Warning: Sappy! Thanks to my friend Tinheart for the prompt "blanket."
Box of Yesterday
When he finally resorted to yanking it out, the huge cardboard box slid off the shelf far faster than Richard anticipated and nearly tipped him off his ladder. He managed to compensate at the last second by sticking his leg out behind him and quickly climbed down, grumbling about shoddily organized attics.
He brushed the top off, sending spumes of dust into the late afternoon light that filled the room. The lettering was faded and no longer legible; Richard peeled the no-longer-sticky tape off and opened it up, now fairly certain this wouldn't have the Christmas lights he was looking for.
As he laid the contents out on the floor, a smile came to his face. Jason must have packed this up years ago without telling them. It had his baseball mitt, the leather worn down smooth and soft over all the years, a picture of that girlfriend he'd had for two weeks and was so sure he was in love with (he blushed a little reading the poem Jason had written her on the back). Richard fingered the old Princeton sweatshirt that he'd given Jason when he turned fifteen—that's where he was now, though he'd be back soon for the holidays. He should keep this out to show Jason at dinner; maybe he'd wear it to the graduation.
When he was about to pack everything back up, he saw that there was still something in the bottom, hidden under the shadows. Carefully he pulled out the blue fabric, covered in faded red S symbols. The first thing he and Kal-El had gotten for Jason together. They'd joked about it at the store, how they were funding the "Superman Taking Over a Bedroom Near You!" campaign with the purchase, but they both knew that it was Richard's tacit way of saying that he understood. The blanket hadn't left Jason's bed for years.
Richard hugged it to his chest. Christmas had come early this year for him.