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Jason couldn’t believe he’d actually been invited to the Wayne family Christmas celebration. It was just asking for trouble.
And by God, was he going to provide it.
‘Twas the night before Christmas and Jason was all decked out in red. He had a bag of gifts and a plan in his head. A diabolical plan.
He wanted to do some good ol’ fashioned breaking and entering, as the holiday tradition demanded. Preferably through one of Wayne Manor’s actual chimneys. But his bag of gifts was majorly cramping his style here. It was too bulky for a stealth job. He couldn’t even fit it through a window. There was even one box that didn’t make it into the bag, and that he was going to have to carry in separately.
Which left entering through the front door. Like some sort of civilian.
It was disgraceful.
Nevertheless, needs must. Alfred swung open the massive front door mere seconds after Jason rang the bell. He had yet to figure out how the old man always did that.
“Master Jason,” he said warmly. “How good to see you.”
“You too, Alfie,” he said.
“I see you are Santa this year.”
“Yeah, B can fight me for it. Anyway, I bring gifts!”
“But of course. Right this way, young sir.”
Wayne Manor-- naturally-- had about thirty Christmas trees inside of it. The biggest of them all was the one in the grand foyer. The foyer was two stories tall, with a glittering, reinforced chandelier dripping from the ceiling center. The room was all dark wood and gleaming gold and plush red furniture-- decorated to the nines for the season. Two staircases arched towards a mezzanine at the back of the room. In between them sat a massive fuck-off Christmas tree.
But that wasn’t the family tree.
Jason trotted up the curved staircase on the left, bag thudding against his calves with every step. The mezzanine level was a large, open space. As the grand foyer separated the two main wings of Wayne Manor, there was nothing but empty space behind it. Two-story tall floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the grounds on the opposite side of the front door. Showing off the sculpted, immaculate gardens.
Though, at this time of year, all Jason saw was a blanket of snow. Even the gardens’ water features were all frozen solid.
There was a pond, out further back. It froze every year, too. But Bruce always said the ice wasn’t thick enough to skate on, which Jason resented.
He wouldn’t put it past B to have been lying about that all these years.
There was a cozy living room like space up on top of the mezzanine. Decorated to match the floor below, of course, both in furnishings and in holiday decorations.
It also held a much smaller Christmas tree. That was where all the gifts were piled.
Jason set his bag down with a thunk. He began pulling boxes out and stuffing them haphazardly under the tree.
He had done a shit job wrapping each gift. Because he didn’t care. At all. It was very important to send that message.
He may have finally agreed to come to family Christmas, but no one was allowed to read into that, or anything. Especially not B.
Speaking of B, he had a special gift planned for him. Jason pulled out the very last box from the bottom of the bag. It was bigger than it needed to be-- about ten by ten inches. He had found some kittens in it three weeks ago, in an alley behind a dumpster, and known right then that it was perfect.
The kittens had been rehomed, and Jason had taken the soggy alley box-- piss-covered and chewed on thanks to the cats-- and chucked Bruce’s Christmas gift into it. Then he wrapped it with day-old newspapers and duct tape.
That was a message.
He grabbed the world’s worst gift box and headed to his father’s bedroom. He was gonna leave it in the center of the bed for B to discover later. It’ll be a fun, nasty Christmas surprise for him.
Jason was a goddamn genius.
Christmas dinner was one of the very few occasions that Alfred could be persuaded to eat with the rest of them. A tradition that had begun when little nine-year-old Dick pitched a fit about him being family, not a servant, during his very first Christmas at the Manor.
Christmas in the circus had been huge. Communal. Full of laughter and light and warmth. Dick had broken down sobbing on December 24th that year when he came down to a long, somber dining table with only Bruce sitting at it.
A reasonable reaction, in his eyes. He held firm about that to this day.
Things had changed over the past twenty years. It wasn’t just him and Bruce and Alfred anymore. Babs had started tentatively joining, depending on her and her father’s schedule each year. Then Jason had come along. Then Tim, and Cass, and by then Steph was as good as family, and soon after that there was Damian, and now they even had Duke.
It was Duke’s first Christmas with them, this year. His third spent in foster care.
Dick was determined to make it special.
They waited until everyone was sitting at the table and dug in without further ado. Bruce had never been big on prayer. He was, and Dick quotes, “an atheist until such a time as evidence of God’s presence becomes more than circumstantial.”
Because even God was a case to him.
Dick’s family had never been overly religious either, but they did keep some traditions. Christmas had been so big. There was the circus celebration, of course. But also their own family traditions. Dick’s dad had been from Germany, his mother from the Netherlands.
