Chapter Text
Jason, out of all the Outlaws, was not an exhibitionist. If anyone was, it was Roy; the man seemingly allergic to common decency within their crappy little apartment. He'd shocked the neighbours one too many times walking past the windows, bare ass naked. Which was why it was such a surprise to see Jason as the one stood over the stove in nothing but his fur trim Santa boxers (an early present from Kori), gun holsters, and a Christmas hat, on the chilly morning of December 25th.
On the radio, Hard Candy Christmas was playing, the ex-Robin humming along with the tune. It had always been one of uncle Clark's favourites, sure to fill the Manor during his visits over the holidays, every year (when Jason had still lived there, some 6 or 7 years ago now). Superman loved Dolly Parton.
"Mornin'." Jason paused his humming to mouth round the cigarette drooping from between his teeth, not even having to turn to feel the eyes on his back.
The smoke glowed briefly with each breath in the chill morning air, breezing in through the open kitchen window; the answer to a broken extractor fan. Roy was far too busy tinkering with his many toys to fix such a necessity. Not that Jason couldn't have done it himself. He'd had to repair a lot of this apartment, over the years. It was the one he'd moved into with his Mom, after his Dad was sent to prison, to try for a fresh start. The placed Catherine had died in.
A lot had changed since that day. The whole building was now owned by Bruce Wayne, who'd given it more than a paint job. The whole building looked brand new. It practically sparked. And yet... It was still home. Although, in part, that may have been more due to the people who lived there.
"Merry Christmas, Jaybird." Roy leant against the kitchen counter, watching him with slight amusement. "What's cooking?"
It was common knowledge that since Jason's grand return from the grave, he never really felt temperature anymore - save from the extreme. That was why he enjoyed being sandwiched between Roy and Kori at night on their king sized mattress, in search of the slightest hint of warmth they brought him. Or showered at a heat only he and Kori seemed to be able to stand, which would leave his skin a bright, rosy pink (which left Roy feeling very left out). And why, now, the chill of their apartment didn't seem to be bothering him. He never said anything, but it made him feel more alive. More human. Although, it was usually the warmth he craved, which was why current state of undress was such a surprise. Not that Roy was complaining.
"Pancakes." Jason replied as he flipped over the first of them, filling the room with it's warm, buttery scent.
Roy liked Jason's pancakes. He made them British, like Alfred, and smothered them in a homemade blueberry cinnamon sauce. They were the reason Roy wouldn't live to 50 - with the amount of butter Jason cooked them in - if the, y'know, vigilante-ism didn't kill him first. Of course, there were worse ways to go out. And all things considered, Death By Pancake was probably his preferred method of demise, considering everything he'd manage to survive thus far.
"Dibs on the freak." Roy grinned, always willing to eat the first pancake - no matter how badly it turned out.
Jason deserved the validation.
"Sorry, Red." Jason smirked. "Kori's already called it. First one goes to the princess."
Great minds think alike, Roy mused.
"Where is her majesty, anyway?" Roy asked, unable to take his eyes off the man before him.
Thighs, and shoulders carved like the Gods. Thin, pale scars ghosting his skin. And that little crease in his brow, absolutely adorably, which formed when he was concentrating. Like now, as he was trying to scrape the utterly destroyed pancake from the bottom of the pan. Roy absolutely loved taking in every detail of him. Although, usually, Jason wasn't distracted enough to let him get away with staring. He didn't like Roy, or Kori (or anyone for that matter), looking at him so intently, despite their love and adoration. It always made him far too self conscious, as though he were under scrutiny. He clearly didn't share their appreciation for his body that they did. But that was fine- Well, not fine. But it just meant they'd have to show him, and keep showing him, until he knew how much they adored him.
"She's out food shopping. She has demanded we celebrate 'what they call on this planet, Christmas'." Jason snorted fondly, really only doing this for her.
