Archive of Our Own

Jason Todd was still pinching himself more often than not over his current circumstance. Because honestly? How the hell had he gone from an actual, Gotham stray, stealing tires off rich people's cars, to living in what basically amounted to a full-blown Dickensian ‘surprise, you have a benefactor now’ plot twist?

(Yeah, Dickensian. He learned that word in his fancy private school last week and he was gonna use it. Also Oliver Twist. Get it? Twist? Plot twist? He cracked himself up.)

And being adopted by Bruce freaking Wayne on top of all that? Going from swiping food just to not starve to sprawling on a couch so fancy he was afraid to breathe on it wrong, drinking hot cocoa Alfred made — with cookies, like actual homemade cookies — and waiting for Dick freaking Grayson, the OG Robin himself, Wonder Boy, acrobat-ninja-sunshine-legend, to show up for the weekend while Bruce was off on Justice League business?

Yeah. Mind blown. Fully exploded. No survivors.

Jason's eyes drifted to the giant, ridiculously fancy Christmas tree in the corner between the fireplace and the big dramatic staircase Bruce definitely had built just to brood on. The thing was so huge Alfred needed an actual ladder to reach the top — like, not a step stool, a full "firefighter coming to rescue your cat" situation.

Boxes of ornaments and lights and sparkly whatever-elses were sprawled all over the floor, each one packed with decorations Jason was itching to take out and stare at, but didn't dare. Alfred didn't just decorate. He curated, like the tree and the mansion itself was going to end up in a magazine with a title like How Rich People Christmas or something. Which, now that Jason thought about it, didn't seem that far-fetched.

Dick had begged Alfred to wait until he got there so he could decorate it with Jason, and Alfred had begrudgingly agreed, but only after writing an entire scroll's worth of instructions about color schemes and ornament placement and something called 'visual balance', which Jason was pretty sure was just fancy talk for 'don't put all the cool stuff on one spot like a rat with a hoarding problem.'

And yeah, maybe Jason was playing it cool, lounging on the couch in his warm pajamas with his fuzzy slippers waiting by his feet on the thick Persian carpet, sipping at his chocolate trying not to giggle giddily every time the melting Christmas-tree-shaped marshmallows filled his mouth with candy taste, but underneath he was buzzing with excitement.

For Christmas at the manor.

For the weekend with Dick.

For being Robin.

For having a family.

And okay, maybe the part where Bruce forbid him from patrolling while he was away sucked ass and he'd try his best to communicate the unfairness of the situation to Dick, hopefully persuading him to patrol together — Nightwing and Robin: Fear and Loathing in Gotham City — but still the next couple of days were gonna be wholesome and fun and he'd probably opt to die rather than admitting that out loud.

That was when the doorbell rang — and Jason immediately tried to do three things at once: swallow his sip, stop choking on it, and rearrange himself into an even chiller, way-more-casual pose that definitely did not scream 'I've been lying here waiting for you since nine in the goddamn morning, Grayson.'

He failed spectacularly at all three.

Alfred materialized in the doorway like he'd been summoned by Jason's sheer desperation, one eyebrow raised. "Master Dick has arrived, Master Jason. Do attempt to maintain some dignity."

"I have so much dignity," Jason wheezed, still recovering from the chocolate incident.

Alfred's expression suggested he had opinions about that, but he glided toward the entrance hall anyway.

Jason heard Dick before he saw him. Dick Grayson didn't just enter a room, he basically brought his own soundtrack of cheerful energy and good vibes that made Jason want to simultaneously hug him and push him off something really tall.

"Alfred! Looking good, as always. Is that a new tie? Very festive. And where's—"

Jason tried for casual. He really did. But the second Dick rounded the corner into the living room, overnight bag slung over his shoulder and the biggest, most genuine smile on his face, Jason's cool-guy act crumbled like a cocoa-soaked cookie.

"Jay!" Dick dropped his bag and crossed the room in about two strides, which should've been impossible but Dick had that whole 'defying physics' thing down. "Look at you! You're in pajamas. With slippers. Alfred, he's in slippers!"

"I am aware, Master Dick."

"This is the cutest thing I've ever seen."

Jason scowled, face heating. "Shut up. It's cold."

"It's adorable." Dick ruffled his hair and Jason's chest warmed from the inside out. "Okay, so. Bruce gave me the rundown. We've got the whole weekend, he's at the Watchtower until Sunday night, and we are going to have the best time."

"Define 'best time,'" Jason said, trying to salvage some of his dignity. “Best time in a Christmas Hallmark way or best time in the vigilante way.”

Dick snorted. “Wow, pulling the V-word already?”

“I’m just saying,” Jason went on, tone way too casual. “Bruce isn’t even on the same planet. We could go out. One patrol. Just us.”

Dick arched a brow. “Ah. There it is.”

Jason scowled. “What?”

“You, trying to sneak a patrol past me.” 

“Aw, come on, man! Nightwing and Robin for one night only. Us, the night, and the rooftops! You know you want this!”

Dick laughed, but his gaze didn’t waver. “That was a solid effort. Ten out of ten. But no. Bruce’s rule about patrolling when he’s not here is very clear, kid.”

Jason waved a hand. “That rule is dumb, though. No patrol just because he’s away? What, Gotham’s supposed to behave itself ‘til Sunday?”

