Story Synopsis: Two years after “Catcher,” Jason spends his first Christmas Eve at Wayne Manor.
“Christmas Eve with the
It was Christmas Eve.
To a normal family, it was a day to celebrate with the family, gather around the Christmas tree or bake cookies and celebrate one another.
To the Batman, of course, it was
still a day the criminal and dastardly would feed upon the innocents of
Dick had stopped trying to change the man. After more than a decade of knowing Bruce, he’d stopped and simply “enabled,” as Alfred called it. Descending the rock staircase in nothing more than sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, he knew his father would remark, “If you’re not going to put something on your feet, you might as well not wear a shirt, either.”
And Dick would reply, “Merry Christmas Eve to you, too.”
Ah, yes. The joys of routine.
Halfway down the stairs, the routine was shot to Hell. In the seat just before the Crays, two hands were bound by cable wire, a gag tied about a mouth of a boy with such rich black hair he might have been born of the night.
The tray, sandwiches and apple juice all, clamored upon the ground as he mad-dashed to the mainframe. Kneeling upon the ground, he turned the chair toward him to see two of the most magnificent eyes he had ever seen. Glistening blue, they mirrored Talia’s—and Bruce’s and Damian’s and even Alfred’s, without all the wisdom that came with age and understanding. They were scared, trembling, and oh so haunted, and Dick slowly untied the gag from the boy’s mouth. No need for him to be more traumatized than he was.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Dick soothed. “It’s going to be okay.”
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” a booming voice resonated about the cavern, and Dick stood his ground, turning toward the bale of the night.
“What am I doing?” he scoffed. “What the hell are you doing! You can’t tie up a kid. It’s endangering a minor.”
The Batman, draped in shadows and madness, came to stand over the younger man, his eyes glaring down as if to grant a swift death. “He tried to steal the tires from the Batmobile.”
“And you should have given them to him,” Dick retorted. “If he was desperate enough to steal from you—and on Christmas Eve—then you know he needed the money more than you. Hell, Lex Luthor needs the money more than you.”
Batman remained silent.
“Okay, fine. Maybe not Lex Luthor but definitely Jack Drake.”
“He needs to be taught a lesson.”
“He needs to be given a break.”
A face-off, two stubborn fronts refusing to back down, and the boy behind Dick sat back in his seat, his eyes darting from one to the other—until the red light upon the Batcomputer’s mainframe blinked. Still, Dick refused to look away, only smirking as he motioned toward it, “Aren’t you going to get that?”
The Batman granted him one last huff before diverting his attention and snatching a receiver. “WHAT!” he growled.
Dick placed a hand onto the boy’s shoulder, not shocked by the quivering he felt. “It’s really okay,” he whispered, once more crouching to be the boy’s height. “I promise. His bark really is worse than his bite.”
“I can’t imagine that.”
Dick nodded to himself. No quivering of the voice. Tough kid. “Hey, the fact that you’re not hogtied on the ground is a plus.”
“Happened to you?”
“More than
once.” Dick cringed at the last time in the woods of
A stern finger emerged from his cloak to point at the boy’s nose. “Watch him.”
“Nah. I figured I’d just leave him here to starve,” Dick snickered.
Batman snatched Dick by his shirt and dragged him forward, so they were nose to nose. “Do. Not. Let. Him. Out. Of. Your. Sight. Or upstairs.”
“Right. Because God forbid we give a suspect any love and joy on Christmas Eve.”
“I mean it.”
“I know. That’s the scary part.”
With once more quick glare at the trembling boy, who actually did a pretty mean Bat Glare himself, Batman rushed to the Batmobile.
Dick waited until the roar of the car left the creaks of the cave before bending down to the boy’s tied ankles. “So, what kind of cookies do you like?”
The boy blinked. “What?”
“Cookies. You know, that food that you’re not supposed to have before dinner. What kind do you like?”
“I dunno. Chocolate?”
