Author's Note: Here's a little bro-tastic YJ-style Christmas. For those of you who aren't familiar with Secret Santa, the general rules are that you draw a name and secretly give that person a certain number of small, inexpensive gifts over a period of several days or weeks. Some groups put an emphasis on trying to figure out your Santa, others don't, but it usually comes out in the end regardless. Happy reading!


The only thing that Wally disliked about spending weekends fighting crime with his friends was that it meant he missed out on his Aunt Iris' huge Sunday morning breakfast spreads. There was, in his stomach's opinion, simply no substitute for the literal piles of food that marched from her kitchen to the table every seventh day, and he had long ago resigned himself to working his way through a box of cereal or an equally crunchy dozen eggs cooked by M'gann instead while he envied his uncle, whom he knew was getting to partake without him. It had become habit by now for his Sunday mornings to be gastronomically unsatisfying, which was why his eyes nearly widened their way out of their sockets when he opened his door three weeks before Christmas and found a very large covered platter on the floor outside.

For a moment he was suspicious. Is this is a prank? He glanced down the hall in both directions, craning his neck to try and spot one of his teammates waiting for him to take the bait. Or...maybe we were infiltrated in the night? This could be, like, a bomb or something. Except...bombs don't usually smell good, he gave a little moan as a whiff of bacon reached his nose. And no one else has anything in front of their room. I think I would have heard if there was a fight, so...huh. He was scratching his head, still puzzling, when the last thing he'd done before leaving the Mountain the week prior hit him. Oh,wait...I'll bet this is from my Secret Santa!

It had been Robin's idea to do Secret Santa, he remembered, flashing back to the younger teen explaining the rules and urging them all to draw a name from a bowl and start thinking of good presents. At the time the whole thing had sounded like a bit of a hassle to Wally, who had very little money and wasn't known for his knack for choosing suitable gifts for others. As he scooped up the weighty tray and carried it triumphantly to his desk, however, he decided that he would never complain about participating again if it meant he got free meals delivered to his door. Oho, man, his delirious joy grew as he sneaked a sniff of what awaited him and a heavy waft of meat, eggs, and pastry assaulted his nose. This is gonna be an epic breakfast.

He tossed the domed lid aside, then stopped short as he found a piece of plain white paper, folded in half and protected by a Ziploc bag, atop his food. Crap. Why did they have to include a letter? he groused. Can't a guy just have a meal without a bunch of reading beforehand? I could just leave it for later, but... But then, he knew, the undone work would plague him the entire time he ate, tainting his enjoyment. I might as well just get it over with so I can eat in peace. Maybe I'll even have time to crawl back into bed for a while before anyone comes looking for me. At least this letter looks short...

It was short indeed, he discovered once he'd licked the bacon grease off of the plastic and removed the sheet. "Who is your Secret Santa?" he read aloud. ...Oh, yeah, I forgot Rob said we're supposed to try and figure out who's giving us gifts. Hmm...well, I don't know, he shrugged, crumpling the five typed words up and throwing them somewhere behind him, and I don't really care. All I know is that whoever they are, they really – he took his first bite and moaned – really know how to cook, and are therefore the best Secret Santa ever.


For the next seven days, Wally salivated every time his mind wandered back to the repast he'd been left the Sunday before. The mystery that he had so casually ignored at first began to plague him almost as much as the remembered flavors that ghosted across his tongue in his weaker moments; who, he wondered with increasing urgency, was his Secret Santa? He had eliminated M'gann easily – unless she'd had some serious help, there was no way she had produced the previous week's meal – but he had to know which of his other teammates had been cruelly harboring their talents as a gourmet cook all this time, and soon. With that desire burning in the pit of his stomach he watched his friends extra carefully all through Friday night and Saturday, searching for anything that might give them away.

He learned nothing new other than that Artemis, whose name he had drawn, loved the practical wool scarf he'd found at a thrift store and loathed the flowery perfume he'd purchased with a combination of a week's allowance and every coin he'd been able to find in the gutters and under the couch cushions. She hadn't figured out her Secret Santa yet, she revealed, a fact for which Wally was remarkably grateful when she wrinkled her nose at the second gift she received anonymously. It seemed that no one had deciphered who their giver was by the time they all turned in following an easy mission on Saturday night, although Robin went to bed wearing a slightly smug look that suggested he had a good bead on where his gifts were originating from. I wish I could have him help me figure out who my person is, but I know he'd say that's not how the game works, Wally sighed as he climbed under his covers. Besides, he'd probably be ticked that I 'destroyed the evidence' that came with my breakfast. Still, though, if anyone could make sure I knew who I have to bribe to keep getting food like that brought to me, it would be Rob...

