Flash Fic: Snow, Shapes and Parents
Title: Christmas Lights
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Dick Grayson
Warnings: none
Summary: The early days weren't the easiest.
A/N: Another round of improperly named Flash Fic.
Christmas at the manor was the sort of spectacular affair usually reserved for adverts and billboards. A whirlwind of parties where the guests were as impeccably dressed as the house itself, snuck in between long days Bruce would only label as “important business”, and the enthusiasm as schools rushed to the end of the semester and the real onset of the holiday season.
It was meant to be exciting. Everything was about anticipation, from the decorations in stores, to the lights in the streets, to the frantic shopping for presents. Perhaps tempered with nerves, for the first Christmas in a new place with new people, but it still should have been... more.
Dick was miserable.
School had finished with Dick still woefully behind in everything barring PE, and now he and Матрёшка were essentially confined to the manor while the weather grew more miserable and they gradually atrophied from sheer boredom.
They weren’t allowed to help with the cooking; even Bruce didn’t dare venture into the kitchen. They’d been banned from helping with the decorations due to scaring Alfred and Sterling half to death by hanging from the chandelier. Bruce wasn’t around except when his social life outweighed his business life, and even then Dick only saw him for the obligatory “look at how sensitive I am, adopting a circus brat turned orphan” show at the start of each party.
Even Матрёшка struggled, as bright as she usually was. She’d tried, bless her she had tried, but after her overtures to Bellaluna and Sterling had been met with lukewarm responses, she’d taken to hiding on his shoulder, and peering out of the window rather than playing. Dick couldn’t blame her: he didn’t have the heart either.
The cold had made their window fog up, and the panes were patterned with warped circles where Матрёшка had cleared a hole to see through. It was still grey outside, though there had been threats of snow for weeks
They’d never seen a snowy Christmas: until that year they’d always wintered in Florida, practising for the next season. Didn’t matter now. That wasn’t how things worked anymore.
No circus. No Flying Graysons. No family Christmas, regardless of what Alfred said. The closest thing to family still wasn’t family, especially when Bruce was never there anyway.
“It’s snowing, love,” Матрёшка piped up, paws up against the window and swiping a new gash in the misty glass as every breath fogged it again. He got up to join her, one hand curled in her fur, and watched the fat flakes drifting past, lit by the steady procession of headlights up the drive.
“Beautiful,” he replied, and closed the curtains against the lights.
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Dick Grayson
Warnings: none
Summary: The early days weren't the easiest.
A/N: Another round of improperly named Flash Fic.
Christmas at the manor was the sort of spectacular affair usually reserved for adverts and billboards. A whirlwind of parties where the guests were as impeccably dressed as the house itself, snuck in between long days Bruce would only label as “important business”, and the enthusiasm as schools rushed to the end of the semester and the real onset of the holiday season.
It was meant to be exciting. Everything was about anticipation, from the decorations in stores, to the lights in the streets, to the frantic shopping for presents. Perhaps tempered with nerves, for the first Christmas in a new place with new people, but it still should have been... more.
Dick was miserable.
School had finished with Dick still woefully behind in everything barring PE, and now he and Матрёшка were essentially confined to the manor while the weather grew more miserable and they gradually atrophied from sheer boredom.
They weren’t allowed to help with the cooking; even Bruce didn’t dare venture into the kitchen. They’d been banned from helping with the decorations due to scaring Alfred and Sterling half to death by hanging from the chandelier. Bruce wasn’t around except when his social life outweighed his business life, and even then Dick only saw him for the obligatory “look at how sensitive I am, adopting a circus brat turned orphan” show at the start of each party.
Even Матрёшка struggled, as bright as she usually was. She’d tried, bless her she had tried, but after her overtures to Bellaluna and Sterling had been met with lukewarm responses, she’d taken to hiding on his shoulder, and peering out of the window rather than playing. Dick couldn’t blame her: he didn’t have the heart either.
The cold had made their window fog up, and the panes were patterned with warped circles where Матрёшка had cleared a hole to see through. It was still grey outside, though there had been threats of snow for weeks
They’d never seen a snowy Christmas: until that year they’d always wintered in Florida, practising for the next season. Didn’t matter now. That wasn’t how things worked anymore.
No circus. No Flying Graysons. No family Christmas, regardless of what Alfred said. The closest thing to family still wasn’t family, especially when Bruce was never there anyway.
“It’s snowing, love,” Матрёшка piped up, paws up against the window and swiping a new gash in the misty glass as every breath fogged it again. He got up to join her, one hand curled in her fur, and watched the fat flakes drifting past, lit by the steady procession of headlights up the drive.
“Beautiful,” he replied, and closed the curtains against the lights.