Dick had cried, that first year, when Bruce didn’t realize they needed to celebrate Sinterklaas too. Every year after that, though (even when Dick was far too old for it), Bruce had dutifully scheduled the major gift giving of the season on December 5th, rather than the 25th. Dick would leave out his shoes by the fireplace, stuffed with carrots and hay, and get back kruidnoten and chocolate in return.
Then Jason got adopted. And so now Bruce puts equal emphasis on the gifts for both days, despite Dick telling him that it was completely unnecessary and he wasn’t a child anymore.
Then Tim happened and Bruce decided to start actually celebrating Hanukkah again, despite spurning all “family” things like holidays since his own parents had died.
And now Damian was testing the waters of converting to Islam and connecting with the culture that Ra’s had stolen from him. So he would be observing Ramadan for the first time ever later on in February.
He was still learning, still familiarizing himself with the faith, the Quran and the Five Pillars. He hadn’t spoken the Shahadah yet.
Dick suspected he still viewed himself as an outsider who had no right to be there, but that was a whole other issue.
The point was, the “holiday season” for the Waynes included at least five separate winter holidays from three different religions. It was a mess. There were so many gifts. Alfred was constantly baking.
Anyway, they were eating.
“This is so good,” Steph said around a mouthful of turkey. “Alfred, you’re a genius.”
Everyone chimed in their agreements.
“Thank you,” Alfred demurred. “I do my best.”
“And your best is phenomenal,” Dick said.
“True,” Jason said.
Damian inclined his head. “I am impressed with the vegetarian offerings this year, Pennyworth. Your skill at cooking without meat has greatly improved.”
“Well, I could not have achieved such without your expert critiques,” Alfred said.
“Doubtless,” Damian agreed. Dick grinned and leaned over to ruffle his hair. Damian swatted at him harmlessly. He barely even glared.
It was basically a gushing declaration of love.
“So when are we doing gifts?” Jason asked.
“That depends,” Bruce said diplomatically. “Who all is staying the night?”
“Not me,” Babs said. “My dad actually has the day off for once, and we’re gonna spend it together.”
“Good for you, Babs,” Dick said.
“Give Jim my best,” Bruce said.
“Will do,” she said.
“In that case, we’ll exchange gifts tonight, while everyone is still here,” Bruce said.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that for my sake—”
“Nonsense, of course we do.”
Alfred cleared his throat. “I believe what Master Bruce means to say is that it will be no trouble at all to accommodate you, my dear. After all, this is a hardly a family that relies overly much on tradition, of all things.”
Babs smiled. “Alright. Thank you.”
“Now, in order to prevent bloodshed, Christmas gifts will be opened in random order,” Dick announced. “Write your name down on a popsicle stick and put it inside the Red Santa Hood. Thank you to Jason for a bringing a hat so that we can draw lots out of it.”
Jason nodded.
Alfred dispersed the aforementioned popsicle sticks. Signatures were quickly scrawled on, and the Santa hat was passed around for people to deposit their sticks. Everyone had already grabbed their stockings, filled to the brim with candy, and were quietly munching away.
Damian immediately dug down to the bottom of his stocking and pulled out the heaviest prize: the chocolate orange.
He loved chocolate oranges.
He unpeeled it delicately and took his first wedge. It was exactly as good as it always was.
“Alright, who will be our designated drawing-from-the-hat person?” Dick asked.
Damian raised his hand. “Richard, I will act with honor.”
Dick regarded him seriously. “I have no doubts about your integrity, Damian. You will draw sticks fairly and justly!”
He shoved the bag into his lap.
Damian held the Santa hat aloft so he could not see inside it, and drew the first stick.
“Stephanie,” he read.
“Pretty sure I wrote down just Steph,” she said.
“We do not have a nicknames sort of relationship.”
“Rude! And not true, Dami.”
“Silence, Brown.”
She faux-gasped, placing a hand over her heart and falling dramatically to the side, into Cassandra’s lap. Cassandra stroked her hair consolingly.
Damian gave them both a flat look. “Will you open your gift, or should I do it for you?”
“Oh my God!” Stephanie cried, shooting up in her seat. “Fine! Wow! Let a girl live, Dami.”
She grabbed one of the packages with her name on it at random and tore it open. It was a small box tied up with ribbon. She tugged at the bow, undoing it, and lifted off the lid.
She gasped. “Sick! Broadway ticke-- Nope, just one. One singularly Broadway ticket. Thanks, Jason.”