“Shockingly, yes,” Dick said dryly. 

“We wouldn’t even do anything big,” Jason pressed. “Just swing by, check a few rooftops. You, me. Classic.”

Dick tilted his head. “Classic how? ‘Classic’ like ‘fun bonding moment’ or ‘classic’ like ‘Jason does something insane and I age five years’?”

“Rude,” Jason muttered. “C’mon. You don’t even like the rule.” He noticed Dick hesitating just a fraction and pounced. “See?” Jason said. “You hate it too.”

Dick sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah. I do. And I’m still not breaking B’s rule.”

Jason’s jaw tightened. “Why not?”

Dick met his eyes, all the humor easing out of his expression. “Because Bruce asked me not to. And because I promised I’d keep you safe this weekend.” A beat of emphatic silence. “Hard no, Jay,” Dick added, gentler but immovable.

Jason rolled his eyes with a groan. “You suck.”

Dick simply ruffled his hair again. “Get used to it.” Then his grin turned absolutely evil in the way only Dick's grins could — pure mischief wrapped in sunshine. "We’ll still have a blast, you know. Decorating the tree. Baking cookies. All the junky snacks. Hot cocoa bar. Maybe a truly terrible holiday movie marathon. I'm thinking we start with the one where Arnold Schwarzenegger punches a reindeer."

Jason blinked. "He does what?"

"You haven't seen Jingle All the Way? Oh, buddy. We're fixing that immediately." Dick flopped onto the couch next to him, radiating enough enthusiasm to power a small city. "Alfred said we could tackle the tree after lunch. You ready to make this place look like Christmas threw up in the best possible way?"

Jason tried to look uninterested, but his brain was already racing ahead to tinsel and ornaments and the weird sparkly things he'd seen in the boxes, and the idea of doing any of it with Dick, who was looking at him like Jason was the best thing that had happened to him all week—

"Yeah," Jason said, hoping he came off as nonchalant and not excited-puppy about the whole thing. "Yeah, okay. That sounds... not terrible."

Dick's smile went soft. "High praise from Jason Todd. I'll take it."

They spent the next hours camped out on the couch, half-watching movies, Dick telling increasingly unhinged stories about patrol in Blüdhaven, while Jason mostly just listened and tried not to look as happy as he felt. 

“So after we eat," Dick said, gesturing toward the tree, "we'll get that bad boy decorated. Fair warning, though — Alfred has opinions."

"I saw the list," Jason muttered. "It was like three pages long."

"Oh, that's the short version. A few years back he made me redo the whole top half because I didn't 'balance the visual weight' properly." Dick made air quotes, grinning. "But don't worry. I'll protect you from his wrath."

"My wrath is always perfectly justified, Master Dick," Alfred called from somewhere in the manor, because apparently he had supersonic hearing too.

Jason snorted into his cocoa.

It was perfect. Like, genuinely perfect in a way that made Jason grin like an idiot and his brain go all fuzzy. He had this now. A massive house that smelled like pine and cinnamon, a tree taller than some Gotham buildings, Alfred's cookies, and Dick Grayson sitting next to him talking about Christmas decorations like it was the most important mission in the world.

And yeah, he was still bummed about the no-patrol thing. But at least he could let himself have this right here for a little while.

When Dick got up to take his bag upstairs and change to something comfier, Jason took the opportunity to wander over to the decoration boxes, crouching down to peek inside. One box in particular caught his eye.

It was labeled in Alfred's precise handwriting: Exterior LED Lights: Balcony Display.

Jason lifted the lid.

Inside was a tangle of battery-powered LED string lights, the kind that could wrap around railings or bushes or whatever rich people decorated outside. The box had a little diagram showing all the settings: steady glow, slow fade, quick blink, strobe.

His brain — his beautiful, terrible, absolutely-should-not-be-trusted brain — went: Huh.

And then: Tactical. 

And then (because Jason Todd had never met an impulsive thought he didn't want to marry): Nobody would see Robin coming if Robin was covered in lights.

It was brilliant. Criminals expected darkness and shadows and the whole brooding Bat-aesthetic. They didn't expect a thirteen-year-old with the tactical advantage of festive illumination. He could be a distraction. A lure. Blinding and unpredictable and—

"Jay? You good down there?"

Jason slammed the box lid shut so fast he nearly caught his fingers. "Yep! Fine!"

Dick's voice floated down from upstairs, easy and unsuspecting. "Cool! Lunch in ten!"

Jason stared at the box.

This was a great idea, his brain insisted.

This was a terrible idea, the tiny part of him that sounded suspiciously like Alfred whispered.

Jason chose to listen to the first voice. Obviously.

Lunch was some kind of Alfred-tier magic involving sandwiches that were too fancy to be called sandwiches. Like, there was aioli involved, and Jason was pretty sure one of them had actual truffle in it. And there was also soup that tasted like someone had distilled comfort itself into liquid, velvety form.

Dick kept the conversation going with his usual effortless charm, asking Jason about school and what books he was reading recently and his training with Bruce. Jason answered around bites of food, half-distracted by the plan forming in the back of his mind.

The lights were still in the living room. He just needed to grab them when Dick wasn't looking. Easy.