It was with that in mind that he fell asleep, waking the next day to leap from his bed and bolt to the door in the hopes of finding another platter. A mighty frown of disappointment dragged the corners of his mouth southward when he found only a neatly wrapped package the size of a Chinese take-out container waiting for him. Dang. I thought maybe...well, hey, at least I get to start the day with a present of some kind, he tried to buck himself up. That's better than how most normal Sundays start, even if I am stuck with cereal or shell-y eggs to eat again today. Looking both ways just as he had a week prior, he collected the gift and took it back into his room, dropping semi-morosely onto the bed. Who knows, maybe whatever's in here actually is edible...

His hopes were dashed as he opened the box to reveal a red-and-yellow rubber ball nestled on a bed of cotton fluff. Another note, this one typed on green paper to ensure that it stood out from its surroundings, was tucked alongside. ...A superball? he mused, peering down at it. Don't get me wrong, they're neat and all, but...this is nowhere near as awesome a gift as last week's. Then again, I'm not exactly batting a thousand in this game, either, so who am I to judge? At least what I got doesn't smell like rotten flowers.

Hoping that the paper would lend him some idea as to who he should be tracking down at this very moment in order to beg them to make him breakfast again, he unfolded it. "...Directions?" he scoffed at the first word. "Who needs directions to use a superball? You just throw it at the ground as hard as you can to make it go high, everyone knows that. Why are there so many steps?" Shaking his head, he began to read through them, his respect for whoever had drawn his name growing with every sentence.

Directions for optimal use of the enclosed superball:

Find Superboy, and convince him to go to the gym with you. Make sure there's no one else in the room before you go on to the next step!

Get him to throw the ball hard enough that it will bounce all over the place, but not hard enough that it will damage anything. He should be able to get it going pretty fast without going through any walls.

Chase the superball while it's pinging all over the place at high speed.

While you're doing this, think about the answer to the following question: who is your Secret Santa?

"I've been trying to answer that question," Wally groaned. "Somehow I don't think chasing this thing," he tweezed the toy between his thumb and forefinger and lifted it, "around the gym is going to help me solve it. Although..." his eyes slid to the directions again, "it does kind of sound like fun. Plus, if Superboy throws it hard enough and doesn't get bored right away I could probably ask to count it towards my training time this week. Pivot practice, or something." He rolled the ball around the palm of his hand briefly, then stood. "Okay. I have to try this," he decided. "Plus...hey!" his eyes lit up suddenly. Conner wouldn't tell me to go looking for him if he was my Secret Santa, he reasoned. I don't even think he knows what a superball is. Introducing Superboy to a superball...this is going to be even more fun than I thought. And better yet, he grinned proudly as he shot into the hallway in search of the clone, I've knocked my Secret Santa search down to three suspects. I'm one person closer to another perfect breakfast...


While he did have a ridiculous amount of fun chasing the small rubber sphere as it pinged around the gym – tracking some of the reverses that the ball did once it had been tossed by one of the strongest beings on the planet was much trickier than he'd thought it would be, which kept things interesting – he made no further progress on unmasking his Secret Santa. Anticipation racked him all through the next week, the last there was before Christmas. Whoever it is, they've got to tell me before I come home on Sunday, he thought jitterily as he prepared to head for the Mountain after school on Friday. They won't make me wait until after Christmas; none of them are that mean.

Sunday morning, he was certain, would bring him the solution he was craving. Before it could roll around, though, the team was summoned for the oddest mission briefing he had ever attended in his life.

"...Robin, Kid Flash," Batman rumbled their names on the screen, "this job requires your combined skills. The rest of you," he directed at the other two-thirds of Young Justice, "may return to what you were doing. Remain on standby in case something comes up while they are out."

"Yes, Batman," Kaldur nodded politely. "We'll be ready if you need anything."

"Good." He waited until the other four teens had exchanged quizzical looks and departed, then went on. "...Robin, you'll be in charge on this mission because you know the area. Head for the docks on the south side of the industrial district. There will be roughly two dozen men on a freighter called the Constance Marie preparing to head downriver. On that freighter is a load of stolen gems and exotic animal parts, all intended for the black market. Your job is to take control of the boat and turn it over to the police. When you've finished, return to the Batcave to be debriefed. Is that understood?"

"Got it!" Robin agreed.

"Good. Then I will see you at home. Good luck, and...be careful." With that, he was gone.

"...Dude, this is weird," KF opined. "It's just the two of us? And where the heck are we even going?"

"Gotham, you total dork," Robin laughed. "Besides, this'll be fun, right? I mean, stolen jewelry and animal parts? We can totally stop this shipment. Besides," he pointed out, "it's been ages since we got to do a mission that was just, you know, the two of us."

"That's true," Wally agreed slowly. Seeing the younger male's slightly crestfallen expression at his lack of ardor, he nudged him with his elbow. "C'mon, bro, smile. I'm excited, honest. It's going to be awesome. A mission in Gotham? Wicked." This is going to be cool, he decided. We don't get much time to hang out without others around anymore, and, well...I miss that.

"Well, let's head out, then!" the raven-haired boy exclaimed, his mood rebounding immediately. "We're wasting time!"

