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No one knew when or exactly why it started, but at some point every year on the 6th of December the entire Batfamily woke up to a handmade pair of knitted socks, some chocolate and an orange in their pair of shoes for that day. For the fact that they are literally a family full of detectives and vigilantes, it took them longer than most of them would want to admit, to figure out who had left them there and why. And it wasn’t even like he was sneaky with it.
To be fair, there were three people who knew what happened. Alfred, because Alfred seemingly knows everything (and because he recognized the socks from one of the slower nights on patrol he oversaw and the pattern that might have originated with his mother). Bruce has had a prior experience with this specific tradition. And then there was Dick. He of course knew because he was the one both making and leaving the socks.
Sometime after he left the Manor to set out on his own, Dick picked up knitting as a way to both calm down and to keep in touch with Alfred, who had originally taught him. Over the years he had a lot of fun learning new patterns and how to create different pieces, but by far his favorite were good old fashioned socks. But since it is Dick, they did have one small twist, they usually had a theme going on, whether it was one of the innumerable hero insignias or letters, something was always going on. Not to forget the huge range of colours he liked to use. It was a known fact that on slow nights in Blüdhaven, you could sometimes see Nightwing sitting on one rooftop or another and knitting rather colourful socks. Most people weren’t quite sure where he stored the materials while he was out on patrol specifically .
Even though Dicks tendencies were rather well known, it still took Tim two hours to figure out who had left him the socks. In his defence he was both in San Fransisco at the Titans Tower at the time, which was why his mind didn’t immediately jump to his brothers and he hadn’t slept in about 56 hours on top of everything else that was going on, as always (seriously Tim, go to bed, sleep is good for you!).He seriously needed more sleep, as always, he heard his brother voice in his head telling him ‘Sleep is good for you baby bird!’. All of this resulted into quite a shock to the young detective, who immediately ran tests on all of the gifts left for him. The pattern on his socks, which included his symbol as Red Robin and “Batfam™”, wasn’t any help in calming down the ensuing paranoia. An incredible amount of caffeine in his favorite giant mug later, as well as an offhand remark of Cassies on how Donna had once mentioned his brothers tendencies to gift personalized knitted things, specifically quite comfy socks. Wasn’t this a coincidence? But as we all know, there are no coincidences in the life of a bat.
This realisation then prompted a sleep deprived Tim to Zeta to Blüdhaven, where he barged right into the PD. All of this to question Dick about the meaning of the socks in his shoes and why he’d want him to die an early death due to him having a heart attack. Sleepy Tim tends to get a little dramatic at times. While doing this he was completely ignoring the fact, that his brother was in the middle of a meeting with Amy. They were discussing the latest arrest stats and how to effectively combat the corruption around them.
Dick promptly sends him an exhausted and disapproving look, but as soon as he realises that Tim’s eyebags had eyebags and that he stomped there in his pajamas his gaze softened considerably. Additionally, Dick’s mother hen programing set in and started taking his brother’s appearance, starting with the outfit consisting of Kon’s old hoodie, sweatpants, and some Batman themed slippers he had gotten as a gag gift a few Christmases ago. Another major clue were the socks he was holding tightly in his left hand. “Tim, I know that something about the socks is very important to you right now, and I promise I will answer your questions later on, but right now I really need you to take a nap. You look like you haven’t slept in waaaay too long again, and you somehow also forgot to drink coffee. Maybe through some twisted miracle you have finally build up enough resistance to it that it doesn’t affect you anymore. Either way I’m going to take you to my apartment now and you are going to sleep until I finish up my shift, okay?” And with those words, and an apologetic smile at his former partner, he ushers his softly protesting little brother in the direction of the entrance and to the closest bed (which happened to be located in a safehouse of his around the corner). He had the foresight to take the little coffee that was left from his last stay there with him, to undercut at least one of the ideas the young CEO might get and makes his way back to the station. By this point in Dick’s career, this had happened enough times that only the rookies still batted an eye at the many Wayne’s coming and being mothered by Dick.
That evening Dick and Tim arrived together to family dinner, a fact no one cares to question. It isn’t that unusual that some of the siblings call on Dick when they need some mothering, and it is very apparent that Tim had gotten a few hours of sleep. A fact that they automatically, and rightly so, attribute to Dick. Depending on how long all of them had patrolled the last night, and at which time they had to be up, the level of slight confusion at the socks in their shoes varied. Some of them just assumed it would be fully explained at dinner and didn’t spare it much thought, assuming it came from within the family, which wasn’t the most far off assumption, considering it literally said “Batfam™” on them and had a border consisting of each persons corresponding symbol. Others had already connected the dots and figured out that the socks were most likely made by Dick. They started dinner with the usual amount of chaos and actually were halfway through the main course, which that day consisted of some kind of fantastic super fancy mac-n-cheese, until the semi-mysterious case of the socks was brought up. This might have something to do with the ungodly amount of coffee Tim had ingested, now that he could get some from Alfred (and sneak away to make some more in the kitchen, since the butler tried to get him to cut back on his coffee). Now that he was more rested and fully awake due to caffeine, he remembered the promise his oldest brother had made earlier.
