( honey's sweeter ) real miracle
Title: real miracle
Fandom: DCU
Universe: Honey's Sweeter
Relationships: Tim + his family; hinted Tom Bronson / Sharpay Evans; hinted Nathan Drake / Elena Fisher; hinted Peyton Leverett / Maxine Hunkel
Summary: Tim remembers a childhood Hanukah celebration at the Bronsons' - and how even that young, the real miracle of Hanukkah was the love shared between relatives.
Notes: Written on the first night of Hanukkah this year as a present for myself, and partially for![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
camalyng for getting into her summer musical school!! I'm so proud of you, Amihan ♥ I hope you break a bunch of legs!
Back when Tim's family still lived in Gotham, they would go to Uncle Tom's for Hanukkah. They didn't go every night, of course, but one or two nights had always been set aside for family dinners and celebrations. Dad would drive into New York City, pass the familiar Brooklyn Bridge, and squeeze their car between the neighbors – all with an too practiced, too knowledgeable ease.
Once inside, everyone fell into their annual routine. Russell, Liv, and Tori would bake and decorate six-pointed star and dreidel-shaped cookies; Aunt Maxine and Aunt Sharpay hung up the decorations; Mom, Dad, and Uncle Peyton would fry latkes in a well-oiled assembly line; and Uncle Tom would lead the family by reciting blessings and lighting the menorah.
Tim would watch the entire scene with open-eyed wonder, flitting between relative to relative and soaking it all in. School treated Hanukkah as an afterthought; while it was a Jewish holiday, it (supposedly) paled next to the wonder and miracle of Christmas. Even back then, Tim knew in his bones that such a comparison was wrong.
Hanukkah was the main and center attraction here. Uncle Tom's brownstone was filled with light– from the giant menorah on the dining room table to the dozens of candles littered around, to even the camera flashes from Uncle Peyton's camera. Laughter bounced off the halls, enveloping the entire home.
The kitchen was a big giant mess when Tim poked in to steal a cookie. He ducked between his older brother, reaching out to dangerously grab a beautiful, blue dreidel when–
"–royal icing's gonna drip, Olivia," Tori was scolding her younger cousin with both hands on her hips.
Liv stuck her tongue out at her and Russell both. Triumphantly, as she slid a cookie into Tim's little hands, she would insist, "Maybe I like the dripping! It builds character!"
"I'm pretty sure 'character' is reserved for actual struggles," Russell had to add, fighting back a laugh.
"The cookie is the real struggle," Liv finished, bursting into laughter beside him.
Tim too laughed, stuffing his cheeks and enduring a hair ruffle from Tori before he ducked back into the hall.
The hall was chilly. Then again, halls were always chilly during Hanukkah as Aunt Maxine flitted from window to window, hanging streamers from mid-air.
Tim remembered holding his arms up, blubbering for a pick-me-up or a toss-up. Aunt Maxine gave the best spins - with zero gravity, even! - and she was here. She was free! She might as well.
"Oh, Timmy!" Aunt Maxine was calling, lifting him up by the arms, "Be careful! We're almost done hanging the banners."
Tim giggled, beaming up at her with practiced innocence. "I am."
"Be more careful," Aunt Maxine insisted, pinching his nose.
"You know, you're the one who can fly," Aunt Sharpay called from behind them with a disgruntled sigh. "Remind me why I'm helping you out again?"
"It builds character," Tim remembered, halfway through biting his extra cookie.
Aunt Sharpay and Aunt Maxine exchanged amused glances. Aunt Maxine even giggled along with Tim before setting him back on firm ground, back towards Mom and Dad.
"Because I really wanted your company? You know how to make a place come alive," Aunt Maxine said, with a warmer, familiar breeze surrounding her as always. Even her hair seemed to billow with the wind, twirling into her favorite curls, "Besides, after last year, we're not allowed to fry the latkes anymore."
"Yeah, allowed, like latke-frying is a grand honor," Aunt Sharpay teased, making air quotes with her hands. "Between you and me, I'd rather be out here anyway. Less oil, more fun with the kids."
"Then come on! This last streamer won't hang itself."
Timmy laughed at his aunts, at the love shared between them, before wobbling back into the kitchen.
The oil was sizzling in Mom's pan; it bubbled over, frying the potato latkes a deep, warm, rich color. Tim couldn't remember if Mom or Uncle Tom assembled the latkes themselves, or if they enlisted Dad, but he could remember standing on his very tip-toes to taste the open jars of applesauce.
He also remembered Dad laughing, twirling him upside down and resting him on Dad's shoulders.