“You’re welcome, Blondie.”
“You’re gonna make her go alone?” Duke asked.
“Uh, no. I also got Cass one singular Broadway ticket. Knocked out two people’s gifts in one go. Work smarter, not harder, Narrows.”
“Gay rights,” Steph murmured, slipping the ticket into her wallet.
Damian drew the next name. “Duke.”
Duke grinned and grabbed the second biggest box under the tree. He tried picking it up and had to readjust his grip first, eyes widening at the weight. He heaved the box into his lap and tore off the wrapping, unfolding the cardboard of it.
“A typewriter?” he asked.
“From my old school days as a youth,” Alfred said. “An aspiring young writer such as yourself needs a proper instrument with which to write.”
“I… thank you.”
Alfred inclined his head. “My only hope is that it serves you as well as it once served me.”
“I’m sure it will,” Duke said. “Thank you.”
“Oh, it was no trouble at all, dear boy,” he said. “It’s good for such antiques to stay in the family.”
Duke looked dangerously close to crying. Damian drew the next name with haste.
“Richard,” he said. “I must insist that you open my gift to you first.”
“Of course.” Dick nodded. Damian handed him the appropriate gift bag. Richard removed the tissue paper with barely concealed glee. He pulled out the handmade flipbook inside of it.
“Hug coupons?” he asked, smiling wide.
Damian nodded seriously. “I will also grant you one free hug today, in honor of your holiday.”
Jason coughed, but it sounded suspiciously close to a laugh. Timothy jabbed him with his elbow, hard.
Good.
“That’s very sweet of you, Damian,” Father said.
“I got you something entirely different, Father, do not worry.”
“I-- Oh.”
Brown snorted. Many of the others also had hints of smirks on their faces.
Richard was beaming. Damian ignored it, of course.
He drew the next name out of the hat, as was his duty. “Cassandra.”
Cassandra grabbed the nearest box. She tore it open without care.
It was Barbara’s gift to her.
“A new cowl,” Babs explained. “I created a special program for your lenses on it. It should automatically generate closed captions for all words spoken within fifty feet of you. It’s been extensively field tested. It’ll even color code different speakers.”
Cass looked at her with wide eyes.
Babs shifted uncomfortably. “I know you’ve been… trying to improve your literacy,” she said. “And I know I don’t always have enough time to spend helping you, and I’m sorry for that. But I thought, maybe if you could see live captions while people were speaking, it could… help.”
Cass lunged forward and wrapped Barbara in a hug.
“I will learn,” she said.
“It’s-- This isn’t to pressure you,” she said.
“I know,” Cass said. “Thank you.”
Damian nodded crisply. He drew another stick from the hat bag. “This is my own name.”
“Open the big one,” Jason said, grinning.
Damian removed the slip cover from the largest of all the boxes, the one that did not even fit under the tree, and--
“You got Damian a bird?” Father asked, glaring at Jason.
“Yup,” he said proudly. “I was gonna get him an actual robin, but it turns out you can’t buy those.”
“No shit,” Steph said.
The bird was rousing, now that the cover had been removed from her cage. She gave a soft cheep.
“I love her,” Damian declared. “I shall name her Marietta.”
“She’s a Moluccan Cockatoo,” Jason said. “They can shriek as loud as 135 decibels. The same as a jet engine.”
Marietta trilled happily. She was a soft peach-ish white, with a massive tuft of feathers on the top of her head, concealing a flare of the bright salmon color her species was known for.
“Did you seriously get Damian the loudest pet bird you could find?” Duke asked. Barbara was pursing her lips.
“Yeah. Did research on it and everything. Loudest bird on the market,” Jason said.
“Nobody is taking Marietta away,” Damian said preemptively. “She is my gift. I shall care for her. I’m sure with adequate training—”
“We’re not going to force you to get rid of your pet, Damian,” Father said, but he sounded tired and he was rubbing at his forehead. “She’s yours. You can keep her.”
Damian nodded, heart in his throat.
He would die for Marietta. It was good that it would not come to that.
“Perhaps Marietta would feel most comfortable in the conservatory,” Alfred said.
“The greenhouse,” Dick said. “That’s brilliant. It’s warm there, Damian, she’ll love it. Lots of sun, lots of plants. Perfect for a bird.”
“...I shall have to do research, first, on the optimum care conditions for cockatoos.”
“Of course. You’re a very responsible pet owner, Damian,” Father said.