Freeing the boy’s feet, Dick looked up with a furled eyebrow. “Chocolate? You don’t know for sure?”
“Why are you asking anyway?” the boy demanded, his voice thick with the accent of a street urchin.
“Because we’re making cookies.” Dick whirled the boy around and quickly undid the cable from the boy’s wrists before standing. “Maybe we could make a batch of your fav—hey!”
The boy lunged, his fist out to take Dick’s chin. Dick almost laughed. With more than five years, half a foot, and probably seventy pounds on the boy, the older teen simply sidestepped, snatched the wrist, and turned the boy toward the mainframe, effectively pinning the boy against it.
“All right. Let’s try this again, shall we?” Dick whispered into the boy’s ear. “I’m going to ask your favorite cookie. You’re going to tell me. Then, I’m going to ask if you like Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer and all those corny Christmas movies. You’re going to tell me, ‘No, I’ve never seen them,’ because you’ve lived on the streets most your life and never had a TV. I’m going to invite you upstairs to watch them with my little brother, my grandfather, and me, and you’re going to accept. You’ll do so without any argument or resistance, or else I’ll leave you down here with the bats and see how well you fare. I bet they’re really hungry.”
With one last thrust into the mainframe, Dick released the boy and smiled, as if nothing had happened. “Soooo, what’s your favorite cookie?”
Rubbing his injured wrist, the boy narrowed his untrusting eyes. “Bats don’t eat humans.”
Dick snorted and crossed his arms. “Wanna bet? I make a mean bat food that I can smother all over your body. Thought about doing it to my little brother once when he used my Playstation for his own play station. Let me tell you—Play-doh does not come out of the crooks of controllers.”
The boy glanced up at the ceiling of the cave as a screech bounced around the walls. “Oatmeal.”
Dick blinked. “What?”
“I like oatmeal cookies—without the raisins.”
With a smile and an infectious laugh, Dick wrapped his arm around the boy’s shoulders and led him toward the stairs. They stepped over the fallen tray, which Dick made a mental note to pick up before Alfred saw. “I think we might have the ingredients for those. I’ll see what I can do. Do you like Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer? We have it on DVR.”
The boy shrugged. “The animation kinda creeps me out with all the jerking and back—holy shit.”
They entered Bruce’s study, and Dick held open the clock to allow the boy through. He stopped and took the opulence of the mahogany desk, the leather coach and chairs, as well as the wall of books and the wet bar to the side. The place had definitely caught the holiday bug with garland, lights, and even a small tree upon the desk. Dick acted as a tour guide, waving his hand about the room. “As you see here, we’ve entered my dad’s study. I actually use it more than him to study for my mid-terms and finals, but he still claims it as his.”
That jerked the boy out of his shock. “Your dad? Your dad’s the freakin’ Batman!”
Dick’s shoulder twitched. “Like your dad is normal.” When the boy said nothing, Dick wanted to kick himself. “Anyway, come on. The rest of the family’s in the kitchen.”
“Family?”
The older teen smirked and led the boy through the study, into the foyer and past the Grand Staircase, which was decked with golden garland and white lights. The chandelier’s crystals were flecked with red and green. A large tree, almost twenty feet tall, stretched to the ceiling, ablaze with white lights, golden garland, and silver and gold decorations.
Watching the fascination upon the boy’s face, Dick remembered his first time at Wayne Manor and seeing such wealth. For a carnie brat, it was unsettling, even unnerving. It took him a full year to stop wearing slippers or shoes—or having Alfred remind him to wear such. Eventually, he simply wore socks before he finally took the house in bare feet.
When they entered the kitchen, Alfred and Damian were just how he left them—Damian stirring the large batch of dough, Alfred attempting to wipe it off the boy’s face and pajamas.
Damian held up his wooden spoon, which began to drop dough. “Dick! Lookie what I did!”
Dick lunged forward to grab a towel before more dough plopped upon the granite countertop. “I see! Looks like you finally finished the sugar cookie dough. Ready to put it on the pans?”
