AU story:Bruce Wayne is a bitter man, hating the world for the death of parents and the life he didn't choose. Can his old friend Lucius Fox change his heart?

A Bat Christmas Carol

With Great Respect For Charles Dickens

By

Part 6: Family Comes in Many Forms

After the dinner was prepared and the table set, everyone gathered for their meager feast.

"So little food," Bruce whispered, almost afraid he would be heard. Though he was one to talk. He chose to eat meagerly himself.

"But very much appreciated," the Spirit stated.

Bruce should have known that the spirit had heard him. He turned and watched as the small family enjoyed their meal.

"I'd like to make a toast," Dick said.

"I hope it's not to that Mr. Wayne," Solona said.

"Well . . ." Dick hesitated.

"You give a toast every year to Mr. Wayne. He may as well be Scrooge with how little he pays you."

"Solona, it's Christmas."

"It has to be Christmas in order for there to be any feeling in that man's heart, but you and I both know that will never happen. You know it."

"I have to believe he'd change, that if he knew, he would understand."

"You never told him?" Solona asked.

"I could have, but seeing the way he acted, I didn't. What if he said, no. I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up."

"Well, I'm not as hopeful as you. Instead, we'll make this a toast to you. You have made a life for me, our children, and for your brother."

Tim raised his glass. "To my brother and I do hope Mr. Wayne does have a merry Christmas."

"Thank you, Tim."

"And, may God bless us, everyone."

"Now, let's have a song, Tim," Dick said. "How about the song you sang on the way home."

Tim began to sing in Romani, his voice as sweet as an angel's.

Bruce could not help staring at the teenage boy as he sang. He thought of his own son and wondered what he was doing now. The boy started coughing up a fit, which concerned everyone. It even caught Bruce Wayne's attention.

"Spirit, tell me, will Dick Grayson's brother live."

"The future is clouded around him. I am the Spirit of Christmas present."

"Please, Spirit."

"If that is what you wish. I see a vacant seat at their table, the crutch carefully preserved."

"You mean the boy could die?"

"If he were to die, would it matter? That would reduce the population, would it not?"

"You use my words against me," Bruce Wayne groused.

"Words that no man should use against another," the Spirit stated. "Who are you to say who lives and who dies? You are not judge, jury, or executioner. You are not a vigilante meeting out justice. These people need hope, and Christmas is the time for that."

Then a thought occurred to Bruce, a thought he did not intend to voice. "I could have been that vigilante . . . "

"Yes, you could have, but you chose not to. Come, there are other places to attend to."

Bruce followed the spirit, but he could not help looking back, seeing the boy and the wistful look on his face. It was as if he knew something his family did not. The teen looked in his direction and their eyes locked, but that was impossible. Bruce was invisible to him.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Wayne," Tim said under his breath.

Chills ran up Bruce's spine. He quickly left the home and when he did, he was no longer in the place he thought he would be. He wasn't in the street, but in a home a little more upscale than what his clerk was living in, but still not as lavish as his own, that is if it wasn't so dark and tomb-like, he realized. Bruce wondered where the person acquired their money, until he heard the sound of his son's voice and someone else Bruce did not know. The voice sounded similar and it brought up memories of a night long ago It was before he met Talia, and he had been at some Christmas party. Why didn't the Spirit of Christmas past show him that memory? Maybe because he was also drunk and had not even remembered that night either so much, which he vowed never to do, again. He had been a young man then, but here was his son enjoying a bowl of punch and a dinner among friends.

"He said that . . . That Christmas was humbug?" Jason asked.

"Yes, he did," Damian replied.

"Sheesh, he's become such a Scrooge." Sasha said.

"Hey, don't forget that Scrooge redeemed himself in the end."

"That's in story books." Jason groused.

"Oh, I don't know, it could happen," Damian commented. "Mother said he used to be very kind. Of course, he changed and after she died, I don't think he wanted to be reminded of her. She never talked about what happened between them. She only wanted to remember the good parts."

"You're not the only one he didn't acknowledge," Jason said. "I'm his little secret. And you keep asking him for dinner every year. Why?"

"Because I know there's some good in him still."

"Well. He's never shown any of that to me," Sasha said. "I've passed him on the street and he's never once offered to say good morning."

"If things were different my father would be a far different man," Damian stated. "Every year I ask him to dinner and wish him a Merry Christmas in hope that he will remember what things were like before my mother's death. And to meet you," Damian placed a hand on the shoulder of a man that Bruce did not recognize. Who was he? And what did the man mean by, "dirty little secret?"

"I would hope for the same thing, but he doesn't even know I even exist," Jason said. "My mother told a different story about him, his ideals, of wanting to help this city, rid this city of crime, but . . . "

"Then he met my mother, and forgot all about those ideals," Damian said placing a hand on his older brother's shoulder. "I don't blame him or her. She loved him in a way that caused him to forget, I guess. We'll go together next year, and remind him. We all have an obligation. The earthquake has destroyed a large part of this city. Its heart has been ripped out. It needs someone who can bring it back to life."

"From what I heard, someone is trying to do that?"

"You heard the rumors?"

"Yes, but it takes more than just someone going out into the shadows and beating people up. The police are so short handed. I fear this time next year, we'll have no police to protect this city."

"This city needs help. Why do we have to wait until next year?" Jason asked.

"What?"

"We can do that now."

"What are you saying?"

"We should do it, I know we can . . . If our father won't then it's up to us."

Bruce was listening to the exchange. The fact that he had a second son, had surprised him. He had no idea that one night of unbridled passion in a drunken state, had bore fruit. The older of the two looked more like his mother, but in truth, his memories of her had long faded away. He had to admit to himself that his life had changed, and not for the good. Damian was a reminder of his beloved, which was what tore at him every day. And Jason, an indiscretion from too much wine. Now his sons were thinking of turning what . . Vigilante? Didn't he think such thoughts when he was a boy? What had stamped that out? What had changed? He had changed.

"If only . . ."

"If only what?" The Spirit questioned.

"Nothing," Bruce said, instead. That past was long gone. He could not change it.

The Spirit and Bruce Wayne left the home of his two sons and headed into Gotham City. Bruce Wayne would never forget sojourning into the night. It would be more than just an eye-opening experience.

Continues with Part 7