This time of year had always been important to his mother, with her Catholic upbringing. But since her death, he'd never had the heart for it. Bruce had offered, of course, to uphold the holiday, once Jason had come to live with him - despite being from a Jewish family himself. And they had, in their own way. With old timey Christmas movies, and Chinese food, and very ugly seasonally appropriate jumpers. Also, a tree. He was sure Alfred had many photos somewhere...
An invite was always extended from the Kent household, to spend Christmas on the farm. And they always promised they would, one day. But Jason had died before they could go through with 'Christmas with the Kent's'. Although, they always ended up with a walk-in fridge full of Ma Kent's Tupperware. Boxes upon boxes of home cooking, enough to have their own Christmas Dinner 5 times over. Turkey, and homegrown veg, and pie. So much pie.
Much to Clark's distress, they'd put a lot of the food into after patrol sandwiches; a Bruce Wayne speciality (since it didn't actually involve him cooking anything).
Jason wondered if the man had ever gone through with it, especially now they were a thing - visiting the farm for the holidays. But he was drawn from those thoughts, then, when there was a familiar rattle of keys at the door. Kori, as she made her entrance, was a sight. Although, when wasn't she - in her Santa hat, and off the shoulder fur trim green velvet dress; the skirt of which barely making it half way down her thigh. The garment was clearly not meant for a 6ft Tamaranean warrior princess.
Good thing, too, with the number of bags slung over her shoulders, and down her arms. She needed the muscle. It seemed she'd bought the whole shop, visiting the little 24-hour convenience store down the road. It was run by a family who didn't celebrate the holiday, for religious reasons, who had been very excited to see her; Kori previously recuing their daughter's cat, who had got stuck in a tree. They had been the only place open, and had been very helpful in their suggestions of what to buy (even if, much like Kori, they'd never celebrated Christmas themselves). They had even refused to let her pay - as a thank you for saving Nonu, a little black cat with green eyes. Jason didn't appreciate being told it reminded her of him.
Koriand'r blew hair the colour of a winter sunset out of her eye, looking somewhat distressed. But then, that's what you get for leaving your Christmas shopping until the day itself. It was a surprised she'd managed to find any food at all - even with the family's help. They had been lovely. The other customers had not.
"Need a hand, sweetheart?" Roy was the first to offer, already standing.
"Thank you," She accepted the help gratefully. "It seems two isn't enough."
"Good timing." Jason commented from his position at the stove, taking the pan off the heat and stamping out his cigarette on the windowsill ashtray. "You made it just in time for the reject- Ah, shit."
That caught his best friends' attention. Even Kori's eyes seemed to flash for just a moment, like cats eyes under a headlight, at whatever had caused him to swear.
"You alright, Jaybird?" Roy turned back to him, now laden with his own armful of bags.
"Yeah," He scowled, inspecting his hand. "Just burnt my finger on the pan."
At the sound of his distress, Kori floated over to him, landing softly at his side. She'd dumped the rest of the bags on Roy to attend to Jason, the archer practically crumbling under the weight.
"Aw, dearest." She pouted, lifting his hand to see the damage.
Turning off the stove so as to avoid any further injuries, she kissed Jason's knuckles, even as he scowled. There was barely a mark there. Certainly not enough for him to bother running it under cold water for 20 minutes, nor for him to be on the receiving end of all this kind attention. He'd had worse, after all.
"Need me to make it better?" She offered, so close to him him now, he could smell her rose oil perfume.
Okay, maybe he should stop complaining.
"I wouldn't mind that..." He began leaning in, enjoying the warmth that always radiated off her skin.
"Hello?" Roy called to them, trying to balance the bags lining his arms like tassels. "Struggling boyfriend here, who would also like to help make things better?"
Despite breaking the moment, there was always something so endearing about Roy Harper. Even as he dropped the first of the bags, and watched in horror as the loose sprouts rolled in every direction across their moderately clean floor. Jason and Kori couldn't help but smile at him. A shark-like smile, which said they wanted to eat him alive.
Jason shook his head, smirking. "How are we so attracted to you?"
