Chapter Text
When Dick and Tim arrived at the manor, they were exhausted, dragging their feet through the front door. The air outside was crisp and biting, and Tim was bundled in so many sweaters he looked more like a balloon than a person. As they shrugged out of their coats, the click of paws against wood floors preceded a full dogpile from two overgrown giants. Ace, a German Shepherd-Pitbull mix, licked enthusiastically at Tim's face, while Titus, ever the gentle giant, just stared up at him with a confused but undeniably joyful expression.
Dick never thought he'd be this relieved to see an oversized Great Dane, but Titus's presence meant one thing: Damian had actually arrived and was currently, somehow, staying under the same roof as the rest of them.
The two split off—Tim toward the kitchen, Dick heading upstairs. He didn't hear a sound as he approached his old room and pushed the door open, and the silence turned out to be the only clue he needed. Damian's suitcase sat on the bed, still full, still zipped. Untouched.
His brow furrowed. Maybe Damian was in the kitchen, he reasoned, helping Alfred with dinner—after all, every one of them had planned to cook at least one of his favorites tonight. Maybe he'd wanted a say in it.
He wasn't. Dick found only Alfred, apron on, working over a pan of chicken, and something close to worry settled low in his chest. The manor had no shortage of rooms to disappear into, but surely, if Damian were somewhere inside it, there'd be some trace.
“Alfred, have you seen Damian?”
Alfred turned, offering him a small, knowing smile. “Yes. He mentioned he was going to visit the barn.”
Dick glanced toward the window, brow lifting. The sun had gone down the better part of an hour ago. Could Damian still be out there?
“Master Jon and his young friend are currently in the family room, watching a film over a bowl of popcorn," Alfred added, shaking his head with fond exasperation. “Those two are filling their stomachs well before dinner's even served.”
“When Jon's nervous, he tends to overeat,” Dick said. “Maybe he's just anxious about heading home tomorrow.” He grabbed his sweater off the hook by the door. “Anyway, I'll go check on Damian at the barn. The others should be here soon. Barbara called me on the way over, and Bruce should be back within the hour.”
Alfred nodded approvingly. “A wise deduction, Master Richard.”
Dick smiled and stepped back out into the bitter cold. Despite it being mid-December in Gotham, there wasn't a single flake of snow on the ground yet—not that it made the air feel any less punishing. The path to the barn stretched out ahead of him, frost clinging to the grass on either side, the trees stripped bare of every last leaf. Each breath came out as a visible cloud before the wind tore it apart.
As he approached the barn, a faint, warm glow spilled out from beneath the door. He eased it open just enough to look inside, and the sight that greeted him pulled an immediate smile out of him. Damian sat propped against a sleeping Bat-Cow, Goliath curled protectively behind her, head resting on his own paws while Alfred the cat lay sideways across them, half-hanging off the edge. In the middle of the pile sat Damian himself, sketchbook balanced on one knee, pencil moving fast and sure across the page.
Dick mentally kicked himself. He'd left his phone back in the house, and right now there was nothing he wanted more than a photo of his brother looking this at ease, unguarded, quiet, and, for once, entirely himself. He waited a few moments longer, until he saw Damian set the final line on the page, before he finally made his presence known.
“You should come inside. It's a lot warmer,” Dick said gently, stepping out from behind a stack of hay bales.
Alfred the cat startled awake and leapt off Goliath's head, which in turn startled Goliath into full alertness. The gargoyle blinked around blearily for a moment before flapping up to the loft, curling into his nest and vanishing back into the shadows. Bat-Cow, for her part, remained entirely unbothered; she simply mooed once and went back to her mouthful of hay.
“You're aware I know I'm in the barn, Grayson.” Damian's tone was flat, verging on a snarl, as he snapped his sketchbook shut and rose to his feet, brushing hay off his pants.
Dick's smile only widened. “Would you like to announce that to the rest of the class?” he teased, hands sliding into his pockets.
“Same as always, Grayson,” Damian muttered, fighting and losing, slightly against the smile threatening the corner of his mouth.
