Wayne Manor glowed with warm light against the cold Gotham night, Christmas tree sparkling in the corner of the living room. The Batfamily—this strange, mismatched collection of vigilantes and siblings—were gathered together, for once not on a mission, but celebrating.

Tim sat slouched in an armchair, a mug of coffee clutched in his hands. His eyes were half-lidded, body leaning like he might fall asleep mid-sip. No one was surprised.

“Supposed to be decorating cookies, Timmy,” Steph called from the table, where she and Cass were covered in flour and sprinkles. Steph was sticking candy eyes on a gingerbread man; Cass simply dabbed icing in delicate patterns with surgical precision.

Tim raised his mug without looking up. “This is me helping.”

Jason barked out a laugh from the couch. He was leaned back, one arm draped over the backrest, the other pointing at Damian. “Nice hoodie, demon brat. What’s next? Gonna braid Cat Pennyworth’s fur to match?”

Damian scowled, arms crossed tightly over his chest. The green Christmas hoodie Dick had forced on him was patterned with tiny reindeer and bats, the hood pulled up to cover part of his face. On his lap, Cat Pennyworth purred contentedly, also dressed in a miniature hoodie.

“They are comfortable,” Damian said stiffly, glaring as if daring anyone else to mock him.

“Adorable,” Jason snorted.

Meanwhile, Dick was practically glowing. He bounced from one end of the room to the other, making sure the stockings were hung evenly, the ornaments weren’t crooked, and that everyone was “having the best Christmas EVER.” His own Christmas hoodie had a giant blinking Rudolph nose sewn onto it, courtesy of Alfred, who stood nearby with a tray of freshly baked cookies.

“Don’t think I’ve seen the manor this lively in years,” Alfred said, his voice carrying a touch of fondness as he set the tray down.

Bruce entered then, quiet as ever, carrying another box of ornaments. He set it by the tree and gave a small nod, taking in the chaos that was somehow… peaceful. Steph laughing as Cass put a sprinkle star on her nose, Jason stealing cookies when Alfred wasn’t looking, Dick tying tinsel around Damian’s shoulders while the boy threatened to “end him.” Even Tim, despite his exhaustion, had slumped closer to the table, hand lazily reaching for an icing tube.

For once, Gotham could wait. Tonight was theirs.

Christmas at Wayne Manor wasn’t perfect—it was messy, loud, filled with bickering and teasing—but it was home. And, against all odds, they were together.