Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Father?” Damian found Bruce finishing up a set of chin ups in the gym.

“Yes?”

“You celebrate Hanukkah right?” it was the word you that hit Bruce’s ear most by surprise, he’d never really thought about it that way. He held his lift a little while longer as he contemplated how to correctly answer his son.

“In a way.” Bruce didn’t correlate the holiday with celebration in the traditional sense. “I light your grandmother’s menorah.” It was something he used to do with his mother and hadn’t stopped, to Bruce it was not about celebrating a miracle of prolonged light, but remembering one snuffed out prematurely.

“Why don’t you do the other stuff?”

“Other- '' Bruce remembered his mother taking him to Shelsky’s delicatessen on court street. Bruce enjoyed the jelly donuts there. His mother would get Babka for herself. His father wasn’t a fan of sweets but they did have to bring a dozen Latkes for him alone or there’d be none to share with the family. Before the Kane’s moved to Brussels, they would always visit his uncle Jaccob’s family for one or more nights of the holiday, there wasn’t much other outside of eating. Lack of much other withstanding, those were memories, he’d never done that with any of his children. “Why do you ask?” Bruce did place the menorah in their front window, it wasn’t a secret, but he hardly made an event out of it, he was surprised at Damian’s abrupt interest.

“At school Georgia was telling Jon and I about her Hanukkah plans, she has a bush. Why don’t we?”

“What?” Bruce dropped to his feet, wondering exactly what sort of conversation they were having in the moment, whatever the topic he felt woefully underequipped.

“A Hanukkah bush.”

‘The fuck is a Hanukkah bush?’ Bruce again thought back, tried to remember his childhood holidays. “We didn’t have that.” He assumed it was something akin to a christmas tree, perhaps it was a newer fad, not something his family would have practiced decades ago.

“I remember playing the dreidel game with Kate and Beth, for chocolate gelt.” It made Bruce wonder what his cousins were up to. Not that he was on speaking terms with Beth, Kate it depended on the day, but all the same, it made him think of them on a day he might not have otherwise.

“Why don’t we have that?”

“Because-” At first Bruce was going to say because they didn’t actively practice Judaism, but that wasn’t the reason. “Because it is just something I do for my mother, the candles. It’s not . . . what it used to be, not to me.”

“May I do it with you, for your mother? I will be respectful.” Bruce grappled with that request for a moment, because in a way it hurt, as opening old wounds tend to do. The practice had been his alone, a time he felt connected to his mother, felt she was with him, he couldn’t quite explain it, but he thought he could feel her gaze on him then, could remember her smile, her hands on his shoulders just a little clearer. Part of him didn’t want to change that ritual, afraid of change, of allowing any aspect of it to vary.

“Yes.” However, Damian’s request was such an innocent one, Bruce would be a cruel and dismissive father to deny it. Why not allow his son the chance, however small it may be to experience what he did, that brief unmarred closeness? “Now get started on your homework, we will light the first candle after dinner alright?” Bruce heard his son's footsteps patter away as he reached into his gym bag for his phone.

“Howdy.”

“I told you to stop saying that, Clark.” Bruce scoffed.

“Because it makes you laugh, which is exactly the reason I won’t.”

“Do you have plans this afternoon?”

“Nothing I can’t move around. Why?”

“I was going to buy socks.”

“Socks?”

“For Damian.” Small gifts, the Wayne’s went big on Christmas and it is not as if Bruce wanted for much as a child in the day to day. Though his mother liked to watch him unwrap gifts so she got him small presents spread over Hanukkah, the first night was always socks, because that’s what her mother gifted her and so forth generations back, apparently at one point they had been hand knit but his mother outsourced.

“And you want me to come with you?” Clark was a little confused.

“I also am stopping for pastries, there are donuts in it for you if you come.”

“Sold. I’ll be right over.” Clark wasn’t doing it for prospective blintzes, he was doing it because he heard it with those super ears of his, the small bit of vulnerability in Bruce’s voice. It would continue to hurt, exploring, remembering these things, it would hurt more to relive them. He didn’t want to do it alone.

