"Merry Christmas, Timmy!" an eager cry woke him many hours later.

"…Huh…what?" He felt a smile start across his lips as he struggled up towards consciousness. Christmas! That meant French toast and presents and, if it wasn't too cold out later, a knock-down, drag-out snowball fight with Dick and Bruce. The tree would be lit all day, Alfred wouldn't count how many cookies he was eating, and he would fall into bed tonight feeling exceedingly content…

Then he opened his eyes and remembered where he was. "…Oh," a disappointed syllable escaped him. "Right. Siberia."

His brother's face appeared in front of him. "Yeah," he commiserated. "Siberia. But look, we've got a tree!"

"…What?" There was no way they had a Christmas tree, unless… "Did you cut that thing down this morning?" he asked as he spotted the scraggly pine sitting on top of the table.

"Yup! It's cute, isn't it?"

"Sure, if you're Charlie Brown." The thing couldn't have been more than a foot tall, and the slivers of broken bench that had been shoved into its miniscule trunk to help it stay upright made it look more like a Halloween item than something meant for Christmas. "…You didn't go out in the storm to get that, did you?! Dick, that's dangerous as hell!"

"Relax, Timmy. The storm's stopped. But it's cold," he grimaced. "Like fifty, sixty below cold."

The momentary uplift in his mood – if the storm was over, Bruce was sure to be on his way – fell flat. "…You don't think he'll come in temps that low, do you?"

"I hope he won't come in temps that low. As much as I want to be home for at least part of today, it's not worth the risk. Machines do funny things when it's this cold, you know, and all he's got now is the auxiliary jet. Supes is out of the question, too; we'd be blocks of ice by the time we got to the coast." He paused. "Speaking of machines…the plane's gone. It totally vanished under the ice sometime last night."

"Greeeat…" The Batplane was serving as an apartment block for fish, it was too cold for a rescue to come, and Christmas was slipping by without them. He was sorely tempted to just roll over and sleep until tomorrow, when boredom was to be expected.

But Dick was sending him one of those pleading looks that he wore so well. "I've got stuff to make breakfast," he bribed. "It won't be French toast, but there were some powdered eggs and some oats in our bags. There were even a few little packets of pepper and sugar. And after we eat I thought we could decorate the tree. You know…together?"

It was damn near impossible to resist the man when he was like this, and Tim was hungry. "Breakfast sounds good," he capitulated. "But how are we going to decorate the tree?"

"With these!" All but prancing the short distance to the table, Dick held up two small plastic bags full of roundish pellets. "I found them in the tackle boxes at the bottoms of the packs. They're those roe imitation balls that work as bait. I thought we could string them on some of the thread from the emergency sewing kits and make garland."

A freeze-dried breakfast and a tree decorated with fake fish eggs wasn't the Christmas Tim had been hoping for, but he would take what he could get. "...Okay," he agreed as he crawled out of bed. "I'm going to step outside for a second, and then let's do this."

When he came back in a minute later, Dick had yet another surprise for him. "Look! I found Christmas candy!"

Wincing from the necessary exposure he'd just suffered through, he peered at the packages in his brother's hand. "...Chocolate flavored energy bars?"

"Yup!"

"It's...better than nothing, I guess."

"Sure it is. And I came up with a way for us to have presents, too."

He blinked at him for a long moment. It wasn't difficult to understand how Dick had come up with Christmas breakfast, some 'candy', and even a tree and decorations, but gifts were impossible. "All we have are our belts, the bags, and the stuff we found in here," he puzzled out loud. "How did you manage presents?" Had the man slept at all last night?

"Timmy, Timmy, Timmy..." Dick shook his head. "You've got to leave order of operations behind and think outside the box sometimes." Leaving his cooking, he crossed to the table and picked up a small notebook and a pencil. "I found these while I was digging out the food. We can tear out a bunch of sheets, write down the stuff that we got for each other, and then fold everything up and put it under the tree. It won't be quite the same as opening the real presents, but it's something." He paused. "…What do you think? Want to do it?"

"...Hey, Dick?"

"Yeah?"

"You're a freaking genius sometimes, you know that?"

"Nah," the older man demurred. "I just want us to have a good Christmas even though we're not home. That's all."

"Well, I'd say you're succeeding." Despite his regret over the activities they'd missed and the people they were still missing, he wasn't exaggerating; the day really did seem to be getting better as it went on.

"Great! You want to start splitting up that other bench while I make breakfast? We're going to need more wood if it stays this cold all day."

"Sure," Tim agreed. Wanting to try a little make-believe for himself, he ventured a suggestion. "...What's the stove, like our fireplace or something?"

Dick beamed at him. "Now you're getting it, little brother! At this rate we'll have an awesome Christmas, huh?"

