A/N: So, I'm sitting with my family to watch A Christmas Carol, which we do every year, and then it hits me. Holy crap, Christmas is coming. And I haven't written a X-Mas fic, at all. I haven't ever before, and I've always wanted to, so this was the result. It's drastically different from what I had intended. So it's being posted a few days earlier, because it's not very happy and really, who wants to read this on actual Christmas day?
Mild language warning, thanks to Jason.
Don't own Batman.
Oneshot.
Family is…
His greatest failure.
The cave once echoed with laughter, with warmth, with happiness. With the lives of young, the naïve, the bloodied, bruised, broken. The healthy, perfect and innocent. Sometimes there was variation; teenage rebellion, teenage genius, teenage soldier. It was not always ideal, but there was always something that filled the void of silence and misery, lightened the perpetual shadow that hung in the background.
Now it's empty, and stained with blood of another child.
Tim is the first. He speaks of the past, pointing to the problem's he had without a partner by his side. How he's always needed light to balance his darkness, even if he's never wanted to put an innocent life in danger by allowing them to join in the turbulent sadistic joke that is called their lives. He says that alone, Batman's sanity slips, and above all, he needs to remain in control. Gotham needs him, and so do they. Without him, whose children are they?
Do you want another child to lose his parents, Tim asks, like we have?
Jason is the second. He speaks of the present, about Batman's symbol, that despite how much he loathes it, without Batman and Robin, crime rates spike drastically, and there simply aren't enough bullets in his gun to deal with what he has now. Gotham can't go back to the way it was, it just wasn't an option. The Batman changed everything, everyone, and without him, the city won't be able to adapt, to survive. Its bridges burned the day Bruce Wayne's parents were killed in Crime Alley – and they won't ever be built back, unless the Bat can return things to the norm, and then perhaps, upgrade that too.
After all the shit you dumped on us – all of us, Jason accuses, now you turn your back on your mission, on your city, when it actually needs you?
Dick is the third, and the last. He speaks of the future, a bright dream that all of them know won't ever come to fruition. Of hope, of peace, of family. He probes into Bruce's mind like a man who has the map memorized; confidently, swiftly, and without a single doubt. He breaks down all the walls, all the traps, all the defenses with ease and disturbing calmness, like reducing his mentor and father-figure to near breaking point was natural, a daily occurrence.
We all knew the risks when we signed on, Dick says, him most of all.
Do not mourn his death like this. Do not insult his memory by turning back on what he died for. Do not fail him, like you've failed before.
Damian wouldn't have wanted that.
"Nightwing, do you copy? Nightwing, c'mon, pick up!"
"…Nightwing here… and tired… Red Robin, what can I do for you this fine… Christmas… morning at two-thirty-three AM? Yawwnnn…"
"Where are you?"
"My apartment... Just finished patrol about an hour ago. Why?"
"How soon can you get back to Gotham?"
"Depends. If the roads are icy or blocked, two to three hours. If I go by slightly less than normal means, forty minutes to an hour and a half."
"Take the back roads then. We need you here. Now."
"What's going on?"
"Robin is missing. Batman's leg is broken in two places, and he's still insisting he go out. He's a bit out of it, we think either Joker's poison or Scarecrow's gas has infected him, but he really thinks the demon spawn is in life threatening danger somewhere."
"I'm on my way."
"This… all this blood… it can't be from him…"
"…Tim, he hasn't got a pulse. Tim. He hasn't got a pulse."
Tim.
"Damian's dead, Bruce. Talia disowned him. He's not coming back."
Jason.
"You fucker. You let another kid, as bratty and shitfaced as the hell spawn was, die, and then you turn you back on the Replacement, on the Golden child, on your goddamn city?"
Dick.
"Don't shut us out, Bruce. Please, don't do this. I just lost a little brother on Christmas. Don't make me lose a father on the same day too."
It's a long time before Bruce ventures out of the darkness. He steps into the light, hesitantly, with courage that he hasn't displayed in a year.
They're waiting for him, though, and encourage each step in their own ways.
Jason doesn't stay there, physically, but Bruce can smell the remnants of smoke, and see the ashes he dumped by the unlit fireplace. His presence alone reminds Bruce of the dark days that was the time of his death, and his resulting failure to fix things. His presence is also a promise, a chance of correcting that failure now, and the possibility of an alliance, a truce, to at least begin with.
Tim watches from a distance, calculus homework spread out across the sofa, looking deep in thought. His nervous but excited tapping of his mechanical pencil belays his true thoughts, and Bruce doesn't miss Tim's eyes subtly darting his way. Calm and collected, like he was trained, but not emotionless and shut in, like was also trained.
Dick waits for him by the tree, hand in pockets, posture relaxed and slightly slouched. He doesn't rush, he doesn't push, but he waits, like he always does, with faith in Bruce that neither seem to ever been able to truly understand. When Bruce arrives, just in time for the day that everyone knows but never speaks of, Dick drops something into his arms.
"I've been holding onto this for an entire year," Dick says, with a sad smile that gives a sense of understanding the pain they've shared. "It's from him."
Dick doesn't stay, leaving immediately after that, walking past with something glistening in his eyes. Tim is pulled along like a magnet; quiet, sudden, and without a touch, but understanding. They depart, leaving him alone with a large box with a card addressed to him.
Dear Father,
Grayson insists that this holiday by celebrated in a manner in which I give you some sort of 'heartfelt' gift, card, and attempt a poor job of 'hiding' it beneath this ridiculously decorated tree. I think it's a waste of time, but I have been informed that families seem to be fond of this day... So I do believe this gift is both 'heartfelt' and 'hidden', as I believe it can aid you well in battle, and I'm having Grayson hold onto it to make sure you aren't aware of its contents before the twenty-fifth. Grayson and Drake both seem to think this is important. I have yet to see why, but I suppose you can explain in more clearly to me than they did when you receive this.
-Damian
Post-Script:
"Merry Christmas."
Family is…
His greatest treasure.
Fin.