Damian nodded, stiffly. He did not like referring to himself as his animals’ owner. He was their friend.
He looked over at Marietta, and she tilted her head curiously. Adorable.
“Thank you, Todd,” he said.
“No problem, squirt.”
Damian didn’t even mind how smug he looked. He had a new friend.
“You got me a car?! Duke shrieked.
“Of course,” Bruce said. “You’re sixteen now, Duke.”
“You already got him a car for his birthday,” Tim reminded him.
“And now he has two,” Bruce said, softly confused.
“Wh… Why would you get me two cars?” Duke asked.
Bruce frowned. “You can never own too many cars.”
“You so can,” Tim said.
“I have eleven cars. Not counting the Bat vehicles,” Bruce said. “And not to cast doubt on your competency, Duke, but it’s simply a matter of time before you total the first car.”
Duke gaped at him.
Damian drew another stick. “Richard.”
Dick smiled and grabbed a gift bag, drawing out a file folder. He read quickly. His smile dropped, a serious expression overtaking his face.
“What is it?” Father asked.
“Private. It’s nothing.” Dick snapped the folder shut quickly.
“That file is the last of the evidence,” Tim said. “There’s no record anywhere anymore.”
“Thank you,” Dick said emphatically.
Father pursed his lips.
They continued on, opening gifts one by one. Damian got the next gift-- a sketchbook of watercolor paper and gels to go with it, from Stephanie. Dick, again, got the gift after-- an egregiously hideous sweater with a cheesy pun on it, again the work of Stephanie.
Duke got Kryptonian-grade transition sunglasses from Tim-- designed to filter out all of his extra sensory input down to human baseline. Damian got a prayer mat from Alfred.
And then--
“No way,” Steph said. “No way. No way! Oh my God, are you for real?!”
Father nodded seriously. “I… I know I haven’t always been the most… supportive, of you, Stephanie, in your endeavors and in your relationship with my daughter. I want to change that. You’re a competent and accomplished young woman.”
“Your… This was Thomas Wayne’s stethoscope. This is… This is so much, Bruce,” she said.
Father met her gaze evenly. “I’ll be glad to be have a doctor in the family again.”
Steph covered her mouth with her hand and sobbed. Cass all but wrapped herself around her.
“Stephanie, I didn’t mean to… Upset you, or to presume—”
“Shut up!” she said. “Oh my God! Thank you so much, Bruce!”
Father smiled, slightly.
Tim’s name was the next one drawn, and he chose a wrapped file folder.
“Reservations to La Rose Rouge?” he asked curiously. “For two, at 7:00 on a Friday? Cass.”
“You and Kon,” she said.
“...What.”
“Asked him out for you,” she said.
“Cass,” Dick said, laughter in his voice.
Tim blanched.
“Cass, you cannot just-- You asked Kon out for me? What the hell?” he said.
“He said yes,” she said simply. “You’re welcome.”
That shut him up. Damian nodded at Cassandra in approval.
She was far more cunning than she was given credit for.
Barbara received the next gift-- an untraceable wire transfer of $10,000 from Father, who clearly hadn’t been able to think of anything better. Then Stephanie-- a recipe book from Alfred, which everyone was suitably jealous about. Damian was next, getting a hand-blown glass chess set from Duke. Duke then in turn got a heavy-duty leather motorcycle jacket from Dick.
Dick was next, receiving seven additional sick days hacked into his workplace’s HR accounting system, courtesy of Babs. He all but collapsed like a marionette with the strings cut in relief. Damian then received a high-end art tablet from his Father. Dick was again the next giftee, and--
“I’ve actually already been to clown college, but thank you, Jason,” he said.
“What,” Jason said flatly.
“Went when I was eight,” Dick said apologetically.
“God damn it,” Jason said. “This was to make fun of you. You were supposed to be insulted. What the fuck. You’re a professional clown?”
“Hey, clownery is a noble—”
“I will kill you if you finish that sentence, Dickhead.”
“No death threats on Christmas,” Father said automatically.
“Maybe the adult course is more intensive though,” Dick mused, looking at the acceptance letter. “What the hell? Could be fun.”
“Fuck this,” Jason muttered.
Damian drew another stick. Father received a custom commissioned watch from Alfred. Barbara was gifted the full collection of Sherlock Holmes stories from Jason. Damian was given acrylic paint markers from Cassandra. Barbara received a spa day package from Dick. Cassandra was given a collection of high-end teas from Alfred that she had acquired a taste for while in Hong Kong.
