because of all the chemicals we put in our food.” He’d smile, carefully holding his glass. Bruce would struggle to hide his gasp, because Jason, that’s the owner of the highest earning pesticides company in the country.

“Well, Roger, I’m certain that the legalization of abortions would be a great thing, considering that now your mistresses won’t have to be sent overseas to terminate the unwanted preganancies you give them, right?” He’d say, and Bruce would nearly have a heart attack, because Jason, that’s the president of Gotham’s conservative party.

“Oh, you see, Sandra, I think that gay marriage should not only be legalized, but encouraged. If straight couples were to cease existing, then no more children would be born, and honestly, no one needs any more of those snotty gremlins running around, ruining perfectly good tapestry.” And Bruce would faint, because Jason, for God’s sake, that is the leader of the Gotham’s Motherhood Association.

Tim wasn’t all that bad. He could be social with a little effort, and he was far more used to galas than any of the other family members, having grown up attending them. Of course, all of that was only valid when he wasn’t sleep deprived, which, considering all he had on his plate, was roughly 32% of the time. When he was running on three hours of sleep and seven cups of caffeine a day, trying to finish a project, run his share of the Wayne Enterprises, and manage school work, he became a bit more irritable and impatient. And extremely impulsive. Which is mainly why Bruce asked Dick to stand by his brother through most of the night.

“We both know you’re his impulse control, Dick.” He said, adjusting his oldest son’s tie “Remember what happened the last time he was left unattended for fifteen minutes?”

“He got into an argument with a young Creationist and dunked his own head in an ice bowl after screaming ‘Fuck God! I can hear colors and dinosaurs rule!’” Dick sighed, “Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Cass despised them, but Bruce insisted she should attend anyway. More often than not, she’d just stay at the table, tasting as many appetizers as the waiters would bring her, and shooting murderous looks at anyone who sneered at her. Bruce was relieved that at least she wasn’t cracking any bones.

Damian was... Better than Jason and worse than Dick. He had an unamused expression through most of the event, and would unceremoniously swat away any hands that tried to pinch his cheeks. Other than that, he wasn’t much trouble. The real trouble were galas all Wayne kids attended. The five of them could cause enough trouble when they were apart, together they were the embodiment of chaos.

And this was supposed to be a calm, slightly boring family evening. It really was.

But Bruce just had to bring all five of them.

Everything had to go just right. As they walked in through the red carpet, the media was eating up the image of the six Waynes dressed formally; Each of them had a tie color matching their hero uniform (a cheeky thing they enjoyed doing to play with the theorists minds), Dick had a dark blue one, Tim and Jason slightly varying tones of red, Damian had a green one and Bruce had a black one. Cass wore a long black dress that sparkled when it was hit by the light in just the right way.

The first sign was the reporter, who, while aggressively pointing a microphone in their faces, asked pushy questions about relationships and the like, nothing out of the ordinary, until he shoved it in Cass’ face and asked her if she could even speak. Jason almost broke the man’s nose. Bruce silently thanked God for Dick, who stepped in front of the man before that happened.

“Try some shit like that again pal, you’ll hear from our lawyers.” He led his sister inside, a protective hand on her back.

They calmed down. And Bruce still had hopes that this would be a quiet evening.

Looking back at it, he doesn’t know why.

Because as Dick and Cass were at the bar, ordering drinks, a woman stood next to them, trying to make small talk. Neither of them seemed too interested in her; she is a hassle at every gala, making weird advances on all of the boys. Today, however, she was a little more tipsy, and Bruce couldn’t quite make out what exactly the conversation was about, but Dick was clearly uncomfortable and Cass was fuming. The woman kept grabbing at him, sliding her hands over his tie, squeezing his arms. And then she squeezed his ass, and it took Cass less than a second to break her nose.

If they were any other family, Cass would have been thrown out of the party, but they were the Waynes, and you do not throw a Wayne out of a party. If she punched a middle-aged woman, then she punched a middle-aged woman. Bring her a glass of water and some ice for her injured hand.

Of course, it didn’t end there.

Bruce was still surprised he didn’t have gray hairs yet.

Because Damian had discovered and made friends with a stray cat in the garden, and Jason had a laser pointer, because of course Jason had a laser pointer, and the cat ended up knocking down not one, not two, but three expensive pieces of pottery, shattering them on the gravel floor. And when the house owner saw the damage, he turned pale and had to hold back his tears. Jason laughed.

“-tt-.” Damian stated, adjusting his suit “You owe that cat a favour,those vases ruined the garden’s aesthetic. Regardless, I’m sure father will be more than happy to compensate you for the damages.”

He walked back to the party slowly, passing by the man who would need some time to make it back.

Once Jason broke him the news, Bruce thought (and hoped) that that would be it.

But no, the night was young, and there was so much time left and the batsibilings for sure wouldn’t waste it.

The previous statement about sleep deprived Tim?

Well.

Tonight, he had to pick a fight with an essential-oil-loving, antivax mother. Simply because he liked to torture himself. And because nobody realised he was alone until Bruce spotted him in the crowd, eye twitching as a woman rambled about all the heavy metals and chemicals that vaccines had in them. He thought about getting to him, but he knew it was too late. There was no going back now.