“I believe that is a wise course of action,” Alfred agreed with a tired smile. “After all, the boy’s put it everywhere else.”
Dick winced at the dough dripping from the ceiling.
“Oh. My. God.”
The family looked back at the hyperventilating teen, who took a step back toward the doorway.
“You’re—You’re—You’re the
Dick pulled the pans from the cabinets and wiped them with butter. “So?”
“So don’t you have people who make cookies for you and hand them to you while you sit on your couch and bitch about how bad the service is?”
“I beg your pardon,” Alfred breathed.
“That’s my grandfather, Alfred, and this little guy is my little brother, Damian, and I go by Dick, thanks.” Like they needed an introduction. “And what’s the point of having holiday cookies if you don’t make them yourself?”
The boy blinked, stunned. He looked like he’d had the wind knocked out of him.
“And you are?” Dick finally prompted.
The boy gulped. “Jason. Jason Todd.”
Dick caught the boy in a one-armed hug. “Jason’s going to spend Christmas Eve with us.”
“Then I might I suggest a shower and a change of clothes for Master Jason,” Alfred said, fighting with the stubborn dough plastered on Damian’s cheek.
“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Jason demanded, looking down at his holed jeans and T-shirt.
“They’re all holey!” Damian exclaimed.
Dick ruffled Jason’s hair and cringed at the oils dirtying his hand. “Let’s just say you need a body scrub. Come on. You can use my shower.”
“Hurry, Dick! I wanna see Rudolf!”
Dick tussled his little brother’s hair, too, albeit with his clean hand. “We’ll be right back, squirt. Promise.”
Jason followed Dick again and only remained silent until they were out of an earshot. “Why didn’t you tell them Batman caught me trying to lift his tires?”
Dick shrugged. “What would’ve been the point? They’d still have welcomed you.”
“I thought you people would catch poverty if you were ever near people like me.”
Not much could stop Richard Wayne in a full stride, but that did it. “You people?” he echoed, whirling in the middle of the Grand Staircase to look down at the boy one step below. “You people? Just what kind of people are we, Mr. Todd?”
Jason
opened his mouth before he could retort, Dick ranted, “I’ve been called that my
entire life. ‘You people’ when I was a gypsy
living and performing in a circus. And I don’t mean that in a figurative sense.
I’m Romany—a pureblooded gypsy. And then, when I came here, I was known as ‘you
people’ meaning I wasn’t good enough for the bluebloods. Now, I’m ‘you people’
because my father’s the king of
Dick waited for Jason to say something, to mouth him back or lunge at him, but instead, he simply replied, “Are you Robin?”
Dick blinked. “Huh?”
“You know, ‘Batman and—’ I met Batman, and I didn’t see his sidekick. And the kid in there is too young, and the guy’s too old. That leaves you, and if so, then why aren’t you with ‘im, fighting all the crime out there?”
Kid had balls. Dick would give him that. “I have the night off. I get one of those every so often. Now, come on. I bet you want to get out of those clothes.”
Jason shrugged but followed nonetheless. As they went down the hall, Dick pointed out, “Dad’s room. My room. And Damian’s is the next one.”
Dick’s room
was probably the most ordinary place Jason had seen in the manor so far, even
though it was still ornate. With high ceiling, crown molding, and even a
fireplace, the place looked fit for the Heir Apparent of the
Dick rummaged through the drawers of his walk-in closet. “Alfred says entertainment like that is for the family, so all that stuff in the family room downstairs. My room’s mainly for sleeping.” He handed Jason a pair of pajamas—blue silk. “Sorry. Dad’s stuff will be too big for you, and Damian’s too small and all my old clothes were given to the Salvation Army. This will probably hang off you a little, but it should do for tonight.”
Dick then led Jason into the bathroom, complete with marble floors and a glass shower. “Take all the time you want,” the older teen offered, then left.