It didn’t hurt as bad, holding Clark’s hand as he entered the shop. The building was different, the faces, the prices, but the smell was the same, oils and spices, jellied fruit from one corner, salted fish from the other. Bruce thought to invite Clark to accompany him home, but decided against it, decided Damian had asked to do this with him and it would be a father son moment. Though they shared this, and as he watched Clark overfill his coffee with sugar, asking Bruce about some breakthrough the medical team at Wayne tech had reached earlier in the week, he casually wondered if this was in any way similar to how his parents spent winter afternoons.

“The first candle goes in the branch farthest to the right.” Bruce struck a match, just as his mother did. “You light the Shamesh candle first.” He recalled his mother’s bright faced giggle when Bruce called it the sandwich candle year after year. “Shamesh means-”

“It means servant in Hebrew.”

“That’s right.” Bruce chuckled at the mild insult that rang through in Damian’s tone. His son knew more than Bruce had at his age, had seen more of the world, met more of it’s people. He felt pride bloom in his chest, his boy was bright, confident and cultured, all his children were.

“Baruch Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech Haolam, asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah.” Bruce placed his hand on his son’s shoulder as he repeated the words and for just the smallest sliver of a second, he could feel his mother’s palm over his own. “Baruch Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech Haolam, she’asah nisim l’avoteinu, b’yamim haheim bazman hazeh.” He was saying it louder, slower than he had before, so Damian could follow along, what had been some quick force of habit seemed to have become a bit bolder, maybe even better by sharing it. “Baruch Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech Haolam, shehekheyanu, v’kiyamanu vehegianu lazman hazeh.”

“Now what?” Damian turned to his father not disappointed but anticipatory. He'd heard of bushes, from his own father he’d heard of dreidels and chocolates, there had to be more to this holiday than candles and prayer.

“Here.” Bruce passed over the hastily wrapped gift. “And now we . . . have some treats in front of the TV.” Bruce was never allowed to eat in front of the television, much less sweets, but it was a special occasion, it was a gift unto itself. Bruce remembered planting down and passionately trying to convince Beth that the Grey ghost was far more exciting than the Ed Sullivan show.

“Socks?” Damian looked over his gift. “With dinosaurs on them.”

“Fun socks.” Bruce knew Damian wasn’t going to be bowled over by the gift, but he was a bit surprised by the mischievous little grin on his face. “What?”

“Kent will be jealous.” Damian popped off his current pair of drab black wool and replaced them with the novelty pair of gray and green.

“I’m glad you like them, or like that someone else will like them I guess.” Bruce could see Damian propping his feet up on his desk now. The gift had gone over well enough, the night as whole had been good, had made him happy. “Did you want to join me tomorrow night?” Had it underwhelmed his not easily impressed son?

“There are eight of them aren’t there?”

"Yes."

Chapter Text

Bruce returned home from the office surprised to hear multiple voices from within the den. “You’re a swindler! A cheat!” There was Damian.

“Don’t hate the player, hate the gimel!” That was Duke.

“Explain the rules to me one more time?” And that was Richard.

“What’s going on in here?” Bruce’s heart almost melted, walking in seeing the three boys and Cassandra sitting on the floor, surrounded by gold colored foil, they’d put quite a dent in the gelt.

“Dreidel.” Cassandra held up a little wooden toy. “Dick brought them but he doesn’t know how to play.”

“I’m trying to remember the song-”

“There’s a song?” Cassandra asked gleefully.

“Yeah but the rules aren’t in the song it’s just. . . telling you what a dreidel is made of.” Duke was spinning his toy again. It looked like he had a method decided on, a special twist of the wrist, he was taking this game quite seriously.

“Are you sure? Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, I made you out of. . . alright alright you’re right.”

“And I assume Dick is the reason there is a blue blush with lights on it in the middle of the den clashing with everything?”

“Hannukah bush.” Damian stated as if Bruce had forgotten their conversation from the day prior.

“I’m all about immersive decor.” Richard smiled quite proud.

“All about it.” Bruce nodded.

