Chapter 1
Notes:
Alright guys, I'm back and posting things in this fandom. I'm not a canon expert. You have been warned.
Chapter Text
The problem with the “no metas in Gotham” rule was that, like so many of Batman’s rules, it was basically a lie. It was more, “no metas without Bruce’s explicit say so,” and frankly Clark and Diana and J’onn and some others had been around enough that they were comfortable showing up whenever they felt like it. Usually out of capes, but sometimes as heroes.
The rule also said nothing about the potential metas that already lived in Gotham, quietly avoiding the attention of the Dark Knight and his crew.
And it had never deterred a single villain.
At least, not that could be proved.
But people believed the rule worked, at least enough that it still got thrown around. Hell, even Tim mostly believed it, and he regularly ran into Ivy and Harley. Even Jason basically counted at this point, as far as Tim was concerned.
So it was almost twice as embarrassing as it was surprising when Tim’s patrol was interrupted one night by a noise, a light, and the sudden sensation of his knees and hips sitting really weird.
He’d gone from being comfortably crouched on the edge of a roof to slightly off balance, to way off balance as one part of his mind—trained, ingrained, habitual—tried to move limbs in a very specific way to catch a human, and another part of his brain—new, instinctual, untried—attempted to move Tim’s body differently.
The result was about what could be expected.
As a rule, Tim was careful with roof ledges, even after all these years, so his initial tumble took him onto a narrow balcony beneath him. Not at all gracefully. Cats, apparently, did not always land on their feet. At least, not when a human brain got in the way of evolution. And while he weighed considerably less as a…juvenile cat?—Tim still hit a ledge and a potted plant on his way down.
It was…not his best moment. He could admit that.
Dizzy, vision wrong in a way that felt too right to give Tim any idea of if he had an actual concussion, ears and tail twitching compulsively, Tim tried to get to his feet and was further embarrassed by how difficult it was.
He made it into an unsteady, four-legged standing position just as a door slid open and someone jabbed a broom at his face, hissing obscenities and lamenting their broken ceramic.
Tim yowled, trying to bat at the broom, wobbling wretchedly on his three remaining paws, and yelping when one brushed against a piece of the broken pot.
That new instinct took over then, pain overriding Tim’s attempts at control. He was up on the railing, twisting out of the way. He leapt as he felt the jab of the broom at his rear, only partially understanding what he was seeing, feeling.
The broom had been hell on his whiskers.
Instinct completed the first jump, as far as getting Tim to a fire escape. But when he’d tried to jump down from that railing to the landing, his human training had gauged the height and wanted Tim to roll.
Which was not how cats handled that sort of landing.
The broom person was laughing at him now, and Tim tried to swear at them, only to realize the yowling noise he made sounded so tiny and petulant it wasn’t worth remembering.
He hoped that wasn’t a phone. He really hoped no one was recording this.
The stairs were not the easy climb he’d hoped they’d be. He hadn’t had a lot of hope of finding the perpetrator when they hadn’t followed him down to catch him. Even if he’d been moving as quickly as he normally did he probably would have missed them.
But he’d definitely taken too long as a cat.
The roof was empty.
It was tempting to see if Tim could try and sniff the culprit out. Enough drunken meandering took Tim to where he’d been crouching, and he thought he could pick out his own scent.
But there were a lot of smells on the roof, and while instinct helped sort some, human memory others, so much was just…noise.
And that was before Tim got to the actual noises he was picking up now. The curve of the wind caught differently, that was the sound of traffic below, but too loud and too soft at once. There were the wisps of voices carrying up, but the bits and pieces didn’t mean anything at this height.
And the sensation of air against whiskers, the subtle shift when Tim did something as simple as move his head.
Well, that would take getting used to.
Tim wasn’t thinking about his tail. His whole back half really. He wasn’t ready to start parsing whether fur counted as “clothes” or if Tim was stranded in Gotham, unarmed and naked.
Okay, scratch that—ha—Tim had claws. They weren’t great, but they were something.
So, just naked.
Except he wasn’t thinking about it.
Wandering the roof until he felt more steady on his feet—turned out not thinking about moving helped a lot—Tim considered his best course of action.
It was, unfortunately, to find help.
This was magic, and while it might wear out on its own, more likely they’d need to call in a specialist. A specialist Tim could not call now that his comm was gone. His phone was at his apartment, but getting in could be tricky in this cat body and it would be faster and more reasonable to just ask. It would be embarrassing to admit to Bruce, Steph would never let Tim live it down, Cass would tease in her own way, Babs would save it for peak leverage, and Jason and Damian would be unbearable.
Dick would fuss and pity, which was almost as bad.
But Tim was a human, and a vigilante, and he had work to do.
So help it was.
Only.
Only Tim didn’t know where anyone was anymore.
Steph was probably wrapping up for the night, close-ish, but not heading back to the Cave and across some major thoroughfares Tim couldn’t imagine braving in his new body, even at this time of night. Bruce and Damian had the largest patrol area and covered the most ground, but they could be ending the night nearby or clear across the city. Batman at least had been that far out the last time Tim had checked in.
Jason…
Jason might be close. Ish. It would be awful, and Tim honestly didn’t know what would happen. Probably a lot of mocking, maybe a ride, and then Tim’s small, fragile body being thrown at Batman’s face while Jason laughed all the way home.
Not ideal, but better than nothing.
And he was probably the closest, given how much of Tim’s patrol route bordered Jason’s.
Dammit.
Well, Tim would look for Bruce, keep an ear out for Steph, and try and reach Jason’s most likely wrap up point.
In theory, even with this wobbly body, Tim should be able to find Red Hood before he wrapped up for the night.
Tim did not.
Walking wasn’t too bad as long as Tim didn’t think too hard, but jumping, even just tiny hops, was turning out to be a nightmare. Tim’s cat brain knew what it wanted to do, but years of training human limbs just kept getting in the way. Going was either slow or treacherous, and often both. Especially since Tim’s best bet for spotting anyone was to stay high. Lots more jumping at roof level than ground.
Fuck, he’d give up and just go for Selina’s if it wasn’t in the wrong part of town and impossible for Tim to enter in his current body.
Two hours and so many embarrassing stories later—thank goodness no one was watching—Tim had managed to find…no one.
And to trip down a set of fire escape stairs.
Next time he was just scooting backwards, damn his dignity.
Making little hissing noises and trying not to paw at his bruised nose, Tim froze when he heard a soft, “I know you’re there.”
Fuck, fuck, that was Damian.
The kid was a great little sneak: Tim hadn’t heard him on the roof at all. He could feel the metal of the fire escape shifting, could hear the tiny creaks that Damian mostly suppressed with sheer cussedness and no small amount of talent. There was the smell of the Robin suit, sweat and almost metal and something softer. The smell of Damian under that.
Now. Now that Tim was paying attention. He hadn’t noticed them before at all.
The opening salvo had seemed ominous, but as Tim pressed himself towards the building, trying to melt into the wall, hoping his low profile might protect him, Damian followed up with, “It’s alright. I am here to help.”
And Tim’s entire world flipped.
It wasn’t that Tim didn’t know. He’d seen Damian with his pets plenty. He’d seen Damian with all sorts of animals, and Damian effortlessly offered interest and compassion to all of them. Damian regularly tried to sneak home strays, especially cats since they were often small enough for him to stash easily.
It just hadn’t occurred to Tim that as a cat, Damian might be kind to Tim.
Of course, Damian had no idea who this cat was. And Tim was determined to keep it that way.
When Damian extended a hand, probably for sniffing, not grabbing, Tim knew his hiding efforts were pointless and made a dash for the stairs.
Only.
Only.
Tim’s fucking cat feet betrayed him. Again.
Damian sounded distressed as Tim tripped over his own paws and tail, seizing and spinning and oh shit that was the edge!
A few mad scrabbles weren’t enough for Tim’s claws to catch the grating and he was in free fall with no grapple—
Credit where credit was due, Tim acknowledged as his tiny animal heart tried to beat out of his chest, Damian’s silence was a consistent thing. It didn’t even register until Tim had been caught, cradled against Damian’s chest, that the kid had moved.
Tim was going to blame his inattentiveness on this new, weird body. And imminent death.
Those tended to be a bit distracting.
“Shhh,” Damian crooned, easing them back to the safety of the fire escape. “It’s alright. I have you.”
Tim let himself be comforted by that for maybe two second before remembering this was Damian and Tim needed to get out. Now.
Whatever affection Damian had for animals, it didn’t extend to Tim, and this was going to be embarrassing enough when Damian heard about it later. Only making this interaction as quick and forgettable as possible was going to spare Tim the humiliation and possible danger of Damian realizing he’d saved Tim’s life.
From the stupidest death possible.
There were more soothing noises as Tim started twisting, trying to claw his way up Damian’s shoulder to escape down…well, Tim would have to risk the stairs again, face first.
But that was better than the alternative.
It was a messy fight.
Damian had plenty of experience wrangling reluctant cats. Probably the only advantage Tim had was that he didn’t know how to move like a cat and was thus just slightly less predictable. He got onto the ground again, mostly in a flop, and would have been proud of himself if he hadn’t frozen at the worried gasp Damian made, instead of running like a sane person.
Cat.
Whatever.
That moment of hesitation, that brief, “Is he hurt, does he need me?” was enough for Damian to swoop in again, getting a firm grip on Tim’s legs. Cradling was a lot harder with two fistfuls of squirmy cat paws in Damian’s hands, but he was making a good faith effort.
Tim writhed and struggled, ignoring Damian’s soothing words and clucks, noticing the tone shifting to annoyance.
It should have been familiar. It was. But it was the annoyed tone Damian used with Dick, or sometimes Bruce. The worried annoyed tone.
Everything about this was just too surreal.
Eventually Damian dropped Tim’s back legs, letting his armored suit protect him from the scrabbling claws as he tried to get a hold of Tim’s head. There was lots of muttered cursing as Tim tried to hiss and spit and wiggle back. Damian’s grip was firm, but carefully so, trying to restrain without crushing.
Victory—defeat—was sudden and unexpected. Damian’s thumb brushed up Tim’s jaw, around his ear, and back.
And Tim. Tim froze.
Or, well. Tim shuddered and went sort of melty. Leaned into the hand just a smidge. Tried to push against Damian’s thumb to get that sensation of tension and pressure and release again, and then realized what he was doing and tried to squirm away.
But Damian had noticed. Damian was trained. Damian was lethal.
He attacked.
Or, well, petted. Soft strokes around Tim’s cat face that didn’t irritate his whiskers too much, that relieved the tension Tim always forgot he was carrying.
“It’s alright,” Damian murmured, cradling Tim closer, moving to stroke down Tim’s head and neck. “You’re safe now, I promise.”
It was so fucking gentle. The discordant impossibility of it all prevented Tim from fully relaxing. But it also felt nice. And Tim…
Well, he didn’t always get nice things. Especially when he screwed up.
Never from Damian.
Shivering a little, Tim buried his face in Damian’s shoulder and tried to think.
This…wasn’t what he had planned. He was supposed to have gotten help, and instead he had gotten Damian, who was perfectly nice now, but might do or say anything once he realized what was going on. Tim was probably pretty safe as long as he stayed a cat. But Damian had witnessed Tim’s complete incompetence as a feline, and once Tim was back to normal, Damian would be more than happy to tell tales and sink Tim in humiliation. He wouldn’t even have to exaggerate. He would just state what he saw, in unvarnished, concise detail and let Tim hang himself.
Alright, new plan. Let Damian pet him for a bit, let Batman come and insist that Tim wasn’t coming home with them, then run back to Tim’s apartment and find a way to email Zatana with paws. Get changed back out of sight and out of mind, no one ever had to know.
It was brilliant. Perfect.
And then Damian stood.
“Father is calling,” he explained, moving purposefully up the steps. “I will have to find a safe place for you until we go home.”
What? What?
It got worse. Damian called the Batmobile. Which was not allowed. It was a tool, Bruce had insisted. Not a kennel. Especially not for wild animals that might panic and make…messes.
But Damian merely shoved Tim inside with a blithe, “Father will understand,” and shut the door before Tim could recover. He still launched himself at the door, but it was closed and unyielding and Tim hurt again.
Why, why would Damian do this? Was he doing it all the time? Bruce had rules.
Okay. Right. Those didn’t mean much.
But still. It was the principle of the thing!
The one advantage Tim had over other trapped animals was that he knew the vehicle he was trapped in. He had the human mind to comprehend it and the experience to know how to manually toggle the locks and, with some patience, how to maneuver the door lever.
The disadvantage Tim had was he was maybe ten pounds of fur and claws, and the Batmobile doors were heavy. It was basically a tank, after all. Designed to be opened, yes, even by someone as small as Robin.
Robin who trained for active combat at least five days a week and was large enough to get good leverage from the leather seats while just sitting.
There was also, Tim considered as he sat there panting, the issue of how to lock the doors once he got out. He really…couldn’t.
Damian knew he had left a cat. A cat that he had left in a locked car, that should not know the inner workings of said vehicle well enough to open it and escape while no one was looking. And especially not lock it behind him.
Behavior like that might get Tim noticed. And he was trying to be sneaky so Damian would never know he had cuddled and pet and saved Tim.
A conundrum.
One Tim hadn’t resolved by the time Batman and Robin returned.
A brief internal debate landed with Tim deciding not to give himself away. He curled into the back seats, eyes flicking between his father and brother, wondering how Damian planned to smuggle Tim into the Cave without getting caught.
Turned out, he didn’t.
Before buckling, Damian leaned around the seat, making sure to find Tim and then making little tsk noises while reaching.
“Robin.” Batman was not happy.
“There are circumstances where all rules must be broken,” Damian said, no apology in his voice. “In order to do good.”
From Bruce’s twitch, he’d probably said that, about their vigilante work, and hadn’t thought through how Damian might use it against him.
Rookie mistake to make after four Robins. But then, Damian sort of made Bruce stupid.
“You don’t need more pets—“
“He’s not for keeping,” Damian said, firm but a bit wistful. “He’s injured.”
Tim snorted, which was mostly a sneeze in his current body. It didn’t sound impressive. Tim wasn’t sure if it made Damian’s point or detracted from it though.
“Injured how?” Bruce asked, and Tim could see from the slump of his shoulders he wasn’t up for a fight. Damian would win this, unless he really screwed it up.
And Damian wasn’t that incompetent.
But Tim still balked when Damian said, “Possible brain damage. He was walking strangely and fell down some stairs. There’s no obvious swelling and his limbs seem to be in place, but…”
The trailing off was ominous, because Damian sounded seriously upset.
Bruce must have noticed too, because he was very soothing as he said, “It could be something else.” Then, carefully, “We don’t have the equipment to diagnose him in the cave.”
No shit and thank goodness. There was a running pool on how many years it would take before Damian had converted a corner of the cave into a working veterinary clinic, but even Steph’s grossly pessimistic assumptions had it at least two years out.
Tim was hoping for five. And first dibs for some experimental lab setups he’d been planning.
“I know. I will take him to the clinic tomorrow if he is still unstable.” Oh fuck no. “He was seven stories up and nearly fell off the stairs. Please, Father?”
And that did it. No special pout, his eyes wouldn’t even be especially wide behind the mask. No hope in his voice either, which was the real key. Damian didn’t ask hoping he could change Bruce’s mind. He asked assuming he would be kicked down.
Nothing like raised-by-assassins trauma to make Bruce Wayne fold like a wet paper sack.
“Clinic tomorrow,” Bruce agreed. “Shelter immediately after. And he stays in the Cave tonight.”
“He’s cold,” Damian complained, which he couldn’t even know because he hadn’t touched Tim since they’d gotten in the car. “What if it makes his condition worse?”
“We have blankets,” Bruce said, and Tim knew, just knew he was getting the Green Lantern themed one. In case it had to be tossed. Because “accidents.”
“What if he needs prolonged treatment?” Damian wheedled.
“Then the vet can keep him until he’s fit for the shelter. And yes, we can cover all the treatment and exam costs.”
If that was a bid to make Bruce seem generous and conciliatory, it hadn’t worked all that well. Damian insisted, “If he has a serious medical history, it will be very difficult for the shelter to find him a home. And he isn’t socialized.”
Which was utter nonsense. Tim had been socialized within an inch of his life by his parents. He knew how to behave properly in more situations than a cat could even dream of.
“Socializing takes time,” Bruce pointed out. “You get attached, D—Robin.”
“I always let them go,” Damian responded, body rigid, tone almost flat. “Always.”
“I know,” Bruce sighed. “You do as I ask. But it hurts you, and it doesn’t need to. You can delegate his care. Other people are qualified and willing.”
It was a stupid argument. Bruce meant to be kind with his logic, but even Tim knew that Damian responded best to emotional reasoning. Against all assertions to the contrary.
And he hated when people implied he was weak. Especially Bruce.
“It does me no harm,” Damian insisted, words almost cutting. “I enjoy the work; it brings me pleasure. I am happy to see those I rescue placed in safe, happy homes.”
And Damian checked. Tim would judge, but humans were the victims of all of his stalking habits, so…
Bruce sighed. “Clinic, then shelter,” he repeated as firmly as he could. “And he stays in the Cave.”
“Yes, Father,” Damian grumbled, burrowing his shoulders into his seat and crossing his arms.
There wasn’t a lot Tim could do. There wasn’t a lot Tim wanted to do. It wasn’t his job to console Damian.
But Tim was technically Damian’s big brother, and Bruce was trying but not quite there, and right now Tim was a cat.
He could help. Right?
Unable to fight Bruce’s arguments, Tim settled for trying to assuage Damian’s fears. If unsocial cats were less likely to be adopted, Tim could be appropriately social.
With a wiggle and a crouch, Tim made a leap for the space between the seats.
He hit, but he’d misjudged, wanting to undershoot and not smack into the front console. Yowling, he slipped and landed on his butt, crunching his tail and ow, that hurt.
More upset noises and Damian was unbuckling his seatbelt, ignoring Bruce’s complaints, and scooping Tim up by his scruff, murmuring soft nothings in three different languages.
Tim curled up in Damian’s lap meekly. This was not how his mission was supposed to go, but he’d made it to his destination and he’d spare all of them the agony of watching him try to maneuver in a moving vehicle again.
The head pats were a nice consolation prize.
Chapter Text
Staying in the Cave hadn’t sounded so bad in the Batmobile, but that was before Tim had realized they would be putting him in a carrier for the night.
A carrier? Seriously? They had perfectly good containment cells right there. Sure, they were a bit large, but it wasn’t like anyone else was using them.
Tim refused to go in.
This undermined a good deal of his “socialized creature” act from the car, but he was resolute. He’d accepted the indignity of a formal examination of his physical person. He’d allowed himself to be checked for fleas and other pests. He had been meek when they’d dared to do blood work—Bruce reminding Damian that they didn’t have all the training that might be required to spot a problem—and Tim had even been perfectly polite to Alfred and accepted the disgusting cat food he’d brought down.
Okay, Tim’s cat tongue didn’t mind it too much. But Tim’s human brain sure did.
The point was, Tim was not going in the carrier. He didn’t even really want to be in a containment cell, because that would foil Tim’s plans to immediately escape as soon as everyone had gone to bed. And what if he changed back in the middle of the night?
He ended up in the carrier. No thanks to Alfred, who was a traitor.
And he did have the Green Lantern blanket. That was a color Tim could still see clearly.
And then they just left him there. Alone.
In a cage.
Grumpy but determined, Tim worked his teeth and paws and claws in the dark until the latch caved to his will. His mouth and paws were sore, but Tim wouldn’t be bested by rudimentary technology so easily, oh no. The Batmobile might be too much, but Tim was smarter than a cat carrier.
He was not, unfortunately, smarter than the door to the study. Or, rather, like the Batmobile, not heavy enough to make his skills work.
There was a button on the computer to open the door. For if hands were full of say, a tray of food, and someone needed to get in. Tim could probably press it and make it look like an accident. He’d already escaped the cage. There was no hiding that he was a smart kitty anymore.
Only Bruce was meticulous about locking the computer each night, and Tim could fake many things, but not accidentally logging in to his own account.
He meant to come up with another plan, to still make his escape, maybe through the cave proper. But the computer was warm, and Tim was sleepy, and he always thought better when he closed his eyes, and…
Morning was an illusion when you were subterranean. Or it should have been.
But Damian was always careful of his animals, and he’d been very apologetic to Tim last night, promising he would let Tim out first thing when he woke up.
And he kept that promise.
Or would have, if Tim hadn’t already kept it for him.
Instead, Tim woke to gentle strokes running down his neck, and Damian’s proudest voice saying, “I shall tell Father than his efforts were pointless. You are very clever, little one, and you shall be rewarded. Surely he will see a shelter is not the place for you.”
Bruce did not see.
He was reluctantly impressed with Tim’s escape attempt—Tim would have been more impressed with himself if he’d gotten out—and agreed with Damian that Tim might prove difficult to keep in a cage at the shelter.
“But that isn’t your problem,” Bruce reiterated. “Clinic, shelter. No more pets.”
“It would be temporary,” Damian insisted. “When he’s well I could take him back to Gotham. Uninjured he would be safe on the streets and—“
“Take him to the vet first,” Bruce sighed. “They can keep him if he needs time to recover.”
Hope bloomed in Tim again. There shouldn’t be anything physically wrong with him. Maybe Damian would just let him go, and Tim could skip escaping from the shelter.
The visit to the vet was disgusting.
There were other animals everywhere, the noises weren’t exactly too loud, but Tim couldn’t process them all correctly and they made his instincts shiver. Damian wasn’t allowed to take Tim out of the carrier to soothe the cat since Tim was, as Alfred put it, too mercurial to be trusted unconfined.
It was probably a bit suspicious that Tim had crawled willingly into the carrier this morning after the fiasco last night.
The vet and Damian were old friends, not just because of Titus and Alfred, but for all the other…unique animals that Damian had brought through the clinic. They chatted amiably as Tim fought to maintain at least some semblance of dignity throughout the exam.
He failed. If it had been critical before, it was nonnegotiable now.
No one could ever know.
Pride bruised and bleeding, body cold and a little sore, the conversation happening over his head was not comforting.
“You’re right about his physical condition,” Dr. Patel said. “But his movements are concerning.”
“It’s inconsistent,” Damian was nodding. “I thought it might be a vision problem, or possibly an ear infection.”
“No sign of either,” Dr. Patel sighed. “I can run some bloodwork. Some results we can process today, but if they all turn up negative, more extensive testing will be 24-48 hours. At least.”
“I understand,” Damian said. He paused, “If it is a brain issue…”
“An MRI would mean putting him under,” Dr. Patel said. “We can, but I’d prefer to do less invasive tests first.” Tim would prefer they did not drug him at all. “He’s not showing some of the other signs I would look for, for swelling. Vision would be one of the first things impacted.”
“Could he simply be…clumsy?” Alfred suggested, in a tone Tim did not like at all.
“It’s unlikely, for a street cat,” Dr. Patel said. “This level of poor coordination, the inconsistency, that would make it hard to hunt and scavenge. He could be a missing pet. Not being chipped doesn’t prove anything. And his comfort around humans is as inconsistent as his balance.”
“Many street cats in Gotham have amicable interactions with humans,” Damian asserted. “Even if they are not domesticated.”
“I’d check around where you found him and see if anyone is missing a cat,” Dr. Patel suggested. “In the meantime, let’s see if we can’t get him fixed up and ready to go home. Wherever that is.”
There was more blood drawing. Tim hissed, but didn’t fight too hard. He didn’t want to know what might happen if he did.
And his escape would go better if there was no one keeping an eye on him later tonight.
It took a long time for Damian to leave once they’d arranged to have Tim stay overnight. He kept asking needlessly complicated questions, tattled on Tim getting out of his cage—and no, it did not make it better that he called Tim “ingeniously clever”—and kept reaching out to pet Tim, even when Tim wasn’t showing any signs of distress.
Not that Tim was complaining about that. But it was still weird to be getting any positive attention from Damian.
And this was so much.
Finally, Dr. Patel gently called Damian out on his stalling and reminded him there were other animals that needed attention.
Damian sighed, nodded, rubbed his hand over Tim’s head one last time, and paused.
Even moving slowly enough that Tim could track every moment, it wasn’t until after Damian had placed a light kiss on Tim’s forehead that it even occurred to Tim that that was a possibility of things that were about to happen.
Tim shivered, curled in on himself, ducked his head and did everything in his power to hide away.
Damian could never know.
Left alone with strangers, Tim did his best to move smoothly but be standoffish without being too aggressive. He aimed for problematic enough people stopped popping by his cage to coo baby talk him, but not causing any other problems. There were mutterings about taking extra measures to keep him in his cage overnight, but Tim was confident he could deal with them.
A little pain was worth the freedom.
Although he did wonder how Damian would react tomorrow when he came back and Tim was gone. Hopefully not too rudely.
Oh well, it wasn’t Tim’s problem.
No, Tim’s problem was apparently that someone had thought it was a good idea to drug him to keep him in his cage overnight, and his new cat tongue, sensitive in all sorts of new ways he hadn’t adjusted to, didn’t warn him in time.
Daytime escape it was then.
The latches on this cage were different, and Tim had to work at them when no one was looking. Ideally, he could slip silently out, get lost in the mix of pets in the waiting room, and sneak out the door. Worst case scenario, he was spotted and ran for it. He still wasn’t graceful in this body, but he was getting better at letting instinct take over.
He hoped.
In the end, being sneaky worked against him.
Bloodwork was already back, and someone had come to see the results, if the asinine cooing from the tech picking Tim up was any indication. Probably Alfred, although maybe Bruce if Damian had pouted enough worrying over being in school when the results came back.
“No” was not really Bruce’s strong suit with Damian.
With no other options and out of time, Tim did what Tim did best.
Flailed like a tiny maniac and went for the eyes.
It worked.
He’d been so well behaved the tech had forgotten all the warnings about him. And instinct did—finally!—take over, letting Tim land on his feet with minimal jarring, already pointed at the exit. Tim made a like criminal and ran.
Through the open doorway, right not left, towards the lobby not the exam rooms, around feet and legs, people scrambling to and away from him, something—someone—thudding heavily behind him.
It was fucking Bruce.
Bruce who dived, got a hand under Tim, tossed him, and then had the gall to catch Tim as Bruce surged back up to his feet in an impossible movement that Tim definitely wasn’t twice as jealous of because he could barely move right in his new body, no sir.
“Mr. Wayne!” Dr. Patel gasped as Tim lightly clawed at his father, trying to encourage Bruce to let go without doing real damage.
Tim wanted to hurt Bruce. Needed to escape. But Bruce wouldn’t take a night off for cat scratches, and Tim wasn’t messing up Bruce’s wrists that he needed for punching and grappling.
Because Tim was a big stupid.
“It’s alright,” Bruce was saying. “I didn’t drop him.”
“You’re not carrying him right,” a familiar voice chuckled. “And that wasn’t why you scared us.”
Public persona playing dumb, Bruce just gave Selina a confused smile.
Selina, who never wasted time interacting with Bruce at his thickest, quickly set to work rubbing Tim’s head and scooping him up against her. Earning a reluctant, “You’re very good at that,” from Bruce.
“Damian sent me notes,” Selina was probably smiling, Tim thought. He couldn’t really see unless he tipped his head, and she might stop petting him and that would just be wrong.
It wasn’t like he could escape now anyway. He might have made it away from Bruce, but his dumb cat body wasn’t going to outwit Catwoman.
They were hustled into the back where Dr. Patel told them, surprising Tim zero percent, that the bloodwork had come back completely clean.
“But he’s still moving oddly,” that was Selina’s frowny voice, and Tim found himself purring suddenly, and oh.
Oh that was nice.
He felt Selina relax a little as Dr. Patel said, “Yes, I noticed that too. Better, I think, but still strange. And no signs of swelling overnight, either on his body or around his head. If there’s internal swelling, who knows what it looks like.”
“You think there’s brain swelling,” Bruce asked, sounding almost…nervous?
“Yes,” Dr. Patel said. “It was an option Damian and I discussed yesterday.”
“So I really shouldn’t have thrown him.” Bruce was all morose contrition.
“You should not,” Selina agreed. “And you should have read Damian’s notes before you came.”
“He didn’t send any to me,” Bruce confessed sheepishly.
Selina snorted. “I wonder why.”
It was a little teasing, but also a little mean. Tim nipped at her arm.
“What?” Selina asked him. “You hungry?”
Tim hissed. He did not want more food from this place. It wasn’t as good as what Damian got for Alfred, and they’d drugged it.
No more trusting these bozos.
“He hasn’t eaten yet today,” Dr. Patel offered. “Although I wouldn’t recommend feeding him just yet. We’ll need to put him under full anesthesia if we’re doing the MRI.”
Fuck that. There was nothing wrong with Tim’s brain. Well, nothing an MRI was going to find. He needed Zatana, not a vet.
But Selina was as adept at handling a struggling cat as Damian, especially with Bruce’s help, and so…
The only comforting thought Tim could summon when he woke up was at least they were only looking at his brain. And spine? There were worse things that could have been examined.
And Selina was petting him again.
Wait, no. That was Selina across the room. The delicate fingers sliding through his fur had to be—
“It’s alright,” Damian whispered, tucking Tim close. “You don’t need to be afraid.”
Only Tim did. This was working out to be a bit of a mess, and he was supposed to have escaped by now, and one day of silence probably wasn’t going to be noticed, but by two or three someone might pick up on it, and then Bruce would hear about it and someone would come to check Tim’s apartment, and Tim would be missing, and so would his suit, and Damian would find out and—
Yeah, okay, Tim might maybe be starting to panic. A little.
Probably just the drugs.
“No signs of any sort of internal bleeding, no swelling, nothing,” Dr. Patel was looking at a screen like it was offensive.
“Would there be things the MRI wouldn’t pick up?” Bruce asked, leaning to look at the computer as well. Cats were a bit beyond him, but he actually did know his way around the basics of an MRI readout.
“In theory, but any obstructions should be showing signs of…obstructing,” Dr. Patel frowned. “And they aren’t.”
“So he’s just a dumb cat?” Selina asked, sounding skeptical.
Dr. Patel sighed. “We can run other tests. Monitor his mobility. It may be that there was an injury, or swelling, but it’s gone down and he’s just still recovering.”
It was obvious that no one liked that explanation.
“On paper he’s healthy enough for the shelter,” Dr. Patel said. “We can warn them about the motor issues, but he won’t be running around much anyway, so I don’t know that it will make a difference.”
Tim couldn’t see Damian’s face, but Tim could see Bruce’s, and he knew Damian was exerting the full force of his I-am-refusing-to-beg-but-Father-please look.
To escape, Bruce turned to Selina. “Any chance you could take him? Even just for a few days?”
Selina sighed. “I’m not at home much. And I have other cats. I’d say yes, but if he has trouble moving and any of my cats don’t like him…”
“But you could try?” Bruce pressed.
Selina glared at him. “We could do a short visit. See if it might work.”
Because Selina wasn’t any more resistant to Damian’s begging than Bruce, apparently.
Tim wasn’t sure how to feel. Selina’s apartment was closer to Tim’s, but it would be harder to escape from. Especially without getting noticed, or accidentally letting other cats out. That wouldn’t be fair to Selina. Or the cats.
And then Tim still had to contact Zatana.
Or Tim could tell Selina, when they were alone. It would probably take some serious bribery, but she could be convinced to keep his secret.
Actually, yes. Selina was Tim’s best bet at this point. It might cost him priceless art, or maybe committing some crimes with her. Or possibly a lifetime of cat-sitting.
But far better than confessing to Bruce or Dick or Steph at this point.
Although Tim would have think about what he could offer Zatana. She’d share the story with Bruce in a heartbeat. Or with Clark.
And from Clark to the rest of the League…
Ugh, this was so complicated.
