Thanks to: My ever wonderful beta, BookJunkie. This story is for you girl.
December 1
A hand on his hip and his gray-blue eyes narrowed in a fierce glare, Damian scowled at the word 'December' written in neat black letters at the top of the calendar on his wall.
It felt like only yesterday that he had had to endure this accursed month.
Damian had nothing against December. Truly. It was not like he hated it or anything, because that would be silly, not to mention childish. And he was anything but. It was just…
His glare became fiercer as his eyes zoned in on the number 25 inked in red.
Christmas.
Damian hated Christmas. He loathed it. He despised it. Because on Christmas he was expected to give gifts. He would need to give a gift each to Dick and his father, if nothing else.
The problem was with Dick.
Damian knew that his self-proclaimed brother would be grateful for – even pleasantly surprised by – whatever he gave him. And that was what made it so difficult; he wanted to give Dick something that he really liked.
Of course, he had a basic understanding of what Dick liked – good food, comedy movies – but he wanted to give something special. Something that Dick would remember, and, more importantly, something that would stand out amongst all of the other gifts Dick would receive. Knowing approximately the number of friends his brother had collected over the years, Damian had no doubt that Dick would be getting many gifts for Christmas.
'Oh, screw this,' Damian thought angrily. All of this thinking had given him a massive headache. He would simply ask Dick himself what he wanted. It would be like pulling off a Band-aid, he mused. The faster you got it done, the less bothersome it would be.
Damian stomped off Dick's room, looking more like he was planning to murder someone, with the determined scowl that was etched on his face, rather than asking a simple question.
Arms crossed across his chest and foot tapping rhythmically against the floor, Damian was the perfect image of impatience. "If you could ask for one thing, and one thing only, what would it be?" he demanded, without any preamble.
It showed how used to Damian Dick was that instead of blurting the first thing that came into his mind – probably something along the lines of "What are you talking about?" – he simply blinked. Damian could tell that Dick wanted to know more about Damian's seemingly out of the blue question, but since their partnership – however brief it had been – Dick had learned never to answer Damian's questions with questions of his own.
So after a moment, he answered, "Jason."
Damian frowned. For the briefest moment he felt a pang of… hurt strike his heart. 'Aren't I enough?' he wanted to ask, but he clamped his mouth shut and pushed the hurt aside, resolutely. "Fine," he nodded curtly, all-business like. He was about to turn and leave, mind already whirling with what he needed to prepare, when he felt Dick's hand on his upper arm. The grip was gentle yet firm enough that Damian could not simply shrug it off.
"Hey," Dick's voice was soft as he turned Damian around so they could talk face to face. "It's not that I don't want you, because I do," he threw a grin at Damian, who rolled his eyes.
'Leave it to Dick to be so damn cheesy,' Damian thought, not fondly though not unkindly either. His body automatically began to relax.
"It's just… It'd be nice to have everyone around for the holidays," Dick smiled wistfully, "but since you said I could only ask for one thing…" he trailed off. A hint of a smirk could be seen on Damian's face, but before he could make some snarky remark about favoritism, Dick continued. "No, I'm not playing favorites. The reason I chose Jay is because, out of everyone, he's the hardest one to convince to come back home."
"And when you say convince, you mean blackmail, right?" Damian asked, an eyebrow raised haughtily, lips tugged up in a grin.
Dick rolled his eyes, though he smiled fondly. "I mean persuade," he deadpanned.
"Of course," Damian drawled condescendingly.
Dick shook his head. "Yeah, it would be… nice to have him back," he admitted quietly, lowering his eyes, his smile fading for the briefest moment. "But, hey, you can't always get what you want," he finished too cheerfully. Damian merely stared, unimpressed, at the wide grin plastered back on his face, so Dick let the smile fade. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. Damian frowned. It was as though Dick was tired of hoping, and yet he could not help but hope. Damian knew Dick was too stubborn to give up on anyone, let alone one of his so-called brothers. Dick was stupid that way.
Dick's hope would be in vain, if left to chance.
But Damian would not leave it to chance. He would interfere, and he would not fail. If Todd was what Dick wanted for Christmas, then it was Todd he would get.
