DISCLAIMER: Oracle, Batman, Nightwing, Robin and Alfred don't belong to me. I know you probably thought they did, but they don't. So don't pay me for this, okay?

NOTE: I don't really keep up much with Bat continuity, so don't kill me if something's wrong. :)

It had been happening so long he wasn't sure it had ever not been going on. He had been told the story of how it started, told by Alfred, the only real link he had left to his past.

His grandmother and grandfather had gone hunting for a tree one day, determined to cut their own. They had found a little sapling, almost dead, and his grandmother had lovingly uprooted it and taken it home, planting it a field away, where it would have a second chance to grow.

That year she decorated it outside, because it looked lonely.

The year following she did the same, inviting over a baby Bruce and his parents--their daughter and son-in-law. The plan was that as it got very large, they would cut it down and take it into the house. Somehow, though, his grandmother never deemed that it was large enough, or healthy enough. One year they managed to convince her that it should be cut, and they went out there only to find a bird had made a nest and laid eggs, despite the fact that it was the middle of winter. That was the end of the tree debate. From that year on the fir being cut was never discussed again.

But the tree always got decorated. It had become a family thing, only those near and dear to the Waynes--only family--were invited. For many years as Bruce grew, after his family had died, the tree had stood alone outside, undecorated.

Then Alfred had taken a young Dick out one day, told him the story of the tree, and left. Dick had taken it upon himself to decorate it again. Bruce had been mad at first. Dick had no right to intrude on those memories. Then he came to realize that Dick *was* his family.

It was a quiet affair with only the three of them--Dick, Bruce and Alfred. Then had come Batgirl. She had pushed her way into the family, and eventually wound up decorating.

Then Jason. Then Tim.

This year Bruce Wayne hadn't called them up to set a date for the decorating "party." He had been busy, and they had all been busy as well. Dick was settling in his new home. Gotham had been destroyed, and Batman was trying to repair the damage. Robin was busy with the new Young Justice. And Oracle was frantically trying to get help for Gotham.

There simply hadn't been time. There would be no Christmas, per se, this year, for everyone was too busy.

And yet. . . .

Barbara Gordon sat at the bottom of the now-massive Christmas tree, breath coming out of her mouth in white puffs. No one had called. There had been no agreement to come. But she'd woken up this morning, and felt that it was simply time to be there. And, so, she had come.

She reached around her wheelchair, pulling a few baubles out of a bag that hung there. Carefully she moved her chair until she was in the right spot, then reached up and hung the cheerful red ball.

She started to move back, and felt her wheel jam against a rock. Then something other than her own force shifted the chair, and she felt herself pushed around until she was facing a tall, dark haired young man.

"Dick," she smiled. "I didn't think anyone was coming this year."

He grinned back. "I wasn't going to. But it just seemed . . . "

"Right," Bruce finished for him. The two turned and saw him, bundled up in a coat, sleep still in his eyes. "I brought the outdoor lights," he said, lifting his hand and smiling--an expression that rarely crossed his features anymore.

"And I the hot cocoa."

Dick laughed and took a mug from the tray Alfred held, almost burning his glove-less hand on the side.

"I also brought you some gloves, master Dick," Alfred said, and Dick could have sworn there was a large grin just hiding behind the composed features.

"Thanks," Dick said, taking them and putting them on. As he had expected, they fit.

"I brought a ladder," a young voice said from farther behind Bruce. "And, of course, more ornaments."

"Tim," Barbara called, smiling. "Good to see you."

"Good to be seen." He grinned and set the ladder down, then looked up at the tree. "Pretty big. I'm not sure this ladder is going to reach the top."

"There's always a bat-rope," Dick chuckled. "Here," he said, pulling Barbara bodily out of her chair as she protested, "hang these things. I'm not having you sit there like a princess and order us about." He grinned at her and bent, she still in his arms, so that Barbara could snatch her bag of ornaments. Dick shifted his grip to around her waist and lifted her, and she started hanging things where no one could reach without the aid of the ladder.

