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Bruce's attention was finally drawn from the officers securing the scene, by something nudging his foot, a squeaky little mew releasing that made him briefly think a dog toy had been knocked into it.
He looked down, a tiny kitten clambering onto his shoe as it let out another squeak. Bruce looked around the field, the crowd of attendees thinning out as the night drew on, but still plenty of trampling feet about, none paying any mind to the wandering stray.
He reached down, carefully wrapping his hand around its middle and scooping it up. Its little legs and paws stretched, sharp, dainty claws reaching out at being manhandled.
"You're alright, little guy," Bruce assured, rubbing its face with his finger until it grabbed him, suckling contentedly. "Right, need to feed you sooner rather than later…" Bruce looked around again, but there were no momma cats calling out, and all the circus members were preoccupied with the shocking death of their friends.
The police could handle this without Batman, right now he had someone smaller who needed him. He pulled out his phone, the kitten crying out in complaint as it lost its pacifier. "Alfred, I need you to pick up supplies for a kitten."
"Dick!" Bruce hissed as sharp claws and teeth dug into him.
"I tolerate your language, but calling a kitten that is unbecoming, Master Bruce."
Bruce rolled his eyes, pulling the growing menace off his ankle. It took two hands to wrap around him now, but Bruce could still hold him up in front of him. "Richard, then," he amended.
"Does that mean you plan on keeping him?" Alfred asked tentatively.
"What do you think? Do you want to be a Richard?"
The cat chirped, tail swishing as its legs dangled.
"Do his legs look longer to you?"
"I'd be concerned if they didn't."
Bruce gave the older man an unamused look, which Alfred returned with a knowing smile.
"Do you think he's old enough to get neutered, yet?"
"We can see what the vet says."
"Mr. Haly, come in," Bruce greeted warmly.
"It's nice to finally meet in person."
"Properly," Bruce agreed, accepting as the man embraced him in a half hug, patting his back before stepping back and looking around.
It had already been a year since the circus' fateful visit, when Bruce learned Dick could be related to the late khajiit performers — despite looking nothing like them.
When he reached out, Haly and the rest had been relieved to learn what had happened to their missing little one, but were travelling in another continent. Bruce kept them apprised of how the young dagi was doing, sharing pictures and videos that set their minds at ease, leaving Richard in his care.
"Is he home?" Haly asked.
"He might be hiding," Bruce answered, before calling out. "Dick?"
A soft clinking from above them drew their eyes up to the chandelier, where the young khajiit was perched, watching the foyer from a bird's eye view.
"Hey, monkey. Can you come down?"
Dick looked between him and Haly, behind them to Alfred, before settling back on Bruce. "Catch?"
Bruce stepped forward, holding his arms out, and Dick shifted out of his spot, sliding down to hang from the chandelier. He swung a few times before letting go, legs swinging forward until Bruce caught his ankles, dangling him upside down.
Dick held his arms out above the floor, making a few aborted attempts to sit up, before finally grabbing Bruce's arm and pulling himself up, Bruce shifting his hold as his son sat on his hip, finally looking at Haly.
"He likes to play The Floor is Lava," Bruce explained wryly.
Haly grinned in awe. "Oh, that's excellent practice;" he approved, "dagi like to live in trees."
"You might want to check under the vehicle, cameras showed a kitten poking around earlier," Alfred informed.
Bruce sighed, but got down, pulling out a flashlight and looking under the Batmobile. He didn't see anything, but he got back to his feet, popping the hood and pursing his lips at the cat curled up inside. "Is it warm in there?"
The cat growled, warningly, already bigger than when Dick started shifting toward bipedalism, but still a juvenile.
Bruce was grateful for his armour as he reached in, pulling the cat out despite its violent protests. "I know you're probably cold, and hungry, but I'm not putting you back on the street," he promised, holding the snarling cat at arm's length as he deposited it inside. He shut the door, pulling the duct tape from his utility belt, and did his best to patch up the holes the cat had clawed under the hood, before he could fix it properly in the batcave.
"Fancy seeing you, here," Selina greeted teasingly, hopping down from the fire escape and sauntering over to the Batmobile.
"I need your opinion on something," Bruce explained, arms crossed.
"Oh? Is it shiny?" she smiled, leaning in and walking claw tipped fingers up his arm.
He was reminded that despite appearing to be a bosmer like himself, Selina was just as much a khajiit as Dick, rosettes tattooed across most of her body, and gloves tipped with claws that could cut glass.
