22 YEARS EARLIER
"I want it so bad, Meredith. More than anything I've ever wanted in my entire life."
Meredith rolled her eyes. "Buy it then, Bruce. You're eighteen now. Put your trust fund to use— not that it's a good use— but it's a use, I guess."
He shoved a magazine in her face, showing her the image she'd seen about a million times over the last few weeks— a McLaren F1, currently one of the most sought-after vehicles in the world, which just happened to be going up for auction in a few days.
A stupid grin came over his face. "How is this not the greatest use of money you've ever seen?"
She shoved him away. "Because I don't believe in depreciating assets and I'd rather suggest you put it into something useful like stocks?"
"Meredith." He pushed himself up on the couch, features dripping with dramatics and she couldn't help but smile because Bruce was rarely so theatric. "If I don't own this car I'm going to die."
"I'm sure you'll survive with your hundred other luxury cars, Bruce."
He let his head fall forwards into a pillow and he groaned, his voice muffled by the fabric.
They sat on one of the couches in the Wayne Manor, clothed in thick layers of loungewear under a mess of blankets. It was a few days before Christmas, and the sky was a murky gray outside with fresh sheets of powdered snow covering the Manor grounds. Meredith studied the way the orange glow of the fireplace flickered across Bruce's messy black hair.
"And what exactly is so special about this car versus all of your other ones?" Meredith asked nonchalantly. She knew the answer— Bruce had only told her about fifty separate times— but it was nice to see him talk so animatedly about something for once.
"Uh, how about everything?" He said, flipping onto his back and draping an arm over his face. "It's the only one in the world, the only one that will ever be made, and it's black. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life and I will throw myself out of a third-story window if I can't have it."
She giggled, letting the book in her lap fall closed. "Well, that seems a little extreme—"
"Because it is extreme! The engine— look at the specs, I mean— my God. It's the most sought-after McLaren in the world and it will be mine. And Oliver is gonna be so fucking jealous. Can you imagine his face when I show up in this?"
Meredith hummed in interest as he pressed the magazine towards her again. She raised her eyebrow and tilted her head. "Wait, I'm sorry, did I hear you say that this was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen?"
Bruce dropped the paper, appearing confused for a brief second. She shot him a glare.
"Oh— okay, well not the most beautiful— of course it's second to you, but it's a very close second. Like, so close."
She kicked her leg out and hit his thigh.
"Okay! Okay, I'm kidding."
Meredith started to open her book again.
"Sorta."
The book was then flying towards him, narrowly missing his head. She scoffed as she started to push the blankets off of her and stand up.
"Wait, wait—" He was grabbing her hand and tugging her back towards him, giving her a playfully apologetic smile. "Don't go— I'm sorry."
She tried her hardest to stay mad and not break out into a grin. "No, Bruce, I'm leaving—"
Meredith secretly hoped he wouldn't let her and her wish came true because she was suddenly being pulled into his lap with tight arms around her waist and she huffed to keep her composure.
"'M sorry," he breathed against her ear which made goosebumps race along her arms and a shudder run down her back. "I think you're very gorgeous."
She turned her head to face him and glanced at his lips which were curled into a smirk. She narrowed her eyes. "You don't get to be off the hook just because you're cute, Bruce."
He hummed in thought, tilting his gaze up to the ceiling. "I don't?"
"No, you very much do not."
He chuckled and started to drag her down into the blankets, his weight crushing her. She groaned in irritation. "Get off. You're heavy."
"Thank you," he spoke cheerfully, not caring about her current misfortune. "I have been working out extra hard recently. Glad people are noticing."
"It's hard not to when I can't breathe," she choked out, more dramatically than she should've.
Bruce laughed quietly, dipping his head down and pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. "I think it's a pretty good way to go."
A smile finally broke on her face but she still glared at him nonetheless. "Yeah, well, you're an idiot, so you would."
Bruce tucked his head against the crook of her neck and chuckled again, shifting to the side so he was lying next to her. His breath tickled her skin and she sighed, letting her head loll over to face him.
He was staring at her with those stormy blue eyes now alight with mischief, a look she rarely saw on him. It was a stupid look— the one that made her heart thunder in her chest because Bruce didn't quite realize how handsome he really was when he stared at her like that.
