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It had been a normal patrol—everyone was in Gotham tonight, the pairwise routes had dissolved into chaos after Robin challenged Hood to see who could get to the W.E. building fastest, there had been a minor skirmish with a magic user where everyone but Tim got hit with a spell that did absolutely nothing—and they all returned back to the Cave on time.
Tim hadn’t immediately gone to sleep, there was some W.E. work to finish up, and the mission report to write, and when he started wrapping it all up, he could hear low growls and surprised squeaks.
Great.
If Damian tried to smuggle in another dragon, Tim was leaving for the Nest right now, he wasn’t about to get in the middle of Bruce and Damian’s war over his menagerie.
Tim poked his head outside his door. No hissed whispers or loud shouts or Bruce’s particular exasperated tone he used whenever one of them were in trouble. Still low growling, though.
On second thought, that might’ve been his stomach.
Tim crept out of his room, avoiding the creaky spots in the wooden floor, and headed for the stairs. Snack then bed sounded like a wise choice. It was the weekend and he didn’t have to wake up early, but Alfred was out of town, which meant that Jason was making crepes, which meant that it was a matter of scarfing down crepes before someone pissed Jason off and he stormed out of the kitchen.
He didn’t hear any voices, but there was an awful lot of squeaking and rumbling. Tim briefly debated investigating the strange noises, but he wasn’t getting mixed up in whatever monster Damian decided needed a home this time around, lest he become an accomplice.
The kitchen was quiet at least, and Tim snagged an apple and a jar of peanut butter before heading back to the stairs. The growling had only gotten louder—maybe he should give Dick a heads-up. Ward off disaster. Or maybe he could retreat to his personal base and watch the chaos with popcorn, that would also be fun.
Tim stuttered to a halt ten steps from the stairs. It was a jerky motion—his feet stopped without consciously processing the sight, his body still tried to move forward, he blinked, the image registered, and the whole thing solidified into a giant ‘what the fuck’.
The dark mass at the bottom of the stairs shifted, and violently green eyes landed on him.
“Jason?” was Tim’s slightly hysterical response. Something heavy settled into his gut as his heart began to race.
Lazarus green eyes. Dark—fur. Dark fur. That could not be a wolf, that was nearly triple the size of any wolf Tim had ever laid eyes on, and it was standing between Tim and the stairs.
The probably-Jason-definitely-wolf flicked up its ears, crouching low, a warning rumble building up. The growling. It was all starting to make sense.
Not the kind of sense that Tim appreciated. The kind of sense that told him just how thoroughly he was fucked. They really should’ve investigated that ritual rather than labelling it a dud.
“Jason,” Tim repeated, hoping for some sign of recognition, any sign of recognition.
Magic spell, his mind helpfully reminded him. Angry wolf, his mind not-so-helpfully shrieked. Jason had teeth and claws and a hundred pounds on him. Tim had—an apple and a jar of peanut butter.
Green eyes glowed stronger. Tim pondered whether being forcibly turned into a wolf would be enough to set off Pit Rage.
Run, his mind suggested.
Tim let go of his snack, and ran.
The warning rumble changed to an outright growl, but Tim had leapt to grab the edges of the steps and pull himself up before Jason realized that he wasn’t sprinting for the door, just the stairs. He—he needed to get to the Cave, magic meant calling outside help, but Jason could take him down easily in the straight corridor.
A long, echoing howl. And, from the rooms Tim sprinting past, returning howls sounded. Shit.
This was bad. This was very, very bad. He had to get to the Cave and hope that wolves couldn’t turn clock hands and—he nearly crashed headlong into the wall when he ducked to dodge the all-black shape lunging from the other set of stairs. He didn’t know which sibling that was, and he wasn’t interested in finding out.
A few of them were still scrabbling at their doors, trying to get out, high-pitched whines and growls—Tim didn’t pause to count the number of open doors, and didn’t dare look back, not even when one of the doors splintered open.
