Archive of Our Own ^beta

Tim wasn’t a cat person. He wasn’t a dog person either, for that matter. It wasn’t that he disliked them - animals were great in the way that they didn’t expect conversation - rather, it was that he was bad with them. He was bad at communication with humans, and they (mostly) used their words, so he had a hard time figuring out what an animal wanted from him. Unfortunately, this didn’t seem to matter when he opened his eyes and found himself staring at two paws instead of hands.

One minute Tim had been fighting some two-bit criminal with a horribly colorful outfit, feathers all over, and the next, he was practically eye-level with his boots.

“I can’t believe that worked,” the dude cried, an astonished grin spreading over his face before he cleared his throat. “I mean, of course it worked. Have fun with that, Robin!”

I’m not Robin, Tim wanted to say, but it came out as a hiss. The villain/maybe magician laughed. “Pspsps,” he said mockingly, and Tim pricked his ears automatically, then cursed himself for it. The villain laughed again, harder, and then sprinted off, but Tim didn’t chase him. He had bigger fish to fry.

Tim had to fight his way out from his suit, escaping through the hole where his neck was and detangling himself from his cowl. Right. Four paws. He shifted each one of them carefully, lifting them up and down. Okay. That wasn’t too different from having arms and legs, just that they moved differently. He flexed his fingers - ish - and claws! That could be useful, though Tim seemed to be on the smaller side of cats. He experimentally swiped at the air in front of him, claws out. Now for the extra limb. It felt weird, but he did have control of it, so that was good.

Tim twisted his head around, and all the fur he could see was black, except for one of his front paws, splashed with white. He wouldn’t really know what he looked like until he saw a mirror. But right now, priority number one was making it back to the Manor, because it was a long way to go as a fucking cat.

If he could find the Batmobile and squeeze in, he could hitch a ride. Everyone expected him to go back to his apartment in Gotham, so they wouldn’t be looking for him now. But the Cave was where he could get help and draw attention to the fact that he was an actual cat. Felis catus if he was a domestic cat, which seemed the most likely. That was the size, anyway.

Tim knew from the coms - which had fallen out of his ear along with his suit - that the Batmobile was pretty close by, since the cases Tim and Batman were working were connected somehow, and Batman had wanted to stay near. Tim started running for it, hoping that he really was all black to hide in the shadows well enough.

The Batmobile was probably about to leave, so Tim went as fast as his short legs could take him, stumbling more than he would normally, because walking, let alone running, on four limbs was a bit different than two. His tail flailed wildly, automatically trying to keep his balance. Futilely so, Tim might add, as he face planted, scraping his muzzle on the pavement.

Tim sneezed, his entire head shaking with the movement, and shivered. It was drizzling, not that it was unusual for Gotham, but Tim was only protected by short, albeit fluffy fur that was currently being plastered against his skin, not his waterproofed and insulated suit and cape. But he had to get to the Batmobile, because an entire night out here would be worse than a few more minutes. Tim rounded a bend just in time to see Batman and Robin arguing about Robin taking shotgun.

“You’re not old enough! In the state of New Jersey -”

“Father, you are being incredibly hypocritical! I am old enough to ‘fight crime’, but I cannot sit in the front seat? Ridiculous!”

Robin would win, of course, but Tim slipped in the back seat before they could shut it. He didn’t want to be noticed and thrown out because he couldn’t communicate his situation clearly. He could handle it at the Manor, preferably dried off and warm. Right. Moments after he slipped into the back, the door was slammed shut and Robin slid in the front, victorious. Brat.

(Batman had let him ride shotgun, but he hadn’t been ten. And Batman hadn’t cared.)

Tim pulled his tail close to his body as he crouched, the rumble of the engine underneath him soothing as Batman started to drive, smooth turns and even speeds. Of course he was driving safe with the newest Robin on board. Wouldn’t want to hurt his precious, real son. Whatever. Tim was used to it.

(It wasn’t like he’d wanted a thank you, some acknowledgement that he’d brought Bruce back, that he’d been fired -)

Tim shivered again, the fur along his spine raising as he bristled - that was definitely new. He flexed his claws again, scraping them on the floor. He was tempted to rake them down the leather, but he wasn’t that petty, and it would get him noticed. He couldn’t stop shaking, pressing into the nook between the front seat and the floor so, if anyone looked back, he’d be hard to spot.

After a few minutes of that, Batman and Robin occasionally talking, mostly Robin snapping out a demand or something. But eventually they stopped, and Tim realized it would be quite difficult to slip out the front doors unnoticed while being in the back. Hopefully Robin would kick up another fuss for a distraction. His prayers went unanswered.

