In reading over these drabbles, I realize that there is a common theme- home for Christmas.

Please excuse any similarities these drabbles may bear to one another.

Own nothing; earned nothing; enjoyed it all!!


Bruce would never tell anyone, but he loved to spend Christmas Eve and morning on the Watchtower. There was no monitor duty, per se; Superman didn't have the heart to make anyone stay up in the tower alone on Christmas. Bruce went of his own volition, as a double check, and for a little peace. He could look at the earth, and from this distance, he couldn't see the filth, the hate, the greed and sorrow ripping it apart.

From the Watchtower, it is a beautiful, serene ball, spinning to its own music in space.

And in a way, he's happy, as he watches over the planet from above. He's alone this day, and he likes that too. It's quiet, and he can be at peace, at least for a little while.

"I heard the bells, on Christmas day…" he murmured. "Their old… familiar… carols play." He hummed. "And mild, and sweet, the words repeat. Of peace on earth, good will, to men."

He thought how, as the day had come, the belfries of all Christendom had rolled along the unbroken song of peace on earth good will to men.

"Mommy, Daddy, it's Christmas, it's CHRISTMAS!" Bruce roared, pounding down the hallway towards his parents room. He shoved the door open and leapt headlong onto the bed. "I was good, wasn't I? At least, most of the year. I tried, and mommy says it's the thought that counts and do you think Santa left me anything?"

His father laughed, a joyful, rolling sound, and his mother's soft alto chimed in. "Of course, Bruce. Of course…"

And in despair, he bowed his head 'There is no peace on earth, he said, for hate is strong, and it mocks the song of peace on earth, good will to men.

Bruce stared, unseeing, at the Christmas tree and his full stocking. The lights blurred, and the whirring of the mechanical ornaments made his head ache.

Leslie smiled at him. "Come on, now, Bruce, open your presents from Santa!"

He looked at her, his dark eyes blank. "I was bad." He growled. "I shouldn't have presents."

"Bruce, sweetie…"

"Don't LIE to me!" He shouted at her, angry, but not understanding why. "It's not true, none of it's true! Christmas is all one big fat lie! I don't want ANY of this! I want…" he ran from the room, weeping. Alfred and Leslie soberly gathered the toys, still wrapped, and donated them to Gotham orphanage.

And then the bells tolled, loud and deep, God is not dead, nor doth he sleep! The wrong shall fail, the right prevail, with peace on earth, good will to men.

Dick Grayson bounced into Bruce's bedroom. "Merry Christmas!" he cheered, executing a handspring, and flip. "Come on, Bruce, it's CHRISTMAS! And we've gotta go to the orphanage, and eat dinner and open presents and you'll love my presents for you…" Bruce smiled as he listened to his child's chatter.

God had taken his parents, and while he was still bitter about that, God had in turn given him this sparkling child, this wonderful boy to share life and Christmas with.

Who knew? Days like this, he believed that even Gotham could be saved…

So ringing, singing on it's way, the world revolved from night to day, a voice, a rhyme, a chant sublime, of peace on earth, good will to men…

"Bruce?" Clark called. "What're you doing up here?"

Bruce turned to his friend, smiling a little. "Nothing." He said.

"Come on, Alfred and Ma are fighting over who carves the turkey." The grin lit up Clark's whole face. "It's going to be a good Christmas."

"Yes." Bruce agreed. "Yes, it is."

peace on earth, good will to men…