After they finished eating, Dick stretched and declared it was time to "make that tree their masterpiece," which sounded both ridiculous and very on-brand. They headed back to the living room, where Alfred had helpfully left out a ladder and several more boxes Jason didn't remember seeing before.

"Okay," Dick said, surveying the scene like a general preparing for battle. "Strategy. We start with lights, then garland, then ornaments. Alfred's rules, not mine. You ready?"

"Born ready," Jason nodded.

They worked in comfortable tandem under the sounds of the fifth Christmas movie of the day playing in the background, Dick handling the higher branches while Jason focused on the lower ones. It was... nice. Really nice, actually. Dick kept up a running commentary about past Christmases, stories about his parents and the circus, and then later ones about his first holidays at the manor with Bruce.

"He tried so hard that first year," Dick said, laughing softly as he wrapped lights around a branch. "Like, Bruce Wayne does not do things halfway. He got seventeen types of cookies. And that’s on top of what Alfred made. Seventeen, Jay. We had cookies until March."

Jason grinned despite himself. "That's actually kind of adorable."

"Right? Emotionally constipated billionaire tries to Christmas. It was a whole thing." Dick glanced down at him, smile warm. "But hey, you're gonna make this one even better. First Todd-Wayne Christmas. That's huge."

Jason managed a shrug. "Yeah. Guess so."

He waited until Dick turned back to the tree, then casually edged toward the box with the LED lights. His fingers brushed the lid—

"Hey, Jay, can you hand me that box of silver ornaments?"

Jason jerked back like he'd been electrocuted. "Uh. Yeah. Sure. Which one?"

"The one right next to you."

He passed Dick the ornaments and tried to look innocent. Dick, thankfully, was too focused on achieving Alfred's "visual balance" to notice his completely suspicious behavior. Jason needed to ask Bruce to up the stealth training, because this was not up to par.

Twenty minutes later, Dick announced he needed a quick break and headed to the kitchen to make some coffee for himself and Jason saw his chance.

The second Dick was out of sight, Jason lunged for the LED light box, popped it open, and stared at his prize.

He could already see it: dropping into an alley, lights blazing in rapid strobe, criminals too confused and disoriented to fight back effectively. He'd be unpredictable. A moving target they couldn't track. Tactical and festive.

Batman would probably appreciate the innovation. Maybe. Possibly. Okay, probably not, but Dick might think it was funny after the fact, and that was almost as good.

Jason grabbed the lights and bolted for the Cave entrance hidden behind the grandfather clock. His heart hammered as he slipped inside, the lights clutched against his chest like contraband.

The Cave was cold and dark. Jason made a beeline for his Robin suit, carefully wrapping the LED lights around it and double circling it around the utility belt, before stuffing the battery pack into one of the pouches. It fit. 

He stepped back, admiring his handiwork.

This was genius.

He rushed back up the stairs and made it through the grandfather clock, closing it behind him, right as Dick stepped back into the living room. Jason exhaled. Mission accomplished. Well. Half of it.

He sprawled on the couch, while Dick took the armchair sipping his coffee with a content expression, seemingly not noticing Jason’s light panting. "So I was thinking we'll finish decorating after this movie, then maybe bake cookies with Alfred? Or we could just eat the dough while he makes them."

"Pretty sure that's how you get salmonella."

"That's what makes it an experience, Jay."

Jason snorted, letting himself sink into the cushions. The TV flickered to life with the opening credits of Jingle All the Way, and for a while, Jason almost forgot about the lights currently stashed with his Robin gear.

Almost.

The "right moment" turned out to be several hours later, after they'd finished decorating the tree (Alfred had inspected their work with what Jason chose to interpret as grudging approval), eaten an alarming amount of cookie dough, and convinced Alfred to make them pizza because "it's basically a vegetable if it has peppers on it, right?"

Dick had declared a popcorn fight halfway through their millionth movie — some claymation thing about a reindeer with self-esteem issues — and Jason had retaliated with extreme prejudice. By the time the dust settled, they were both covered in popcorn kernels and Alfred was standing in the doorway with an expression that suggested he was reconsidering every life choice that had led him to this moment.

"I'll clean it up!" Dick promised, grinning like a maniac.

"Master Dick, you are nineteen years old."

"And yet so youthful in spirit!"

Alfred sighed the sigh of a man who had been dealing with this nonsense for over a decade. "I'm going to retire. Somewhere tropical. Where there are no Robins."

Jason tried not to laugh and failed.

After Alfred retreated (probably to plan his escape to the Bahamas) Dick stretched and announced he was going to take a quick shower to de-popcorn himself. "Don't go anywhere, yeah? We still have that Monopoly marathon to get to. This time I’ll annihilate you"

"In your dreams maybe," Jason snorted.

Dick ruffled his hair and headed upstairs, still picking popcorn out of his shirt.

The second Jason heard his door shutting, his brain kicked into high gear.

Now. It has to be now.

He knew he shouldn't. He knew. Bruce had been very, very clear about the no-patrol rule (not to mention the consequences of breaking it) and Dick would probably be even less thrilled about Jason sneaking out than Bruce would. But the thing was, Jason's brain had been stuck on this idea all day, and now it was dark outside, and Gotham was out there Gothaming, and he had lights.

Tactical. Lights. Strobing lights.