But Tim had a plan.
Unfortunately, Tim’s plans were immediately murdered by not one but two of Selina’s cats taking an immediate dislike to him. Normally Tim would be unfazed, but normally Tim was twelve times their size and in full control of his limbs at all times.
A cat fight, with other cats as a cat, was not something Tim was prepared for.
Thankfully between Bruce, Selina, and a very overprotective Damian, Tim escaped mauling. Or even light maiming. Even if he did embarrass himself some more with instinctive posturing and then tripping over his own feet.
Selina shrugged, Bruce sighed, and Damian pulled out that I’m-going-to-the-gallows-because-you-insist-and-I’m-going-to-be-very-brave-about-it face.
“Fine,” Bruce said. “We can keep him for a couple more days and see if he improves.”
“Thank you, Father,” Damian almost gasped, squeezing Tim tight enough Tim mewled in protest.
“Two more days,” Bruce repeated. “No more, Damian.”
“Yes, I understand,” was the immediate agreement.
Everyone knew it was a lie.
Chapter Text
Alfred was not happy with another cat in the house. Alfred the butler put up with Alfred the cat because Damian was very good about training his animals, and Alfred the cat was quiet and calm and demure.
Tim the cat had earned himself a reputation in just twenty-four hours, and it was clear that Alfred was not pleased about this development.
The look he gave Bruce said there would be Words later, about parenting and telling a child no. About sticking to your guns.
It was pretty hypocritical given that nothing Alfred had ever said had stopped Bruce from being Batman. Or gotten Bruce to proactively take care of himself.
But then, their family was pretty hypocritical all around.
“He will stay in the cave,” Alfred said. “He is not house trained.”
“He may fall into a hole,” Damian protested, and what the hell? Tim wasn’t that dumb. “I will keep him in my room and I will clean up any messes he makes.”
Which, no. No no no no. The cuddles were bad enough. The sweet, kind words. The medical exams. All of that would be fuel when this was over if Damian found out.
But Damian would actually kill Tim if he found out Tim had made Damian clean up his literal shit.
Nope. Nope nope nope nope nope.
“He stays in your room,” Alfred repeated. “Even when you are at school.”
There was a moment of mutinous glaring from Damian, but then a slump and a sigh. “Yes. He should not be wandering anyway. And there are many stairs in the house.”
Yeah, that wasn’t gonna work.
Tim allowed himself to be fed, reluctantly, and then spent the rest of the evening hiding under Damian’s bed while the brat did his homework. At some point when an alarm went off Damian half crawled under the bed to explain, “I must have dinner, and then train. And then work. But you will be safe here and it is very warm.”
And with a careful head pat Damian was gone and Tim was alone.
He spent the time while Damian was at dinner walking and running laps of the room, jumping onto the bed and Damian’s chair and desk. By the time Damian stopped in before training, Tim was feeling much more settled in his body, and his good mood must have been obvious. Damian almost skipped off to the cave, the tiniest hint of a smile on his face, even after Tim dove back under the bed.
A bit of a wait to make sure no one was coming back, and Tim put his practice to the test.
Even knowing how doorknobs worked, it was tricky to get the right grip and leverage for a twist, and then to kick back to get the door open. But eventually Tim managed it.
Which just left escaping the manor.
Thankfully, there were dog doors.
Dodging a few cameras—easier at this height—led to a nice loping sprint across the lawn and Tim was home free.
Now all he needed to do was…
…get from Bristol to his place in Gotham.
Fuck.
The less said about Tim’s trip into the city, the better.
Yes, he did have a lot of practice sneaking away from this specific neighborhood into the dark and grunge of Gotham proper. Even a few years away didn’t remove all the memories.
And yes, he was in a decent body, not with the exact strengths and stamina he expected, but maneuverable and healthy and well fed.
And yes, he did know exactly where he was going and how to get there.
He just…okay, he hadn’t been expecting some of the sights and sounds and smells to be so alluring, alright. He’d forgotten he might get chased by other stray animals. He’d forgotten how it felt to be at the vet with so many other people around, and wow that wasn’t easier on the streets. Gotham didn’t really sleep.
And he’d maybe forgotten that he lived in a penthouse suite of a very, very tall building with a locked entry at the bottom, someone at a security desk, and an elevator that required a key card to reach certain floors.
Like…Tim’s.
Alright, maybe he hadn’t thought this all the way through, okay? But he’d made progress? Right?
Turned out getting into the building was pretty simple. He couldn’t follow his mark from the main door to the elevator because while the guard might not notice a cat’s low profile slinking around the walls and just in front of the desk, he definitely did notice the residents coming in and acknowledged them with a wave or a nod.
There was also the issue of the elevator and Tim not being able to ride with another person. That just…wouldn’t work out.
He caught an elevator when someone came down, took an embarrassing amount of time to throw himself at the buttons until he hit one close to his floor that wasn’t card locked, and then trawled the hall on the floor until he found an unlocked door and let himself inside.
Well, three unlocked doors. The first two he couldn’t find any windows he could open. But the third was good.
Some very, very, very careful ledge walking—and jumping—and Tim was sliding into his own apartment, alone and safe at last.
Sort of.
He was still a cat.
Who had to figure out how to make his computer work.
The end result was that, hours later, long after patrol would have ended, Tim had answered a handful of texts from Steph and Dick and Babs, updated a few cases with notes he hadn’t had a chance to add the other night, and—
And found out Zatana was unavailable barring formal JLA emergency for at least another ten days.
Of all the times for someone to manifest a healthy work/life balance, did it have to be when it personally inconvenienced Tim?
Well…
Friendship with Babs and access to the Justice League database meant that Tim could at least try and take a look for himself while he was waiting. He wasn’t a great researcher in the way Barbara Gordon was, trained specifically to trawl through databases of catalogues. Tim was good with other kinds of research, and he’d picked up a few tips from Babs.
He could do something.
Dawn found him curling up on his computer chair, settling down for a nice nap, plotting what sort of keyword searches were the best place to start for this sort of magic.
Reading computer screens as a cat was hard. His eyes were not suited for it.
But Tim had never let things like pain or his vision blurring bar him from a project in the past, so he spent the day napping on and off and reading whatever he could in the meantime.
Basic magical primers that various users had compiled for the JLA told Tim the same story over and over.
Know the caster, the source of power, the type of spell, the verbal components, the material ones, any gestures. The sort of stuff Tim could have pulled straight from a TTRPG manual, honestly.
The only problem was Tim knew literally none of that. He knew what the results of the spell were, which wasn’t completely useless. But he needed more details.
He needed to do some old-fashioned detective work.
As a cat.
Getting out of his apartment was a lot easier than getting in. Emergency stairwells were long, but they took Tim outside easily enough.
Then it was just a matter of backtracking to the rooftop where he’d been zapped—or something—and exploring with the senses that he currently had.
Gotham’s propensity to rain, heavy and often, was not super helpful in terms of Tim looking for clues. Gauging distances was also harder, and colors were pretty much a lost cause.
But what Tim had assumed was the smell of himself two nights ago was probably actually the smell of magic because it lingered where most of the other scents had faded, not entirely physical, Tim supposed.
Maybe.
He made an effort over the next couple of hours to try and see if he could track the path of the spell back to its source. As it turned out, Tim was hit from two roofs away, but he could catch the faintest whiff of where the magic had almost singed the walls on the roof between them.
Interesting.
So, someone competent, or at least thoughtful.
Tim mulled over if this was maybe an accident, but decided no. Even if it had been hard to see exactly who Tim was in the dark, he wore a cape, and Bats were well known throughout the city. Even if Red Robin hadn’t been the exact target, the culprit had known what they were doing.
So, someone willing to spike a Bat from behind. Someone smart enough, and strong enough, to do it from a distance.
Someone who’d decided that making Tim a cat was the best use of their magic?
He would need to think about that one. Either they were new and naïve, or Tim had gotten very lucky falling onto someone’s balcony, making it harder to finish him off.
Sniffing allowed him to follow things that smelled similar, but he couldn’t really categorize most scents beyond, “Maybe eat this?” and “Maybe don’t eat this,” so he was running out of options for what he could find. No signs of etchings or drips of wax or other obvious indications of a ritual. Which would be unlikely to cast in a line, Tim thought. If someone had drawn chalk, it might have washed away, but there should still be traces. Tim thought he might have been able to smell those if they had been present, and he didn’t, but that wasn’t really conclusive.
He’d made his way onto the middle roof, headed back to where he’d been hit, when something dropped out of the sky in front of him with a zip and a thud.
“There you are,” Damian sounded so fucking relieved Tim froze in the middle of his recoil. “How did you get here? Are you alright? Did you injure yourself?”
All of this was accompanied by grabbing and cuddling and poking at Tim’s joints and gut. He batted at Damian’s hand and yowled in protest—he was clearly fine!—but escape was beyond his ability. Especially with Damian in an armored shirt and gloves.
“You are quite clever,” Damian continued. “You are very fortunate I was checking this area to see if anyone is looking for you. No one is,” he added, sounding unfairly relieved. “No one besides me.”
Tim…wasn’t going to think about that. He wasn’t going to think about how it was true.
No, it was supposed to be true. Tim had answered his outstanding messages and was taking care of this problem. He didn’t want anyone to be looking for him. He was trying to escape.
And Damian was foiling him. Bad Damian.
And then Damian set him down. Tim stared for a moment, utterly perplexed, before deciding, what the fuck, everyone screws up sometimes.
Tim ran.
He was doing pretty well too, heading for the first building where he had a good idea of where the fire escape was and how to get down it. He fumbled the jump between roofs, but not badly enough he didn’t make it.
He’d blame that on Damian. The kid had started moving as Tim reached the roof’s edge and it had kicked in flight instincts, only Tim had rigid control of his flight instincts, but this cat body did not like that.
But he made it, and made it to the stairs without Damian grabbing him, and was jumping down and—
He made it two flights, feeling the vibrations as Damian followed, before he thought too hard and fumbled another landing.
Skidded.
Slammed into the railing, twisted, lost track of his feet.
Was scooped back into Damian’s arms.
Tim fought, but it was useless.
“You are certainly better,” Damian said. “But not all the way well. Don’t worry. We will discover the cause. I promise.”
That—that was not what Tim wanted to hear. Not at all. Nope. Tim was handling this. He was handling it very responsibly and well, and making sure that no one could hold it against him. He had even intended to ask for help. Twice!
But Damian had foiled him both times—okay, Selina’s cats had also spoiled the plan—and Tim was stepping up.
He did not need help. From Damian.
But he was unceremoniously bundled back to the Batmobile, where Bruce was waiting in clear resignation.
“He doesn’t seem to want to stay with us,” came Batman’s last, futile attempts at arguing.
“He is confused and frightened,” Damian protested. “He has hurt no one but himself.”
“Only until he’s better,” Batman grumbled as he shut Damian’s door behind him.
“Yes, Father,” Damian agreed as soon as Bruce had come around and slipped inside.
Bruce just sighed.
Alfred was…displeased.
Tim tried not to take it personally. It wasn’t like he’d been the most considerate house guest. He may have torn Alfred’s sleeves a bit in trying to stay out of the carrier. He didn’t stay where he was put. He hadn’t pooped on the floor yet, or anything like that, but Alfred didn’t know that was deliberate.
“We will need to come up with some sort of method for containment,” Alfred insisted. “If he needs quiet and rest but cannot be left to himself.”
“I will lock my door,” Damian said, and dammit that was actually a good plan. “I apologize for not taking such a step last time.”
Alfred sighed, putting a hand on Damian’s shoulder, his whole demeanor softening. “I am not angry. I am very proud of you, for caring so much and being so reliable.” He squeezed Damian’s shoulder a little before adding, “I am worried for you. He cannot stay and I know you will want him to.”
“I know,” Damian whispered, running a hand over Tim’s head, his voice going a little wobbly. It was a very good thing he didn’t know Tim was right there. “But I must.”
“Yes,” Alfred agreed. And then, with a soft smile, “You are too much like your father not to.”
Damian beamed and Tim…
Tim felt like the worst interloper. Like a traitor. He wasn’t supposed to be seeing this. Seeing Damian light up like a little sun, all because of a short compliment that anyone in the family could have told Damian was true a thousand times over.
Damian was clearly Bruce’s son, in every obvious way and in every way that mattered.
Hell, Damian was always making a huge deal about it. He knew it better than anyone.
Didn’t he?
Tim…wasn’t going to think about it.
“He’s rather…precocious,” Alfred murmured, trying to scrub Tim down.
He’d only been outside for a day, this was completely unnecessary. Tim protested.
Even if the scrubbing felt good.
He was inconsistent, okay.
“He is precious,” Damian insisted, cleaning Tim’s ears, and oh damn that was going to haunt Tim for the rest of his life. “Yes. Yes, that is a good name for him.”
“Precious?” Alfred’s mustache was twitching and Tim was going to die, he couldn’t do this. Didn’t Damian know the rules? You didn’t name animals you weren’t going to keep!
“Yes,” Damian said, smiling a little as he bopped Tim’s nose, the monster. “Precious.”
Okay, now it was official. Tim was taking this to his grave if it killed him.
Notes:
Tim has been named. He might be in trouble.
Thanks to everyone for your comments. I'm glad you're enjoying this story so far.
Chapter Text
It took two more days before Tim was left unsupervised enough to escape the house. Two days of Damian lurking in his room as often as possible, leaving a hand free to try and lure Tim into coming over for scritches. Two days of the most awkward hide and seek when Damian took Tim outdoors for fresh air and Tim found time to take care of personal business. The first night Tim was locked in Damian’s room during patrol and spent the whole time yowling fit to wake the dead, if anyone had been in the house to hear Tim.
Tim did not succumb to the scritches lure—much—and he almost managed an escape both times he was outside—Titus was a traitor—and by the end of the second day Tim probably would have given anything to still be stuck in Damian’s room.
Because the second night Jason showed up while Damian had Tim down in the Cave.
As if Tim needed this to get any worse.
“Alfie says you’ve added to the menagerie.” Jason never bothered with hello when he could instead be infinitely annoying. “Oh, yeesh, another cat?”
“You like Alfred,” Damian pointed out. “And no one is asking you to interact with Precious.”
“Precious,” Jason repeated, all manic glee. He managed an eerie hissing rasp as he said, “Your precious?”
Tim tried to roll his cat eyes. Jason thought he was so damn funny.
Damian clearly didn’t know the reference—which was a shame, Tim should try and fix that, just so Damian would have a reason to get back at Jason of course—so he didn’t retaliate. Just corrected, “No, Father says I may not keep him. But we believe he is recovering from a head injury, and until he can move without showing signs of dizziness, he will be staying here.”
“Head injury?” Jason repeated, sliding closer and squinting at Tim. “You believe?”
“The MRI showed no signs of internal damage.” Damian was clearly still frustrated. “But Precious occasionally loses control of his limbs, or can’t walk straight. He has been improving,” Damian added, with haste that didn’t entirely disguise his worry. “Father will likely insist that we release him soon.”
Jason hummed, frowning. “And if he doesn’t fully recover?”
It was a little flat, and Tim wasn’t sure what to make of the tone.
Damian’s shoulders stiffened. “Father will have me give him to a shelter. Like the others.”
“Doesn’t seem likely to get adopted with mystery medical conditions,” Jason mused, reaching a hand towards Tim.
A little bit of hissing made the hand stop, but not retreat so Tim took a swipe as well, not trying to draw blood but not overly worried about it.
Jason yanked his hand and hissed right back at Tim. Who would have giggled, but could only manage a gurgled mewl.
Damian was smirking as he came over to stroke Tim’s head. “He’s not quite socialized.” The smirk evaporated. “Another mark against him, should we take him to a shelter.”
In all his infinite wisdom, the best Jason would come up with was, “Yeah, he’ll definitely learn social skills in this house.”
“He is incredibly clever,” Damian snapped, scooping Tim up to cradle him close. “Though given the social graces you managed to learn here, it’s no wonder you have no hope for him.”
There was a flash of green in Jason’s eyes and Tim found himself responding, lurching forward in Damian’s grasp to make as menacing a noise as he could.
Jason wasn’t getting through Tim, not on—
Okay, no, this was stupid. Jason was a million times bigger than Tim right now, what the hell cat brain?
But his reaction seemed to have done something, because Jason’s posture loosened. “Yeah, sure, whatever. Resident genius who’s never allowed out in public alone gets to tell me how anti-social I am.”
“I am allowed out alone!”
“Sure, kid.”
“I regularly attend school…”
They were off, bickering. Tim hoped they would be distracted enough when they got upstairs that he could slip away.
No such luck.
They visited the kitchen for feeding. The food was as weird and gross-not-gross as ever, and Damian made sure Tim ate all of it, which seemed extreme. Jason at least got some laughs from the faces Alfred would make when Tim accidentally dropped food out of his mouth onto the floor. Tim cleaned them up as best he could, but he knew if he was in his right and proper body he’d be flaming red from nose to ears and neck.
Small benefits to being a cat.
Except he wouldn’t lose his food if he had a proper mouth.
After dinner Tim got locked in Damian’s room again. He knew no one was going out tonight, so he yowled as much as he could at the door, hoping someone would take pity on him.
But Damian must have been spending time with Bruce because he didn’t come in until late, when he tucked Tim in, with a kiss to the top of the head and a, “Goodnight, Precious,” before going to bed early as he had probably been directly instructed.
He’d locked the door behind him, and Tim spent most of the night staring at it, trying to figure out how to manage the lock.
Daytime was the worst. There was only so much napping in sunbeams—admittedly quite fun—that a cat could do for seven hours while a child was at school. Tim would whine pitifully at the door whenever he heard footsteps, but neither Bruce’s soft, heavy steps nor Alfred’s crisp clicks so much as paused at the door.
So Tim nearly jumped out of his skin when the lock snicked around lunchtime, long before Damian should be home.
He retreated under the bed with a snarl when he spotted Jason coming in.
“Yeesh.”
And then Jason walked over, laid down on his stomach, and stuck his fucking hand under the bed, twitching his fingers in a “come, come” sign.
“Hey buddy, it’s okay,” Jason crooned.
And Tim lost what was left of his damn mind.
No, no apparently not all of it, because then Jason purred, “Here, Precious,” and what little brain matter that remained imploded.
At least the cat autopilot engaged while Tim.exe was down. There was swiping, although Jason’s fingers were just out of reach, and lots of angry noises.
But Jason just settled more comfortably into the floor, and kept crooning, making those incredibly irritating baby noises and nonsense sentences that Tim could actually understand the words of, thanks asshole, instead of getting up and leaving like a sane person.
Was he seriously breaking into Damian’s room to steal his pet? Was this a Bruce plot? No, but it might have been Alfred.
Honestly though, they could have just unlocked the door and left it open. Tim knew his way out and they could have lied and said Damian forgot.
While Tim’s mind was rebooting and also trying to extrapolate potential plots, Jason’s other hand slowly crept under the bed. Tim moved further out of his reach, but Jason only opened the palm and let the hand lie there, something sitting as a blob on top.
A nice smelling blob, if Tim’s nose was telling the truth.
Or, a nice smelling blob as far as cat brain was concerned. Autopilot decided to step forward and sniff.
Tim’s brain was up and running enough that he immediately jerked back, but Jason didn’t so much as twitch the whole time. Didn’t make any move to grab Tim.
“See,” Jason whispered, “it’s fine. You’re just fine. Go ahead, take a look. You’ll like it.”
Ah, a treat. A lure of some sort. Definitely here on Alfred’s orders then. And Tim was hesitant to trust Jason, but if this was a lure to get rid of Tim, well…
That suited Tim’s plans just fine.
Gingerly, showily hesitant, Tim crept forward, waiting for Jason to snatch him.
Points to Jason, he didn’t snatch, even when Tim ate the treat out of Jason’s hand. He just slowly curled his fingers and scratched Tim’s chin a little, still murmuring, “See, just fine. You’re just fine. It’s alright, buddy.”
Allowing capture was already part of Tim’s plot, but it was nice of Jason to make the capture pleasant. The scratching continued, Tim tiptoeing forward to follow those fingers, until he was out from under the bed and Jason could ease an arm around him while moving to scratch behind Tim’s ears.
“There you go,” Jason smiled, and there wasn’t anything mean in it at all. Weird.
Or maybe the weird part was Tim…not being very weirded out by that.
Something to think about.
Or maybe not. Actually not. Better plan.
With a roll, Jason had them both off the floor, Tim scrambling a little as he felt gravity working in weird ways around him. Clucking and soothing, Jason encouraged Tim onto his shoulders, which were, wow okay. Tim knew, objectively, that Jason was broad, but Damian had also tried to carry Tim on his shoulders and this, this was way, way easier. There was so much more space up here, it was basically perfect.
“Like the view?” Jason asked, and yeah, actually Tim did. Habit, new and dangerous habit, had Tim lightly butting Jason’s head to show approval. But instead of getting angry, like Tim suddenly realized should happen, Jason just smiled and ran a hand over Tim’s head. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to be stuck in here either. It’s clean, but like, ugh.”
Ugh was right.
So Tim allowed Jason to carry him out of the room and down the stairs.
But instead of heading to the garden door, or the garage, or even the front door, Jason took them to the library, settled onto a couch, and…pulled out a book?
This was his master plan? What?
The few attempts Tim made at leaving Jason’s proximity to wander were immediately met with retaliation. Jason was gentle, but he could grab Tim blind and haul him back to Jason’s lap. And he did. Several times.
Efforts to crawl away were thwarted by a heavy hand first pressing, then firmly grabbing while Tim squirmed and wiggled.
“Sorry buddy,” Jason said at one point, putting the book aside to scratch with one hand while he held with the other. “Alfie says you don’t get to wander. Wanna walk around the room? I can show you my favorite books.”
No, Tim did not want a walk around the room, but Jason was already moving, hoisting Tim back up, and, well…
Alright, it wasn’t too terrible. Like, Tim already knew the room, he didn’t need a tour. But Jason was perfectly happy to chat about his favorite books with Tim the cat, and that, well. It turned out Tim liked listening to Jason talk about books. Book Jason was a happy Jason. Even if Tim sometimes got lost in the literary analysis terms.
He could at least keep up with the themes.
“I’d recommend this one to Damian,” Jason was saying, “but he’d probably think I was making fun of him. Which is too bad. I think he’d love stories where animals were the main characters.”
Tim didn’t know much about Redwall, or about Damian’s fiction reading habits. Most likely, like Tim, Damian avoided fiction, if for very different reasons.
But Jason sounded so soft, and wistful, as he made this little confession and Tim—
Tim wondered if Jason had ever picked out a book for Tim. Had ever thought of Tim while he was reading. While he was happy.
A distraction was clearly necessary, so Tim stuck his nose in Jason’s ear, which made Jason twitch and laugh. “You don’t think so? Yeah, you’re probably right.”
Which wasn’t what Tim had meant at all.
Stupid Jason.
“That,” came a tired, clipped voice from behind them, “is not supposed to be outside Damian’s room.”
“This?” Jason asked, waving the book at Alfred with a cheeky grin. “I thought it lived down here.”
Alfred gave the impression of folding his arms and scowling with a single quirk of his brows.
Jason shrugged. “Damian is worried his Precious isn’t socialized enough. If Bruce is gonna make the kid put him in a shelter, might as well make it easier on everyone.” A scratch under Tim’s chin came with, “He’s pretty well behaved though.”
“He has calmed down considerably since his first night. Although he becomes riled when faced with baths and Dr. Patel.”
“He doesn’t like baths and vet visits? How savage,” Jason scoffed.
Alfred almost smiled. “Yes, well, I suppose it isn’t too surprising. But even if he isn’t violent, he certainly isn’t house trained.”
Jason winced a bit at that, looking over at Tim. “Kid’s room didn’t smell bad. You’re not gonna shit on me, are you?”
Tim delicately licked a paw in answer.
Of course he wasn’t. But the look on Jason’s face was pretty good.
“If he does,” Alfred said, “I trust you remember where the cleaning supplies are.”
“Yes, Alfie.”
“Very good then.”
Tim got more scratches around his ears as Jason put the book back. “You gonna let me read now? Or should I keep showing you around?”
Honestly, Tim was having more fun with Jason talking about books. But he was a little tired since he’d been up all night, and Jason had found the spot on the back of Tim’s head that made him sort of melty. So maybe Tim could nap.
He ended up curled pretty comfortably on Jason’s chest, soothing strokes down his back lulling him to slumber quickly enough. Jason’s hand was still on Tim when he woke up a bit later, but the motion had stopped and when Tim looked over, Jason was blinking slowly and took a while to turn a page.
Tim’s brain eventually prompted opportunity, and Tim wiggled under the hand until Jason started stroking again.
Then Tim started to purr.
It was soothing. It made Tim feel a little lighter. And it seemed to work like magic on Jason as well because after a few minutes the book was resting on Jason’s face as he mumbled into it.
Tim waited a bit longer, until Jason’s breathing had completely evened out, and then tried wiggling again.
Slowly.
It was a success. Tim was free of Jason and more importantly, free to leave.
And he was going to do it. Right now.
Once he woke up a bit more.
It took a while for Tim to get his feet under him reliably, but once he did, he made his way out of the library, checking the hall before slipping out.
Getting out of the house should be simple. Tim could just wander out and go back to his apartment and—
It occurred to Tim that there was no cat food at his apartment. Actually, there probably wasn’t much in the way of food at all. He was going to have to figure something out, because he could get in and out, but it would be a hassle.
Maybe he could get groceries delivered? He didn’t think he’d been carrying his wallet when he’d been transformed.
And he had a spare upstairs—
Oh.
Oh!
Tim had a spare room here!
Tim had a computer!
Dashing between shadows and under and around furniture, Tim made his way to his bedroom, tail twitching in excitement. It wouldn’t be the safest way to access his accounts, but possible unlike down in the cave. And he only needed to answer his messages, do a bit more research, wait out Zatana’s vacation.
As long as he was on the home network, he should be able to manage that much.
Cat paws were as difficult as ever, but Tim got a solid two hours of work in—amounting to maybe twenty minutes if he’d had hands—before he heard Jason calling, “Pre-cious…”
He sounded awkward and stupid, and Tim wished he could giggle. Served Jason right.
It was tricky to escape without alerting Jason, but Tim did not want anyone investigating his room ever, so he waited until Jason sounded like he was heading back downstairs before slipping out.
It was also tempting to leave Jason in a lurch, disappear and let Damian’s explosive temper have a fair target for once.
But if Tim was going to be sneaking into his own room, he needed to be irrelevant. Convenient.
Docile.
Maybe this was a good chance to get let out of Damian’s room?
Rather than going to Jason right away, Tim made his way outside, moseying around for a bit before lurking near Titus’s dog door. It was Alfred who led Jason there, and who sighed almost despondently when he saw that Tim hadn’t run away.
“That’s a good thing, though, right?” Jason asked, twitching his fingers, tsking at Tim. “That he’s getting settled here?”
“No,” Alfred corrected. “He is not staying here, and so it would be unwise for him—or any member of this household—to get too comfortable here.”
Having successfully “lured” Tim back onto his shoulder, Jason smirked. “Wow. Bruce is already ready to keep him, isn’t he? You just don’t want the kid to know.”
A deep, forlorn sigh from Alfred. “I trust you can keep that to yourself. I have no objection to Damian having pets, or even that those pets are rescues. But if he follows the pattern of his father…”
“It’ll escalate,” Jason sniggered, petting Tim’s head. “Seems like proper payback though. You can just put Bruce in charge of managing the messes.”
The sarcasm was thick as Alfred said, “Oh yes, certainly. That won’t present any additional problems at all.”
Jason laughed. It sounded nice, and it felt good as Tim curled around Jason’s shoulders. He should laugh like that more often. Was it only Alfred that Jason thought was funny? They should fix that.
Tim was safely back inside by the time Damian got home. There was a lot less shouting than Tim would have expected given that Jason had breached the sacred line of the closed bedroom door, although that might have been in deference to Tim.
Which was too bad. Tim wouldn’t have minded Damian yelling at Jason at all.
But there was one small win.
“You say he did not attempt to run away?” Damian triple checked. “At all?”
“Not even when we let him outside,” Jason raised his hand in an oath and Tim had to sneeze since he couldn’t snort. Let. “He just chilled on the back patio. Not saying he’ll do that every time, but I think we can convince Alfie to let him wander a bit more. Or at least let him stay with us outside your room.”
“I do not mind staying in my room with him,” Damian said, scratching the top of Tim’s head, and wow, that was nice. Was Damian getting better or Tim just getting used to this? “It would be beneficial however, if he could be let out while I was at school.”
“Unlikely,” Jason said, frowning. “But…” He grinned a little. “You help me with a prank for Replacement and I can keep an eye on him tomorrow at least.”
Tim froze. Waited. Wondered.
Damian smirked. “I suppose I could assist in such childish antics in this case.”
They shook on it, and Tim curled tighter in on himself as Damian carried Tim upstairs.
He hid under the bed the entire time Damian did his homework, no matter how often Damian checked on him.
“Are you tired?” Damian asked, wedged under the bed, hesitating to approach as Tim retreated. “Did Todd give you something he shouldn’t have?”
There was a strong instinct to hiss and spit and swipe. Tim restrained it, leaning into the thought of “socialized, socialized, socialized,” as hard as he could.
He shouldn’t—it wasn’t a surprise. He was just letting his cat brain confuse him. All the petting and cuddling and pet names, they weren’t for Tim. This concern, Damian trying to divine Tim’s condition in the shadows and muted stillness of the bed crack, it wasn’t actually for Tim.
He would remember that, Tim promised himself as he lurked in the deepening darkness, listening to the rustles and taps of Damian finishing his homework.
There was nothing precious about Tim.
They planned the prank on patrol.
Tim listened in over the comms, as best he could given…well, he’d been left in the cave. But Alfred was also around.
Turned out half the secret to his omniscience was just completely ignoring the “private” part of private lines.
Which, given the discussion actively taking place, was probably wise.
Even if it was rude.
Yes, Tim was also a hypocrite. It ran in the family.
There was a worryingly long debate before it was decided that they wouldn’t prank Tim while he was suited up. There’d been more debate over vandalism to his suit, but given how often he was moving it between the cave and his apartment, the logistics proved to be more difficult that even Jason and Damian were willing to commit to.
Mostly because it would require coordination, and neither one was willing to adjust their schedule for the other.
Much.
“I still say the coffee is too simple,” Damian complained, unaware of Alfred’s sighs.
At least Alfred cared a little.
Not, you know, enough to be texting Tim to warn him or anything. Just passive caring. The normal sort that Tim was used to.
“Sometimes simple is best,” Jason pointed out. “Besides, we’re gonna have to get into his apartment and it’ll take time to find all his stashes and swap them. And you know he’s not just gonna give one of us his schedule.”
Damn right, Tim wouldn’t. Especially not now.
He found himself purring, feelings the strangeness of the vibrations as they reverberated back from the computer, sinking into the desk as flat as he could as he listened. Not just a caffeinated to decaf swap, oh no. They were going to take his nice brands and replace them with cheap ones. They were going to mix all the ones they were replacing into one giant sack and refill each of his individual bags.
Jason was going to practice breaking and reaffixing seals to make them look untouched.
It would almost have been impressive if it wasn’t so, so…rude.
Apparently there was enough melancholy hanging around him that Alfred stopped his fussing and neatening at one point, carefully petting and checking Tim.
“You’re rather quiet this evening,” he hummed, frowning. “Your appetite was fine. Are you chilled?”
Tim was offered an open box with the Green Lantern blanket. The idea seemed cozy, but Tim wanted to be near the computer so he could hear what was being said.
At least he knew this was coming. That was one good thing to come out of all of this.
Chapter Text
The morning dawned grey and misty, and Tim rose with it. He could sleep the day away if he wanted. Likely would, if Jason wanted to cuddle and read again.
