Chapter Text
Galas were, in a word, fake. It wasn’t like Dick Grayson had much room to criticize that point, who played right along with the charade, but on principle it wasn’t enjoyable. Smile, greet people, share empty words, and move on to the next person to continue the cycle. However, small consolations: he was not alone in his suffering.
To Damian, galas were fake but he was content with that. No, the worst part to him was the guests who seemed perfectly content to disrespect his family’s intelligence. Damian was not stupid, he was aware that it assisted in their cover, but it made the situations no less demeaning.
“Grayson,” Damian tapped his brother’s shoulder. “What time is it?”
“Umm, about half past eight. Sorry, kiddo, no sneaking off yet.”
“I still fail to see why Todd and Drake could not have handled this.”
“We’ve been over it,” Dick shrugged and patted Damian’s back. “This is the sacred method used to choose which of us have to handle galas. A completely fair, unbiased method based on luck.”
“Rochambeau is hardly a game of luck,” Damian sniffed.
“Hey, you and Tim can agree on that. Besides, at least you get an out come ten; saved by bedtime. Me? I’ll be here foooorevvver.”
“Unhand me!” Damian snapped as Dick became dead weight over his shoulder.
“Oh, why hello there!” The too high voice that dripped wealth and self-importance immediately sent the brothers back to the dull gala. “How wonderful to see the Waynes yet again!”
“Mrs. Squalor,” Dick nodded politely, reaching out to shake her hand. “I trust you’ve been well.”
“Ah, yes. Not just well, even weller than usual!” the woman reached out and patted the top of Damian’s head. “Oh! That reminds me!”
“Reminds you of what?” Dick prodded as Mrs. Squalor trailed off, seeming to look behind herself for something missing. That was fine by him, it meant that he could better restrain Damian from retaliating for her touching his head.
“Jerome!” she yelled suddenly over the otherwise even drone of the gala. “The orphans! Bring the orphans!”
Dick and Damian shared a puzzled look. They wished they could say this was odd behavior, but for Mrs. Squalor, it was painfully normal. At least her husband had accompanied her this time. Apparently, he was not the only one to accompany her. Three children in ill-fitting pinstripe suits trailed behind Mr. Squalor and Mrs. Squalor swiftly pulled them to her side. The two oldest two- a boy and a girl- seemed to be younger than Tim but older than Damian, and the youngest, who was held by Mr. Squalor, could not have been older than two or three.
“These are the Baudelaire orphans. As I’m sure you know, orphans are very in right now, and I am so lucky to have three,” the woman squealed.
“Are they now? I had no idea,” Dick said tightly. This conversation was already making him feel sick, and seeing the way Mrs. Squalor’s too-sharp nails dug into the shoulder of the girl was not helping.
“Oh yes. The Baudelaires here lost their parents in a fire three months ago. Horribly tragic, but it did make them the in-est thing at the moment,” Mrs. Squalor prattled on. “They have also faced a good many tragedies, but they are thankfully with us now, and we can assure that they no longer are as out as they were when they came to us.”
“Pleasure to meet you three,” Dick decided to turn the conversation back to the Baudelaires before Mrs. Squalor could keep saying such awful things with a smile. “I’m Richard Grayson-Wayne, but you can call me Dick. This here is my little brother Damian.”
“Nice to meet you,” the oldest nodded her head and spoke clearly. “My name is Violet, and this is my brother Klaus, and my little sister Sunny.”
“How long have you been in Gotham? It probably takes a bit of getting used to.”
“It’s been very nice,” Klaus nodded.
“Nice?” Dick raised an eyebrow at that.
“What my brother means is that, compared to some of the places we were, this city has been much nicer,” Violet explained. “Like that lumber mill.”
“Or the school where we ran laps every night,” Klaus added.
“Guiop,” Sunny babbled.
“She means that it’s about as dreary as the town where we lived with our Aunt Josephine, but with more structural integrity,” Violet translated.
“A lumber mill?” alarm bells went off in the back of Dick’s mind.
“Yes, I agree that is disgustingly out,” Mrs. Squalor shook her head. “Best not to talk about such things.”
“I would also rather not talk about those times,” Klaus spoke evenly and his sisters nodded in agreement. “At least Count Olaf has not been here.”
“Count Olaf?” Damian asked. The name sounded like a rogue, but not one he had heard of.
“A wicked man who wants our fortune,” Violet supplied. “He was the first guardian we were sent to live with, but he was only after our fortune and willing to do anything to get it. Since then, Count Olaf has followed us to each new place, killed our guardians, and made life miserable. Now he has our friends, the Quagmire triplets, and is likely going to be here soon.”
“Again with the Quagmire twins,” Mrs. Squalor rolled her eyes. “I thought I told you to stop speaking of such dull things.”