Tim decided to take the risk. He waited until Robin was just getting up, then slid from his hiding place and up over the console, scampering over the seat and out the closing door. He made it without being squished, but he tripped, and instead of leaping out and landing gracefully, he fell and landed on his side with a soft thud.

Damian stopped from peeling off his mask, looking around just in time to catch the movement of Tim tucking his tail under the car with the rest of him. “Father! There’s some sort of animal lurking under the Batmobile! I believe it is a cat.” He crouched down, peering under Tim, and Tim did not like how Damian’s head was roughly the size of his body.

Damian cooed, reaching for Tim with a softness in his expression Tim was unfamiliar with and didn’t feel like getting to know. He hissed, trying to express his displeasure, and scrambled backwards, darting across the Cave and making for the dinosaur. He couldn't get out with opposable thumbs and significantly more help, but he could wait for Dick to show up before revealing himself.

Not that he wanted to admit it, but Tim hated the idea of being helpless around Damian. With the attempted murder count as high as it was, he didn’t want to be near Damian when he couldn't defend himself. He’d have to rely on his knowledge of all the nooks and crannies in the Cave to hide. Being small had its advantages.

Tim tucked himself into the space where the heel of the dinosaur’s foot came a little off the floor, hiding his white paw under dark fur and slitting his eyes. Damian walked by, slow and careful, as he looked all around for Tim.

“Come out! I promise, felis catus, that you will remain unharmed,” Damian called quietly, and what kind of pompous brat said the scientific name instead of just going ‘here, kitty kitty,’ like a normal person?

Tim bared his teeth silently and shoved himself further into the nook, still shivering and wet. Like hell would Damian get a hold of him. Cat or not, he didn’t trust the gremlin as far as he could throw him, and since he didn’t have arms or opposable thumbs, he couldn't throw him at all.

Damian ducked down, searching on the lower levels, and Tim shut his eyes, hoping he really was all black but his paw. After a few seconds, Damian straightened and moved a few feet away, and Tim dared to crack his eyes open.

A few minutes of Damian refusing to give up and calling for Tim to come to him later, and the door to the Cave opened again as Jason strode in, helmet tucked under his arm. Tim watched carefully as he set it on the hood of the Batmobile. “Hey, demon brat. Whatcha looking for?”

Though Jason was no longer outright murderous towards him, nor did he hate him, Tim and Jason weren’t close by any means. They rarely worked together in the field, and generally only talked to each other about cases and when Dick forced them to. Tim wasn’t - he wasn’t scared of Jason, but he did have a healthy respect for how skilled of a fighter he was, and how easy he could take Tim down. You know. Normal brother things.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Todd,” Damian said disdainfully, still a solid ten feet away from where Tim was as Jason stalked closer.

“Is it…” Jason’s head swiveled, and just like that, his gaze locked on Tim, “this?” He bent over and snatched Tim by the scruff faster than he could dodge, dragging him out and hauling him in the air. “Cute cat.”

Tim bared his teeth, ears flat against his skull as he hissed, but when Damian reached for Tim, Jason pulled him out of reach, settling Tim’s bedraggled cat body in the cradle of his arm. “Todd! Give him - or her - to me! Immediately!”

“Why? How does that old saying go? Finders keepers, losers weepers? Yeah, sounds about right. Well, I found the kitty, and you didn’t.” Jason’s free hand pet over Tim’s head, pausing first to let him sniff at his fingers. Tim didn’t, because he already knew just who he was, and though Jason’s hand was a bit clumsy, it felt nice, and his hackles fell.

“That is absolutely not how this works, Todd! Relinquish the cat at once!” Damian tried to grab at Tim, but Jason pulled back.

“Nah. Besides, look at the thing. Fucking pathetic, all cold and wet. I’m gonna go dry it off, and you’re gonna leave me be. Go bother Dickhead about it.” Jason made a ‘shoo shoo’ gesture, and Damian huffed and stormed out with one last look at Tim. Jason looked down at him.

“Well, would ya look at that. You look half-dead, fluffball. How’d you even get in here?” When Tim obviously didn’t respond, only looking up at Jason, Jason laughed. “Not much of a talker, huh? Well, I’m gonna take you back to my place and get you cleaned up before the demon brat can snag ya again.”

