Prompt: "This is non-negotiable"

funnily enough i have some oc's that require me to have some knowledge on flowers and their uses so shout out to them lot otherwise i'd have no fuckin idea how to ruin the evening

In the two years that Bruce had raised Dick, he had learned one very important thing about parenting. Bribery. Everything was negotiable and everything could be done if you named the right price. He was lucky that when he set a deal, Dick was a good sport about it. If he didn't fulfil his end then he wasn't a sore loser about missing out on whatever he wanted in exchange although he did try his best to find loopholes here and there if he really wanted something. Bruce had expected that when he turned to bribery, he'd use it for regular kid things. Eat your veggies and you can watch your cartoons for a bit longer. Do homework and then we can do something fun. Do well on this test and we'll go somewhere nice. 

While that was common, holding a deal about galas and press circuits was far more common. It was an unfortunate part of their lives that they'd have to spend a few nights every month surrounded by people who didn't have a clue about the everyday man yet desperately tried to prove they had a shred of empathy for those without by holding lavish parties with the sole intention for everyone to know they had money to spare to charity. If it wasn't crucial that Bruce hide behind his public persona to draw away from any connection to Batman, he would never show his face there. The short break he took from them to train was almost the best part of the harshness he faced in his time away. 

He hated that he had to subject Dick to it. Dick grew up with the spotlight put on him to show everyone how amazing he was and he was prepared for it every time. The spotlight on him now just wanted to get an interesting story, good or bad. Bruce wanted to cringe every time they went over media training and dreamed of the day he got some dirt on the media company that insisted Dick was only a charity case. They were also the ones who seemed to hone in on his ward at parties, asking him awkward questions and waiting for an answer they could distort as though they were trying to catch him in a lie of their making.

The most recent deal he made with Dick was that if he went to a gala, he could stay out extra long on Sunday since it was a three-day weekend. He got a disapproving look from Alfred when he brought it up but things were getting desperate. Dick had shown little interest in their usual exchanges and had outright refused to go to another gala after he saw his mentor flirt at the last one. Sure he knew Bruce was acting the part of the billionaire playboy but it was still stomach-churning. 

"How long is extra long?" Dick asked. He sounded like a tiny businessman trying to negotiate for a better bonus. 

"Two hours."

"Three."

"Two and a half not including the time it takes to drive home." The acrobat nodded thoughtfully. 

"So I go to the gala and I get that in exchange?" Thankfully, Bruce caught the loophole he was trying to create.

"You have to attend the gala until nine," he clarified. "This isn't a sit-down dinner but there will be tables you can stay at. I'm not asking you to socialise and you can bring homework, a book of your choosing and an activity but it can't be a video game."

"I leave at eight if I get my homework done." 

"This is non-negotiable. You have to stay until nine. The event ends at ten but since you're a child, it won't be rude for us to leave an hour earlier."

"Alright, you have yourself a deal."

When they got to the gala, Bruce decided to get the greetings out of the way so Dick could be left alone for most of the evening. He'd gladly sacrifice himself if it meant his ward could be ignored. As fast as he tried to be, it took an hour until he got through them all and found a table he could see at all times no matter where he was in the room. He doubted this event would be targeted by Gotham's gallery of criminals but that didn't mean they were safe. It didn't take the Joker and Scarecrow to cause chaos. Once Dick was settled with his biology homework, he went off to network in hopes the evening would go fast.

Although Dick couldn't find a loophole that would have him back home and get ready for a night out as Robin any time soon, he did find a couple. For homework, he deliberately chose the easiest options and included one hard project in case he was desperately bored. The book wasn't specified either so he brought his comics. He didn't really have any hobbies that weren't active but his art teacher was pushy on him trying the subject. He suspected it was only because she needed more members for the art club which currently had three students attending regularly and was about to be pushed out of the room for the pottery club. Why she didn't just combine the clubs, he didn't know but since he didn't have anything better to do now, he brought a sketchbook to doodle on.

Thankfully, not many noticed him sitting at the table by himself. The ones that did were the servers and the most they did was ask if he wanted anything. He declined a lot of the options since they all looked like they were made purely to make people feel rich eating them rather than for taste. He did agree to water when it was offered and a few cakes that didn't sound horrific to eat. 

