Chapter Text
It was funny, how things could change so drastically in just one year’s time.
For instance, one year before, Christmas Eve had found Batman patrolling the streets of Gotham until the sun had nearly peeked over the horizon. It had proven to be a good way to avoid the understanding, yet sorrowful look Alfred always seemed to offer during the holiday season; with the added benefit of allowing him to sleep the rest of the day away.
Ever since the year his parents had died, Bruce had had no desire to celebrate holidays in any shape or form whatsoever; Christmas especially. All they had in common was the heaviness they left on his heart.
When he was younger he hadn’t had much of a choice. Alfred had wanted to give him a normal childhood, or as normal as one could get when you were the heir to billions of dollars. So despite much protesting and many silent treatments, every event was as painstakingly prepared for as it was before. Fireworks on the Fourth of July; turkey cooked to perfection on Thanksgiving; and the most beautiful tree known to man or beast lit up like a star when December rolled around.
Then Bruce had disappeared for seven long years with barely a word to let anyone know he was alive. He’d returned a man, capable of thinking for himself and making his own decisions; the first of which, after vigilantism, was to do away with ‘frivolous celebrations’. Social gatherings to keep his cover as an air headed businessman were the extent of his festivities.
Christmas was long dead in the Wayne household.
And yet here they were; the night before Christmas and Bruce had finished patrolling just a little after midnight. His suit was clean and resting in its case; hopefully to remain for the next 24 hours. He’d adjusted his systems to alert him only for world-ending catastrophes and Joker related incidents; who, as far as anyone was aware, was still incarcerated at Arkham.
There would be no further investigation into ongoing cases, no tinkering with weapons, or routine practice with the dummies on the mat. And, he imagined with a wry smile, no sleeping in either. For the first time in years, Bruce was actually looking forward to Christmas.
Sitting in the main living room area near the front entrance, so dark and empty last year, he felt himself relax in the soft glow of the Christmas tree. They’d picked it out three weeks ago and it was still as trim and fresh as when it had been planted in the ground. Out of practice he may be, but Alfred clearly hadn’t lost his touch. Though when it came to decorating he may have lost his authority.
Dick had been very enthusiastic about that part of the process and it showed in the great majority of ornaments towards the bottom of the tree. Bruce knew it had just about killed the older gentlemen to leave it looking so uneven; but Bruce also knew there was no way Alfred would change a thing about it. Not with the way those wide blue eyes had practically sparkled with excitement, or the smile that had spread and failed to fade.
Honestly, if all he got for Christmas was to decorate a tree and ice sugar cookies, Bruce doubted Dick would care; he had specified very clearly to both men that he didn’t need presents. Bruce recalled his exact words being something along the lines of, ‘You’ve already given me everything.’ And to his dying day, Bruce would insist that the irritation in his eyes at that time was merely coincidence.
So Bruce had honored his wishes and made sure to put nothing under the tree… until tonight. He had, after all, entered the room with the sole purpose of placing his perfectly wrapped packages under the tree; thank you, Alfred. There were fifteen in all.
He knew that Dick would have protested any and every little thing with his name on it and insisted that he already had what he wanted. But he didn’t have everything that Bruce wanted to give him.
Maybe Dick felt like he was the lucky one in this situation. That Bruce had swooped down to the rescue when he gave the boy a home and a purpose. But he didn’t seem to realize that Bruce was the one who had been saved.
Bruce had been lost in a dark place ever since that one moment in the back alley of a theatre. He had pulled away from every single person that cared about him; that could have grown to care about him if given the chance. He’d closed himself off, so focused on ‘The Mission’ and nothing else. He hadn’t wanted to open his heart to the possibility of that kind of pain again.
And then one night he had gone to the circus.
In a way it was almost like he had seen his parents’ death again. There was a boy, there were two deaths, there were three lives lost in a moment.
But it was different as well because he had had Alfred to fall back on. It wasn’t the same, but he was still family; Dick, though, had lost everyone that night. His Alfred, Jack Haley, had been denied custody. And rather than place him in a stable environment, they had locked him away in a cell.
Even now, nine months later, Bruce could remember the almost overwhelming anger he’d felt when he had made that discovery. He’d been trying to stay away from the case, not to think about it; but every time he closed his eyes he heard the rope snap (two gunshots), saw the bodies (pearls) hit the ground, and tear filled blue eyes as a young boy clutched at limp arms and begged for his parents to wake up.
He’d held out for nearly a month before giving in and hacking the social service records. And then cursed his stubbornness in not checking sooner. He couldn’t explain how his stomach had lurched in such a way for a child he’d never met. Or how he’d had to hold himself back from confirming Batman’s existence to the social worker.
It had taken 14 days for a team of his best lawyers to bring the situation of one Richard John Grayson to the courts attention and have Bruce appointed as an emergency foster parent. From what he’d heard, it normally took three months at least to be approved as one. If there was ever an instance where he hadn’t minded throwing his money and power around, that was it. Being the son of Thomas Wayne, who had been a dear and personal friend to the Judge, hadn’t hurt anything either.