“Well, you see Karen,” He started.

“Uuum, my name’s Patricia.” She interrupted.

“I’m a billionaire’s heir, I don’t give a shit.” He said “Anyways. As I was saying, the thing is, I’d rather take the chance of being injecting myself with mercury than, oh, I don’t know, get meningitis and fucking die?”

The circle went quiet. Another woman, wanting to dissipate the tension, tried to restart the conversation.

“I-I mean, I don’t understand why can’t they make something safer, right? Like, when we used to throw those smallpox parties, why won’t they make something that works like that? So that we can build a natural immunity instead of all of those chemicals.” She laughed awkwardly.

Tim slapped his own face so hard that it attracted a lot of eyes.

“How. Do. You. Think. Vaccines. Work. Susan?”

“M-my name is Mary.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” He answered. And just in time, Dick swooped in.

“Hey, Timmy!” He greeted “Can I borrow this guy for a second?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he guided Tim out to the garden.

“Fucking idiots.” He muttered “I don’t know how they have so much money. They’re all fucking idiots, Dick. I’m surrounded by dumbasses.”

“There, there.” He said “Okay, we’re far enough.” He looked around “Go ahead.”

And Tim let out the most horrendous, rage filled scream any of those guests had ever heard. Because of course they heard it. Bruce sighed and shrunk on his chair.

“Better?” Dick asked as he finished, patting his back.

“So much.” Tim answered.

“You should’ve slept a little before this.”

“No way. I’m totally fine.” He answered “I had three cans of monster before we left, so I feel great.” Dick raised an eyebrow, worried.

“Whatever you say, buddy.” He led him back inside, tidying up his brother’s hair “Just... No more picking fights with moms tonight, okay?”

And Bruce thought that was enough. Bruce was certain that this would be the last incident.

But his kids just loved proving him wrong.

He thought that the best strategy would be to ask them to stick together, so that Dick’s responsibility and social skills would keep his feral siblings under control. He should’ve known it would backfire.

The last he checked, they were making small talk with some CEOs on the edge of the room, away from the dance floor. Jason, Cass and Damian seemed completely bored, Tim was clenching his jaw for some reason, and Dick tried his best to look polished and polite.

“So, I heard that Wayne Enterprises have a new project?” One of them asked, chest so projected forwards it looked like it was about to explode.

“Yes. Yes we do.” Dick said, smiling politely “We’re opening up a refugee housing program.”

“Oh, so that’s what those buildings are for?”

“Yes, exactly!” He exclaimed, opening his arms in a seemingly natural manner “We are building apartments to shelter them. It’s nothing fancy, but we can charge a cheaper rent than most, and not charge at all for the first six months, giving them a chance to properly establish themselves here.”

“Well, I must say,” Puffed up chest guy stated, “I can’t see why not to give them to good old Americans instead. There’s a lot of homeless people nowadays, you see.” He leaned forward as he talked.

Damian perked his head up, but didn’t say anything. Cass and Jason seemed to be listening. Tim’s left eye twitched.

“Actually,” Tim started “The company has very stable, successful projects to help the homeless.”

“I’m familiar with those, yes.” He arrogantly dismissed the teen “But, you see, I just can’t understand why not open the housing to tax paying Americans instead of some...”

“Potential terrorists?” Damian suggested, arms crossed, scowl on his face.

“...Foreigners.” He completed.

“Well, since you ask, we are currently planning on the possibility of eventually opening vague apartments to Americans too.” Dick answered, swirling the liquid in his glass around “But the priority now really are the refugees.”

“I don’t see why can’t we prioritize our own people.” He insisted “I’m simply concerned for the well being of our poorest patriots.”

Dick blinked.

And here’s why Bruce should have known it would backfire.

Because, yes, Dick was able to cool them down...

But they were able to fire him up.

And so, like the charismatic man he was, he covered his nose a little, rubbing at the end, and faked a loud sneeze.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” He started “You see, I have this strange condition.” Dick stared at the man in the eye, the guy who had bought an old building people were squatting at, just to demolish it and doom them to the streets with no care or compensation, and, knowing this and so much more, said “I’m allergic to bullshit.”

And his siblings went feral again.

Tim and Jason screamed an ‘Oooooooooh!’, Damian pointed at the man and laughed loudly, and Cass snorted, covering her mouth in surprise.

Dick didn’t break eye contact as he drank the last of his champagne.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” He said “I have to go look for better company.” Dick left the empty glass at the nearest table and adjusted his suit, smiling “Have a nice evening.”

As he walked away, the gang followed close behind, all of them very excited about how Dick, the composed, calm, cool, polite and polished Dick Grayson-Wayne, had just burned a millionaire in front of his economic allies. As the party reached Bruce, the man once again seemed to sink into his chair. Dick sat next to him, radiating confidence and charm.

“Do I wanna know?” The man asked.

“No,” Dick answered, grinning but not looking at the man “No you don’t.”

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