“Not on your life, Kenny. I’m not so old yet that I can’t finish what I started!” Helena laughed; tales of the friendly rivalry between the two store owners were legend in Gotham City.
It took most of an hour, but when they were finished, the den of Wayne Manor was prepared for a morning onslaught by eager children. As they prepared to leave, Charlie and Ken each handed Bruce a bundle of envelopes. “Make sure each family gets these, one from each of us.”
Bruce gave them a puzzled look. “What are–?”
“Just you never mind, Bruce. Just make sure they get them, OK?” said Ken.
“And don’t forget what I told you about that one gift,” added Charlie.
“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t forget. And guys, thank you.”
***
It was shortly after seven in the morning when a sleek silver car pulled in through the gates of Wayne Manor and drove quickly around the to the back of the house. When it pulled to a stop near a back door, two men got out of the car.
“Follow me, Master Dick. I should be able to tell if Master Bruce is in the house and where he is at.” Alfred Beagle walked with a spry step belying his advanced years, pulling a key from his pocket and unlocking the door. The door opened into a modest living room. Alfred walked over to a panel with several numbered lights on it. He flipped a switch, and more than a dozen of the bulbs lit up. “‘Pon my word, Master Dick. It appears Master Bruce has several visitors!”
“Funny — all these years, and I have never been in your quarters, Alfred,” said Richard Grayson. “What are these connected to? Microphones in each of the rooms?”
“Sensitive ones, sir, to pick up the sound of a person breathing. Naturally, the lights only tell me if there is someone in the room, and no words are transmitted.”
“So this is how you always knew where to find us in the house?”
“Precisely, sir. And I see the light for Master Bruce’s room is lit. I doubt that he would allow anyone else in there, so that is where we shall proceed posthaste in our endeavor to find out what is going on.”
“Good. And maybe he can explain this newspaper story!” said Richard, smacking a rolled-up copy of the Gotham Gazette in his open palm.
A flight of stairs and a dash down a hallway brought the pair to bedroom door. Alfred tapped lightly on it before entering, then waved a hand to signal Richard to follow.
“Ah, good morning! I’m glad to see you made home in time for Christmas!” Bruce Wayne sat at a small table by the French doors leading onto a balcony.
Alfred and Richard stopped in their tracks. “Bruce? You do know that you have a house full of people, right?”
“Of course, I do, Dick!” Bruce rose from his chair, a cup of coffee in his hand. “I expect they’ll start waking up any time now. We should get downstairs before the kids get down there.”
“Kids? What’s going on?”
“And what is the story behind Miss Vicki Vale’s story on the front page of the Gotham Gazette?” Alfred grabbed the paper from Richard’s hands and held it up. The headline, in three-inch letters, read Batman Returns over a photo of Batman handing a cat over to a young girl. “Was this you, Master Bruce?”
“It was, indeed, old friend. It’s a long story, but it will keep till tonight. Now, let me see that paper before we go down and see what kind of liesVicki dreamed up.”
Batman Returns
December 25, 1978
by Vicki Vale
In the midst of tragedy, Gotham City received a Christmas gift last night. More than two years after he announced his retirement from public life, the caped crusader known as Batman appeared to save several families from a burning apartment building.
According to Battalion Chief Larry Gilbert, a leaking gas line in the basement of the building at the Brooklawn Apartments ignited shortly after seven o’clock, setting the first two floors of the building ablaze. Responding fire companies were able to evacuate the second floor, and the occupant of one of the first floor apartments got out of the building just as the firefighters arrived. That is when Batman and the Huntress arrived on the scene, launching themselves to the top of the building and rescuing the residents of the upper floors, bringing some of the residents down from the building themselves. (see picture, page A-4) After that, the Batman re-entered the burning building to rescue the trapped first-floor residents.
All appeared lost when the back wall of the building collapsed, but Batman proved that he has not lost any of his time-tested skills as he managed to not only rescue the Swanson family, but finished his night off by presenting Trista Swanson with her cat, whom she had believed lost in the fire.
