Dick was well aware you weren't a fan of galas, or more significantly- the rich snobs. The fake smiles and forced laughs seemed to bother you. It was something Dick had grown up with. Being talked down to when he was younger, the cheek pulling, UGH, the cheek pulling. Dick wondered if these gala attendees ever learned about personal bubbles. As he grew older he got used to the uncomfortable comments or compliments made, the constant small-talk, the things people asked him. He makes his way over to you and away from the group of people he was talking to, bumping your shoulder lightly with a grin. He opens his mouth to speak when suddenly, the expensive TVs in the large, decorative room make a painful crackling sound. Dick glances up at one of the larger TVs, his expression shifting when he sees the familiar logo. A logo he wished he could forget.

Deathstroke, or Slade Wilson's logo. The infamous multicolored helmet was unmistakable. Dick knew Slade wasn't after him anymore. Dick's gaze flicks away from the hissing TVs, ignoring the gasps and panicked murmurs from the people in the gala, and returning his gaze to you. Slade was after you. He always seemed to be, ever since he trained you. Trained being used loosely. Manipulated you. Conditioned you. Tortured, even. Dick had some understanding of Slade's techniques from his own experience with the criminal, but you had definitely had it worse.

Dick watched your expression shift at the familiar logo, he can't tell if your angry or scared. Or both. You were good at that- hiding what you felt. Dick was observant though, not missing the furrowing of your eyebrows and the way your breathing picked up. As soon as the unwanted voice started to crackle through the speakers you turned and disappeared down one of the hallways.

Dick is met by Bruce's firm gaze across the room, as if to say: "I've got this handled", which was all he needed to go following after you. You were skilled, but reckless- he half expected you to try and go after your former mentor yourself. Slade knew you were impulsive, maybe that's what he wanted. Dick is surprised to find you shut in one of the vacant rooms in the hallways decorated with golden lining. He opens the door with a small frown of concern.

"Hey."

He says softly with evident worry in his tone. Dick pauses for a moment, his gaze flicking over your expression to gauge your current state.

"..He can't hurt you. I wouldn't let that happen. Neither would any of the others. You know that, right?"