"I think it's the size of his-"
"KORI!"
***
Roy... Frankly didn't know how he'd gotten so lucky. All his senses were overwhelmed. The smell of Kori's perfume as she kissed his neck, hair tickling his shoulders. The weight of Jason grinding in his lap, cold hands riding up underneath his stolen hoodie (Jason's). The taste of blueberries and cinnamon when they kissed. The sound of Elvis on the radio now, telling them Santa Claus is Back in Town. He had to admit, he never thought it would be such a good song for a lap dance. Merry freakin' Christmas-
There was a knock at the door.
"Fuck." Jason hissed, forehead falling to Roy's shoulder.
"Maybe if we're quiet, they'll go away?" Kori suggested from the other side, gently tracing patterns into Roy's skin with her nails.
Beneath her, the archer had grown a pretty, embarrassed pink. The kind which brought out his freckles. He still found it cute, the way his lovers tried to count them. Especially when they did so with kisses.
The knock came again then, heavier, and a voice accompanied it this time.
"Master Jason, do you believe it appropriate to leave your guests waiting out in the snow?"
"Fuck." Jason swore again, this time with more feeling.
This was... Unexpected. But he could never say no to Alfred - which meant opening the door in his very seasonally appropriate underwear, if he didn't want to leave them waiting any longer. And by the sounds of the bickering voices on the other side (Tim and Damian, if he had to guess), it seemed the butler wasn't alone, either. At least the thought of interacting with his family was enough to kill his hard-on.
"It's not rude if they're not invited." He called back, though swung a leg off Roy's lap anyway, making towards the door.
Behind him, he heard miserable grumbling as Roy and Kori attempted to make themselves more presentable, clearly disappointed at having their private little Christmas morning plans ruined.
Fighting his way down the line of locks and bolts, Jason had to stifle a laugh when he finally got the door open. Sure, he was braced for the cold, but what he hadn't prepared for was the whole Bat-family stood on his doorstep, each sporting a different, uniquely hideous holiday jumper. Although, he wouldn't voice that opinion out loud, especially in front of Alfred. It was obvious, after all, who had made them. It wasn't as though Bruce was one to sit down, and pull out a set of needles of an evening. Although, as a kid, Alfred would often task him with the job of untangling his wool. He'd probably much prefer that, to his current evening activities.
There was Damian, brow drawn into a tight scowl, and bottom lip stuck out in a pout, sporting a sweater patterned with Christmas lights (which, much to his own horror, actually lit up). Then there was Tim, who's had a giant 'S' (for Superboy) on the front, surrounded by snowflakes. Cass's had much the same design, except with a particular bat symbol in place of the 'S'. Dick's was blue (of course) with little Robins perched in a line across the chest. And Bruce was sporting his usual grey, the jumper patterned with little menorahs and stars of David. It seemed only Alfred had escaped the particular fashion parade.
"I don't know why you're laughing." Dick grinned, an evil little glint in his eye. "What do you think your first present is?"
Jason sighed, moving back to allow them in. All the while though, he had to bite his lip from smiling. With his current state of undress, he wasn't against the gift of clothes. Especially when they were made with love.
"So what's with the surprise visit?" Roy asked, still blushing, though a little more together now.
"Jason had not told us his family would be coming over." Kori agreed, sitting hip to hip with him, where they'd moved onto the kitchen counter.
Their tone wasn't exactly... Icy. But they couldn't be said to be entirely trustful of the family. Or, more specifically, Bruce.
"We all agreed that the holidays weren't the same without us all there." The man himself spoke up - although the look he got from Alfred suggested that this conclusion had been very difficult to reach - the answer so uncharacteristically honest.
In short, the entire family was fed up with Bruce moping around for the entire month. He'd been brooding more than usual lately, which put everyone in a sour mood - ruining the holiday spirit, which Dick fought so valiantly to maintain. And it seemed that the man was completely unable to come to the conclusion by himself that maybe he'd be less miserable if he actually reached out, and spoke to Jason (because it was so very, very obvious that that was the problem). They'd practically had to stage an intervention to get him here.