From this vantage height, he could see everything: Russell and Tori smearing royal icing all over each other's cheeks; Liv force-feeding some poor black kitten (Darren?) with the remnants of sugar cookies; Uncle Peyton filming it all and prying the kindergartener-sized kitten away from Liz...
"What do you think, champ?" Dad was asking him, swaying a little as he turned over the latke.
Tim remembered thinking about how much he wanted the latke, or about how much Mom was looking over at them with love, but instead, he clung to Dad's neck, tugging on the back of Dad's hairs –
"It's a miracle," he said instead, resting his head on the crown of Dad's. "Best latke ever."
Dad's laugh was warm and rich as he blew off a fresh latke. "I see you actually listened to Tommy's lessons this year."
"Somehow," Uncle Tom said, with a small, amused huff, "I don't think that's the miracle Tim means."
Dad's voice softened, like a far-off memory, "A guy can dream, can't he?"
Uncle Peyton's voice beckoned to Tim ("Hey, sport! Come look at the camera!") and as always back then, Uncle Peyton's camera and the accompanying light signaled his arrival before all else.
He carried that giant piece of equipment around with ease, holding the camera at its base as if it weighed nothing, yet his energy was contagious.
Tim never struggled to smile for his uncle (or cousin, technically). He would laugh or smile right into that lens, and it would flash in his eyes, signalling the end of the photo – for the time being, anyway.
Uncle Tom would always do something silly or fun in the photos, partially out of a long-running joke with Uncle Peyton, but also partially out of a desire to help Tim feel right at home.
Then Mom would (inevitably) burn a precious, otherwise delicious latke, and the family would rush right over to help.
At sunset, Uncle Tom would light the shammash candle, then one or two candles, depending on the night Tim's family had visited. In hindsight, he would've realized they always visited on the first or second night.
But back then, he had no real knowledge of why they lit which candles. He had no real understanding of why he, Liv, Russ, and a now-human-shaped Darren would receive gelt and toy dreidels of their own, or any sort of understanding behind the menorah in the front window of Uncle Tom's home.
He didn't think to question it. Uncle Tom followed God in a slightly different way than Mom and Dad, sure, but Hanukkah was more fun than church. A lot of things were more fun, but even back then, Tim knew better than to say such things out loud.
He would nestle in-between Darren and Russ during Uncle Tom's lessons, leaning into Russ's side and trying so, so hard to stay awake after dinner. Darren would poke him, sometimes with a finger, sometimes with a cat tail, but always with the same desire to keep Tim awake.
Sometimes, Dad would make funny faces, or Mom would press her fingers to her lips; Tim never remembered why such expressions were made, but he did remember mimicking their actions and trying to avoid Uncle Tom in the process.
Uncle Tom, though, always gave Tim a knowing if not confident smile the whole time – as if he knew, yet chose not to say a single word.
Before the night ended, Tim fell back on the couch, surveying the scene with wide wonder. Tori had fallen asleep on Mom's lap; Darren and Liv were playing Uno with Uncle Peyton; Uncle Tom and Aunt Sharpay were practicing a piano duet in the corner; and Dad was flopping beside him.
Dad's arm wrapped around him, in all-too-familiar comfort, and Tim found himself sinking into Dad's side.
"Hey, champ," Dad murmured. "How're you feeling?"
"Tired."
Dad laughed, "Me too. Who knew latkes were such hard work?"
"Everyone?" Tim felt like this was common knowledge, even at his young age, "You volunt-volunteered, remember?"
"Couldn't forget even if I tried," Dad had to admit, holding onto Tim tighter. "But that's the real miracle, right? Year after year, we come here and I forget just how much work those things take, and I inevitably get roped into helping out right before sunset..."
"They tasted good." Tim stifled a yawn. "They were worth the hard work."
Dad gave him a strange expression– one with teary eyes, and a smile that would've been worth all the gold Dad found over the years. Except it was aimed right at him. Like Tim was the priceless, special gold treasure in some Incan or Mayan cave.
Tim didn't know what he had done to deserve it, so he snuggled closer, digging his hand into Dad's shoulders–
"Happy Hanukkah, Dad."
As sleep began to overtake him, he knew, even back then, that this was the real miracle; not Uncle Tom's lessons, not Dad's inability to remember latke-making, but their shared presence, right there, right then.
"Happy Hanukkah, kiddo," Dad would murmur beside him, as he did every year.
Inevitably, someone like Mom or Uncle Tom would have to wake them up and usher them back into the car, to their Gotham house, but for a moment– Tim felt as if he were truly home.