"What."
His lip turned up and then his hand was slowly running down the side of her body, stopping right beneath her waist.
"Bruce," she spoke warningly.
"Hm?" He questioned innocently.
"People are here, Bruce," she whispered sharply as he pulled her towards him and let his other hand dip below the waistband of her pajama pants.
"I don't see any people." He angled his head down to ghost his lips over her neck and she drew in a breath.
She let her eyes slide shut slowly in content as his arm worked further down her back. "Again, that would be because you're an idiot."
"So you always say," he murmured.
Meredith scoffed. What a playboy, Bruce Wayne was.
She finally gave in to what he wanted and snaked a hand up underneath his plain gray shirt, making him hum in satisfaction.
It continued on like that for a few more minutes: Bruce just running his lips across hers languidly, how he always did— he kissed her like he was drunk from physical touch and Meredith couldn't say she didn't enjoy it, slowly pushing her body against his.
She eventually felt something pressing into her thigh and she bit his bottom lip. It was now her turn to push past the waistband of the sweatpants he was wearing and cup her hand around him, stroking him slowly and eliciting a low groan from him that vibrated deliciously against her lips.
Meredith pulled back with a gasp. "Bruce—" She got cut off by him sucking on her neck more forcefully this time. "We should go somewhere else—"
"I don't wanna wait any longer," he muttered, hands roaming all over her body in a way that made her unable to think straight.
Maybe it was a good idea to just let him do as he pleased right here—
She squeezed him tightly in her hand and he moaned into her ear.
Yeah, it was definitely a good idea. A really good idea.
Meredith took her hands off him and started to push her large sweater up, watching his eyes widen in excitement at the fact that she'd actually agreed with him. He eagerly helped her, eyeing her chest just as her sweater reached her collar bone.
She leaned forwards before he could pull it over her head and kissed him again. He hungrily accepted it and returned the gesture, one hand sliding under her plain black bra and it was her turn to moan into the kiss, which had him immediately gripping her harder and tugging her leg across his lap.
"Mare," he groaned out lowly. "I want you so b—"
"Hey! I finally found you g— holy fuck!"
Meredith's eyes immediately shot open and she shoved herself away from Bruce, pulling her sweater down in the process and nearly falling off the couch. She snapped her head around to see Devin standing in the doorway with a horrified look, hands over his face.
"Jesus Chr— my eyes!"
Meredith's face flushed red as she sat up abruptly, eyes wide. Bruce, on the other hand, didn't bother to move, instead shamelessly glaring at Devin in annoyance.
"Seriously, Devin?" Bruce growled.
"Wha— are you—" her brother sputtered. "Seriously? You're asking me seriously?! I'm not the one about to conceive a fucking child in the living room!"
Whatever confidence possessed Bruce at that moment, Meredith would never know, because Bruce simply rolled his eyes.
"I have condoms, Devin. There was no child about to be made. I'm not stupid."
"Bruce!" Meredith shrieked in unison with her brother.
"Oh my God, oh my God," Devin muttered. "Excuse me while I go gauge my goddamn eyeballs and now my ears out of my fucking head so I can cleanse them properly."
Bruce kept his glare unwavering. "Good. You go do that." He then reached for Meredith again and started to tilt his head down in a kiss.
"Mother of— holy shit, I'm gonna be sick." Devin mockingly gagged and disappeared from sight.
Bruce shrugged ever so slightly and moved to kiss her.
"Bruce Thomas!" She shouted, shoving him back into the couch and standing up, straightening out her clothes. "We are not just continuing! You're lucky it was only Devin and not my father, or else you'd be a dead man!"
Bruce stared at her in disbelief. "So if we go upstairs to my room can we continue?"
"No!"
His head fell back against the couch and he groaned in irritation. He ran his hands over his face. "Whyyy?"
"Because! I— I just can't believe you!"
Bruce scowled.
Her mouth was wide open as she stared at him. "You have no shame, Bruce."
"Can we please just go upstairs—"
"I'm going to the kitchen to make sure Devin isn't snitching to my parents or Alfred. You... you figure out your problem on your own."
She spun around and started marching out of the room, rounding the corner, her entire body blazing red with embarrassment.
What a dumbass.