Once he had gotten Dick out, however, it had been a lot harder to ignore their similarities. Every day he saw that same haunted expression that usually greeted him when he looked in the mirror. The loneliness and heartache were nearly tangible and Bruce had apparently lost his ability to interact with people… unless it was an act. Dick deserved something real, though; something Bruce wasn’t sure he could give.
And then Alfred had taken the boy to visit the gravesite.
Perhaps following them had been a bit of an intrusion on his part, but he was exceedingly glad that he had. He’d seen how Dick had dodged that dirty cop; that move he had performed to get to the tree branch had natural and brilliant. He probably would have been fine without help if the wood hadn’t been damaged. And while being used as a shield, the boy hadn’t cowered in fear, but had acted to remove himself from out of harm’s way. Perhaps that was the moment Bruce realized that there was more to Richard Grayson than met the eye.
And when Bruce had been able to draw a smile out of him, he’d felt hope that their stories wouldn’t always be such a parallel of one another.
Of course, not long after that, Dick had discovered the cave and somehow hoodwinked Bruce into self-defensive training, which soon branched off into offensive training... and then onto training with weapons; though that one was still a heavily guarded secret from Alfred.
Though not for much longer, Bruce thought with a glance at one particular box under the tree.
The squeaking of a floorboard brought his attention to the entryway; and to a certain child up past his bedtime, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
Bruce frowned. “Hey, Bud,” he said softly, “What are you doing up?” He really hoped it wasn’t a nightmare, there hadn’t been any of those since just after Halloween.
“I heard you come in,” Dick replied as he joined the man on the couch. “But I didn’t hear you go to bed, so I wanted to make sure you weren’t doing… well, that,” he pointed to the shiny boxes that hadn’t been there three hours before.
The look he gave Bruce was one of pure exasperation. It was actually pretty adorable, but Bruce refrained from saying that out loud; it would not go over well, he was sure.
“How do you know that I put those there?” Bruce tried for innocence, “I’ve heard there’s this jolly, fat guy in a red suit that likes to visit people’s houses on Christmas Eve.”
Dick rolled his eyes with a shake of his head, “Bruce, I’m eight. I know all about Santa.”
Bruce adopted a confused expression, “What about Santa?”
Dick studied him uncertainly, looking a bit uncomfortable. “You know,” he said, “The truth about Santa, and who leaves the gifts.”
“Oh,” Bruce nodded, “You mean the elves.”
“No,” Dick sounded unsure now, “Do… do you think elves bring the gifts?”
“You don’t?” Bruce feigned shock.
Dick looked away in discomfort, “Well, no… not really.”
This kid, Bruce thought in amusement. It was obvious he didn’t believe in Santa himself, but he didn’t want to ruin it for his guardian. Shaking his head and resting an arm across narrow shoulders, Bruce finally let a smile slip and said, “Me neither.”
Dick huffed at him but a smile was tugging at his lips too. “You really didn’t have to do all of this, Bruce,” he restated.
The man raised an eyebrow, “Did you get something for me?” No answer. “How about Alfred?”
“Okay,” the raven head flopped dramatically against his arm, “But it’s not anything huge. And you got me, like, a thousand things. That’s not fair.”
“Alright, Math Genius,” Bruce squeezed his shoulder, “That is clearly an over exaggeration. Besides, you’re the only kid we have in this house. Who else are we going to spoil?” Rather than answer, Dick leaned further into his side, looking content.
They sat in silence for a while, just watching the lights flicker on the tree. Bruce reminiscing about the few Christmas Eve’s he had spent with his own father on this couch, his mother singing carols right beside them.
One of his favorite Christmas traditions had been when they would let him open one present the night before.
“Dick?” he prompted quietly.
“Mmm,” the boy sounded like he was halfway to sleep again.
“Would you like to open something right now?” Lethargic eyes blinked up at him in question. “It’s just something I used to do with my parents,” he added on.
Understanding came with a small smile, “Sure, Bruce.”
The man stood up and kneeled in front of the tree; he knew just which gift needed to be opened tonight… while it was just the two of them. Handing it to Dick, he sat back down and held his breath.
Dick peeled the paper away, and the box it revealed was nothing special; about the size of a wallet. The boy lifted the lid and froze.
Silence reigned for three minutes and sixteen seconds, Bruce counted, before Dick looked up with wide eyes. “Do you mean it?” he whispered in an awed voice.
Bruce nodded in all seriousness, “I wouldn’t have given it to you if I wasn’t one hundred percent certain.” He swallowed when Dick’s eyes filled with tears; the happy kind. And then he was being squeezed to death in a surprisingly strong hug; one Bruce didn’t hesitate to return.
He leaned back, after a while, to look at his boy. “You’ll need a name, you know,” he offered.
Dick smiled, but with a twinge of sadness behind it. “I’ve thought about it a lot,” he admitted, “Do you think… would Robin be good enough? My… my parents called me that.”
Bruce gently pulled the domino mask out of its box and covered the blue eyes, so like his own… but brighter.
“I think Robin is the perfect name,” he agreed as his young partner straightened his shoulders with pride. “Batman and Robin.”