He opened the batmobile's door behind him. "I need you to tell me," he said, stepping aside to reveal his passenger, "did I take in a lynx cub or what?"
Selina's eyes lit up. "Look at your paws, so big!"
Jason (named by Dick, since Bruce was no longer allowed naming privileges) stood up, nose sniffing cautiously, but letting her hold his oversized paw on her hand.
"What phases was he born under?" she asked, looking back at Bruce, but he could only shrug.
"I haven't found any matching missing persons reports."
Selina frowned as she rubbed behind Jason's ears. "Not surprising… It's easy — especially for larger furstocks — to miss a pregnancy so small and short. We don't even have periods to track. Next thing you know, you're popping out a kitten, and know by the moons they'll grow up to be hungrier and bulkier than a horse… Gotham really isn't built for that kind of surprise — physically or socially."
Least of all Crime Alley. "He was bigger than Lemur was when I adopted him. I thought he was past the point a khajiit would start showing."
"Well, he won't start walking on two legs, but I'd say you have a toddler on your hands. Probably a senche, maybe even a senche-raht," she informed. "He has a lot of growing still to do."
"I caught on."
"He isn't a housecat, B. Well… not for the shoebox apartments around here… It's like adopting a lion — that talks back. Good luck with the teen years."
Bruce sighed.
"Is he gonna don the cape?"
"He's a toddler."
"So maybe not yet, but he needs exercise, stimulation. Claw dances are very important to khajiit."
"What are claw dances?"
"Traditional khajiiti martial arts. You're good at that kind of thing," she smirked.
Bruce raised a brow behind the cowl. "On four legs?"
"So show him videos, hire an instructor. I'm sure you can figure it out."
"I will."
Selina smiled back at Jason, crouching in front of him. "Have fun, buddy," she bid, stretching her hand out and snatching the air with a playful snarl.
Jason raised his paw, mimicking the gesture with a little cub mrow of his own.
Jason pushed the side door open, carrying his prize in his teeth before depositing it on the floor. "Look what I found outside!"
Bruce entered the room, taking one look at the kitten on the floor, and rushing forward to pick it back up. "Nope! Nooope! This is not your sibling."
Jason's ears fell as he followed Bruce back outside. "I didn't say it was a sibling," he defended.
"We have new neighbours, and we're bringing this one right back," Bruce insisted, marching across the lawns with Jason trotting behind him.
When he rang the doorbell, Bruce guessed he shouldn't have been surprised to be greeted by a teary eyed khajiit couple, gasping in relief.
"My son found this one wandering next door," he pointed to the manor, smiling assuringly as he handed over the baby.
The mother cradled them closely, welcoming her child back in Ta'agra.
"These ones thought Ma'tim was lost or stolen for good," the father sniffled, petting his kitten's head. "These ones just moved to this place, and received many warnings to keep four-legs close."
"But Ma'tim keeps getting out; loves to explore," the mother frowned.
"Well, the little ones seem to gravitate to our place. So if they get lost again…" Bruce pulled a business card from his pocket, handing it over, "let me know — we'll keep an eye out."
"Can we play later?" Jason asked.
"Maybe when Ma'tim is bigger," the mother smiled. "Bid farewell!" she chirped, holding the kitten down to Jason. They made a familiar, squeaky meow, reaching out for Jason as his much larger face nuzzled them.
Bruce looked up as Jason entered the living room, his much smaller older brother riding on his back.
"Take me to the window," Dick asked, scritching the thick fur on Jason's neck. His brother obliged and Dick quickly set to climbing the curtain.
"Dick, stop climbing the curtain."
"Okay," Dick agreed, pulling himself up to perch on the curtain rod.
"Dick."
"What? I stopped climbing!"
"Your turn, Dad!"
Bruce brought his gaze back down to Jason. "I'm not climbing the curtain."
"No," Jason shook his head, "but I bet I can carry you now," he grinned, mouth hanging open excitedly.
"You're getting bigger, but not that big."
"Come on," he complained, "I carry Dick around with no problem."
"I'm elf short, I'm not dagi short," Bruce reminded.
Jason huffed and rolled his eyes. "Then make me a sled; I'll show you I'm strong enough!"
Jason leapt out of the way as one of the curtain rod supports gave out, dropping one end and sending Dick sliding down until he hung under it by his arms and legs, blinking with bewildered innocence.
"That should… do it," Dick said, securing the curtain around Jason like a harness. Behind him trailed the curtain rod, dragging the other curtain Bruce was sitting on.