It would be a good day for reading. The weather invited the kind of nesting Jason preferred when absorbing a book.
Tim wondered if he should just hide under Damian’s bed the whole time instead.
No. No, that wasn’t the plan.
And Tim was doing well, refining the plan. He needed more free range, so that he could use his computer while everyone was gone for school or work, or at night when they were on patrol. Or sleeping. He needed to do more reading and finish long hand typing out his case notes.
He really needed to work on his cases before they all went cold. That would be harder than all the other plans, but if this was going to continue for another week or more, his high priority stuff couldn’t wait.
Crime certainly hadn’t stopped just because Tim had been forcibly benched.
It was even rampant in the Manor.
But no, Tim couldn’t focus on that. He needed to be cooperative and tame for the sake of his plan.
He still made Jason squeeze under the bed and beg for a bit before coming out though.
Payback was a bitch, and Tim was already planning retaliating pranks for this latest abuse.
They didn’t immediately settle in the library. Jason followed Alfred around the manor for a bit, helping with chores in minute ways with Tim draped around his shoulders. Alfred looked at Tim once, but then ignored him the rest of the time.
Which was…fine. Tim was used to being ignored. And it wasn’t like he was helping or doing anything else useful.
After some lightbulb replacements and window cleaning and dusting, Jason and Alfred made cocoa, which was just rude. It was, as Jason had coaxingly pointed out, perfect cocoa weather. And it wasn’t like Alfred was ever going to tell Jason no over something so simple.
That didn’t make Tim feel any better as he curled at Jason’s feet, tail twitching as he purred, feeling the thick reverberations of it in the tile under him.
He almost fell asleep down there as Jason and Alfred chatted.
Almost.
By the time lunch had ambled past, Tim was bored and fully engaged in a good sulk.
Unfortunately this was noticed.
“He was like this last evening as well,” Alfred said as Jason prevented a good, languid bout of moping by trying to poke at Tim. “He’s been eating as he should, and he seems to be moving without any particular trouble.”
“Yeah, but he’s definitely not as energetic,” Jason agreed, cradling Tim in one arm like a baby and pulling out his phone. “Kid’s other cat ever do this?”
Tim rolled and clawed his way back to Jason’s shoulder, partly to reclaim his dignity and partly to spy on Jason’s phone. While he did, Alfred answered, “Not often. And usually there are other symptoms as well that help narrow down the cause.” A sigh. “Damian is also much more aware of his pets and their peculiarities.”
“Yeah, I’m not seeing anything clear cut for just lethargy. It is raining pretty bad. Are cats sensitive to barometric pressure shifts?”
“I have no idea,” Alfred said, stepping closer and scratching behind Tim’s ears. “Even if they weren’t normally, it might be a joint issue. Dr. Patel seemed to think there wasn’t anything noticeable, but it might not have been aggravated during the appointment.”
They agreed to ask Damian when he got home, and Tim resolved to show more pep. He was not going back to the vet, thank you very much.
It didn’t exactly work. Tim got twitchy enough Jason had to put him down, which Alfred immediately protested now that Tim was “excited,” and somewhere in the scuffle—which Tim had meant to let Jason eventually win—someone grabbed Tim’s tail and he was just…gone. Like, brain off, legs moving, all animal instinct, came to himself under an armoire somewhere deep in the mansion, curled up as small as he could go.
Oops.
So that…wasn’t ideal. But Tim could work with it.
No one had found him yet, which meant Tim had time to pull himself together, think. Plan.
And really, wasn’t this the better option? Loose in the manor, like he wanted, and no one knowing where he was. He couldn’t go to his computer right now, but if he waited until after nightfall, Jason and Bruce and Damian would have patrol and Alfred would probably be down in the cave, or in the kitchen, and Tim could just go to his room and work as much as he wanted.
And maybe he would sneak into the kitchen and check if anyone left him food.
If he got really desperate he could sneak something from Titus’s bowl. But Tim didn’t plan on getting that desperate. He could turn himself in when he got really hungry.
And that would serve Jason and Damian right for plotting against Tim. And Alfred for not saying anything.
Yes. Perfect.
The only issue with the plan was that Tim couldn’t really track the time. A general sense of the ambient light reassured Tim that the sun was still up, which was certainly too early. But was Damian home from school? Was Bruce back from work? How long would Tim have to stay in here like this? He liked the small space, but the smells were dry and dusty. Stale.
Not ideal.
Tim was just about ready to give up, his small body convulsing every so often in a sneeze, when he heard a door creaking open nearby.
Tim went still. Perfectly, dead still.
The door was starting to move again—closing?—when Tim’s body betrayed him with another sneeze.
“Precious?”
Oh no. Oh no, that was Bruce. That was Bruce’s voice, which meant Bruce was home which meant Tim had been so close and just…failed.
Well, he didn’t have to come when he was called. But it was the principle of the thing.
“Pre-cious,” Bruce repeated, voice low, elongating the first syllable just a little. Tim felt the heavy footsteps, eventually saw Bruce’s feet cross in front of him. Could make out vague parts of Bruce’s body as Bruce checked under a couch first, making little tsking noises.
Tim refused to come. He refused. Even for Bruce.
But Tim sneezed again and Bruce heard it, and a moment later, the opening was blocked by a complete darkness. Darkness that kept shifting until Bruce crooned, “There you are. It’s alright. You’re safe.”
It wasn’t that Tim had never heard that tone before. He had. Bruce had used it on Tim once or twice. Human Tim even, not cat Tim.
But it hurt right now. Tim couldn’t even explain why. It was Alfred who had betrayed Tim. It was Damian and Jason who were plotting. Bruce hadn’t failed Tim. Bruce hadn’t done anything.
Anything. At all.
Even though Tim was missing.
Bruce was more worried about a dumb cat of Damian’s than Tim.
Okay. Okay, that was just ridiculous. Tim was fine and Bruce didn’t need to be worried. Tim didn’t need to be upset about that. It was just dumb.
But Tim was rumbling, purring, fighting to ignore Bruce’s coaxing tones and those twitching fingers.
Tim could run. There were small holes out the sides. But Bruce wasn’t reaching and bunkering down was smarter, Tim knew it was smarter, and he wasn’t going to fall for the promise of scratches and food and—
Okay, Tim wouldn’t fall for that, but his traitor cat body might.
“There you are,” Bruce ran a hand along Tim’s head, slow and careful. “Can I pick you up buddy? Can I hold you?”
He kept up the nonsense talk and the stroking as he cradled Tim to his chest, Tim purring harder as he snuggled closer to the warmth.
“There you go,” Bruce murmured, strokes running from the top of Tim’s head as far as they could reach down his back. Everything hummed as Bruce chuckled. “You’re a bit dusty now, aren’t you.”
Tim made an effort to back off, instinct telling him don’t soil and don’t inconvenience and—
“Shh, shh,” Bruce foiled all of Tim’s attempts to pull away, dragging Tim close and humming, “It’s okay, Precious. You’re safe. I promise.”
And Tim…
Tim gave himself one moment, just one, to believe it. To burrow into the warmth and let those strong hands support him and to believe everything was fine and Bruce would take care of it and Tim didn’t have to deal with any of these problems and—
“We’d better get you back to Damian,” Bruce said, heading for the door. “He’s worried sick.”
And the illusion was gone.
Tim was here, but he was alone with his problems unless he wanted Damian to murder him. And past experience said Bruce and Dick wouldn’t—not that they didn’t care! They just couldn’t…didn’t…
Damian required a gentle touch. And clear expectations. And follow-through. And between Gotham and the JLA and Bludhaven and everything else, Bruce and Dick just…couldn’t. Not all three.
It was fine. Tim had handled that problem too.
They heard Damian well before they could see him. Jason was getting an amazing dressing down, all, “…completely irresponsible!” and “…utterly incompetent!” and “How could you lose a cat?”
All in all, it was making Tim feel pretty smug, even if it meant Damian was establishing dominance.
And then they walked into the room and Tim didn’t just hear Damian, he could see the tears building in the corners of his eyes, could see his whole body shaking and trembling, and Tim…
Tim meowed.
Leaned out of Bruce’s arms, leapt to the floor. He trotted in Damian’s general direction and was sort of surprised but also not when Damian gasped and dashed over and scooped Tim up and snuggled Tim close, and said to Bruce, “You found him. Oh, thank you, Father.”
“It just took patience,” Bruce offered, petting Tim’s head again as Tim rubbed his face against Damian’s cheek, purring. Bruce paused and waited for Damian to look up at him. “You owe Jason an apology.”
If his face hadn’t been trapped against Damian’s shoulder, Tim’s jaw would have dropped.
Jason’s did.
“I—What?” Damian demanded. “I will do no such thing. Todd—“
“It’s perfectly reasonable that you were upset,” Bruce said, moving the hand that was petting Tim to the top of Damian’s head. “But you’ve been asking for Precious to be allowed out for several days, and Jason was helping socialize him for that exact purpose, and he spent every minute between when Precious ran away and when you got home looking for him. He made sure the first thing I did when I got home was start helping with the search. You know better.”
The harshness of the words was softened by Bruce running his hand through Damian’s hair. Jason had clicked his jaw back shut and had mostly settled into a smug expression. If it didn’t quite make the transition from stunned to disdainful, well, that was probably better for making Damian follow through.
“My apologies, Todd,” Damian grumbled. “You are not a complete imbecile.”
Jason snorted and Bruce sighed. “Damian…”
“Nah, it’s good,” Jason said, flapping a hand. “Where’d you find him?”
“Upstairs, in the unused sitting room.”
“Which one?” Jason snarked.
“There is only one unused sitting room upstairs,” Alfred corrected mildly. He sighed at Tim. “We’ll need to clean him before dinner.”
“A bath or a brushing?” Damian asked, dubious.
Alfred’s nose wrinkled. “Try the brushing first. It would be better if we didn’t have to bathe him again.”
Tim wholeheartedly agreed.
He was locked in Damian’s room again after dinner, both Damian and Jason popping in to say goodbye before they left for the night.
Tim grumbled and spent the evening stretching, running about the room, and trying to snoop through Damian’s things, to see if there was anything that stood out to Tim as a cat.
It was incredibly boring, mostly because Tim couldn’t look through Damian’s hidden stash of sketchbooks without risking getting caught when Damian got back.
Curse this lack of opposable thumbs.
They didn’t get back until very, very late—or rather, early—which was irritating since it meant Tim probably could have made it through a couple of sketchbooks.
Worse though, they’d brought Dick home with them. Now Tim was going to have to avoid four humans. And Dick was the worst.
Or at least, he should have been.
“New pet?” Dick asked when Damian brought Tim down for breakfast.
Alfred and Titus ate by the back door, where any messes would be less obtrusive. Tim was still being monitored and had the dubious honor of the entire family staring at him while he ate.
Which, to be fair, was actually pretty normal. Someone was always watching Tim at the breakfast table, making sure more than coffee made it into his mouth.
Man, he missed coffee. So much.
“Technically, he is temporary,” Damian obediently repeated, staring at Bruce.
Dick snorted. “Yeah, okay. Is that why you just called him precious and stuff?”
“His name is Precious,” Damian corrected primly, sipping at his juice. “It is correct and proper.”
That had Dick nearly choking on his food. “Very proper,” Dick coughed. Damian glared. “So how long is temporary?”
Dick smiled at Bruce as he asked, and Damian’s full attention turned to his father. Bruce, trying to hide behind his phone where he was probably catching up on the news, muttered, “If we don’t see any worrying signs today, we should take him to the shelter tomorrow.”
Damian inhaled sharply and Tim paused in his eating, annoyed. He was just getting to the point where he could wander around the house. He had a computer! Why would Bruce complicate things by growing a spine now?
A very stiff, “Yes, Father,” from Damian had Bruce peeking around his phone with a grimace and flinching away from Dick’s narrowed eyes.
“We discussed this,” Bruce reminded Damian, speaking as gently as he could. “The other option is to return him to the streets, and if that would make you more comfortable…”
Damian’s expression was a clear no. Which was just rude. It wasn’t like Tim couldn’t survive on the streets. Well, he hadn’t had to try, but how hard could it be? Tim had a human brain, and this was temporary. It would be fine. Just fine. Perfectly okay.
So Tim could just ignore Bruce burying his attention back in his phone and Damian scowling at his food and Dick looking between them like he was plotting.
“So what’s up with him?” Dick asked, and Damian launched into a full, extremely unflattering, recounting of the last several days.
“He seems to be mostly recovered at this point,” Damian said. “Though he still behaves…oddly.”
“Oddly?” Dick mumbled around a bite of cereal. No one said anything, which was just rude. They always gave Tim grief when he tried to give reports while consuming the meal bars they made him eat.
Damian looked over at Tim, who quickly went to swallow another bite. “Yes. He’s inconsistent with his comfort levels around humans. He isn’t ever disruptive when we’re working, and he’s…reticent about expressing his needs. He never asks to be fed, even when we’ve tried to keep him on a fixed schedule and it’s the correct time. But he is tracking time, because he always sleeps when I do, or when I am gone. Never when I’m present, or likely to arrive.”
Well that…was good to know. That Damian had noticed. Tim knew he was tracking Damian’s schedule and trying to work around it, but he hadn’t realized Damian might have noticed.
“And all of his escape attempts have been during times when the house was the most empty,” Damian added.
Well, shit. Tim really didn’t need him to have noticed that.
Dick was looking at Tim now, Tim could tell. Probably even Bruce. He could feel the weight of their gazes. It was Dick who asked, “Have you talked to Selina?”
“Extensively,” Damian sighed, and oh, that was who he was texting. Tim had almost thought the kid had friends. “She says none of the individual behaviors or skills are impossible, but the combination seems odd at least. She doesn’t think he’s a street cat. Although he has not returned to a residence when he has escaped.”
“He’s not one of hers?” Dick checked, giving Tim a long look.
Damian shook his head. “No. She would not conceal such a fact, and when we tried to leave him with her, her other cats would not accept him.”
“But Titus and Alfred are okay with him?” Dick asked, amused.
“He’s mostly been with me, in my room,” Damian admitted. “Alfred has been helping with Alfred and Titus. But they have not reacted negatively to scenting him around the house.”
“So they’d probably get along with him,” Dick suggested.
Tim glanced back to see Bruce glaring at Dick and Dick just smiling with suspicious innocence in return.
“I think they would be fine with him,” Damian almost tripped over the words in his rush to say them. “And as he’s adjusting, he’s been very well behaved.”
The last was directed straight at Bruce, who sighed. “We’ve discussed—“
“There’s enough room in the house, he hasn’t hurt anyone or made a single mess, and the last two times he’s run off he hasn’t tried to leave the grounds,” Damian pressed, his fingers almost crushing his fork. “He’s not a dog, he doesn’t require my attention for exercise, and there are two other animals in the house that he can interact with so he will not be lonely or disruptive to Alfred.”
“Damian—“
“No one has put up posters for him in the neighborhood where he went missing, no one has been seen looking for him nearby, I left surveillance devices, he doesn’t have a chip, and he’s settling in here. Father, please.”
If Dick hadn’t pushed the issue, Damian probably wouldn’t have tried this. But Dick had pushed, and revealed Bruce’s hesitance, and Damian knew exactly where to strike once he’d scented blood.
Dick, the bastard, was just smiling into his bowl of cereal. And yes, Tim did need Damian to be allowed to keep him for a few more days, but not permanently. Tim was trying to end this adventure without anyone knowing what was going on. Because once he found out the truth, Damian was going to kill Tim.
For one breathless moment Tim almost thought Bruce would endure.
And then his shoulders sagged and he said, “I supposed one more cat couldn’t hurt.”
Damian actually leapt out of his chair to tackle Bruce as he half shouted, “Thank you!”
And it was sweet, and Tim knew why Dick was smiling, and if he could have Tim might have smiled a little himself.
But.
But…
Tim let himself be scooped up by Damian, be cooed at and reassured that Tim would get along perfectly with Alfred and Titus, and be hugged within an inch of his fragile cat life.
“Father understands,” Damian whispered into the top of Tim’s head. “You’re too Precious to let go.”
Tim…wasn’t going to think about that.
Titus seemed to take to Tim just fine, but Alfred the cat was more skeptical. Not hostile. But also very uninterested in Tim overall.
Which suited Tim just fine. He wasn’t being granted full run of the manor, just the family floor for now, but that was all Tim needed. And it was better that neither of Damian’s other pets wanted much to do with Tim. It meant Tim could get a whole afternoon in of working on his computer and putting things in order.
Jason had the audacity to show up at the house again that night, ostensibly to use some equipment in the Cave. Although he admitted, after having hunted Tim down upstairs and coaxed the cat into accepting cuddles and scritches, that he’d come to say goodbye.
“You’re in luck,” Dick said, popping around the corner and making Jason swear. “Bruce said Damian could keep him.”
“Of course he did,” Jason rolled his eyes. “This is just gonna escalate.”
“Probably,” Dick agreed, smiling as he sauntered over. Jason proffered Tim in Dick’s direction, but Dick didn’t take Tim, just stroked his head once before throwing an arm around Jason’s shoulder and cuddling as Jason grumbled. “But I think in the long run a collection of pets is safer than more of us.”
There was something sad in those words, but before Tim could do more than mert at the tone, Dick had pulled back.
Jason was on top of things though, asking what Tim couldn’t. “You don’t want more siblings? I thought you loved being a big brother?”
It was only slightly accusatory.
“I do,” Dick laughed. “But we have a hard enough time keeping all of us happy as is. Especially if we’re all in the same place.”
It was true. Cass spent as much time staying with Barbara right now as she did at the manor. Tim had moved out and barely came home. Dick was still in Bludhaven, although he came by often enough to see Damian now.
And Jason…
Jason had been in the house more in the past three days than Tim remembered hearing about in the past three months.
Tim wasn’t sure about Steph, but he thought she mostly saw him or Jason or Cass when they weren’t at the manor. She’d come for any promise of food though.
“You think filling the halls with animals will make us more likely to come? Or just be a better excuse for why we don’t?” Jason asked, his tone a little stiff but mostly succeeding at coming off as teasing.
“No idea,” Dick admitted. “But I guess we’ll find out.”
Jason hummed at that, then said, “Hey Dickface.”
“What?”
“Catch.”
And suddenly Tim was airborne. He tried to scream or something, but it came out all wrong and he flailed and—
Dick caught him easily enough, hissing a little as Tim clawed up Dick’s arms and chest twisting back and forth on Dick’s shoulders as Dick tried to soothe with, “Easy, easy.”
Jason was still laughing when Tim finally calmed down enough to stop moving.
“What the hell?” Dick demanded over Jason’s trailing chuckles.
“Man, you should have seen your face,” Jason sniggered.
“This is a living thing,” Dick was almost screeching as he tried to pull Tim down from his shoulders.
Which was a hard no. Tim knew Dick and Jason. Even if Dick didn’t throw Tim, there was at least an 80% chance of getting tossed back.
Retreat being the better form of valor, Tim eventually leapt for the floor, darting away from both of them, pressing against a wall, and hissing.
“He’s fine,” Jason was still smirking. “Are you afraid of him?”
“I am not,” Dick grumped. “Why would you think that?”
“Dunno,” Jason said, approaching Tim slowly and ignoring Tim’s continued hissing and swiping. “I feel like you never liked any of Selina’s cats much either.”
“I’m a dog person,” Dick shrugged.
Crouching and trying to lure Tim closer, Jason said, “No, you’re a big cats and elephant person.”
“And dogs.”
“Then why don’t you have one?”
“Have you seen my apartment?”
“You could get a little one.”
“I get really busy. That wouldn’t be fair to the dog. And Damian has Titus. I can get plenty of dog cuddles.”
Jason wasn’t giving up, but Tim wasn’t giving in. “You just don’t like cats?”
Dick sighed. “I have no problem with cats. But I prefer an animal that wants to be around me and to let me touch it. Cats, especially Damian’s cats, are a lot of effort. And I don’t live here.”
Jason hummed at that, looking at Tim. “Kinda lazy of you.”
“Well excuse me,” Dick snapped, “for wanting one thing in my life to be easy.”
“Woah,” Jason actually turned then. “Calm down. Seriously, what the hell?”
And Dick. Dick didn’t say anything for a moment. Just stood there, tense and still and quiet. “I get enough rejection from—“ A sharp breath. “I just have more important…”
Jason was scowling now, starting to stand, and Tim…
Tim ached.
Because yeah, he hadn’t really been reaching out to Dick much, and yeah, there were reasons.
But Tim also knew what it felt like to wake up in the middle of the night in an empty apartment, breathing fast and heavy, nightmares bleeding almost into waking visions and knowing…
Knowing there was no point in getting up. No escape even if he left his bed. No one there, even if Tim went looking.
He’d have to disrupt people and confess and tell them about things that weren’t supposed to be real, and hope that if he called or texted they would answer and not get more anxious when they didn’t and really why bother?
Why bother with any of it?
So before Jason could stand and do…whatever it was he was going to do, Tim slipped back across the floor, butting up against Dick’s leg and meowing softly, pawing at his shoe.
Dick and Jason both stared at Tim for a moment, and then Dick laughed. “Damian’s right. You’re a weird cat.”
“Not weird,” Jason corrected, his lips twitching. “Precious.”
“Right,” Dick gave a watery chuckle, kneeling slowly and brushing his knuckles down Tim’s head in soft strokes. “Precious.”
Tim got a few more pets before Dick and Jason left for their night work. There was a careful tension between them, one that seemed to grow as each of Jason’s steps carried him a bit more sideways into Dick’s space.
Tim watched them walk away, tail twitching, promising himself he was…eager.
He was alone now, and he could work on getting this mess fixed.
And no one would ever have to know he’d been a part of it.
Reading was boring and painful, but Tim knew his best quality was that he was persistent. It was pretty much the whole reason he’d ended up as Robin in the first place. He’d just kept on barging his way in and pushing until Bruce had been convinced and stopped trying to throw him out.
In retrospect, it was really impressive Damian had as few pets as he did. The kid was more than persistent enough to be a great Robin. He hadn’t just pushed himself in, he’d pushed Tim right out.
But then, Batman’s rules were always lies anyway.
No one caught Tim in his own room. He was back in Damian’s before bedtime, almost drifting to sleep when Damian snuck over, offered a whispered, “Good night, Precious,” and kissed Tim’s head.
Too tired. Tim wasn’t thinking about it.
Notes:
A big thanks to everyone that has left comments. I'm glad that you're enjoying the story.
Chapter 6
Notes:
Glad you all are enjoying the emotional whiplash this fic is providing. :)
Chapter Text
Two more days and Tim was finally allowed into the house proper. He’d made sure to use his time wisely, disappearing into different rooms, not being around immediately when Damian got home, stalking both Alfreds to make sure Tim was comfortable and confident in moving about the house.
He was as ready as he could be when he slipped out Titus’ dog door and made his way across the grounds, winding towards the city.
Less distracted this time, and more aware of the dangers, Tim made it back to his rooftop without too much trouble. All the smells were gone, even the lingering scent of magic. Well, he’d expected that at this point. He wasn’t really here for his case.
Instead, Tim wandered to two other nearby locations, one he had been checking on for a potential arms deal, and the other where drug dealing had been picking up. Tim didn’t make any progress on the arms deal, although it was much easier to explore as a cat. No one paid attention to him.
Which was why following the two dealers was just too easy. One of them even noticed Tim, but instead of chasing him off lured him closer, trying to play with him as cover for loitering.
There wasn’t a lot Tim could do, but he noted several names and faces, and got a much better sense for the personalities he was dealing with.
Not dangerous yet, but the one that played with Tim might be getting a bit greedy. Tim would keep an eye on him, just in case.
With how long Tim had lingered, he didn’t make it back to the manor until after Damian was home. But unlike previous days this hadn’t raised any alarms.
Which was good. Tim wanted to be unobtrusive.
He took a brief nap after making sure Damian had seen him, but Tim couldn’t sleep for long. His mind was working overtime, trying to figure out what other places he could visit and cases he could still work on while he was shaped like this.
And he needed to keep his notes committed to memory until tonight, when he could type up the shorthand.
Paws were very inconvenient.
Damian was still at his desk when Tim woke up, working on something that was making his face scrunched and pinched, his body rigid with repressed fidgets. Tim snuck over to peek over Damian’s shoulder, wondering what could be causing that level of annoyance.
Ah. Math.
Damian was actually pretty good at math, as far as Tim knew. Well, as far as Tim knew, Damian was good at all his studies because he loved to brag about how much better he was than all Bruce’s other kids.
Except Jason. But Jason was never there to contradict Damian. Was that accidental? Or strategic?
Either way, while Tim found it annoying, he knew it didn’t mean much. Dick had gotten good enough grades when he’d applied himself, but had gotten bored of school by the end. Tim…Tim remembered being very focused on his grades for a long time. Obsessing over them, even though the schoolwork itself hadn’t been very difficult.
And then Tim…hadn’t.
But he didn’t really need to think about that.
The point was, Damian was smart—though probably not the miles smarter than everyone else that he claimed—and shouldn’t be having this much trouble with an assignment.
Which meant, as Tim knew from extensive personal experience, Damian should probably take a break.
He wouldn’t, because like Tim Damian could be a bit…too focused? On something he was “failing” at.
Fortunately for Damian, Tim was more than adequately equipped to help deal with this problem.
And it would even be fun to do it.
Tim started by batting at Damian’s ears, nipping at Damian’s fingers when he tried to grab Tim with a grumbled, “No, Precious. I cannot play with you right now.”
Even if Damian didn’t have time to play—and he did—Tim had all the time in the world to mess around. So he quieted until Damian had been lulled into a false sense of security again, and then Tim started rubbing his face up Damian’s neck and into his hair, seeing if he could get large clumps of it to stick up.
This wasn’t as annoying, obviously, and Damian didn’t make more than a halfhearted protest.
But he also hadn’t noticed the destruction, and Tim was looking forward to Alfred or Bruce pointing it out later.
If they did. Tim hoped they didn’t. He hoped Damian missed it for a whole patrol.
Pity he couldn’t use a camera right now.
When Damian’s hair was as much of a mess as Tim could manage sneakily, he maneuvered himself into as stable a position as possible on Damian’s skinny shoulders and then plunked his front paws on the top of Damian’s head, aiming for a tipping point that almost had Damian hitting his chest with his chin.
“Precious!” he snapped. So his temper had limits even with animals.
But while there was irritation and stiffness in his movements, Damian was still careful as he pulled Tim down into his lap. “You mustn’t do that,” he scolded, shaking a finger at Tim’s face. “It is dangerous and distracting. If you want attention, you must be quiet. I need to work.”
Tim gave Damian forty-five seconds to start petting Tim with one hand and get refocused before Tim wiggled and got his front paws onto the desk. He watched quietly for another ten seconds before batting at Damian’s working hand and chasing it with Tim’s nose.
If Tim had been a betting man, he would have lost money on how long it took Damian to get tired of the interruptions. Damian made it another twenty minutes, trying to work line by line through a problem as Tim kept getting in the way. Damian scolded and pleaded and bargained and attempted a bribe.
Tim was undeterred.
And when Damian tried to lock Tim out of the room, Tim made Damian work for it, slipping back in the first few times before Damian could shut the door.
When Damian had succeeded at shutting and locking Tim out, Tim started keening. And scratching at the door. Carefully. He didn’t want Alfred’s wrath.
The noise was enough to get Bruce’s attention. And…Steph? What was she doing here? Tim stuttered over his noises when he saw her, but turned quickly back to the door, pretending to fail at digging under the minuscule crack at the bottom, yowling when Bruce picked him up.
Well, yowling until Bruce started massaging around Tim’s ears. And Steph joined in with slow scratches down his back. Tim couldn’t help but purr at those gestures.
It was still a win though, since Steph used her free hand to knock on the door at Bruce’s direction and Damian had to come and answer it.
“I know,” Damian said before Bruce could get a word out. “But I am doing my homework and Precious will not leave me alone.”
Tim watched Steph mouth, “Precious?” with a look of unholy glee on her face, and yup, Tim was definitely, absolutely, irrevocably committed to taking this fuck up to his grave.
“I understand,” Bruce said, “but you can’t leave him making noise like this in the hallway. He’s too new.”
“He is allowed to go anywhere in the house,” Damian protested. “He has been very well behaved—“
“He has,” Bruce agreed. “But we have people that come here to sleep at odd hours, and we can’t let him get into this habit.”
Ah, another rule that was a lie. Yes, on a very rare occasion someone would come here in the middle of the day and take a nap. But this was definitely about Bruce not liking Tim’s annoying cat noises while he was awake, not about hypothetical sleepers.
If Damian knew that, he didn’t bother to argue. He just said, “I don’t have time to train him just now. I am behind on my studies and need to have them finished before dinner.”
“I’ll take him,” Steph offered before Bruce could say anything. “Babs and Cass and I can play with him while we talk to Bruce. I’m sure they’d love to meet Precious.”
For one sickening moment, Tim had the horrified thought that Steph knew.
But then her wicked grin got turned to Bruce, and she mouthed, “So cute!” as she gathered Tim into her arms, and Bruce’s lips twitched in the hint of a smile.
This wasn’t exactly what Tim had planned, so he made an effort to climb over Steph’s shoulder and back to Damian. It ended up with her supporting him mostly by the hips as he hung down her back, mewing for attention. Damian tsked, devoted sixty-eight seconds to getting Tim situated comfortably in Steph’s arms, and then retreated back into his room.
Oh well. Tim had tried.
The good news was, if Tim blushed at the cooing and awws from Cass and Babs when Steph held him out and declared, “Behold, Precious,” his fur was still covering it.
That was about the only good news Tim had for the next forty minutes.
He made several valiant efforts to escape, but since everyone assumed he was going to go back and annoy Damian—which was tempting, but Tim knew when to cut his losses—they wouldn’t let him leave the room.
The closest Tim got was being allowed to lounge on the floor in arms’ reach of Cass as everyone else in the room discussed their lives. It was mostly a catchup between family, but there was an undercurrent of who was busy when and who would be able to help with coverage and casework over the next couple of weeks.
Tim made a note to find a way to sneak into Cass’s recital if he was still a cat by next weekend. Could he convince Damian to go? Ballet was like fighting without actual violence. He could probably appreciate the skill better than most of the viewers.
Halfway through Steph telling a funny story about one of her classmates, Cass started bopping Tim’s nose. Not just once, but over and over in a slow stream of annoyances. He made several attempts to bat her finger away, but she just danced it around his head until he lost track of it then struck with her usual precision. She wouldn’t let him escape out of her reach either, apparently having claimed full responsibility for Tim, and then torturing him.
Rude.
After her next attack, Tim struck, darting forward and swiping at her nose. Cass caught his paw, as he’d anticipated, but wasn’t prepared for him to push forward instead of pulling back, butting into her nose with his head.
Not too hard. But enough to startle her.
And make her laugh?
“Little warrior,” she smiled, finger moving and dancing again. “Like little brother.”
Which, no, Tim was not like Damian, thank you very much.
But Cass kept poking, and soon, well…
Soon it was a game. Could he get to her face before she got to his nose? He got sympathy rubs down his back when he lost and praises and scratches behind his ears when he managed to dart in and bop her nose with his. Tim was having so much fun he didn’t even mind when on his last successful bop, Cass grabbed him and flipped over as she laughed, cuddling him to her chest and then kissing the tip of his nose.
“You are Precious,” she declared, earning the attention of everyone in the room.
Babs snorted. “Damian has another cat. Alfred’s lived here for ages.”
“Alfred is not Precious,” Cass declared, sitting up and rubbing her cheek against Tim’s head. “Inferior cat.”
“Don’t let Damian hear you say that,” Steph chuckled.
Cass just shrugged. “It’s true.”
