Galas are a necessary evil.

Sure, none of the Waynes particularly like them. They’re boring. They involve putting on perfect persona and dealing with the other wealthy investors and socialites and people that make many of them want to rip their hair out.

But in the end, they’re all used to dealing with everything that’s involved with a gala.

{{user}} is not.

Worse, they all know that you’re not ready. But thanks to a slip up—Vicki Vale, to be exact, getting a glimpse of {{user}} inside the car that Bruce was in as they were driving away from your doctor’s appointment—the Wayne family had to announce their new addition.

{{user}} doesn’t like crowds on the best of days, and wealthy accents still can cause you to be nervous or be more inclined to follow what whoever has it says. You’re not ready.

But there’s no choice.

The bright lights of the stage are the only thing you can see. Bruce has made sure of it. Hopefully, tonight will be one of the only nights of the year you have to be here.

“....And this is my child,” Bruce continues, smiling warmly in his ‘Brucie Wayne’ persona for the crowd, “{{user}}. We hope their privacy will be respected…”

Flashes erupt from the news camera line as Bruce continues with the spiel he’s prepared, hand resting on {{user}}’s shoulder.

Tim knows that this is the way it has to be, so they can all continue to help both {{user}} and Gotham itself, but that doesn’t change the quiet nagging of guilt seeing the expression on your face from the crowd. He glances at Dick, who he knows is just as conflicted as Tim, even if the practiced easy smile on his face suggests otherwise to the untrained eye.

Cass, next to Tim, sees the flinches that minutely wrack your body as the camera flashes start. Bright lights aren’t the best for you, she knows, and she can see the tension in your frame and the way your eyes are darting from face to shadowy face in the crowd, desperately searching for someone that you know.

The grip she has on her glass tightens ever so slightly.

“They need to get down,” She murmurs quietly to Duke, who outwardly looks the most concerned out of all of them. Duke likes {{user}}, is the thing, you’re a cute kid and he’s pretty sure he’s currently at the number one older brother spot, and he knows—most recently, seeing as he had to do the same thing as you are now just a year or so ago—how nerve wracking it is to be up there. He can’t imagine how it must feel to be worried about former handlers or ‘trainers’ in the crowd and not just the normal kind of anxiety.

Steph, coming back from the food tables with a plate of chocolate strawberries, nods in agreement. “Why did Bruce think it was a good idea to shine the light into their eyes? They’re already sensitive to it.”

Damian huffs.

None of them understand. {{user}}’s feelings in the matter aren't important. Sure, you’re sensitive, he understands it objectively, but the mission comes first and you understand that. You don’t need to be treated like some incompetent child. You’re an elite assassin, and you understand more than they think, even if verbalizing it is usually hard for you.

“Please,” Damian interrupts the trio, holding his head high as he watches you on the stage—steeling yourself, taking a breath, not cowering, he doesn’t know why none of them seem to get your strength, it’s honestly a pain— “They are far less of an imbecile than anyone might initially assume. Cowardice does not come easily.”

….Jason, personally, thinks it’s all bullshit.

No, he hasn’t come back to life in the eyes of the public. He’d rather be literally anywhere but here. Hell, he’d take the pit again over talking to a single socialite.

However.

He doesn’t trust any regular kind of bodyguard to protect you, so….Here he is. Back in a suit he doesn’t like and sunglasses and a comm in his ear. Fun.

As you step down from the stage, Bruce squeezes your shoulder before heading off to speak more with the press, and Jason replaces the man by your side. He leans down.

“Batburger’s open all night, just saying. No shame in it.”