“It’s simple.” He walked over to the group. “Each round everyone puts a piece into the pot, you each take turns spinning the dreidel. If nun is facing up at the end of your turn, you do nothing.” He pointed to the first side of the dreidel. “If gimel is facing up, then you get everything in the pot.” Bruce smiled as Duke stuck out his tongue at Damian. “Hei is half of the pot. Shin means you add a piece to the pot.” Bruce took the opportunity to spin the toy.

“Are there other songs?” Cassandra asked in between nibbles of chocolate.

“Songs? Hm.” Bruce didn’t remember much singing, there simply weren’t Hanukkah carols. “Oh! Kad Katan, my mother had me learn that one, had me sing it in front of everyone. Kate teased me for years about it, kept calling me little jug.” Bruce chuckled.

“How’s it go?”

“I don’t remember.” It had been so very long ago. There was a time before Bruce kept every parcel of information ingrained within his gray matter. Hindsight, he wished he’d frozen those moments better, wished they were crystal clear in his head. He didn’t know, couldn’t have known there would be a last Hanukkah, a last hug, a last time his mother kissed him goodnight. “I’ll be back, don’t get sick on waxy chocolate.” Bruce needed some air.

“Bruce, wait!” Richard nearly tripped over Damian to catch up with him. “I’m sorry about the toys and the bush. I know it’s all a bit flashy er . . . untraditional. I was going with what I knew. I just . . . I wanted to help. I know this isn’t easy.”

“I can forgive some flash. Making up for all the Hanukkahs I never gave you.” Richard had seen Bruce light the candles, year after year, he’d been afraid to ask about it if Bruce was to guess. Not of Bruce, but maybe for him, Richard had caught Bruce crying that first Hannukah Bruce spent as a father. To see your father cry, it’s somewhat unnatural, it stirs an uncomfortable tense feeling in you. Richard never asked and Bruce never shared. Would things have been different if Bruce had told the young boy they were happy tears?

“I’m here now.” Richard was asking him to stay.

“I know.” Bruce gave his eldest son a hug. “Keep them entertained through dinner? I just need to grab some things.”

“You’ll be back? You’re not pawning these hellions hopped up on candy-”

“Whose fault is that mister flash?” Bruce smiled as Richard shrugged resigned. “I’ll be back shortly I promise.”

“Kate?” Bruce made a call.

“Bruce.” His cousin answered.

“Do you remember the words to Kad Katan?”

“Wouldn’t google be faster? Whose digging up that relic? Riddler? Calendarman?”

“Nevermind you’re right I-”

“Hey, little jug? Why are you asking me this?” She remembered.

“I uh, am celebrating the holiday, with my children. Cassandra asked if I remembered any songs.”

“You? Where’s this coming from?”

“Nostalgia mostly.” Kate was right, if he desperately needed a refresher on Kad Katan he could have simply looked it up himself, that’s not why he called. “It’s late notice for tonight . . . but there are eight of them. Would you and Renne like to come over one or two nights this week?”

“Sure, we could show you how it’s done. We will stop by tomorrow alright?”

“Looking forward to it.” Bruce let out a held breath as he hung up. ‘When did I decide to entertain?’ Though he felt it again, that swell of closeness. His mother loved to have family and friends over, it’s what she would have done.

Bruce hadn’t just stepped out for air, he’d needed something, he made another call. “What’s up buttercup?”

“Ugh.” Clark would answer the phone like a normal person one of these days.

“You love it.”

“I do.” He did love how abnormal his partner was, there was no use denying that. “I . . . need your help again.”

“Fine but we have to swing back to the store we stopped at yesterday. Jon’s all sorts of steamed over Damian’s fashion statement today.”

“That so?”

“Yeah I’ll pick up a pair as a stocking stuffer I think.”

“Hm” Bruce would grab pairs for the rest of the kids, for those who hadn’t shown up yet. Word traveled fast among the Batclan. Bruce was sure he’d have more unannounced visitors as the nights progressed. “We’ll swing back by the bakery again too, I need to open a standing delivery order. No good deed unrewarded Clark.” Somewhat like his father Clark could put potato pancakes away, he wouldn’t mind the detour.

“So what are we after today?”