Halfway through the event, he'd blown through everything but the hard homework he'd chosen to bring. As bored as he was, he wasn't ready to go through the spelling list he needed to learn before Tuesday. He wasn't the best at spelling since he'd learned English verbally. His parents said there was time for him to spell but because they toured in America so often, it was more important to speak it. The teacher wasn't particularly kind about it either which left a bitter taste in his mouth when he tried to learn. It was also incredibly boring to revise. Re-reading the same words over and over was a special kind of mind-numbing. 

A server he hadn't seen before came over and placed a plate in front of him before quickly leaving without a word. He frowned to himself but didn't take it to heart. With how many spoiled people were here, adults and children, they were probably at their wit's end and didn't want to attempt a conversation. He drew his attention back to the plate and almost laughed. A collection of flowers were placed in a mock salad and he was once again floored by what rich people would eat if they were told it was expensive. The flowers had a long white flute shape that faded into a green. He picked one up and smelt it just in case they weren't flowers but really well-done confectionary. Nope. Definitely a flower. With a shrug, he snacked on one and went back to doodling. It didn't taste very good so he didn't have another. Rich people were weird.

Half an hour later, his mouth was feeling incredibly dry and he found it difficult to swallow. He flagged down as many servers as he could to refill his glass with water but it did nothing to ease the desert in his mouth. Was he getting sick? He glanced around the room for a clock and when that didn't work, he asked the next person who filled his glass what time it was. 

"It's just gone seven. Are you getting tired?" they asked in a soothing tone. He tried not to take offence. He knew he looked like every other kid so he would be spoken down to like every other kid but it was still annoying. He didn't need to be babied when he was going toe to toe with Mr Freeze on the weekends. 

"No, just curious."

"Are you learning about time at school?" 

He was about to kill the conversation when he noticed a small wristwatch just covered by the cuff of their shirt. He knew he couldn't leave until nine, that was non-negotiable so even if he felt sick he would be losing out on the longer patrol. He also didn't doubt that even if he stuck it out the entire gala and then revealed he was sick he'd be losing it too but he could try to get it moved to another time. Having some semblance of timekeeping would be nice. He could track his symptoms as something to do as well. 

"Yeah, it's actually my homework but B didn't leave me a watch to practice and there's no clocks in here," he lied.

"Oh, why don't you borrow mine? It's a bit small but it should work and you can just swing by every now and then until you're done."

"That'd be great, thank you!" They smiled and placed it down on the table before noticing the flowers. 

"Did you go picking in the garden?"

"No, someone brought it over before." Their smile dropped for a moment and they picked up the plate.

"That's odd, none of the others were white," they mumbled under their breath before the smile returned. "I'll get them out of your way. I take it you didn't like them." He shook his head. "I thought so, edible flowers never go down well with the kids. Parents hate it. The last event I worked parents complained it was teaching their kids to eat their flower patches." They looked like they were about to continue but stopped themselves. There was likely a rule about talking to patrons for too long. He gave them a polite smile and then scribbled down the time in the sketchbook with a dry mouth as his symptom. Until he got a new one, he absently drew the flower he'd eaten on the page and decided that if he were sick then he wasn't going to make himself worse with English. 

The next symptom came twenty minutes later. Nausea. He couldn't be sure it wasn't from drinking at least five cups of water in the space of twenty minutes so he didn't worry about it too much. If he vomited then he'd forfeit the long patrol and try to make it part of the next bribe. Although he really wanted a long patrol, he didn't fancy staying here if he couldn't hold down what little he'd eaten. 

Later he found a problem. This next symptom was blurred vision and it was incredibly hard to write or read the time to note down when it began. He rubbed his eyes a few times but it clung to his sight. He did his best to work around it but it was like there was a thick wall of tears in front of him. The clock face needed him to squint when his vision was fine so he guessed that it couldn't be eight yet. The nausea was getting worse too. 

He thought that would be the end of it. He wasn't sure what illness would cause all three symptoms but he guessed it could be a mix of a few things. Knowing his luck, it would be. Dick pulled another chair close to him and took off his jacket to use as a blanket. There was nothing about sleeping at the gala and frankly, he didn't care if it was implied. He didn't want to spend any more time awake with how bad he felt. 

