Chapter Text
Christmas at the Wayne Manor was always performative.
Alfred would buy and put on a few tasteful decorations in the main living room and an army of caterers and waiters would be hired for the annual Christmas party Bruce would organise that year to raise funds for whichever charity he fancied himself supporting. If Dick was lucky, Diana would be invited and he would spend the evening with Donna, talking shit about the other guests and stealing cups of champagne when nobody was looking. More often than not, though, he would find a quiet corner where to sulk and read until everyone left.
He would find a nice present waiting for him on Christmas morning and, if Bruce wasn’t busy, they would have lunch together. Bruce was always busy, though, so Dick only remembers sharing leftovers with Alfred and trying to convince the old man to let him go out for the day. There is nothing thrilling about walking around the domain in the snow, but it was always better than staying inside all day long to watch crappy movies on tv that would only showcase an ideal Christmas he’d come to hate.
Waking up on his first Christmas morning with the other three feels a lot like having a small, candy-cane-flavoured aneurysm. It’s as if one of Santa’s elves puked all over their apartment, and not in a good way. Dick vividly remembers the place being the same as ever when he went to bed last night – sure, earlier than usual, but he had a long day and a bruised rib, so it’s justified – and he has no idea what happened, why, and how it happened so fast.
There’s a fully decorated Christmas tree in the living room, four matching stockings above the tv set, and more garland everywhere than is probably allowed. Or good taste. And that’s without even mentioning the smell of cookies and chocolate coming from the kitchen, or how Gar shows up with a Santa hat on his head that violently clashes with the green of his hair. Dick feels like going back to bed immediately.
“What the fuck,” he says instead. Flat. Tired.
Gar just grins at him, like the fucking puppy he can be at times, which makes it a million times worse. Dick can’t just be upset and grumpy at Gar when he’s like that, all marshmallow and unicorns. He would go straight down to hell if he were mean to Gar for no other reason than he’s a Grinch and Gar is the human representation of everything good and pure in this world.
“He’s awaaaaake,” Gar singsongs, head tilted toward the kitchen.
“I hate you,” Dick comments for good measure. They both know he doesn’t mean it.
The kitchen, obviously, is just as bad. Rachel and Kory are wearing matching Christmas sweaters, the former with antlers on top of her head while the latter gathered her curly hair into two ponytails, wrapped with tinsel. They’re making what looks like the beginning of a gingerbread house and drinking hot chocolate out of round mugs shaped like snowmen and reindeers. If Dick had any doubt they stole his credit card when he was passed out, it’s not exactly doubts anymore.
“Good morning,” Rachel beams at him, which. It’s even worse than Gar’s existence, seeing Rachel’s happiness. More effective on his cold, shrivelling heart. More deadly. Because he spent months making sure she was okay, she would be okay, have a life and be a semi-normal teenage girl with a semi-normal life. And here she is. Happily celebrating Christmas with people who love her more than anything, with stars in her eyes and red on her cheeks. Not for the first time, she reminds him of Donna – and of the fact that he would lay his life for her if he had to.
“Morning,” he sighs back, even as Gar shoves a mug of hot chocolate in his hands and forces him to sit at the kitchen island. He rolls his eyes, for good measure, before he adds, “We agreed the credit card was only for emergencies.”
Kory gasps, eyes going comically wide. “It was an emergency.”
“Someone dying is an emergency. This bull… This is not.”
She makes a face at him before she leans across the kitchen island to flick his nose. For a moment there, Dick gets distracted by the way her leg pops in the air as she does so, and the fact that she wears a long Christmas sweater and literally nothing else. Where she managed to get that purple monstrosity that can also pass as a dress, in only a few hours, is a mystery to him.
“Who here doesn’t care about what Dick thinks?” Kory asks flippantly, as she raises her hand with a flick of the wrist.
Gar’s and Rachel’s hands shoot up before she even finishes her question, and Dick can only scoff and roll his eyes at his obvious defeat, before he takes a sip of his hot chocolate. Damn, but that thing is good too, made of really chocolate instead of the sugar-loaded stuff Gar puts in his almond milk every morning. They really went all in for this.
Rachel turns toward Kory, big, innocent smile plastered on her face. “Can we open our presents now?”
Kory caresses her face, soft and motherly. She’s so much better at this shit than Dick will ever be – even now after all this time with them, he sometimes feels like freaking out and running away from his responsibilities. He has no idea how she does it, composed and perfect. Like everything else in Kory’s life. “Sure, have fun!”
Gar and Rachel don’t need more than that to turn to the living room. There’s a loud bang that always comes when one jokingly pushes the other against a wall, then muffled sounds of a fake argument and the ripping of wrapping paper.
“Don’t look so grumpy,” Kory sighs as she comes to stand close to him, turning his stool over so he will face her. Dick opens his legs so she can step between them, his hands rising to cup her face like he very much loves to do. She’s soft and warm in the morning, especially in moments like that – her face bare of the makeup she uses as war paint.
“I’m not grumpy, just….” She raises an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, okay, grumpy. Happy?”
“Not really, no. It’s Christmas; you should enjoy yourself too.” Her finger runs against the wrinkles on his forehead, which does nothing to smooth them. If anything else, Dick frowns even more. “You can’t be that intense in life all the time.”
“I can loosen up!” he argues, although he knows how pointless it is, especially with Kory.
And, indeed, she only scoffs in reply. “What, when Donna takes pity on you and drags you to a bar? That’s sad, even for you, Dick.”
When he sighs this time, it’s less frustrated and even a little sadder perhaps. “I’m fucking trying, okay.”
“Fake it until you make it in front of the kids, alright? It’s important to them.” And then, pointing above their heads, “You can even start now.”
Dick looks up, only to find a branch of mistletoe attached to one end of the lamp above them. It very much feels like a trap, that they put it right under the chair he sits on every morning, but – it doesn’t feel like a bad trap. Because they did something nice, worked hard on all of this shit, and the least he could do is appreciate their effort about it. Isn’t that what this stupid holiday is supposed to be about anyway? Spending quality time with the ones you love?
Well, Dick can start now. His first smile of the day slowly blossoms on his lips as he pulls on Kory’s sweater to bring her even closer to him. He will have fun getting rid of it tonight, but for now he’s fine with the way she puts her hands on his shoulders and leans toward him. Her lips taste like cinnamon and chocolate, warm and pliant against his.
The kiss only lasts a few moments before Kory leans away, but Dick’s eyes stay close for a few seconds more. Although he and Kory have been more or less dating for a while now, if you could even call it that, it never ceases to amaze him how great it is to kiss her. It doesn’t matter if it’s desperate after a mission or hungry in a heated moment, or just like now, quiet and loving. He will never tire of her lips on his, on the sighs caught against his mouth.
He’s about to say something potentially stupid, when a shriek comes from the living room, followed by an excited “Is that a puppy?!” from Rachel. He’s out of his seat in seconds, panicking, followed by a laughing Kory. Only to find Rachel grinning at him like the cat who ate the canary.
“The fuck?”
“You were taking too much time,” she replies calming, with a one-shoulder shrug. “Had to find a way to get you there quickly.”
Fuck, but he hates the kid.
(It’s definitely a lie.)