Fandom: DCU
Universe: Honey's Sweeter
Relationships: Tim + his family; hinted Tom Bronson / Sharpay Evans; hinted Nathan Drake / Elena Fisher; hinted Peyton Leverett / Maxine Hunkel
Summary: Tim remembers a childhood Hanukah celebration at the Bronsons' - and how even that young, the real miracle of Hanukkah was the love shared between relatives.
Notes: Written on the first night of Hanukkah this year as a present for myself, and partially for
camalyng for getting into her summer musical school!! I'm so proud of you, Amihan ♥ I hope you break a bunch of legs!Back when Tim's family still lived in Gotham, they would go to Uncle Tom's for Hanukkah. They didn't go every night, of course, but one or two nights had always been set aside for family dinners and celebrations. Dad would drive into New York City, pass the familiar Brooklyn Bridge, and squeeze their car between the neighbors – all with an too practiced, too knowledgeable ease.
Once inside, everyone fell into their annual routine. Russell, Liv, and Tori would bake and decorate six-pointed star and dreidel-shaped cookies; Aunt Maxine and Aunt Sharpay hung up the decorations; Mom, Dad, and Uncle Peyton would fry latkes in a well-oiled assembly line; and Uncle Tom would lead the family by reciting blessings and lighting the menorah.
Tim would watch the entire scene with open-eyed wonder, flitting between relative to relative and soaking it all in. School treated Hanukkah as an afterthought; while it was a Jewish holiday, it (supposedly) paled next to the wonder and miracle of Christmas. Even back then, Tim knew in his bones that such a comparison was wrong.
Hanukkah was the main and center attraction here. Uncle Tom's brownstone was filled with light– from the giant menorah on the dining room table to the dozens of candles littered around, to even the camera flashes from Uncle Peyton's camera. Laughter bounced off the halls, enveloping the entire home.
The kitchen was a big giant mess when Tim poked in to steal a cookie. He ducked between his older brother, reaching out to dangerously grab a beautiful, blue dreidel when–
"–royal icing's gonna drip, Olivia," Tori was scolding her younger cousin with both hands on her hips.
Liv stuck her tongue out at her and Russell both. Triumphantly, as she slid a cookie into Tim's little hands, she would insist, "Maybe I like the dripping! It builds character!"
"I'm pretty sure 'character' is reserved for actual struggles," Russell had to add, fighting back a laugh.
"The cookie is the real struggle," Liv finished, bursting into laughter beside him.
Tim too laughed, stuffing his cheeks and enduring a hair ruffle from Tori before he ducked back into the hall.
The hall was chilly. Then again, halls were always chilly during Hanukkah as Aunt Maxine flitted from window to window, hanging streamers from mid-air.
Tim remembered holding his arms up, blubbering for a pick-me-up or a toss-up. Aunt Maxine gave the best spins - with zero gravity, even! - and she was here. She was free! She might as well.
"Oh, Timmy!" Aunt Maxine was calling, lifting him up by the arms, "Be careful! We're almost done hanging the banners."
Tim giggled, beaming up at her with practiced innocence. "I am."
"Be more careful," Aunt Maxine insisted, pinching his nose.
"You know, you're the one who can fly," Aunt Sharpay called from behind them with a disgruntled sigh. "Remind me why I'm helping you out again?"
"It builds character," Tim remembered, halfway through biting his extra cookie.
Aunt Sharpay and Aunt Maxine exchanged amused glances. Aunt Maxine even giggled along with Tim before setting him back on firm ground, back towards Mom and Dad.
"Because I really wanted your company? You know how to make a place come alive," Aunt Maxine said, with a warmer, familiar breeze surrounding her as always. Even her hair seemed to billow with the wind, twirling into her favorite curls, "Besides, after last year, we're not allowed to fry the latkes anymore."
"Yeah, allowed, like latke-frying is a grand honor," Aunt Sharpay teased, making air quotes with her hands. "Between you and me, I'd rather be out here anyway. Less oil, more fun with the kids."
"Then come on! This last streamer won't hang itself."
Timmy laughed at his aunts, at the love shared between them, before wobbling back into the kitchen.
The oil was sizzling in Mom's pan; it bubbled over, frying the potato latkes a deep, warm, rich color. Tim couldn't remember if Mom or Uncle Tom assembled the latkes themselves, or if they enlisted Dad, but he could remember standing on his very tip-toes to taste the open jars of applesauce.
He also remembered Dad laughing, twirling him upside down and resting him on Dad's shoulders.