“So, Dick, what is up with the socks, you somehow got into my room at the tower? You did say you’d answer my questions later,” he exclaimed while reaching for the potatoes. This caused a minor disturbance in form of a flurry of bats and birds uttering.
“I knew it”
“Of course, it was Dick”
“You guys also had socks in your shoes?”
The sound of Alfred clearing his throat reduces the noise to a minimum, something that will probably be rather nice for Dicks voice going forward.
“Oh yes the socks. Ask away? Though I am not entirely sure what all this commotion is about.”, the eldest of Bruce’s kids asks the round innocently. Everyone is absolutely aware of how much he is enjoying this right now.
“What?”
“Why?”
“How?”
“The actual fuck Dickface?” is the general reception of his offer. This just gets him to smirk even more and bathe for a little longer in the successfully achieved confusion that just seemed to exude from his siblings. Finally, he deemed his dramatic pause as long enough, so he started answering one question after the other:
“Well, I obviously left all of you socks that should be in your size, with the Batfam™ writing, as well as some chocolate and an orange for Saint Nick’s in your shoes this morning. The why should be kind of self explanatory. Did I forget something? Oh, and the how is simply answered with the Zeta tubes, years of knowing all of you and your respective habits as well as a few things I have picked up during all this time as a bird. Any more questions?” He looks openly in the kind of puzzled faces of the others around the table, honestly having expected at least a little bigger reaction than the confusion seeping into their facial expressions. Cass is the one that rescues the others by stating the question all of them seem to have: “Saint Nicks?”
Now that was something he hadn’t expected and he deflated a little.
“Wait, don’t tell me you guys have never heard of Saint Nicks?” He barely waits for an answer before starting to ramble a little:
“Oh no didn’t think you might not know of it, I’m sorry. If I had known I’d never have just left it all…. No wonder Timmy showed up the way he did! I never thought that might not have been a universal thing, it was just so normal back then.” He kind of shakes himself out of his flustered stupor, before starting to explain it all.
“Saint Nicks is a Christmas Tradition I grew up with, that might have originated in Germany? I’m actually not quite sure, I never looked into it, but I think we started this when I was pretty little and we toured there. Whatever, it basically is a tradition to put little gifts in kids, and other loved ones shoes, during the night from December 5th to December 6th in remembrance of Saint Nicholas of Myrra I think it was. Pretty sure he is a Catholic Saint for helping the poor in about the 6th century in Turkey, if I’m not misremembering right now. And I thought it would be a fun thing to do and I had already made the socks…” Here he just kind of forgot where his train of thought was going and hid his head in his hands out of annoyance, which was mostly directed at himself for forgetting these traditions might not have been a thing for his siblings. “If I had known you didn’t have it or know about it, I would have warned you and not just broken in, leaving specific things for all of you behind, that meant someone could have figured out our identities.”
“It’s okay chum, nothing bad happened.”, Bruce now intervened, displaying a rather unusual amount of emotional literacy for him. “You don’t have to blame yourself; it was nice of you to think of sharing this tradition with us all.”
After all the closed off man remembered that first year of Dick staying with him, that December 5th when he insisted on polishing his shoes before going to bed. He remembered staying up after the young kid had long gone to bed, trying to figure out what the meaning of it all had been. That night a very confused cashier in a Gotham supermarket that had the usually dreaded night shift sold Batman some chocolate and oranges. It was a story no one she ever told believed, because why would Batman need chocolate and oranges in the middle of the night. Especially since a lot of people still thought him more Urban Legend than actual vigilante and hero back then. The years after it all became a tradition in the manor, just without masked grocery trips. It all had stopped after Dick left and Bruce just never picked it back up, even after reconnecting with his oldest. It had always a thing they had done together, it hadn’t seemed to fit anymore.
Dick could feel a smaller hand grab his and move it from his face. With slightly watery vision he could see his youngest brother forcing now both his hands away and reaching out to wipe away the tear starting show in the corner of his eye. It reminded him again of how far the former assassin had come. He couldn’t (and didn’t want to) stop himself and pulled him into a tight hug, to which Damian put barely any resistance up. He’d have to remember to give his brothers in general and Dami specifically more hugs, that would probably help them. Somehow it turned rather quickly into a family hug, with Bruce slightly awkwardly patting Dicks head a couple times, not quite sure how to deal with all of his kids hugging.
It turned out that, with the exception of Tim, most of them weren’t too freaked out by the gifts and they actually really liked them. This was how the tradition of Saint Nicks was resurrected in the Wayne household, though Dick was usually the one doing the gifting. But it did fit best this way. Every year all of them got a new pair of themed socks, which quickly became favorites of theirs. Usually there was a theme throughout them all, with personalisation’s like different symbols, colours or stitched on names that one year.