“He is more friendly,” Bruce agreed, holding out a hand and waiting as Cass scooted over and tucked up against his legs so Bruce could reach Tim and stroke his head. “Most of the time.”
Yeah, and it was going to stay that way. Tim wanted free reign of his own time, but he was not letting them drag him back to a vet, and ideally Zatana would be back before he needed another bath.
Please.
“There’s nothing wrong with Alfred,” Babs protested.
“I should hope not,” human Alfred said, as he stepped into the room. He sighed a little when he spotted Cass and Tim, but only said, “Will all of you be staying for dinner?”
The round of yeses was no surprise. Damian making it downstairs on time with no one reminding him was.
Maybe Tim’s plan had worked after all?
The issue with magic was that it wasn’t consistent or predictable.
Tim could work his way in and around a computer easy. At the end of the day, everything was just ones and zeroes imitating human speech and thought. On or off. Yes or no. It helped if you could speak the end user’s language, but it wasn’t necessary.
Magic wasn’t turning out to be anything like that.
Or if it was like that, Tim was completely missing it in how the end users were describing the process. Maybe Tim should try and systematize it? Automate it? Could he make computers do magic that made sense?
That…could be a fun project.
Once he had hands again.
But in the meantime, all Tim could do was make mental notes, flag pieces that seemed relevant, and hope that Zatana got back soon.
Tim was starting to get…used to this. And that couldn’t be good.
It was officially past Zatana’s original return time.
Bruce’s continued lack of concern suggested that this wasn’t a bad thing. Or at least, if it was bad that it hadn’t tipped the scales on Bruce’s usual drama levels from “daily life” to “world ending catastrophe.”
Yet.
But it could, and very soon, and Tim really didn’t need his most reliable hope for recovery to be out of commission indefinitely while he was stuck as a cat. He was making this work, but he didn’t like it.
Much.
There were technically other magic users, but Tim trusted Zatana’s expertise and compassion, and had moderate hopes of being able to convince her to tell no one.
He might need to confess that it would be a matter of life and death. But Zatana was much less likely to extort Tim with that information for the rest of his life.
He hoped.
Still, until Tim could get someone to come around and help him solve this problem, he had to make do. So daytime patrolling as a cat it was.
The time constraints were less than ideal, but Tim checked up on the trouble spots he had been watching, peeked in on some people he was tracking, and got in plenty of good exercise. There was no knowing exactly how much the transformation would compensate when Tim reverted to human form, but better to stay in as good of shape as possible, even as a feline, to reduce the odds of needing to train harder when he switched back.
Was he going to have to learn how to walk again? Tim hoped not. That would be humiliating. And he might have to explain, which was just not an option.
Tim didn’t beat Damian home, again, but just like before it didn’t cause any undue fussing. Damian was working on his homework downstairs today, bouncing ideas for an essay off Alfred as he prepared dinner. A brief brush against Damian’s leg was enough to get his attention, and after some head pats, Tim stole away back into the bowels of the house, aiming for his bedroom.
He wouldn’t be able to do any research before he needed to some back down for his dinner, but he might be able to answer any messages people had sent him.
Unless, of course, Jason of all people had decided to visit the house, again.
What the hell?
But this hell, apparently, was Jason was looking for Tim.
Or, rather, Damian’s new cat. Because the moment Jason spotted Tim, he actually smiled, crouched down, and started making clicking noises, holding his hand out, after a soft, “Hey, Precious.”
Tim needed to figure out what sort of spell he’d been hit with. Did it have a component that made Tim more alluring? This was getting insane.
Since entering his room was a no go as long as Jason was in the hall, Tim took a few minutes to creep forward, trying to gauge what Jason might be up to. There wasn’t anything in his expression that was familiar to Tim.
Or, well. It was familiar, but not because Jason had ever offered those faces to Tim. The careful softness was more reminiscent of Jason’s time as Robin than anything.
Whatever dark magic had caused it, there was no trickery now. Just soft pets along Tim’s back, scratches under his chin and around his ears, a low litany of nonsense praise about how Tim was a “good boy,” and “just the best, aren’t you?”
Damian already had a cat. Tim was just an extra. A bonus. A weird, contrary one at that. Jason could have cozied up to Alfred at any point and Damian would have been powerless to stop it. Jason could still leave Tim alone and go spend some time with a real cat. Tim was busy! He had work to do!
But no amount of hesitation or meowing or nipping threw Jason off. He dodged halfhearted claws and teeth with a growing smile, coming back over and over to offer pets. It was nice, but Tim was short on time and—
There was a swipe of Jason’s thumb across Tim’s face, a gentle rub right behind his jaw and up to his ears, and Tim puddled onto the floor with a helpless mert.
“You like that, buddy?” Jason asked, adding just a touch more pressure.
Tim started purring before he’d realized what Jason had said.
Boneless and cozy, Tim didn’t protest as Jason scooped Tim up. He let Jason wrap his hand around the back of Tim’s head so Jason could reach that sweet spot on both sides at the same time. If there had been anything left in Tim that wasn’t goo, it was quickly gone. He was a vibrating puddle of purring ooze against Jason’s shoulder.
There was a phantom sensation like Tim’s throat aching, like a burning behind his eyes that meant he wanted to cry.
He didn’t. He wouldn’t. He was just a cozy cat. That was all.
Nothing else special about this.
Nothing special at all.
Tim did eventually sneak into his room once everyone was downstairs and in town for the night. He didn’t have much he needed to do as far as answering messages, but Steph had asked for an update on a person of interest they were both following and Tim had a couple new notes to add from his daytime excursion. Nothing shocking or useful, but maybe Steph could do something with it. They had a pretty good strategy of bouncing a problem back and forth until one of them had a breakthrough.
And as long as Tim could keep up his end of the job, well, it didn’t matter that he was a cat. Right? Tim could just be the greatest cat vigilante detective in Gotham for a little while.
It was fine.
Everything was fine.
Chapter Text
The next day was even more productive.
Tim snuck out as soon as he’d finished breakfast—now eaten next to Damian’s other pets and not under Alfred and Damian’s watchful eyes—already with a good idea of places he wanted to go and things he needed to check.
He was cut off from some of his most useful resources—computers and filing cabinets—but being a cat meant people just didn’t pay attention to him in the same ways, and that meant being able to listen in on conversations or tail people to places during hours he normally couldn’t.
Not a one to one tradeoff, but not a complete loss. He could go back and collect hard evidence for anything important later as long as he knew where to trace the leads.
A brief check in with Damian when Tim got back led to a few distractions. It probably didn’t help that Jason had gloated about Precious liking Jason most. Damian seemed determined to win over Tim’s affection with gentle touches and play that seemed almost like training.
It might have worked too, if he hadn’t ended the whole bit with a smug, “For all of Todd’s usefulness, he will not best me in this.”
It wasn’t a direct reference to the prank, but Tim was reminded. And if he spent the rest of the day sulking, hiding under furniture and refusing to come out for treats or pets or anything, well that was Tim’s business.
There wasn’t much to update while everyone was out that night. Maybe Tim needed to expand his plans.
The problem with escaping during night patrols was that Tim wasn’t confident Damian would go to bed before he’d checked on Tim. He checked on Alfred and Titus before going to sleep, and “Precious” too. If Tim was missing, how late would Damian stay up trying to find him?
Did cat Alfred wander sometimes at night? Would it be suspicious if Tim did?
There was the slimmer possibility of getting caught while out. Tim figured as long as he avoided the two places where Damian had previously found him, even if Damian spotted Tim from a distance, he wouldn’t assume it was the same cat.
Tim decided it was worth the risk. He wouldn’t stay out long, but he was getting comfortable getting back and forth from Gotham to the manor. And some things he could only check on at night.
So, slipping out as early as he could, Tim made a round of two blocks of his patrol route, keeping an eye—and ear—out for Bats while testing the pulse of the city.
No major incidents, no darker, gloomier moods.
Whoever had done this to Tim hadn’t followed up by creating chaos in his part of the city.
What was going on? Why had Tim been attacked? Why hadn’t there been any follow-up?
It was convenient, since the lack of Tim hadn’t led to an unnatural spike in criminal activity, which would have drawn the family’s attention, which might have led to them realizing what had happened to Tim.
But it didn’t make any damn sense!
Tim made it home before anyone had come back upstairs, but he was furiously awake when Damian came home, Tim’s tail thrashing back and forth in time to the jumping of his agitated thoughts.
Damian crooned, and tried to soothe, and Tim had to eventually fake calm so that Damian didn’t try and drag Tim to bed.
It was still a while before Damian fell asleep and Tim could sneak out to update his notes.
Sunbeam naps were the best, Tim had decided. Late night adventures and work meant there was a special allure to the liquid warmth of mornings, light spilling through the windows in the library and formal sitting rooms. Alfred didn’t like finding Tim on the nice furniture, but Alfred did have to admit that Tim was well behaved enough that it wasn’t a problem.
Tim even chose a leather seat so any hairs could be easily removed. He was thoughtful like that.
“You are quite the mystery, aren’t you,” Alfred said, standing so he wasn’t blocking Tim’s sun. Alfred reached out, running gentle fingers over Tim’s head, “But at least you seem to be settling in well enough.”
Of course Tim was. He’d already lived here. He knew the household rules, the secret corners, the ebbs and flows of activity. Sure, he hadn’t been around much in the past year or so, but not that much had changed. For all the children that came and went, Alfred had remained constant, and the rigid structure he added to their lives was a reliable comfort everyone fell back on.
Friends and enemies came and went, but the Manor, and Alfred, remained.
Even if Tim…hadn’t.
“Are you feeling better?” Alfred asked in a soft voice, his hands moving down Tim’s back with careful pressure. Not just petting, Tim thought in a sleepy haze. Exploring, probing. Checking. “You were quite sullen the other night, weren’t you?”
Maybe Tim had pouted a bit, but he wasn’t thinking about that now. There was sunshine and the smell of leather and Alfred, and prickly, tingly scents that were probably the cleaners and oils Alfred used to keep the room in pristine condition. All of it was “not food” as far as Tim was concerned, so what did it matter?
Those careful hands checked Tim’s back and legs, pressed against his sides—and earned a grunting mewl—and tested as low as they could reach on his stomach.
“You don’t seem bloated,” Alfred sighed, and Tim curled tighter, wishing this humiliating examination would end. “ You’ve been eating well, and you haven’t been vomiting. Ideally this means you aren’t constipated. We hope.”
Annnd Tim could just die now, thank you. Sure, Alfred had made comments about Tim’s bowel movements a truly horrifying number of times while Tim had been human. But that had all been speculative, and mostly to try and frighten Tim away from coffee.
Worse now was the “we,” which implied Damian was discussing Tim’s gastrointestinal health with Alfred, and just…no.
Tim made himself perk up enough to meow and rub his face against Alfred’s hand a few times, trying to look as comfortable and unconstipated as possible.
“Damian does have a knack for picking up difficult strays,” Alfred mused, stepping back. “I hope you won’t break his heart, little one.”
Tim hoped he looked innocent and harmless, because he had no idea how to respond to that.
Damian not getting hurt meant telling him Tim had been his cat for several weeks. Which meant not breaking Damian’s heart would mean making him furious.
Tim…didn’t like either option.
Sneaking out that night was an issue of necessity as much as experiment. Tim had slept through too much of the morning to do a day patrol, so he snuck away as soon as he’d finished his dinner, before anyone else had left, to try and get some ground covered and make up for lost time.
The cat form was…annoying. Tim could listen in on any conversation he wanted, but most of them were idle chatter, not criminal or criminal adjacent. It had been enough years that Tim knew to listen for other things: speculation, fears, gossip about what was going on in neighboring districts. But that was maintenance work, not investigative.
Investigation was where Tim shone. How was he supposed to—
Looking down at his front paws, Tim reminded himself that no one cared what he was doing. As long as he kept up with casual texts, as long as he didn’t need to be the one to arrange an arrest, no one would ever know that this had happened.
They would just assume it had been a normal time for Tim. That he had been fine—which he was. That he had handled it.
Which Tim was doing.
So it was fine.
Alright.
Just. Just fine.
The paws couldn’t curl like fingers would have, but Tim could feel his claws shifting with the tension he was allowing, pricking against the concrete and catching as he moved. Not stopping him, just grating in a way that sent shivers down his spine and across his whiskers.
He was fine.
Well, he was fine until he got home and Bruce and Jason had emailed him separately asking questions about some locations on his route, trying to pin down transport paths for a batch of weapons that may or may not be moving that week. Neither of their sources had been clear.
It was a pain in the ass, because Tim actually needed to figure this out. Jason was more than willing to work with the family to foil any business that he didn’t have a hand in, but he was as territorial as ever. And his competitors had figured that out. They knew that crossing certain boundaries to do business was as good as crossing state lines. Jason worked his side, Bruce or Tim or Babs or whoever worked theirs.
It meant they had to coordinate on these sorts of things, and Tim had to be on top of his job because timing would be crucial and while Bruce would let Tim wander into Batman’s patrol areas to gather intel, Jason would never—
Tim was a cat.
Tim was a cat and Jason didn’t know.
In retrospect, Tim should probably have come up with a better plan than just, “Stay out until he’d found the intel.”
Look, Tim hadn’t had any reason to think Damian would have stayed up all night searching and waiting for “Precious” when Tim wasn’t sleeping in his little cat bed. And even if Tim had briefly considered the possibility of Damian noticing, obviously Bruce and Alfred would never let Damian skip school because he was overly distressed about a theoretically missing cat.
So Tim had every right to be flabbergasted when he came home and Damian was sitting curled in a chair at the kitchen table, Cass on one side, Bruce on the other, Alfred fussing by the stove, probably making tea.
Getting spotted by Cass and jumped by Damian the moment she gave Tim away was really obvious in retrospect. Given the setup that Tim could never have guessed, okay!
But because Tim hadn’t put together this completely irrational and unprecedented series of events, he hadn’t taken time to plan for how a cat who had merely been haunting random parts of the house should have presented itself. So he wasn’t prepared for Damian to stiffen with Tim crushed against Damian’s chest, hissing, “You smell like garbage.”
That…was probably true and literal. But it was also rude, Damian, really?
And it led to an even ruder attempt to inspect Tim, combing through his fur, testing his limbs, and more sniffing accompanied by more grimacing.
Even as a cat, Tim had limited options for where he could track down people in Crime Alley. It was damp in Gotham, smells stuck, and maybe he’d been out longer and in dirtier places. So sue him. He was just doing his job, okay.
“Not Bristol garbage,” Cass offered, having come over to sniff as well, and what was wrong with Tim’s family that she knew that? Sure, Tim could tell the difference too, but that was beside the point.
“Across the bridge,” Bruce agreed, and Tim began to understand why everyone in the superhero community was…concerned about their team. “That’s pretty far, buddy.”
It was part scolding, part worried, and accompanied by a careful scratch under Tim’s chin.
Tim mewed in the most innocent, harmless way he thought he could manage, rubbing his head under Damian’s chin and pretending the hands holding Tim weren’t trembling slightly.
“He’s escaped before,” Alfred pointed out, making a face as he got close enough to delicately sniff near Tim. “He wasn’t a house cat before this, and you did not find him as a kitten. Perhaps it shouldn’t be so surprising that he prefers to wander.”
“Came back,” Cass pointed out, eyebrows coming together in a way that said she was considering a puzzle. “Came home.”
For a given value of “home,” sure.
“I believe he needs a bath,” Alfred said, a little apologetic, but also firm. “Since we can’t be sure where he’s been.”
As if Tim was the only one in the family who had ever hid in garbage to gather intel. Yes, they did leave their suits in the cave, and they did shower downstairs, but Tim wasn’t special for having crawled behind dumpsters and slunk through gutters to trail a target.
Well, maybe a little special. But only a little.
Special or not, Tim was thoroughly scrubbed, rubbed dry, and cooed at in obnoxious baby voices by literally everyone, even Bruce. Not Alfred, bless Alfred he was as stiff and formal as ever as he scolded Tim and explained that his misery was his own damn fault.
And Tim knew that, but it didn’t ease his anxiety when Damian insisted on being allowed to stay home until lunch time, so that he could watch Precious. And by watch, Damian meant abscond off to his room with the cat, so he could curl around Tim on his bed, mumbling more scolding even as Damian gave pets and cuddles.
Tim…did not see any tears on Damian’s face, absolutely not, that did not happen. He only curled closer to Damian and started purring so Damian would stop talking and maybe fall asleep. So Tim could escape and get the information he’d stayed out all night for to Bruce and Jason.
Damian did not fall asleep, but he was sent to school as soon as he’d finished lunch—and watched Tim devour a late breakfast.
Which meant Tim only had to escape Cass to sneak up to his own room.
Thankfully, while Cass wasn’t as adept at reading animals, she was quick to comment, “Enough cuddles from Damian. Want to play?”
And accept when Tim ducked under a couch as a no.
It took time, and effort, but Tim did manage to leave the room without getting caught. Eventually.
He just hoped he wasn’t too late getting the details out.
And that no one asked why he wasn’t volunteering to be part of the bust.
No one asked.
But Jason did show up that night, in person, to make plans with Bruce. A task which apparently required Jason to hold Tim the entire time, and Damian wasn’t even complaining. Just frequently shooting looks from the training mats to make sure that Tim was still there.
Cass wasn’t even scolding Damian for it, which was just not fair.
What really didn’t make sense was Dick showing up partway through the planning, bounding downstairs to sweep Damian up into a hug, and asking, “So where’s the little rascal?”
“Todd has Precious,” Damian answered, and Tim allowed himself ten second to be furious that Dick had come, on short notice, because Damian had been worried about his cat.
And then Tim was too busy forgetting what Damian looked like when he was crying to be angry.
Much.
“Oh he does?” Dick was grinning as he sauntered over, hooking his chin over Jason’s shoulder and peering down at Tim. “Well, look at that. Damian let you look after his Precious.”
The rasp wasn’t as pronounced as when Jason had done it, but it earned a snort from Jason and a confused, defensive look from Damian.
Yeah, Tim was going to make Damian watch those movies as soon as he had hands again. And maybe throttle his older brothers.
“Cat just likes me more,” Jason said, looking at Damian, who scowled and stomped over.
“He does not,” Damian snapped. “He ran away from you—“
“He’s run away from everyone—“
“And he is my cat,” Damian snapped again.
“No one is disputing that,” Bruce said, eyeing Jason.
“Yeah, you’re definitely the one responsible for him,” Jason agreed. It wasn’t even teasing. “Bruce was saying he’s been crawling through the trash?”
Ah, avoiding chores.
“Smelled like Gotham,” Cass slipped under Dick’s arm for a hug. “Crime Alley.”
Jason beamed. “Awww, he was looking for me?”
“No,” Damian pouted. “And we don’t know precisely—“
“Where’s Tim?” Dick interrupted, gentling the cut with a hand to Damian’s shoulder. “You said he got you the intel for this bust.”
“Working on the Bowman case,” Bruce said, turning back to his computer.
It was, Tim thought, in a distant, hazy way, very good that no one was paying attention to him.
Because Bruce was right. Tim was supposed to be working on the Bowman case. It was urgent and new and exactly up Tim’s alley of investigations.
And he’d completely forgotten it when he was turned into a cat.
Having a panic attack was not an option. Jason would notice, and so would Damian. Also, Jason was still petting Tim in a repetitive, soothing pattern that made it harder to panic. Also, Tim was a cat. They certainly could panic, but Tim had been given the saving grace of altered brain composition. So while he felt like he was going to explode, he wasn’t actually having a breakdown.
Yet.
But.
But…
Tim hadn’t touched the Bowman case in two weeks. Tim was supposed to be tracking his financials, watching for embezzlement and money laundering. Tim only had a few more days to do this because Bowman wasn’t a Gotham native, he was just here on business, using the city’s proximity to other major metropolitan areas and penchant for rampant crime to cover his tracks. Bowman was too low profile to be a JLA problem, but the tip had come from Oliver, and Tim was supposed to have an open and shut case to hand to the FBI’s white collar division and—
Tim was a cat. Tim couldn’t code. Couldn’t hack.
Not fast enough. Not in the next three days.
Tim was fucked.
He had known, that very first night, he was supposed to get help.
Why hadn’t he gotten help? Why had he forgotten?
No. No, okay, Tim could still do this. Not tonight, obviously. Alfred was going to be watching Tim while everyone else went on their mission.
But Tim was a very smart cat who knew how to get into his apartment and could take time tonight verifying where Bowman was staying and see how easy it was to access. Tim had hardware he could—probably?—take advantage of that could at least mirror what Bowman had on site. Not the greatest option since anything that was web based would be tricky, but better than nothing.
If Tim could get the data, he could get it to Babs. She’d be pissed about Tim asking for a last-minute favor, but he’d be happy to owe her as long as it meant Bruce—and everyone else—would never know how badly Tim had fucked up.
Maybe he’d even tell her the truth.
He’d probably have to.
Fuck.
Notes:
There have been lots of questions and speculation in the comments, and now we finally have a few answers. With more questions to go with them, of course.
Chapter 8
Notes:
There is no small amount of interest and anxiety over Tim not having asked for help yet. It feeds my soul. :D
Chapter Text
The rest of the night was a blur, even the part where Tim snuck out after Damian was asleep to catch up on the case.
He had an outline of what was going on, and remembered where Bowman was. That would have to be enough for now.
Fitful sleep meant Tim slept in late, and missed his breakfast, again. Damian went to school this time, since Tim was clearly in his bed, but Jason, who had stayed over like a weirdo, made sure Tim ate as soon as he got up.
Dick had also stayed, which was equal parts infuriating and annoying.
How was Tim supposed to sneak around the house, poke helplessly at his computer, and run away to enact his plans, when there were so many people watching him?
“He’s kinda cute,” Dick said, watching as Tim struggled to hurry and not make a mess of his breakfast. He was out of sync with his cat mouth today, which was bad. “In a weird way.”
“He’s fucking adorable,” Jason countered, sipping coffee and staring at a tablet. “You just have shit taste.”
“Boys,” Alfred sighed from the sink where he was doing dishes.
“I was being nice!” Dick protested. “Jason—“
“Yeah, blame it on the dead kid.”
There was a twitch from Alfred and a growl and punch from Dick. Jason gave an exaggerated gasp and turned to Alfred whining, “Alfie, he hit me!”
“Because you are not funny,” Dick growled, trying to smile and only half managing.
“Poor comedic performances should be handled appropriately,” Alfred said solemnly. “Rotted fruit or vegetables are acceptable—“
“Hey!” Jason protested.
“—or mud or shoes depending on the venue and what is available. Disruptive booing is, of course,” Alfred smiled, “universal.”
“Peanuts!” Dick cheered, throwing his arms up. “Or popcorn! We got lots of those at the circus.”
“Appropriate to the venue,” Alfred agreed. “Although I doubt any performance you were in was less than spectacular.”
Before Dick could preen too much, Jason whined, “But what if I’m allergic to peanuts?”
“You’re not,” Dick and Jason and Bruce said, as Bruce stepped into the room. “Why do you think you are?” Bruce asked.
“He doesn’t,” Dick said, in time with Jason’s, “Dick’s hurting me, B! Fraternal abuse!”
“By threatening you with peanuts?” Bruce asked, sliding into a seat and stealing a piece of Dick’s toast. “That you aren’t allergic to?”
“He hit me,” Jason’s lip wobbled as he shoved his arm in Bruce’s direction. Bruce hummed, but Jason’s face held. “Dad…”
Bruce stopped, toast halfway to his mouth. Dick made an incomprehensible protest, shoving Jason.
Which Jason took shameless advantage of, letting himself fall to the floor with a crash.
“Betrayal!” Jason moaned from the floor. “I am unloved, unwanted.”
Bruce was already kneeling at Jason’s side, hands hovering, uncertain. “Jay…”
“He’s fine,” Dick kicked at Jason’s feet, and Jason gasped, clutching at Bruce’s pant leg.
“B, Dad, don’t let him…”
Bruce knew, Tim was sure, that Jason was fine. But Jason was also shameless, and had called Bruce “Dad” twice in a single minute. Even if Bruce knew Jason was okay, Jason had decided to win this fight with Dick, come hell or high water.
And it looked like it was going to work.
“Dick, don’t—“ Bruce started, hands still hovering over Jason.
“Oh, come on!” Dick threw his hands up. “B, he’s totaling faking it. Dad…” Dick added, aiming for a lip wobble of his own.
If Tim had a human body, he’d probably be rolling on the floor.
As it was, he only managed to choke on his food.
He started coughing, gagging, and the victor of the petty fight would never be decided because Jason immediately lurched across the floor with a sharp, “Shit!” and Bruce and Alfred were suddenly also hovering.
“Give him a second,” Alfred said firmly. “Unless he stops breathing—“
“You want me to wait for him to stop breathing?” Jason demanded.
“Yes,” Alfred stressed. “You’ve never needed assistance when your food had been difficult. Would you rather we started grabbing you each time your water goes down the wrong pipe?”
“No,” Jason muttered.
Dick crept closer, making a face. “Oh, that’s gross.”
Tim agreed. The mushy goop he’d hacked up looked unappetizing. But it smelled fine, Tim’s nose said.
The dissonance was awful.
“There, see,” Alfred said as Tim panted, trying to melt into the floor. “He just needed a moment.”
“At least Damian wasn’t here,” Jason said.
Bruce nodded, gently stroking Tim’s head with two fingers. “He’s had enough scares for this week.”
“He won’t be happy if you don’t tell him,” Dick pointed out. “He was fussing all last night, worried about Precious. He’s trying to figure out if something’s wrong, and if you don’t give him all the information…”
Jason made a face and Alfred sighed.
“We’ll tell him,” Alfred said. “But Jason is right that it is best he wasn’t here. I don’t imagine another panicking human would have alleviated the situation in any way.”
Tim agreed. He also appreciated Bruce’s continued cautious pets. Now if he could just get his nose away from his half-masticated food…
Off balance, not sure how human or cat he was, Tim was already swallowing before he realized he had licked up the gross floor mass.
“Oh yuck,” Dick gagged.
Tim could never tell them—
“Well, at least it wasn’t wasted,” Alfred sighed. “Alright, both of you up. Let him finish.”
Tim didn’t want to eat. He didn’t want his cat nose and his cat tongue and his cat body to keep betraying his human sensibilities.
But he needed to eat because he needed the energy to escape later, and cat food was better than garbage, and Tim…
He was going to fix this. It was fine.
He was fine.
It was a tough choice, but Tim eventually decided to wait around for Damian to get back from school. If Tim was going to complete his mission without a hitch, he needed Damian to be calmer, less likely to seek Tim out before patrol.
It grated, but curling up in Damian’s lap for an hour while he worked on homework gave Tim plenty of time to run through his plan, working out the kinks, and meant that Damian was almost pleasant when he brought Tim down for dinner.
Eating quickly was hard. Tim still wasn’t catty enough to move smoothly, and it was even more unnerving to be eating under Alfred and Damian’s watchful eyes.
There were a couple of close calls, but Tim did not choke on his food again.
He ignored Damian and Alfred’s sighs of relief as he slipped out of the kitchen, aiming to escape the house as quickly as possible.
“Whoa, where are you going, buddy?” Jason looked as surprised to see Tim as Tim was to see Jason. But Jason recovered first, scooping Tim up and wandering back towards the kitchen. “Pretty sure it’s time for food, little guy.”
Tim hissed, trying to wiggle away, but Jason was more than prepared to keep Tim in line.
“He already ate,” Damian sniffed when Jason brought Tim into the kitchen. “And Alfred has said—“
“No pets at the table,” Alfred was putting Jason’s food down, but he was staring right into Jason’s eyes. “Whether they are yours or not.”
Jason pouted, like that would make a difference.
Well, maybe for Jason it would. It never seemed to have worked for Tim. Coffee rations had been nonnegotiable.
“Alfie, please,” Jason pulled Tim up higher, rubbing a cheek against Tim’s head. “He’s so lonely.”
In a perfect, just world, Tim would have made a little cat snort. Would have yawned and batted at Jason’s face.
Instead, because the universe hated Tim and was a traitor, the words summoned—completely unnecessarily—a plaintive whine, and Tim’s traitor body curled closer to Jason, rubbing Tim’s head back against Jason’s face.
“Fortunate for us all that I am finished, then,” Damian’s voice was clipped, his movements jerky as he shoved his arms out, every line of his body, of the expression on his face, sharp and pointed.
For a second, Tim wondered if Jason would actually start a fight over this. Would put Tim in the middle of a tug-of-war between a likes-to-pretend-he’s-fully-grown man and an also-likes-to-pretend-he’s-fully-grown child.
But then Jason kissed Tim’s head, what, and stepped forward to lean down and transfer Tim with aching caution. Damian’s expression was suspicious, especially when Jason leaned a bit more forward and whispered, “Bring him.”
It was too low for Alfred to have heard, but Damian must have gotten the message, because he nodded, saying with careful stiffness, “Thank you for making certain he has eaten.”
One of Jason’s giant hands came down to rub Tim’s head, sending warm ripples through Tim’s tiny body. “Any time. He’s too Precious to neglect.”
Tim’s traitor body whined again—completely unnecessary—and Tim hid his face in Damian’s neck, hoping Jason’s order hadn’t meant what Tim thought it did.
It had.
The plan was so simple it was foolproof. Jason turned back at the last second, saying he had forgotten something, no go ahead, he wasn’t patrolling with them anyway, it was fine. Nightwing had nodded and hopped on his bike, following Batman and Robin out into Gotham.
Then, Jason had rifled through his locker and changed back into civvies, stuffing his gear in a bag and telling Alfred he’d had a change of plans, he needed to pick some stuff up, could he borrow a car.
Alfred, a little cannier to Jason’s tricks, had asked if he could loan Jason something that they had, and let Jason restock for him.
It hadn’t escaped Alfred’s notice that Jason was being incredibly cagey about what he needed.
“Nah, it’s fine,” Jason answered, knowing he’d been caught, and smiling through it. “If I can’t borrow a car, I can always walk.”
“Of course you may borrow a car,” Alfred sighed. “As long as you replace it if you cannot return it.”
The tone was dry and light and it made Jason’s grin stretch. “Sweet. Oh, hey, why don’t I take this little guy upstairs.” He ducked to grab Tim from his very clever—and toasty—hiding place under the computer. “Poor thing looks cold.”
A single brow went up as Alfred said, “Indeed,” and just watched as Jason started fleeing with Tim. “I trust you are aware that if Precious is not here when Master Damian gets home, and should he be in anything less than perfect condition—“
“I know, I know,” Jason called down. “I’m not gonna steal Dami’s cat. I know better.”
His tone was pitch perfect for just treading into offended territory. Alfred wasn’t exactly eating it up, but he did let Jason go without any further comments.
Tim wondered, as his stomach turned slightly, what had been the point of rushing through his meal if he was going to fail at all of his plans before they had even started.
Two days. He only had two days after this, and if Damian kept hovering…
Tim considered resisting the cat carrier, but eventually decided it wasn’t worth the fight. Jason wasn’t in full Red Hood gear, but he loved his leather jackets and not only would they protect him, but Tim didn’t want to test Jason’s temper by destroying one. Tim was on a deadline. He didn’t need to be grounded for bad socializing.
Besides, Jason had Damian’s permission to move Tim, and maybe…
Maybe Tim could escape while they were on patrol together. He knew he could unlock the carrier.
They weren’t patrolling.
Tim should have seen it coming, but it took until Jason was walking into Tim’s building for Tim to realize exactly what was going on. What had to already be in progress, since Jason was able to get buzzed up with no trouble.
It was less of a surprise to see Damian already in Tim’s apartment, coffee caches lined up in neat rows on his table. It still hurt, but it wasn’t a surprise.
Damian’s “Drake is filthy,” to Jason when Jason asked how it was going also hurt. A little.