“And you're still as thick-headed as ever,” Dick shot back, holding his hands up in mock surrender.
Before Damian could come up with a retort, Dick pulled him into a hug, arms wrapping tight around him. It lasted only a few seconds, but to Damian, it felt like several minutes at least—the first real embrace he'd gotten since arriving. Not even Alfred had gone that far.
Dick pulled back, finally taking him in properly. Damian had grown taller, certainly, maybe even taller than Dick himself now, which was going to take some getting used to. His features had sharpened, his jaw more defined, his whole bearing carrying something older than the last time they'd stood in the same room. More mature. More like a man than the boy Dick still pictured when he thought of him.
Since when did he grow up? Dick wondered, studying him with something close to awe. He knew there'd be a real conversation waiting for them eventually, one where he'd have to face the guilt still sitting in his chest over everything that had kept Damian away this long. But tonight wasn't that night. Tonight, Dick was determined to give him a Christmas worth remembering, even if it meant all of them relearning how to be a family around Damian again.
One thing, though, he was certain of: he wasn't giving up on his brother. Not this time. Not ever again.
—
The walk back to the manor passed in silence, and to Damian's surprise, it didn't feel strained. Comfortable, if anything. Neither of them said a word the whole way, but for once, the quiet felt normal rather than heavy.
His thoughts drifted to Raven. He wondered what the weather was doing in D.C.—rain, snow, or something in between. He pictured her and Donna wandering from shop to shop, hot chocolate in hand, and hoped, genuinely, that she was having the time of her life. A small, nagging feeling told him she'd probably tried calling while he was out at the barn. He hadn't brought his phone — it was almost certainly still sitting on his bed where he'd left it. The thought pulled the edge of a smile onto his face. He could already picture the voicemail waiting for him: ten minutes long, careening from confusion to mock outrage, accusing him of deliberately ignoring her after she was the one who'd talked him into coming here in the first place.
If Dick noticed the shift in his mood, he didn't say anything. He just walked, pausing every so often so they kept pace with each other. Eventually the manor's lights came into view through the trees, holiday garlands already strung along the corridor windows—though Damian noted the one thing missing. Every December of his childhood, there'd been a tree visible through that same window, in that same corner.
“No decorations?” he said aloud.
Dick shrugged. “We held off putting them up until you got here.”
Damian shot him a skeptical look. “Why would you wait for me?”
“Because this is the first time you've been home in over a year.” Dick smiled. “Alfred said it wouldn't feel like a real Wayne Christmas without the whole family under one roof.”
“As if I'm a Wayne,” Damian muttered and kept walking, not bothering to look back and see the way Dick's expression fell at that.
Stepping through the front door, he paused for half a second; the smell that greeted him instantly dragged him back through a decade of childhood memory. The door clicked shut behind Dick, whose expression, when Damian finally glanced over, had gone soft and unreadable.
Neither of them said anything else. Damian followed the smell straight to the kitchen, where he found his father and Alfred elbow-deep in what looked like an entire holiday spread: vegetable curry over basmati rice, mashed potatoes glossed with olive oil and fresh herbs, and, tucked at the far end of the counter, a dark chocolate cake that was unmistakably vegan.
Both looked up as he stepped further into the room. Bruce offered a small, careful smile, wiping his hands on a dish towel.
Damian's gaze swept the counter again, slower this time, and it clicked; every single dish was vegan. They'd remembered. Something small and unexpected lit up in his chest at that, a flicker of hope he wasn't entirely sure what to do with. He looked between the three hopeful faces watching him and felt some of his guard slip, almost against his will. He grabbed a spoon from the counter and tasted the curry; the flavor bloomed instantly across his tongue, rich and familiar in a way that caught him off guard.
He let out an involuntary, pleased groan. “Very good,” he admitted, and for the first time all evening, he found himself actually looking forward to sitting down with the rest of them.
