The Wayne foundation was holding a charity ball on New Years Eve. A *Masquerade* Charity Ball, that Bruce had already informed Tim he was required to attend. Dick, Damian, Cass and Barbara were all going to be there as well.
Tim didn't think he had the words to describe how massively bad of an idea he thought it was for a bunch of people who had masked secret identities to protect to parade around *in masks* for a night, surrounded by a bunch of socialites and paparazzi.
Especially considering that, astonishingly enough, some of these socialites had more consistent exposure to the vigilantes of Gotham than a lot of the street people. The number of high-society parties crashed in Gotham by crazed lunatics that needed the intervention of one of the masked crowd was bordering on the ridiculous.
So yes, he had protested. He had tried presenting his argument in a calm, logical manner. He had resisted the urge to make a powerpoint.
Or, well, to present it to them, anyway. He'd *made* several.
As the Ball approached and he got progressively more agitated over both the idea, and the fact that he was apparently being ignored, his arguments got a little more strident. The powerpoints came out. Still no one listened.
If his brain hadn't been busy conjuring up a series of progressively more disastrous worst-case scenarios, he would never have fallen for Dick's trap; his "perfectly solution, Timmy! If you're so worried about being recognized!"
The dress was blue. It was actually a truly striking dress; elegant and refined, with a flare of daring and style. Multitudes of hues of blue shone softly in the cave light. If he were looking at it from a truly aesthetic viewpoint, or on a beautiful woman, he would have actually liked it a lot. Seeing it hanging from Dick's hands while the demon brat snickered in the background was not the ideal viewing situation for this piece of fabric art.
"No." Tim did not think there was any room for question in his voice, but Dick's smirk only widened. "Not just no, hell no."
Tim couldn't help feeling like he first had when Dick suggested blindfolded train surfing; incredulous, and vaguely like this was what sibling bullying was all about.
It was a nice feeling, in someways, even if it always preceded trouble for him. It was nice to know that Dick cared, that he truly saw him as a brother. Even if that meant teasing him mercilessly.
He had spent his entire childhood watching Dick, wanting to be around him, in the sphere of people he held close.
They'd had some rough patches recently. There had been mistakes on both sides, hard feelings and awkwardness.
He was ecstatic that they seemed to finally be moving past that, setting back into the close relationship they'd had before everything had gone to hell.
He still wasn't wearing the dress.