Barbara was the next giftee, again, and got rocket boosters to attach to the back of her wheelchair from Tim. Stephanie got a package of a dozen purple smoke-and-glitter bombs from Dick. Alfred was next, getting chenille knitting thread, also from Dick. Cassandra was given titanium knuckle dusters from Damian. Barbara was next-- again, somehow-- and received a joint gift from Stephanie and Cassandra. An all-expenses week-long vacation to an accessible resort in the Swiss Alps, with the solemn promise for both of them to cover her duties in Gotham while she went.
Cassandra opened a box containing one singular Broadway ticket. It was from Jason.
Stephanie, next, received a designer evening gown from Cassandra, and the two of them shared a frankly too heated look about it. Duke was given big tall combat boots from Cassandra. Cassandra, then, was given a qipao from Dick, who was normal about it. Damian got a book on how to draw animals from Barbara. That was acceptable.
Stephanie, next, got a swooshy skirt in the bisexual pride flag colors from Timothy. Damian got an art program and styluses from Timothy, to go with the drawing tablet that Father had bought him. Dick got socks from Duke, and the gift was booed by the crowd. Cassandra then was given a silent film collection from Father. Father was given a backdoor passkey into LuthorCorps’ system from Barbara.
Damian was given a large set of copic markers from Dick, his final gift. Stephanie was gifted Barbara’s original yellow Batgirl boots, and hugged her gratefully. Damian then gave Barbara a dog license to a newly trained and graduated service puppy, whose name was Emrys. Dick got tickets to the Cirque de Soleil from Father-- yet again.
People booed that gift as well.
And then Duke opened a fake ID from Jason.
Father pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jason,” he said. “I can’t pretend I don’t see this.”
“Don’t worry, it only makes him eighteen, not twenty-one,” he said. “So you can get tattoos.”
“Nice,” Duke said. “Thanks.”
“I shall help you design your first tattoo, Thomas,” Damian said.
“Thanks, Little D.”
Barbara was gifted a gilded copy of Leaves of Grass from Alfred. Cassandra got a fluffy yellow-and-black striped sweater from Duke-- an inside joke of theirs. The two referred to themselves as the “Bumblebee Bats.” Damian then gave Stephanie an antique copy of Anatomie de l’Homme. Tim received a fully furnished darkroom from Father. Alfred then got an audition call for a play at the community theater from Cass, along with an offer to do chores while he was at rehearsals.
“I will also help,” Steph said, and everyone subtly relaxed.
Cassandra was not especially adept at household chores.
Tim got new camera lenses from Dick. Dick himself was given aerial silks from Cass. Tim then got a computer program from Babs capable of erasing a person’s entire digital presence upon deployment. Dick was given a new car from Alfred-- no surprise, he had totaled his last one. Tim was gifted a magical amulet from Jason that would pulse green light whenever someone exposed to Lazarus Water come within 500 feet of it.
“I’m not afraid of you anymore,” Tim said carefully. “I don’t need a magic tripwire to warn me when you’re coming around.”
Jason rolled his eyes. “It’s not for me, dumbass.”
Tim arched an eyebrow. “I’m not afraid of Damian either. Or Cass, before you suggest that.”
“It’s for Ra’s. You know. Ancient, megalomaniac immortal who’s completely obsessed with you? Regularly bathes in the Devil’s Mountain Dew? That Ra’s?”
Tim blushed. “Alright. I get it,” he said. “Thank you.”
Cassandra, next, got a fashionable leather jacket from Stephanie. Duke got a genderqueer pride flag from Stephanie, next-- the first pride flag he had ever owned.
He nearly cried. They hugged, and it was so sappy that Damian was forced to look away.
Alfred was given a full photo album of the family’s caped escapades, as photographed by Tim. He, too, teared up.
Damian was beginning to feel uncomfortable with all of this. There were entirely too many emotions being thrown around. It was disgraceful.
The aura of sentimentality was quickly and abruptly ruined by the next gift.
“This is-- This is Martha Kent’s apple pie recipe,” Alfred said, aghast.
Father smiled, just slightly. He was proud of himself.
“Bruce. How did you get that?” Dick asked, tightly leashed anger in his voice.
“Some espionage and subterfuge was necessary,” Father admitted.
“You stole Martha Kent’s pie recipe?!” Alfred thundered.
This, finally, was when Father hesitated.
“I thought you wanted it,” he said.
Alfred glared at him venomously. “And if I wanted the crown jewels of England, would you ransack the throne room as well?”
“...I will return it.”
“And?”
Fear crossed over his face.
