Work Text:
The false beard itched like hell. Bruce tried not to scratch, but it was hard. His boots were uncomfortable, two sizes larger than he'd asked for, and the fabric was shaggy.
Alfred stared at him skeptically, "Sir, I don't think it's necessary."
"This is Tim's first Christmas at the Manor. I want to make it special," he explained.
He still couldn't believe he managed to get custody. No, he believed it too very well.
Janet was a smart woman, and she knew how much it would hurt their image if the neglect and abuse were leaked.
Jack instead…well, Bruce will have to keep an eye on him, the man was dangerous.
The classic rich man who believes he can do whatever he wants thanks to his power and his wealth.
The kind that he despised with all his being.
But now wasn't the time to think about it. The priority was Tim and giving him his first real Christmas.
He glanced at the presents under the tree, which filled half the floor.
Had he exaggerated?
He was rich, he could afford it. He wasn't spoiling Tim, he was giving him what he had been missing until now.
"I appreciate it, but why are you dressed like this?"
"Tim's at the age where kids still believe in Santa Claus," was the reply.
"I don't want to disappoint him."
"Do you think he'll believe it?"
"Why shouldn't he do it?"
Another look from Alfred, lips pursed, "With all due respect, you seem unlikely a true Santa Claus. Even a child could tell."
"Absurd. I'm sure…"
"B? What are you doing?"
Bruce opened his mouth but quickly closed it again. Another Santa Claus had entered the hall, with a sack on his shoulders and blue eyes widening in surprise.
Alfred nearly laughed and had to cough to cover it up.
"Dick?"
"I'm not Dick. I'm Santa Claus. Who are you?"
"I am Santa Claus!"
"Do you have a license?"
Bruce frowned, "License?"
"The license to certify that you're a real Santa Claus, it's obvious!"
He had to refrain from running a hand over his face or his beard would fall out.
"Why didn't you tell me anything? I would have avoided this farce."
"Why didn't you tell me? And wow, are those all Timmy's?" he asked, looking at the tree.
Bruce gulped, "Actually, I got something for you too. If you want it."
Dick was speechless. They were rebuilding their relationship, Bruce was working on putting his feelings into words, and there were good and bad times.
But he was working on it.
Things will never go back to before (before Nightwing, before Jason), but he wasn't willing to give up his son.
Never again.
"What have you got me? Please don't tell me some shit like Rolex."
"In reality…"
"B! Tim's presents are so much nicer!"
"You're too old to play with Lego."
"That's where you're wrong. Anyone can play Lego. Even Alfred!"
"I'll keep that in mind for next time."
"Fine, and put it on my list…"
A cough to get attention. Then another.
Finally, they realized that Tim was standing in the doorway, looking at them in wonder.
Bruce would gladly have taken a picture if his hands were free from the annoying and tight gloves.
The moment was short-lived, "Dick? Bruce? Why are you dressed like that?"
Alfred had a smug face as if to say I told you so.
He hated that expression.
Dick was quick to say, "Who are these people? I'm Santa Claus, he's my assistant."
Bruce glared at him, but Dick ignored him and continued, "We've got some presents for you! Have you been a good boy?"
"Don't you already know, Dick?"
"I'm not Dick! I'm Santa Claus!"
Tim was very skeptical, "Santa Claus doesn't exist."
"Who told you?!" Dick asked in shock.
"My father. He said it was a waste of time to believe a fat old man and that I should ask the secretary for gifts."
Here's another reason to hate Jack Drake. He ruined the magic of the holidays. What did it matter to him whether Tim believed it or not? It wasn't like she spent the holidays with him!
"Well, kiddo. No secretary here. Just a real Santa with his assistant."
"I know who you are."
"Are you sure?"
Tim nodded, and before Dick could continue to be blown away by a five-year-old boy, Bruce shaved off his beard.
"Well, it seems that a brilliant boy has earned the right to open his presents."
Filled with wonder Tim asked in a low voice, "Are those for me?"
"Of course! What are you waiting for to open them?"
Tim didn't have to repeat it twice, and he pounced on it.
Bruce smiled, remembering another kid excited about Christmas, who could get real presents for the first time.
The memory was bittersweet but beautiful.
Jason would have loved all of this.