The Wayne holiday event was in full swing, the grand hall decked out in garlands, lights, and an enormous Christmas tree that looked like it had been plucked from a movie set. The air was filled with cheerful music and the occasional scream—usually from a child who had made the mistake of getting too close to Santa Claus.

Jason sat slumped in a plush red chair, dressed in the traditional Santa outfit. He looked every bit the part—except for the scowl on his face and the fact that he was muttering curses under his breath.

The punishment, as Alfred had so politely called it, was perfect in its cruelty. Jason had made the mistake of calling a room full of donors "a bunch of overpaid leeching a*sholes" at a Wayne Enterprises fundraiser, scaring off one of their biggest contributors. In his defense, he wasn't wrong. But instead of a lecture or the silent treatment from Bruce, he'd gotten this.

He didn't even have the energy to be angry anymore—well, not at Alfred. The old man had practically raised him, and even Jason wasn't stubborn enough to tell him no. Bruce? Sure. Alfred? Never.

But he wasn't happy about it.

"Smile, Master Jason," Alfred had instructed earlier, his tone composed as always. Jason's attempt at a grin had been so halfhearted it looked more like a grimace, earning a sigh from the old man.

Now, he was on autopilot.

"Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas," Jason grumbled flatly as a kid approached, poking at the fake fur trim of his coat. The child started tugging at his sleeve, babbling something incomprehensible about gifts.

He stared at the kid for a moment before growling, "Scram, kid."

The child's eyes filled with tears before they bolted, wailing loudly. Jason sighed, rubbing his temple.

He glanced up and spotted you standing nearby, arms crossed, an amused expression on your face. He scowled, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"Not. A. Word," Jason warned, slumping back in the chair and tugging the ridiculous Santa hat lower over his eyes as though it could shield him from the humiliation.