But the thing was, the issue wasn't with seeing Jason - it was that Jason wouldn't want to see him. Their relationship had improved, so so much, over the past handful of years. But he was all too painfully aware that they would probably never again have that father-son bond they'd once had, from before Jason had died. He'd tried to reach out before. Of course he had. But Jason had been fuelled by rage, and pain, and betrayal, and hadn't wanted to know - which Bruce couldn't blame him for (in fact, he entirely blamed himself). But he didn't think his heart could take being rejected again. And yet... He would never stop reaching out for his son. Even if he never seemed to go about it the right way...
He moved into the kitchen quickly with his bags, ushered along by Alfred, before he could even have a chance to be rejected.
As they all flocked in, it took Jason himself a moment to realise that they were all carrying something. Bags of presents, and piles of Tupperware, and, in Dick's case, an entire child. Damian's ankle was wrapped in a cast, and Dick took it as his duty to make sure he didn't slip on the Outlaws icy front stairs. Which, of course, Damian was less than happy about. Bruce's eldest had never looked more paternal, with the 13 year old balanced on one hip, and his crutches held tight in the other hand.
"What gives, Demon Brat? We've already got one Tiny Tim." Jason laughed, dragging his younger brother into his side to give him a noogie as he walked through the door.
"Hey!" Tim yelled, fighting to escape, though grinning none the less.
Much like the rest of the family, his relationship with his older brother was... Rocky. But it had gotten better. And as much as he hated to admit it, he liked this side of Jason. The one who would pick on him, instead of trying to pick him off. Although he was thankful when Jason finally let go, Cass voluntarily taking a place under Jason's arm, to wrap her arms around his middle like a koala.
"Missed you." She grinned into his side, as he gave her an affectionate squeeze.
Little did they know, but Jason found he liked playing older brother, too.
"Baby Bat twisted his ankle on patrol." Dick set Damian down gently before he could start biting.
"Yes, and Richard won't stop being a mother hen!" Damian glowered, practically snatching his crutches out of his grip. "I am the son of Batman, I'm perfectly capable of walking unaided!"
Getting his crutches under his arms, he hobbled his way over to Jason's armchair, before collapsing. He turned up his nose in disgust at the seat, snatching out his phone to play Cheese Vikings; the video game recently turned into an app. It was probably a good thing he didn't know what had almost happened in that chair mere moments before their arrival.
With his arms now free, Dick turned to great his old friends.
"It's nice to see you, Grayson." Roy hopped down from the counted, throwing his arms round his shoulders.
"It's been too long." Kori enveloped them both, warm, and soft, and smelling of roses.
Like many relationships within the room, theirs was... Complicated; Dick's ex-best friend, and, well, ex. Matters only made worse by distance. But with Jason slowly falling back into the fold of the family, he seemed to be dragging the Outlaws along with him. And more often than not, it wouldn't be uncommon for Nightwing to run into Red Hood on a rooftop, accompanied by Starfire and Arsenal. But there was always something more intimate about meeting up out of uniform. Especially between the original Titans, who had once (and continued) to see each other as family. Sometimes, like now, they could go back to acting like nothing had changed. No fallen heroes. No falling outs.
They stayed together like that for a minute, before Dick spoke up from the middle, "You guys wouldn't mind helping me with the tree, would you?"
***
"X'hal."
When Jason came out of the bedroom, now a lot more dressed, in black jeans and a Wonder Woman t-shirt, he wasn't sure what he expected to see - but it wasn't Dick, Roy and Kori trying to shove an 8 foot tree through the front door. He had half a mind to turn back around, and pretend he hadn't seen everything. But then there was Bruce in his kitchen, jumper off and shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, beckoning him for help. And what kind of hero would Jason be if he left his Dad to his own devices when cooking? The man couldn't be trusted to reheat soup.
