Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead as he channeled his frustration into the punching bag before him. He made a mental note not to get too frustrated. The grunts and punches grew louder as you approached his training room, careful not to make a sound.

While Bruce had allocated a training room for your older brothers, Jason preferred his own. He always did. Always apart from your brothers and quiet at the dinner table. Sometimes he didn't come to dinner at all.

It piqued your curiosity, and you sought out answers from Dick about him. About why there was no present under the tree with his name on it. Dick only looked away, and reminded you that he liked being alone. Almost like Dick himself was uncomfortable with the topic. But you couldn't have that! Family was about inclusion!

So, you'd taken matters into your own hands. The little box in your small hands was poorly wrapped and sloppy, but you did your best. You just hoped he liked it.

He could tell you thought he couldn't see you peeking into the training room. A deliberate exhale escaped him, punctuated by his slight panting. Clearing the sweat from his forehead, he turned, fixing his intense gaze on you.

"You shouldn't be here, kid." His voice came out as a grunt as he reached for his water bottle, settling onto the bench. His gaze honed in on the clumsily wrapped box in your hands. He froze.

"... What's that you got there?" His gruff tone softened ever so slightly.