*^*^*
Jason couldn’t remember the feeling of hot water upon his skin. The last time he had a shower was at the Y, where he’d gone after he escaped from his father’s apartment. The people there put him up for the night, but he hadn’t even stayed the whole time. With people on the payroll, his father could find him easier than a bell-jingling Santa during this time of the year, and he’d been dragged out in a headlock by midnight.
His father.
Jason watched as the dirtied water spun about the drain and rested his forehead against the tile. God, what his father wouldn’t give to know the identity of the Batman.
Bruce Wayne.
That was all Jason would have to say, and his father would mark him an heir to his own little empire. Granted, the empire of the damned, but an empire nonetheless. A life free of want. All he’d have to do is snap his fingers, and he could have any criminal’s head on a plate by dinnertime.
If he gave his father the Batman’s identity.
Jason blew out a wet breath.
His dad would probably never believe him. God, who would believe that Bruce Wayne was the Batman anyway? Really, what the motivation? What was Richard Wayne’s motivation to become…
Air caught in Jason’s throat as he thought of Dick. He remembered hearing about that kid—the one whose parents had been circus acrobats—and then later, when the kid was kidnapped by those oversea terrorists. It was all over the news a few years ago.
His parents had been murdered.
Bruce Wayne’s parents had been murdered.
Damnit.
These were good people. Really, they were just trying to save the world. Dick could have left him down in the cave, and the Batman—the Batman could have just handed him to the cops. Hell, maybe he was going to…or maybe he was going to find new ways to torture Jason that civilized people hadn’t even thought of.
Civilized. Like Dick, who loaned him clothes and a shower, who asked his favorite cookie and who could really kick Jason’s ass if he wanted. Then again, if he was so giving, how could the Batman be so cruel?
Jason paused and looked to the left side of the room, where a window that opened like shutters resided. Yeah, he really didn’t want to leave Dick in such a predicament—His father would probably be pissed that Jason got away—but eh. That was his problem. Right now, Jason wanted to get home before his father sent the search party out. He’d hate to be bleeding for Christmas dinner.
Leaving the shower running, Jason crept out into the cold air and quickly toweled off. He dressed in Dick’s sweats anyway—Hell, the boy would not pass up on Gucci clothing—and opened the window. He was so quiet and so agile, he smiled to himself. For a sidekick to a great hero, Robin wasn’t so with it. It was a wonder he was still alive.
Of course, that was what he thought until the barking began.
Jason tumbled back into the bathroom, cursing loudly as he caught his foot on the toilet paper holder. When the pain =subsided enough for him to stand, he glared unforgivably out the window to see the Black Labrador barking up at him.
“Shut up!” he shouted, to which the dog growled.
Well, so much for that exit. He twisted off the shower and exited the steam haze.
Dick laid stomach down on his bed, his feet in the air, legs crossed at his ankles. Smiling up from the book he was reading, he swung his feet onto the floor.
“So you met Ace, huh?”
“The big-ass dog outside your window. Yeah, I might have noticed him.”
“As much as we’re all trained in martial arts and whatnot, Dad still got me a dog for my seventeenth birthday. Something about wanting a six sense around the house. Like Ace is really going to discourage a thousand highly-trained ninjas.”
“Ninjas?”
“Don’t ask.” Dick shrugged and tossed his book back to the bed. “Ready for cookies? They should be done by now.”
Jason caught a glimpse of the title of the book, his forehead crinkling with thought. “Bullet Wounds and Other Trauma.” What in the world?
“Oh!” Dick laughed and pushed the boy toward the door. “I’m pre-med at GSU. With all the wounds and occupational hazards of this business, I thought it would cool to know how to treat my dad and friends when stuff like that happens.”
“Don’t doctors have to take some kind of oath not to try to hurt anyone? How’re you getting around that?”
Dick cringed and heaved a heavy sigh. “I’ll get back to you on that.”
As they descended the staircase, Jason stopped halfway down. “So what exactly am I?”
“What do you mean?” Dick asked, half-turned.
