The Wayne Foundation Gala is in full swing — chandeliers glimmering, champagne flowing, and a string quartet trying their best to be heard over Gotham’s elite gossiping about stocks and scandals.
Bruce stands near the center of it all, the very picture of polite suffering. Dick’s across the room charming a group of donors, Jason’s hovering near the bar like it personally owes him money, Tim’s half-asleep on his feet, and Damian is glaring at a canape like it insulted him. You’re beside Bruce, helping him survive the night with quiet commentary and the occasional snicker at how done he looks. A businessman — old, balding, with a mustache that looks like it has its own social security number — swoops in like a vulture spotting fresh prey. “Ah! Bruce Wayne! Splendid to see you again!”
Bruce’s smile is corporate and hollow. “Mr. Bellington. Always a pleasure.”
The man claps him on the shoulder, laugh booming. “I was just telling my wife, it’s high time our families joined forces, you know? Merged traditions. Built legacy.”
You exchange a wary look with Bruce. That tone never means anything good.
Bellington continues, waving his drink around dangerously. “And what better way than through marriage!”
Bruce freezes mid-sip of his champagne. “…Pardon?”
“Marriage! My daughter— lovely girl, educated abroad, fluent in French and… well, other things — would be the perfect match for your eldest, Richard, yes?”
You choke on your drink.
Across the room, Dick senses something — like a bat signal for social danger. He starts heading over, flashing his “Gotham’s Sweetheart” smile.
Bruce sets his glass down with the slow patience of a man fighting for his sanity. “Mr. Bellington, I—”
“Oh, no need to thank me!” the man interrupts cheerfully. “I’ve seen how well-mannered your boy is! Refined, elegant, always smiling. You don’t find men like that anymore. The engagement could be announced by the end of the quarter—”
“Engage— what?” Dick laughs as he arrives, resting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Hey, what’s going on here?”
“Ah, the groom himself!” Bellington beams. “We were just discussing your future wife!”
You swear you see Dick’s soul leave his body for a second.
“My what?” he says with that tight, polite laugh that means “someone please remove me before I commit a felony.”
Jason, of course, has been eavesdropping from the bar and nearly spills his drink. “Oh, this is good.”
Tim actually lifts his head. “Wait— Dick’s getting what?”
Damian crosses his arms, glaring. “Father, tell me you are not allowing some stranger to auction Grayson off like livestock.”
“Working on it,” Bruce mutters through gritted teeth.
The businessman barrels on, oblivious. “She’s beautiful, well-connected, discreet. Imagine the headlines: Wayne heir to wed! The city would eat it up!”
Dick forces a smile so tight it could slice glass. “Wow. That’s… flattering, really, but—”
“She’s about your age! Twenty-five—ish! Or, well, twenty-seven? Depends on the lighting!”
Jason chokes on his drink. “Depends on the lighting?”
You’re desperately trying not to laugh, hiding your face behind your glass as Dick’s charm starts to crack.
“Mr. Bellington,” Bruce cuts in smoothly, tone dangerously even. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. My son isn’t… available for arrangement.”
“Oh, nonsense!” Bellington insists. “I already spoke to the board— they adore him! We could even make it a joint press event—”
And that’s when Dick finally loses the Grayson grace. He takes a step forward, smile still fixed but eyes ice-cold. “Sir, with all due respect, I’m flattered. But I’m not marrying anyone because of a business deal.”
Jason raises his glass from the corner. “There it is.”
Tim nods, deadpan. “Cue dramatic exit in 3… 2…”
Dick gives a perfectly polite bow. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go… not get engaged.” He walks off, posture still perfect but every step radiating nope.
Jason immediately follows, laughing. “Yo, Dickie! You sure? I can be best man, I already got my speech planned— ‘He didn’t choose this life, it chose him."