He basically fell down the other set of stairs, unwilling to regulate his momentum when there was a wolf right behind him, and when he straightened from his crouch, he nearly brained himself again scrambling away from the sandy-haired wolf in the shadows.
The others should have no reason to be aggressive towards him, but Steph still swiped at him and Tim almost tripped as he ran from her. The study. Just get to the study. Then he could figure out what the spell was, and reverse it, and his family would no longer be a pack of wolves intent on mauling him.
Tim skidded to a halt.
Jason was next to the study door, growling low and deep. He stalked forward a step, and Tim took a step back, heart caught in his throat. The corridor was too narrow to maneuver around him. Tim would rather take his chances with Steph—
Except the sandy-colored wolf had been flanked by a black wolf of the same size, and a black wolf nearly double their size, thoroughly blocking off that end of the hallway as well.
Fuck.
His heart was pounding in his ears. He could hear every heavy breath, the panting gaining a hysterical edge. He had been trained to fight against humans, and with no armor and no weapons, there was no way he’d make up the difference.
There were several doors along the hallway though, even if Jason slinked forward on heavy, stalking steps, and retreat was always a sound strategy. Tim grabbed one at random and half-fell through, the howl shivering through him.
The den. He forced down a wholly inappropriate giggle. The other entrance was on the other side of the room, and—and he didn’t know how he could get to the Cave, but his priority was getting out before they turned his face to mincemeat.
He banged his shin painfully against a couch in the darkened room—if only he hadn’t been cleaning up the fight outside the warehouse, or if any one of the others hadn’t been inside, or if someone hadn’t banged into the table and released an unknown spell—the other hallway was shorter, but it had an exit to the garden, and if he could just—
Tim let his hip slam painfully against an armchair to halt his momentum.
Two black wolves, mismatched in size, blocked the other door. Tim turned, slowly, but he already knew what he’d find.
They ringed him easily. Six wolves of varying shapes—Bruce and Jason were the largest, with Jason’s eyes still burning a solid green, and Damian the smallest—all black except for Steph. Dick and Cass were easy to identify when they were all lined up, and Tim blankly twisted in a circle, hoping for some kind of recognition.
This was his family.
And they were staring at him like he was a threat.
Bruce was baring his teeth, Jason hadn’t stopped rumbling, Cass was settled low, prepared to lunge, Dick was pacing, his eyes fixed on him, Steph seemed to be almost vibrating with stillness, and Damian’s growls were getting louder and more aggressive.
Tim tried to track down any wolf facts that would help, as if it still counted when it was humans magically forced into wolves that stood nearly five feet fall. “B—Bruce?” he tried, his mouth dry, painfully aware that the ring was closing tighter.
Bruce snarled.
Tim instinctively jerked back, and a warning growl behind him forestalled the movement before it could complete.
He—there had to be a way out of this. He had to think. He felt like he was seventeen again, standing in a desert, surrounded by enemies, cobbling together a half-baked plan and desperately believing it would work, because if it didn’t, he was doomed.
He was doomed.
No talking. No weapons. There was an armchair and a coffee table inside the ring of wolves, nowhere near sufficient obstacles to fend off six wolves. If he attacked back, tried to strike for one of the smaller wolves—you’ll just get eaten faster, his mind said gloomily.
Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. His knees wavered, before giving out entirely, crashing hard against carpet. Tim suddenly had to look up at bared teeth and raised hackles and—
Tim let himself collapse completely. Wet cheeks pressed to shaking thighs, his arms curled around his knees, fingernails biting into skin as he shuddered, growls audible over the choked, gasping sobs.
Maybe they wouldn’t kill him. Maybe they would. But there was no way this wouldn’t hurt, and Tim tried not to imagine sharp, glinting claws slicing through skin, grating along bone, snapping through muscle. Tried not to imagine what would stop them, if anything would stop them, if the Bats of Gotham would roam the streets as wild wolves until someone realized that something was wrong.