He could do one quick sweep. In and out. Forty minutes, tops. Dick might never even know he was gone. 

So, Jason crept toward the Cave entrance, his heart pounding in a way that was half excitement, half guilt. The grandfather clock swung open silently — because of course Bruce Wayne had a secret entrance that didn't creak; the man was extra like that — and Jason descended into the darkness below.

The Robin suit was right where he'd left it, lights and all.

He changed quickly, fingers fumbling slightly with the suit's fastenings. The LED lights wrapped around him like festive armor, the battery pack snug in his belt pouch. Jason flicked the switch.

The Cave lit up.

He cycled through the settings: steady glow (too boring), slow fade (not tactical enough), quick blink (better), and finally — strobe.

Perfect.

Jason caught his reflection in one of the Cave's computer monitors and grinned. He looked ridiculous. Ridiculous and brilliant.

Batman was about fear and shadows and psychological warfare. Robin could be... unexpected. Nobody expected a thirteen-year-old Christmas ornament to drop out of the sky and kick them in the face.

He headed for the vehicle bay, bypassed the Batmobile (because he wasn't suicidal), and grabbed one of the grappling guns, before slipping out into the cold of the night.

Dick Grayson had been a big brother long enough to develop a sixth sense for trouble.

It was the same instinct that told him when Wally was about to do something stupid, or when Donna was planning to start a fight, or when Roy had ‘just one more idea’ that would definitely end with something on fire.

Right now, upon realization of the unsettling amount of silence in the manor, that instinct started screaming.

He stepped out of the bathroom, hair freshly dried, and opened his door to call down the hallway. "Jay? You still watching the movie?"

Silence.

Dick frowned and padded downstairs in his sweatpants and t-shirt. The living room was empty, TV paused on the menu screen. Popcorn still littered the floor like the aftermath of a very pathetic battle.

"Jason?"

No answer.

Okay. Okay, don't panic. The kid probably just went to the bathroom, or went to grab a snack, or was with Alfred—

Dick checked Jason's room first. Empty.

Kitchen. Alfred only. Alfred who hadn’t seen Jason in over half an hour.

Library. Empty.

Bathrooms, also empty.

"Oh no," Dick muttered. "Oh no, no, no—"

He took the stairs down to the Cave two at a time, dread building in his chest. The cave stood there silent and dark.

"Jason Todd," Dick said to the empty Cave, "I swear to God—"

He immediately spotted the empty suit rack. Jason's Robin suit was gone. The weapons cabinet had been accessed. Dick pressed his palms against his eyes and counted to ten in Romanian, then Romani, then Spanish for good measure.

It didn't help. He rushed back upstairs, and into his Nightwing suit, before storming downstairs. 

“Master Dick?" Alfred asked, slightly alarmed upon seeing him.

"Robin left the nest."

Alfred sighed. "Oh dear."

"'Oh dear' is right." Dick was already moving toward the batcave. "I'm going to kill him."

"Please refrain from killing Master Jason, sir. Master Bruce would disapprove."

"Bruce isn't here. And when I find that kid— Send me his location. I'm bringing him home."

"Best of luck, Master Dick."

He was going to need it.

Jason perched on the edge of a fire escape, surveying the alley below with what he thought was a very professional level of focus.

The lights wrapped around his suit blinked merrily in the darkness, casting little pools of red, blue, and green across the brick walls. He'd switched to the quick-blink setting (the strobe was probably a bit much for recon) and so far, the whole tactical illumination thing was working great.

By which he meant nobody had seen him yet because he was being super stealthy.

(The fact that he looked like a Christmas decoration having an existential crisis was irrelevant.)

Below, three guys were doing what Gotham criminals did best: standing around in an alley being suspicious near a jewelry store's back entrance. One of them had a crowbar. Jason felt a professional kinship with the crowbar guy.

"Okay," Jason muttered to himself, channeling his best Batman voice. "Assess the situation. Three targets. Low-level breaking and entering. No fireguns. Minimal threat level."

He could handle this. Absolutely. He'd been training for months. Sure, Bruce said he wasn't ready for solo patrol yet, but Bruce also thought thirteen was too young to drive the Batmobile, and Jason had opinions about that (and evidence to the contrary that he wisely would not present to the B-court.)

Time to make an entrance.

Jason stood, hit the strobe setting on his lights, and dropped.

He landed in a perfect three-point stance right in front of the three criminals, lights blazing in seizure-inducing patterns of red, green, and blue.

"Fear me!" Jason growled, channeling every dramatic Batman moment he'd ever witnessed.

The criminals stared.

Jason held his pose. And if the weather worked with him for some dramatic cape-fluttering that would be great.

The guy with the crowbar gaped. "Kid. Are you... are you part of a parade or something?"

"What? No! I'm Robin!"

A guy with sunglasses on —for whatever reason— snorted. "Robin my ass! You look like a Christmas tree had a baby with a rave."

The second guy squinted against the flashing lights. "Is this a prank? Are we on TV?"

"I am a tactical distraction device!" Jason hissed, which sounded way cooler in his head.

The third guy, the one who'd been picking the lock just sighed deeply. "I need a new line of work."

Jason lunged.

To his credit, his training had been pretty solid. He got in a decent hit on Crowbar Guy, swept Lockpick's legs, and dodged Sunglasses's wild swing with room to spare.