“Board games.” The second night was always board games. Bruce remembered Camelot, Senet, Contack and Mr. Ree. They’d lose half the pieces before Christmas, but a few nights of Hanukkah they always played games far past bedtime, to the point his father would have to carry him to his room.

“Candy land here we come.”

“So should we get the rest of the week's gifts while we’re out?” Clark asked, walking next to Bruce a basket of board games in each hand.

“What? Do you not enjoy these little outings?” It had been quite fun window shopping, snacking, trying to guess at the changing interests of the children.

“Course I do.” Hands full Clark leaned over and kissed Bruce on the temple “Just tell me . . . is there a lego day?” It was adorable the childlike look on Clark’s face, he wanted an excuse to buy legos. ”How’s the rest of it go?”

“A lego day huh?”

Bruce remembered a day for action figures, a record the next, the following day they would present a check to a local food bank. The sixth his mother would give him a movie or book it varied with the year. The seventh day he got a puzzle. The eighth day always changed. He never knew how she knew exactly what he wanted, some momentary obsession of Bruce’s, whether it be a pirate’s telescope, an electric train, one year much to his mother’s dismay he got a bearded dragon. ‘They listened’ He knew now how his parents always got him the right gift, as busy and sometimes distant as his parents seemed they listened, cared, watched their boy grow. He knew because he was doing the very same thing.

“The eighth day I suppose I could get that foosball lego set you’ve had your eye on, if you eat all your vegetables and do well on your arithmetic test.” They both shared a laugh. “Seriously Clark you should come. ”

“Are you sure? I know this is about family anooof-” Bruce had elbowed Clark in the ribs. “What was that for?”

“You’re family Clark, you are.” Bruce had said that before, even before they were dating, Clark had always felt like home. "Please come?"

“Do you think if it’s not too much trouble, Jon's staying at the apart-”

“Of course Jon can come. If he promises not to use his blossoming heat vision, I might even let him light a candle.”

“Now we light them from right to left.” Bruce lit the second night’s match. “Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu melech haolam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tsivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah.” It was interesting hearing multiple voices recite the blessing. “Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu melech haolam, she-asah nisim la-avoteinu v’imoteinu bayamim haheim bazman hazeh.” They were all out of synch and both in pronunciation and pace, but they weren’t giggling or making light they were trying, they knew how important this was to Bruce, what it meant to him. “Duke, would you like to do the second one?”

“Sure.” Duke carefully took the candle from Damian after the first one was lit.

“Cassandra you can do the third candle tomorrow alright? And if you want . . . I looked up the words to Kad Katan, I could teach you.”

“Oh can I sing it with Steph?”

“If she’d like.” Bruce caught proud grins from Richarard and Alfred. ‘I didn’t want to share.' Bruce remembered when he worked alone, lived alone, fought and mourned alone. ‘I have to though, I . . . I need to, it’s the right thing to do.' His family grew over time, generally not intentionally, they all took on his burden, but they all were better, stronger, wonderful, beautiful people because of that connection, because of that closeness, because of that family. ‘Sharing, it is what makes the effort worth it.’

Chapter Text

“You girls were much better than Bruce was.” Kate and Renne came the third night just as promised, adding to the captivated audience for Cassandra and Steph’s performance.

“I wasn’t that bad.” Bruce did have to admit the girls sounded better.

“You were.” Kate took a sip of her wine and turned to her girlfriend. “He was, so nervous too, crackly little voice-”

“I wasn’t that bad.” Bruce reiterated with a smile. It was nice sharing memories, reliving them with others, it made them more crips in his mind, hearing it from different angles. “Though I will say they are more aptly dressed than I was. Stephanie, is that a Hanukkah scrunchie?”

“If I see a scrunchie I buy it. Law of the land man.”

“No disputes.” Bruce filed that away, maybe next year he’d get her some scrunchies instead of socks. ‘Next year.’ In that moment he decided this impulsive exercise was a good one, so good he wanted to do it again.

The fourth day had led to bickering, no one could decide what movie they should watch together. “Perhaps we could watch one of your mother’s favorite films sir?” Alfred tried to settle the squabble, while also ignoring the children pushing around furniture to make forts.