"Ready?" Jason asked, tail wagging.
"Yep."
Jason pulled forward, the curtains stretching under under the tension until Bruce slid a couple inches over the hardwood.
Jason leaned into it, paws struggling to get the traction he wanted without digging his claws in, but he gave it his best, slowly pulling Bruce a foot or so before there was an ominous tearing sound and Bruce made him stop.
"I'll get it next time," Jason insisted as Bruce untied him. "Once I'm full-grown, I'll be leaping across rooftops with you on my back."
"What's your name gonna be?" Dick asked.
"I dunno, Battlecat?"
"Dead giveaway," Bruce disproved. "Try something that won't point directly to the local big, four legged khajiit."
"What else leaps like that… Something 'the cow jumped over the moon'?" Dick suggested.
"Batcow," Bruce threw out.
Jason snorted. "Who's gonna go by Batcow?"
"Bruce?" Ma'tim called, knocking softly on the man's door. He'd grown up in these halls, often babysat or playing with Jason, but rarely had cause to disturb Bruce in his room.
But Dick lived in Bloodhaven now, and Alfred was struggling to hold Bruce together.
Ma'tim cautiously cracked open the door. "Bruce?"
He heard the man sigh, and shuffle deeper under the covers. Ma'tim stepped inside, looking around. It wasn't as bad as he was expecting — evidently Alfred was still coming in to tidy up. "Can we talk?"
It took a minute, before he heard Bruce's broken, muffled reply. "I'm sorry, Ma'tim…"
Ma'tim inhaled slowly, before squaring his shoulders. "I didn't come for an apology — unless it makes you feel better," he offered. He'd decided before coming here, not to push the confused bitterness he'd been dealing with onto Bruce.
Bruce didn't elaborate — he couldn't. Couldn't tell Ma'tim why he felt responsible, unless Ma'tim cut through the secrecy, first.
He leaned against the wall, head tipping back. "Did we ever tell you about the time Dick did a quadruple somersault out of a tree?"
He left Bruce room to answer, but didn't expect it, carrying on. "At first I thought he was gonna die, and when he landed it, I thought it was so cool. Suddenly, I was sure if he could do it, it was possible, and I could, too.
"Dick was immediately against it, but Jason convinced him to humour me…" He paused, chest tightening as his mouth twisted in a wry smile, unable to pull up the lightheartedness the memory deserved. "I think he knew I wouldn't make it to the first branch."
He let them both sit with that memory, before pushing forward. "When I saw Lemur do the same move, I thought Dick must know him — maybe he taught him, maybe he learned from him," he shrugged. It didn't matter, it made Dick even cooler either way.
"I think… growing up next to you guys made me feel like khajiit were more common than we are here. Even recognising Lemur as a dagi, it's not like there's a registry of Khajiiti furstocks in Gotham… It wasn't until I got older and explored more of the city, met more of the people, that I realised how rare we are."
He looked down, knowing Bruce had probably figured out where he was going with this, that he'd already broken an unspoken taboo by breaching the subject. "And then Silverback showed up…" and Jason didn't have the energy to play with Tim, "and he was clearly a senche, which makes Batman an ohmes — like you."
"Then find an ohmes," Bruce mumbled into the cover, before sighing and rolling onto his back. "I'm just a bosmer with adopted kids."
There was a heavy silence, as Bruce's face fell even further, and Ma'tim slumped down the wall.
Adopted kid.
…How the hell were they gonna do this?
The boy whined and whimpered on the floor, hating how it resonated in his muzzle as his bridge and jaw tried to crush into his face. Joints felt like they broke, realigning as his leg and toe bones stretched liked they'd tear his flesh apart.
"Being reborn under the moons is painful," the woman acknowledged, a gentle touch stroking his head, "but your body knows its true form. Trust it to take you there, like when you were a kitten."
He didn't… remember much, especially through the pain. Was he a kitten once? Did it hurt this much growing up?
He just wanted it to stop… Why was he here? Why couldn't he rest?
"Wait for this one," a young voice hissed.
Jason slowed his jog to a stop, looking back as Damian bounded over on tiny paws.
"What are you doing?"
"Damian wishes to go with you."
"I thought you were grounded until you finish your studies?"
The kitten sat on his haunches, face furrowing unhappily. "There are other things for this one to see and learn outside."
Jason looked across the grounds. "Climb up," he invited.
Damian's tail twitched. "This one is not a lap dog."