The lights strobed wildly as he moved, creating these disorienting patterns that were actually kind of working. The criminals kept shielding their eyes, stumbling over each other, clearly thrown off by the whole ‘tiny glowing child attacking them’ situation.

"See?" Jason grunted, dodging another swing. "Tactical!"

"Kid, you're giving me a migraine!"

"That's the point—"

Jason spun, delivered a solid kick to Sunglasses's knee, and was just lining up his next move when a very familiar voice cut through the chaos.

"Robin!"

Jason froze mid-kick.

Well.

Shit.

Dick had seen a lot of bizarre things in his years as a vigilante.

He'd fought psychic gorillas. Been turned into a vampire (twice). Watched Bruce try to parallel park the Batmobile.

But watching his thirteen-year-old brotherly-person strobe like a Christmas tree while fighting three very confused criminals in a Gotham alley?

That was new.

Dick landed on the fire escape above, taking in the scene with a mixture of exasperation, horror, and — he'd admit it — grudging amusement.

Jason was holding his own, which was good. The kid had clearly been paying attention in training. Jason was also wrapped in Christmas lights and blinking like a festive seizure warning, which was very, very bad.

He resisted the urge to full-name him and settled for the blood-curdling “Robin!” he’d heard more times than he cared to recount by Bruce himself. 

The effect was immediate. Jason froze like someone had hit his pause button, one leg still raised from a kick he hadn't completed. Even in the strobing light, Dick could see the moment his little brother realized exactly how much trouble he was in.

"Nightwing!" Jason's voice cracked slightly. "I was—I had them—this isn't—"

"We'll discuss what this is in a minute, young man." Dick dropped into the alley in one smooth motion, landing directly between Jason and the criminals. "Gentlemen. How's your night going?"

Sunglasses Guy looked between Dick and Jason, clearly trying to process the situation. "Is... is this a family outing?"

"Something like that."

Crowbar was still shielding his eyes from Jason's lights. "Can you please make him stop blinking? I'm gonna have a seizure."

"Robin. Lights off. Now."

There was a pause, then the strobing stopped. Jason stood there in the sudden darkness, regular Robin suit visible beneath the now-dark LED strings wrapped around his torso.

Dick pulled out zip-ties with his right hand while keeping his left free. The criminals, clearly sensing this was now very above their pay grade, didn't put up a fight.

"You know what?" Lockpick said as Dick secured his wrists. "I surrender. Absolutely. Zero resistance. Just—please don't turn the lights back on."

Dick finished restraining all three in under a minute and then turned his full attention to Jason, who was attempting to become one with the alley wall.

"Uhm, I can explain—"

"You left the house." Dick's voice was calm. The brand of calm that made even hardened criminals nervous. "You took your suit. You went on patrol. Solo. When B explicitly told you not to."

"But I had a plan—"

"Your plan was Christmas lights?"

"Tactical Christmas lights!"

One of the criminals snorted, then quickly pretended he hadn't when Dick glared at him.

Dick took a breath. Then another. Then he crossed the distance between them and grabbed Jason by the back of his collar. "We're going home."

"I had them distracted!"

"You look like a festive safety hazard."

"Batman would appreciate the creativity—"

Dick lifted Jason slightly off his feet, which wasn't hard considering the kid barely came up to his chest. "Batman would spank your butt until it glowed brighter than your lights and bench you until you graduate middle school."

Jason squirmed. "That's—that's an exaggeration—"

"Is it?"

The silence that followed suggested Jason was reconsidering his life choices.

Dick pulled out his comm. "GCPD? Nightwing. Got three for you in the alley behind Spilatro Jewelers. Non-violent attempted B and E." He paused. "And yes, I'll wait."

"You don't have to wait with me right here," Jason muttered, dangling from Dick's grip like a particularly sulky cat.

"Oh, I'm not letting you out of my sight until we're back at the manor." Dick set him back on the ground, shifting his grip to Jason's shoulder as the sound of sirens grew closer. "And then we're going to have a long conversation about following rules."

"I was helping—"

"You were being reckless."

"It's Gotham! Reckless is like, the baseline—"

"Robin." Dick's voice went soft, which was somehow worse than when he was angry. "You could've gotten hurt."

That shut Jason up.

The GCPD arrived, and Dick gave them the quick rundown while keeping one hand firmly on Jason's shoulder. 

The officers, two Dick recognized from his Robin days, took one look at the blinking lights still wrapped around Jason's suit and very wisely didn't comment. "We'll take it from here. You two have a good night."

Dick waited until they were out of earshot, then fired a grapple line one-handed. "Hold on."

"I can grapple myself—"

"Not tonight you can't."

Dick pulled them both up to the rooftops, Jason grumbling the entire way. The lights wrapped around his brother's suit clinked softly with each swing, still dark but definitely present.

They landed on a rooftop three blocks from the alley. Dick finally released Jason’s collar and turned to face him fully.

Jason crossed his arms, defensive. "You didn't have to come after me."

"Yes, I did."

"I was fine—"

"You're thirteen."

"Almost fourteen!"

"Still thirteen!" Dick ran a hand through his hair, trying to find the balance between being the responsible adult and not completely losing it. "What were you thinking?"