“She had so many, she loved the movies.” The children simmered, stared, they wanted to know more about who Matha Wayne was, and Bruce wanted to tell them. She was so much more than a set of scattered pearls. “Gigi was one of her favorites, how bout we pop some corn, put it on and . . . I’ll point out some of her favorite parts.” It was less scenes in the movies he spoke of, he used them more as chances to start a story with “This reminds me of the time my mother-” While there’d never be new memories of his mother, there were new ears to hear them. Those moments would live on, not just in his mind but beyond him and that was a gift in itself.

On the fifth day the family suited up and visited Gotham general hospital’s pediatric wing, taking pictures with children who would never know Batman’s mother’s name was Martha. Yet still with each bright smile or tiny hug Bruce still felt he was doing as his parents would have hoped, that this was a day they would have been proud of him. “Where’s redhood?” One child tugged on Bruce’s cape. “He’s the best one! Got a cool jacket and a helmet and-”

“And I got a little lost on my way here. Couldn’t find a spot for my bike, Batmobile’s double parked.” Bruce turned and there was Jason leaning in the doorway.

“You came.”

“Yeah, it’s a regular Hanukkah miracle huh?”

“Something like that.” Batman should have remained stoic, reacting little if at all at the vigilante’s presence but that’s not what Martha would have done. “Always knew you were some sort of miracle.” Bruce hugged Jason tight because that’s what a parent does when they’ve gone too long without seeing their child. “One that’s undereating.”

“Huh?” His mask hid Jason’s puzzled look, he had to tilt his head for emphasis.

“You’ve lost weight since I’ve last seen you.” Bruce worried, because that’s what parents do once their children leave their nest.

“So?”

“So . . . eat with us?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well you have time to think about it. There are other people happy to see you, isn’t that right Adam?” Bruce nudged Jason over to one of his adoring fans. Lifting spirits did turn out to be hungry work, Jason did end up coming for dinner, lighting the candle, receiving Martha’s old copy of unfinished portrait.

On the sixth day Tim came, he brought his team as 'brother buffers', some of which had less experience with human holidays than others. “Alright everyone squish together.” M'gann was trying to get everyone to stand still for a photo. “I don't know what but something is missing.”

“Matching sweaters?” Stephanie posed.

“Yes! Definitely, next year I’ll bring sweaters!”

“Please don’t.” Was said in lieu of cheese by the majority of the group.

“The flash, hello M'gann! One more.”

“Alfred, stop trying to pull out of the frame and get in here.” One more led to two. “Damian, no bunny ears.” Two became three. “Duke put down that donut, you’re going to turn into one at this rate.” Three became four. “Tim you were blurry, what did I say about standing on your toes?” It took a solid hour to get one solid picture of them.

The seventh night was cut short, crime happened even during the holiday season. Though to be fair they multitasked, attempting to solve the game of clue they abandoned as they thwarted minister blizzard.

“All of you get out of your suits and into something warm before you catch a cold.” Alfred was waiting for them, mugs of coco on a large tray.

Bruce even mined memories from this. “Get by the fireplace, we’ll thaw out there.” He remembered his mother taking him ice skating, returning home nearly blue with cold, and one well bruised right knee, but it had been such a fun day he hadn’t cared, and the hot chocolate by the fireplace had been twice as good as any cup he’d had before.

“Fireplace?! Dick you know what that means?” Jason was sprinting to the elevator.

“Inside camping!” Richard was not far behind.

“Are they going to set fire to the place?” Tim turned around to Bruce a bit alarmed.

“No, they’ll make a mess, trying to make s’more in a fireplace, but they never achieved straight arson.” While Bruce was sure he’d put on seven pounds in just as many days, it was far beyond worth it, to be stuffed, overly full, not just on fried foods and candies, but on memories, some from his own childhood, others of watching his own children grow, making memories all their own.

“Is inside camping a thing?” Damian didn’t get it. “Sounds hypocritical.”