"Hey, Bruce," Dick called as the millionaire headed to the other side of the tree. "Remember that year I tried to trim this thing?"

Bruce chuckled. "Yeah. The tree still has scars."

"Guys, this ladder is not nearly tall enough to reach the top of the tree," Tim laughed, standing on the very last step--the one that said you weren't supposed to stand on it.

"Hey, Dick, maybe you could climb up the inside of the tree and--"

"Okay," Dick said, putting Barbara down because he had started laughing, and was afraid he'd drop her. "We're just not going to mention that Christmas incident!"

"Oh, but--" Bruce started.

"Hey, the theory was good," Dick interrupted. "I had no idea there were so many branches!"

"I seem to recall a young man," Alfred said conversationally, "who thought that if he strung a rope from the nearest tree to the top of our roof, he could slide the half mile along it and hang from it to decorate the top. I also seem to recall a broken arm and Christmas spent bed-bound."

Bruce started to laugh. "Surely," he grinned, "that wasn't *me.*"

"Surely," Alfred said dryly.

"Bruce," Tim said, amazed. "You did that?? I mean, Dick I could see but--"

"Oh, thanks a lot, squirt!" Dick laughed.

"--You??"

"Even Bruce was young and stupid one time. Hard to believe, isn't it?" Barbara said, a mischievous gleam in her eye.

"You're awfully carefree for someone who can't escape," Bruce said, hiding his grin as he came around the side of the tree, packing a snowball.

"Oh, Bruce," Barbara laughed, wheeling away, "you wouldn't hit a cripple now, would you?"

He seemed to consider it for a moment, then smiled.

"Eep!" Barbara shot backward, only to hit a pothole buried by the snow and come to a complete stop.

Bruce's grin widened.

Barbara laughed, squealing as she was hit with a cold snowball. Swiftly she knocked over her own chair, landing in the snow and using her wheelchair as a shield. "Back, Dark one!" she called, packing her own snowball swiftly. "Back!"

"'Dark one'?" Bruce echoed, laughing. Then he was hit in the face by a well aimed, freezing cold orb. "You are dead," he said, and took off after Barbara.

"I got the bat-rope," Tim said, trotting up to Dick through the snow. "What's Bruce doing?" he said, watching as Bruce and Barbara rolled around on the ground, stuffing snow down each other's clothes.

Dick grinned. "Playing. What else? Here, hand me that rope." He took the rope and walked around the tree a few times, contemplating the best way to go about this. "Hey, I got an idea," he said, coming back to Tim. Behind him Barbara screeched as Bruce managed to succeed in getting snow down her jacket. "What about if we tie this around you, toss the other end over the rope still hanging up there from Bruce's stunt so long ago, haul you up and you can hang the stuff?"

"Sure, whatever," Tim said, distracted.

Dick glanced down at him, then saw he was still watching Bruce with an air of fascination. "Don't worry," he said, patting Tim's shoulder. "I lived with him for years and years, and it still worries me when he plays. I keep thinking something's wrong."

Tim started to laugh. "What were you saying about the rope, now?"

"Okay, what we'll do is--" Dick stopped suddenly as his senses peaked, and he followed his instinct without question, ducking. One snowball sailed happily over him, the other hit Tim right in the back of his head.

"Agh! Cold!" Tim yelped, brushing snow out of his collar as it did its best to soak in.

"This means war," Dick said, scooping up white powder and hurling it at his foster father and one of his best friends. Bruce jumped out of the way while Barbara ducked back behind her tipped wheelchair, laughing gleefully.

Tim scooped up snow and flung it at Bruce, then whooped when it actually hit. "Nice shot, kid!" Dick shouted, flinging snow at Barbara as her head popped up from behind her "base."

"Switch opponents!" Bruce shouted to Barbara, hurling snow unexpectedly at Dick. Barbara twisted around and threw at Tim, then ducked back to gather more snow.

"Take this, evil fiends!" Dick laughed, scooping up ice and flinging it in all directions.

Alfred, just walking up with a tray of cookies, closed his eyes as snow hit his face. He turned and walked away, back to the house.