As he settled down on his surprisingly comfortable improvised bed, he suddenly felt a sudden sense of dread. The last time the feeling had hit him so intensely was when he realised his parents were falling with no way to save themselves. He shot up and looked around the ballroom. Although he couldn't see very well, he knew something was very wrong with what he was confronted with. 

Everyone's face was dripping like wax on a lit candle. Features were slipping off and slopping onto the floor yet they continued to talk about their latest stock prices, ignoring how their skin was falling in clumps. The sight almost made him vomit. He quickly checked his own face and although it felt normal, when he drew his hand away he saw skin-coloured residue. 

With muted horror, he scrambled back and dove under the tablecloth. He couldn't be scared by what he was seeing if he could no longer see it, right? By that same logic, he would be extra protected if he squeezed his eyes closed tightly so he scrunched them up so hard he was seeing stars. Continuing with that line of thought, he put his fingers in his ears since he couldn't be scared if he couldn't hear either. It proved to be useless as he heard the distant sound of familiar screams inch closer to him. He dug his fingers in further until he was sure he was touching his brain. The screams continued so he just made sure that not a single strand of light could reach his eyes.

Hopefully, Bruce wasn't affected and would come to save him.

With only five minutes left, Bruce made his way through the crowd back to the table. He'd seen Dick duck under it earlier and smirked to himself. He was probably avoiding being served any more food. He knelt down and pulled back the tablecloth, expecting Dick to startle a little before grinning at his sentence ending. He didn't see that.

Dick was curled in a ball with his legs tucked close to his chest, his eyes squeezed shut and his fingers dug into his ears. Tears stained his cheeks and his mouth was clenched closed as if he were afraid to even breathe. He knew that sometimes Dick got overwhelmed. The world was so big and every day it seemed to get bigger and louder. He understood that sometimes everything got too much but they'd come to an understanding that when it got that way, he was supposed to find Bruce or Alfred so they could take a time out. 

He carefully reached out and slowly pulled at Dick's arm. His ward whimpered and tentatively opened an eye. Whilst Bruce understood they were in a dimly lit place, he knew dilated pupils when he saw them. 

"B?" 

"Yeah, it's me chum. Can you get out from under the table?" He got a firm shake of the head. "That's fine, I can get you out. Can I get you out?" He nodded enthusiastically. Bruce hooked his arms around him and brought him out. Immediately the acrobat buried his face in his shoulder and made no sign of moving as he collected his things. He picked up the sketchbook and noticed something scrawled there.

7:10 pm Dry Mouth

7:30 pm Nausea 

smthin blurd vion

Beside the notes was a drawing of a flower. He mentally filed it away as he continued to pack everything up. As he walked out, he subtly checked Dick's pulse. Too fast. He catalogued symptoms and drew a flower. Anyone else would overlook it but he didn't. As soon as he got into the back of the limo, he told Alfred to drive to the hospital. He wasn't risking a second more.

It turned out the bouquet order was mixed with the edible flowers. Chefs who were overworked trying to pump out as many precisely constructed hors d'œuvres as they could didn't look twice at the flowers. They were chefs, not botanists at the end of the day. Servers didn't question what was on the plates since it wasn't their place to comment. 

On the one hand, Bruce was thankful that Dick was the only one to receive Jimson Weed. A lot of those attending the gala were older and likely would've suffered more had they been exposed to it. There also would've been a giant panic and he didn't know if he would've had the forethought to check on his protege in the midst of it. 

On the other hand, he was devastated that out of everyone there, including people who really did deserve it, Dick was the one to receive it. It was a matter of chance but it felt like there was someone purposefully fucking Dick over every time they could. He was like their little project of how much you could get away with putting a person through until they broke. 

It was cruel to see him be forced to vomit until nurses said he was in the clear for now. They kept him in for observation and a now lucid Dick explained the hallucinations he experienced. He laughed bitterly when the nurses brought up it was a common hallucinogen for kids who couldn't get their hands on the street usuals. 

"Why would anyone want that?" he asked. At least Bruce didn't have to worry about the eventual say no to drugs talk.