Tim felt happy warmth rise into his cheeks. They had a tree, food, a fire, presents, and each other, and that wasn't a half-bad spread for a couple of plane crash survivors. "Yeah, Dick," he nodded. "It's definitely going to be an awesome Christmas."

When breakfast was gone and the fire was crackling merrily in the stove they turned their attention to the tree. Now that the benches were gone they had resorted to sitting cross-legged atop the table, which left them just enough room to work on their makeshift decorations. Breaking open their tiny sewing kits, they each threaded a needle and began to string foam puffballs into garland.

Neither spoke, but as his hands found rhythm in his activity Tim began to hum. It was formless at first, an idle noise made only to fill the quiet, but slowly it morphed into a rendition of 'White Christmas'. As he hit his stride with the song, Dick began to sing, his lyric tenor ghosting over the accompaniment without drowning it out. The duet felt strangely natural to Tim, and the embarrassment he normally felt over his lack of musical grace was nowhere to be found. When the last note died away, he smiled. "...That was cool."

"It was. Should we do another one?"

"Um...sure. What song?"

"Something happy. How about 'Jingle Bells'?"

"Is that the one that starts out with 'dashing through the snow'?"

"Yeah. You know it, right?"

"...Yeah. I think I can manage to hum it more or less the right way."

"You could just sing with me, if you're not sure about the actual music."

"Uh...no. My singing sounds like pigs squealing."

"What?" Dick started, then stared at him. "I don't believe that. You're being too hard on yourself."

"No, I'm not. I'm a terrible singer, honestly. I'm good at the music part – I can remember all of the notes really easily – but singing...no. Someone told me once that I could probably get better with lessons, but the problem is that that would necessitate me letting someone hear me sing. Since I don't believe in murder, that's out of the question."

"That's so weird…" Dick shook his head. "I've always wondered why you never sing when you play the piano. Not that you play that often, but still. It's good when you do."

"It's wooden when I do," Tim said, repeating what both his mother and his old instructor had once said. "Like I said, I can repeat the notes just fine, but...I don't know, I guess I don't put the feeling into the music that I'm supposed to. It doesn't flow. Now when you sing...that flows. Anyone can tell that you're feeling the music." He gave a wry smirk. "Bruce should have gotten you piano lessons when you were a kid. You'd be a star now."

"Oh, please. Who wants to be a star? It's too hard to sneak away at night and kick baddie butt when there are cameras pointed at every window of your house 24/7."

"True."

"I do kind of wish I'd learned an instrument, though," Dick went on wistfully. "…Well. I guess it doesn't matter. It's not like it's a skill I've ever needed in the field, you know?"

A beat passed. "Anyway...'Jingle Bells'?" Tim queried, wanting to dispel the vaguely regretful atmosphere that had descended.

"You bet. Hit it!"

They hummed and sang their way through several more tunes, purposefully slowing down their stringing in order to draw out the time. When neither could come up with another song that they both knew well enough to produce from start to finish, they hung their completed garlands on the tree. "Looks good," Dick approved.

"Not too bad," Tim agreed. While Dick's fish eggs had been bright yellow, his own were orange, and together the two strands brightened the spindly pine considerably. "Too bad the thread wasn't a different color than black."

"Yeah...that's okay, though. It's still fabulous."

That was a wild exaggeration, but Tim let it slide. "Do you want to do presents, or should we wait until later so we have something to look forward to?"

Dick arched an eyebrow. "You're talking to the guy who used to try and convince Bruce to start Christmas when he got home from patrol at three in the morning. I don't believe in waiting for presents."

"Oh, good," he smirked. "Glad we're on the same page there."

"Speaking of pages..." Dick pulled the notebook he'd found close and tore out a few sheets. "Here. I figure if we only do three apiece there will still be a couple of surprises left for when we get home."

"Sounds like a plan." While his brother scribbled down gifts with their lone pencil, Tim tried to decide which items he should reveal. By the time the writing utensil was passed to him he had settled on two things, but couldn't pin down the third. Tapping the eraser on the table, he watched Dick's clever fingers fold his gifts into tiny origami shapes. It really was a shame that Bruce hadn't gotten his eldest child music lessons, he mused; if the older man's singing was any indication, he would have been very good at whatever instrument he'd chosen to pursue.

"Gaaah!" he exclaimed suddenly. The idea that had hit him at the end of his thought had been so brilliant, so perfect, that he hadn't been able to keep his excitement fully contained. "It's nothing!" he insisted as Dick looked up, his face concerned. "Just...well...nothing."

"...Okay. If you say so."

He didn't bother trying to make his slips of paper look fancy, knowing from experience that his folding was sub-par at the best of times. Excited as he was about the surprise item he had come up with on the spur of the moment, he was sure he would end up butchering the job. Instead he simply folded each sheet into quarters and placed it under the tree. "Ready?" he asked a bit giddily.