Jason's jaw set in that stubborn way that meant he was ready to die on a very stupid hill. "I was thinking that I'm Robin and Robin helps people and sitting around drinking hot chocolate while crime is happening felt like a waste of my training."

"B said no patrol."

"B isn't here!"

"Which is exactly why you shouldn't be out here!" Dick's voice rose slightly before he caught himself. Breathe. Calm. Be the adult. "You're not ready for solo patrol yet. And you're definitely not ready to go out dressed like… Like—"

"A tactical distraction?"

"A Christmas decoration!" Dick gestured at the lights. "What even— What was your thought process here?"

Jason's face flushed, visible even in the dim light. "I thought that nobody expects lights. They expect shadow and stealth and all that Batman stuff. So I figured if I was bright and distracting they wouldn't see the actual attack coming until it was too late."

Dick stared at him. "That's... actually not the worst tactical reasoning I've ever heard."

Jason perked up slightly. "Really?"

"Which doesn't make it a good idea!" Dick added quickly. "You can't just… You can't make up your own rules because you think you have a clever plan. This life, what we do, it's dangerous. Bruce has these restrictions for a reason."

"I know that—"

"Do you?" Dick stepped closer. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you snuck out the second I wasn't looking, went on patrol alone with nobody knowing, and put yourself at risk because you thought you knew better."

Jason looked away, jaw working. "I wanted..."

"What?"

"Nothing. Forget it."

"Hey." Dick softened his tone even more. "Talk to me."

For a long moment, Jason didn't say anything. Then he spoke so quietly Dick almost missed it: "I wanted to impress you."

Dick's heart cracked a little. Awesome. "Oh, buddy."

"I know you and B have this whole thing where you were the perfect Robin and I'm just this street kid who doesn't know what he's doing half the time, and I thought if I could show you I could handle myself, could do something creative and tactical and actually work, then maybe—"

"Robin. Stop." Dick put both hands on his little brother's shoulders, ducking down to meet his eyes. "You don't have to impress me. You do impress me. Every single day."

Jason's eyes were suspiciously shiny. "But I'm not… I'm not like you."

"No, you're not. You're like you. And that's exactly what makes you a good Robin." Dick squeezed his shoulders. "But that doesn't mean you get to break rules and put yourself in danger because you're trying to prove something. Got it?"

Jason sniffled once, then nodded.

"Good. Now let's go home." Dick turned toward the direction of the manor, then paused. "And Robin?"

"Yeah?"

"You're still in trouble."

"Yeah," Jason said miserably. "I figured."

Dick grabbed his grapple gun, wrapped his free arm around Jason's waist, and pulled them both toward home.

The walk from the Cave back up to the manor after they both changed to regular clothes, felt like a death march.

Dick had been quiet after their short heart-to-heart on that rooftop. Not angry-quiet, which Jason could've handled, but disappointed-quiet, which was so much worse. Now they were back in the living room where this whole thing had started, the Christmas tree twinkling cheerfully like it hadn't witnessed Jason's complete destruction of the trust Dick had placed in him.

Dick sat down on the couch and looked at Jason with that expression that meant business. "Come here."

Jason's stomach dropped. Because he knew that stance. And he knew that look. "Dick—"

"Jason. Here. Now."

He shuffled forward, hands twisting together. "Look, I know I messed up, but—"

"But nothing. You deliberately disobeyed a direct order from Bruce and from me. You snuck out of the house on my watch. You went on patrol alone despite knowing you're not cleared for solo work. And you did all of that after I trusted you to stay put."

Jason felt his face heat with shame.

"I just—"

"Wanted to impress me. I know. You said. But you know what doesn't impress me? Recklessness. Lying. Sneaking around behind my back."

"I didn't lie—"

"You told me you'd be there when I got out of the shower."

"...Okay, fine, I lied."

"Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to spank you for breaking B’s rule, for leaving the house to patrol without permission, and for deliberately putting yourself in danger. And then we're going to talk about why we have rules in the first place. Understood?"

Jason's throat felt tight. "This is stupid. I'm fine. Nobody got hurt—"

"This time." Dick's voice sharpened. "What about next time? What if those guys had weapons? What if there'd been more of them? What if something had gone wrong and I hadn't been there?"

"But you were—"

"Jason."

He fell silent.

Dick reached out and tugged Jason forward, maneuvering him over his knee with practiced ease. Jason's feet dangled off the ground, his hands braced against the couch cushion.

This was humiliating. He was Robin. He'd just taken down three criminals (with some help, but still). He didn't need to be spanked like a little kid who'd broken curfew.

The first smack landed on his right sit-spot.

"Ow!"

Dick settled into a steady rhythm, alternating sides, covering every inch of Jason's backside with methodical precision. It hurt—not like hurt hurt, not like getting punched by a criminal or falling off a building, but in that specific way spankings hurt that made Jason squirm and grit his teeth and feel about six years old. His thin sweatpants did nothing to cushion Dick freaking Grayson’s very deliberate swats and soon the burning heat built to real uncomfortable levels. It was different from when Bruce did it. Bruce went in full-force from the get go, aiming for short and hard, where Dick was going for long and sustained.

Another flurry of swats. "You don’t go patrolling without permission! You don’t go patrolling solo, period! And you definitely don’t go patrolling looking like a disco ball with a death wish."