"Jason..." Bruce began, catching his eyes, looking like he wanted to say something important - before he thought better of it, and instead asked, "Where do you keep the... The chopping boards?"
Jason shook his head, not expecting anything less from the man. Although, he was glad to have escaped from one of Bruce's emotionally stunted attempts at a heart to heart. It made him smile a little, at how much hadn't changed.
"Here." He squeezed past to reach into the cupboard by Bruce's knee, plonking the retrieved board down on the side. "You peel, I'll chop."
Bruce smiled too, then. He missed how bossy Jason was in the kitchen.
It was strange, how easily they fell into step together. Under Alfred's leadership, the meal slowly began to pull together. Bruce peeled the vegetables (potatoes, carrots, parsnips, Brussel sprouts), whilst Jason chopped. Tim and Steph prepared the sides, mixing the stuffing and wrapping the pigs in blankets. And Alfred handled the turkey; the only one trusted to do so, stuffing it with lemon, and onion, and garlic, and bay leaves, honey (with a dash of salt and pepper for flavour).
"No Clark?" Jason asked, enjoying working elbow to elbow with his Dad (even if he kept having to slice off all the little bits of skin Bruce kept missing on the spuds).
"He'll be here later." Bruce promised. "If that's... Alright?"
Jason couldn't help the little snort he made, still in good humour. "As if my opinion would have stopped you lot from piling in here."
Bruce looked a little guilty at that, but they were both enjoying themselves too much for it to last. "Clark's doing the rounds with Jon. Having lunch with his parents and Connor at the farm, then presents with Lois in Metropolis, before joining us here."
"Jon's coming?" Damian perked up at that, his expression the furthest it had been from a scowl all day.
Dick had roped him into helping decorate the tree, along with Roy and Kori, and Damian was less than impressed about only being able to reach the bottom half to hang the red and gold baubles. At his distress, Kori had allowed him to sit atop her shoulders (which he protested a lot less than when Dick had offered). He'd accepted, using his leg as an excuse. But at least now, it meant he could reach to put the star on top of the tree. He was also enjoying being vertically superior to everyone else in the room.
The place was really starting to come together now; their very own winter wonderland. Homemade snowflakes stuck in the windows. Tinsel round the doorframes. Fairy lights zigzagging across the ceiling. Named stockings hanging very snug together about the fireplace (lit by Kori). Made all the more fitting as Step into Christmas played on the radio.
"It's Clark's year with him." Bruce nodded as explanation.
"So, you and Superman..." Jason nudged his Dad in the ribs, every bit the little shit he'd been as a kid.
The last few years had been... Complicated for the Kents. It had taken Clark a long time to realise he loved Lois, although not in the way she wanted him to. It had taken him longer, then, to realise the person he did love in that way, was Bruce (who, uncharacteristically, had been pretty sure of his own feelings for a long, long time). Of course, Jon's existence at this point didn't make the situation any easier. But arrangements were met, and Clark and Lois stayed friends; because that's what they were, long before they ever got together.
"Me and Clark..." Bruce corrected, not taking his eyes off his work. "Are happy."
"Good." Jason smiled, meaning it.
He let the conversation lie again for a moment, filling up a pan at the sink to put on the boil. But of course, as he transferred it to the hob, the little bit of Lazarus in him couldn't allow the peace to settle.
"What does that mean for Tim and the clone, now?" Jason asked, evil gleam in his eye. "Is it still... Allowed?"
"Remember who's cooking the food, bucket head." Tim threatened, causing Cass to giggle beside him.
"Children." Alfred chastised, before the conversation could escalate.
"Sorry Alf." Jason moved back to his station at the counter. "Although, it's very hard to take you seriously with your arm stuffed up the turkey's-"
Jason swore colourfully when he felt a sprout lobbed with pinpoint accuracy at his head. When he turned to weed out the attacker, he caught Cass grinning maniacally. He decided, for the sake of his health, not to take counter-action. If I fight broke out, he was all too aware who'd win.
"Nice shot!" Roy called.