Jason’s answering snort of zero surprise didn’t.
It didn’t.
“Should I take him out?” Jason asked, looking at the coffee already set out. “Or are you almost done.”
Robin, rifling through Tim’s life, nose wrinkled in distaste, was an image Tim could have lived without. Especially since he was powerless to stop it, no matter how much he meowed and whined and scratched at his cage door. Maybe if he could get out he could disrupt them enough that they’d just give up…
“No,” Damian said, looking disappointed. “He might leave evidence.”
“Pretty sure it’s not gonna take a big leap of logic to figure out this was on us,” Jason pointed out, beginning to open bags and dump them into a large plastic bag. He paused, cocked his head. “Well, maybe Steph and Cass.”
“Brown and Grayson,” Damian corrected, scowling at the dusty shelves that held the most recent stash he’d found. “Do you think it’s a security feature?”
“The filth?” Jason glanced up, shook his head. “Nah, just paranoia. B’s place only stays clean because Alfred makes it happen. This is what you get when you’re as eccentric as Batman but live alone.”
Which was not true. Not entirely. Tim did clean, from time to time. It was a good way to burn nervous energy, a good task if he was stuck on a case and needed to occupy his hands. He didn’t clean as well and thoroughly as Alfred, but it happened.
When he wasn’t a cat.
The judgement stung, almost as much as Jason and Damian’s continued vandalism. Tim whined some more, just to make Damian twitchy and upset, but no matter how many times either of the humans came over to soothe Tim, they didn’t let him out.
Then…
Then Damian walked by Tim’s computer and Tim realized, he was home.
Half of his plans had been trying to figure out how to get back into this apartment to retrieve the device he needed. And now he was in the apartment.
In his apartment and pissed.
Tim had pandered to Damian’s anxieties and for what? To have his apartment—the place he’d gone to avoid Damian—be ransacked and violated.
No, enough was enough. Tim had a job to do, he had no time to do it, and this was a perfect opportunity to escape. He’d get the drive, get out, and get the data he needed. He’d wait out the one, maybe two more days before Zatana was available, and he’d be back to normal.
And then Damian could see how it felt to lose something precious.
Hell, he’d probably just replace Tim by the end of the week. There were hundreds of cats in Gotham.
Working at the latch was as painful as ever, and hard because he couldn’t do it without making noise. Damian kept panicking each time he noticed, not because Tim was escaping, but because, “That’s bad for your teeth Precious. Is your mouth hurting? Is that what’s wrong?”
“Just take him out,” Jason said, coming over the third time Damian interrupted his task to check on Tim. “It’s not like he ever pees on anything.”
Disgruntled but persuadable, Damian followed Jason’s instructions, crooning at Tim and petting him before stepping back so Tim could escape.
The irony was not lost on Tim.
It was tempting to immediately make for the door, but Tim had a plan. And a job.
Also, fuck these two. Was Jason opening Tim’s fridge?
A string of profanities escaped from the kitchen and Damian asked, “What is it?”
“What the fuck is he eating?” Jason demanded, stepping back and revealing a half stock of protein shakes. There were some bags of lettuce on the bottom shelf, Tim knew, but they were probably bad by now. But he had vegetables, okay.
Damian looked appalled. “Precious has a better diet.”
No. No “Precious” did not. There was nothing wrong with Tim’s food. He just ate out a lot and didn’t keep things that he wasn’t going to cook and his freezer was stocked with meals and a handful of chicken breasts for when Tim had the energy to cook something, and “Precious” ate cat food, it was not comparable!
“How is he alive?” Jason grumbled slamming the fridge closed.
The noise startled Tim, which was as good an excuse as any to dash under the computer. Damian only wasted a minute trying to coax him out before Jason demanded help again and the two of them went back to work, filling Tim’s bags with subpar beans.
It burned in Tim’s chest, thick enough to crawl up his throat and creep into his eyes.
Fine. Fine. If they didn’t feel bad, he didn’t feel bad either. They were just mean and judgmental and they hadn’t even noticed—
No. It was fine. Tim was fine. He had this.
It was almost twenty minutes of work to get to the drawer Tim needed and get his drive. Stealth was critical at this point, even though Damian and Jason were mostly distracted by resealing the bags.
Prize between his teeth, Tim slunk to the window, almost purring in satisfaction as it opened easily and silently—just a crack—with minimal effort. This was what proper window maintenance looked like. Alright, maybe most people didn’t plan for their windows needing to open for someone weak from blood loss or poisoning, but Tim’s neighbors’ windows were inexcusably bad.
He was high. Higher than he ultimately wanted or needed to be. It took some time to find a safe way down. But not too far down. Tim still needed to get partway across the city.
Back close to where he had originally become a cat, actually…
That…that was important. Tim’s vantage from where he had been resting would have been in viewing distance of Bowman’s rented rooms. Had…had Tim been there on purpose?
Could the transformation have something to do with Tim’s research?
But he would have just been starting.
It needed more answers, and Tim didn’t have time for that tonight. Get the data, get it to Babs, pray he had something she wanted badly enough she’d keep her mouth shut.
Laugh as he imagined the panic Jason and Damian would experience when they realized “Precious” was gone.
It was turning out to be a pretty good night, actually.
Tim wished he could smile without dropping something.
Chapter 9
Notes:
I'm just sitting here, cackling gleefully. Hope you all enjoy this one.
Chapter Text
Okay, so one flaw in Tim’s plan. Bowman didn’t have well maintained windows. Also, he used his locks. Also…Tim didn’t have hands. Or his utility belt.
Scratching produced no immediate results. There were no other windows Tim’s cat body could reach.
He had two days.
Fuck.
Desperate times and desperate measures had Tim wandering to the roof, seeing if there was an entry he could use up there. But even if it was unlocked, it was too tall and heavy. And had a handle. Tim could do handles, but not when he needed to keep his drive in his mouth.
Fuuuuuuck…
Tim decided to have one more go at the window, and then give up and stalk the main entrance until he could find a way in.
He found Catwoman at his target’s window, sliding it open with graceful ease.
Tim…wasn’t going to overthink this. He had two days. He’d ask Selina once he had a working mouth. And two hands.
Slipping in behind her was easy, she had left the window open just a crack, and wow this cat body could handle narrow spaces. No one was ever allowed to make jokes about how small Tim was as a human ever again, this was what being tiny looked like.
A soft plop onto the floor, a quick glance to see that she wasn’t paying any attention to Tim—nope, she was rifling through the closet—and Tim could take off into the rest of the unit.
It was small. A bedroom, a living room with a desk for working, a kitchenette.
And on the work desk, a laptop.
Jackpot.
All Tim had to do was insert the drive and wait. It was hard, because the light on the drive flashed red and it didn’t quite register clearly to Tim’s eyes. But if he stared intently enough, he could tell the shades were shifting. When it stopped blinking, then it would be finished.
Tim curled on the desk, watching the drive and listening for Catwoman. She was almost silent. It took concentrated effort to keep tabs on her. But apparently she hadn’t left yet.
Which was nice. Tim would prefer to escape back out the window if he could. Much easier than trying to manage the door.
The drive hadn’t quite finished when Catwoman slid into the front room, looking around with a frown on her lips. She paused when she spotted Tim, curled on the desk, and that was…not good. Tim could try owing Selina and Babs, but they were both grifters, and it would suck.
Door it was, he supposed. No following her now.
Unless he could beat her out?
“Now what do we have here?” she whispered, slinking closer. Tim fought a multitude of instincts—to flee, to hide his face, to run over and rub against her leg, knowing she’d give excellent scritches. “I didn’t think he’d brought a friend.”
Had Bruce sent Selina after Bowman as well? Had Babs?
If not someone Tim knew, then who?
Tim stayed as still as possible, hoping the drive wasn’t noticeable.
Catwoman reached out, slow and careful, and started scratching around Tim’s ears. “You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?”
Her hand started retreating and Tim chased it, swallowing the noises he wanted to make. It was a delay tactic, that was all, keeping her occupied while the drive finished, laying the groundwork for—
“Precious?” Catwoman’s hand was frozen above Tim’s head. In the half second it took for him to realize what she had said, she had moved, grabbing his face in a careful but implacable grip, turning it this way and that. “What the fu—“
Tim managed to escape the grip and scrambled back on the desk, barely saving himself from falling off. He glanced at the drive, thought he saw it still blinking, hesitated…
Catwoman scooped him up, turning him this way and that way in the darkness, her frown deepening as she inspected him. “The baby bat isn’t here. So why are you?”
She looked down at the drive, reached for it, and paused when Tim hissed on instinct. Her face turned towards him, but Tim couldn’t quite make out what her eyes were doing behind her goggles. Without looking away from Tim, she reached for the drive again.
It had stopped blinking. Tim didn’t make a sound as she slid it out.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” Catwoman muttered, tucking Tim up against her. She inspected the drive, turning it this way and that. “Did you bring this here?”
Tim, in a flash of brilliance and self-preservation, meowed as ignorantly and innocently as he knew how, rubbing his face against Catwoman’s shoulder and blinking at her with wide, guileless eyes.
“Huh.”
She put Tim down and pocketed the drive, which was not what was supposed to happen. Tim was supposed to get away with his ill- and poorly-gotten goods.
He tried following Catwoman around as she inspected the rest of the room, rubbing up against her legs and half trying to climb them to see if she would pick him up. It would be insanely difficult to get into her pockets, but not impossible.
Hopefully.
But she ignored him, which was just rude.
Once she’d finished her inspection of the unit, Catwoman stopped and looked down at him. “Still here, huh? And the baby bat hasn’t come for you…”
Well, no, given that Damian hadn’t had a clue that Tim would be here.
Catwoman carried Tim back into the bedroom and kept a careful hold on him as she slipped back out the window. The ease with which she locked back up and managed to get two blocks away without so much as jostling Tim gave him some very serious questions about how often Selina was picking up strays.
She stopped for a bit and pulled out her phone, placing a call to a number Tim didn’t catch. Apparently whoever she was trying to reach didn’t pick up because she hung up before she even left a message.
She called three more times as she made her way across Gotham, refusing to let go of Tim.
Which was fine. She still had his data.
Then she dropped down in front of the Batmobile and Tim felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.
“Catwoman,” Batman slunk out of the shadows. It was hard to tell if he had his extra grumpy expression on or just his regular grumpy one. “Is that…”
“One very naughty boy, collected out of a random apartment, just for you and yours,” Catwoman grinned, and Tim did not like it.
Batman was definitely making the extra, extra grumpy face now as he accepted Tim. “How did Precious end up in a random apartment you were ransacking?”
“Good question,” Catwoman said, leaning against the passenger door. “May I join you?”
There was a series of complicated micro twitches around Batman’s mouth and Tim hoped, hoped that Bruce said yes. Selina didn’t often get invited into the Cave, but Tim needed that drive, and if Bruce tried to take Tim now…
“Yes. It would be good for Robin to thank you in person.”
Catwoman’s smile was all teeth. “You’re getting better at excuses.”
“I’ve been learning from the best,” Batman said as he slipped into the car, holding Tim high so he wouldn’t get squished by the steering wheel.
“I can take him so you can drive,” Catwoman offered, holding out her arms.
“I’ve got autopilot,” Batman said as he shut his door. “It’s fine.”
“Awww,” Selina cooed as she removed her googles. “Are you a cat person, Mr. Wayne?”
“I’m a bat person,” Bruce said, making Tim sneeze out a laugh. “I mean, I’m Batman, Ms.—Catwoman.”
“We’re in your very well tinted car, Bruce.”
“I’m Batman,” he muttered under his breath as the car zipped them through the streets. Bruce’s gauntleted hands weren’t as comfortable as his bare ones, but he was applying a perfect amount of pressure and Tim melted against Batman’s armor, purring.
“Okay, Batman,” Selina smiled. She looked away, bracing her elbow by the window before she asked, “You haven’t seen Tim recently, have you?”
“If you mean Red Robin,” Bruce ground out as Tim stiffened.
“No, Batman.” Selina had turned to face him, frown written clearly across her face. Tim shivered. “I’m asking when the last time was that you saw Timothy Drake-Wayne.”
Bruce paused, cradling Tim gently. His thumb stroked Tim’s face idly once, twice. “I spoke to him several weeks ago about a case I hoped he could help with. That was not in person, but it was a video call.”
“About three weeks?” Selina asked, and Tim fought to make his body relax instead of stiffening. “Give or take?”
“Since I’ve seen him, yes. I heard from him earlier this week though. He helped Jason and I with…well, collecting some items.”
“You spoke with him?”
“No, he emailed. He’s been working on the other case I gave him.”
“Other case?” Selina’s smile was too innocent.
“I don’t ask about your marks,” Bruce sighed, leaning back into his seat. “You don’t ask about my cases. That’s how this works, Sel—Catwoman.”
There was a purred chuckle as Selina leaned over and scratched under Tim’s chin. “Someone’s grumpy, aren’t they?” she cooed at him.
Tim hated that tone, but the scratches were too good to pass up. Tim tried to follow them as Selina slowly pulled away.
“Are you going to leave me too?” Bruce asked, strangely forlorn as he rubbed a hand down Tim’s back.
Tim froze, tilting his head up and back, wondering…
Well, it didn’t really matter what Bruce meant, did it? He was probably just teasing Selina.
The rest of the trip to the Cave was silent. Tim made a couple of halfhearted attempts to get to Selina, to see if he could try and steal his data back. But Bruce was apparently not in a sharing mood and, well, Tim hadn’t really thought he could sneak the drive away without getting caught. Not while they were in the car.
It was for the best. If Tim had been carrying the drive in his mouth when they got out of the car, he would have immediately lost it to the darkness as his jaw dropped open at the scene in the cave.
Damian was sobbing into Dick’s shoulder, both of them still in their suits in spite of the late hour, with Alfred standing nearby, shooting looks at Jason, who was leaning against the computer, arms crossed and shoulders hunched as he watched Dick trying to soothe Damian.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Selina crooned, sweeping over and crouching down next to Dick and Damian. “It’s alright—“
“It is not!” Damian snapped, jerking up to glare. “He—Precious is gone, and we couldn’t find him, and he might have fallen and—“
“Damian,” Bruce said, taking quick steps forward and holding Tim out.
Which was not what Tim wanted, at all. He needed to get to Selina, not Damian. And Damian deserved this, he wouldn’t have even noticed Tim was missing if he hadn’t decided to drag Tim along to witness them ransacking his house, and—
There was a strangled sound, somewhere between a gasp and a howl as Damian launched himself out of Dick’s lap and grabbed Tim, cradling him close and choking out, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” over and over and over.
Tim…
Tim lost all bodily control and started snuggling and purring, just wanting the shaking arms that held him against a quivering chest to stop.
“Where the fuck did you find him?” Jason demanded, stomping over and leaning down to glare at Tim, eyes flickering with an edge of green. “How—“
“Funny story,” Selina said, settling into a cross legged seat on the floor next to Dick’s chair. She made a gimme gesture with her hands, and repeated it when Damian ignored her the first time. He slunk over, oh so gently placing Tim in Selina’s lap, before sitting down next to her, pouting when Selina batted his hands away. He might have even hissed a little before Selina said, “There’s this man in town, name of Bowman.”
All of the bats froze and Tim burrowed deeper into Selina’s lap, turning so he could start trying to sniff out the pocket with his drive.
“I wasn’t aware he was a person of interest to you,” Batman—and it was all Batman, no Bruce now—said, arms crossing, feet bracing slightly apart.
Tim wasn’t looking, but he could hear Selina’s smile as she said, “Yes, well, you don’t ask about my marks, I don’t ask about your cases. That’s how this works.”
Dick snorted.
“Bowman ended up on your radar.” Apparently it was late enough Bruce wouldn’t take the bait. “What does that have to do with Precious?”
Selina hummed, picking Tim up and bopping him on the nose. Which, rude. Tim yowled, but Selina just smiled at him, curled him up close to her stomach, and started stroking his head, making it impossible for him to continue his search. “That’s where I found him. Bowman’s sublet.”
There was a long, painful silence.
“I’m sorry, what?” Dick said, leaning over to peer at Tim. “You found Damian’s cat in a house you were burgling?”
“Apartment,” Selina corrected. “And yes. Next to Bowman’s laptop.”
“What?” Jason could be eloquent, but it seemed like that was beyond him at the moment.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Damian protested. “There wouldn’t have been enough time for him to get—“
Damian’s mouth snapped shut just before Jason kicked him. Lightly, but in clear warning.
“And where, precisely,” Alfred asked, “along your patrol route had you stashed him that would make it impossible for him to have reached this apartment?”
Alfred knew. He’d known about the prank, of course, but he also knew they had gone through with it tonight, and Tim…
Didn’t feel as vindicated by that as he might have hoped.
“The precise location doesn’t matter,” Damian said, his nose tilting into the air a little. “It wouldn’t have been possible—“
“That’s where I found him,” Selina cut in. “So either someone else took him there, or he was, in fact, close enough to get there on his own.” She paused, looking between Damian and Jason. “Where was he?”
There was a moment where Jason and Damian had some sort of silent conversation, and then Jason said, “We left him at Tim’s place.”
“Did you?” Selina almost purred the question, her fingers digging just a little deeper as she ran them down Tim’s back. “And how did he like that?”
“He wasn’t there,” Jason said. “But he’s got an access point we can use, in case of emergency.”
Tim let out a low hiss, and Selina patted his head two times. “And this was an emergency?”
Jason shrugged and Damian squared his shoulders. “Emergency or not, that is where we left him. And that is where he escaped from.”
“Could Tim have taken him to Bowman’s?” Dick asked, looking to Selina. Then to Damian, “Did you just leave him loose, or was he in a carrier?”
“He can escape from carriers,” Damian said. “But we brought him in one.”
The little bastard. Tim wanted to hiss again, but…he had a feeling Selina was paying more attention to him than she was letting on.
“Where is Tim?” Selina asked, looking around the group.
Even through the cowl, Batman’s face turned extra sullen. “He was…working on something related to Bowman. It’s…possible he took the cat with him. But unlikely.”
“Not even to get back at Damian?” Dick asked quietly. To Damian he said, “If you didn’t warn him, he might have—You two tend to escalate things…”
“Drake was not at home when we dropped Precious off,” Damian’s voice was clipped. “It is possible he was offended, but that is no reason to involve a helpless animal in his exploits.” Jason coughed slightly, and Damian glared at him. “Though, given the condition of Drake’s residence, what he considers appropriate for a living creature should be thoroughly questioned.”
“Messy?” Selina hummed.
“Dirty,” Damian corrected. “Dust everywhere, food rotting in his fridge—“
“Not much,” Jason said. “He didn’t have almost anything that wasn’t prepackaged.”
“You dropped off a cat and raided his fridge?” Selina asked, something a little sharp in her smile.
“Patrol makes you hungry,” Jason offered back, casual and unrepentant and Tim…
Tim was having a very hard time keeping himself quiet. Lies, lies, and more lies and they weren’t even ashamed of it. Sure, Tim had played his share of pranks. But that didn’t make it sting any less that they’d just…waltz into his apartment and messed with his stuff and made him watch.
“If we think Tim was involved—” Bruce quietly began.
“When was the last time you saw him?” Selina asked Dick, picking Tim up to hold him against her shoulder.
“Tim? Not quite a month ago. We’ve chatted a bit since then, but I haven’t been by his place in…well, a while. And I haven’t seen him the couple of times I’ve been down here.”
“You?” Selina turned her attention to Alfred.
He considered the question before saying, “About the same as Dick, I’m afraid. He’s been rather busy, I think. I haven’t heard from him much. Possibly because of the case.”
Selina hummed and looked over at Bruce. “And you said at least three weeks?”
“Yes.”
She cast a half glance at Jason and Damian. “So no one’s seen him in a month. And you’re assuming he stole Damian’s cat.”
“Well, when you put it that way…” Jason grumbled.
“I don’t think Tim’s even met Precious,” Dick said, looking to Damian. “Would he have known it was your cat, if he saw it? Did you leave him a note?”
“No,” Damian mumbled, shoulders hunching again. “I did not leave a note.”
“Damian…” Dick sighed.
“Alright, so Tim’s probably not the one who got Precious across town,” Jason was looking more irritated by the second. “So how the hell did he end up at Bowman’s?”
“And where is Tim?” Alfred asked, turning to Bruce. “Surely if he’s working on a case for you, he would have stopped by to update you on his findings.”
“He emailed me,” Bruce repeated. “At least, he emailed me about the smuggling. I assumed he didn’t have an update since he’s been silent.”
“For three weeks?” Dick jumped in. “He hasn’t given you any progress reports?”
“It’s unusual,” Bruce agreed, pulling back the cowl. “But the assignment has a tight timeframe and since Bowman isn’t a Gotham native, Tim’s usual shortcuts,” Bruce’s tone conveyed his slight discomfort at what Babs called Tim’s “blatant and unapologetic disregard for anything resembling data privacy” when she was in a good mood, “wouldn’t have been an option. I suspect he’s prioritizing gathering data.”
“You suspect,” Selina repeated in a tone so thick with mockery the words dropped like stones out of her mouth.
That was…not good.
“Well what’s your brilliant theory?” Jason demanded.
And suddenly Selina was holding Tim out, grip firm under his arms, undeterred by his kicking feet—and Damian’s protest—making sure she had Jason’s full attention before she said, “Say hi to Tim.”
Everyone froze. Even Tim stopped moving, which, in retrospect, was a bad move.
“You think,” Dick said, in a voice that edged towards cracking, “that Damian’s cat is Tim?”
Selina looked at Damian. “No brain damage, no swelling, no chip. Inconsistent social skills, picky eater, escape artist, caught—with a souped-up flash drive—in the house of the man Tim’s investigating.” The silence in the room was almost as oppressive as the blank, empty look on Damian’s face. “Give me a better explanation.”
Damian…didn’t say anything. Just stared.
It was Dick that slid out of the chair, leaned over, reached out but didn’t quite touch and asked, “Tim? Is that you?”
The smart thing to do, Tim knew, was to lie. They could never find out.
The problem was, he didn’t know how.
He didn’t…he didn’t know if he wanted to.
Tim stretched his neck and rubbed his face lightly against Dick’s fingers, whiskers irritated as they brushed against the odd texture of the Nightwing suit.
Jason…turned green. In the face.
“That is not,” Damian growled as Dick whimpered slightly, “any sort of conclusive confirmation.”
Selina drew Tim back into her lap, petting his head with one hand as she flicked her fingers at Dick with the other, shooing him away. “I have the drive that was in Bowman’s computer. I suspect that may be more conclusive. If you’d like to see it.”
“Drake could have placed it—“
“And left the apartment, with only your cat to guard it?” Selina asked, slipping a hand into a pocket and handing the drive over to Dick. Whose lips thinned as he looked at it.
Dick had seen it before.
Jason was looking…greener. Mostly in the face but a little around the eyes. Bruce…hadn’t moved. Alfred was hovering, but at a respectful distance from Selina.
Damian’s breaths were coming faster, his fists were clenched too tightly, and he was pressing them into the floor too hard.
Tim curled closer to Selina, avoiding everyone’s eyes.
“You’re telling me that fucker,” Jason growled, ignoring Dick and Bruce’s half formed protests, “has just been…fucking with us this whole time?”
“Jason,” Alfred tried.
“No, nuh uh,” Jason jerked forward and back, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You can’t just—What the fuck is he doing, just fucking around the house all day, doing whatever the fuck he wants, making no sense—“
“Given that Bruce got an email from him earlier this week,” Selina cut in, “giving information Bruce had asked for, I’d say part of what he’s been doing has been trying to be a vigilante. While looking like this.”
Bruce sighed. “The garbage smell.”
“His disappearances,” Alfred agreed. He cocked his head. “I haven’t been in Tim’s room here recently. But I would be unsurprised to find cat hair in there.”
“This is preposterous,” Damian snapped. “If this is Drake, why didn’t he tell us? Why would he waste so much time on such a charade when he could simply have asked for help and Father could have contacted someone and—“
“Damian, breathe,” Dick urged, leaving the computer and coming around to put a hand on Damian’s back.
“I’m fine!” Damian shoved at Dick, who let the momentum carry him a little further back, but didn’t go far. “I don’t see why we are entertaining this idea any further. There is no reason to believe—“
“Red Robin’s tracker is missing,” Bruce said quietly, looking down at his phone. “Oracle can’t get a response from it.”
“Stephanie says she has been talking to Tim off and on for the last three weeks,” Alfred said, stowing his own phone. “But has not seen him in person.”
“Drive is a mirror of Bowman’s laptop,” Jason ground out, fist thumping against the desk once, twice, three times. “Just copied, though. Not sorted or anything.”
“Given how much he’s been at the manor,” Selina murmured, “I expect it’s been hard for him to do what he needed to. Also,” she rolled Tim over, smiling at his protest and grabbing his paws, waving them so Jason could see, “no thumbs.”
“How the fuck as he been typing?” Jason growled, pacing away from the desk, then back. “How the fuck did none of us notice?”
“We knew something was wrong,” Dick protested. “At least, Damian knew that Precious—“
“He’s not Drake!” Damian shouted, jumping to his feet. “You’re wrong, your conclusions are ridiculous, there is no point—“
“Damian,” Bruce tried.
But Damian was gone. Up the stairs and out of the Cave, not bothering to change out of his suit. Just running.
Tim…didn’t blame him. Tim sort of wished he could run away too.
Bruce and Dick both moved to follow, but Alfred held up a hand. “I’ll go upstairs,” he said firmly. “All of you will change,” he glanced at Selina, “please. Before you come up.”
“You have something I can borrow?” she asked Bruce, less teasing than Tim would have normally expected.
“Yes,” he said, looking down to Tim. He crouched after a moment, held his hand out and said, “Tim?”
It was one word, but a million questions. It was who are you, but also why, just like Damian had demanded. It was will you come to me, and also why didn’t you trust me. It was are you okay and also what can I do, what should I have done, what are we going to do.
It was please.
This time when Tim moved, Selina let him go, let him slink across the floor and touch his noise to Bruce’s fingers, pressing his face into them when Bruce didn’t move. He skittered back though when Bruce moved to grab him, and Bruce sighed, “Oh, son.”
It was an apology and a recrimination and just sadness.
Tim was under the desk before he had thought the action through, burrowing as far back as he could get, out of sight, and maybe, if he was lucky, out of mind.
No one came after him.
Chapter 10
Notes:
I can tell I've gotten new readers for this fic because I had several people wondering how there can be so many more chapters now that Tim's secret is out. And oh boy, friends. We are not finished yet.
Chapter Text
“You have got to be kidding me.”
That was Jason’s voice. At least irritated, possibly angry.
“He’s still in there.”
“Yes, so shocking, given the overwhelming incentives he has been given to come out.”
Alfred’s dry humor usually had a calming effect on Jason, but it was hard for Tim to tell how well it had worked from his cramped hiding spot more or less inside the base of the Batcomputer.
“Him and the brat are exactly the same, I swear.”
Jason’s voice was getting closer. A familiar shape—and it shouldn’t be, but it was—of Jason on the floor, arm outstretched, settled into view. “A’right, Tim. You’ve got two options. One of them involves B getting out a saw and ruining a perfectly good workstation. The other means you can have dinner. Right now.”
“I believe we have officially moved into breakfast territory,” Alfred pointed out, earning a huff from Jason. “And he had dinner before you took him out last night.”
Jason froze. “Yeah. I guess he did.”
Great. Tim had been hoping—
No, actually, he wanted Jason to know that Jason had broken into Tim’s house and Tim knew about it. That was extremely fair given that Tim hadn’t been able to stop him.
“Look,” Jason grumbled, “you can’t stay there forever. At some point you’ll have to poop, and—“
Just because Jason was right and Tim did not want to poop under the computer did not mean Tim had to be cooperative. He came out, but dodged around Jason, skidding and darting so that he could hide behind Alfred’s legs.
Sort of.
Jason growled and grumbled as he crawled off the floor, but didn’t give chase.
“Now we just gotta get the other one,” he muttered.
“Leave that to Dick,” Alfred said, looking down at Tim. “Would you care to join us upstairs? Or will you insist on lurking down here?”
The cave was cold and damp and smelled of bat feces. Tim had adjusted, but he wasn’t staying down here if he didn’t have to.
He moved for the stairs and heard—and felt—Alfred and Jason following him.
He got stuck at the stupid, too heavy door again, and had to listen to Jason’s snort of amusement. But Tim was still skinny and fast, so he was out the secret entrance and away from the study before Jason and Alfred were out of the cave.
When Tim made it downstairs, not really sure what his objective was, he ran into Steph, yelling at Bruce in the kitchen.
Bruce wasn’t arguing with any of Steph’s accusations, which was…weird.
It was Cass who spotted Tim first, swooping over and asking, “Up?”
Bruce and Steph froze mid fight, watching Tim for his answer. He didn’t especially want to say yes, but Jason might be coming and there wasn’t anywhere safer than being in Cass’s arms if that was the case.
It was Selina who made it to the kitchen first, but Alfred and Jason joined them shortly.
“How is he?” Selina asked as she took a seat at the table, accepting a mug from Bruce.
Oh, Tim missed coffee so much. Especially right now.
“Cold,” Cass said, cuddling Tim closer. “Quiet.”
“Not a huge surprise,” Dick said as he walked in, shaking his head when Bruce raised an eyebrow and taking a seat next to Selina. “He’s been pretty quiet as a cat.”
Dick offered a hand to Tim, and he sniffed the fingers, wondering what Dick wanted. Dick didn’t move, so Tim bopped Dick’s fingertips with his nose, which made Dick smile a little. But he didn’t move any further, so Tim curled back under Cass’s chin, feeling her giggle.
“But we have every reason to believe there’s a human brain at work in there,” Jason said, leaning up against the wall as far from Tim as he could get while still being part of the conversation. “Right?”
“Given the size differences, I should think it’s technically a cat brain,” Bruce offered. “But Tim’s mind.”
Tim tried very hard to not picture human sized brain leaking out of his cat ears. Thanks, Jason.
“We could always ask Tim,” Steph said glaring at Bruce.
“We did,” Selina said. “Down in the cave. Although, to be fair, with him mostly nonverbal, our answer is still mostly assumption.”
“Technically, we asked Damian’s cat, Precious,” the emphasis Dick put on the name made Tim squirm, “if he was Tim. Not how human his mind was.”
“While I am, generally, in favor of a certain level of pedantry,” Alfred said, handing some juice to Steph and Jason, “I think that is a difference without distinction.”
“Depends,” Dick said, accepting his own glass of juice. “If Tim’s only sometimes aware, that could be a different situation.”
It was hard to decide if it was better or worse to be stuck as a witness to this conversation with no voice. On the one hand, Tim was getting everyone’s opinion and couldn’t give himself away as easily.
On the other hand, if they started guessing correctly, he couldn’t distract them and lead them astray.
“Let’s assume there’s a majority of time where Tim knows he’s Tim,” Bruce said, which was exactly what Tim didn’t want. “Given how much work he was able to do, even while in a cat body. And how regularly he was able to keep up the illusion that he was just busy.”
“His awareness of the household, and what was happening to him, does seem to suggest he knew what was going on,” Alfred offered. “Given what he disliked and fought, and what he rather meekly accepted.”
Tim could see Bruce considering this. Jason looked uncomfortable, but was looking to Bruce for confirmation. Which was fair. Jason hadn’t been around for most of Tim’s fits.
“It would make sense,” Bruce agreed. “Tim?”
Not really sure what question Bruce was asking, Tim shrugged. It was a little weirder to do as a cat, but the message seemed to get across well enough.
“You can understand us right now?” Dick checked. “You know what we’re talking about. What we’re saying?”