* * *
"Yesterday night around ten o'clock, three GCPD officers and six bystanders were shot dead in yet another break-in at Seventh Street Bank. Detectives believe it was committed by the same, anonymous group also responsible for the latest string of armed robberies in Gotham City. With us tonight we have GCPD Head Detective Jim Gordon— Detective Gordon, thank you for joining us—"
Bruce sighed as he stared at the screen solemnly. It seemed news in Gotham was just an endless stream of horrible events, with people gunned down in the city left and right at all hours of the day. Crime didn't even take a break so close to Christmas— and Bruce sympathized with the families of the nine innocents who were just killed by senseless violence. He, unfortunately, knew what it was like to spend your first Christmas without a loved one.
The Son of Gotham was in the worst of moods today and had been glued to the chair in his father's study— and being reminded what a crappy world he lived in certainly didn't help.
Someone had apparently bought the McLaren that Bruce had so desperately fantasized about for the last three months, which ruined his mood for two reasons: first, because someone bought his fucking car, and second, because it made him feel shitty that he could even afford to have such an issue, especially when there were people in the city being slaughtered daily— people who were struggling to put food on the table all while he was busy sulking in his mansion because he didn't get to chance to throw away a casual few million on his dream vehicle.
The door to the study opened and he glanced up to see Gregory Elias entering the room.
Bruce huffed and looked back to the screen.
The wood door closed with a soft thud.
"Alfred told me I'd find you in here."
Bruce grunted in response.
"He also said you've been in a bad mood."
It was silent, save for the current interview with Detective Gordon playing in the back. The weather outside also apparently shared Bruce's negative mood, with a stormy gray sky and heavy rain pelting against the window.
Gregory put his hands in the pockets of the long, brown coat he wore as he strode forward slowly. "Why the face?"
Bruce finally sighed and pushed the chair back, running a hand through his hair. His shoulders drooped. "This city is just so fucked."
Gregory was quiet, seeming to choose to not scold Bruce for swearing as he usually would.
"It is," the older man finally agreed.
"I-I don't understand." Bruce looked up. "People are just killed so senselessly. And no one gives a damn— half the time, the cops and the officials are the ones in on it."
Gregory rounded the table and stared at the screen atop the desk. "It's an unfortunate world we live in."
Bruce scowled. "No, it's an unfortunate world they live in. I— we— don't live in that world. I live in a world where I can be depressed all day about the fact that someone bought the car I wanted and then have my butler offer to make me food to cheer me up."
There was another long silence.
"That's very wise of you, Bruce." Gregory laid a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Your parents would be proud."
Bruce glanced at the man again. "Would they? Because the city that they care so much about is still corrupt and I can't do anything to help it."
"That's not true. You're a very powerful person— even if you don't realize it yet. You have a lot of influence on this city."
"People don't give a shit about what I have to say." Bruce sunk in his chair. "Who cares what billionaire, trust fund baby Bruce Wayne thinks? People want my money and my last name— that's it. And even if they did want to listen, I'm not sure I'd have anything worth saying— I'm not... I'm not smart like... Meredith. Or like you."
"That fact that you're self-aware proves you're smarter than you think— your father certainly didn't talk like this at your age."
Bruce traced the outlines of the sanded knots on the table surface.
Gregory slowly leaned his weight on the side of the desk. "And it also doesn't do you well to be putting Meredith on a pedestal like that. I'm not negating the fact that she's incredibly intelligent, but Meredith has a tendency to.... talk a big talk. She doesn't truly know anything about the world, Bruce. Not really."
Bruce bit the inside of his cheek. "Okay, so maybe I'm self-aware. And maybe Mare knows stuff and maybe she doesn't. Great. That doesn't stop people from dying."
"This... is all very true and thought-provoking." Gregory placed his hand on Bruce's shoulder gently. "However, I'll point out that, at least for the time being, you, unfortunately, can't do anything for anyone at this very second. There's no easy answer I can give you right now, even though I wish there was. Plus, it's Christmas Eve tomorrow, and I know Alfred is about to have dinner prepared. So how about we go and—"
"Well," Bruce interjected. "Maybe— maybe I can."
Gregory furrowed his brows.
Bruce turned the chair slightly. "I had money set aside for that car I wanted, and I was going to spend it on something else, but... maybe it'd be better if I donated it, instead."