“It can be, a thing . . . and maybe it is hypocritical but who cares?" those words coming from his lips brought his family all to a stop. "I was a nonbeliever too till I gave it a go. Try it?” Jason had never had a camping experience before moving into the manor, Richard had given him that. Bruce remembered the tent set up in the den Jason had lived in for a month after that night. “And Tim if you feel more safe holding a fire extinguisher, grab one as we head up.” Bruce tussled his son’s hair holding the elevator door open. ‘Mother, Father, they’ve never met you but the stories they could tell you, the lives they live, I know you’re watching over, and I hope you love them as much as I do.’

Chapter Text

Bruce didn’t know what he had been expecting. He didn’t know what he was looking at. He did need an explanation. “Clark, Jon, a live goose, so happy you could join us.” Bruce slapped a palm into his face. Clark had showed up on the eighth night just as promised, and just as was precident Clark had to do the unexpected, the unpredictable, the unreasonable. “Why?”

“So I’ve only been to a handful of Hannukah dinners but one or two I remember there being goose. Is goose normally dinner?”

“For some people.” He remembered his aunt Gabi tried one year, it had been too much work for not enough meat, spent far too much time in the kitchen instead of out with the family is what she had sighed when setting it down on the table. “No one tends to serve it quite so . . . fresh.” Bruce watched as the goose bit at Jonathan’s hand.

“I’d gone to the farm. They lay decent eggs ma and Pa keep a few.”

“Uh huh.”

“Ma asked me if I had time to clean and cook a goose and not be late.”

“You didn’t I assume?”

“I try not to use my powers for meal prep if I can help it." Clark chuckled knowing that Bruce was calculating how long a stare would cook a holiday meal. "That aside . . . Jon manipulated me.”

“Bent the man of steel did you?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about. Hey Damian, come whisper to this bird, tell it to stop biting me!” Jon fussed with the pheasant in his arms.

“For the last time Kent I can’t speak to animals.” All the same Damian came over, crouched a little to get at eye level with the foul, it didn’t stop squawking but it did almost seem to calm a bit.

“I’m there trying to listen to Ma explain hours to pounds in the oven and Jon asks why I would need to clean it, Geese live in ponds.”It was easy to picture Jon's big puppy dog eyes, CLark had no one to blame but himself, that was a familial trait.

“He is not that dumb.” Damian was petting the goose.

“No, no he’s not.” Clark sighed.

“A goose pardon, all well and good but why is it here?” Bruce understood that Clark didn’t want to explain what cleaning the goose would entail to his son, maybe feared Damian would smell the blood on his hands, but that still didn’t shed light on why the foul was their plus one.

“Can we name it Gimel?” Duke was over Damian’s shoulder.

“Gimel the Hanukkah goose!” Cassandra was sold.

“I smell a song!” Steph hopped a couch to catch a gander. “Look ducky, there's a family resemblance.” She smiled over at Tim.

“Shut up!”

“Not in the house, Alfred will have a fit, take him outside and play with him.” Clark moved out of the way and most of Bruce’s children followed Jon out onto the front lawn. “That’s why, to give you a little break, distract them a bit, kids love animals. Sure the man of steel bends but only for the greater good.” Clark’s chest rose slight, quite pleased with this plan.

“My hero.” Bruce grabbed Clark’s face and pulled him in for a kiss. “It’s still not staying here. Gimel goes back to the farm tomorrow.”

“Scouts honor.” Clark maybe wanted the kids gone for more selfish reasons, pulling Bruce in for a deeper kiss. “So?” Clark asked as he let Bruce tug him into the den.

“So what?” Bruce collapsed down on a couch, he wasn’t sure when he got so tired, but he felt suddenly drained.

“So how you holding up honey bun?” Clark sat at his side, gave a small pull to Bruce’s shoulder till his head was laying in Clark’s lap.

“I don’t know.” This was the quietest his home had been in eight days. “I should be happier.” Bruce frowned but only for a second, that’s how long it took for Clark to be playing around with his hair massaging at his scalp.

“You never need to be happier than you are.” Clark stated after a few minutes longer in silence. “You’re cuter when you are, but too much cute . . . I’d never get any work done.”