“Am I your prisoner? Your charitable contribution to society for Christmas? Do you always take in a poor kid off the streets and serve him cookies every year? Or does it just take you forever to call the police?”
Dick stared blankly at Jason, which the younger teen loathed. Come on. There had to be some sort of hidden agenda here. Jason wasn’t stupid.
And Dick didn’t seem to take him as such. Instead, the older teen shrugged and headed toward the kitchen again. “I guess that’s really up to you, isn’t it?”
“Say what?”
Simply
motioning for Jason to follow, Dick emptied into a side hallway. Jason grumbled
but followed the older teen into a room more lavish than any he’d ever seen
before. The ceilings rose to fifteen feet, and the real tree in the corner
reached almost to the top. Unlike most the tree in the foyer, this one was
decorated with colored, twinkling lights that moved in synch with what looked
to be music on mute. An angel with two candles lit the top, while a train
followed a track around the trunk.
Damian and Alfred were already there with cups of hot cocoa and a tray full of cookies on the coffee table in front of the couch. The entertainment system sat along the back wall and was about fifteen feet from the couch, which was flanked by two chairs. Dick claimed the left side of the couch, wrapped an afghan about his shoulders and crossed his legs underneath him. Without hesitation, Damian climbed into Dick’s lap, nestling into his older brother’s warmth. After Alfred let Ace inside, the dog jumped onto the couch next to Dick, nuzzling against the teen’s warm side. Alfred took the seat to the right of the couch, leaving a spot upon for Jason upon the couch.
The older teen looked up at Jason, who hadn’t moved from the doorway. “Well, are you coming to watch or what?”
“I get a ‘what’?” Jason asked.
“No, but I figured I might as well give you the pretense of a choice. If you don’t, we’re back to the hogtying, which you know I can do.”
Needless to say, Jason sat, taking the area on the right side of the couch. Ace raised his head as Dick clicked on the movie, and when the dog complained, Dick urged, “Go ahead. He’s not going to bite you.”
Jason hesitated, first letting his hand droop before the dog’s snout, before slowly easing his hand upon Ace’s head. The dog replied with swift, rapid licks, and Jason relaxed in the inviting cushions.
As he saw the family each take cups of cocoa and cookies, he noticed the ones left for him and the type of cookies on the right hand side of the plate.
Oatmeal. Somehow, Dick had told Alfred to make oatmeal.
But why? Why would they go to all the trouble? Why would they care?
Unless the cookies contained drugs. Yeah, that had to be it. No one in their right mind would go out of the way to make a stranger his favorite cookie.
Halfway through the title sequence, Dick nudged Jason in the side. “You can eat, y’know. They’re not going to killing you.”
Jason shrugged indifferently. “I’m good.”
With a grumbling sigh, Dick grabbed an oatmeal cookie, bit off half, and handed the rest to Jason. “There. See? No poison or drugs.”
Jason first glared at the cookie, then at Dick. How had he—How did he—?
Dick then took Jason’s cup and dumped some of the cocoa into Damian’s. “Have a sip, kiddo,” Dick encouraged, to which Damian complied.
Jason blinked. The older teen didn’t seem like the type to put his little brother in danger, so that meant the cookies and cocoa were for real. There wasn’t anything in them to knock him out or give him nerve damage.
Slowly, Jason sat back and sipped the liquid warmth. The sweet refreshment eased him into a sleepy, content state, and he nibbled on the oatmeal cookies, never having tasted ones so good. He watched more of the interactions of the family members more than the movies. Dick played absently with Damian’s hair as they laughed at certain parts or sang. Alfred simply took the ambiance in, every so often speaking in soothing yet authoritative tones. He even cast Jason a few worried glances but said nothing other than brief encouragements for Jason to keep him up his strength.
“You’re likely to faint from starvation or malnutrition.” Yeah, like cookies were as good as oranges.