Jason flipped him the bird.
"So Cass, where's your louder half?" He asked his sister, trying to ignore his idiot boyfriend (and the vegetable assault).
"With her Mom." She informed him, before waving her foot in the air, grinning, "Gave me socks."
They were odd, one purple and spotty, and the other with a stiped rainbow pattern, as if Steph had picked them out that way on purpose. He wouldn't put it past her.
"Hers match." Cass continued to beam proudly.
Jason felt a pang of guilt, suddenly. He hadn't got his family anything. Sure, he hadn't expected to see them, what with their unannounced arrival. Also the fact he was still unsure whether he'd wanted to see them at all, holidays or otherwise, before they'd all flooded into his home. But now, with how well everything was going, he couldn't help but feel... Odd; like the striped, unmatched sock of the family. There they all were, so full of life and warmth and happiness, as if they were a normal family, untouched by years of darkness. And here he was, still over thinking everything, and looking for a reason to be miserable.
Cass seemed to read his expression then, eyes going sad with sympathy. But no one had time to comment on the sudden mood shift, when the water in the pan began to bubble and hiss.
"Shit." Jason tried to find a clear path through the throng of people, the kitchen particularly cosy, chastised by Alfred for his language.
"I've got it, Jaylad." Bruce weaved easily, taking the pan off the hob before he was anywhere close.
"Nice reflexes, old man." Jason said, letting the tension go from his body a little.
Bruce gave him one of his looks. The one which read, well I am Batman. It seemed the man was fluent in silence, communicating entirely through micro expressions. Jason was just shocked he still understood the language. For a long time, he thought only Dick and Alfred were able to crack the enigma which is Bruce Wayne.
Maybe Jason wasn't the only weird one of the family...
"I wouldn't trust him holding that for long." Alfred cautioned, always the voice of reason. "Master Bruce would be capable of setting fire to water."
Snorting a laugh, Jason took it from his hands carefully. They worked together, then, to slide the chopped potatoes into the pot without splashing any boiling water anywhere. And suddenly, Jason was 15 again, stood in the manor kitchen with his Dad, trying to make dinner. Alfred had left them to their own devices, for his yearly holiday to England. Two weeks of cold, grey weather; a home away from home.
Bruce had decided to try and follow one of Alfred's mother's recipes, and make stew for himself and Jason. After all, how badly could stew go?
Jason was notified of just how badly when he smelt the tomatoes burning all the way from his room, the far side of the manor. He'd quickly run through the house, seeking out the source of the smell, to salvage Bruce from his own disaster. How this man had coped in his years of travel, without Alfred, he'd never know...
They'd worked well together, proving the depth of their partnership outside of just Batman and Robin, as they cleaned up the mess and started the meal again from scratch. In the end, they'd followed Jason's own recipe. A kind of stew he'd made for his mother, with tinned tomatoes and baked beans, with carrots and potatoes chopped in. Of course, the manor's version had also included the exciting addition of paprika and chilli. Luxuries Jason could afford on rare occasions growing up. In truth, it was memories of these moments which had kept Bruce away from the kitchen after losing his son. Cooking alone was depressing, and cooking with company reminded him too much of Jason, and the way the kid's face would light up whenever what he made was a success. And it was always a success. If only, because of the time spend together making it.
Maybe, just maybe, for Bruce at least, this was present enough.
***
To say the meal was a success... Was probably an overstatement. Despite Alfred at the wheel, the outcome of the cooking had been steered into many different directions by the family. The potatoes were done far too early, and the turkey far too late. The stuffing didn't fit in the Outlaws' oven, and the decision had been unanimous that Kori blasting it with starbolts was an absolutely terrible idea. But by mid afternoon, they were all sat down, spread out across the apartment due to it only officially possessing three chairs.
