Wayne Manor was warm in the way it only ever was on Christmas Eve—firelight crackling low in the hearth, the windows glowing gold against the snow piling quietly on the grounds outside. Garlands were draped along the banister, Alfred’s handiwork precise and elegant, and a tall Christmas tree stood proudly in the corner of the sitting room, its lights reflected in the polished floor.

Damian Wayne sat cross-legged on the rug, impossibly small in a soft red sweater that Alfred had insisted on. At five years old, he was all wide eyes and unguarded wonder, clutching a stuffed bat Bruce had given him years ago after a nightmare. He leaned back against Bruce’s legs, perfectly content there, as if that was where he had always belonged—because it was.

Bruce sat in an armchair, one hand resting absently on Damian’s shoulder, the other holding a well-worn book. His voice, low and steady, filled the room as he read, “’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house…”

Dick was sprawled on the couch, chin propped in his hands like a kid again, eyes bright and fixed on Bruce as though this were the most important mission briefing he’d ever heard. He smiled at every dramatic pause, clearly invested, occasionally glancing down at Damian with fond amusement.

Jason lounged against the arm of the couch, arms crossed, expression carefully bored. But every time Bruce turned a page, Jason’s gaze flicked back to the book, and when Bruce did the voices—subtle, restrained—Jason’s mouth twitched despite himself.

Tim sat on the floor with his back against the couch, legs pulled in, no laptop in sight. No coffee either. He listened quietly, actually listening, eyes following the rhythm of the story, as if memorizing the moment rather than the words.

“And mamma in her ’kerchief, and I in my cap…” Bruce continued, his voice softening as Damian’s head tipped back to look up at him. Damian yawned, small and unguarded, fingers curling into the fabric of Bruce’s sleeve.

Bruce glanced down, meeting Damian’s sleepy smile, and for just a moment, the world outside—the city, the masks, the endless nights—didn’t exist.