"I am inordinately excited about this," Dick confessed, his eyes shining. "If Bruce and Alfred were here, I think this would be better than normal Christmas. Is that weird?"

"If it is, we're both weird," Tim answered. "You go first."

"You go first."

"No. Oldest goes first."

"No, youngest goes first."

"Dick, open your damn presents! I want to see if you like them!"

"But I want to see if you...Aaugh, okay! Okay. I'll open one, then you open one. We'll go back and forth. Deal?"

"Okay. But hurry up!"

"All right. Is there one I should open first?"

Tim looked down at the tree and realized that he'd forgotten which of the identical pieces of paper contained the gift he was the most anxious about. "Oh, shit..."

"It's okay!" Dick said. "It's okay. This way it's a surprise for both of us. So...ready?"

"Yes!"

As Tim had known would be the case, Dick was delighted with the two items that were waiting for him under tape and bows in Gotham. He was equally pleased with what was revealed on the tiny star and candy cane that he – somewhat regretfully – unfolded. "...Well?" he pressed. "C'mon, open your last one!"

"I think you should open your last one first."

"What? No!" He couldn't wait any longer to know if his stroke of genius had been a success; Dick needed to open his final gift, and right now, or Tim thought he might explode with nervous anticipation. "We agreed on an order."

"But..." Dick sighed. "Okay. You're right, we did agree. I'm just really excited for something you haven't opened yet, that's all."

"Well, so am I, and the quicker you open yours the quicker I can open mine. So open!"

"Alright, here goes..." Two razor-sharp creases were slowly undone. Dick's eyes widened, then darted back and forth as he re-read the note several times. "Timmy..."

"Do you like it?" he pleaded. "It's okay if you don't. It was totally just a random thought I had; I honestly won't be upset if you don't want to do it."

Dick stared at him. "Timmy, I think you need to open your last present."

"But...but do you like it, or not?"

"Tim. Present. Seriously."

He knew what that tone meant; he wasn't getting his answer until he'd done what he'd been told. Feeling distraught – Dick must not have liked it, and was just buying time to figure out how to break the news to him in his usual kind way – he pulled a miniature snowman out from under the scraggly pine's branches. Eyes, a nose, and a scarf had been drawn in on the blank paper, and as he examined them he couldn't help but feel inadequate. Lacking his brother's creativity, he had relied on his last-minute gift from the heart to convey his affection, and he had seemingly failed. With a final glance at Dick's unreadable expression, he undid a dozen different tucks and scanned the two words they had been hiding.

"...Singing lessons," he read quietly. "Wait...singing lessons? You mean..."

"Heh. Yup."

"I gave you...and you gave me..." He crossed his arms. "So you do like your present?"

Dick laughed. "Are you kidding? I love it! You give me piano lessons, I'll give you singing lessons, and at the end of the day we'll both be more musical. It's amazing."

Tim shook his head at the sheet still pinched between his fingers. "...I can't believe we came up with practically the same idea for each other."

"Great minds think alike, little brother," Dick winked. "Now, since we've got time to kill and no piano to play...should we have your first session right now?"

"If you don't mind going home with broken eardrums, sure."

"I'm absolutely positive that you can't be that bad."

"And I'm absolutely positive that you don't know what you've gotten yourself into."

"Eh, that's par for the course." Grinning, Dick leaned back on his hands. "Let's hear those pipes. I want to find out just how deep of a hole I've jumped into."

If there was anyone in the world with whom Tim knew he could share his abysmal singing without having to worry about being teased, it was the man across from him. Nevertheless, he hesitated. "Um..."

"We'll start easy, huh? Try 'The Twelve Days of Christmas'. It's barely even singing, and I know you know all the words."

"I...uh..." What the hell, he thought suddenly. It's not like there's anyone else for a hundred miles who might overhear. The worst-case scenario was that Dick would retract his offer of lessons. Given the man's track record of success in everything he did, though, the odds were much better that Tim would end up no longer ashamed to open his mouth when a good song came on the radio. Besides, it was Christmas and he was happy; what better circumstances could there be in which to find out if his voice could be improved?

Throwing caution to the wind, he smiled and began to sing.

One year later

"...And a haaaappy New Yeeeeear," a pair of well-matched voices drew out. The piano finished the song off with an impromptu flourish, and the audience burst into applause. Tim looked up from his position behind Dick and found Alfred, Bruce, and Clark all nodding appreciatively as they clapped. A tentative grin slipped across his face. They liked it, he marveled. They really liked it.

It had been his brother's idea for them to give a little concert after Christmas Eve dinner. They had both worked hard over the last twelve months to master their respective musical tasks, he had argued, and had earned the opportunity to show off a little. Initially they had planned to perform solely for the other two inhabitants of the house, but Clark had been added at the last minute. The Kryptonian had shown a keen interest in their project to better each other's talents from the moment he'd first heard about their unplanned Siberian holiday, and it would have felt wrong to exclude him from their debut.