“You’re always happy.” Clark was happier than most, a glass half full sort of man.

“You know that’s not true.” It was his standard gear, his general temperament, it made it easy to forget Clark had lows as well as highs. “But we’re not talking about me, what’s going on with you?”

“I just feel . . . grief.” Bruce didn’t have difficulty placing this emotion, he just didn’t know why it was hitting him so hard right now. “Guilt maybe?”

“That you get more holidays, and they don’t.”

“Yes.”

“They’d want you to you know?”

“I know.” That didn’t help, that didn’t make it fair.

“They . . . Not being happy wouldn’t be what they wanted.”

“I know.” Misery didn’t raise the dead; Bruce knew that too.

“Want to just cuddle a bit and not talk about it?”

“Just a few minutes.” Bruce rolled over, enjoying the feeling of Clark’s thumb working at a knot in his shoulder.

“So I’ve been thinking the last couple days-”

“Is this us not talking?” Bruce shook his head. “Sorry, sorry, you’ve helped me a lot these last few days and all you got was-”

“Time with my boyfriend how terrible.” Clark didn’t want apologies, he never did. Clark had known Bruce needed to be the one in control of who came into his home, who shared with him, he never over stepped, waited patiently for his time to shine, he always did.

“Tell me what you were thinking.”

“A way to help? With all this? With maybe feeling happier? What if you made your family just a little bit larger?”

“Are you telling me the solution to my problem is more children? I mean never say never but-”

“Oooooor . . . Maybe a husband? To share all the family time with? The memories? The good, the bad, holidays . . . everydays?”

“Clark Kent are you proposing?” Bruce sat up to stare at Clark all the tiredness from seconds ago replaced with a happy sort of adrenalin.

“That goose will only keep the kids entertained for another fifteen minutes tops. I couldn’t have them all watch if you turned me down, figured one or two might object but-” Clark was fiddling around in his pocket pulling out a ring box. “Bruce Wayne-” Clark pushed his way off the couch down on one knee. “Will you marry me?”

“You underestimated.” Bruce stalled as he collected his thoughts, his breath was short, his cheeks were flush, taken by surprise was such an odd feeling to him.

“Is that . . . Is that a no?” Clark proved his earlier statement, he wasn’t always happy, his face fell, Bruce saw his heart drop into his stomach.

“You underestimated the attention span of our children, they’re all gawking.” They both glanced over at the window which had many a cheek pressed up to it.

“Alright, in front of everyone then, how bout it Bruce? Marry me? I love you, I'll always love you and I want to promise that to anyone who matters.”

“When did you . . . I mean yes but-” Bruce didn’t finish his sentence the coach thumped onto it's back by the force of Clark’s kiss.

“I told you Superman was my real dad!” Jason slammed a palm against the glass.

“I had it for a while. I was saving it for . . . I don’t know, You know?” Clark was slipping the ring on Bruce’s fingers. “Sometimes a moment isn’t right till it is. Sometimes even things that should be take time. I've loved you for years I just-”

“I understand, but also shut up you’re getting preachy.” Bruce kissed Clark, snickered slightly as he was picked up from under his thighs.

“You love it.”

“I love you. Now let the kids inside so we can finish up Hanukkah. You’ll never get your legos at this rate.”

“Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu melech haolam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tsivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah.” Jon was new to these words, he was bad at them, but he was trying and the other children were helping him alaong. “Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu melech haolam, she-asah nisim la-avoteinu v’imoteinu bayamim haheim bazman hazeh.”

‘I’ve never wanted to replicate what was lost I could never do that.’ Bruce looked around the den, a goose, a bush, a tent, an unconventional family by even today's standards. ‘But that’s never what parents want from their kids. They want more, better, beyond their dreams.’ Bruce leaned back into Clark’s arms as they watched the rest of the night unfold, occasionaly glancing down at his ring, it was smaller, more masculine in cut but still it reminded him of his mother's engagement ring, his parent's love. 'It hurts to remember, it hurts to go on, but it's a happy sort of hurt. Thank you mother, father, for loving me, for teaching me, so that I can do it my . . . our way.'