Galas were decidedly weird or at least they were to Dick Grayson who had been attending them for the better part of a year now. They were like all the worst parts of a party put together and then sprinkled in gold to make you think it was great. It was all awkward conversations, the food you weren't sure was actually edible and being ignored by every adult in a five-mile radius until one decided to pick on you by pinching your cheeks and talking about you as though you were a doll rather than a person. He hated that whenever they mentioned orphanages they were donating to everyone would turn to him, seemingly forgetting that he hadn't been given the luxury of going to one of those homes because they were too full. Not to mention the stuffy suits and constricting bow ties he was forced to wear or Alfred pulling his curls into a waxed-down imitation of the century-old men that attended these things all while saying he should embrace his curls on every other day of the week.

So, when he was told of yet another gala he was supposed to attend, he looked longingly at the pond in the back garden and wondered if those breathing techniques he'd been taught would let him stay under long enough to avoid all this. Honestly, he wouldn't be mad if it didn't. A night in the hospital dealing with almost drowning was more attractive than a gala.

"They're not that bad," Bruce insisted even though he reacted similarly when Alfred told him the same news. He thought Dick hadn't seen him but that was the joy of being so small, he could get insight others couldn't. People thought he couldn't keep quiet or still but he could when he was properly motivated. Eavesdropping was great motivation. "I know you don't enjoy them but they're necessary."

"How exactly? Why can't they donate their money and be done with it? Why do they need a pat on the back and spend more on an event than what they donated?" he inquired, folding his arms across his chest and pouting. He took a little pride in stumping his mentor if the successive few beats of silence were anything to go by. He wondered if Bruce had ever thought about it or if living in a world where galas are almost required made them seem normal but Bruce wasn't like the other rich people. He cared about the causes he donated to, he did endorsements and public events because they needed to be done to put more focus on the issues that weren't the hot topic of the month.

"Well, it's not really about the donations," he admitted. "It's about keeping up social connections. That's how most business deals are conducted." Dick rolled his eyes at the answer.

"Surprise surprise, rich people don't actually care about charity," he grumbled sarcastically. "Why do I need to go anyway? I'm ten! I don't need social connections with people who will die before I graduate high school."

"Hey, that's not nice."

"The truth isn't always nice, B." Bruce sighed and gave him that look. It was a silent plea to stop testing his already stretched-out parental knowledge but he really didn't want to go to this gala. Maybe if he got grounded he'd be saved from the excruciating evening although he knew part of his punishment would be to attend it. "When can I stop going?"

"When you're too old to eat anything that isn't liquified," Bruce replied plainly. Dick hated that he smirked at the comment. His mentor's humor was dry but it still got a laugh out of him most of the time. "If you're good, I'll let you skip the next one."

"I want that in writing and signed."

"It'll be on your desk tomorrow," the older replied with a soft smile. He reached out to ruffle Dick's hair but was stopped in his tracks by Alfred's stern stare. 

"I spent an hour on that hair and don't intend to do it again." The billionaire went with an awkward pat on the shoulder instead. "I suppose I'll be acting as a witness to this deal as Master Dick is under the age of eighteen?" he questioned with his usual dry wit.

"And read it over. You know how B likes his fine print. That's how I ended up doing honours classes in exchange for skipping that magazine interview."

"Honour classes will look good on your college application."

"And make me question my life choices at the tender age of ten."

"You'll be fine. Clark is coming with Lois to do some interviews. I'm sure he'll keep you entertained after he's done," Bruce insisted. He used the tone he saved for when he wanted conversations to end. The acrobat huffed but willingly dropped the subject knowing in some way he'd won.

As expected, the gala was boring. There were hardly any children Dick's age and when there was, they were usually stuck up and weren't going to waste their time with him. He didn't mind. He much preferred people wanting nothing to do with him than the people who pretended to get along with it to either get in Bruce's pants or set him up with their kids they left at home. 

Bruce chose a table in the back, close to the vast garden that Dick wasn't allowed to escape to without permission. He looked at it longingly as they sat through various speeches thanking donors with jokes that were never funny and flattery of people who already had inflated egos. He fiddled with the tablecloth and his shirt collar when he felt the urge to sigh which did nothing to prove that he could sit still. 

When that was over, Bruce instructed him to wait whilst he got some food. 