It was harder to answer Dick, but Tim gave a little nod. And then, because something was still wrong with this cat body, he buried his face in Cass’s neck. She cooed and hummed, rubbing his neck and swaying back and forth.
It was…nice.
“He had difficulty moving when I first found him.” Tim froze as he heard Damian’s voice cutting through the room. “He still does, sometimes. And he acted inconsistently in ways a cat normally would. It may be Drake’s mind,” Tim’s last name had Damian’s usual coolness, “but he is not immune to the instincts of his form.”
“He does really like getting petted,” Jason agreed. Tim wasn’t looking so he couldn’t be sure if Jason looked as uncomfortable as he sounded.
“Which just leaves the question,” Steph was about half a second from punching someone if her voice was anything to go by, “why didn’t you tell anybody?”
Tim pressed deeper into Cass’s neck, whining against his better judgement. She soothed him for a second, but then said, “You need to answer.”
She peeled him away from her neck, poking to get him to face Steph. Which, nope, not gonna happen. Steph hadn’t even been around for most of this. Tim didn’t need to explain himself to her.
“Tim?” Bruce asked.
So few words, but it was, again, a dozen different questions.
And Tim had gotten good at lying to Bruce, but he’d never gotten good at ignoring him. Working around him. Hiding things from him. Sure, Tim had even outright disobeyed.
But when Bruce wanted answers, Tim always wanted to say…something.
So he couldn’t help that his gaze went from Bruce, searched the room, spotted Damian, and he shoved his face under Cass’s arm.
There was a quiet, “Oh,” from Dick, and a garbled grunt from Damian.
“That is a stupid—“
“Damian,” Bruce sighed. “That’s not…”
He couldn’t say it. Everyone was thinking it, but even Bruce couldn’t say, “It’s not unreasonable that Tim didn’t trust you.”
“I’m with Damian,” Steph said. “Not telling anyone because Damian was the first one to find him was a fucking stupid reason to lie about being turned into a cat.”
“He’s very cute,” Cass offered, holding Tim out towards Steph. “Forgive him?”
It was a little confusing that Cass wasn’t more upset about this.
But then, even if Cass couldn’t read cats very well, she did have a good read on people. Tim was curious now, what exactly she saw when Tim and Damian were in the same room together.
Steph was frowning, her arms were crossed, her eyes were narrowed. Tim had no idea what face Cass was making, but after a few moments Steph softened, reaching and taking Tim. He squirmed a little, but decided to stop fussing when Steph pretty immediately let him curl up on her lap and she started stroking his head.
“Why,” she sighed, “are you always like this?”
Tim hummed, pressing against her fingers. As frustrated and she sounded, her strokes were gentle.
“So now what?” Jason demanded. “We’ve got a magic cat. Have you contacted anyone?”
“Zatana,” Bruce said. “She won’t be able to get here until later today, but given that this has already gone on so long and Tim doesn’t seem to be in physical distress, I wasn’t comfortable insisting that it was an emergency. Just urgent.”
Dick was glaring at Bruce as he reached out to let Tim sniff his fingers again. When Tim brushed against them, Dick started scratching around Tim’s ears. “He’s been like this for almost a month. You don’t find that important?”
Bruce made a face, but it was Alfred that said, “Given that we do not have a problem that only Tim as a human can resolve, whether or not we consider the matter important, it is unlikely that Zatana would consider it a true emergency. And given that we want her help, it would be wise to be reasonable about how we ask for it.”
Dick grumbled something, but even Tim couldn’t make it out, so it was probably mostly nonsense.
“What about the Bowman case?” Damian said. His tone was as sharp as Tim had ever heard it. “Drake was supposed to be working on it, and we are almost out of time.”
“Barbara has been reviewing the data that Tim retrieved,” Bruce said. “I don’t know that she’ll be able to find what we’re looking for before he leaves, but even if we can’t help with the arrest, we can still pass along our findings.”
“I doubt he’ll be leaving too soon,” Selina offered. She waited until Bruce was looking at her to add, “He’s missing some pretty important valuables, and I don’t think he’ll leave Gotham without them.”
“Valuables?” Bruce repeated.
“Valuables you just happen to know the location of?” Dick asked, almost smiling. He’d moved from scratching Tim’s ears to under Tim’s chin and around his jaw.
Selina shook her head. “Valuables that I thought I knew the location of, but weren’t there when I checked. Everything about Bowman’s visit has been temporary. He’s kept everything from his travel bags to his trash close to hand. I’m guessing someone took them.”
“Someone like you?” Bruce asked, not quite delicately.
Selina shrugged.
Tim—well he couldn’t frown with this face. But he had a thought. A, “No, not that,” thought.
He meowed, looking at Bruce, twitching his tail.
“You know who?” Bruce asked.
Tim shook his head, stilled, then shrugged.
The magic had hit Tim while he was spying on Bowman. Bowman wasn’t a magician. There was nothing in his apartment to suggest it, or Selina would have brought it up. But Tim had been hit with magic, in costume, while he’d been too close to Bowman.
By someone who hadn’t followed up by making more trouble along Tim’s usual patrol route.
Accomplice, Tim thought. Had to be.
Maybe they had been after Bowman’s stuff from the get go. Maybe he’d tried to stiff them. Babs would have a better idea of how much money Bowman actually had to burn.
Regardless, the odds of Tim’s probably being related to the case were too high.
He sat up in Steph’s lap, batting at his own head and chest, staring at Bruce and willing him to understand.
There was mostly confusion from Batman. Which made sense. He didn’t know where Tim had been targeted. Damian had found Tim somewhere completely different.
“I found Pre—Drake at a building not far from Bowman’s one of the first times he went missing,” Damian said, the words coming almost through his teeth. “There is little reason for him to investigate such a location, at such a time, unless something happened there.”
Tim watched the pieces click.
“Any signs of magic in Bowman’s residence?” Bruce asked Selina. She shook her head.
“Do you still remember the location?” Dick asked Damian.
“Yes.” He rattled it off, deliberately not looking at Tim.
“I can check it out,” Jason offered. “That area of town is close to my turf. Haven’t heard a lot of rumors of someone using magic, but I haven’t been checking for them.”
“Take Steph,” Bruce said, adding, when Jason nearly growled, “if they’re still in the area, they may be watching Bowman’s. Two sets of eyes are safer.”
“They’ve probably gone to ground,” Selina offered. “If they stole from their employer.”
“Having a lookout doesn’t hurt,” Steph said, scooping Tim up and dumping him on Dick’s lap. “Then I can carry you back if you get turned into a cat too.”
“Unlike some people,” Jason grumbled, “I pay attention to my surroundings.”
But he didn’t complain as Steph followed him out of the room, teasing him about having a little white mark on his face if he did get transformed.
“If Babs is working on the data, I can start going through security footage,” Dick offered. “As long as Damian found Tim the same night he was transformed, we’ve got a rough timeline to work with.”
It was sort of a question, so Tim nodded up at Dick, who smiled down at Tim. Sort of a sad smile though.
“Work,” Cass reminded Dick.
He shrugged. “I can call in. Family emergency.”
“I can help,” Cass said, poking him. “You do your job.”
“We can all work on surveillance,” Bruce said. “There’s plenty of footage to review. Dick can stay or go as he sees fit. Selina…”
“I’ll check my contacts,” she said. “See if any of the stuff Bowman was carrying is already in transit. I doubt it, but things move fast in this city.”
“Thank you. Damian,” Bruce hesitated. “Would you be willing to work with Selina, and then check and see if Bowman has reported anything as stolen?”
“Certainly, Father.”
Tim thought Selina gave Bruce a look, but she was moving and herding Damian too quickly for Tim to be sure.
“Are you planning on having Tim help with the search?” Alfred asked.
Bruce looked at Tim. “I don’t know…”
“Breakfast,” Cass said, pointing at Tim. “Then see.”
Tim growled a little. He was just fine, thank you very much. He could help with his own case.
“Breakfast first,” Alfred agreed. “For you as well, Bruce. Then you can help Dick with going through the footage.”
“Wait,” Dick said, “what’s Tim having for breakfast?”
He side eyed the bowl on the floor near the counters.
“Given that he is, in fact, still in a cat body, Tim will be eating the same food he has been,” Alfred said firmly.
“Oh Timmy,” Dick said mournfully, cuddling Tim closer.
Tim squirmed. It was fine. It wasn’t that bad, and he was used to it now. He would be glad for it to be over, but the last thing Tim wanted was to have stomach problems while he was still cat shaped.
Some horrors just didn’t need to be experienced.
“We’ll make sure he gets his favorite foods once Zatana changes him back,” Bruce said, walking over to pet Tim’s head a couple of times. “Is that okay?”
Tim shrugged. At this point, it didn’t really matter all that much to him.
Dick insisted that Tim stay in the cave with Dick, Bruce, and Cass while they went over security footage. There wasn’t a clear shot of the roof, so they were having to make do with footage from the surrounding buildings, but at ground level. It was slow going, eliminating potential perpetrators by tracking them to other places.
It didn’t help that they didn’t have an exact time for Tim getting hit since he’d approached from the air, and Red Robin didn’t show up on any cameras at all.
“Is that Tim?” Dick asked at one point, catching a shot of a cat moving away from Tim’s roof.
The cat tripped over its own feet and Tim buried his face in Dick’s stomach.
“I think we can assume yes,” Bruce said quietly. “That gives us a better idea of a timeline.”
Dick patted Tim’s head consolingly, but Tim kept hiding. He didn’t really want to watch them hunt down a clumsy cat on the monitors, and besides, the screens hurt his eyes.
Tim could be mindful of his health. When it suited him.
Eventually, Dick did leave for his job. He made sure to pass Tim directly into Bruce’s lap though, telling Tim, “It’s cozier here than on the floor.”
Tim had been planning on the desk, actually, but Bruce didn’t complain and did make an effort to rub Tim’s ears as Bruce was working, so this was probably the better option. He avoided looking at Cass though. She kept trying to boop Tim’s nose whenever he looked over.
Eventually Steph came back, cheerfully informing Bruce that yes, she’d helped Jason, and yes, she’d also been to enough school to “basically count, it’s fine.”
Bruce sighed, but didn’t say anything else as Steph swooped in and scooped Tim up, announcing, “Seriously, he spends too much time down here already. Just let us know when Zatana’s here.”
Tim made a tentative attempt at protesting, but Steph just cooed at his disgruntled noises and Tim didn’t need more of that.
“You getting much off him?” Steph asked when Cass followed them up the stairs.
Cass shook her head. “Cats are Damian’s specialty. He doesn’t move like Tim. Much.”
“I guess not.”
Tim made a more determined attempt at escape once they were upstairs, but didn’t get very far. Steph’s no nonsense, “If you scratch me, I will brick you again,” was a real threat, one that earned a scolding poke from Cass. “What? He’s just gonna run away to his room and do Cave stuff on his computer. You have to be firm with him.”
“He’s right there,” Cass said, pointing.
“Oh, I know.”
Steph was definitely still pissed that Tim hadn’t tried to tell her. Which wasn’t fair. It had been hard to get away from Damian, and Tim had been sure he could take care of things, at least at first. He’d thought about going to Steph, but it wasn’t Tim’s fault that initial trek would have been so dangerous.
And what would Steph have done? Told Bruce?
Alright, if he was being perfectly fair, she probably would have told Babs, and Babs could, in theory, be bribed and persuaded into getting Tim help without telling the whole world what had happened.
But Tim had been handling it!
They took him to the kitchen, setting Tim down on the windowsill closest to the table, in the window with the best view of the kitchen gardens. Cass offered her fingers and asked, “Scratches?”
And what, was Tim supposed to refuse? He curled up, but stretched his head out, and Cass went to work around his ears and face, humming thoughtfully.
“You’re spoiling him,” Steph pointed out.
“He eats cat food,” Cass was grinning. “Needs consolation.”
“Do you mean consoling?” Steph smiled as she handed Cass a glass of water.
Cass sipped before she answered, “Both.”
Steph cackled as Jason said, “Technically they’re the same in context.”
He had spoken to Steph, but he made sure to cross into the kitchen and not look at Tim as Jason got his own water.
“One’s a noun,” Steph countered.
“Other’s a gerund,” Jason shot back, still not facing them. “In context. Same thing.”
“Neeerd,” Steph was definitely trying to provoke him, and Tim would have been more worried about it if he wasn’t so busy trying to excavate his brain for whatever the hell gerund meant.
Cass rubbed a bit harder right between Tim’s ears, and he pushed into the pressure, purring a little.
“So what’d you find?” Jason asked Cass, his gaze focused firmly on her face.
“Tim,” she said. “Pieces of his path. No pictures of perp yet.” Jason hmmmed and Cass asked, “You?”
“Not much,” Jason admitted. “Rumors of rumors. Usual stuff, little wannabe cults, the youths getting into ‘the arcane,’” his tone made the air quote extraneous, but what was Jason if not extra? “Garden variety city witches who mostly run rooftop gardens and keep bees and shit. Make nice lotions,” he added.
“But no sorcerer?” Cass sounded almost tense.
“Not that anyone was willing to give up.”
“So either an out of towner that no one knows,” Steph said, “or someone people are willing to protect.”
“I’m leaning toward the former,” Jason said. “Red’s one of the more popular Bats, near Crime Alley. Not that any of you are like, admired,” he added at Cass’s grin. “But he respects the boundary and people know he lends me a hand sometimes, and hasn’t turned me in or chased me around. Can’t imagine if someone went after him I wouldn’t hear something.”
“Makes sense,” Cass agreed. “So now what?”
“We wait for Zatana,” Jason shrugged. He still wasn’t looking at Tim. “Once she gets this sorted out, we see what Timber has to say for himself, and work from there.”
There was less accusation in the tone that might normally have been present, but more warning, Tim thought.
Which was fucking hilarious. Jason was the one who had decided to pull a prank on Tim in the middle of patrol, and to get Damian involved. If he thought Tim owed them anything, he was hilariously off track.
But then again, Tim wasn’t going to say anything. Not unless it was necessary. Selina might have ruined his original plans, but Tim could still get revenge.
And it would be so, so sweet.
Chapter 11
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Zatana looked at Tim, looked at Bruce, looked back at Tim, and sighed. “Weeks?”
“Weeks,” Bruce confirmed. “As far as we can tell, there was no switching back, not even temporarily.”
“And you didn’t contact any of the many talented magicians that you know before now because?” Zatana was rubbing her forehead in the way that a lot of League members did when one of their team was involved.
“He decided not to tell anyone,” Jason wasn’t quite sneering.
But Zatana’s tone was pointed when she replied, “I wonder why.”
“A transformation like this is easy enough to reverse,” Damian was rigid, standing back and next to Alfred, arms crossed, legs braced apart for maximum balance. “I trust you can handle it.”
“Damian,” Dick sighed.
“It shouldn’t be too hard, no,” Zatana said, but her tone was cool.
Tim held very still as she examined him, fighting every instinct to sniff at her or twitch his tail, even as she muttered and magic swirled around him.
She cast a spell three different times, Tim’s eyes well and truly blinded, but nothing else seemed to have changed.
“Well that’s odd,” she muttered.
Tim felt his stomach drop.
“Odd?” Bruce repeated.
But Zatana didn’t answer. There were several other short phrases, and then Zatana was picking Tim up, investigating him with her hands, continuing to mutter short phrases. The lights were smaller, less bright, and they tickled a lot more.
Finally, Zatana put him down with a sigh.
“Well, the spell itself is fairly simple,” she offered.
Tim lifted a paw, stared at it, then stared back up at her.
“Then why is he still a cat?” Steph demanded.
“Because sometimes simple spells can be the most effective,” Zatana said, stroking Tim’s head. Which was annoying. Tim did not need to be treated like a pet. He did not. “The caster wanted something that would hinder the target, but not be too inconvenient. Discomfort or frustration mean willpower exerting against the spell. Tim isn’t sufficiently inconvenienced or frustrated, so he’s not working against it.”
“Okay,” Steph drew out the word. “But like, it is inconvenient. And he wants it off.”
“No,” Zatana said, “he doesn’t.”
Um, yes, yes he did. Tim definitely wanted—
“Pretty sure he’d rather be a human,” Jason said. “Hence us calling you down here and him being all cooperative.”
“Maybe he does a little,” Zatana said, “but whatever his thought process, it’s working with the magic, not against it. Not even just being neutral.”
“What?” Steph’s voice was the loudest, but she was hardly the only one who said it.
Zatana sighed. “I’m not a mind reader. But, mostly likely, he got used to this. You mentioned that he was working, even in this form?” Bruce nodded. “Then, depending on what he’s missing out on, it’s not entirely surprising that he’s not fighting it. He’s been like this for weeks. The spell has had time to settle, he’s had time to acclimate. Being adaptable is a skill I know all of you have, and in this case, it might be working against him. That, and if being a cat is giving him anything that he likes, that he might lose…” she shrugged. “You waited three weeks. Spells that don’t fade naturally have a much higher probability of becoming permanent.”
Well that would have been nice to know three weeks ago. It hadn’t been in any of the material Tim had gotten his hands on for his own research.
He was going to have words with someone after this.
“So…it’s permanent?” Steph asked, her voice almost…floaty.
“Not necessarily,” Zatana shrugged. “But I’m not going to be able to break it, not without seriously hurting him. Not unless his motives and interests change really fast.”
“I’m pretty sure he’d much rather not permanently be a cat,” Dick said, swaying back and forth once. “Knowing what he knows now, I’m sure he’d rather turn back.”
Uh, yeah, Tim absolutely wanted to go back to being a human. He had work to do, and he couldn’t stay like this. The only good things were the enhanced vision and the head pats and the scritches and sun naps and being able to sleep whenever and not having work or school and—
Tim had nodded at Dick’s words, but three more castings of Zatana’s spell later and Tim still had paws and a tail and was making little mewling sounds that were making Bruce anxious and—
“No good,” Zatana said. “Something’s making it stick. I can’t shift him like this.”
“When you say, ‘hurt him,’” Jason began.
Dick’s aggressive, “No,” was mostly cut off by Zatana saying, “The magic is tied to will. I would strongly recommend against making this a contest of wills.”
Thankfully no one made any jokes about who would win one of those. It was Bruce who asked, “What can we do?”
“Make him unhappy to be a cat,” Zatana shrugged. “Otherwise, I can’t promise we’ll be able to undo this.”
“He’ll be stuck like this,” Dick repeated. “Unless we’re mean to him?”
He did not sound thrilled.
Even Damian looked slightly uncomfortable.
“Unless he doesn’t want to be a cat. I’m sure you don’t have to be mean to him to manage that.”
There was a brief back and forth with Bruce for what signs to look for before calling Zatana back, and then she was gone.
And everyone was staring at Tim.
Who couldn’t help but curl up as he glanced between each of them, his tail twitching even worse now.
“He’s happier as a cat,” Dick said, dragging his hands down his face. “Of course. Why not? Who wouldn’t be happier as a cat?”
“She didn’t say happier,” Steph pointed out. “She mentioned he might just be used to it.”
“So what, we make him try and use a grapple gun until he gets so fed up he grows thumbs again?” Jason demanded.
“Better than torture,” Damian muttered.
“Torture was never on the table,” Dick said, pointing at Damian. “Ever.”
“Not traditional torture, anyway,” Jason was smiling again. “I think we could come up with something that wasn’t too—“
“No!”
That was Dick and Steph and Cass and Bruce and Alfred, and Tim felt himself relax. Just a little.
“Grapple gun isn’t a bad idea,” Steph suggested. “Or something like that.”
They spent two hours throwing equipment at Tim and egging him on into trying to get it to work. The grapple got shelved pretty quickly when Tim was able to successfully fire it and got dragged a little by its impact. He couldn’t throw a batarang, but he figured out he could make some really annoying noises by dragging his claws against it. His nose itched like crazy when the smoke pellets went off, but he had a decent amount of fun trying to figure out how much pressure he could exert without breaking one, and then seeing if he could bat one and launch it into going off. He’d been using the computers for a while, so none of those tests posed any problems, even if he was a bit slow.
“I think we need to stop,” Alfred said when Tim had figured out how to start sending messages over the comms by using the line clicks to imitate morse code. “I believe this has become the sort of challenge that counts more as an…enrichment exercise.”
“Fucking Timmers,” Jason growled, still trying to get the scratches out of the batarang. “Get with the program, dipshit. You don’t want to be a cat, asswipe.”
“Maybe he does,” Cass said quietly.
Dick winced and Bruce grunted. Steph looked ready to punch something.
“That is what Zatana said,” Alfred agreed, picking Tim up and stroking his head. “While I doubt the decision is as binary as wanting or not wanting, I do think we should more seriously consider what is appealing to him in this form. Especially things he might permanently lose when he turns back.”
“Carrot instead of stick approach,” Jason nodded. “But like, he’s eating cat food.”
“He doesn’t seem to have much trouble with that, most of the time,” Alfred pointed out. Tim hid his face against Alfred’s lapels. “I suspect the change has altered his tastes. I doubt he will mind giving the cat food up, but if that were sufficient—“
“He might have done something weeks ago,” Bruce said. “Well, we can think about it some more. Now that we know what the problem is, we can work on fixing it.”
“I don’t see a problem with this,” Damian said.
Tim felt almost cold with how quickly everyone stilled. He wasn’t sure that he had heard correctly.
“What?” Jason managed, as Steph said, “Excuse you?”
“Damian, Tim can’t stay a cat,” Dick stepped towards Damian, reaching for him. “Obviously that’s not a viable solution.”
“Why not?’ Damian demanded, nose going into the air. “Zatana says he’s happier like this. We don’t need his help on our cases, there’s no reason—“
Tim didn’t remember leaving the room. Didn’t remember how he got through the door at the top of the stairs, didn’t remember how he’d chosen this particular spot to curl up in, tucked underneath a staircase, the sounds of people calling echoing down the halls, eventually rebounding as meaningless noise into his ears. Tim didn’t remember, and he didn’t care. He just wanted the noises to stop so he could—could—
Not think. He wanted to do anything but think right now. He wanted to think nothing, feel nothing, nothing at all.
It was the rough, “Son of a fucker,” that gave Tim the slightest warning before a light dashed across his eyes, and someone yelled, “Found him!” loud enough Tim pressed even further back against the underside of the stairs.
“Hey no,” someone, Jason, was saying. “None of that. Come on, kid, you don’t want to stay down here.”
But Tim did. He really, really did. If he came out he would have to be a person who was a cat. Or was it a cat who was a person?
Had Tim ever really been human? Was this all some strange fever dream? Some spell that had taken an animal and made them think they were…more?
“For the love of fuck,” Jason growled, and Tim felt the air stir as Jason scooted closer, squeezing as far in as his shoulders would allow and reaching an arm out to scoop Tim close.
It worked, in that it made Tim move. But Tim was agile and the space was small and Jason was big. Whenever Tim got pulled, he lunged and rolled back to his spot, ignoring Jason’s swears and pressing deeper and deeper into the wall.
“Oh, come on,” Jason growled. “You seriously cannot stay down here. Dickie’s already basically crying.”
That did make Tim twitch, but Jason was dramatic and “basically” was a hell of a qualifier.
Tim would have stayed there, cozy and safe forever. But then Jason got clever. It wasn’t like Tim was out of reach, so Jason started scratching, moving back and forth until Tim exposed his face. Then Jason went for the jaw, rubbing his thumb up and back with that perfect amount of pressure to make Tim boneless and—
And the next thing Tim knew, he was cradled against Jason, thumb strokes keeping Tim weak and compliant.
“I fucking swear,” Jason growled, “if this is the reason you won’t switch back, you’ve got a serious problem, dumbass.”
Tim kind of agreed.
He was more grounded, but still lightheaded and dizzy when Jason called out, “He’s right here, assholes,” and suddenly there was a mob around them.
“Timmy, are you okay?” Dick was almost crying, but that didn’t lessen Tim’s irritation at being called Timmy.
“Give him some room,” Steph’s voice was close and there was the sound of bodies moving, like they were stumbling.
“No,” Jason snapped in a tone that said Bruce was doing something. “I’ve got him, back off.”
“Here,” that was Cass, imperious, her fingers gently brushing Tim’s fur.
“I can hold a cat,” Jason snapped. “Do you mind?”
The noise rose as the bickering increased and Tim should have kept track of it, but he just wanted everything to go away and—
There were several sharp claps and everything went silent.
“I think,” Alfred said, no room for argument in his precise words, “that it would be best if we tabled any further discussion until after supper. Tim, would you prefer to eat in the kitchen, or by the back door?”
It took Tim a moment to realized he’d been directly addressed. He ignored the spluttered protests from Dick and Steph, and rolled in Jason’s arms until Tim could point his nose towards the back door.
“Excellent,” Alfred said. “I’ll bring your supper to you back there, and everyone else,” he paused to allow silence to settle, “can go and set the table. Jason, I assume you can handle making certain the food is done.”
There was a moment where Tim could almost swear that Jason hugged Tim tighter, but then he was being placed on the floor as Jason said, “Yeah, I’ve got it.”
“Thank you.”
It was a little odd to have Alfred setting up Tim’s dinner next to Titus and cat Alfred, but it meant Tim got to enjoy his meal in peace and quiet, which at this point was all he could really hope for.
He didn’t think about what Damian had said. It didn’t matter, and it didn’t mean anything.
It wasn’t the whole family that came and found Tim after dinner. Which was good, because Tim was right next to one of Titus’s dog doors, and he wouldn’t have put up with that.
Instead, the only footsteps that padded down the hall after Tim had finished eating and had allowed Titus to curl up next to Tim were Bruce’s.
Which was, by Tim’s estimation, about the third worst option.
But it wasn’t Damian. Small favors.
“Tim?”
Bruce settled onto the floor, crossing his legs and reaching out slightly, letting his hand rest close to the floor. Tim debated how much he wanted to make Bruce work for this, then decided it wasn’t worth it. No reason to punish Bruce for making the correct decision to make everyone leave Tim alone.
With a skip and a hop, Tim bounded closer and nudged Bruce’s fingers, his paws dancing in an uncertain pattern, not sure what to do next.
“Can I hold you?” Bruce asked.
Tim was tempted to say no. This was probably going to be a professional, work conversation, and that would be much easier if Tim were sitting at attention.
But Bruce had asked. And frankly…
For all that he’d been fed, it was still hard to focus. Hopefully being held would make that easier.
Maybe.
So Tim tiptoed forward and let Bruce scoop Tim up, settling him mostly in Bruce’s lap with a nice, heavy hand on Tim’s back.
“How’s this?”
Tim purred, and Bruce cracked the tiniest smile.
His thumb stroked Tim’s neck as Bruce said, “I’m sorry for what Damian said earlier. I don’t know what he was thinking.”
While it would have been nice to say the same, the problem was Tim was pretty sure he did know what Damian was thinking, and it wasn’t that complicated. Damian wanted a cat more than he wanted a Tim. One was infinitely more Precious than the other.
Tim…didn’t really blame Damian. Not for that.
“Obviously, we do want to help you get back to normal. And if there’s anything that is preventing you from changing back…” Bruce’s hand stilled. He took several deep breaths. “Can you tell me? What we need to do, so you feel safe switching back?”
Tim hadn’t missed “feel safe.” That was a concerning choice of words, but unfortunately shaking his head wasn’t going to convey the right message. Tim tried shrugging, hoping the “I don’t know” could also convey a sense of “you’re on the wrong track.”
Judging from Bruce’s increased stillness, it hadn’t really worked.
“I can understand if it’s something you don’t want to talk to me about,” Bruce continued, blank in a way that made Tim bristle on instinct. “Would you be willing to tell one of the others?”
It made Bruce wince, but Tim crawled out and sat up, tail twitching back and forth. He didn’t want to upset Bruce, but it was going to take more effort to say, “That’s not the problem,” and Tim had been right. This was a professional discussion. Not a personal one.
Shaking his head slowly, Tim was still disappointed when Bruce said, “You don’t want to tell anyone.”
Tim shook his head faster, trying to shake his paw in a way that imitated a dismissive wave.
Who’d have thought he could miss his wrists?
“You can’t tell them?” Bruce tried.
Tim offered a head tilt back and forth. Close but not quite.
“Better with words,” Cass said, making Tim jump a little as she appeared behind Bruce. Cass smiled as she added, “He can type. Computer?”
Which meant a computer screen. Although, if he was careful, he could type by just looking at the keyboard. It wasn’t easy since his eyes were so weird, but it wouldn’t be as painful as watching a screen.
“That’s a good point,” Bruce said, reaching but not quite picking Tim up. “Upstairs or down?”
Whichever was closer was fine. Tim’s room was probably closest, so he pointed his nose up as he climbed Bruce’s arm, settling onto Bruce’s shoulder.
It was as nice as Jason’s as a perch.
Once they made it to Tim’s room, Tim made quick work of logging into his computer, having enough practice with his paws to move at a decent clip.
Writing an actual message was much slower. But Bruce and Cass had the decency to keep their complaints to themselves.
not keeping secret dont know why
“You don’t know why you are stuck as a cat?” Bruce checked. “You don’t know what you’re worried about.”
not worried Tim jabbed those keys with more force than necessary, maybe hissing a little. just dont know
Bruce was knuckling his forehead and Cass was watching Tim intently. She was the one who asked, “What do you like? Right now.”
naps Tim could admit that easily enough. It took a bit longer for him to think of other things, to write them out. sneaky people ignore easy listen in pets
He almost didn’t add the last one, but the odds of being called out on it were pretty high since Tim could literally be incapacitated with a thumb.
“And things you don’t like?” Bruce asked when it was clear Tim had finished.
no thumbs cat food eyes weird easy to grab vet nose weird cant type fast damians lock doors heavy weird noises short legs
He didn’t add “technically naked” or “was stuck with Damian.” The first because he’d rather his family didn’t think about it. At all. Tim wasn’t thinking about it, no one else needed to.
Damian was more complicated.
It wasn’t like Tim hadn’t enjoyed any of his time with Damian. It had just been weird. And risky. Tim now knew things that he was sure Damian did not want Tim to know.
And then there was the whole prank thing. Which Damian and Jason hadn’t owned up to. But that was fine, because it meant Tim could handle it himself.
Once he had hands again.
“More dislikes than likes,” Bruce noted.
“He can work around them,” Cass said. “Not impossible, just difficult.”
It was true. But that didn’t mean Tim liked being a cat, just because he could handle it.
“Can I show these to anyone else?” Bruce asked.
Tim nodded.
“Everyone?” Cass asked.
Tim hesitated, but nodded again. He did want to change back. Any help he could get was important at this point.
Notes:
Zatana is not paid enough to deal with these people.
Chapter 12
Notes:
Behold, the Batfam displaying a typical rendition of their respective communication skills.
Chapter Text
Tim ended up sleeping in Dick’s room, Dick not insisting so much as cuddling Tim close and petting him into a melty puddle in Dick’s arms, then just tucking them both into bed.
There was a passive urge to flee, but Tim ignored it. He was tired, and this was the most time he’d been able to spend with Dick in…a while.
“I’m sorry,” Dick murmured at one point, into the top of Tim’s head.
But what did Dick have to be sorry for? He’d been texting Tim, keeping in touch. It was Tim who hadn’t said anything.
He tried to offer comfort, rubbing his head under Dick’s chin and making little merts, but Tim didn’t have much confidence that he’d succeeded at anything other than sounding stupid.
The next morning, Tim rode down to the kitchen draped across Dick’s shoulders. Cass was at the table with Steph, whispering. Jason was doing something at the stove. Bruce and Damian were absent, but it was late enough they’d probably already left.
“You eating in here this morning,” Dick asked, “or by the door again?”
Honestly, Tim would have preferred the hall. But…
But he wasn’t supposed to be comfortable as a cat. He’d been resisting frustration, trying to get his own way. But what he needed was to want to be human again.
Eating in the kitchen it was.
