Tim yawned as he finally headed for home. It had been a long day-long week actually-and he must look awful considering that Jason had offered to escort him home. The Red Hood hadn't looked particularly great himself, and Tim dismissed the offer with the promise to alert Babs to his safe arrival home.

Home, where a great deal of uneaten food and unused decorations awaited Tim's attention before he could simply fall into bed.

He had planned the perfect-quiet-Christmas Eve celebration for family and friends to take the edge off the annual Gala. Alfred and Jason had assisted with the food preparation, while Dick and a reluctant Damian had volunteered to help Tim put up the decorations this afternoon.

That task had fallen by the wayside when the Arkham Christmas Party got out of hand. It was a Gotham-wide call that had the bats and their allies spending the better part of the day corralling the fruitcake-covered criminals before any kind of organized effort at wrongdoing could be made.

Tim had spent half an hour soothing Harley's relationship woes in the name of peace and goodwill toward all mankind. It cost him his dignity, and a couple thousand dollars, but Tim considered himself lucky; Stephanie had been forced to mediate Harvey Dent's two-sided argument with himself while Damian suffered the Riddler's seasonal puns.

By the time Arkham was sorted, they were late to their own Gala and ready to call it a night. By the time the more public-face Waynes could slip away, Bruce was actually carrying a slumbering Damian and no one had seen Dick in an hour or two.

Tim still had reports to complete and a diamond necklace to replace, but he'd sent Alfred and the others on their way. It took longer to find a reputable jeweler open late on Christmas Eve, than it did to finish reports to Batman's standard. When Tim finally left the Bat Cave behind, the sun was creeping up to highlight the snow-covered city and there would be even more publicity events to attend in the afternoon.

"Red Robin to Oracle," he murmured into the comlink as his apartment came into view. "Heading in for that 'long winter's nap.' Happy Christmas."

"You too, Tiny Tim," Babs teased him back. "Enjoy your present."

Tim didn't have time to puzzle that one out before the lock on his apartment gave way to a surprising sight. Apparently the blackout curtains that Tim had purchased to keep the sun out after long patrols were also capable of completely obscuring the loudly blinking Christmas lights that seemed to be strung at random. Tim recognized Dick's hand in the decorating by the mistletoe hanging in every doorway, but Alfred was the one reorganizing Tim's refrigerator to store the majority of the food.

"Ah, Master Timothy," the butler greeted him gently. "Do be so kind as to take that platter into the sitting room, young sir."

Tim blinked. His apartment doesn't have a sitting room. It does, however, have a room devoted to the splendid bigscreen TV and his gaming consoles. From the sounds of it, his entertainment system had been hijacked to play How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

To be honest, Tim really only expected Dick as he obeyed the omniscent butler. Dick hated to let anything go to waste, and the lopsided decorations explained his early disappearance from the Gala.

Tim's expectations were ridiculously small and therefore, he was pleased to find his entire family waiting for him . . . even if more than half of them were already asleep.

"About time, Drake, Damian snorted from where Cass had him pinned against her side on the loveseat. "Pass the gingerbread."

Since it's Christmas, Tim graciously conceded the platter of treats. Cass gave him a benevolent smile, and tilted her head to indicate the rest of their slumbering family.

Bruce was dead to the world in the oversized recliner. Steph was sleeping in the corner of the sofa, where Dick had also sprawled to cover every available inch of space. His head was in her lap, and every time Dick mumbled something in his sleep, Steph would sleepily stroke his hair until he quieted. Jason was sleeping upright against Steph's feet with a lopsided throw pillow curled against his chest.

"Amateurs," Damian scoffed, clearly rejuvenated from his earlier nap. "Grayson insisted that I be educated in the alarmingly broad field of Christmas specials, but he didn't even make it through his precious Rudolph: the Red-Nosed Reindeer."

"To be fair, Rudolph is kind of lacking an organized plot structure," Tim offered mildly, as he squeezed into the narrow space on Cassandra's other side. She swatted at him playfully (although still hard enough to sting).

"Hush," she commanded them both. "Rudolph is about acceptance. And the power of friendship."

Cass may have absorbed a little too much of Dick Grayson's holiday special lecture, but she seems just as enchanted with her umpteenth review as she had the very first time Dick had sat the younger vigilantes down for a marathon.

"And the Grinch?" Tim played along.

"Inevitability," Cass pronounced, making Tim laugh and Damian scowl as the assassin child hastily reassessed the story for said-moral.

And this was good. The sound of Dick snoring softly, the familliar movies on the screen, a cookie in hand, and Cass' warm weight against his side made up a security blanket that could dull even Damian's barbed speech as a whispered movie discussion began. It turned out that both Tim and Damian were pro!Grinch. Against such a truce, no one could stand.

But even then, Tim didn't make it through the title sequence for Santa Claus is Coming to Town. He just settled against Cass' shoulder and allowed the true master to continue Damian's holiday education in peace.

Besides there would probably be a second marathon with the family breakfast-er, brunch-in the morning.