"Okay," Damian said, gray-blue eyes steely in determination. "Considered it done." With that he turned around and walked away, leaving a confused Dick behind.
"Huh? What was that about?"
December 2
When Jason had started his patrol, he had hoped that it would be just a normal night. First he would find some stupid criminals to beat (and kill if their crimes warranted it). Then, knowing his luck (which was rotten to the core), he would cross paths with some members of his so-called family (namely Bruce and the Demon Brat, maybe even Golden Boy). He would spit out insults and fire bullets in their general direction, to prove he had not gone soft. If he missed every one of his targets on purpose, no one needed to know.
If it was Goldie, there was a good chance he would ask Jason to come home. This was an offer Jason had always refused and he would continue to do so. He did not understand why Goldie kept asking; for someone supposedly so smart, Dick could be so damn stupid. Then again, maybe it was not stupidity motivating him, but the sheer stubbornness that ran through all members of the bat-family.
The two of them would banter for awhile, throwing insults back and forth, which would end with a smirking Jason and a sulking Goldie, and if the Demon Brat was around he'd get offended on Goldie's behalf and attack him. Jason would win, of fucking course, and while he would move to kill the Brat (even if the attempt was half-hearted at best) Goldie would stop him. The night would end with Jason beating a tactical retreat. The routine, or variations thereof, was not ideal, far from it, but at least he knew what he could expect.
So when Demon Brat came to him alone (how the boy was able to lose both Batman and Nightwing, Jason did not know), he knew that his hope for a normal night had not merely been dashed, but also stomped and spat on, and left to die a slow and painful death.
"What do you want?" Jason was not in the mood to beat around the bush. The only reason he did not attack Brat right away was because the number of attempts the kid had made on his life had lessened significantly lately. Jason was merely returning the favor.
Jason would not say he was surprised – no, of course not, not at all – when instead of answering his question, Brat brandished a katana. The kid pointed the sword it at Jason with a smirk on his face before he dashed forward, slashing in a wide horizontal arc.
Jason sighed as he ducked. "I thought I was your favorite brother after Dickie Bird, Brat?" he asked, not even trying to hide the mocking tone in his voice. He flipped backwards as he pulled a blade from its sheath on his back. Brat was using a katana, so it was only right for Jason to use his own long knife instead of one of his guns. Not that he was going to go easy on the kid. Jason was an honorable person with a strict sense of fairness, the fact that he was fighting someone much smaller than him, notwithstanding.
"My favorite? You wish," Brat snorted derisively as he went once more on the offensive; this time, aiming for the stomach. Jason sidestepped the attack, effortlessly. He raised his arm, planning to strike the back of Brat's head with the handle of his knife, but the Brat quickly rolled forward and Jason's hand met nothing but air. Demon Brat got to his feet in one fluid movement, smirking smugly at Jason. "I merely tolerate your presence."
Jason's trigger finger twitched in annoyance. He was itching to simply take one of his guns and empty its clip on Brat, but he suppressed the urge. Killing the boy was not an option. Though Jason had no problem hurting the kid, that would just anger Dickie Bird, which was Bad (with capital B. No, he was not exaggerating). He wouldn't say he was afraid of his self-proclaimed older brother, but then Dickie Bird was not called 'the scariest mother hen on this side of the galaxy' for nothing.
As if reading Jason's thought, Brat's grin became even smugger. Then, with a surprising burst of speed, he charged, the katana in his hand reduced to a blurry flash of steel.
Jason would have been caught off guard, had he not been trained by Batman. As it was though, he was ready for practically everything. So instead of panicking he stayed calm, dodging the attacks smoothly while his eyes assessed the situation, looking for any little opening Brat might have left. Unfortunately, there was none. Being forced to be on the defensive annoyed the hell out of him, but Jason refused to let his anger control him.
Sooner or later the kid would make a mistake. Then, and only then, would Jason strike back. It was going to be so sweet, he could already taste it... He just hoped it would be sooner, rather than later. His patience, however little there was to begin with, was wearing thin, and fast.