"That's… Ow! That's not fair!"

"What's not fair is me spending twenty minutes thinking you'd gotten yourself killed because you couldn't follow one simple rule."

That shut Jason up. The reality of what he'd done—not just the sneaking out part, but the part where he'd made Dick worry made his eyes burn.

Dick kept going, swats falling in that same steady pattern that meant he was serious but not furious. This was... this was big brother discipline. The kind that said I care about you too much to let this slide.

"I'm sorry," Jason finally managed, voice small.

"For what, specifically?" Dick's hand didn't stop.

"For—ow—for sneaking out. And lying. And making you worry."

"And?"

"And for the lights?" Jason tried.

Dick landed three sharp swats in quick succession. "Try again."

"For—for going on patrol alone when I'm not ready." The admission burned more than Dick’s swats, but it was true. He hadn't been ready. Those guys had been low-level thugs, but Jason didn’t plan to stop after tackling them. If Dick hadn’t appeared he knew he might have gotten himself in hotter water than he could handle.

"There it is." Dick finally paused, resting his hand on Jason's back. "You're not ready yet, Jay. That's not an insult. That's just where you are right now. But you will be ready. I promise. You just have to be patient and trust the process."

"I don't like being patient," Jason mumbled.

"Yeah, I noticed." 

Jason felt Dick lean over him, reaching for something near the floor. He followed his movements with his eyes then whimpered when he grabbed the slipper —Jason’s slipper. Jason’s thick-soled, rubber slipper— which he then promptly tapped against Jason’s already burning cheeks. 

A second later, Dick resumed the spanking, this time focusing on Jason's sit-spots with solid whacks. "But you're going to learn how to be, because this is what happens when you're not."

Jason squirmed, trying to twist away from the swats, but Dick's other arm held him firmly in place. "Okay—okay—I get it—"

"Do you?" The slipper cracked down harder. "Because from what I saw tonight, you still think rules are suggestions. They're not. They're there to keep you alive."

"I know—"

"Then act like it!" Dick's voice rose slightly, frustration bleeding through. "Because we can’t lose you. None of us can. So when Bruce says no patrol, or I tell you to stay put, it's not because we don't trust you. It's because we love you too much to watch you throw yourself into danger before you're ready."

Jason's eyes stung. The swats kept coming, each one driving the point home more than the last. His backside was on fire, his throat was tight, and somewhere in the middle of all of it he realized he was crying.

"I'm sorry," he gasped. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

Dick immediately stopped. The slipper dropped to the floor, his hand gentling to a soft rub. "Okay. Okay, buddy. We're done."

He helped Jason up and pulled him into a hug, letting him hide his face in Dick's shoulder. Jason clung to him, sniffling hard, trying to get himself under control.

"I really am sorry," he mumbled into Dick's shirt. "I didn't mean to… I just wanted…"

"I know." Dick rubbed his back in slow circles. "I know you did. But wanting to help doesn't mean you get to ignore the people trying to keep you safe."

Jason nodded, not trusting his voice.

They stayed like that for a while, Dick just holding him and murmuring quiet reassurances. Eventually Jason's breathing evened out and the tears stopped, leaving him feeling wrung out and exhausted.

"Come on," Dick said gently. "Let's get you settled."

Dick maneuvered Jason to sit on the couch, and Jason noticed him wincing at the small hiss of discomfort he made. Then his brother grabbed the massive fuzzy blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around Jason's shoulders, tucking it in like he was creating a burrito of comfort.

"Stay put. I'm getting more cocoa."

Jason nodded mutely, pulling the blanket tighter. His backside throbbed with every movement and he eased to his side in an effort to take pressure off his butt and thighs.

Dick returned a few minutes later with two fresh mugs of hot chocolate and settled next to Jason on the couch. He handed one over and Jason accepted it gratefully, wrapping both hands around the warm ceramic.

"You okay?" Dick asked softly, a hand smoothing over Jason’s hair.

Jason shrugged, staring into his cocoa. "My butt hurts."

"Yeah, that was kind of the point."

"I hate you."

"No you don't."

"...No, I don't," Jason admitted. He took a sip, letting the warmth spread through his chest. "I really didn't mean to ruin the day."

"Hey." Dick reached over and gently turned Jason's face toward him. "You didn't ruin anything. You made a bad choice, yeah, and you got consequences for it. But the day?" He gestured at the tree, still twinkling away in all its over-decorated glory. "Look at that thing. We made that together. We ate cookie dough until Alfred threatened us with bodily harm. We had a popcorn war. Those things still happened."

"But now you're mad at me."

"I'm not mad." Dick's expression softened. "You're my little shit of a brother, Jay. That doesn't just go away because you did something stupid."

Jason felt his eyes sting again. "Even when I do really stupid things? Like Christmas-light-rogue-patrol stupid?"

Dick's lips twitched. "Okay, I'm not gonna lie, the Christmas lights were pretty stupid. Like, top ten dumbest things I've seen a Robin do, and that says something considering I've been Robin. But even then, yeah. Even when you do really stupid things. That's what family means."

Jason leaned into Dick's side, letting himself be maneuvered until his head was resting against Dick's shoulder. The blanket pooled around both of them, warm and soft and safe.