"Nothing I can't pronounce," he said. Of course, he could pronounce pretty much everything since he picked up a few languages from being in the circus but his mentor got the message and came back with a small pot of sorbet and juice that was served in a champagne flute. 

"Here," Bruce offered. It was almost like a peace offering and although Dick expected much more in compensation, the sorbet would do. "It's raspberry." He paused for a moment. "Have you had that before?" he asked apprehensively.

"I think I can handle raspberry sorbet B," Dick drawled. He couldn't help but smile a little as deadpan as he tried to sound. He'd learned to find humour in his mentor's parenting antics since they ranged from having no clue how to handle someone under twenty and being randomly knowledgable but only for kids under five. "Plus you did allergy tests on me."

"You broke out in hives when we changed the fabric softener. It was better to be safe than sorry."

"It took ages just to find out I'm allergic to some fragrances and Yellow Jackets."

"You'll be happy to know that information is anyone wasp-themed comes out of the woodwork," Bruce said sagely. "Stay here."

"And do what?"

"People watch," his mentor suggested. "Clark is around somewhere, he'll come over to you once he's done with his interviews."

"But that's boring!"

"Life is boring." Dick tutted at the response but didn't move as Bruce began his circuit of saying hello to all the shareholders and potential shareholders. The acrobat had to admit that he'd rather sit with nothing to do than tag along listening to small talk.

Finally, Clark found Dick in the crowd and sat down with him under the guise of an interview. Lois smiled fondly and promised to cover for him whilst they caught up. By this time, Dick had finished his sorbet and silently noted how weird it had tasted. Knowing rich people, it was from something he didn't want to know the origin of and cost about a year's rent per gram.

"Are you two dating yet?" Dick asked with typical child-like boldness. 

"We're just friends," he answered a little flustered and nervous. He glanced at Lois and then in a seemingly random direction as if searching for a face there. The acrobat shrugged it off as denial or maybe just being shy about a crush. "Are you dating anyone?"

"I'm ten." The super chuckled to himself. "I'm glad you're here. It's so boring here."

"These things always are. Anything interesting happen?"

"Not really." He smacked his lips, unable to get rid of the weird bitterness in his mouth. He sipped his juice but still it stubbornly remained on his tongue. "Did you have any of the sorbet? It tastes really funky."

"Yes, but mine tasted fine. Maybe it was the syrup. I noticed Bruce was the only one that got it. I suppose it seems a little childish to other people," Clark suggested. He hummed skeptically. Sure it seemed childish but he would've thought some people would get it too. Why would only Bruce get it? He glanced over to the food table where the sorbet was being served and noticed the lack of a bottle of syrup. Did you have to ask for it? Why would they do that? He narrowed his eyes in thought before his concentration was brought to a screeching halt by a headache. He winced and rubbed his forehead. "Brain freeze?"

"No, I finished eating like five minutes ago. Just a bad headache. Probably from the noise."

"Do you want some air? I'm sure Bruce won't mind as long as I go out with you." He nodded and slipped off of his chair, frowning at how out of sorts he felt. Maybe this was more of a migraine than a headache. He followed Clark outside and took some deep breaths.

After a couple of minutes, he just felt worse rather than better. He kept his eyes on the grass to keep his vision steady but now it looked like a blob of green and he couldn't make out the blades of it anymore. He'd been sick plenty of times before but this wasn't right. This wasn't a sudden onslaught of flu or food poisoning. This felt unnatural. He turned to Clark to say something only to stop when he saw the older staring at him with deep worry.

"What is it?" he asked timidly. 

"Your heart," Clark muttered. "It's beating differently."

"Maybe because I feel gross," he suggested.

"No, it's- it's arrhythmia. Have you had that before?" He shook his head which he regretted quickly as everything seemed to tilt oddly. "Just wait here whilst I get Bruce. I think you need a doctor. Sit down if you start to feel faint and if you feel faint and sick then lie in the recovery position." That wasn't good. 

He watched the super head back inside hastily and search for his mentor. He glanced inside to see the pulsating mass of the gala and knew that Clark would struggle to find Bruce. Clark would try his best but this place was already battering his super hearing so he'd struggle to find Bruce's heartbeat in the crowd. They would have more luck if they both went on the hunt for Bruce so despite how horrid he felt, he went back in.