"Race you to the Zeta tube!" Chortling, Kid Flash vanished, catching just the beginning of Robin's amused cursing before he was out of earshot. Tonight, a Gotham job with Rob, he rhymed happily to himself, the idea having swiftly planted roots in his mind, and tomorrow, I learn who I have to harass to get more of those amazing eggs from the first Secret Santa weekend. This is turning out to be a pretty sweet weekend, after all.


Two hours later they stood in the dark beside the dank waters of the Gotham River and watched as police swarmed over the boat they'd turned in only minutes earlier. "We kicked serious butt," Robin stated, sounding pleased.

"We always kick serious butt," Kid Flash replied. "Bump it," he requested, holding out his fist.

"Boom," they joked simultaneously as their knuckles connected.

"Aah," the redhead stretched a second later, then dropped to the ground with his legs out in front of him. "Bro, let me just say, that flip-handspring thing you did? That was sick."

"You mean the one where I kicked one guy in the face, then used the momentum from that to vault backwards and kick that other guy in the face, too?" Robin's teeth flashed in the dark as he joined his friend in the dirt.

"Yup. They looked so freaking surprised. I love it when you blow people's minds like that."

"You want to talk about blowing minds, you should have seen the captain's jaw drop when he came out onto the deck and watched three of his men go down inside of two seconds because you were speeding between them so fast. I thought his head was going to explode from the sheer awesomeness."

"Oh, man, I was in a total zone right then. It was great." He sighed. "I just wish I could figure out my Secret Santa as easily as we took out all those goons. Why aren't mysteries as straightforward as running and hitting people? Seriously, I cannot figure this thing out!"

"...Well, maybe I can help."

"Really?! It's not, you know, against the spirit of the game, or whatever?"

"Eh. It's the last day of the last weekend. We're all going to find out who our Secret Santas are before we leave the Mountain for Christmas, so...yeah, I can help."

"Oh, man, that's great." Rob will figure this out in no time, I just know it, he thought giddily. "Okay, so here's what I kn-" He broke off as a folded piece of paper appeared between two of Robin's gloved fingers and was held out to him. "...Dude, where did that thing come from?"

"It's my help, KF. Take it."

"Ookay," he frowned and did as he'd been told. "'Who is your Secret Santa?' Wait, that's what the other papers...oh, shit, Rob!" he jumped to his feet, flabbergasted. "You've been my Secret Santa this whole time?"

"This whole time," the smaller boy cackled, clearly amused by his friend's response. "It's been fantastic."

"But...the food. You can't cook like that, can you? Seriously, bro, tell me that you can and that you'll make me Sunday breakfast every week just like that first week. I'll pay you, honest to God," KF swore.

"That was Agent A, not me," Robin revealed. "He showed me how to do some basic cooking stuff – learning to make myself real food on my own was the price he extracted in exchange for the smorgasbord – but I'm nowhere near his level. The superball," he went on, "that was just fun. I got it out of a machine on a total whim, and when it came out yellow and red I knew I had to work it into your presents somehow. Tonight...tonight was the big one," he confided. "It took me two weeks to convince Batman to let us do this job ourselves. He was probably watching the whole time, but that's okay. It was still wicked, especially since we hadn't been on a mission without the team for so long."

"It was totally wicked. Rob...bro...seriously, you're the best Secret Santa ever."

"I dunno, KF, I think Superboy might disagree with you."

"...What's he got to do with it?"

"Heh. His Secret Santa gave him a big, sloppy kiss for a third present."

"Not Artemis?" Kid Flash asked urgently.

"Relax, would you? She's still wide open, and I heard she really liked her third present. No, Miss M was Superboy's Secret Santa."

"...Huh. So...what, he liked that she kissed him?"

"Uh, yeah. Have you not noticed the looks they've been sending each other for, like, two months?"

"I guess not. Still...no offense, bro, but I'd rather bust baddies together than have you kiss me. Just sayin'."

"Seconded. But," he went on jestingly, "you'll still sleep over even if I don't kiss you, right?"

"Well, yeah. Duh."

"Good!" Robin stated, also climbing to his feet. "Because I got permission for us to not go back to the Mountain until morning. After breakfast," he smirked.

"...Is Al-Agent A cooking?" KF had to swallow hard to keep from drooling.

"Are those dudes on the boat totally busted? Of course he is! I had to sit through a ten minute lecture on proper meat thermometer use and the dangers of undercooked meat, but he's making septuple servings of everything, so...it was worth it. Anyway, you ready?"

"Oh, I'm ready. Ready to eat."

"You've got to sleep first, KF. It's not going to be ready when we get back, it's only one in the morning."

"Okay, so we sleep first. Either way, I get another one of those delicious breakfasts when I wake up, so...screw Miss M kissing Superboy. That's great for them and all, but you're still the best Secret Santa ever."

"Maybe," Robin shrugged, grinning at the compliment. "But even if I'm not...Merry Christmas, bro."

Their fists bumped again. "Yup," KF agreed, "merry Christmas, bro-Santa. Merry awesome Christmas."