"Sorry, Alfred!" Dick shouted.

"Quite all right, Master Dick," Alfred called back.

"Tim!" Barbara shouted, laughing as she was pounded with snowballs by Dick, "switch partners!!"

Tim whirled, using the snowball he was going to hit Bruce with on Dick.

"Traitor!" Dick shouted, laughing.

Barbara managed to hit Bruce with three quick projectiles before he regrouped and sent some flying back, grinning hugely the entire time.

"Take this, Dick!" Tim shouted, tackling the taller man and trying--then succeeding--to stuff snow down his shirt.

"Eat snow, Bruce!" Barbara shouted, pounding him with a large, unthrow-able chunk of snow as he came too close. Bruce shouted and ducked out, but the snow had already fallen down his jacket and half-soaked into his shirt.

"I will get you for that, little girl!" Bruce shouted, gathering up a basketball-sized snowball.

He'd started to throw it when Tim tackled him, and they were both covered in the snow Bruce had carefully compiled.

The man was just about to retaliate when suddenly something cold and wet hit him--and it wasn't snow.

As a if they were a trained chorus the four of them started to shout, each trying to get some protection from the water that shot onto them.

As suddenly as it had started it shut off, leaving most of them reasonably wet.

"I'm so sorry," Alfred said, looking apologetic except for that glimmer in his eyes. "I had thought I would water the tree, but then you were not where I expected you to be--"

"No mercy for the old man!" Dick shouted, grabbing fistfuls of snow and hurling them. The hose shot on once more and the snow was blasted back, hitting Dick and adding more cold to the already wet water.

"Oops," Alfred said.

"Okay," Dick said, water dripping from his nose. "Maybe we should show him mercy."

***

After being soaking wet they all had to go inside and change. Luckily, Dick was able to fit into Bruce's clothes and Barbara had brought an extra ski jumpsuit, in case she fell in the snow.

Tim, however, was out of luck. He said in front of the fire for a while, laughing with the rest of the family, wrapped up in a blanket and not much else while Alfred dried his clothes. Barbara teased him mercilessly until he blushed, at which point she kissed his cheek, informed him that he was "cute" and left him alone. (Of course, being kissed and told he was cute then started Dick and Bruce teasing him, but that was different.)

"I found this in the attic the other day," Alfred said, bringing in a giant box. "Perhaps you would go through it for me?"

"What were you doing in the attic?" Bruce asked, smiling.

"That is none of your concern Master Bruce," Alfred informed him before leaving the room.

"Good to see that Alfred still has you under control," Dick said, grinning hugely as he moved to sit on the floor next to the Mystery Box.

Barbara reached down and popped open the panels, then peered inside. "Christmas ornaments! Lots of them!" she exclaimed happily.

"Oh my God," Dick laughed, pulling out a paper snowman. "I made this in the second grade. I was so mad at you when I made this," he said, grinning up at Bruce. "The assignment was to make a Christmas thing that represented your family, and THIS is what I said was you!"

Bruce started laughing, then leaned over to look inside himself. "Oh, remember these?" he asked, pulling out a two-foot strand of plastic, silver beads.

Dick started laughing.

"What are they?" Barbara asked, taking them and looking them over.

"I had a long rope of those that went all around my tree," Bruce explained. "Only, one year we had a rodent infestation and they got to it. So, I threw the beads away. This was the only salvageable piece, and Dick wouldn't let me get rid of it! He pulled it out of the trash and cleaned it off, then placed it on the tree. When I tried to take it down he had a fit and informed me that it was beautiful. So, there it stayed. Every year he put that ridiculous thing back up."

Dick was laughing so hard he had to hold his sides, but he nodded all the same. "Sure! Look how nice and shiny they are!" he said, grinning.

"Obviously something worth keeping," Barbara noted dryly.

"What's this?" Tim asked, pulling out a round object.

"That I made for Bruce's birthday," Dick said, smiling. "I saw how to do it on a TV show one year. I took a picture of us two, put it in a dish, put glue all over it and it was supposed to come out with the glue clear and the picture stiff, so we could hang it." He grinned. "Instead the glue clouded over and I had a disk of that stuff!"