The tension in the kitchen broke all at once, all three of them exhaling in near-unison. The more Damian tasted flavors that pulled at memories of his mother's cooking, distant now but not gone, the more he suspected he'd been guarding himself a little too tightly since he walked through the gates. After one more spoonful, Alfred playfully shooed him out of the kitchen, insisting dinner would be ready in twenty minutes and the table needed setting.
Bruce fell into step with Damian and Dick as they made their way toward the family room, and the scene that greeted them there was pure, gleeful chaos. Chairs overturned on their sides. Blankets and pillows covering every inch of open floor. The lights dimmed low, a fire crackling in the hearth, curtains drawn against the dark to leave the whole room bathed in warm amber light. Everyone was in pajamas, and no two outfits matched. Cass and Stephanie wore a coordinating set. Jason had on his signature Wonder Woman sweatpants paired with a loose gray T-shirt. Barbara and Tim were both in oversized shirts and sweats, while Duke had somehow combined fuzzy pajama pants with a perfectly plain top, like he couldn't decide on a theme and gave up halfway through.
The room had been fully converted into one enormous sleepover pile—buckets of popcorn, an overflowing snack bowl, and the coffee table shoved to one side of the room, lined end to end with everyone's drink of choice. The chatter died the moment the three of them stepped further inside. A wave of expressions crossed the room in the space of a second—confusion, then something closer to disbelief.
Jason broke the silence first. “Since when did the demon spawn get tall?”
The room erupted into laughter a beat later, and even Damian felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward despite himself. It was true he'd shot up a considerable amount since they'd last all been in a room together. He no longer looked like the baby of the family. If anything, at a glance, he could pass for close to Jason's age now.
Bruce set a hand on his shoulder. “He has grown quite a bit, Jason. Though, don't worry, your title as second-tallest is still safe. For now.”
Another round of laughter swept the room, and then Barbara was crossing toward him, taking his hand in hers. Their eyes met, and what Damian found there caught him off guard: warmth, uncomplicated and full, more than he'd braced himself for. She smiled, tugged him down slightly, and wrapped both arms around him in a tight hug.
"I'm happy you're home," she murmured, arms not loosening an inch, and Damian could feel—with total certainty—exactly how much she meant it. It was, without question, the only embrace all evening he let himself fully sink into.
“Me too,” he said quietly, pitched low enough that only she'd catch it. He wasn't ready for the rest of the room to hear that yet. He already knew Barbara and Alfred, at least, were thrilled to have him back; the rest, he was still gauging.
Barbara pulled back and glanced around the room. “Who's next?”
Damian barely had time to groan before Duke was on his feet, wrapping him in a hug before he could think about dodging it. One by one, the rest of the room folded in until it was one enormous group hug, and Damian was almost embarrassed by how easily he let himself relax into it. Even Jason joined in, despite being, much like Damian, generally allergic to physical affection.
A pointed cough from the doorway broke the moment. Alfred stood there, patient as ever. “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but dinner is ready.”
“We'll be there in a minute, Alfred,” Bruce said, and the butler nodded, disappearing back down the hall, leaving the family to untangle themselves at their own pace.
Eventually, though, they all filed into the dining room, eager to eat. Damian claimed the seat closest to his father's left, Jon settling in on his right and Jay just beyond him. The two boys had finally emerged after spending most of the day upstairs. Jay leaned in at one point to murmur that Jon was quietly panicking about having to leave tomorrow; Damian nodded, filing it away, promising himself a word with Jon once dinner wrapped up.
Alfred moved down the table, setting a plate in front of each of them, every dish drawn from the extensive spread. Dick launched into a story about last night's patrol. Jason feigned disinterest while methodically working through his plate. Tim, Duke, and Jay fell into conversation and slowly realized, several minutes in, that they had more in common than any of them expected. Cass peppered Jon with quiet questions about Kon as she ate, a faint blush creeping up her neck when she asked, almost too casually, whether he missed her.