Tim tipped his head to the side in response, tail flicking. That wasn’t horrible. Once he didn’t feel three steps away from hypothermia, he could get Jason’s attention with a little Morse code, get the whole thing sorted out a safe distance from Damian. Tim and Jason weren’t close, but he wouldn’t take advantage of Tim’s helplessness more than messing with him a bit.

Jason’s apartment it was, then.

The drive there was alright, besides the fact that it was cold since Jason was on his bike, though Tim was tucked securely under his jacket. When Jason took them both up to his apartment and shed his jacket, he lifted Tim up to his face and inspected him.

“I don’t know how long you’ve been a stray, but you look dirty enough to warrant a bath. I know, I know, but the water will be warm and everything. Relax.” Jason tucked Tim back against his chest, and Tim resented how nice that felt. Cat or not, he wouldn’t say no to some hot water, so he didn’t kick up a fuss when Jason filled up the tub.

While they waited for it, Jason tapped him lightly on the nose. “Glad I managed to steal you from the test tube baby.” Tim snorted, and it didn’t sound like a laugh from a cat, but it one hundred percent was. Test tube baby. He’d have to remember that for when he could talk. “Trust me, you don’t wanna be smothered by him.”

Tim wished he could write, because he got the feeling he would hear a lot of blackmail material. Instead of replying, Tim flexed his claws, dragging them lightly along the denim of Jason’s jeans and feeling the drag. Catwoman had the right idea with her claws. Whereas Tim’s were small, like him apparently, so they couldn’t do much damage, hers were much better for slicing and dicing. Tim was jealous.

“Ah, ah,” Jason scolded, shutting off the water. He picked Tim up so he could look at him on eye level. “Listen to me, you little shit. Behave yourself, or I’m kicking you out. All you’ll have is your little rucksack and wet feet. Don’t claw me when I put you in the water.” Jason’s tone was going soft, a smile on his face as he booped Tim again.

As if Tim would be so uncivilized. Actually, now that Jason mentioned it - no, he was still cold, and warm water would be nice. Plus, even his brief stint as a street cat covered him in classic Gotham grime, so that would be nice to get off. He mewed a little in reply, going quietly when Jason set him in the tub and letting the hot water soak into his cold fur.

“Huh. That was easy. I was under the impression cats didn’t like water. Guess you’re a weird little cat, dude. Speaking of which, you need a name.” Jason cupped some water in his hand and poured in on Tim’s head. Tim lifted his chin so it didn’t run into his eyes, tail flicking back and forth slowly.

Tim didn’t disagree with his needing a name, except for the fact that he already had one, and Jason wasn’t likely to call him Tim. He wrinkled his nose as water ran down the groove between his eyes, shaking his head to get rid of it. Then he was seized, soaking wet and dripping, by both Jason’s hands and turned sideways so his underside was facing Jason. What was he doing - oh. Oh, hell no.

Tim hissed, lashing out with his claws and catching on Jason’s forearm, leaving a thin trail of blood. Jason cursed and set him down hurriedly, examining his arm before shrugging it off. “Hey! What kind of dick move was that, Fluffy? Didn’t your mom ever teach you any manners? Fucking cats.”

Tim huffed, glaring at him sullenly. Asshole. That kind of thing was private.

Jason laughed, looking down at Tim and reaching out to pat him on the head. Tim wrinkled his nose and pulled back. “Look at you - you’re so tiny, and you’re trying to be intimidating. It’s like watching a kitten try to act like a lion - oh, wait! That’s exactly it. You, my friend, have very little self-preservation instincts.”

Tim huffed again, shaking out his fur despite being in the water and managing to splatter Jason’s t-shirt with water. He had plenty of self-preservation instincts, and he was - normally - plenty intimidating.

“Rude. Don’t be so petty, I could still kick you out. Split the custody agreement with Damian. Anyway, I think you’re nice and clean now, since I don’t have cat shampoo or whatever and I don’t think you’re supposed to put the regular shit on cats, ‘cause sensitive skin or whatever.” Jason lifted Tim again, one handed in a way Tim felt was not suitably secure - what if he fell! - and set him on the mat in front of the tub. “Don’t -”

Tim shook out his fur - he was petty, sue him, and it felt good - showering the whole bathroom with water. It was a small bathroom, but still.

“- shake,” Jason finished with a long-suffering sigh. “Alright, you brat. No dinner for you. You’ll starve and I’ll laugh at your skinny corpse.”

Tim was actually rather hungry, probably because he hadn’t eaten anything but a pack of peanut butter crackers since lunchtime yesterday. He meowed, widening his eyes slightly and gazing pleadingly up at Jason like he’d seen Titus and also Puss in Boots do several times.