Staying upright was difficult but spurred on with the knowledge that something was wrong with him and that Bruce would know what to do, he forced himself through it. He bumped into a few people who made disgruntled comments about how he had no manners. He would love to stop to correct them but he didn't have the time. His stomach was churning and his eyesight was depleting. He could pass out at any minute and he wanted to make sure he was at least close to his guardian. 

He stumbled along and fought the urge to stop when he felt something wet drip from his nose. Nosebleed, nausea and messed up eyesight all pointed to poison and he had half the mind to blame whatever made his sorbet so bitter. Dick ran through poisons in his mind, all of them requiring immediate medical attention upon consumption which he was well past. He could only hope that it took longer to start shutting down organs. The last place he wanted to die was in one of these galas surrounded by rich people who would use his death for their own gain. He could already imagine them embellishing their relationship, saying how he was like a nephew to them for sympathy points or maybe they'd swing the other way and say he was better with his parents than amongst them.

Finally, he spotted Bruce entrapped in conversation with some of the older shareholders. 

"B?" Dick called, his voice tight and quiet. The room was blurred, the lights flashing in the corners of his eyes but he did his best to focus on his mentor. Bruce turned to him, looking slightly annoyed so he must've interrupted a conversation but the expression softened when they faced one another. "Something's wrong." He tried to clarify, knowing what he said was far too vague to get any real help. He knew in situations like this where he was compromised he had to be as clear and concise as he could be but it was hard to think. He just wanted to feel better. He wanted to be here.

"Oh, is the little one getting tired?" someone commented with a voice dripping in condescension. Probably one of the older donors. If Bruce was talking to them then they probably owned a share of Wayne Enterprises. Had Dick not felt so out of touch with reality, he would've been slightly embarrassed for showing up his mentor in the middle of a conversation but right now everything was just splotches of light and dark. 

"Bruce," was all Dick could say before his eyes rolled back into his head and his body became limp.

Vaguely, Dick remembered someone shouting his name and a different person asking him questions. He didn't know what the questions were but he knew they were asking them because of the cadence of their voice. They sounded urgent although not panicked like someone needing information yet prepared to not receive it. Judging by the sound of car doors slamming that followed, he concluded that they must've been a paramedic. 

"Dick, are you awake?" Bruce asked, his voice soft and caring.

Paramedics meant he was in hospital. He was never eating at a gala again or at least he was going to get his own food and watch them prepare it like a hawk. What was it for? Why was he the target? He guessed his relation to Bruce was the main culprit.

"His eyes are open," Clark's voice commented worriedly. 

Dick blinked. The blank white in front of him suddenly registered as a ceiling. Probably the hospital ceiling. He felt the canula in his nose and the IV in his arm. The sheets were slightly uncomfortable, too thin and a weird fabric that felt like paper but not quite. His throat was sore perhaps from a breathing tube. Maybe he needed surgery. Did he lose anything important? He hoped not. He wasn't ready to lose an organ to bloody sorbet.

"It might be from the medications," Clark said soothingly. "It affects kids differently and he's only small."

"Don't you have somewhere to be? People will wonder why you're here with me."

"I don't care what people say, you know that."

"If Dick finds out-"

"He won't care. He never will. I think the only thing he'll be upset about is not knowing. He's been pretty set on me dating Lois." Bruce laughed lowly.

Right, hospital. He should probably say something. He forced his head to loll to the side and watched the pair silently. They were sitting in armchairs provided for friends and family, moved together so they could both sit by his bedside. They watched him carefully, Bruce looking tired and Clark smiling in a bittersweet way. 

"You with us?" Clark asked softly. 

"Think so," he replied, his voice dry and croaky. "What happened?"

"You were poisoned and passed out at the party. The syrup they put on your sorbet contained lily of the valley," Bruce explained. "Some sort of follower of Poison Ivy thought he'd try to kill me but when you ate it, he was pretty quick to say what he used."

"Guess child murder sits worse on his conscience," he muttered to himself. "Am I okay?"

"You'll be alright. It'll be a short hospital stay."

"Good," he mumbled. The last thing he wanted was a long hospital stay. "Some party."

"I think you'll be able to skip the next one," Clark commented, trying to make the mood light. 

"He'll be missing several and we're getting the same as everyone else."

"And I want ice cream."

"And he'll get ice cream."