"I still hung it on the tree," Bruce pointed out, grinning.

"That you did! And I proudly showed it off to everyone at the Christmas party that year," Dick laughed.

"Master Tim," Alfred said, walking into the room with a pile of clothing. "I believe your outfit is ready."

***

"You want me to WHAT?!"

"Actually, that might work."

Tim looked at Bruce like he had completely lost it.

"No, really. That rope should still be good--it's not really rope, after all, it's wire--and we can pull you up there easily."

Tim continued looking at Bruce like he'd lost it.

"Come on, Timmy. It's the last place we need to decorate!" Dick pleaded, grinning.

It had taken four hours (and two more snowball fights), but they finally had what they could reach of the tree decorated.

"Of course you guys think it's a great idea," Tim said, "you're not the ones going up!"

"I'll go up," Barbara volunteered, wheeling forward.

"No, no, no," Tim said, feeling guilty that he was making her do it. "I'll go up. But if I end up in bed with a broken arm and who knows what else over Christmas, I'll kill you all!"

Bruce just smiled and tied the rope around the boy's waist and shoulders. "Ready?" he asked after a minute.

"Yeah, I guess," Tim sighed, looking up at where they were about to send him. It was very high.

Bruce and Dick took the other side of the rope and started pulling, and slowly Tim was lifted into the air. He took a deep breath and, not looking down or thinking about the fact that an old, probably rotten wire that Bruce had used as a kid was supporting his weight, started decorating the tree.

He did it in record time.

They all stood back, admiring their handiwork. "It's the most beautiful tree I've ever seen," Dick said, grinning.

In point of fact, it wasn't. It desperately needed a trim, and there were giant gaps where no one--for whatever reason--had put ornaments. Nothing matched, the Santa hat (since they couldn't find the star for the top of the tree) was crooked, and the massive fir itself had a large gap in the middle from Dick's abandoned pruning job so many years ago.

But they had decorated it.

For a few hours they had forgotten that the outside world was dying.

They had forgotten that there were homeless and starving people. They had forgotten that various nutcases had all broken loose from Arkham and were once more on the street.

And they had been happy.

So, to the gathered five, it was the most beautiful tree they had ever seen.

"I think," Barbara said, reaching back and taking something from Alfred, "that it needs one last touch."

"I dunno," Dick started to say, "it looks pretty good from--"

Barbara tapped him, then held out the two foot strand of plastic beads. "I didn't see a tree inside this year," she said, grinning, "so these'll have to go out here."

Dick smiled hugely, started laughing, and took the beads. Carefully--pretending to do it artfully--he placed the beads on the massive tree.

"There," he said as the others erupted into laughter. "It's complete!"

"Gorgeous!" Tim said, clapping. "Just beautiful!"

"They catch the light so magnificently," Bruce agreed, smiling.

"But most important," Alfred said, "they show the heart."

The others grinned, agreeing silently, and looked again at the tree.

It was, indeed, the most beautiful tree they'd ever seen.

"So, Alfred," Dick said, breaking the silence. "I seem to remember that you used to have cookies and cake after a tree decorating party. . . ."

"You know," Alfred said, smiling. "I just happen to have made some this morning."

As a group they turned back and started walking toward the house, talking happily about everything and nothing all at the same time.

And behind them, one strand of silver, plastic beads winked.

--end

Notes: this was inspired by my experience. Last night, for the first time in YEARS, my family and I all got together and decorated our tree. The catch is, we did it without complaining, or fighting, or anything else like that.

Older Sister, Younger Sister and I were Tim, in the harness--only our tree wasn't quite that big, and we each (in turns) stood on a ladder with someone holding on to us.

The "silver beads" story is true, and was mine, and were indeed the last thing we put on the tree--with great laughing pomp and ceremony. And that story is true--only I don't know what happened to the rest of the strand. Either way, they were (and are) my favorite decoration. :) JBMcD

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