“Don’t look at me like that, you overgrown rat. You can have some of my dinner, since I don’t exactly keep cat food on hand. Ya think Batman has some in his utility belt I could borrow?” Jason wrapped Tim in the towel like he was some kind of cat burrito, forcing Tim to tuck his limbs close. “Aw, look at you. A kitty burrito.”

Tim glared at him, but found that the consistent pressure of the towel was horribly calming in a way he wasn’t very familiar with. He blinked up at Jason, and Jason blinked back with a smug smile. “Like that, huh? The little brat told me about it, texted me a few minutes ago. Apparently it works. Look at you, all snug as a bug in a rug.” Jason’s voice was growing perilously tender, almost cooing. “What a cute little kitty, yeah?”

Tim - Tim hated to admit this but he started to purr. To purr. Like a fucking cat. Which, technically he was at the moment, but it was still humiliating, even as Jason started scratching gently under his chin, which felt wonderful, by the way. Jason stood up with Tim securely in his arms, cooing at him.

Tim caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror, and it was definitely odd. He was a cat. He was a fucking cat. It had been established, but now he was getting the full view, and that wasn’t an everyday experience. He had a splash of white on one side of his muzzle, and a thin stripe of white across his throat, but otherwise he seemed all black. And also looked rather pathetic, fur pressed against his skin with water and wrapped in a towel.

Jason carried him into the living room, then sat down with Tim on his lap, which - okay, it was nice and warm and comfortable, shut up. That was right when Tim realized he was supposed to be signaling that he was human, but since his limbs were out of commission for the time being, it would have to wait. Tim leaned into Jason’s hand, eyes already half-closed. That was nice. He could almost pretend Jason knew it was him, knew who he was and cared anyway.

Jason continued petting him, scratching under his chin and around his ears. Tim was a puddle by the time he finished, purring and nudging at Jason’s hand. Finally, Jason unwrapped him, watching as Tim shook himself out, still damp. His fur was sticking up at odd angles, spiky and half-dried. Tim lashed his tail once in displeasure, before remembering himself and scrambling to get off the couch, slinking into the corner.

“Bye, then,” Jason called, and Tim caught him waving in the corner of his eyes. “I’m just gonna make us dinner, because I’m so kind, and call Roy to pick up some cat supplies. I think if I left you alone for two long, you’d set the place on fire with your little cat paws.”

Tim found that rude. He didn’t need his ‘little cat paws’ to set the place on fire. He could do it with less.

Tim was adjusting. His ideal life didn’t involve him being a cat, and his several attempts to garner Jason’s attention as more than his new pet had failed, from Morse code tapped insistently on a table, to meowing loudly at any mention of his real name. Save for clawing the message into Jason’s leg, he couldn’t figure out how to make him realize. He’d simply have to wait for a better opportunity to arise. For now, he wasn’t starving on the streets, and Jason hadn’t taken him to the vet.

Jason hadn’t given him a name either, and Tim wasn’t sure how he felt about that. On one hand, Jason had thrown out some pretty dreadful suggestions. On the other, it could always get worse.

“C’mere, Butternut,” Jason called, practically cackling. “I’m home!” It was around three am, right when Jason returned from his rounds in Crime Alley.

Tim didn’t emerge from his spot, tucked behind the couch cushions, eyes narrowed. No way in hell was he responding to Butternut. He set his chin on his paws and watched Jason put away his things, unloading his guns, and folding his jacket. Flexing his claws absently, he didn’t move as Jason made his way over, dropping his hand to stroke firmly down Tim’s spine. Tim’s eyes went half-closed, lazy with contentment.

Tim couldn’t remember ever having slept this much in his life. He knew, vaguely, that cats slept, well, a lot more than humans, but still. Tim got five hours of sleep on a good day, then every week or so crashed hard - or Alfred drugged his coffee - and slept for eighteen hours. But now he’d drift off if the sun was nice, or just because he felt like it. It was odd.

“Don’t like that, huh? You got any better ideas?” Jason paused, as if waiting for Tim to speak, so he did, meowing loudly. “Brilliant, Meow Meow. Love that name.”

Nuh-uh. No fucking way Tim was going to be called Meow Meow. That was worse than Butternut. Tim snapped at Jason’s fingers, missing by a wide margin, but it was enough to show his feelings on the matter. Jason flicked his nose reprimandingly, shaking his head. “Manners, you bratty furball.”