Thanks to the timely intervention of the caped crusader and the Huntress, the fire resulted in no deaths and only minor injuries to one of the residents and two firefighters. Neither of the costumed heroes had any comments for the press, but this reporter hopes that they are spending their Christmas Day with loved ones and enjoying a much-deserved rest.
“Leave it to Vicki to step out of her role as objective reporter for this one,” said Bruce with a chuckle as he laid the paper on the table, the inside photo of himself and his daughter swinging out of the building with the young children facing upward. “I’ll have to see about getting a copy of that picture for the Batcave, though.”
“I think I hear someone in the hall,” remarked Richard.
“Let’s get downstairs, then,” said Bruce.
Moments later, the den of Wayne Manor was overrun by eight shouting, screaming children as they saw the gifts stacked under the Christmas tree and realized that the gifts were for them. Each child was handed packages to take to their parents and the other adults before opening their own presents, though. As Helena Wayne read off the names on the tags, one child remained standing by himself. When all of the gifts appeared to have been given out, Helena called twelve-year-old Martin Evans over. “This,” she said, handing him an envelope, “is for you.”
He stepped back and opened the envelope. Inside was a second envelope and a folded sheet of paper. He unfolded the sheet and read it. “Martin, the gift you asked is not something that can be easily given. Your request for a job for your father in place of any presents for yourself is unusual and shows great maturity for one of your age. What I can offer for your father is an opportunity. In the envelope are names and addresses of people for him to contact. I believe he will find a job with one of them. Take the envelope to your father, then look behind the couch. S.C.”
Martin did as the letter instructed him to, and after handing the envelope to his father, found a modest stack of wrapped gifts waiting for him behind the couch. As he unwrapped them, he watched his father.
Ted Evans opened the envelope given to him by his son and read the contents. He then walked over to where Bruce Wayne stood with a middle-aged man with graying temples and an older man watching the festivities. “Mr. Wayne?”
“Please, call me Bruce.”
“Bruce, then. I — I don’t know what to say. I’ve applied with both Wainwright’s and Mercer’s, and they didn’t have any openings in their accounting departments.”
“Try them again. I have it on very good authority that they are looking for smart accountants who are flexible enough to help their companies adjust to new ways of doing business.” Bruce reached into a pocket of his smoking jacket. “Oh and these are for you and the other families — would you mind passing them around?”
Ted opened the two envelopes with his name on them. “They’re gift certificates. One thousand dollars each, one from Wainwright’s and one from Mercer’s department stores.”
“I thought it would be something like that. To help replace what you’ve lost.”
Richard Grayson and Alfred Beagle looked over the tumult in the den, then looked at each other. “If I know Master Bruce, he has probably not considered breakfast for his guests,” remarked Alfred.
“Yeah, breakfast never was our most regular meal around here. You want help whipping somethin
g up?” asked Richard.
“I think that would be most prudent, given the number of mouths to be fed.” Alfred led the way through the dining room to the kitchen, expecting to find a mess left from the previous night. Instead, he found two men and two women bustling about the room, preparing trays of scrambled eggs, ham, and fried potatoes.
“Oh! You must be Mr. Wayne’s butler; he said you might be arriving,” said an older, dark-skinned woman. “Seeing as we don’t have any kids, we offered to take care of feeding the troops.” To punctuate her sentence, she slapped a stack of ham slices on a platter.
“So it seems, Miss–?”
“Mrs. Sarah Dillon, but if you try to call me Mrs. Dillon, don’t expect an answer,” she said with a smile. “I got to hand it to you, this is the finest kitchen I’ve worked in since the old Ritz closed down. Made it real easy for us to pull this together.”
“Don’t let her kid you, gents. She pulled it together; we’re just here to stir pots and carry trays,” replied the younger of the two men, who appeared to be only a few years older than Richard. He offered a flour-coated hand to the newcomers. “Steve Johnson, and that’s my wife Nora. Sarah’s husband over there flipping home fries is Paul.”
“I’m Dick Grayson, and this is Alfred Beagle. So how can we help out?”