Jon relaxed more with every question, eventually sharing stories Lois had passed along about his younger brothers. Stephanie and Barbara mostly kept to themselves at the far end, trading jokes and quiet updates on the day's patrol reports. Bruce ate in small, unhurried bites, content just to sit back and take in the noise around the table.
It wasn't until the faint ring of a phone sounded from somewhere upstairs that Jon's head snapped toward Damian, a grin spreading fast across his face.
“Wonder who that could be,” he said, watching Damian closely for a reaction.
Damian shrugged, though he couldn't quite stop himself from eating a little faster. He hadn't spoken to Raven since they'd left Bludhaven that morning, and he was more than ready to hear how D.C. was treating her. Jay shot Jon a look over Damian's head that clearly read "leave him alone," but Jason, sharp as ever, caught the exchange and set his fork down, sitting up a little straighter.
“What are you two talking about?” he asked, suddenly very invested.
“Oh, nothing,” Jon said, entirely unconvincing. "Damian just has a phone call to make, is all."
“Jon,” Jay warned, dragging a hand down his face.
Jon's grin only widened. “What? I can't tease him about Raven calling him nonstop while he was out at the barn."
The whole table went quiet for a beat. Dick, apparently unbothered, kept right on eating. Jason's eyebrows shot up. Everyone else's attention swung toward Damian, who, to his own credit, managed to look almost entirely unbothered. Jay sighed, lowering his fork, muttering, "Here we go," under his breath.
“Thank you, Kent,” Damian said, turning to face Jon fully. “Though I don't need you narrating my phone calls for me. Besides, at least I actually call her back. Unlike some people.” He tipped his head pointedly toward Jay.
"Hey!" Jon crossed his arms. “I'm not that bad.”
Damian snorted. Jay nearly choked on a laugh. “You are,” Jay managed. “I remember calling you because you'd missed both first and second period, seventeen times in a row, easily. Eventually I just went and checked on you myself. Found you still dead asleep. It was three in the afternoon.”
Jon flushed scarlet, burying his face in his hands. “That was an accident. I hit snooze.”
The table's easy rhythm resumed after that, banter looping back and forth, but Damian could tell the damage was done. His family's curiosity was fully piqued now, and judging by the look on Jason's face, he had every intention of digging further. The last thing Damian wanted was for any of them to assume Raven was something more than what he'd told them: a teammate, a friend, someone he trusted.
After dinner, he helped Alfred clear the table before finally escaping upstairs to change into something more comfortable. The family still had a movie planned, but he figured he had time to slip in a call first.
He set up the video call from his laptop instead of his phone. Three rings later, Raven's face filled the screen dressed in Christmas-print pajamas, he noted, a mug that was almost certainly hot chocolate cradled in both hands.
“Well, look who finally surfaced,” she said, taking a sip. "I've been trying to reach you."
“I figured.” Damian pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it toward the hamper. “How's D.C.?”
There was a brief pause before she answered long enough that she was privately grateful the mug covered most of her face, hiding the flush that had crept up at the sight of him mid-change.
“Good. I miss you, though,” she said, honest as ever. “Donna's been showing me around all day. Also, I'm pretty sure she has a boyfriend.”
That got his full attention; he leaned back into frame. “Did you ask her?”
“No, but she's being weirdly secretive. Smiling at her phone when she thinks I'm not looking.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And that automatically means boyfriend?”
Raven took another sip, tugging a blanket over her lap. "Not automatically. It just reminded me of you and me, so maybe that's coloring my judgment."
Something in his chest gave an unexpected lurch, not unpleasant, just sudden. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, she gets this look, staring at her phone, waiting. That's basically identical to the one I get whenever I'm hoping you'll text back.”
“That doesn't necessarily mean anything,” he pointed out, working to keep his voice even. “It's the holidays. She might just have your gift and not want to spoil it.”
Raven rolled her eyes. “She's hiding something. I intend to find out what.”
“I'm sure she'll tell you when she's ready. Assuming the worst rarely helps.” He swiped the call over to his phone and headed for the bathroom.
“Are you brushing your teeth right before movie night?” Raven asked, her voice slightly muffled over the buzz of his electric toothbrush.