“Well, if he shows up here you should be just fine,” the way she spoke, resigned to the knowledge that he would probably show up here in Gotham, made Dick’s stomach roll. Just how much had these three been through to expect someone so awful to show up? “We have a good team of vigilantes protecting us.”
“Vigilantes?” Klaus seemed confused.
“A vigilante is someone who volunteers to suppress or punish crime,” Mr. Squalor explained.
“I know what vigilante means,” Klaus spoke quickly, like he was expecting to be cut off. Another thing for Dick to file away in the back of his mind. “I just mean that it is surprising that vigilantes are protecting a city as big as Gotham. From what I’ve read, vigilantes tend to be small groups with limited resources who do what they can to make the areas around them better.”
“You have heard of Batman before, right?” Dick asked.
“I can’t say I have,” Violet shook her head. “Is he a man who is also a bat?”
“Of course not,” Damian scoffed as Dick bit back laughter. “He is the guardian of Gotham.”
“Are you familiar with superheroes?” Dick asked when he could trust his voice again.
“You mean the ones out of stories?”
“Oh. My. Goodness,” Mrs. Squalor gaped at the three. “Vigilantes and heroes are only the most in thing after orphans. How have you not heard of them? They are often on the news and most cities have them nowadays.”
“I guess that we did not live in a place that needed vigilantes or heroes,” Violet admitted, her voice taking on a faraway, wistful sound. “I apologize that we did not already know this.”
“I will be sure to find a library and learn more about it,” Klaus added. “We ought to know everything about our new home.”
“Don’t sweat it,” Dick spoke evenly, not wanting to make the three kids feel bad. “I think that if you lived happily enough to not need heroes, that’s the best outcome.”
“Roroa,” Sunny babbled and the siblings shared a look that seemed to say they understood what she meant but would not be translating.
“Esme, dear,” Mr. Squalor spoke up. “It is quite late. I believe that the children should return home. There are a great many stairs to climb and they already seem tired.”
“Darling, the gala is supposed to go on for a while longer,” Mrs. Squalor huffed before shaking her head.
“But, dear-”
“No buts. The gala is not over and I wish to introduce my orphans to more people.”
“Damian, I do believe it’s your bedtime,” Dick spoke quickly. “See? Nine o’clock already!”
“Yes, you are right,” Damian was clearly surprised by being permitted to leave, but chose not to say anything. His brother surely had a plan and he would go along with it. “Good evening.”
“Hmph, I do suppose that the orphans ought to get some proper sleep,” Mrs. Squalor sniffed, seeming to make up her mind. “Take them home, Jerome. I will see you later.”
“Come on, Dames,” Dick pulled his brother behind him, leading him away from the party. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“You and I both know that I’m not permitted to leave yet,” Damian hissed when they were a safe distance away.
“Something about the Baudelaires feels off.”
“They behave like children who have not been treated well,” Damian admitted.
“Not really with them. I mean with what they said they’ve been through and how Mrs. Squalor seemed to dismiss it,” Dick quickly explained. “Besides, those kids seemed like they weren’t feeling up to a gala and this seemed like the easiest way to convince Mrs. Squalor to let them go. I’ll explain it to Bruce later, don’t worry.”
“I suppose that if it gets me out,” Damian smirked dryly.
“See? This worked out perfectly for you,” Dick chuckled. “Oh, but I do want you to do something for me.”
“What’s that?” Damian asked before he turned.
“See if you can find anything about the Baudelaires.” Yes, Dick was used to galas being faked but something about Mrs. Squalor felt more fake than even he could say was normal.
The Baudelaires had been in Gotham for all of three days before Esme bought them pin-striped suits (that fit them by no stretch of the imagination), told them to put on said suits, and dragged them off to a gala in a mansion a short distance from the city. Violet would have rathered her night be spent at the large wooden bench, creating some new contraption to make her siblings smile. Klaus would have preferred to visit a library to select a new book(the one at the Squalors’ penthouse was woefully lacking) and curl up with it in his bed the rest of the night. Sunny, admittedly, did not mind leaving and discovered galas to be filled with wonderfully bite-able items. But, the Squalors were kind enough to take them in, so the Baudelaires decided that they could attend a gala.
They met a great many people- most of which the Baudelaires knew would not remember them- and were reminded countless times by Esme that this is what the upper class did. The Baudelaires elected not to tell her that, while their parents would host dinner parties, excursions of this scale were practically unheard of in their home.
And so the night passed, with adults commenting on their plight and giving empty words of encouragement. There was, however, one interesting person they met. Two interesting persons who introduced themselves as brothers. They told the Baudelaires the most interesting thing they had heard all night: that if Count Olaf showed up in Gotham, a vigilante named Batman would protect them. Violet and Klaus considered themselves too old for the kind of rescue found in stories, and Sunny was too young to know of the kind of rescue found in stories, but the brothers had talked about this vigilante with so much hope the Baudelaires found themselves trusting him too. Whoever this Batman was, maybe he would be a reliable adult.