From this vantage height, he could see everything: Russell and Tori smearing royal icing all over each other's cheeks; Liv force-feeding some poor black kitten (Darren?) with the remnants of sugar cookies; Uncle Peyton filming it all and prying the kindergartener-sized kitten away from Liz...
"What do you think, champ?" Dad was asking him, swaying a little as he turned over the latke.
Tim remembered thinking about how much he wanted the latke, or about how much Mom was looking over at them with love, but instead, he clung to Dad's neck, tugging on the back of Dad's hairs –
"It's a miracle," he said instead, resting his head on the crown of Dad's. "Best latke ever."
Dad's laugh was warm and rich as he blew off a fresh latke. "I see you actually listened to Tommy's lessons this year."
"Somehow," Uncle Tom said, with a small, amused huff, "I don't think that's the miracle Tim means."
Dad's voice softened, like a far-off memory, "A guy can dream, can't he?"
Uncle Peyton's voice beckoned to Tim ("Hey, sport! Come look at the camera!") and as always back then, Uncle Peyton's camera and the accompanying light signaled his arrival before all else.
He carried that giant piece of equipment around with ease, holding the camera at its base as if it weighed nothing, yet his energy was contagious.
Tim never struggled to smile for his uncle (or cousin, technically). He would laugh or smile right into that lens, and it would flash in his eyes, signalling the end of the photo – for the time being, anyway.
Uncle Tom would always do something silly or fun in the photos, partially out of a long-running joke with Uncle Peyton, but also partially out of a desire to help Tim feel right at home.
Then Mom would (inevitably) burn a precious, otherwise delicious latke, and the family would rush right over to help.
At sunset, Uncle Tom would light the shammash candle, then one or two candles, depending on the night Tim's family had visited. In hindsight, he would've realized they always visited on the first or second night.
But back then, he had no real knowledge of why they lit which candles. He had no real understanding of why he, Liv, Russ, and a now-human-shaped Darren would receive gelt and toy dreidels of their own, or any sort of understanding behind the menorah in the front window of Uncle Tom's home.
He didn't think to question it. Uncle Tom followed God in a slightly different way than Mom and Dad, sure, but Hanukkah was more fun than church. A lot of things were more fun, but even back then, Tim knew better than to say such things out loud.
He would nestle in-between Darren and Russ during Uncle Tom's lessons, leaning into Russ's side and trying so, so hard to stay awake after dinner. Darren would poke him, sometimes with a finger, sometimes with a cat tail, but always with the same desire to keep Tim awake.
Sometimes, Dad would make funny faces, or Mom would press her fingers to her lips; Tim never remembered why such expressions were made, but he did remember mimicking their actions and trying to avoid Uncle Tom in the process.
Uncle Tom, though, always gave Tim a knowing if not confident smile the whole time – as if he knew, yet chose not to say a single word.
Before the night ended, Tim fell back on the couch, surveying the scene with wide wonder. Tori had fallen asleep on Mom's lap; Darren and Liv were playing Uno with Uncle Peyton; Uncle Tom and Aunt Sharpay were practicing a piano duet in the corner; and Dad was flopping beside him.
Dad's arm wrapped around him, in all-too-familiar comfort, and Tim found himself sinking into Dad's side.
"Hey, champ," Dad murmured. "How're you feeling?"
"Tired."
Dad laughed, "Me too. Who knew latkes were such hard work?"
"Everyone?" Tim felt like this was common knowledge, even at his young age, "You volunt-volunteered, remember?"
"Couldn't forget even if I tried," Dad had to admit, holding onto Tim tighter. "But that's the real miracle, right? Year after year, we come here and I forget just how much work those things take, and I inevitably get roped into helping out right before sunset..."
"They tasted good." Tim stifled a yawn. "They were worth the hard work."
Dad gave him a strange expression– one with teary eyes, and a smile that would've been worth all the gold Dad found over the years. Except it was aimed right at him. Like Tim was the priceless, special gold treasure in some Incan or Mayan cave.
Tim didn't know what he had done to deserve it, so he snuggled closer, digging his hand into Dad's shoulders–
"Happy Hanukkah, Dad."
As sleep began to overtake him, he knew, even back then, that this was the real miracle; not Uncle Tom's lessons, not Dad's inability to remember latke-making, but their shared presence, right there, right then.
"Happy Hanukkah, kiddo," Dad would murmur beside him, as he did every year.
Inevitably, someone like Mom or Uncle Tom would have to wake them up and usher them back into the car, to their Gotham house, but for a moment– Tim felt as if he were truly home.