Dick grabbed the remote and pulled up their movie queue. "So. We still have All I Want For Chritstmas to get through. You up for it?"

"Yeah," Jason said quietly. "Yeah, okay."

They settled in, the movie playing softly in the background. Jason's eyes were heavy, the adrenaline crash from earlier combining with the emotional exhaustion of the punishment. Dick's arm came around his shoulders, solid and reassuring.

"Hey, Dick?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks. For... you know. Coming after me. And for not being too mad."

Dick pressed a kiss to the top of Jason's head. "Always, little brother. Always."

Jason was asleep before the first scene was even over, slumped against Dick's side with his face peaceful and his breathing even. Dick adjusted the blanket around him and settled in for the long haul.

Bruce Wayne arrived at the manor at 11:47 PM, tired, sore, and ready to sleep for approximately sixteen hours. The League situation had run long, but finished a lot faster than expected, which meant coming home to his boys one day earlier. He’d considered sleeping at the watchtower and coming home next morning, but Dick’s rather unsettling text of "Everything's fine! Totally fine! No problems here! Everything’s under control!" had immediately activated every parental alarm bell Bruce possessed.

He entered through the main door and immediately noticed the living room lights were still on.

Alfred materialized from the kitchen. "Welcome home, Master Bruce. I trust your day was productive?"

“That’s one word for it." Bruce shrugged out of his jacket. "How were things here?"

Alfred's expression remained perfectly neutral. "Eventful."

Bruce paused. "Eventful how?"

"Perhaps you should see for yourself."

That was never a good sign.

Bruce walked into the living room and stopped short.

Dick was sprawled on the couch. Jason was asleep against his side, wrapped in a blanket that looked large enough to serve as a small tent, his face peaceful in sleep, but looking tear-streaked.

It was adorable. Completely adorable. The kind of scene that made Bruce's cold, hard heart melt into warmness.

"Dick," Bruce said quietly.

Dick's eyes peeled open, he looked surprised, then grinned. "B! You're home early. I mean—late, but early considering when we expected you. Which wasn’t now. Hi."

"Why is Jason sleeping on you looking like he’s been crying?"

"So. Funny story." Dick's smile was pained. "Remember how you told Jason no patrol while you were gone?"

"Yes."

"And remember how I told you I had everything under control?"

"Dick."

"He wrapped himself in LED Christmas lights and snuck out to patrol anyway."

For a long moment, Bruce said nothing. He just stood there, processing the sentence, trying to make it make sense in any logical way.

It didn't.

"He… What?"

"In his defense, his tactical reasoning was actually kind of sound—"

"Dick."

"Right. Okay. So." Dick proceeded to give Bruce the abbreviated version of the evening's events, speaking quickly and quietly to avoid waking Jason. The sneaking out. The lights. The criminals. The intervention. The consequences.

By the time he finished, Bruce had migrated to the armchair and was sitting with his head in his hands. Bruce looked up at his cuddling sons and felt something that was equal parts exasperation and reluctant fondness.

"Christmas lights," he said flatly.

"Tactical Christmas lights," Dick corrected. "That was his exact wording."

"I'm going to have a stroke."

"Probably. Eventually."

"He's grounded," Bruce said.

"Absolutely not,” Dick shot down. “We’re doing something tomorrow. The three of us. Ice skating, Christmas market, a ridiculous amount of chocolate treats, maybe we hit the movies."

"Starting Monday then,” Bruce grumbled. “For at least a month."

"I veto anything over a week."

"And no patrol until further notice."

"Benched for a week is more than enough, B. It’s Christmas. Have a heart.” 

"And someone is going to explain to him, in great detail, why wrapping oneself in lights and fighting crime is possibly the single worst tactical decision anyone has ever made."

"Already handled. With emphasis."

Bruce stood and walked over to the two boys, looking down at Jason, who was still fast asleep, blissfully unaware of the conversation happening around him.

He looked so small like this. So young. A kid who'd been on the streets less than a year ago and was now wearing a Robin suit and taking down criminals and apparently inventing new and creative ways to give Bruce heart attacks.

"He wanted to impress you," Dick said quietly. "To impress both of us. That's what he told me. Wanted to prove he could handle himself."

Bruce's expression softened despite himself. "Of course he did."

"He's a good kid, Bruce. Just... enthusiastic."

"That's one word for it." Bruce reached down and adjusted the blanket, tucking it more securely around Jason's shoulders. The kid didn't even stir. "Thank you. For handling it."

"That's what big brothers are for." Dick stretched, wincing. "Although next time? I'm requesting backup."

"Noted." Bruce patted his eldest’s shoulder, then trudged upstairs. "Get some sleep, Dick. We'll debrief properly in the morning."

Dick grinned and let his head fall back against the couch cushion, one arm still wrapped protectively around Jason.

Bruce walked slowly toward his bedroom and allowed himself a moment of gratitude. Yes, Jason had been reckless. Yes, he'd broken the rules. Yes, Bruce was going to have a very serious conversation with him in the morning.

But Jason was also home. Safe. Surrounded by family. Both his sons were. It had been a long night for all of them, but they were together. And tomorrow, after he'd grounded Jason for approximately the next decade—starting  Monday— they’d go have a well-earned Christmas family outing. 

Just the three of them.