Gregory stared at him blankly, and Bruce's confidence faltered.
"I mean, it probably wouldn't do a ton, but maybe it would help some people—"
"No, no, I'm not questioning you, Bruce. I'm just... that's... very mature of you."
"Oh. I just don't know how, though. I haven't pulled money out of my trust fund before, and even though I figured that out, I have no idea where to send it so that it goes to a charity."
Gregory nodded slowly. "I can help you with that. And, I know it doesn't mean as much to you as having your own father say it, but in his absence, I'll tell you that I am proud of you." Gregory reached a hand to ruffle Bruce's hair as he usually did and Bruce didn't complain. "You're a good kid, Bruce. Even if you do like to raise my blood pressure through the roof every three-to-five business days."
Bruce curled his lips up slightly as the older man dropped his hand. Bruce wouldn't admit it out loud, but it did feel nice to be told he made Gregory proud.
A hand clapped on Bruce's back. "And while I love this touching moment, I'm also starving. So how about dinner?"
Bruce nodded in agreement, turning off the TV and standing out of his seat. He stretched his arms and his back gave a satisfying pop before he followed Gregory out the doors of the study.
* * *
"It's Christmas!"
Bruce was given a startling awakening by another body collapsing on top of him.
His eyes shot open, blurrily taking in the scene. He turned his head over to see Devin sprawled out on the bed with a grin too wide for how early it was.
"Our eighteenth Christmas morning together, Short Stuff!" Devin tapped Bruce's nose. "Be prepared to get totally demolished in the annual snowball fight."
"Go away," Bruce groaned, flipping around and pulling the covers over his head.
Bruce should've known by now that a negative reaction would only make Devin try harder. The older boy wrapped two arms around Bruce and dragged him on top of his body, rocking him back and forth. "But Bruuuce! It's already five-thirty, and we still have to scope out the presents, guess what they are, prank Mare by throwing snow on her bed, get yelled at by my dad, sit through my mom forcing us to take pictures, and eat breakfast all before seven!"
"You're twenty-two, Devin," Bruce snapped. "Aren't you too old for this?"
"Aw, I'm never too old to spend time with you on a beautiful Christmas morning, Shortstack."
"Shut up. Just leave me alone." Bruce closed his eyes again.
Devin suddenly paused his rocking and froze. "Meredith! Why the fuck are you walking around at five-thirty with no shirt on?!"
Bruce's head shot up in curiosity, only to realize his bedroom door was closed. Anger flared beneath his skin as he turned to Devin, who had a shit-eating grin.
"Gotcha." Devin winked.
Bruce rolled over and reached up, grabbing the closest pillow to his head and slamming it into Devin's chest.
"Jesus— Bruce! Hey! Stop!"
Bruce couldn't help but snicker before Devin yanked the pillow out of his hands, forcing Bruce to duck to avoid getting hit. Bruce grabbed another one and threw it at Devin's head.
Devin laughed his typical, bellowing laugh, sitting up on his knees. "Oh, you're on, asshole."
* * *
A gasp filled the room. "Another hundred thousand shares in the company? Oh my God, it's just what I wanted! Thank you!"
Bruce watched Meredith gleefully stand up and press a kiss to her father's cheek. Bruce smiled slightly. Only Meredith would ever be excited over company stocks as a Christmas present.
"Now I can put that extra couple million I'd been saving into the S&P 500 like I'd hoped!" The girl fist-pumped the air. "Yes!" As she walked back to her seat past Devin she stuck her tongue out. "Don't be jealous."
Devin rolled his eyes at her. "Trust me. I'm not jealous 'cuz I'm not a loser."
"Devin Jeremy!" Eleanor swatted her son's arm. "You can not call your sister that name on Christmas."
"Can I call her that at 12:01 tonight?"
Devin earned a hard stare which made the older boy cross his arms and mutter something along the lines of "fine" and "sorry, I guess."
They all sat in the living room of Wayne Manor, everyone clad in pajamas and stomachs full of Alfred's famous Christmas morning soufflé. Low holiday music hummed in the background, nearly drowned out by the sound of Alfred desperately trying to compile all of the wrapping paper Devin had strewn across the floor.