Alfred, of course, had the head of the table, with Damian sat on one side, with his bad ankle resting in Dick's lap beside him. The youngest of the family was still pushing his vegan turkey around his plate, still undecided on whether or not he wanted to take a bite. Especially with his father's involvement. Although, it still looked more tempting than the ever-growing pile of vegetables Richard kept loading onto his plate. The man was a health fanatic, who's love of broccoli couldn't be stopped. It was a wonder he hadn't dumped protein powder into his hot chocolate (as if the Outlaws would own any).
Bruce and Jason had the sofa, both doing a wonderful job of not spilling their piles of food as they tried to balance their plates in their laps. By now, Jason had also been wrangled into his own Christmas jumper. Another knitted number, red and green (Robin colours), the exact replica of the one Alfred had made him as a kid. He had to admit, the gift had made him a tad emotional - but he'd hid it well. Alfred just hoped he could snap a photo of the pair together, to compare to the original, of both father and son in their mirrored positions. It was fascinating, the mannerisms the pair still echoed of each other, despite their time apart. The hunch of their shoulders. The cross of their legs. The way they both tugged on the neck of their jumper, as if ready to shred it off their body the second they were allowed.
Kori, as literal royalty, had managed to win the contest for the armchair. While Roy, as her personal bumpkin, sat at her feet. They, too, hadn't managed to escape Alfred's mad jumper crusade; both in a set matching Jason's. Although, Kori's was a little tight on the shoulders. And unlike their matching counterpart, both seemed keen to keep their present on. To have been included was rather heart warming.
Cass and Tim had been stuck on the kitchen counter, finding a spot among the dirty pots and pans. Although, neither complained about their position, now at the highest point in the room. They liked to think it gave them some level of power and authority. Something rarely received as the middle children. Or at least, it meant they were closer to the radio, so they could pick the music; Tim connecting to the speakers via Bluetooth, and playing DJ with his co-conspirator. They'd already barred Dick from requesting Mariah Carey one more time. Currently, they were treating the family to Feliz Navidad, to which Jason was mumbling along to in perfect Spanish.
"This is real good turkey, Alfie." He announced as the song faded out, already halfway through his plate already.
"Thank you, Master Jason." Alfred preened under the compliment, knowing just how good his turkey was - though being too British to let it show.
"Yeah, this is great." Roy agreed through a mouthful.
"Your appetite rivals that of a Thanagarian Demon Hog." Kori commented.
"Heathens." Damian scowled, venturing his first bite of his own 'turkey'.
He had to admit, it was good. Better than the all too healthy nut roast Dick had forced on him last year. No amount of cranberry sauce and onion gravy could cover the taste of that. He was particularly thankful for Jason's involvement in the cooking this year.
Next to him, his eldest brother was laughing at his phone. "Babs says the food looks good! She wants a picture of us all in our jumpers, to send out as a Christmas card for next year."
She and her Dad were spending the holiday together, as usual. An offer had been extended to them both, of course, but Barbra had pointed out that there was already enough of them springing themselves on Jason (even if he often proclaimed her as his favourite member of the Bat-fam). Plus, there was something mutually uncomfortable about the idea of famous prince of the underworld, Red Hood, sitting in the same room as the literal police commissioner of Gotham City. Especially when they weren't quite sure how much Jim knew about the family. They'd never directly come out and said, "Hey, you know how you've never seen your good pal Bruce Wayne in the same room as your good pal Batman? Funny that." - but sometimes, the way he spoke, they couldn't be sure if he didn't have them all completely figured out.
"I'm drawing the line at photos." Jason grumbled.
"Spoil sport." Dick grinned, before turning to his old Titans friends. "So, I know we weren't exactly invited, but was the wonderful company and food worth the intrusion?"
Kori seemed to think about her answer before she said it. "I have been warned that it is traditional for one to fight with their family on this day, as you flock together to commemorate the winter." She paused, as if delivering royal speech, rather than answering a simple question. "But I feel we are defying it. I'm glad we've been brought together for the holidays."
Even if they had already got food themselves. They planned to donate it to the local homeless shelter, after the festivities were over.