***
It was mid-afternoon when a pair of hotel shuttle buses pulled up in front of Wayne Manor. Christmas gifts and bundles of clothing were loaded up, and the former residents of the Brooklawn Apartments said their goodbyes to their hosts.
“I think we all appreciate the offer, Bruce, but we need to get started with getting on with the rest of our lives. And my company was nice enough to let us use the block of rooms they keep for clients at the Crown Hotel for a few days.” Steve Johnson turned to look over the group. “They’re also going to help us find new homes.”
“That’s great, but don’t hesitate to call me if you run into any problems.” Bruce handed him a business card, then walked down the steps to say goodbye to each family in turn. The last was the Swanson family. Ed still had the bandage on his head from his injury in the fire, and Kevin stayed by his side. Trista, though, was off talking with one of the other girls.
“I’m sure I’m going to catch it from Trista when she realizes we left before she could see the horses,” said Ed.
“Call me when the weather gets warmer. I’m sure Helena would love to introduce her to the stable.” Bruce turned as Trista came running up to them and jumped up into his arms. “Well! I haven’t gotten a hug like that since Helena was a little girl.”
The tiny blonde laughed. “Hugs are great! Like a Christmas present you can give any time.”
“Are you ready to go?” asked her father.
“Almost.” She leaned forward so she could whisper in Bruce’s ear. “Remember when I told Santa I had a secret?”
“Yes,” murmured Bruce, just loud enough for her to hear.
“Well this is it. Merry Christmas, Mr. Batman!” Before Bruce could react, the five-year-old squirmed out of his arms and dashed for the bus. “Bye!”
Batman: 1978: Merry Christmas, Mr. Batman, Epilogue: Daughter of the Batman
by Immortalwildcat
Christmas Eve, 1988:
“And that’s how Dad and I spent our last Christmas together.”
Helena Wayne lay her head back on the sofa, eyes closed. “Hard to believe it’s been ten years.”
“Is that why people know the Huntress is Batman’s daughter?” Helena straightened up and looked at her adopted daughter, Sonia Wayne. “You told the fire chief that he was your father.”
“I never really thought about it much. It wasn’t until after Dad’s death that many people seemed to make the connection, though. Eventually, the Justice Society mentioned it in one of their press releases.”
“Did you ever hear from any of them after that?” asked Sonia.
“Greg Robertson called me a few times, once to ask me to an office party and a couple of times just to talk. He even invited me to his wedding, but I wasn’t able to go.” Helena closed her eyes as she tried to remember. “Alfred got to know the Dillons pretty well. I remember him saying that Sarah passed away about five years ago, and that Paul had moved to Metropolis to live with their daughter. I know Ted Evans wound up working for Charlie Wainright, and he was one of the employees who got together to buy the store from his children after he died. Otherwise, there probably wouldn’t be a Wainrights anymore.”
“Neither of the girls ever got to come out and ride the horses, did they?”
“No. I expect that, when Dad died a little over a month later, their parents probably felt it wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“And Trista figured out that your father was Batman?” Sonia shook her head. “Isn’t that, like, not allowed or something?”
Helena laughed, drawing her adopted daughter closer. “It’s unusual. But Dad used to tell me the Batman was supposed to scare those who had something to hide, not the people he was protecting. I think he pulled that off most of the time, and kids see things that adults don’t notice.”
“That means there’s a teenaged girl out there who know that you’re the Huntress, doesn’t it?”
“I suppose it does. Sounds like the set-up for a new super-villain, doesn’t it?” Helena nudged Sonia aside and started to get up from the sofa. “As far as I know, she’s never told anyone. Now, I think it’s time for both of us to get to sleep.”
Sonia looked at the clock on the wall. “Hey, it’s after midnight. Merry Christmas, Mom!”
“Merry Christmas, Sonia,” replied Helena, pulling the girl up from the couch and into her arms.
Looking over her mother’s shoulder at a picture of the grandparents she would only know through the stories told of them, Sonia said very quietly, “Merry Christmas, Grandpa Batman.”