Fortunately, just when he was about to snap – To hell with Dickie bird! I am so going to kill the kid! – Brat leapt back, quickly putting some distance between them.
And for a moment, there they stood, staring at each other with eyes narrowed in suspicion, Brat with his katana gripped tightly in one hand and Jason crouched in a defensive stance with a blade of his own, his hand itching to reach for his gun.
"Why can't you just stand still!" Brat growled, pointing his weapon at Jason. If Jason didn't know any better, he would say Brat was whining. For one bizarre moment, he thought the spawn of Satan might start stomping his feet like a kid throwing a tantrum. Brat did not. He merely tightened his grip on his katana.
Jason raised an eyebrow. Despite his earlier anger, the situation was beginning to amuse him. After all, it was not every day you saw the Demon Brat acting like a real child. "And let you run me through with your oversized toothpick?" Jason asked, hoping to rile the kid up. "Nope," he said, popping the 'p', "I don't need any new holes in my body, thank you very much."
Brat glowered. "But I don't plan to kill you," he said, as if it justified his earlier attacks. He sounded like he was sulking. Probably because he was. "Not yet anyway." Though the words were muttered under the boy's breath, Jason heard them anyway. He decided to not call the kid on it. At least for now.
"So," Jason drawled in the way that he knew annoyed the Brat. To his satisfaction, Brat was already starting to grind his teeth in irritation. "If you don't want to kill me, what do you want from me?" he asked, humoring the little rascal.
"I want to give you to Dick," the kid said with a serious expression on his face. Even by the bat family's standards, the Brat's answer was just plain bizarre. In fact, it was so mind-numbingly bizarre that, for a moment, all Jason could do was stare at him.
Then Jason's lips began to twitch and not a second later, he started to laugh. He wrapped his arms around his middle as he doubled over, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. Had he worn his helmet tonight he would be risking suffocation.
The Demon Brat scowled, though, if Jason squinted he could see a touch of red coloring his cheeks. "I'm serious," the kid said, standing his ground.
"I know," Jason wheezed between bursts of roaring laughter "That makes it all the more funny." Once his laughter had died down, he began wiping the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand. "Okay, so let's pretend for a second that you are actually able to beat me." His eyes flashed then, dark and dangerous, but with the barest trace of genuine mirth. "What would you do, hm? Shove me in a box and give me to Dickie Bird as some sort of offering?" he asked, sarcasm coating every word.
Brat blinked. For a second, he looked like an innocent kid. Jason snorted at the thought. The little rascal might still be a kid, but he was anything but innocent.
"Not an offering," Brat answered slowly, as if Jason was retarded ('More like the other way around,' Jason thought heatedly). "A gift," he continued, before elaborating, "a Christmas gift."
Jason bit his lip, trying hard not to laugh. Okay, that was a lie. He wasn't trying all that hard.
"What's so funny?" the Brat demanded, while throwing a few batarangs Jason's way.
Laughing still, Jason leapt, tumbling gracelessly, out of the way. "You do realize that when Dickie Bird said he wanted me as a present, he did not mean it literally, right?" he asked, once he had gotten his laughter under control.
Silence ensued.
"How do you know he did not mean it literally?" Brat asked, the crinkling of his mask indicating the narrowing of the eyes behind it.
Jason just stared. And stared. And stared some more. He wondered if the Brat might be pulling his leg. After all, even he knew that kidnapping people and wrapping them up as presents was wrong. But Brat said nothing. He merely waited for Jason's answer with one hand on his hip.
"You're not… You can't be…" Jason was at a loss for words. He shook his head in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me!" he cried out, throwing up his arms in frustration. "I know you're an amateur when it comes to being social—" though the Brat was glaring menacingly at him, Jason ignored it, "but you can't be that inept. Surely, you know that it's not normal to give people as gifts?!"
"Because our lives are the perfect image of normalcy, right?" Demon Brat asked sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
"Shut up, brat!" Jason barked, trying to sound angry but unable to hide his grin. While fighting always lifted his mood, trading insults back and forth felt just as satisfying. "I'm trying to help here!"
"Right, with all your relationship experience."
