I Saw Grayson Kissing Santa Claus

Santa Meets Damian

It was moments like this that made Tim wish he'd been adopted into another family. Literally any family, other than the crazy one he belonged to. He could handle the death and destruction that came with the Robin mantle. He could handle Bruce's brooding. Hell, he could even handle the fact that two thirds of his 'brothers' wanted him dead.

But he drew the line at dressing up in silly elf costumes. Sure, charity work was important for the maintenance of their secret identities and what-not — but why did Bruce have to sign him up for this? What, donating a few thousands here and there wasn't good enough anymore?

No, obviously it wasn't. Because if it was, he wouldn't be standing in the middle of a crowded mall, dressed in a costume that reminded him far too much of the early Robin days (Dick had already proved he could handle leotards and pixie boots; surely this wasn't too much of a stretch), and having to be reminded numerous times to, "stop scowling — seriously Tim, you're scaring all the children!"

Oh god, he was channelling Damian. Charity work was supposed to be good for you, it wasn't supposed to turn you into a psychotic, creepy, demon-child...

"Smile!" came a frantic hiss from another volunteer — Max, Tim was fairly certain his name was. "Seriously, you look like you're about to go on a killing spree. I think that kid over there just wet his pants."

"Sorry," Tim muttered. "If you couldn't tell, I really don't want to be here."

Max's eyes narrowed. "Well," he said, "I hear that sometimes they buy all us volunteers ice-cream after this is done. So stop glaring, because if you make the kids cry, then we won't be getting any!"

Tim opened his mouth to reply — perhaps something along the lines of, "I'll by you an ice-cream if you shut the hell up" (okay, maybe not as harsh as that, but he was in a pretty foul mood) — when Max suddenly shuddered.

"What?" Tim asked, concerned.

"It's that creepy kid again," Max muttered, grimacing. "I swear, he's walked past us at least five times, and he keeps — staring..."

Creepy kid? Tim thought of Damian, and rolled his eyes. "Trust me," he said, "it could be a lot worse."

...

There he was.

There the old man was, sitting cheerily on his overweight bottom, deluding every imbecile in the vicinity. Damian couldn't understand how no one saw the spark in his eyes, or the malice in that supposedly cheerful laugh. How could these idiotic parents allow their children to go near this man?

Damian had felt almost nauseous when his father had laid a hand on his shoulder, and had said, "why don't you go up and speak to Santa?"