"The holidays are only good as the people you make it with." Roy said in agreement, taking her hand with hearts in his eyes.
"A toast." Bruce held up his ginger ale, echoing their words, "To the people who have been brought together, for these holidays."
"To shine brightest for each other," Kori smiled prettily, hot chocolate held high. "When the nights are longest."
Soon, everyone was cheers-ing around the room - more Thanksgiving, than Christmas, as they toasted their gratitude.
Jason raised his own glass of non-alcoholic Bucks Fizz (orange juice), tapping it against Bruce's. "Happy Hanukkah, Dad."
Bruce didn't even mind that the sentiment was a few days late.
***
"So, are we opening the rest of the presents after this, or watching a Christmas movie?" Tim asked the room, hopping back up onto the kitchen counter now the plates had been cleared away.
He took a sip of his hot apple drink as he waited for an answer. It tasted exactly like apple pie, with a hint of cinnamon (leftover from breakfast). Jason's very own creation.
"Oh, definitely presents!" Dick grinned, ever the kid. "I want lil D to see what I got for him-"
"Tt." Damian rolled his eyes. "I found the drawing pencils you so expertly hid at the back of your wardrobe. You need to find a better hiding place, Richard. How you've kept your identity a secret so long is beyond me."
"Ah," Dick grinned. "You found what I wanted you to find."
Damian practically squawked, at the news he'd been bamboozled - which only made Dick look all the more satisfied.
"Well," He regained his composure quickly, eyebrows dipping in that familiar way to Bruce's. "I think it's only fair we wait for Jon before opening the presents. I have something I want to give him."
"Movie first, then." Alfred noted. "Although, deciding on one between you all is sure to result in all out war."
"Well, the obvious answer is Die Hard." Jason announced, as if he had any say in the matter, despite this being his home.
"Seconded." Roy agreed. "Although, I don't know if that's, y'know, age appropriate..."
He shut his mouth the second he caught the glare Damian sent him.
"What about Gremlins?" Tim smirked, shortly receiving an equally scathing death-glare, accompanied by a literal growl.
"What about The Grinch?" Dick suggested instead. "What do you think, B?"
"I think, I'm only celebrating this holiday for you kids..." He admitted, thinking back to a time when this time of year meant making latkes and homemade apple sauce with Kate. "But if I wasn't... The right answer is Home Alone."
Cass nodded vigorously at that.
"You know, I've always been partial to It's a Wonderful Life." Alfred said thoughtfully. "On second thoughts, maybe we should wait for Master Clark, as our decider."
"Alf, we all know you're just saying that because you know he'll agree with you." Jason grinned, well caught on to the man's tricks by now.
"Then clearly, he would be a man of impeccable taste."
There was a knock at the door then, as if right on cue. Then, it was a mad scramble to see who could get up before Alfred, to prevent the man from leaving his seat. In recent years, he had definitely become more a grandfather than a butler.
Jason made it first - even if he had to vault over the sofa to do it - narrowly missing kicking Bruce directly in the face in the process. Kori and Roy were close behind, the princess using her boyfriends to pull her along as she drifted. An odd habit she had taken up recently, that both of them found quite amusing (if not a little used).
"Hel-lo-" Jason began, pulling the door back.
He'd been expecting the towering frame of Superman at his front step, tinier son at his elbow. Instead, he came face to face with a figure wearing a black gas mask. He had barely any time to react, even to shout a warning, before their unexpected guest threw a handful of colourful red baubles into the room. Each one exploded in a cloud of toxic green gas on impact, filling the room with acrid smoke. The room was soon filled with it, so thick it filled the apartment from floor to ceiling, the only sound, the hacking coughs of the people hidden in the green mist.
When it finally lifted, everyone lay unconscious when they sat. Alfred, Dick, and Damian at the table. Cas and Tim on the counter. Bruce at the couch. And the Outlaws, collapsed at the door. And as they surveyed the scene, the figured laughed from behind their mask at their success - as Merry Christmas Everyone sang out from the radio.