He didn't answer, just kept brushing, spat, rinsed, and turned back to the phone. “I don't plan on eating much more tonight. We already had dinner.”
She smiled, taking another slow sip. “How's family time going?”
He sighed. “Not terrible. But I can feel it heading downhill fast. Jon decided to tease me about you at dinner, and now I expect a full interrogation any minute.”
“Well, that's not the worst thing that could happen,” Raven offered, and at his immediate, unimpressed look, she raised both hands in defense. “What? I'm not wrong.”
“So you're fine with everyone assuming we're together,” he said flatly.
She shrugged. "Better than some of the alternatives. And honestly, I'm pretty sure Jon's already been unofficially declared your secret husband by half the internet. There was that whole rumor, remember?"
He groaned. “I don't need reminding.”
The rumor had stuck around for a solid two months after the Super Sons went public, with endless comments about how close they seemed, more than a few insisting he was secretly dating Robin. It had taken almost another month to fully stamp out. “Jon and I would tear each other apart within five minutes of being married. We'd be divorced by dinner.”
Raven burst out laughing, loud enough that it carried clearly through the speaker, and it took her a solid ten seconds to recover, tears actually gathering at the corners of her eyes. “That's— that's extremely accurate,” she managed. “You two wouldn't survive the hour.”
“Fortunately, I don't have to worry about that particular disaster,” he said. “He's happy with Jay.”
“Maybe in some other universe you two got married and lived happily ever after,” she teased.
“That's enough out of you.” He tried to sound stern and mostly failed, secretly pleased he'd managed to make her laugh from several states away. “I should go. Grayson will send a search party if I'm not downstairs soon.”
“Yeah, I should get going too.”
He picked the phone up, walking back toward his room. “Tell Donna I said hi. And try not to cause too much trouble. I don't think I can bail you out from here.”
“No promises,” she sang, flashing him one last grin before the call cut out.
—
The next few hours drifted by in a slow, comfortable haze. The family cycled through several movies before finally settling on Avatar: The Way of Water, on the grounds that they needed a proper refresher before the third one came out. Damian didn't much care what they watched, only that the room stayed this easy, this warm. He ended up wedged between Dick and Tim, the latter clearly deep in the throes of energy-drink withdrawal. Alfred had confiscated most of the sugary drinks before anyone had even claimed a seat.
“Master Timothy, it is best that you have no more caffeine tonight,” Alfred said, his tone leaving zero room for negotiation. “You need a proper night's rest.”
Tim crossed his arms, sulking visibly for all of five seconds before caving and grabbing a water bottle instead, dropping down beside Damian with a huff.
True to form, Damian didn't touch much of the snack spread himself until Dick point-blank refused to move the popcorn bowl any further away. “You can't have a real movie night without snacks,” Dick informed him, fluffing his pillow and settling in like the matter was closed.
The rest of the night passed quietly. By the two-hour mark, most of the room had drifted off. Even Bruce's eyes kept slipping shut, snapping back open every time he came close to losing the fight. On the third time, Damian finally spoke up.
“You should get some rest, Father.”
His voice cut through the quiet more sharply than he intended, and Bruce startled slightly, blinking over at him.
"You should too," Bruce said after a beat, rising slowly, his back cracking after too long spent in the same chair. "And if you're willing, I'd like you to come with me to Wayne Enterprises tomorrow.”
Damian hadn't expected that. He kept his expression carefully neutral. “I'll consider it.”
Bruce nodded and turned to go, and Damian assumed that was the end of it, turning his own attention back to the TV. But when he glanced up a moment later, Bruce hadn't moved, still standing there, watching him, a small, quiet smile settling on his face.
It wasn't a large victory, not in the grand scheme of things. But it was enough to loosen something in Bruce's chest, enough to let a small, cautious hope take root. Whether that hope grew or withered from here, only time would tell, but Bruce intended to do everything in his power to help it grow. It would take time. He was prepared to give it. After all, Damian was his son.