As the night crept on, Damian fell asleep against Dick halfway through Santa Claus is Coming to Town, Alfred a quarter of the way through Jack Frost. Only Dick and Jason kept awake into Rudolf and the Island of Misfit Toys, and as a song cut through the silence of the dark night, Jason pulled his knees to his chest. Was this what Christmas was supposed to be like? Spending time with those you love, making cookies and watching movies? Love, itself, was an unfamiliar being who eluded him since the time his mother left him with his abusive father.
And the Batman. Sooner or later, he would return, and he’d kick Jason out. He’d send the boy back to the streets or worse, into the justice system where he’d be lost in juvie until he finally lived the rest of his life at Blackgate.
So what was the point of this night? Why would the Batman and his son show him a fantasy that could never become his reality?
“Hey, you okay?” Dick whispered, his blue eyes slicing through the night like twin flashlights.
Jason shrugged and wished to share Dick’s blanket, but he damn well would never ask for it. “What’s it to you?’
Dick rolled his eyes and blew out a frustrated breath. After some manipulation and painstakingly slow maneuvers, Dick eased Damian to the couch and used Ace’s back as the boy’s pillow. Before Jason could complain, Dick lugged him off the cushions and restrained in a headlock. Despite any resistance Jason could provide, the older teen dragged him into the kitchen and glared unforgivably at the thirteen year old.
“Okay, what the hell is with you?”
Jason fixed his collar with swift, nervous movements. “What?”
“Don’t what me. I seriously don’t know what else to do. I don’t bust you for trying to leave the house. I don’t get on you for not trusting the food. I even let you upstairs when you know that’s not what my dad wanted, and still, you aren’t happy. Do I have to go looking for heroin or crack? I know a guy. Well, technically, I know a lot of guys.”
God, who was this guy? Did people like this really exist? “Who the hell are you?’
“You know that answer,” Dick answered indignantly.
“No, I mean—God, why the hell are you so nice to me? I tried to steal the tires off your dad’s car! I almost ditched you to be yelled at by the Batman. Your dad’s the freakin’ Batman, and all you do is just say you want to see me happy. Who says that?”
Dick shrugged awkwardly, though his face blushed a tomato red. “It’s Christmas Eve.”
“So? Where I’m from, it’s a good night for my dad to take out his frustrations.” And oh would his dad take out his frustrations tomorrow.
With a growling sigh, Dick collapsed to the breakfast nook just after the kitchen counter and dropped his head into his hands. “You’re hopeless. You know that, right?”
“I’m hopeless? I’m not the one who takes in someone he doesn’t even know and let it slip that he’s the son of the freakin’ Batman, which my dad and all his friends who love to know, by the way.”
Dick looked up with an infectious smirk. “You know why I’m being nice to you?”
Oh, here it comes…“Yeah.”
The blue eyes that met his froze Jason before he could breath. “Because I know that at my time of greatest need, someone was there to catch me. I guess…I guess I wanted to do the same to you.”
Jason snorted and plopped down in the seat next to Dick. “What happened?”
Crossing his ankles on the opposite
chair, Dick shrugged. “Dad—Bruce—he saved my life more than once. He took me in
when I was in a children’s home in
“And what, I could stay here?”
“If you wanted.”
Jason snorted and sat back in his chair, ready for another joke when he saw the truth glistening in Dick’s eyes. “Oh. My. God. You’re friggin’ serious, aren’t you?”
“…yeah. I am.”
Huffing, Jason crossed his arms and looked out the window. “You do realize my old man—he’d want nothing better than to know the identity of the Batman.”
“You won’t tell him.”
Jason snorted. “Oh, yeah. How do you figure that?”
Dick’s smile brightened the entire room. “Because what I did for you tonight, he hasn’t done in your entire lifetime.”
That…oh, God. That was the truth. His father had never been loving, had never wanted to love, and Jason was nothing more than a constant disappointment.
His replies were sharp. “You wouldn’t want me if you knew who my father is.”
So were the retorts. “Trust me. It can’t have been worse than mine.”
“Well, with the Batman your old man, I guess that’s true.”
Dick remained silent.