Cass and Steph kidnapped Tim after breakfast and dragged him back down to the cave, where they kept taunting him into performing vigilante skills with paws. By the time Bruce had brought Damian home and found them, Cass could report, “No good punching, but he’s a biter. And can use smoke pellets. And everything on the computer.”
“When did we decide we were testing this?” Bruce asked, looking helplessly between them. Steph was hiding her giggles in Tim’s back, scratching under his chin to stop him from wiggling.
“It’s Tim,” Cass said. “Needs enrichment. Gets bored easily.”
Well, it wasn’t like they were wrong…
“Did you learn anything that will help us change him back?” Bruce probably meant for his tone to be scolding, but even Tim could read the love Bruce had for Cass in the lines of his body, so there was no way she was going to feel contrite.
Cass shook her head as Steph sighed into Tim. Bruce looked between them, then stepped over to scratch the top of Tim’s head. “Well, we’ll keep trying.”
“Yup!” Steph chirped.
“This list is appalling,” Damian said, waving the scrap of paper with Bruce’s typed notes in Tim’s face. Like that made any difference. “It is clearly imbalanced, and in the wrong direction. You’re either lying, or hiding something. Which is it?”
Tim just stared, to the best of his ability, directly into Damian’s eyes. It wasn’t the most effective way to communicate, but Tim didn’t have words.
And he was sort of hoping it would come across as kind of badass. Or at least unnerving and creepy.
He couldn’t know for sure if it had unsettled Damian, but it at least drove him to click his tongue and storm off in a huff.
Tim curled back into the couch cushion, letting himself drift back towards a nap.
They’d assembled everyone and Selina was back tonight, updating the group on what she’d been able to trace.
“It’s not much,” she said, “But my guess is our little mageling didn’t get paid on time, tried to steal the artifact Bowman was going to sell and hock it himself, and got double crossed.”
A spread of photos showed a scene of chaos, things burned and shredded. It looked like the sort of office space that got rented by loan sharks or the like, but only barely.
“That’s a pretty cohesive narrative for twenty fours hours when we’re a month behind on the case,” Dick mused, sounding half impressed, half angry.
“Tim’s been a cat that long,” Selina said, draping over the arm of the desk chair to pull Tim’s ear twice, making him duck under Steph’s arm, “but the theft is recent. And I know my contacts as well as you know yours. Something like this?”
She flicked her fingers in a move that said, “Child’s play,” as loudly as if she’d screamed it.
“But we don’t have a name,” Bruce said. “And the people involved are missing.”
“And we don’t know who has the trinket now,” Selina nodded. “If it’s with the mageling, we can grab him when he tries to sell it again. Even if it’s out of state. I sent you information on the piece.”
Bruce grunted, the most effusive thanks he would offer with all of his kids in the room. Selina’s smile said she knew.
“If it’s not the guy who got Tim,” Jason put in, “we might find the buyers, but we’re pretty much at a loss then, unless he sells to them often.”
“Which he probably doesn’t,” Dick said, “given how this deal went down.”
“We follow them both,” Bruce said. “Who knows what other art or artifacts are being bought and sold. And if there’s a magician for hire in Gotham, one who’s willing to target our family—“
“They will be dealt with,” Damian growled.
He hadn’t looked at Tim once since he’d come down.
Bruce sighed. Dick tried to put his hand on Damian’s shoulder, but Damian shrugged it off and stepped away.
They divvied up assignments, and then Selina was politely escorted upstairs by Alfred so they could go over other cases they were working on that evening.
Including the financial matters Babs had pulled from the Bowman data.
“Not as much as I’d hoped,” she said, voice echoing a little from the speakers. “But Tim did manage to get us enough that we have something to send to the FBI. I’d recommend we let him leave Gotham and let them take the case.”
Normally Tim would have offered to get the FBI the data, and then would have kept tabs on the case himself, even after a formal handoff.
It felt worse in that moment than it had before, knowing no matter how much he wanted to, he would be too slow and clumsy to stay involved.
It had been a while since Tim had been this much of a liability.
He hated it.
Babs worked a lot of Saturdays, mostly because, as far as Tim could tell, her day job was an actual break. Saturday’s at Gotham’s largest library branch would be busy, keeping her away from research and forcing her away from the problems that often consumed her.
So Tim was surprised when she showed up at the manor, waving Dick away and actually banishing him, snatching Tim from Steph, and wheeling them to one of the formal sitting rooms Tim liked for naps right now.
“Figured you could use a break,” she said once the door was closed. “I know Steph said she’s been fighting Dick for rights to hold you since they found out. And I’m sure Bruce is hovering.”
Not sure what to say to that, Tim just nodded.
Babs settled them by a window, the view of the outdoors taunting Tim. He’d been very carefully kept close to the house so far, and he knew he’d need to pull another escape attempt if he wanted to get away any time soon.
There were fifteen minutes of silence, Babs not even petting Tim as they just sat, soaking in the thin sunlight. It was…nice, Tim thought. Overwhelming, but nice. He hadn’t realized how much he missed not being known until just now.
“Bruce sent me your list,” Babs said at last, very softly.
Tim looked up a little and flicked an ear. He wouldn’t be surprised if half the Justice League had copies of that list, to try and fix this.
Babs smiled a little. “I know. Big surprise. I just wondered…” She hesitated. “No one’s said what Damian and Jason were doing at your apartment.”
Tim didn’t mean to go completely still. He knew it was its own betrayal. But Babs didn’t seem surprised.
“I checked your security footage,” she said after a minute. “I know bringing Bruce into these sorts of things can be a mess, but given the circumstances, I figured someone should know.”
Tim waited to see if she would say anything else, then shrugged.
He wasn’t surprised. And not just because he’d been there when they’d been planning. Pranks weren’t unheard of, and as annoying as Tim found it, no one had really been hurt.
Except Tim’s beans. But no one but Tim cared about that.
“You’ve spent a lot of time with them, while you’ve been stuck like this. It must have been…disappointing. To be there while they were taking advantage of you.”
Tim shrugged again.
Babs sighed. “Just…I know Damian has put a lot of work into taking care of you while you’ve been…Precious.” Her emphasis on the name told Tim she was aware of all the ironies in it. “And I know you’ve been looking after him too. In your own way. Otherwise you’d have been a lot more difficult.”
That was…probably true. Tim knew how annoying he could be as a human. He could have been a nightmare, especially since no one had known he was human. Even if he hadn’t been looking after Damian, because he really hadn’t, he’d at least not caused too many problems.
Mostly.
The Bowman thing didn’t count.
It was redundant, but Tim shrugged again.
“Damian wasn’t on the list,” Babs said. “His lock was. But not Damian. He wasn’t one of the things you disliked about being a cat.”
Well shit.
When she put it like that…
“I don’t know if Bruce has noticed yet,” Babs said. “Or if he will. But Jason’s not on the list either. And even if Bruce hasn’t noticed, I bet Cass has.”
Or she would soon. Words weren’t her forte, and cat body language might be strange to her, but she wasn’t stupid.
And she had to already know that Tim—
Tim wasn’t…indifferent. To how Jason and Damian treated him.
He’d tried to be. Sometimes he succeeded. Sometimes they were extra stupid and obnoxious and their opinions meant nothing to him, nothing at all.
Other times…
But it didn’t matter. Tim knew what his place was in the family. Where he was useful. Where he fit in. Who he got along with.
He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t unhappy. Not so much he’d rather be a cat.
And Tim had been right! Now that Damian knew that Tim was “Precious,” he’d lost all interest. Even if Tim had liked Damian and Jason’s attention, it hadn’t been real. So he should be all back to normal and human now.
Right?
Babs moved slowly, so Tim let her start petting his head. Gentle strokes, letting the words sit awkwardly between them.
“I just think,” she said after a minute, “that maybe this isn’t really about you being a cat. Maybe it’s about you being home.” She let drop into Tim’s stomach, sinking into a lead weight before she added, “It’s been a long time, I think, since you really came home.”
Tim was not thinking about that. Tim liked his apartment, and his freedom. He was a great vigilante and he came for family dinners as often as anyone else did. There was nothing wrong with him that had anything to do with coming home.
Nothing. Ever.
It wasn’t until he stopped, half an hour later, that Tim realized he had started purring after Babs had spoken.
The consequence of letting Babs steal him for an hour was that Dick and Steph got into an actual shouting match about which of them had the right to babysit Tim next.
Babysit. They weren’t even being subtle about it.
Which made it easy for Tim to decide to slink away, padding up the stairs to escape to his own room. Maybe he would try getting out of the house later today and doing another daytime patrol. Just to keep an eye on things.
And to remind everyone that he was not beholden to any of them.
Except Alfred. Alfred was doing a great job of feeding Tim, and Tim really appreciated that. Even if he still hated the cat food.
He was stepping onto the second floor when he noticed Damian sitting at the top of the stairs, listening to the fight below—Bruce had come out and was trying to mediate and hoo boy that was going…poorly—but also staring at Tim as he crept towards his room.
Tim’s idiot cat brain, which even after a month still sometimes snuck up on him, froze, then tried to melt their body into the floor. Like that would actually stop Damian from noticing them at this point.
Stupid, stupid cat brain.
There was a painfully long stare before Damian turned away.
Tim was ready to take it as a mercy and flee, but then Damian said, “You didn’t tell them. Why we were there.”
And Tim…
He’d just had—had tried to avoid—this conversation with Babs. He did not need to be thinking about it right now.
And since he couldn’t vocalize, and Damian had remembered that and was watching for a reaction out of the corner of his eye, Tim just shrugged, again, and kept walking.
Damian clicked his tongue, but didn’t follow.
Which was exactly what Tim had expected, and wanted, dammit.
Tim was strategically retreating to his room. He wasn’t moping, and he didn’t want company.
Especially not Damian’s.
Tim should have expected, after Damian had had the audacity and sheer nerve to bring it up, that Jason—who was as shameless as he was tall—might pull a similar trick.
But Tim was lured into a false sense of security by Jason not appearing in the manor at all on Saturday, and not being reachable on the comms either. This happened often enough that no one was really worried, but it clearly ticked Dick off.
“We need all hands on deck right now,” he grumbled as he got ready to head out Sunday night. “I have to go back to Bludhaven tomorrow and—“
“Tim’s a cat,” Steph said, kicking the back tire of Dick’s bike as she walked past. “Yeah, we noticed, dumbass.”
“He can type,” Cass pointed out. “Short hands, extra paws.”
“The computers can’t be good for his eyes,” Bruce said. “We don’t know how injuries will impact him once he switches back. We should be careful—“
“Yeah, yeah.” Steph flung herself into the Batmobile and slammed the door shut behind her.
If it had been anyone else, Damian would have kicked the door and demanded the front seat. But since it was Steph, he just grumbled a few times as he crawled into the back.
Once they had all roared out of the cave, Tim stretched until he had Alfred’s attention and then very deliberately headed for the stairs.
“I trust you are going up for an early bedtime,” Alfred called after him.
Tim just twitched his tail a few times and ignored Alfred’s sigh.
“If you come back filthy again, I will bathe you.”
Tim knew his meow wasn’t petulant or plaintive, and he hoped Alfred was smart enough to know the same.
At least Alfred wasn’t going to stop him.
It was as long a trek as ever to get from Bristol to Tim’s stomping grounds, but it felt good to be back.
There were noises and smells, people coming and going, the flow of foot and car traffic stopping and going in bursts. Tim couldn’t make out all the colors of the stop lights, but following the right people kept him safe enough as he wandered.
He got pets from giggling drunks and gentle shooing noises from bemused store owners who saw him poking his nose through their doors. It wasn’t quite as familiar at this height, but it was close enough and Tim—
They knew. His family knew who he was and what had happened to him. They didn’t know where he was at this exact moment, but he didn’t have the fear he hadn’t realized he was carrying. That something could happen. That he could just disappear and they…they’d have no idea, no clue where to start figuring out what had happened to him.
He couldn’t fight crime like this, but he could make noises standing next to suspicious figures, warning people nearby that they were being followed or watched. He could slip through shadows to follow people who swerved off regular paths, making sure they weren’t causing trouble. Or that they got where they were going safely.
It wasn’t much, but it left Tim with a sense of confidence. Several hours in and he was ready to start heading home, but he hadn’t been useless. He’d even have some notes to add to the database, just small stuff that might be helpful later on.
He was cutting across a quiet street, mostly high-density residences with first level store fronts that were only open during the day, when he heard a mechanized growl.
“Are you fucking kidding me.”
The stupid cat part of Tim’s brain decided to turn around and investigate instead of immediately fleeing, so Tim couldn’t move fast enough to avoid being scooped up by a gloved hand, held by his scruff in front of a red mask and black domino.
“Are you actually shitting me? What the hell, dumbass? And don’t pretend it’s not you. I know what you look like by now.”
Tim hadn’t realized there was anything about him that was especially distinctive. Although maybe he still walked funny. Who could tell?
Apparently Jason could, and now Tim was being bundled into the Red Hood’s jacket, a litany of disparagements on his intellect and self-preservation keeping Tim company as they rounded a corner into an alley, turned a corner into another one, and Jason threw a leg over his bike.
But instead of driving, he just sat there and growled, “It has been barely forty-eight hours and you’ve already lost him. Are you delusional, or just are there just no functioning brain cells left in your head?”
The traitor.
Tim tried to get out, but Jason’s arm was thick and strong, he had gauntlets that rendered Tim’s claws worse than useless, and he started stroking Tim’s jaw like he had some right to.
“Yeah, well he’s definitely not in the cave because I have him right here in Crime Alley. So maybe rethink that one, Batman.”
There was a moment before Jason, in a voice that actually sounded betrayed, gasped, “You let him. Al—Agent A, he’s tiny. He could, like, get eaten. You can’t just let him run around wherever!”
Tim meowed in protest. He had never once come close to being eaten. That was just slander.
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you. But I’m on my bike and I don’t have anywhere to put him. Yeah, I’ll give O my location. Just come pick up your damn ki—tten.”
He stumbled over the last word enough Tim stopped struggling to look up.
Jason looked down, expression impossible to pin down behind the mask, and growled, “Of all the stupid things—are you trying to get killed? Or kidnapped? You wanna end up at a shelter? Baby brat’s annoying, but he’s way better that that option.”
Tim looked away and scrunched his nose in a deliberate sniff.
Jason snorted.
“Your funeral,” he muttered.
Which was just annoying enough that Tim twisted around and smacked a paw against Jason’s chest, glaring up at him.
Jason stared for a moment before breaking into a laugh. “Yeah, okay, fair. But like, you do remember that I ended up dead because I was an overconfident dumbass. Right?”
Jason had ended up dead because the Joker was a terrible person and the world wasn’t fair.
But yeah, also because he was stupid and overconfident. There was maybe a lesson to be learned from that.
Except no villains in Gotham targeted cats. And if Selina found Tim the worst she’d do is send him to Bruce.
Which, oh look, Jason was doing.
The batmobile rumbled to a stop nearby and Jason left his bike, switching to carrying Tim by the scruff again, earning outraged sounds from…everyone getting out of the car including Damian?
Weird.
“Not like that,” Damian actually beat Steph and Bruce and Cass, scooping Tim up. “Honestly, even if he is an imbecile, that’s no excuse for you to be.”
“He’s fine,” Jason sounded like he was rolling his eyes. “And I wasn’t the one who let him out of the house to wander these godforsaken streets. Alone.”
While Damian tutted, Bruce offered, “Agent A said—“
“Yeah, I heard him. I still say you’re all dumbasses. Of course he ran to the hills the first chance he had. He literally always does that. How could you have ever guessed it was going to happen? Again.”
Tim hadn’t seen Batman stumped on many occasions, but this appeared to be one of them.
“He’s safe now,” Cass said, leaning over Damian’s shoulder to poke Tim’s nose. “It’s fine.”
The grumbling from everyone else said they didn’t think it was fine, but Tim didn’t care. If they weren’t going to let him go, they might as well let him get in the car, where it was warm.
As if he sensed Tim’s intent, Damian pulled his cape around, cutting out the soft breeze that slipped down the street between buildings. “He’s going to get damp. And filthy. Fog should be coming in soon.”
That seemed to be enough to get everyone but Jason into the car.
They let Steph out close to her place since she had classes the next morning, Bruce muttering some thanks for her help. It was weird enough that Steph tripped out of the car and would have face-planted if Cass hadn’t grabbed her.
“Uh, sure,” Steph said. “Any. Time?”
“We’ll let you know if we get any more information about Red Robin’s situation,” Bruce promised.
“Cooool,” Steph rocked back on her heels. “I’ll, uh, stop by soon. So like, see you soon?”
“We’ll look forward to it,” Bruce said, and Damian’s jaw dropped.
Steph spluttered a goodbye and slammed the door.
Cass giggled in the dark, reaching over to poke Bruce’s jaw. “Good job.”
“Was it really that weird?” Bruce muttered as he started the car.
“Yes,” Cass and Damian said in union.
It wasn’t until they all looked down at him that Tim realized he must have vocalized something as well.
Bruce sighed. “I’ll work on it.”
Cass patted his shoulder as she pulled Tim into her lap. “Very proud.”
Damian actually snorted.
Nightwing was in the Cave when they got back. Which was stupid because he was supposed to head home after patrol since he had work tomorrow and morning traffic would be a nightmare.
Damian voiced all of these thoughts, at full volume and with arms crossed and eyes narrowed when he spotted his favorite brother. Dick just smiled at the worry disguised as disdain and ruffled Damian’s hair.
“I just wanted to make sure Tim got back okay,” he admitted, making grabby hands at Cass. “Since he decided to give all of us a heart attack.”
Tim was not up for cuddling, not with that kind of condescension coming out of Dick’s mouth, but he did jump onto Dick’s shoulders, if only so he could bat at Dick’s face more easily.
Dick only laughed.
“Any other developments?” Bruce asked Alfred, pulling back his cowl and wandering over to scratch behind Tim’s ears.
“Barbara believes she may have found a video of Tim from the first night of his transformation. However, it was taken by a civilian that she has already cleared and doesn’t show any trace of the perpetrator,” Alfred answered, the slightest twitch of his mustache suggesting…
Oh please no.
Tim had gone too still, because when Bruce said, “I’d like to see it,” Dick and Damian were both a little too enthusiastic about also reviewing it for clues, in spite of the insult to Babs.
Which meant Tim got to try and disappear into Dick’s shoulders as half his family watched him fall ass over ears onto a fire escape.
“That is certainly how he moved those first nights,” Damian sounded smug, but there was something a little tense to it. “And the markings are correct.”
It was hard to see Tim in the video, given the night lighting and his jerky movements. But there was a clear enough shot for Tim to see that he wasn’t flat black as he had assumed. He had a thin white streak crawling up edge of the shell of one ear, and a little white spot under his chin.
Which, okay. Really? How did that work out? Tim didn’t have any scars or anything there. Weird.
But it did explain Jason’s comment. Maybe. A little.
“No evidence,” Cass said, when Bruce looked like he was about to replay it at Dick’s prompting. “We’re done.”
“Aww,” Dick whined, and Tim bit his ear hard enough Dick yelped.
“Boys,” Bruce sighed.
It was Damian who pulled Tim off Dick’s shoulders, but rather than scolding Tim, he said, “You shouldn’t be surprised. He’s smaller, but he clearly still has all his instincts.”
“Biting?” Dick demanded, letting Cass wipe his ear with disinfectant and clean up the blood.
“We all bite,” Damian said plainly, tucking Tim close. “Todd makes sure we know to use any tactic necessary against a large opponent.”
Bruce looked stunned again, and Dick’s mouth opened and closed a few times in surprise.
“We?” Alfred asked.
“I have trained with him and Stephanie,” Damian said. “I presume he uses similar tactics on those occasions when he spars with Timothy. He is adamant that there is no such thing as ‘fighting dirty’ in our line of business. Which is debatable, but Todd is always sentimental.”
Tim did remember the occasional spar with Jason that had required Tim to use tactics like biting. He hadn’t considered it a kindness since Jason hadn’t held back on being obnoxious, and it was weird to think that might have been intentional but not…malicious.
On the other hand, not admitting he gave a damn did sound a lot like Jason.
Huh.
Tim…should probably think about that.
The truth was…
The truth was Tim was sort of enjoying this. Not all of it. Not all of the time. But if he was being really, really honest with himself…
It wasn’t so bad, being a cat. He could handle it. It wasn’t convenient. It was embarrassing, and a little gross sometimes, and it had been a huge hassle. And Tim was stilling waiting for the other shoe to drop as far as people realizing what had been going on the whole time.
He honestly gotten a lot less ribbing so far than he had expected.
And Damian…
Damian was still angry, Tim knew. He was upset about being tricked, he was probably resentful that Tim had functionally stolen a pet out from under Damian, a thing which no one in the family would have imagined to be possible.
But he wasn’t—He just—
He wasn’t nice to Tim, exactly. But even in his sullenness, he wasn’t as mean as Tim had anticipated.
No one was.
And while an optimistic person might have thought, maybe this whole thing just wasn’t that big of a deal, Tim—
Tim was pretty sure the other shoe would drop the second he had a punchable face again.
Between that and the midday naps and the head scratches, well.
Why not just…stay a cat. For a little longer.
Right?
Chapter 13
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Another week had gone by with Tim trapped in this fur covered prison, and there hadn’t been any progress on that front.
In slightly better news, they had managed to confirm that Bowman didn’t have whatever object he’d been hiding anymore, and that most likely the magician that had cursed Tim still had it. And would try and sell it again. Hopefully soon. In Gotham.
“It’s the most likely market,” Dick repeated, for the eleventh time, everyone in the room ignoring what was essentially a self-assurance. “Right? We all agree on that?”
“If someone says yes, will you shut up about it?” Jason demanded.
Dick stuck his tongue out, his fingers working nervously around Tim’s ears. Tim turned his head to bite at them, knowing it wouldn’t do any damage through Nightwing’s suit.
“We have just as good odds that he left the city,” Damian said solemnly from where he was reviewing some emails Oracle had sent over. “However, the information that we have collected suggests that someone is attempting to make a sale of a magical artifact sufficiently similar to the one we are seeking. This meeting will be worth investigating, if only to collect the criminals involved.”
“Exactly,” Dick said, “That’s what—“
“Mind your fingers, Richard,” Damian clucked without looking up. “Do you want to damage his ears?”
“Yeah, Dickard, don’t hurt Timmy’s ears,” Jason griped.
“Both of you—” Bruce sighed.
“So who’s going to the bust?” Steph asked before the fight could escalate. “We’ve got a drug shipment to bust too, and there’s that stalker we’re pretty sure is going to make another appearance.”
There was a cacophony of sounds as people bickered over their assignments. Everyone, even Jason, wanted to check the artifact sale, which was just weird. It wasn’t like it was that important.
In the end, Bruce took that assignment for him and Damian, supposedly since it was a “fair” way to stop the fighting.
Given the looks Steph and Jason were sharing, he was going to get some serious retaliation for that.
Oh well, that wasn’t Tim’s problem.
Tim’s problem was making sure to leave the Cave before everyone else suited up without getting noticed, because if he waited until they were actually gone, Alfred would have no one to distract him.
He’d almost made it out when Damian caught him on the stairs.
“Drake!” Damian never needed to shout to make his voice echo and bounce through the Cave. He always knew exactly how to pitch himself so he was heard by his intended audience. “Where are you going?”
Which was a stupid question. It wasn’t like Tim could vocalize.
He shrugged and turned to keep moving. If he actually ran it would look suspicious, but he had enough of a lead if he just didn’t slow down—
Tim could outrun Damian without hitting a top speed, but of all people it was Jason who bolted up the stairs, snagging Tim and starting to cuddle him. If cuddling was trying to crush Tim while also rubbing his jaw until Tim stopped struggling against Jason’s massive arms.
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Jason said as he skipped down the stairs. “We know what happens when you sneak off, remember.”
Tim meowed as innocently as he could.
Jason snorted and rolled his eyes.
“He’s just going to try again,” Steph pointed out. “You can’t hold him all night.”
“I propose we put him in containment,” Damian said, pointing towards their cells.
“That seems a little extreme,” Dick said, trying to coax Jason into handing Tim over. “Maybe we can do something with less overkill?”
“It’s Drake,” Damian gestured broadly at Tim.
“He’s got a point.”
“Shut up, Jason,” Dick said, lunging as Jason skipped back, keeping Tim out of reach.
“We could stick him in the Batmobile,” Steph suggested.
“If he promises good behavior,” Cass added, smiling.
That was not ideal, but Tim could probably figure out a way to get the doors open this time. He wasn’t trying to hide his identity, and he had more practice. With the right leverage…
Tim meowed again, even more innocently. Steph gestured happily.
Damian narrowed his eyes.
Bruce sighed. “Fine, he can come in the car.” There were cheers from everyone, which just. Rude. Tim wasn’t a mascot. “Just, be nice,” Bruce said to Tim. “Please.”
Tim could be nice. Tim would be very nice. He would be nice and polite and agreeable and not Batman’s problem as soon as they made it to Gotham.
Just like he was supposed to.
Tim’s plan was immediately derailed when Jason actually asked to get to ride in the Batmobile, offering to take the back seat before Damian insisted on getting shotgun.
Which turned into a fight anyway, since Jason took advantage of being in the car to grab Tim again, working Tim into liquid comfort that came perilously close to drowsiness.
It might have worked if Damian hadn’t argued the entire time that Jason was petting Tim wrong and he should pass Tim forward so Damian could demonstrate. Thank goodness for annoying little brothers.
But also, thanks Bruce, for just sitting there in stony silence, being literally no help and not trying to stop any of the bickering.
They found a spot for the car between Jason’s assignment for the evening and the deal Batman and Robin were going to stake out.
Tim got three separate “stays” from everyone in the car, although Damian’s was the only one that hit the correct tone that made Tim’s cat brain actually stiffen into stillness.
Only until their shadows were out of view though. Then Tim got to work on the car.
There was, technically, a button to open the doors in case of emergency. The Batmobile didn’t even strictly run with a key at this point, and had plenty of functions that were designed to trigger from what was essentially a sleep mode.
But Bruce must have realized Tim was…slightly less than trustworthy when it came to staying put. Which, after five Robins, was probably a good thing for Batman to finally have picked up on.
Still would have been nice if he’d forgotten on this occasion.
The locks weren’t an issue, Tim decided. If he could get the door far enough open, he could manually engage the lock and then close the door from the outside. Simple physics meant it should be easier to shut, even at Tim’s weight.
Probably.
It wasn't easy. But it wasn't impossible either. Twenty minutes after his first attempt, Tim had managed to not only get the door open without accidentally squashing himself, he'd managed to lock the door behind him as he closed everything up.
It was at that point that Tim realized he couldn't get back in the car once he had finished his little…adventure.
Well, hopefully Bruce and Damian would forgive him once he got back.
And hopefully Tim would get back first.
The trickiest part, Tim decided, was figuring out what would make a good lookout that wouldn't get him caught by Batman or Robin. Tim had every faith in his ability to scope out the location of the sale. He even had pretty high confidence in his ability to scale a building or break into it to get a good vantage point. But Batman and Robin would already be casing the place, keeping track of how many people there were and what they were up to. If it had been a younger Dick or Jason or Tim, Robin would have stayed with Batman, occasionally getting quizzed on thing they should be watching for.
With Damian, the odds were higher that Batman and Robin had split up to do their stake out. Which meant there were twice as many angles that Tim had to guess were being covered by unerringly watchful eyes.
He should probably try and get inside. It was simultaneously the best option, and the worst one. Tim had hoped that he could maybe catch the magician that had transformed him, but he wasn't certain it would do any good. There were low odds that Tim would be recognized. And if the man did figure out who Tim was, it was high odds he'd try and kill Tim, plus absolute zero chance that he'd voluntarily change Tim back.
But there was this niggling hope in the back of Tim's mind, that if he could just find the culprit and get close to him, maybe…maybe…
Maybe it would do what weeks of sitting at home hadn't accomplished. Maybe if Tim could just do this one thing, could just be useful this one time, then maybe he could change back.
Realistically, going inside and finding the magician was the worst possible option because there was no logical way that this would fix Tim, and the odds were even higher of getting caught by Batman or Robin if Tim was inside. Never mind how much harder it would be to get back to the car before them.
Never mind that Tim could get stepped on or shot or hit by stray magic or some other stupid thing. That would be just his luck.
Oh well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. No pain, no gain?
It was going to be one of the two, that was for sure.
By the time Tim found the correct building, and figured out where Bruce and Damian were lurking, there were already a dozen or more vehicles discreetly parked on the streets nearby, or driving past and dropping their human cargo. A surprisingly large crowd for the sale of maybe a half dozen magical trinkets, dubiously verified. Bruce would probably be looking into that as soon as this case wrapped up. He did not like metas and magic in his city. Not if they weren't basically family or something.
He was such a liar.
Locating entrances was easy. Locating a cat sized entrance that B and Robin weren’t watching was significantly harder. It took long enough that by the time Tim got inside, things were already getting started, pseudo-auction style, with interested parties having already submitted initial bids.
Tim kept close to the wall, scanning the scene of suits and secondhand jackets, trying to pick out a familiar face.
Babs had only gotten partial shots, much to Tim’s annoyance. He was working with partial color blindness and no small amount of faith.
And he couldn’t just wander the floor, hoping to get a better look. Too high of a chance Bruce or Damian would see.
As it turned out, as much as you could learn about a person from their shoes—and Tim had been taught by all his parents lots of things you could learn from someone’s shoes—you couldn’t really ID someone that way. Unless they were wearing something completely custom and unique, and given how their magician was reacting to money, Tim was going to guess custom shoes were a bit beyond his reach.
The sound of breaking glass made Tim’s decision for him. Batman was making a showy skylight entrance which meant that Damian would be coming in as a silent shadow behind him. Wriggling back out the way he had come felt like the worst kind of defeat, but Tim knew he couldn’t get caught until he got back, or next time they would put him in a containment cell.
He might even deserve it.
For being that sloppy, of course.
He was out around the back of the building when someone burst through an emergency exit. The smart thing to do, Tim acknowledged to the thrumming pain on his ribs, would have been to hide. Or even just freeze.
But no. Tim’s training had had him going for the guy’s ankles before Tim had really thought through the action. And it had worked! The man had tripped, had screamed as he’d gone down, and wasn’t going to make any sort of escape before Batman or Robin caught up with him.
But he’d been moving fast and he was heavy and Tim’s tiny cat body did not appreciate being used as an obstacle.
So Tim would not be doing that again. He was going to make his way, carefully and slowly, back to the car, and get there before anyone had noticed that he’d gotten out.
And no one was going to know he’d been an idiot.
It was fine. Perfect even. A flawless plan.
And then the damn magician bolted out the same door as Tim had almost cleared the corner, leaping for the building across the alley, and Tim—
Well, there was really only one thing he could do at this point.
There were enough dumpsters and random sills that Tim could climb the adjacent building at a good clip, but he was still falling behind, even with as clumsy as the magician was. Which was almost frustrating enough to make Tim quit.
But no, someone needed to stay on this guy, and it would be hilarious if it was Tim who managed to hunt down their target, after everyone had threatened to lock him away and—
A dark shadow flew out of the building and in half a breath Robin had located the magician’s position and was grappling to the top of the other roof, no hesitation in his movements.
Well…fuck.
Tim wasn’t going to beat Damian in a foot race. There were only scoldings and pain in that direction, no victories at all.
But Tim.exe had never run optimized survival commands, and he was already halfway up, and really Tim deserved to be there. At least as a witness. Right? So it was just sensible—from a human perspective if not a cat one—for Tim to follow Damian and make sure he didn’t screw up catching their perp.
