ꜰᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ: Batfamily (Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Duke Thomas, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, & Barbara Gordon…)
ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: Family-friendly & found family, very light mention of hard childhood.
Damian Wayne did not believe in Santa Claus.
This was not arrogance; it was fact.
He was raised among assassins, trained to read deception in a person’s eyes, taught that myths and sentimentality are weakness. Fairy tales were lies adults told children to soften the world’s sharpest edges.
And yet—
He stood in the Wayne Manor library, staring at a small wooden mailbox painted red and white, with a tiny brass plaque on the front that read:
LETTERS TO THE NORTH POLE
“… Explain,” Damian said flatly.
Bruce paused mid-step, and Alfred smiled.
“It is a tradition,” Alfred said, lifting the little mailbox from the shelf. “One we have observed for quite some time.”
Damian narrowed his eyes. “You encourage the others to engage in deception.”
Bruce cleared his throat. “It’s… voluntary.”
“And illogical.”
Dick Grayson appeared in the doorway, hands in his pockets, grin already forming. “Oh no. Is it time?”
Jason Todd leaned against the doorframe behind him. “Kid just discovered the Letter Box.”
Tim Drake peeked over his book. “This is going to be emotional.”
Damian scowled. “I do not understand why you are all reacting as if this is a significant event.”
Alfred set the mailbox gently on the table.
“Because,” he said softly, “it has been.”
The letters were stored in a box. Not the mailbox, this was different.
Alfred retrieved a plain archival container from a locked cabinet. He handled it carefully, as though it might crumble in his hands.
“These,” Alfred said, “are the letters written by the children of this house over the years.”
Damian’s breath hitched. Children. That is plural.
“You kept them,” Damian said.
Bruce nodded. “We didn’t always have many traditions.”
Alfred opened the box.
Inside were envelopes of every size and color. Crayon drawings, folded notebook paper, construction paper decorated with glitter that had survived decades.
Damian stared.
Dick’s letter was first.
Of course it was.
It was written in large, looping handwriting, blue marker pressed too hard into the paper.
Dear Santa,
Hi! My name is Dick Grayson and I live in a big house now but it still feels new. I think you’d like it. There’s a lot of stairs.
I don’t need a lot of stuff. Maybe a new trapeze rope? But if you’re busy, that’s okay.
If you see my parents, can you tell them I’m trying really hard?
Love,
Dick
The room went quiet.
Dick laughed weakly. “Wow. Eh, straightforward kid-me.”
Jason looked away.
Damian felt something tight settle in his chest.
Jason’s letter was next.
It was shorter. The paper was creased like it had been folded and unfolded many times.
Hey Santa,
I don’t know if this works but Alfred said to try.
I want a bike that doesn’t break. And maybe new boots.
You don’t have to bring anything if you don’t want to. Just make sure nobody takes what we’ve got.
– J
Jason exhaled sharply. “Guess I was an optimist.”
“No,” Bruce said quietly.
Damian stared at the letter.
He knew what it was to want less because wanting more hurt.
Tim’s letter was neat, and folded cleanly.
Dear Santa,
I hope you’re doing well.
I don’t really need presents. I already have a lot. But if you have time, could you keep my family safe this year?
Also, if it’s not too much trouble, maybe a new microscope lens and a new comic?
Thank you for everything you do.
– Tim
Stephanie wiped her eyes (when she appeared?) “Oh my god.”
Tim pushed his glasses up. “… I stand by the microscope request.”
Stephanie’s letter had pink marker, glitter hearts, and stickers barely hanging on.
DEAR SANTA!!!
Hi it’s Stephanie and I have been MOSTLY good.
I want a purple bike and a cat and also for my mom to be happy again.
If you can’t do the last one it’s okay but please try.
Love you!!!
Steph
Stephanie sniffed. “Okay, rude. Why was I emotionally aware at eight.”
Barbara reached out and squeezed her hand.
There were others.
Barbara’s careful handwriting before the accident. Cass’s first letter, just a drawing of a house with everyone inside. Duke’s letter asking for snow.
And then, Alfred hesitated.
“There is one more,” he said softly.
Damian stiffened. The envelope was newer, white and blank.
Bruce took it gently and handed it to Damian.
“This was yours,” Bruce said. “From your first winter here.”
Damian stared at it.
“I did not—”
“You dictated,” Alfred said. “I wrote.”
Damian swallowed.
Bruce opened it.
To Santa,
Damian wishes to know if dogs can learn to fight with weapons.
He does not request gifts.
He asks only if it is possible to have a home.
– Alfred Pennyworth, on Damian’s behalf
The room dissolved. Damian’s vision blurred.
He had not remembered this.
Damian turned away, breathing carefully.
“… May I write one?” he asked.
Alfred smiled like sunrise.
Damian sat at the desk with a piece of paper.
This time, he wrote it himself.
Not as a mother’s warrior, but as a child.
Dear Santa,
I know you are not real. But I think traditions can be, and Pennyworth likes you a lot.
Frost had been getting everywhere on your car, on the grass, and even on the fucking window. You didn't know why there was so much frost all around you, at this point, it could be considered snow because of how much there was. As you left your house so you could get something for breakfast, since there was no food in your house, you walked to your car and noticed that there was a huge thing of frost on your windows and windshield. You went to make a smiley face on your driver's side window but when you touched the window you felt a cold hand gently grab your wrist. Before you had time to process and freak out you saw someone beside you looking at you through the window. You quickly looked to your right but you didn't see anyone standing there unlike what you saw in the window just a few seconds earlier, the ice-cold hand never leaving your wrist. You looked back at the window and there stood the same man who was there the first time you saw him.
“Who are you?” you asked him but no response came.
A few seconds later the man disappeared and the feeling of his cold hand left your wrist and in its place was a blue and white charm bracelet.
What the heck was that?
You got in your car and started driving to a food place to get breakfast. On the ride there you thought you could be imagining it but that wouldn't explain the bracelet. After that day you kept seeing this mystery man and weird things would be left in his wake like jewelry, charms, small trinkets, and other things of that sort. Even if the things he leaves you are interesting and cool he does weird things too like destroying the snowman you made or making the frost on your car so bad that you can't leave.
At least I don't have to put up with this during the summer months!
You thought as you looked at yet another destroyed snowman.
What are some ink hcs that you guys enjoy? Whether it be him being an asshole or specific artstyles he enjoys, anything! I'm scavenging for content rn lol
Sorry for being gone for a while again, couldn’t get a chance to post these because of account problems and finals in school, luckily its winter break so i should do a better job with keeping up with these. Anyways drew the gang as flowers as a reference to that one scene where basil compares them to different flowers / plants, also me sweetheart sim-
Anyway, will post the rest of the stuff from last week soon, then i’ll catch up with the other days tomorrow