There was suddenly the sound of loud, thumping footsteps from down the hall. Bruce turned his head to see Oliver Queen, hands full with shoddily decorated boxes in various shades of neon.
"Merry Christmas everyone!" the blonde bellowed, and Bruce had to quickly jut his hand out to catch a gift falling from Oliver's arms.
A chorus of "hello's" ran around the room as Oliver winked at Bruce. "Nice catch, Pretty Boy."
Bruce rolled his eyes.
"These are mostly from my parents," Oliver explained, beginning to hand out the presents to the appropriate recipient. "I don't know if you can tell, but I told them I'd handle the wrapping."
As the blond placed a gift on Meredith's lap, the girl scrunched her face. She lifted the corner of the bright pink wrapping paper which was coming off of the corner of the box. "Oh, we can tell."
Oliver looked confused which made Bruce chuckle breathily.
Wrapping aside, the room seemed happy with the gifts from the Queen family. Every year, Robert and Moira always bought Bruce an expensive sweater from some random location on one of their many trips around the globe. While it wasn't a surprise, the deep green Cashmere sweater he received from Mongolia was still a nice addition to his closet.
"I now have a gift for Bruce," Gregory suddenly announced.
Bruce tilted his head expectantly. With all of the parcels nearly opened, Bruce had briefly noticed that he didn't receive as many as he typically would've. Not that it was an issue, because materialistically, Bruce Wayne didn't want for much— he was perfectly content watching the grins on everyone else's faces as they opened their own presents.
From the couch over, Gregory held out a small gray box with a red bow. Bruce gingerly accepted it, studying the texture.
"This is the only gift you'll be getting from Eleanor and I this year," the older man said. "So you'd better like it."
Bruce paused. What was so important that it would be his only gift?
He began creating assumptions as he popped off the red bow— perhaps a watch or maybe cufflinks?
He opened the box slowly, where a black key settled in between the velvet padding.
Bruce pulled it out slowly as he inspected it with furrowed brows. It was nothing more than a silver key encased in a black top. It looked... it looked like a... car key?
Oliver, who stood eagerly in front of him, suddenly drew in a long gasp. "Shut. Up! Is that a fucking McLaren key?"
Bruce flipped the small piece of metal over to see "F1" embossed on the back.
His head expectantly shot up towards Gregory, who was smiling ever so slightly.
Bruce narrowed his eyes. "Is this some joke?"
The older man shrugged, and Eleanor giggled from next to him. "Why don't you go outside and see for yourself?"
Bruce's heart felt like it was stopping short as he shared a look with Oliver. The blond mirrored his expression of eyes widened in disbelief.
The two boys were suddenly shoving each other out of the way, shouts filling the room as they each tried to be the first one to reach the door. Devin was yelling in the background to wait for him and laughter from the adults sounded behind them.
Footsteps pounded towards the front door.
"Move, Bruce!"
"No! You move, Ollie!"
"Get out of my— Bruce!"
The blond tumbled to the floor and such a genuine laugh spilled from Bruce's throat as he rounded the corner to the foyer, flinging open the front doors.
And there, sitting at the steps of Wayne Manor, was a shiny, all-black McLaren F1.
Bruce didn't like to be happy. Showing emotion felt uncomfortable for him, especially any form of cheerfulness. He liked to be mysterious— to move in silence and keep everyone guessing. But at the moment, all of that seemed dim in comparison to the adrenaline rushing through his veins, making his eyes widen into saucers as he took in the vehicle. A kid on Christmas morning, quite literally.
Oliver appeared next to him, crashing into Bruce's back to stop himself from falling down the steps. "Holy. Fuck!"
For one of the very few times in his life, Bruce wasn't sure what his face was doing. It was somewhere between confused and overwhelmed and smiling all at once.
It was almost something out of a commercial, with snow coating the usually lush greenery of the Manor and trimming the cobblestone of the roundabout, the car sitting dead in the center.
The adults had finally made their way to the door, and Devin pushed past them.
"What are we all freaking out ab— oh my God."
The eldest boy joined Bruce and Oliver in staring at the car like a bunch of idiots.
"Well?" Gregory sounded amused from behind them, and Bruce was barely able to tilt his head to face the man.
"Is it mine?" Was all Bruce could manage, voice sounding like puberty was practically nonexistent for him— all high-pitched and breathy.