Tim had been horribly nervous all through the meal despite the fact that he now possessed a great deal more confidence in his singing than he ever had before. Looking back to half an hour earlier, he wasn't sure why he'd felt that way; after all, their listeners were people who would still care about them even if they'd been terrible, and he and Dick had practiced together so frequently over the past few weeks that they could almost have performed in their sleep. But he supposed that it didn't really matter what kind of flips his stomach had done all through the vegetable course now that the show was over. He had managed the impossible and sung, really, truly sung, in front of other people, and that was all he cared about.

Well, that and the man who had gotten him to this point. "Nice playing," he complimented him sincerely. "You've definitely got that smoothness that I lack."

"It was lovely, Master Dick," Alfred agreed. "As was your singing, Master Tim. The pair of you put on an excellent show."

"What do you think, Timmy?" Dick joked. "You heard Alfred. Should we set up a lights show and some fireworks and take this concert thing all the way?"

"Considering that we've only practiced Christmas carols, we'd have a pretty limited window on the calendar," he replied, amused.

"But we could dress up like reindeer and squeeze in some aerial work so the kids would think we were flying!"

"Sure, but how would you get the piano to go with you so that you could play and fly at the same time?" Clark pitched in.

"Don't ask questions like that in this house." Bruce's tone carried a hint of rebuke, but he was smirking. "They tend to get answered, and I don't particularly want to come home from work next week to find an extremely heavy family heirloom dangling from the ceiling."

"How about the week after that?" Dick riposted immediately. "Can we do it then?"

"He'll be Chicago that week," Tim rejoined the fun. "He'd never know if we did."

"You're forgetting Alfred," the billionaire said lazily, clearly assuming that the butler would play informant in his absence.

"Oh, I don't know, sir," Alfred deadpanned. "Musical flying reindeer sound rather amusing. It would make a wonderful fundraiser for the Foundation, I think, and where better for the boys to practice but here at home?" He paused just long enough for Bruce to turn an incredulous look in his direction. "It's certainly a better rehearsal venue than Siberia, don't you agree?"

"I...do not have words for that. Just...no words."

"There's a first," Clark jested. "A speechless Bruce Wayne. That's worthy of page two, at least. Might even warrant the front headline."

Bruce narrowed his eyes at the visitor. "Who invited you, again?"

"Dick did."

"I invited him to come along for lights, too," Dick announced.

"...Is he riding on the roof?"

"Bru-uce..." A pout began to form. "Be nice. It's Christmas!"

The billionaire sighed. "...All right. I'll squish into the back with you two so there's room for him in the front seat. Is that acceptable?" he directed at the Kryptonian.

Clark just sent him a half-teasing, half-serious smile. "Acceptable? It's probably the best Christmas present I'll get all season."

"I'll go and fetch the car, then," Alfred said. "Shall we all meet in the foyer in five minutes?"

"Yes," Bruce said. As he stood up, he addressed Clark once more. "...You need to borrow a jacket so you don't look ridiculous riding around in ten degree weather without one."

It had been a directive, not a question, but Clark nodded anyway. "That would be great. Thanks."

Tim made to follow the three older men towards the Manor's main entrance, but Dick's hand gripped his elbow and held him back gently. "We'll catch up in a second," his brother said when Bruce sent them a questioning look.

"...What's up?" he asked once they were alone.

"Nothing major. I just wanted to check in. I know you were nervous about the show, but...did you have fun?"

"You know something? I did." He felt faint heat rise into his cheeks. "And it would never have happened if you hadn't given me singing lessons. So...you know...thanks."

"Thank you for the piano lessons."

"No problem." He looked around the living room then, taking in the tall, fine tree with its antique ornaments, the heavy pitchers of cider and eggnog on the sideboard, and the stacks of gaily wrapped packages waiting for morning. It was a beautiful picture, but experience had caused its luster to fade a little in his eyes. "It's funny," he remarked. "I kind of miss the cabin. I feel like something's almost...almost missing here, you know?"

An arm landed across his shoulders. "Nah," Dick denied. "Nothing's missing, Timmy. We're all right here, and that's what matters. The rest is just window-dressing." There was a quick squeeze, and then he was released. "Now c'mon. Lights viewing might just be a Christmas frill, but it's a good one. Let's go do it together, huh?"

Tim smiled. "Together," he nodded. That really was the best part of the season, it was true. "Let's go check out that window dressing...together."

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed this little bro-bonding romp! For those who are interested, I will be posting a picture of the 'fish eggs' that the boys used for garland on my blog shortly. A little later I will post a floor plan for both the plane and the cabin. The plane floor plan is also applicable to 'Tectonic Doom', so be sure to check that out for a little extra insight into that story.

Tomorrow we'll have a little fun with young Dick and eggnog, so stay tuned!