Now years later, Dick still put handmade socks, chocolate and an orange into all of their shoes for them to find on every December 6th morning, almost no matter what. Only exceptions being if one of them was in deep space or needed space at moment. First instance would have the gifts there as soon as they were back on earth (or the Watch Tower) and in the second he’d usually leave them either in front of their door or in especially precarious cases in a safe house they’d probably use next (just without the oranges in that case). Therefore, even undercover Tim could count on a new pair of comfy socks that December morning, even though he was in June’s apartment in New York instead of Wayne Manor. One and a half years into his undercover assignment as Neal Caffrey he was certainly missing his family, but he could already glimpse at the unusually formed silhouette of his shoes from his bed after waking up unusually rested due to a more regulated sleep schedule the assignment brought with it. After getting dressed and ready he checked them out. He saw that this years theme seemed to be a rim adorned with yellow bats on black wool, as well as the symbols of other heroes he frequently worked and was close with on the rest of the sock. He assumed that this would be the case for all of them. With a small grin he traces all the symbols and if he lingered on a certain red S a little longer than on the others it was absolutely no one’s business. He quickly decides to switch his currently boring black socks with his new ones, just to feel the comfort of his family today. He will see them soon again, but it just wasn’t the same. After allowing himself another moment of reminiscing, he mentally puts his Neal Caffrey mask back on wills it to melt into his face, pulling Tim Drake back into another compartment. Peter should be arriving momentarily. Slipping on his shoes, he grabs hit fedora and remembers to put the orange into the fruit bowl on the kitchen table and the chocolate on his nightstand. And as soon as he is back in front of his apartment door he can already hear the familiar step of Peter Burke, who is barely surprised anymore, when he opens the door right as the agents wants to knock.
The drive to the office isn’t that exciting, they don’t have a big case at the moment, which means more mortgage fraud for both of them, which doesn’t inspire quite the banter some of their other cases do. Surprisingly enough either Peter hadn’t picked up on Neals unusual choice of socks yet or he had chosen not to comment on them. Both options wouldn’t be much of a surprise to the alleged conman, but he honestly preferred the silence on this matter. The less questions his newest comfort clothes brought with them, the better. He just kind of needed them today.
In the first half of the work day nothing happened that seemed that memorable, the usual paperwork, some quips here and there and obviously the sludge they dared to call coffee. Every passing day Neal was more and more tempted to just buy a new one himself, but wasn’t sure how that would go over with Hughes and Peter. His best guess would be that they’d be opposed to it just out of principle, no matter how much they hated the sludge. He’d just have to continue getting Peter hooked on quality coffee, which would ultimately result in him not being able to do anything but ask for a new machine himself. If there was something he should be good at it was the long con.
Lunch was a different thing every day, since he sometimes had to do some WE business at those times, hidden by dinner dates and having to consult with some associates for a case. It was just part of the gig that he signed up for, but he was glad nonetheless when he realized today he could just grab something with his colleagues. Speaking of the agents, Jones was currently on course to his desk.
“Hey, Caffrey, wanna grab some Thai with me? I heard there is this new place two blocks east that I think you’d like and I could really use some fresh air.”
While positively surprised by the invite, Neal can’t hold back a little quip. “But Agent Jones, aren’t we supposed to work on this very important mortgage fraud right now?”
“If you’d rather stay and do paperwork, be my guest. My files will still be there after I’ve eaten a warm meal though,” the ex-navy man retorts, long over it all.
“Of course not, everything is better than this!” Caffrey exclaimed just seconds later, jumping into action in apparent fear of being left behind.
He quickly grabs both hat and jacket, before he follows the taller man to the elevator. They don’t do things together that often, considering Peter is his handler and he somehow just immediately clicked with Diana. Sometimes he had to actively remember that he theoretically knew Jones relatively well for longer than her. It is probably kinda obvious through the whole calling him by his last name thing too, but just because they haven’t had much direct interaction yet, doesn’t mean they won’t ever. At least he kind of hopes it doesn’t.
Wordlessly he follows the agent to the restaurant that does seem like something he’d enjoy. It might actually be a good place to have the next Batkids meet-up. But he couldn’t just linger at this right now, he was in company of a trained FBI agent, he simply couldn’t afford to let his mask slip now. With that he fully stepped into the restaurant, following Jones to the table the hostess points them to. Still kind of lost in his thoughts he decides to trust Jones tastebuds and orders the same, which is something he really hopes he won’t regret.
Actually, looking at the agent makes him seem younger than he’d thought him to be so far, Neal realized while studying his lunch buddy interested. Seeing how this seemed to make him a little bit squirmy, brought a small smile to the conman’s lips. All of this while inwardly hoping that this didn’t seem sleazy and that the discomfort was just due to him not knowing what Neal was planning. That resulted in him deciding to give Jones a small break from the direct eye contact and let his eyes give the Harvard grad a quick once over. That was the plan at least until his eyes got caught on the socks the agent was wearing. After all they did seem awfully familiar. And he seemed to have picked up on what had caught his interest a lot more quickly than he’d have assumed to be honest. While he was still wondering how much he’d have to revise the mental (and digital) file he had on one Clinton Jones, the man said something that nearly made his mind short circuit. “Oh, do you like my socks? My brother made them for me.”