A smile finally split on Gregory's face. "Look at the back and you tell me."
The three made their way down the steps, feet bare and freezing against the cold pavement.
When they saw the rear end of the car, every mouth dropped. The license plate was black, reading "WAYNE" in yellow letters.
"That is the coolest thing I've ever seen!" Oliver was shouting, jumping, and gripping Bruce's arm all at the same time. "Wait— I want my last name on a license plate! Why the fuck haven't I thought of that yet?"
"Hey, hey, I want one too!" Devin blurted. "Dad! Why did you get Bruce a cool license plate but not me?! Your actual, biological son?"
The sound of the two gushing over license plates faded into the distance as Bruce stared at the car, stunned.
Gregory had somehow walked up next to Bruce without him noticing. "Do you like it?"
"Do I—" Bruce finally looked at the man, trying to come up with the right words. "I— can I drive it?"
The businessman chuckled. "You can—"
Bruce's heart just about exploded with joy.
"—But—"
Bruce frowned.
"—There are rules, Bruce. This is a very expensive vehicle—"
The Son of Gotham nodded eagerly, prepared to agree to do whatever the man wanted him to.
"You cannot speed in this—"
"Ahuh."
"You cannot drive recklessly—"
"Okay."
"If you actually want to drive it, you need to get it routinely serviced after every use—"
"Okay! Okay! I promise I won't go over twenty-five!"
Gregory gave him a look.
"Okay... thirty-five."
The man narrowed his eyes.
"Okay I won't go over fifty I swear! And I'll get it serviced and I will rarely drive it and I promise I won't get pulled over by the cops ever again now can I please drive it?!
Gregory sighed, waiting a beat or two before rolling his eyes. "I suppose you ca—"
Bruce will never know what truly overtook him at this moment, but he immediately had his arms wrapped tightly around Gregory, blurting out a string of "thank you's" into the man's sweater. Gregory stood completely still in shock, which went right over Bruce's head. The boy pulled away as quickly as he had hugged the businessman, fumbling for the keys in his hand and nearly dropping them in the process.
"Shotgun!" Oliver was suddenly screaming, pushing Devin over into a snow-covered bush.
Bruce unlocked the door and the blond practically swung himself into the passenger's seat, just barely locking the door before Devin started pounding on the window.
The vehicle smelled brand new and Bruce bit his lip in anticipation as he put the key into the ignition and turned the car on. The rumble of the engine beneath him forced out a shocked laugh from Bruce and shouts of joy from Oliver.
"This is the coolest thing I've ever done in my entire life!" Oliver was shouting as Bruce curled his hands around the steering wheel.
Bruce couldn't control his response. "I know!"
Gregory was knocking on the window and Bruce pushed the button to roll it down, barely being able to keep his eyes off of the long straight driveway of the Manor which he absolutely had to race this car down or he was going to collapse from anticipation—
"Now remember what I said Bruce—"
"No going over fifty don't get pulled over don't crash and always get the car serviced I know now can I drive it already?!"
"I want you to be careful—"
Bruce took that as a yes and suddenly his foot was slamming onto the gas, probably devaluing the car by thousands as the wheels squealed beneath them and the engine roared powerfully, quickly picking up speed.
Was he totally getting in trouble later because he was already going seventy and breaking at least three of Gregory's rules in the first two seconds? Yes. But did Bruce care? Absolutely not.
"Bruce Thomas!" Gregory's bellowing yell was faintly heard in the distance, getting drowned out by the sound of the engine and the wind whistling over the open window and the two boys screaming in joy.
Bruce didn't believe in the spirit of the holidays, but, for a very brief moment in time, Christmas magic was completely, one hundred percent real, and everything in life seemed good.
Definitely not spectacular or wonderful or amazing, and it barely even touched the surface of Bruce's traumas. But life hadn't been purely good for Bruce since he was eight years old, so for the time being, it was so good to just be good.
* * *
Hi everyone! Here's a Christmas chapter, courtesy of the holiday season :)) I'm finally on winter break and am so excited! Also, I'm planning on posting a second chapter tonight as an early holiday present for everyone. Thank you for 56k and also over 800 followers!?! I'm so so grateful!! I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter :)
xo Alexa