Sounds became distant. He could feel tears slipping down his skin like they belonged to someone else. Aggressive growls changed to an outright snarl, and wolf paws padded near-silently against carpet.
Tim waited for the sharp bite of teeth or claws.
His breath caught halfway in his throat when a weight landed on his back, claws pressing painfully, still snarling, loud and vicious and—no, no panic, panic would only take him back, he needed to disconnect—and the snarls got closer to the back of his neck, and teeth fit around it, hot breaths against his nape, and one snap of those powerful jaws and Tim would be dead.
The fuzziness felt like floating on a cloud. Deeper and higher until Tim barely registered the carpet against his shins, the pressure on his back, the teeth disappearing for a wet nose and a low whine, the sharper whine and scrabbling with a lower, louder grumble.
More noses, some skimming down the sides of vulnerable ribs. Testing licks, tongues dragging roughly against his skin. Snarls changing to sharp calls. Tim didn’t bother to keep himself tethered in any way. Floating endlessly would be better than the pain.
Teeth against his neck again, scraping against skin. His shirt collar, growing tight against his throat, and Tim was limp—limp and vulnerable and utterly defenseless against six wolves—but cold, hard terror still shot through him when he was dragged onto his back.
He squeezed his eyes shut—the brief flash of wolves surrounding him, glinting eyes the only thing visible in the semi-darkness, was more than enough. He was half-twisted on his side, and he didn’t dare move, not even to hide his face, waiting—
A heavy weight landed on him, nearly crushing his ribs, and Tim gasped for breath as the weight pressed more solidly down, centered over his stomach and hips. He couldn’t stop himself from cracking his eyes open, certain he’d be met with a wolf’s wide open jaws right in front of his face—and saw solid black fur.
Tim blinked, but the image didn’t change, there was a wolf on top of him, squishing him, like Tim was a pillow. He didn’t have time to properly register what he was seeing, because high-pitched growls sounded right next to his ear and Tim instinctively raised his hands to fend off the threat.
It was a stupid reaction, but the smaller wolf never reached Tim’s face—a larger wolf intercepted him, yanking him back and blocking him from reaching Tim, no matter how loudly the wolf whined.
What.
Tim craned his head—aside from the wolf laying on top of him, there seemed to be no other wolf close by. No—he’d spoken too soon.
Tim swallowed as he looked up into blue-gray eyes of the massive wolf staring down at him. “Bruce?” he asked weakly, expecting another snarl.
Instead, Bruce just bent down—oh fuck oh no he couldn’t move he was stuck oh god—and Tim yelped when something rough and wet dragged against his itchy cheeks.
“Bruce—” Tim didn’t want his hands anywhere near those sharp teeth, but Bruce kept licking and now his whole face was sticky. “Bruce, stop—”
Bruce made a low rumble when Tim’s hands pushed against his muzzle, and Tim froze. The pounding of his heart was the loudest thing in the room as Tim stared up at his fingers, pale and small next to the massive jaws.
Bruce licked his fingers before stepping back to move past Tim. Tim clutched his hands back, trembling—and his attention was caught again by intense green eyes. He couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but watch as Jason lowered his head back onto his paws, interest lost, and settled more heavily on top of Tim.
“Okay,” Tim said in a too-high voice, “No eating. That’s good to know.” Jason ignored him. Bruce made a huffing sound where he was leaning against the armchair a few feet away. Steph had joined Dick in corralling Damian, and Tim couldn’t see Cass anywhere, and suspected he wouldn’t be able to find her unless she moved.
He was, very surprisingly, still in one piece.
“Can I get up?” Tim asked faintly. Jason didn’t move. He took that as a no.
Trapped, his mind shrieked. Tim told it to shut up and be thankful he still had all his fingers and toes. He was just going to stay here. Half-crushed by his brother-turned-wolf. Surrounded by his family, who retained an uncertain knowledge of their human selves. Or perhaps regaining it? Jason certainly seemed calmer than earlier.
His fingers tentatively brushed fur and—when Jason didn’t bite them off for the affront—settled more firmly against it. He took a deep breath and tried to hold it before exhaling.