"Well, at least I know what a guy means when he asks for another person for Christmas!"
Brat scowled. "Then, will you kindly explain to me what he meant, oh master?" he asked, voice tinged, no, drenched in sarcasm. But Jason knew it was the boy's way of actually asking for advice. So rather than taking offence, he simply grinned and put his knife back in its sheath. The little rascal did the same with his own weapon, while narrowing his eyes in suspicion. Then, warily, with his shoulder hunched defensively, he moved closer to Jason.
Jason rolled his eyes. "Relax, kid. I said I wanted to help, didn't I?"
"You are not the most trustworthy person, Todd," was Brat's smartass reply.
"Yet, here you are asking for my help," Jason pointed out with a smug smirk.
"I have not asked for your help."
"Of course not," Jason said, patting Brat's head patronizingly. In a second, the boy had his katana back in his hand, making a vertical swipe in an attempt to sever Jason's hand. Expecting the attack, Jason pulled his hand away fast, grinning all the while. "Now, now, if you don't behave, I won't help you," he tutted, wiggling his fingers in front of the Brat's face.
Although the little punk glared heatedly back at him, he re-sheathed his katana. "Okay, the first thing you need to know is…" Jason trailed off, blinking. There was one itty bitty detail that had escaped his attention while he was busy fighting and laughing at the Brat. "Wait, did Dickie Bird really say he wants me for Christmas?" he asked, curious despite himself.
Brat crossed his arms across his chest before answering, matter-of-factly. "I asked him what he would have if he could have one wish. He said he wanted you. Apparently you are, and I quote, 'the hardest one to convince to come back home.'" He glared menacingly at Jason, as if he were the one at fault for Dick's wish to have him back.
But Jason was too busy trying to deal with the sudden warm, fuzzy feeling that had taken hold of him to notice the Brat's glare. He quickly squashed the feeling down and shook his head to reorient himself. "Okay," he said, slinging an arm around the kid's shoulders. Demon Brat narrowed his eyes at him, though he said nothing. And even if he was as stiff as a board, he did not try to shrug Jason's arm off.
It seemed the Brat was truly in dire need of his help if he was willing to put up with Jason's usual bullshit.
Jason grinned from ear to ear. "The first thing you need to know is," he repeated, nodding sagely, "that when Dickie Bird said he wanted me as a present, he did not mean it literally."
"What did he mean then?" Brat asked, radiating genuine confusion with furrowed brows and his head tilted to expectantly to the side.
"He just wants me to…" Jason trailed off, not quite sure how to finish that particular sentence. 'Come home,' his brain supplied, rather unhelpfully. The Manor was not his home. It had not been his home for quite some time. He searched for another way to say it. "… come to the Manor for Christmas."
"Oh." was all the Brat said, his face lowered and shoulders bowed. He looked so crestfallen that Jason could not help but feel a rush of sympathy.
'This is all Dick's fault, anyway,' Jason thought viciously, soothing himself by blaming his 'older brother.' He should've known that Dami—the Brat is socially challenged and that he'd take him literally. Wasn't he Da—the Demon Brat's mentor?
Jason was so deep in thought that it took him seconds to realize that Damian was staring at him. Intensely.
"What?" Jason asked gruffly, though his tone was softer than usual.
Damian said nothing. His eyes were locked on Jason's face and his head was tilted to the side in a sure sign that he was thinking.
'Just like Dick,' Jason could not help but notice.
"If Dick wants you home," Damian started slowly, as if he wanted to make sure that every word he said came out right, "shouldn't I bring you home," he continued, gaining more confidence as he went on, "by any means necessary?" there was no trace of uncertainty left in his voice as he looked his 'brother' in the eye.
Jason did not like the look on Damian's face. Not. At. All. "It won't work," he said in an eerily cheerful voice. His smile was far too wide to be considered normal.
Damian frowned. "Why not?" There was the hint of a challenge in his stance.
Jason rolled his eyes. 'Waynes and their pride,' he thought snidely. There was a traitorous whisper in the back of his mind about pots and kettle, but he ignored it. "Because you can't beat me," he said, tilting his head back arrogantly and his earlier fake smile morphing into a smug grin.