Jason rolled his eyes. "I need to feel the wind in my fur, and your tiny little steps can't keep up." The kitten wrinkled his face unsurely. "Come on, I used to carry my older brother all the time — and he weighed a lot more than you."
"Why demean yourself as a steed?"
Jason rolled his neck, squatting down to a resting pose as his new, longer tail dragged in the dirt. "You pretend you're a cat to spy, and knock flower pots over."
Damian looked to the side. "This one didn't feel like setting him on fire…"
"Exactly. Don't let anyone treat you like a cat if you don't want to be; and if you want to hit people with flower pots, do it."
Damian's little tail swished and flicked, looking up at Jason pensively, before getting up.
Jason still wasn't a fan of so much clothes when he wasn't fighting or disguised in costume, but they offered protection nonetheless as Damian's needle sharp claws climbed their way up to his shoulder.
"Hold on."
He felt Damian's claws curl and pull on the thick fabric of his sleeveless hoodie as he stood up, resuming his jog. His strides lengthened, until his feet were barely touching the ground, practically leaping forward from one step to the next.
The breeze brushed past his nose, and he could feel it on his arms — but his half covered shoulders ached under the fabric. Years of instinct longed to drop to all-fours, to pull himself forward, paws digging into the dirt, the cool feel of the ground under his… palms.
He slowed as he neared the edge of the grounds, guards coming into view. "Hide in my hood," he instructed quietly, feeling the kitten carefully turn on his shoulder and slide down into the hiding place.
"Where are you going?" the guard asked as Jason approached.
"Ko'dharri's."
The guard leaned to the side, looking at Jason's suspiciously lumpy hood, before looking back at Jason. "Bring something back for the kitten."
Jason nodded, padding out and picking his jog back up as he headed down the dark road.
When they reached Ko'dharri's, warm lights shining in the night, Jason slowed to a stop, kneeling at the edge of the road and folding down. He felt Damian crawl out, little paws standing on his back before hopping down.
"Head inside, I'll be in in a minute."
"What are you doing?" Damian asked as Jason reached forward, stretching out his back in an almost meditative pose.
"Touching dirt," he answered, feeling the cool sand against his palms, and digging his fingers into the deeper soil.
He kept his head down, listening to the jingle of the bell as Damian went through the cat flap. He held the pose, relaxing into it, cheek resting on the ground as he closed his eyes and breathed, heart gradually returning to normal after his run, and some of the… restlessness that plagued him seeping from his bones.
Finally he pulled himself back up, rising to his feet and brushing off the dirt before heading in.
Damian was sitting with the wisened old tojay-raht amongst piles of pillows and books, already chatting.
"Ah, Jason," she greeted in her soothingly rough voice, "Ko'dharri thinks she found something that interests you." She stood up, heading behind the counter and pulling out two books.
The authors' names were odd, not khajiiti, but rough transcriptions of two names he found familiar, once his brain parsed it.
He'd read or listened to both of these multiple times before…
Before.
The play he probably knew by heart. The novel was a bigger stretch, but he was familiar enough he should be able to follow along for the most part.
"This one thanks you, Ko'dharri," he smiled, pulling out his coin purse.
Ko'dharri put her hand on his. "Maybe you can perform it for Ko'dharri? This one has never seen… Shaykspiir."
Jason chuckled awkwardly. "Maybe in Tamrielic. I'd have to learn the Ta'agra; the rhythms are probably different, I don't know if you really use iambic pentameter… Maybe Alexandrine."
"These words Ko'dharri does not know, but you can teach, yes?"
"Next time," Jason agreed, before looking back at Damian whose tail was twitching, probably using all his patience not to interrupt them. "I've gotta get the kitten back soon."
"Yes, yes," Ko'dharri nodded, waving them off, and Jason headed toward the small Tamrielic section in the back, Damian trotting behind him.
Jason rolled the steps in front of the shelf. "Pick something out, I'll teach you to read it."
Damian scrambled and pulled himself up the steps, still a little small to use them comfortably yet, but he reached his goal, stepping into the deep shelf and walking along it.
The spines didn't show much, and Damian passed back and forth a few times before pawing at one. "What's this one?"
"Hey!" Dar'tim shouted outside, the sound of scuffling coming from the bushes before he shouted victoriously. "Got you!"
There was some hissing and snarling, Dar'tim yelping as something was said in Ta'agra, and Bruce rushed out.
He looked them up and down, Dar'tim carrying a very unhappy looking black cat.
"Dar'tim… Why are you holding them?"