So Tim followed the soft sounds of pursuit, the faint hints of smells that were almost familiar now. Not the smell of the magician. Tim didn’t recognize that. But Damian’s smell, warm and sweat and Kevlar and steel. They weren’t always in sight, but it took no time at all for Tim to figure out where they were going. The magician must not have any sort of teleporting or jump enhancing magic because Damian wasn’t even using his grapple after that first ascension.
Ten buildings away, Tim had spotted his targets, dashing across an open stretch of roof. Damian was picking up speed, clearly ready to tackle, when another familiar smell hit Tim’s nose.
Magic.
Cloying and almost sweet, almost sparkling, Tim was screaming a warning before he’d thought the risks through.
Damian heard. Knew, had to recognize, that it was Tim’s feline voice cutting through the dark.
But it was too late.
There was a circle on the rooftop, invisible until Damian’s foot crossed it. Then he crumpled, falling sideways, caught looking back trying to find Tim. He landed hard, not just a thump that quivered through Tim’s whiskers, but a splat and a thunk. And then…
Damian wasn’t moving. Tim’s brother wasn’t moving at all.
“You’re a nuisance,” the magician said, between gasping breaths. “The lot of you. D’you have any idea how much of a hassle it is just to finish a single paying job in this damn city? Fuckin’ animals, all of you, I swear.”
He’d been meandering closer as he was talking, flicking open a baton. Swinging it, idly, back and forth. Warming up as he skirted the circle and got closer to Robin.
Part of Tim’s brain noted that the magician was talking. Like he expected to be heard. Like Robin not moving was anticipated, but not completely debilitating.
The rest of Tim’s brain saw that his brother was not moving and Batman wasn’t here as backup.
So Tim did what he did best.
Flailed like a maniac and went for the eyes.
He was halfway dug into the magician’s skull with his front paws, back legs scrabbling and clawing blindly, when the magician got a hand around Tim and yanked. He got gouges for it, and probably lost some hair, but Tim went flying, fast.
Too fast.
His body was trying to correct, trying to lock his vision and pivot midair. But his human training was wrong, and no one—besides Jason that one time—had tried throwing Tim often enough he knew what to do with himself. He hit the ground, hard, and bounced once, pain jarring joints in ways that were almost agonizingly painful.
“Fucking animals,” the magician growled, wiping blood away from his eyes as Tim struggled to his feet, wincing and half collapsing under his own weight. “You’re the damn red one, aren’t you? The one who was snooping. Fuck all this.”
Tim was inclined to agree, especially when the magician picked his baton back up and took a menacing step towards Tim.
Which was not ideal. Tim was not in a position where he could easily defend himself, and getting beat with a stick hurt even when he did have armor on.
But then Robin made a sound—not dead!—and the magician turned.
Which, fucking of course.
“What?” the magician sneered. “Not going fast enough for you? Can’t wait your turn?”
And honestly, couldn’t Damian have just kept his mouth shut? Yes, getting hit would hurt, but Batman would be there soon. Tim would have been fine. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been beaten within an inch of his life before. He could handle it.
But now Damian was a target again, and Tim—
Tim was a fucking cat. He couldn’t do anything, he didn’t have hands or a comm to call for help or…or…
No. No, Damian was the one trapped in a magic circle. Tim was hurt, but he could move, he could. Just as soon as his stupid cat instincts knocked the fuck off and let Tim move.
The magician swung once, twice, and Damian whined.
Only a tiny bit, because he was a worse martyr than any of them.
But Tim burned. Burned and lunged and screamed because that was his brother and no one was allowed to hurt him, ever!
It wasn’t until the magician was on the ground, limp and quiet, baton flung across the roof, that Tim realized he was looking down at the man. That Tim’s bo staff was in his hand. That his gasping breaths were wheezing through human shaped teeth in a human shaped mouth. He had fingers and elbows and fucking feet and—
And apparently that realization was too much for Tim’s poor newly human body. His knees wobbled and he barely managed to brace himself against his staff as he collapsed onto said knees, just near Damian’s feet.
Damian who was making irritated grunting noises like a pint-sized monster.
“I know, I know,” Tim grumbled, poking at Damian with his staff. No transference of the spell that way at least. Should Tim risk actually touching Damian? Or wait for backup? “Gimme a sec.”
He should probably wait for backup. Batman should be here soon, could call Zatana or John or...somebody. Somebody more qualified than Tim, who hadn’t been a cat a minute ago.
But Damian’s noises were getting more irritated, like he wanted to speak or maybe couldn’t breathe, and Tim knew the staff worked.
So.
“You will tell no one,” Damian snapped, “of this indignity. Or I will kill you.”
“Pretty sure that would be mutually assured destruction, but sure,” Tim said, not willing to fight it. “Is my mask on?”
“Is your mask on your face, touching your skin?” Damian growled. “Do you have brain damage?”
Oh, it was on his face. Weird that after weeks of feeling nothing it would come back and feel so natural Tim would have forgotten. “Nah, just tired. Oh! Hey, B!”
Tim waved a little as Batman landed on the roof, watching the two of them closely. “You were supposed to stay in the Batmobile.”
“When have I ever,” Tim asked, “been successfully grounded?”
Bruce sighed, but instead of answering he asked into his comm, “Oracle, do you have Red Robin’s position?”
Tim heard Bab’s voice in his ear, “Yes, I can see him now. Right next to you and Robin. You okay, Red?”
“Peachy,” Tim didn’t giggle, but it was a near thing. Maybe he had hit his head. “Look,” he pointed at their perp. “We got ‘im.”
“I see that,” Bruce sighed again. “Can you stand?”
“I’m fine,” Tim said, waving a hand. “He hit Damian.”
“He threw you,” Damian was still very angry. Probably because of the magic incapacitation. That stuff was a bitch. No wonder Bruce didn’t like fighting metas in Gotham.
“I’m fine,” Tim repeated, not quite able to stop the giggles this time. “Oh wow, this is weird. I have thumbs!”
He showed them to Batman, hoping Bruce would understand. Would be proud. Tim had done it! He was back to being human!
“Thumbs are a normal and appropriate part of being human,” Batman said, and rude! That wasn’t praise at all. “Do you feel comfortable enough with them that you can grapple down? Or should I carry you?”
“I’m good,” Tim said, swaying a little as he lurched to his feet. “These are my hands. I’ve got good thumbs.”
“I would not trust him to be able to count his fingers, much less use them,” Damian said. “I will carry the magician and—“
“No,” Tim said, almost losing his balance as he spun. “He hit you. You’re not carrying him down.”
“Someone has to,” Damian said. “And you cannot be relied on to carry yourself, so I will—“
“I can do it,” Tim said. “It’s fine.”
“We can—“ Bruce started.
“You’ve been magically compromised for weeks,” Damian hissed. “Father will carry you, and I will—“
“I have hands!” Tim protested. “I can carry things now! I got you out of that circle.”
“Two trips—” Batman tried.
“Barely!” Damian countered. “You can’t—“
“Holy shit, it has been two minutes since you became a person and you are already fighting with the demon brat,” Jason’s voice slid out ahead of him from the shadows. “Calm the fuck down.”
“I can—“ Tim tried.
“You can barely stand!” Damian interrupted.
“There are multiple options,” Bruce asserted.
“For the love of—“ Jason grabbed Tim and threw him over Jason’s shoulder. “Just shut the fuck up and don’t bite yourself.”
And then they were over the edge of the building, falling fast, before a quick jerk and slide brought them to the ground.
“Was that hard?” Jason demanded.
Tim sniffed. “No. I could have done it. By myself.”
Two thunks, one almost silently light, the other double heavy, hit the ground next to them. “Father and I are going to get this man into custody. I trust Hood can get this idiot back to the car in one piece?”
“I can do it myself!” Tim almost didn’t wobble as he waved his arms.
“March, buster,” Jason said. “Now.”
Seriously? He was back to being human, and no one was taking him seriously?
What the hell?
Notes:
He has thumbs!!!
Chapter 14
Notes:
Alright, we have a human Tim and two chapters left. Let's see how many feelings we cna squeeze into the tail end of this story.
Chapter Text
If Jason told anyone that Tim had complained in an incomprehensible stream all the way back to the Batmobile and then was shoved into the backseat, while Jason griped, “Why do you never shut up? You were actually bearable as a cat,” well. He was a lying liar. Who lied. A lot. And murdered people a few times. Who would believe him?
But Tim had multiple witnesses to his woozy stream of conscious ramblings once Bruce and Damian had joined them, and Tim was pretty sure Damian had started discreetly recording Tim, which was just rude. He wasn’t saying anything important. This didn’t need to be documented. It was just mindless, “You know, once you get used to it, cat food isn’t that bad,” and “You’re just jealous because I got to sleep naked on the couch,” or “Now I can take my own baths. In private.”
Just unimportant nonsense that no one needed to remember. At all.
“Does Drake exist in a state of permanent brain damage?” Damian asked Bruce at one point.
“No,” Bruce said at the same moment that Jason said, “Obviously yes.”
“It would explain why after both transformations he was equally useless,” Damian offered.
Tim gasped. “I was a cat. I had little cat paws. Feet? They’re so tiny, Damian. You try walking on them.”
“I know exactly how small your feet were,” Damian muttered. “That does not explain your current state of...” he gestured at Tim, indicating “this” much more clearly than speaking would have.
“He hasn’t had coffee in a month,” Jason offered.
“Coffee,” Tim sighed, then tried to sit up straighter. “B, can you have Agent A—“
“No.”
“B!”
“You’re getting a brief physical and then going to bed. You’ll have a more comprehensive physical tomorrow, and we’ll see if Zatana can examine you as well.”
“None of this prevents me from having coffee,” Tim pointed out. “In fact, you like, owe me coffee, because—“
But as treacherous and dangerous as Tim’s brain was at the moment, the slight spasming of Damian’s face reminded Tim that Bruce didn’t know.
And like, it sucked. That Jason and Damian had broken into Tim’s home and ruined his coffee and lied about it when it suddenly became part of an investigation.
But Tim had decided…sometime, that he wasn’t going to tell. Because it was just…not worth it. Not worth the whining if Damian got grounded, or Bruce’s sulking if Jason stopped coming around.
Not worth the disappointment, if Bruce just sighed and shook his head and did…nothing.
“Because?” Bruce prompted.
“I’ve been a cat,” Tim said, leaning forward. “For a month, B. That’s like, child abuse. You have to give me coffee. You have to.”
Jason snorted, tugging Tim close and that was…weird. But then he was running his hand through Tim’s hair, which was kind of nice, as Bruce said, “Maybe you should see this as a chance to cut back. Since you went a whole month and it didn’t kill you.”
Tim groaned and flopped back, but Jason didn’t stop, just adjusted his hand. Eventually he said, “No external signs of head trauma.”
But instead of pulling back now that the check was complete, his fingers kept up a gentle massage at the base of Tim’s neck, making him hum slightly. It was kinda nice. Which…wasn’t exactly expected. From Jason.
“It is Drake,” Damian offered, like that meant something.
“It is,” Jason agreed. Tim was pretty sure Jason was smiling, but confirming that would require not only opening his eyes, but turning his head, and that might make Jason stop what he was doing.
Not worth it.
They did eventually get back to the Cave and Tim was forced to scramble out of the car to avoid Jason poking him in the side.
“Tim!” Dick called as he was running over.
“Dic—oof!” Tim was lifted off his feet by Dick’s hug, vertigo hitting as Dick spun them in a circle. “Dick,” Tim squeaked.
“I am so glad you’re back,” Dick whispered into Tim’s hair. “So, so glad.”
“Mind his ribs,” Damian tutted. “And he might have a concussion.”
“I do not,” Tim protested as Dick almost dropped him down.
Tim did not, as far as anyone could prove, have a concussion. But he had a motley assortment of bruises, not just across his chest but on his legs and arms. He would probably be moving like a stiff old man by morning, which was…not how he had envisioned coming back into his own skin.
But it was still better than being a cat. Probably.
Cass and Alfred fussed and clucked over Tim’s injuries while Steph and Dick badgered Damian into getting checked. Once Tim reminded him he’d been hit with a baton. Twice.
“I was wearing armor,” Damian grumbled. “I hardly noticed it.”
Tim would let Damian have that lie. But only because they had both made it home safely.
To Tim's eternal shame, he could not convince a single person to bring him so much as a single cup of coffee. It wasn't that surprising, but it was still disappointing. Tim took it as a reminder that he needed to work more on his manip— people skills.
Tomorrow. He would work on that tomorrow. Tonight, he was tired. Very, very tired, actually. And kind of hungry.
"Given that you last ate several hours ago and were feeding a significantly smaller body," Alfred said, handing Tim a sandwich, "it is hardly surprising."
The sandwich was amazing. It was perfect. It was not canned cat food. 10/10. No complaints. Divine. Alfred was the best human.
Tim accomplished getting out of the Cave under his own power, but it was a near thing. Steph and Dick lingered close by, almost reaching to steady Tim several times as he made his way to the elevator. From there it was a short jaunt down the hall, then a face first plant into his bed—his own bed, in his room—and Tim could be done.
At least for tonight.
"Can you breathe like that?" Dick asked, working with Steph to move and roll Tim until they could pull his comforter out from under him.
"Mmf."
Dick chuckled, rubbing Tim's head for a moment. "Welcome home."
"Been here," Tim turned his head just enough to let the words out. "Whole time."
"Except when you ran away," Steph said.
"'Cept then," Tim allowed. "G'night."
He expected to hear them leaving, but that had to be Steph dipping the bed and settling on Tim's right since Dick was still combing his fingers through Tim's hair. He kept waiting for them to move, to talk. Something. But in the quiet, with the gentle attention, Tim eventually drifted off to the sounds of their hushed breathing.
Dick was gone by the morning, and so was Steph. But Cass had snuck in sometime in the night and was doing something on her phone when Tim managed to drag himself into consciousness long enough to peel his eyes open.
His joints were, in fact, stiff and miserable, the bruises throbbing faintly. His eyes were gritty, his neck was sitting wrong, and Tim had a monster of a headache.
But when he made a pitiable whine for coffee, Cass didn't even look away from her phone when she instead dropped a water bottle on his head, ordering, "Drink."
Tim drank, but no coffee showed up.
It didn't show up when he finally managed to stumble his way downstairs either, Alfred insisting on more water until Tim had been examined by medical and magical professionals.
"Not even juice?" Tim asked, picking at his breakfast of eggs and toast.
"Not this morning," Alfred said firmly. "I'll have something more to your liking for supper, however. As long as you plan to join us."
It was mostly a question, but maybe a little bit of an order. Given that Leslie wouldn't get here until after lunch, and Zatana would probably be later than that, Tim decided he could cooperate this once. It would be nice to not have to cook for himself tonight anyway. He needed to go grocery shopping.
That thought, leading him to memories of rotting lettuce and theft, soured his already dubious appetite. But with Alfred watching there would be consequences if Tim didn't finish. Like being ratted out to Leslie. And possibly Bruce.
Better not to risk it.
Tim spent the rest of the morning taking a proper shower and doing light stretches in the upstairs gym. He wasn't having anything like the trouble he'd had when he'd first turned into a cat. But his depth perception was different, and that didn't help the odd feeling of his limbs being too long and too rigid. Cass joined him at one point, and they were trading off assisting on stretches when Bruce came in, calling them down for lunch.
Technically Bruce should probably have been at WE for a few more hours, but he hoped that Zatana would get there about the same time as Leslie, and he wanted to be present for any insights she had.
Which was just rude. Tim would write up a report on anything relevant to their work and update his medical file. If there was anything that needed to be updated.
It was like no one trusted him.
"Cat," Cass pointed out when Tim grumbled about this. "Didn't say anything."
"I had it under control!"
Bruce, Cass, and Alfred just stared at him.
"I did!"
"Not what that word means," Cass smiled, patting Tim on the head.
It was close enough.
Aside from the usual aspersions on Tim's ability to keep himself healthy, Leslie didn't have many notes. There wasn't noticeable muscle loss from the extended transformation, and she declared him generally better rested and more alert and focused than he'd been the last time he'd seen her. Which was a silly comparison because Tim had had a concussion that time, and obviously that would have affected his attention.
She agreed that any lack of balance was more due to the habit of moving a different body, declared his eyes, ears, and nose to be in working order. Which was a bit of a relief. Tim could smell a lot less than he could twenty-four hours ago, and while he hadn't thought there was any sort of damage, it was reassuring to know he was tracking as normal by objective standards.
"Unless he has trouble, he should be good to eat whatever was safe for him before this misadventure," Leslie said. "Frankly, I'm shocked at how good his condition is, overall."
"Damian made sure he was on a regular eating schedule," Alfred noted. "And he spent a good deal of time napping throughout the day. I'm sure we missed periods where he was awake in the evenings, but I think it was a net positive on that front as well."
"I get enough sleep," Tim told them.
No one replied to that.
Zatana arrived before Leslie had left and so the doctor opted to remain for the additional exams, to see if anything came up.
"There's no magical residuals," Zatana said at last. "However he fulfilled the requirements, the return seems to be permanent. If he turns into a cat again, it will be from a new incident, not any sort of recurrence."
"You're sure?” Bruce asked, earning an exasperated look from Zatana, Leslie, and Alfred.
"As certain as I can be," Zatana said. "It was never meant to be a long-lasting spell."
And Tim had never meant to be hit by it. But intention only counted for so much. Tim would make sure to write up some contingencies when he got back to his apartment. He might even share them with Bruce, just to reassure him that Tim could think things through and handle his own problems.
"Thank you," Bruce said as both women moved to leave. "We appreciate all your help."
Both of them were smarter than to offer, "Any time."
Damian was the first one home after Tim's exams. He'd barely made it through the door before he was shouting down the hall, "Is Drake dead?"
"You wish!" Tim called back from the family room, deleting a few more emails.
There wasn't an immediate reply, but when Tim looked up next Damian was already in the room, arms crossed and staring at Tim intently. "I suppose it was too much to hope for," Damian sniffed.
"Thanks," Tim said, turning back to his laptop. "Good to see you too."
The words were sharper than he'd meant. Not caring had often been the best defense against Damian's derisive comments as any time Tim had risen to his bait they'd ended up in some sort of fight that Tim had lost the moment an "adult" had wandered in. It wasn't always a problem now, especially with Tim at his own place so often. But if Damian was in the mood to pick a fight in the first place, that was a poor move on Tim's part, giving him an opening.
But instead of making another snide remark there was an almost…uncomfortable silence. When Tim looked back up Damian was still there, staring at the floor, his jaw working.
"I did not mean—“ A huff. "I presume, since Father doesn't have you strapped to a dozen machines downstairs, that the results of your exams were satisfactory?"
By Damian standards, that was pretty damn nice. And suspicious. So Tim was cautious as he said, "I got an all clear. Bruce is probably still working on the write up."
Which was, again, rude. It mostly wasn't going to include any personal health information. Hopefully. But it was going to be more needlessly detailed than Tim would have preferred.
Damian nodded. "I will read it tonight then." Another pause. "You will be here the rest of the evening?"
"Alfred says I'm grounded if I skip dinner," Tim lied. Well, not lied. Slightly exaggerated. "I hadn't thought about after that. Why?"
"I was curious if you are fit for patrol. And if you intended to join us for the follow up to last night's endeavors."
Honestly, Tim should. The Bowman matter had been his to begin with, the accident with the magician his fault. The loss of valuable data, needing to get the entire team dragged in. Needing Selina's help. They were going to owe her for ages, and eventually Commissioner Gordon was going to notice and start griping about it.
Not an ideal situation to be in.
But then, they so rarely were.
“I’m cleared for patrol, but I’ll probably stay in tonight. Give myself one more day to adjust to having thumbs.” He wiggled them a bit and Damian rolled his eyes. “I’ll be at the debrief though.”
“Very well. I am going to do my homework," Damian announced. "I suspect you will be working, but in case you are not, I am not to be bothered."
"That was one time," Tim said, eyes already back on his emails. "And don't tell me it didn't help."
There was enough silence Tim assumed Damian had left. But then he said, "Yes, it did."
Tim didn't quite look up fast enough when he realized what Damian had admitted to catch a final look at his brother.
But he was mostly sure he'd heard that correctly.
Chapter 15
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Everyone, even Dick, was at dinner that night. And Tim knew he'd gone back to Bludhaven for work that morning. Cass had said so.
But he grabbed Tim off the ground in another hug before sliding into his usual seat at the table, asking Damian how his day had gone and how he was doing on his homework.
Tim noticed Damian was being a bit evasive about his answers, but didn't have time to think about it because Jason had also shown up and was taking a seat between Steph and Cass. He even nodded at Tim, which was…not completely out of character but suggested Jason was in an unusually good mood.
Weird.
There was the faintest chemical smell, almost like Alfred's cleaners. But maybe that was just Tim's imagination.
After dinner they convened downstairs to formally go over Tim's exams and the case.
It was just as bad as Tim thought it would be.
Not the first part. The part where they went over the Bowman matter and how far the FBI had gotten. The part where they discussed future policy to make sure that artifact buyers and sellers were higher on their list of priorities. All of those things went over well. Even Damian's mild scolding for having gotten trapped in a magic circle, when they knew they were chasing a magician, went pretty well. Damian accepted the almost palatable rebuke with a solemn, silent nod. And only a half glance in Tim's direction.
Tim could reward behavior like that. He didn't need to tease and make fun of Damian for being rescued by a cat.
Progress.
But then the notes turned more…personal.
"The fact of the matter is, at no point during this crisis did you seek help, or make a concerted effort to keep us informed once we realized what was going on," Bruce said, his tone unusually soft for such a rebuke. "There were, of course, communication limitations given your physical condition. But you had the means of executing a deception that kept us in the dark, which means you also had the means, difficult as they might have been, to make us informed. And you didn't."
There really wasn't anything Tim could say to that, and habit was a hard thing to break. So he shrugged.
"Tim, why?" Bruce asked, and the question was reflected in the expressions of most at the table. "The moment we realized what was going on we made every effort to help you. Why did you delay that?"
"I had a plan," Tim offered. "I was even going to get help."
"When?" Jason demanded. "Before or after your mid-morning nap?"
"I had a plan the first night," Tim snapped. "I just…” It was incredibly difficult to not look at Damian. "It didn't work out. That's all."
He must not have done a good enough job on the whole not looking thing, because it was Damian who said, "Your plan did not account for my intercepting you. Or being kept…hostage."
"Not really," Tim said. "I mean, you took good care of me. Of cat me. I wasn't like, worried about my safety or well-being as a cat. At all."
"But you didn't feel comfortable telling Damian the truth," Steph said, frowning. "I mean, I kinda get it. You two can really go at it sometimes. But like, why not tell someone else? Me, Bruce, Dick. Alfred. You could have told any of us. You know we'd help you, don't you?"
"Of course you would," Tim agreed easily. "Obviously you would."
"Then why didn't you tell us?" Bruce pressed.
It was such a simple question. It even, in many ways, had a simple answer.
But what had felt right and reasonable those first days, even later into the charade, into the escapade, didn't feel like the right answer now.
So Tim insisted, "I was handling it."
Jason snorted. "Pick a better lie, Timmy. That one's getting kinda old."
"I was!" Tim said, waving his hands. "I knew Zatana was out of town, I was just waiting for her to get back. I was working on my cases and taking care of things. I had it handled!"
"Except for the Bowman case," Steph countered.
"That was—“
"The cases aren't the point," Bruce said, shocking everyone into silence. "Obviously we're grateful for your help, and proud of the work you do. But Tim, you had no idea what the nature of the spell was. What the long-term consequences were. Zatana isn't the only magic expert in the League. Dick, Jason, and I all have people that owe us favors. You were in direct contact with us from the first night. Why didn't you tell us?"
"Because then we would know," Damian said. "And we would ridicule and judge him for the blunder."
Tim glared at Damian, but Damian wasn't looking at Tim. He wasn't looking at anyone.
Jason scoffed, but Bruce only sighed, rubbing his nose. Steph rolled her eyes, but there was understanding in the set of her jaw. Cass was quiet, and Dick—
Dick was looking between Damian and Tim making a face like this was Dick's fault.
Which it wasn't. It never had been. Tim and Damian had always made things difficult between them all by themselves. And Dick had always made an earnest effort to make peace between them.
When he was around.
"All of us make mistakes—“ Bruce started.
"And we all make fun of each other for them," Steph jumped in. "Like, it's a stupid reason, but it's Tim. Ten bucks said it was supposed to be like, two days to sort it out when he was on plan A, and he'd hit plan Q forty-eight hours in and all the original good ideas were just," she flicked her fingers, "poof."
"Is that what happened?" Bruce asked, turning all the attention at the table back to Tim.
"Yeah," he shrugged. "More or less."
There was something like a collective groan from the group, and Tim felt his shoulders creeping up towards his ears. Had to fight the instinct to turn to Cass, sitting next to him, and hide his face in her neck.
Oh, the next few weeks of deprogramming were going to suck.
The meeting wrapped up pretty quickly after that. There just wasn't that much to say to make, "Tim's an idiot and always does this to himself," sound any better.
It wasn't like Tim could just change. He'd been trying, of course. For years. He'd made all sorts of efforts to weed out his inefficiencies and cover his weaknesses.
And it wasn't like anyone else in the family was any better. Bunch of hypocrites, all the way around. Every one of them had hidden injuries and personal drama and plots against their lives. That was just how things were. Sometimes even if something happening was awful, it just wasn't as important as what everyone else was dealing with.
Tim knew that. Bruce knew that.
Hell, even Damian knew that.
So it was more than a little weird to see him waiting for Tim outside of Tim's room, actually fidgeting. Like, scuffing his foot back and forth while trying to glare a hole into the floor or something.
"May I speak with you?" Damian asked, nodding towards Tim's door as a passing effort at politely requesting privacy.
Well, whatever this was going to be about, Tim sure as hell didn't want the conversation to be public. He'd been humiliated enough tonight.
Almost as soon as the door had closed behind them, Damian said, "You still haven't told Father."
"That I was a cat? I'm pretty sure it would be incredibly redundant at this point."
"About why Todd and I were at your apartment."
Tim blinked. He hadn't realized that Damian was still thinking about that. "Seems kind of stupid at this point," Tim said. "It was a while ago. And what's he going to do about it? Tell you off?"
The reasoning didn't seem to be landing well. Damian only looked more frustrated. "You saved—You protected me. From the magician."
"Yes." Obviously. Was that…was that weird to Damian? Sure they didn't get along, but they'd learned to work together just fine. They didn't sabotage each other on missions. What good would come of it?
"You attempted to protect me from the magician when you were still a cat, and you transformed back in the middle of battle. After weeks of remaining in that form, even while working on cases. You haven't told Father about the sabotage, in spite of its relevance to the case against you. You," Damian bit his lip, looking away. "You spent time with me, even while you were transformed. You were agreeable. Affectionate, even," he added in a strange, tight voice. "Why?"
That…was a weird list of things to stick together. Technically they were related, as far as "why" went. But…it wasn't that complicated. "You're my brother. And I was trying to keep a low profile."
"So you let me carry you around and cradle you and give you baths and didn't destroy my bedroom even after I had invaded yours because…I’m your brother."
"I guess, yeah."
It sounded a little silly when he put it like that.
"You are incomprehensible, Drake," Damian was managing to look more frustrated of all things. "Next time you find yourself in such a predicament—“
"If," Tim protested.
"When," Damian countered. "You will tell me immediately. Of course I will oversee your care, given that I am the most experienced with taking responsibility for animals. But there is no reason to deal with such a thing on your own. Given your personal experience with my skills, there will be no reason for you to hesitate next time."
"I know you can take care of pets," Tim said. "That wasn’t—“
He cut himself off, but the thin line of Damian's lips said he had a pretty good idea of what Tim had been about to say.
"Next time," Damian said, fists clenched, words crisp and controlled, "you will tell me, immediately, what has happened. And I will take care of you. Because you are my brother, and I know you would do the same for me. To the best of your ability."
There was something bubbling and bright burning in the center of Tim's chest. There was a moment where he wasn't sure he would be able to answer, but he at least managed a nod. That seemed to unstick his voice too, so he said, "Okay. I'll do that. If," he raised a finger, "there's a next time."
"Only you would be clever enough to steal a man's financial data while trapped in a cat's body and stupid enough to think something like this will never happen again," Damian said as he exited, closing the door behind him before Tim could answer.
Which was actually fine. That had been an honest compliment, from Damian. And he'd called Tim his brother. That was…kind of cool, actually. It almost…It almost made Tim feel…precious.
Steph and Cass broke into his room early in the morning to poke him awake and give him hugs and kisses before they left for the day, badgering him into promising to text, especially if he turned into another animal. Which, rude. Why did everyone in his family assume Tim would end up as a cat again?
Tim made it down as Damian and Bruce were finishing breakfast, and Bruce gave him a hug before leaving, saying he'd be stopping by after work to go over Tim's current case load and make sure Bruce and Damian were coordinating properly on any relevant matters. Which Tim would normally have taken as some sort of slight against his work, but Bruce was offering to bring dinner to Tim's place and go over everything there. Which was…new. Tim would have to think about what that meant.
Dick had afternoon classes that day, so he was just stumbling into the kitchen as Tim was getting ready to leave. In spite of the tiredness, he took a minute to make Tim schedule not one but three coffee/lunch outings over the next month for "visual proof of life and humanity," which. Rude, okay. Tim was not turning back into a cat.
But Tim also remembered Dick and Jason’s grimly enlightening conversation, so not only did he barely protest, he also made sure to schedule one of the meet ups in Bludhaven, so Dick wouldn't have to make the commute. Midday traffic between the cities sucked, but the smile Dick made when Tim suggested it was worth it. Tim even got a quiet approving look from Alfred when he turned to say goodbye.
"We should take Damian to Cass's next recital," Tim said from the kitchen doorway. "I think he'd enjoy watching ballet, and we need to see more of her performances.”
"I'll check my calendar," Dick promised. "And talk to Babs, if we need additional coverage."
That was an actual smile of approval from Alfred as he looked over his shoulder. Tim was winning being a good brother this morning.
He made it back to his apartment building about an hour later, amused at how different the lobby looked from an extra five feet off the ground. The elevator ride was smooth and easy, and Tim didn't hesitate as he pushed his door open, ready to face whatever mess had been left after Jason and Damian had realized that Precious was missing.
The front room was spotless. No dust, no evidence of a break-in. His coffee table was clean, someone had cleaned his couch, flipping and plumping the cushions to hide the divots from where Tim always lounged. There was the faint smell of the furniture polish Alfred liked to use.
But Alfred had been at the Manor the last couple of weeks.
A quick search revealed a bed made with clean sheets, a clean bathroom of all things, and a fridge that had not only been emptied of rotten lettuce, but had been stocked with a few containers of…pre-made meals? There were several more in the freezer as well.
There was also, on the kitchen table, three bags of coffee beans, lined up in a row. Three of Tim's favorites. And a receipt that showed they had been purchased yesterday, in the late afternoon, at the corner store nearest the apartment.
Paid for in cash, but Tim…
Tim had a suspicion about who might have left them.
It wasn't an apology. It didn't make everything better. But that bubbling warmth had come back as Tim stared at the stupid receipt, absolutely not actively trying to repress tears, he was just fine.
And he would have been, but there was a book at the end of the line of coffee bags, a worn paperback with a little note tucked inside the front cover.
With no house to clean and no immediate grocery needs, Tim curled up on his couch, soaking up the afternoon sun as he investigated what Jason had left him. If he ended up dozing there under his window for a little while, no one had to know but him.
Notes:
Fin.
Thanks to everyone for joining me on this little journey. I had a lot of fun writing about cat Tim and his completely inability to do things like ask for help. Or correctly interpret people's actions. Thanks for all the lovely comments from those who left them. They're deeply appreciated. Thanks too, to all the silent readers who keep coming back. I hope you had an enjoyable time.
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