Damian narrowed his eyes. "I can," he insisted.
Jason rolled his eyes again. Apparently, stubbornness also ran in the Wayne family. 'Which makes you a Wayne,' the same voice from before chimed in cheerfully. He pushed it to the darkest corner of his mind. "And even if you could, your plan wouldn't work anyway." His smug grin had yet to fade. Damian opened his mouth, about to argue, no doubt, but Jason continued before the boy could get in a word. "Because I plan on coming back, anyway. By my own will. Which means you can't claim me as your gift." Jason smiled sweetly as Damian glowered up at him.
Then Damian pouted.
… Wait, what? Jason took a second look.
Damian was pouting, his arms crossed against his chest, his lower lip jutted out and… were those tears in his eyes or was that just a trick of the light?
'Aw.' And now Jason felt bad, like he had just kicked a puppy. A rabid puppy that would bite with you its razor-sharp teeth, sure, but a puppy nonetheless.
"Don't worry about it, kid. I have an idea," the words came out before Jason could stop himself. Damian's head snapped up to look at him, the hope in his eyes so painfully clear that Jason wasn't quite sure what to do with it. "Did you know that some people value handmade gifts far more than anything you can buy? And Dickie Bird's definitely one of those people."
Damian's eyes widened as if he had never thought about it before. And maybe he never had; Jason was pretty sure the kid had never celebrated Christmas before he came to Gotham. That was probably one big reason Damian hadn't mastered the art of gift giving. Jason imagined being raised as an assassin was another.
"What could I make for him?" Damian asked, looking at Jason as much reverence as if he had hung the moon in the sky.
Jason rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. He could handle people looking at him with fear in their eyes – he was used to it – but admiration?
"A scarf?" Jason blurted out. It was the first thing that had come to his mind, and he winced when he realized how stupid it was. He expected the kid to scowl at him, or even punch him in the face (and he would take it too, because he deserved it), but, to his surprise, Damian's face lit up.
"That makes sense." Damian nodded in agreement. "Gotham is always cold anyway, so he can use it any time of the year."
"Er." was all Jason could say. He did not have the heart to tell the kid what he really thought of his idea, so he said nothing.
"Thank you," Damian said in far too serious a tone, nodding gratefully. It made Jason's skin itch. Who taught this kid how to thank people so properly?
"Um, don't mention it," Jason said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. He was eager to put their conversation, or better yet, this whole night, behind him.
"Is... Is there anything you want for…" Damian trailed off, awkwardly.
Jason wanted to say, 'Joker's head on a silver plate,' but, fortunately, he was able to stop himself in the nick of time. He thought of Dick's wish, the one that had started this whole fiasco in the first place. "Nothing," he said instead, forcing a smile to his lips.
Damian did not press the issue, he merely looked Jason up and down, his sharp eyes assessing the man in front of him critically. "I must say you could do with a new jacket," he said in the end, with a smirk.
"Whatever, brat," Jason shot back. His insult lacked the usual heat. There was exasperation in his voice and, maybe, a little fondness. Only a little.
To be continued...
A/N: Anyone notices Jason stopped calling Damian "Demon Brat" and started calling the kid by his name half way through his part? That WAS intentional.
Thanks you for all of you who have faved/followed my stories/myself. And many thanks to you, reviewers. I don't live to get reviews though I do love them. I squeal with delight when someone tells me that my story can make them laugh/smile. Playing Santa will have another chapter (that is done already, it only needs to be polished just a little). Probably, I will update this story next week. Keyword: probably.
I also post this story on my friends' website (yotsunoha. moe (delete the space)) on which you can also find a little bit extra of Behind the Scene. I've always wanted to share some of "Behind the Scene" things. The only reason I never did was because I did not like to write a long A/N.
And, does anyone here happen to be an artist or know someone who love to do fanarts? I need cover pictures for my stories, including this one. It will be a great help, if you can point me in the right direction, so to speak. Of course, I'll put the artist's name and maybe offer a fic in return. So, anyone can help?
Disclaimer: Nope. Me no own.