Dar'tim blinked at him, before stammering out an explanation. "He's been snooping around our house, and tried to run when I called him out…"
Bruce's face fell. "And what did he say?"
"Unhand me, I am the blood son of Bruce Wayne," he parroted.
Bruce furrowed a skeptical brow and crossed his arms, wondering what prank his kids were trying to pull now. "I told you, I'm not a khajiit."
A crackle of electricity sparked in the alfiq's paw, zapping Dar'tim into releasing them.
"Of course you are. This one thought mother said you were smart."
Bruce narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
"This one is Damian, son of Talia, grandson of the Mane, Ra'salghul — and son of Bruce Wayne."
Bruce held his hand up, closing his eyes as he processed everything. "Ra'salghul? He wasn't a Mane last time we met…"
"He was reborn under the Dark Moon," the boy replied — whatever that meant…
Bruce rubbed the bridge of his nose, wondering what new magic he'd have to research. "Okay… That still doesn't change the fact that elves can't breed with khajiit; there's no such thing as a half-furstock."
"No, but ohmes can," Damian pointed out.
"My parents were bosmer, their parents before them," Bruce added, exasperated.
"Is Bruce not a detective of unrivalled deduction?" Damian tutted.
"He wishes," Dar'tim muttered with amusement.
Damian looked up at him, before pacing in front of the older boy's feet. "Given the unlikeliness of you all being born under the same phases, you're clearly adopted."
Bruce pursed his lips.
"…Called it."
Bruce sighed. "Have you even looked up my birthday? I wasn't born under the right phases."
Dar'tim shrugged. "Presumably you already passed as a bosmer when you were adopted. Your birthday's a guess, or a choice. Maybe even backdated based on your development — but bosmer babies and ohmes babies don't develop at the same rate, so the calculations were off."
Bruce threw his hands up in the air. "Fine. You can all smell it on me, I was never the crazy cat lady, you just collectively agreed I was a Mama cat." He turned around, walking back into the house, and calling for Alfred to ready a room.
"Who's been in this cupboard?" Bruce asked, staring at the empty shelf. He used to keep Jason's treats up there, out of reach (not that it had kept Dick from climbing on top of the fridge to fetch them), and no one had removed or eaten them since.
Well, until now.
"It must have been Alfred," Damian answered.
Bruce's ears fell slightly, but it was understandable. Alfred was the only one that could actually see in there unassisted — even Bruce used a step stool. He probably noticed they were expired and decided it was time to clear them out.
A few weeks later, Bruce had turned in early from patrol — productive, but leaving him bruised. He entered the darkened kitchen for an ice pack to take to bed, freezing as he noticed a large figure pausing in the window.
A burglar? In his family's home? What could Bruce Wayne reasonably do to fend them off? Or was this someone more dangerous, coming after Batman and his Primates?
He flicked the light on, the bulky silhouette of the khajiit gaining colour — orange and black stripes.
Red Hood.
…With a handful of Jason's snacks. When had Alfred replenished them?
"Those aren't for you," he said, sternly. "Put them back."
The tiger man snorted, and sneered. "Get off my back, old man."
That voice… it felt… off. But also painfully familiar.
"Jason?"
"Damian, get off the fridge…" Bruce said idly as he noted the black alfiq snooping in the cupboard.
"I'm not on fridge."
He looked over at the table, where Damian was sprawled with a book. Then back to who was on the fridge, noting the white socks and markings Damian lacked.
"That's Alfred."
Bruce took a moment, before smiling. "Sorry, Alfred, I didn't realise Damian had a friend over."
"Alfred can't talk."
"Oh." Maybe he didn't speak Tamrielic. Or based on how he was ignoring Bruce's presence, possibly deaf. Did pawed khajiit have sign language?
"He's a cat."
Bruce blinked, looking between Damian, and the tail still visible above the fridge. "So… his parents didn't name him Alfred," Bruce concluded.
"It would be strange if they did," Damian replied drily.
"Did you name the cat Alfred?"
"Yes."
Bruce sighed, looking up at the sound of crinkling, and hoping Alfred wasn't eating plastic. "And you didn't consider that might be confusing?" he commented, getting out his stool.
"This one thought the butler might be feeling left out."
Bruce carefully reached out as the cat bushed up in the cupboard, treat held defensively in his jaws. "I just need to take that," he said softly, not snatching his hand back fast enough as sharp claws left their stinging marks. He wasn't getting this cat out without gloves.
"We don't bring stray cats in the house, not without discussing it."
"Alfred decided this was his home," Damian informed.
Of course he did.