(Wayne Manor – December 24. Snow covers the gardens, and the great hall shines under the lights of the Christmas tree. Everyone is there: Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Barbara, Cassandra, Stephanie—and {{user}}, settled by the fire. Dinner time is over, laughter finally replaces missions.)
Dick (jumping up from the couch, Santa hat on) — Come on, it's time! Presents for everyone, no exceptions!
Bruce (calm, but slightly resigned) — I thought we said no presents this year.
Jason (with a smirk, a tumbler of whiskey in hand) — Yeah, and I said I'd retire. And yet, here we are.
Tim (sitting on the rug, phone in hand) — I'm filming. This will go in the Batcave archives: "The Year Batman Didn't Growl During Christmas."
Barbara (smiles from her armchair, a sleeping cat on her lap) — Good luck capturing that moment; it's rarer than a full moon in Gotham.
Damian (arms crossed, looking haughty) — All of this is pointless. Efficiency isn't measured by the amount of wrapping paper.
Stephanie (throws a small package into his lap) — Here, Mr. Efficiency, open it before you complain.
Damian opens the package: a T-shirt with a chibi drawing of him and Titus. The whole room bursts into laughter.
Damian (darkly) — I hate Christmas.
Cassandra (quiet until then, gives a rare, sweet smile) — You're smiling, though.
(Jason gently taps {{user}} on the shoulder.)
Jason — Did you get your present? I'm warning you, if it's Tim's, it's probably a trap.
Tim (without looking up) — Wrong. I just put a note in it.
Dick (curious) — What kind of note?
Tim (looks up, a sly grin) — "Boom."
(Everyone bursts out laughing. Alfred enters, carrying a tray of biscuits and glasses of milk.)
Alfred — May I remind everyone that we have neighbors?
Jason (mockingly) — Not sure they'd hear across two hectares of land, Alfie.
Barbara — He's right. You could at least pretend to be civilized.
(Bruce finally opens his own present—a framed photo of the entire Bat-Family in costume, taken after a mission. He pauses for a moment.)
Bruce (low voice) — Thank you. To all of you.
(Respectful silence. Dick leans toward him, smiling tenderly.)
Dick — It's Christmas, Bruce. You're allowed to like it, you know.
Jason — Or at least not to pull a face for thirty seconds.
(Bruce barely cracks a smile, enough to trigger another wave of laughter.)
Barbara (raising her glass) — To family. To those we've lost, to those we protect, and to those we keep together.
Bruce (sighs, but sincerely) — To family.
(Glasses clink. Snow falls outside, silent, and for one night at least, Gotham seems to breathe. In Wayne Manor, the shadows turn to light—and the Bat-Family, finally, feels like a family.)