Jason sat back and blew out a long exhale. “I…I can’t.”
“Why, because of my dad? I’m adopted, y’know. Alfred’s a former Scotland Yard spy—or cousin—or whatever they call them over the Pond. And Damian’s mother is a vicious murderer. We’d totally love to add thief to our little motley crew.” Dick patted Jason on the shoulder before heading to the refrigerator to pull out a carton of milk.
Jason shouted, “My dad’s…” the final word came out as a whisper.
Still, Dick heard and turned toward Jason with a neutral expression. “Now you have a choice to make. Are you going to follow the path your father put you on, or are you ready to pave your own?”
Jason averted his eyes toward the snow slowly gathering on the well-manicured grounds, and when he felt the presence over him, he saw the hand extended toward him.
“My dad will kill me,” the boy whispered.
“He will never touch you again.”
“Your dad will kill you.”
“Death is overrated. I know from experience.”
Jason eyed Dick, trying to find the evil truth of reality hidden in his eyes, and all he saw was the warmth he’d found in Wayne Manor.
His dad would never let this go, but…for some reason, his hand reached up to snatch Dick’s.
*^*^*
Damian laid in his lap once more, his angelic head resting upon Dick’s chest. Jason’s head rested his upon Dick’s thigh with Ace at the older teen’s feet. Though he played absently with Jason’s hair, Dick finally rested the boy against a throw pillow, Damian against Jason’s side. The littler brother curled into Jason’s chest, and when the teen cracked upon one eye, Dick put a finger to his lips.
“Get used to it,” he whispered before ruffling Jason’s hair and disappearing into the kitchen.
Ace followed him.
As he poured a glass of milk and placed cookies onto a decorative plate, he threw Ace a sugar cookie, which the dog caught in his mouth. Dick indicated for Ace to head back into the living room, but the dog whined, indicating he took orders from a person higher on the hierarchy.
“Traitor.”
Damn, Dad taught that dog well.
Ambling down into the cave, Ace on his heels, Dick put the glass and plate on the mainframe before cleaning up the dropped tray. Then he simply waited, cross-legged in his father’s seat and petting Ace’s head.
Just before three, a familiar roaring of a car engine signaled the Batman’s arrival, and Dick smirked as his father pulled off his cowl. He lifted up the cookies and milk when Ace danced about his father’s legs.
“Are you going to leave any gifts, Santa?”
To Dick’s surprise, Batman dropped a wrapped present in his lap before stealing the milk. “How’s our guest?”
“You were right.” Dick scowled. “The bastard’s his father.”
Bruce almost coughed in his milk. “You got that out of him already? I’ve only been gone four hours.”
“Hey, there’s a reason I wear the bright colors.”
Bruce stripped off his cape and grabbed a robe off the railing. “Can he be saved?”
“Your therapy bills will be high, and don’t get me even started on the custody battle that will ensue. And what you will tell the mayor and the governor tomorrow at dinner is a beyond me.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Dick smiled softly. “It’s what we do. Save people. Not as good as Another Guy, but we do all right. And Jason Todd is far from the damned.” He fiddled with the hem of his shirt before meeting the eyes that matched his own. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For everything you’ve done. I…I could’ve been like Jason or had been put in a home with a father like his. Instead, you took me in and gave the greatest gift you ever could.”
Bruce furled an eyebrow but said nothing.
“A home.” Dick simply put the gift on the console and stood, wrapping his arms around his father’s torso. “I love you, Dad.”
It took a moment, but Bruce reciprocated. “I love you, too, kiddo.”
“I know.” Dick pulled away when Ace
jumped on his back and smiled an addictive grin. “Come on. We can still see the
end of The Halfway Manor of Troubled Boys.
Oh, I mean The
“And here I thought I missed all those movies.”
“See? The first Christmas miracle of the year.” Dick winked.
“No. Not the first,” Bruce ruffled Dick’s hair and followed the boy and his dog into the warmth of their home.
THE END
Happy Holidays!