He was alive.
He was unharmed.
He could figure a way to fix this.
But first, he needed to breathe.
Tim woke up sharply—instead of a slow, lethargic shuffle to get coffee before he was functioning in any capacity, he snapped his eyes open at the prickle of warning, and stared at the sleeping sandy-colored wolf as his mind tried to catch up.
The wolf was real, not a hallucination.
The wolf was Steph.
His family had been turned to wolves by a magic spell, Tim was the only human among them, and there was tentative evidence to suggest that they were slowly regaining their minds.
Also, the sunlight filtering through the open door suggested it was late morning, and Tim was very hungry and exhausted.
He managed to lever himself up onto one elbow before anyone moved—Jason was no longer squishing him—and groaned at the sudden start of high growls and snarls. Tim pushed himself up into a sitting position, but didn’t have any time to brace before Damian lunged at him, and ended up half on his back, half on an annoyed and grumbling Jason.
Damian was definitely biting, but the nips were interspersed between rough licks and weren’t drawing blood, and Tim let the brief half-second of panic die down as he tried to wrangle his little brother into not attacking him. Somehow, it had been easier when the brat had the katana.
Dick made a low grumbling sound as he straightened to his feet, and Damian snarled back before curling on top of Tim’s chest like he wasn’t at least a hundred pounds, baby wolf or not.
Dick huffed. Tim wheezed. Jason made a barking sound that could probably be taken as a laugh.
“Dick?” Tim said after managing to pry Damian off his chest and into his lap. The bigger wolf dipped his head in a nod. “Can you understand me?” Another nod. “Feel weird?” Wow, he didn’t know wolves could make unimpressed looks quite that well. “I meant, in your head. Angry? Missing time? Anything?”
A shake, and Dick plodded forward, bending down and gently licking at Tim’s chin in apology. Tim pointedly wiped it off and glared, Dick grinned wide. With a wolf muzzle, the effect was…striking.
“Okay, good,” Tim said, glancing around the den. Steph and Cass appeared to still be asleep, both slumped on top of Bruce. “I should call Zatanna.”
Dick made an exaggerated nod.
“Shut up,” Tim grumbled, “I was trying before you guys attacked me. And then Jason sat on me.”
Dick made an apologetic whine. Jason remained pointedly silent.
Tim tried to sit up, and he felt weary down to his bones. And no crepes too. “Fuck,” Tim exhaled.
Dick looked about as disapproving as a wolf could look, which was surprisingly effective.
“Shut up,” Tim said without any bite, attempting to stand up. “You guys almost ate me, that merits a swear.”
Damian apparently took umbrage to the statement, and decided to retaliate by snapping his jaws around Tim’s hand. Tim stared at him, expression flat. Damian growled.
“Fine,” Tim said, “Stay as a wolf forever. See if I care.”
Damian sullenly released his hand and plodded over to Dick, whining for sympathy. Tim ignored him, and straightened to his feet, groaning as his body protested sleeping contorted on the floor.
Jason straightened with him, and Tim didn’t realize until the massive wolf knocked into him, unbalancing him with one shove. Tim yelped as he fell on top of Jason, scrambling not to crush him—not that he could crush him, the wolf was huge.
Huge enough that when he straightened fully, Tim half slumped along his back, Tim abruptly found himself much further from the ground than he was used to. “Jason,” Tim did not shriek, “Put me down!”
That was definitely wolfish laughter.
“Jason,” Tim said through gritted teeth, but Jason kept walking towards the door, heading for the study, and Tim had to push up to a better sitting position to avoid falling off.
This goddamn family.
Tim should’ve never allowed himself to be lured to stay the night with the promise of crepes. The promise was a lie, and this hadn’t been worth it.
Tim leaned down, until he could wrap his arms around his brother, resting his cheek against soft fur. “I could use a personal chauffer,” he said.
Jason growled, and Tim hid his smile against Jason’s fur.