“...I will also apologize,” he said eventually. Alfred arched an eyebrow. “To Martha and to Clark.”
“See to it that’s it done promptly,” Alfred said icily.
“And?” Dick prompted.
Father looked panicked once again.
“The replacement gift, Father,” Damian said, taking pity on him.
“Yes! Yes. Of course.” He cleared his throat. “Right away. I am sorry.”
“Let’s move on,” Tim said. “Damian?”
He drew another stick from the Santa hat. “Duke.”
Duke opened a jewelry box-- a Robin symbol necklace from Damian. Alfred opened a gift, again, a painting this time, from Damian. It was a stylized painting of a candid photo he had found of Thomas and Martha and Alfred, laughing and talking together in golden light, back when they were young.
He got the next gift as well-- a frilled and embroidered apron from Babs. Father then got a vintage vinyl album from Duke of one of his old man rock bands. He also got two gifts in a row, the next being a hand-knitted sweater made by Cassandra, with Alfred’s gentle coaching. He was drawn for the next opening as well. Opened a high-tech jeweled tie pin, designed by Timothy and doubling as a signal scrambler when activated.
Timothy finally broke the streak, receiving a new skate deck and a package of spray paint bottles from Duke. It was Father, again, getting a bouquet of flowers in a World’s Worst Detective mug from Stephanie.
“I am so sorry,” she said, clearly mortified. “If I had known what you were getting me, I never would have-- I swear it was a joke.”
“I’m aware,” Father said dryly. “It’s fine.”
Steph’s face twisted. She did not believe him. It was very obvious.
“That mug should not go to waste,” Jason said.
“What are you thinking?” Dick asked.
“Voting pool. End of every week. Biggest fuck up Bat has to use that mug and only that mug for the next week, until a new winner is chosen.”
“Deal,” Steph said. She seemed relieved, at least.
Tim was drawn next, and he opened a case of Zesti brand energy drinks that were banned in the US and EU due to just about every ingredient that was in them.
Alfred’s name was drawn next.
“A gun?” Bruce asked. “Do I need to institute rules about appropriate gifts for the holiday season, Jason?”
“I daresay you would not know what is appropriate in order to make such rules, Master Bruce,” Alfred said.
Father shut up.
“Thank you for the rifle, Master Jason. It is exquisite,” Alfred said.
Jason grinned and gave him a thumbs up.
Father opened the next gift-- two tickets to the opera from Dick, along with a subtle hint that it was time to get back into the dating scene and that Selina was free that weekend.
The final gift of the lot was Damian’s gift to Tim.
“Damn,” Steph said, leaning over to peer at the painting.
“Wow,” Tim said. “This is-- This is amazing, Damian.”
He shifted in his seat. “I made some technical errors in my rendering,” he said. “Though the photo I chose was the best of your work.”
“This is gorgeous,” Dick said softly. The painting was a night scene of Gotham’s skyscape, as seen from the top of the Wayne Enterprises building.
Gotham, through the eyes of two Bats.
“This is exceptional, Damian,” Father said. “You should be proud of yourself.”
He tipped his head down in acknowledgment.
“There should be one more gift, though,” Duke said. “Jason, what’d you get Bruce?”
He laughed. “Nothing.” He cast his gaze languidly over to their father. “He’s lucky I didn’t get him a lump of coal.”
There was a beat of awkward, uncomfortable silence.
“Alright,” Dick said, breaking it. “Damian, I wanna cash in my free holiday cuddles. And everyone has to join in! Mandatory. Right, Alfred?”
“Quite so,” he said. He stood up. “I shall supply refreshments.”
“No, you will not,” Damian said. “Mandatory cuddles are mandatory for everyone.”
“Yeah!” Steph said. “If I have to be here, so do you, Alfs.”
Alfred raised an eyebrow, looking around at an array of determined faces. He sighed. “Very well,” he said. “I suppose. But only because it is a holiday.”
They cheered.
Steph and Dick directed everyone into the den, which had the largest couch in the Manor-- a positively massive sectional. Tim took the opportunity of the distraction to steal the remote and turn on one of his nerd movies. Blankets were brought out, popcorn was made, drinks were drawn out from the room’s mini fridge. Everyone settled in to cuddle on the couch.
Damian and Jason shared a look, mutual understanding passing between them. This was an indignity of the highest sort. They would never speak of it.
Dick kissed Damian on the top of his spiked up hair. He wriggled in deeper to the cushions and the hug both.
If he wrapped his arms around Dick, there was no way for anyone else to know.