The End
Batman: Times Past: Sketches of the Caped Crusader, Epilogue: 1979: Christmas in the Manor Wayne
by Andrew Troy Keller
My name is Helena Wayne
And I have been in considerable pain.
It always happens year after year
Especially this time of year.
Ah, Christmas in the Manor Wayne.
My mother, Selina Kyle Wayne
Would put golden glitter on the window pane.
My father, Bruce Wayne would be
Putting the angel on the top of the tree.
But this year, it is not the same.
Christmastime with my mom and dad
Were the happiest moments I’ve ever had.
So even though I’m supposed to go on with my life,
I would gladly give up my second life
To again spend Christmas with Mom and Dad.
Our butler, Alfred Beagle, is a godsend.
One December day, he had called someone to spend
Christmas with me, Bruce Wayne’s little girl.
Her name was Karen Starr, alias Power Girl,
A software designer with some time to spend.
We were decorating a tree, which was such a chore.
And then there was a knock at the door.
I opened it and was surprised
By the sight that was before my eyes:
My friends with Christmas gifts galore.
A new cape for Superman,
A new lasso for Wonder Woman,
A new shirt for the Flash
And maybe a little pocket cash
For the Hourman.
Then after we each poured eggnog in a glass,
I had raised my glass
And said, “I would like to propose a toast
To the best friends on the whole east coast!”
And we drank eggnog as our repast.
And then we turned to see
The lights light up on the tree.
It was such a beautiful sight
On such a joyous night.
Ah, the lighting of the Wayne Christmas tree.
On that day,
I found out something in a big way.
You’ll never be alone in any way,
Not even on Christmas Day.
The End
The New Gods
The Angel of Apokolips
by Starsky Hutch 76
Apokolips, home of the poverty-stricken hunger dogs and their ruthless lord and master Darkseid, is hardly a natural setting for a Christmas tale. But when the youngest son of Darkseid learns of Christmas, his innocently joyful embrace of the Yuletide season causes others to subtly challenge Darkseid’s rule. Is the answer sending the boy to be browbeaten at Granny Goodness’ orphanage, or is there another solution?
Chapter 1: The Bringer of Light
Chapter 2: Darkseid’s Plan
Epilogue: A Christmas Miracle
The New Gods: The Angel of Apokolips, Chapter 1: The Bringer of Light
by Starsky Hutch 76
‘Twas the week before Christmas, and Apokolips lacked joy,
All were miserable, that is, except one fair-haired little boy.
Kalibak grunted as he lugged the cumbersome tree toward the quarters of his younger brother, Prometheus. What did the boy want with a tree, anyway? The boy read too much, plain and simple. It gave him odd ideas — especially the books from Earth.
As Kalibak entered the doorway, the boy looked up, his blue eyes growing wide with delight. “You got it! You’re the best big brother in the whole world!” Prometheus ran to the behemoth of a man and hugged him. Kalibak credited himself for not freezing with shock this time. The boy was the only one who had ever hugged him in his entire life, unless you considered being grabbed and slammed to the ground hugging. Unused to showing affection, he brought an uneasy hand down and tousled the boy’s hair as he had seen men do with children on pirated television shows from Earth.
“What do you plan to do with this tree?” Kalibak asked in his deep, bestial voice. “I hope it is worth whatever underhanded revenge DeSaad will surely plan once he discovers I have removed it from his hydroponics laboratory.”
“I’m gonna decorate it,” Prometheus said cheerfully, holding up a colorful picture from one of his children’s books from Earth. “It’s a Christmas tree. See?”
Kalibak gave a grunt as he took the offered book. To anyone else, this book would have been considered contraband, and its owner would be immediately arrested and swiftly put to death. But as the favored child of Darkseid, nothing was denied him. He knew he should have been insanely jealous of the boy the way he was of Orion and Pandora. But for some reason he was not. “These colorful balls…” Kalibak said, squinting at the picture. “Are they meant to represent low-hanging fruit so you can entice and ensnare prey?”