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On Christmas Eve, Wayne Manor is brighter than usual.
Not because the decorations are excessive—
but because everyone is here.
Alfred is busy adjusting the dining table, Dick and Damian are arguing over whether they should really hang that oversized star, and Stephanie—Cassandra in tow—has already stolen two of Alfred’s homemade cookies.
Bruce stands by the fireplace, phone in hand, watching the flames burn low.
The music is set just loud enough to fill the air without overwhelming it.
Jason’s name doesn’t surface in this lively scene.
At least, no one says it out loud.
But Tim knows.
He has always been the one who sees clearly.
“He’s not coming back?” Tim asks softly, like he’s only checking the time.
Bruce doesn’t answer right away.
It’s Alfred who speaks, his tone as gentle as ever.
“Master Jason hasn’t replied to the message.”
There is no blame in it.
No disappointment.
Just a fact.
The air stills for a moment.
Tim sets the tablet down and stands.
“I’ll go find him.”
He says it naturally, as if it were already decided.
No one objects immediately.
Dick opens his mouth, then settles for asking,
“You know he might not want to come back, right?”
“I know.” Tim nods. “I’m not going to persuade him.”
Bruce looks at him, his gaze complicated, as if weighing something.
“…Put on a coat,” he says at last.
Jason doesn’t think he’s avoiding anything.
He just didn’t go home.
Outside the safehouse window, fine snow falls, the city lights blurring into a wash of color.
He sits on the couch, the coffee in his hand long gone cold. The TV is off. His phone lies abandoned at the corner of the table, screen down.
He didn’t turn off notifications.
He just never flipped it over.
When the knock comes, his first reaction is irritation.
The second is reaching for his gun.
The third knock is lighter than the first two.
“Jason. It’s me.”
For a moment, he just stops.
Not Bruce.
Not Dick.
He pulls the door open. Tim stands in the hallway, his scarf wrapped a little crooked, unmelted snow still clinging to his shoulders.
“…Why are you here?”
Tim doesn’t answer right away.
He just looks at Jason, as if checking something.
“Because it’s Christmas Eve,” he says. “And you’re not home.”
Jason huffs softly, but doesn’t close the door.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at the manor? The party, the turkey, the whole family holiday routine.”
“All of that,” Tim says. “But there’s still one missing.”
The words land softly.
Heavy enough to leave Jason wordless for a moment.
He shifts aside, leaving just enough space.
Doesn’t say come in. Doesn’t say no.
Tim steps inside and hangs up his coat, his movements so natural that it’s as if he’s been here many times before.
“I’m not trying to pull you back. It’s just…”
He stops.
“It’s just that someone did this once.”
Jason’s chest tightens abruptly.
He remembers.
That year, Blüdhaven was covered in snow.
The lights were on in Dick’s apartment, but no one seemed in the mood for it.
He stood at the door, hands shoved into his coat pockets, his voice stiff with awkwardness.
Come home. It’s Christmas.
Didn’t say we miss you.
Didn’t say Bruce was worried.
He just went and stood in front of him.
Now, someone is standing at his door the same way.
Jason sinks back onto the couch, swearing softly under his breath.
“You guys really…”
Tim doesn’t respond.
He just sets a paper bag on the table.
“Alfred asked me to bring it,” he adds. “He said if you weren’t coming back, you should at least eat something warm.”
Jason stared at the paper bag for a long time.
At last, he pulls it closer and opens it.
The soup is warm—
the first heat already gone.
“I can’t promise I’ll go back.”
“Right.”
The two of them sat on the couch, a little distance between them.
Outside the window, snow fell slowly, the city lights blurring into soft shapes on the glass.
“…How late will you be up?” Jason asks, like it’s just a casual question.
Tim pretends to check the time.
“Alfred said not to turn the lights off.”
Jason smiles, just a little.
It isn’t a decision.
It isn’t a promise.
Just that somewhere, a light is still on for him.
By the time Jason makes it back to the manor, it’s already late.
The snow is no longer falling, the sky clean in a way that hardly feels like Gotham.
The lights along the road are on, one by one. There’s no music, no noise, as if the entire house is deliberately keeping its volume low.
He pauses at the door for a second before pushing it open.
Warm air wraps around him immediately.
A single lamp has been left on in the living room.
The Christmas tree is still lit, the strands of lights blinking. The presents beneath it are neatly arranged—
not all of them opened yet.
As if waiting for something.
Jason stands there.
He isn’t sure he should step into that space.
Or whether he still deserves a gift, as he is now.
“You’re back.”
Tim’s voice comes from the staircase, low, as if he’s afraid of startling him.
Jason tilts his head and sees Tim in his pajamas, a mug still in his hands.
“…Why are you still awake?”
Tim shrugs. “I said we wouldn’t turn the lights off.”
“Everyone’s gone to bed,” Tim adds. “But the gifts are still here.”
Jason walks over to the Christmas tree.
He spots his name immediately.
The handwriting is familiar, neat. The tag is plain, without any extra decoration.
He crouches down and picks up the box.
“You can open it,” Tim says. “If you don’t, Alfred will be very unhappy.”
Jason lets out a small huff, but he does it anyway.
Inside is a new pair of gloves, reinforced on the inside for protection—not bulky, in a color scheme he likes.
There’s also a small card.
Not many words.
For you.
Don’t let your hands get hurt again.
No signature.
Jason looks at the card for a long time.
“…Where is he?” he asks.
Tim doesn’t pretend not to understand.
“The study.”
“He knows I’m back?”
“He does,” Tim answers, without hesitation.
“Why didn’t he—”
Why he didn’t come out.
Why he didn’t say anything.
Why he isn’t standing here.
Tim is quiet for a moment.
“You didn’t say you wanted to see him,” he says.
“And he didn’t want you to regret coming back.”
The words land firm.
Not like an excuse. Not like defense.
Jason’s throat tightens.
He drops his gaze and hurriedly puts the gloves away.
“…He’s really good at this,” he says quietly.
Tim smiles, just a little.
“Yeah.”
They finish opening the remaining few gifts together.
No one leads. No one takes photos to remember it by.
Just someone sitting on the carpet, someone leaning against the couch.
When dawn is close, Jason stands.
“I’m going up to the roof for a bit.”
Tim nods. “I’ll let Alfred know you came back.”
Jason stops at the foot of the stairs.
“No need,” he says. “He already knows.”
The rooftop is cold in the hours close to dawn.
Still.
Jason stands there, watching the city lights.
After a while, he hears the door open behind him.
The footsteps don’t come closer.
They stop at the doorway.
He doesn’t turn around.
“…Merry Christmas,” he says.
The person behind him doesn’t answer right away.
A few seconds pass.
“Merry Christmas, Jason.”
The voice is low, carefully restrained.
No apologies.
No questions.
Nothing in need of fixing is forced into the open.
Just two people standing on the same rooftop, looking out over the same city.