Tim sneezed, then opened his eyes to see Jason cooing. The audacity. Tim didn’t sneeze cutely! He sneezed in a - well, not manly, he was a cat, and he normally had a pretty average sneeze - a not cute manner. He lashed his tail, rising to his feet to jump off the couch. He was mostly getting the hang of four legs, but he still tripped way more than the average cat. As he landed, he didn’t fall, but stumbled forward a few steps, meowing insistently. Jason rose and followed him, just as Tim intended, because he was great at communicating, thanks. Aside from getting across the minor fact that he was, indeed, a human.

“What is it, Reginald?”

Tim huffed at the name, but moved on. He’d been trying to get up on the counter himself for ages, but Jason had to lift him because he hadn’t quite mastered the art of jumping in cat form. Tim looked pointedly from Jason to the counter and back again until Jason bent over to pick him up with a hand around his middle and deposit him on the counter top. “Spoiled brat,” Jason said fondly.

Tim rubbed his cheek against Jason’s hand, feeling drowsy and affectionate. A week living with Jason had shown Tim a side he’d never seen before, soft and kind and funny. It was rather refreshing, especially when Tim wasn’t expected to banter, just listen. Also, cat senses? Fucking wild. He could smell what Jason had eaten before patrol, smell the smoke of cigarettes and the sour tang of Gotham’s harbor. He could hear a lot better too, especially when the neighbors were going at it. The amount of ‘harder, Ben!’ Tim had heard in the last week was criminal.

“Hungry?” Jason asked, already rummaging through the cabinets for his own late night snack. Tim didn’t reply, just watching absently. There wasn’t a lot to do but watch as a cat. Jason took his silence as a yes, and procured a new can of cat food. Tim turned away, because he absolutely refused to eat cat food. Even after Roy had dropped off a cat bed, litter box (ew), toys, and the cat food, Tim turned his nose up at it. After several attempts, Jason just gave him a bit of whatever he was eating, and that suited him just fine.

Tim didn’t touch the can after Jason opened it, and Jason rolled his eyes as he opened his protein bar. “C’mon, you little menace. This is the sixth brand I’ve tried! You’re a cat, you’ve got to like some of it. Just take a bite. One bite.”

In one swift movement, Tim reached out and batted the can off the counter, smugly watching it fall to the tile and spill. Not one bite.

Jason scoffed, jaw dropping. “You little shit. You’re cleaning that up!”

Tim tipped his head to the side, tail sweeping back and forth in lazy strokes. Jason cursed, and Tim found himself unafraid of Jason’s anger for the first time in a long time. While Jason lumbered off, presumably to get a broom, Tim attempted to jump down from the counter, but instead, his paws landed on the cat food and slid out from under him, slamming his ribs on the tile. He groaned and heaved himself up as Jason returned.

“Serves you right, moron,” Jason said, correctly guessing that Tim had fallen. “Shoo, I need to clean this up.” He nudged Tim with the broom until he moved out of the way, watching silently as he swept up.

Tim padded silently into the living room, brushing against the wall, and - what the fuck was that? Tim practically jumped into the air. Tim was suddenly flooded with sensation from his muzzle, screaming that there was something there - what was that about?

Jason was laughing. Loudly. “Did your whiskers scare you, dude?”

Tim blinked, and - right. Whiskers. The things that were apparently sensitive and meant for guiding him. The things he had absolutely not been prepared for. Damn, Tim wished he’d done some research on cats before this. He shook out his coat, then continued like nothing happened at all, leaving Jason to cackle. Shut up.

This was worse than puberty.

Tim settled back into his spot wedged between the back of the couch and the cushions until Jason returned and reached up to stroke between his ears. “Damian is gonna be so pissed when he sees how cute you are when you’re not soaking wet. It’s all a disguise, though. You’re just as much of a demon as him.”

Tim licked Jason’s arm. Jason looked at him distrustfully.

There was a suspicious knock at Jason’s window. Neither of them reacted for a minute, as the knocking grew louder and louder. Finally, Jason groaned and hauled himself up. “I hate this family. You stay here, I don’t need them fussing over a cat or whatever.”

Tim flicked his tail in acquiescence, but he wouldn’t follow through. Maybe the family member - probably Dick - would notice his message. Jason opened the window. “Dickhead. What do you want?”

Dick climbed through, suited up without the mask, and landed lightly. “Wow, it’s nice to see you too, Jason, yeah, I’m good, thanks for asking.”

“If you came for manners, you wouldn’t’ve shown up here, so what is it? It’s four in the fucking morning.”

“As if that’s unreasonably late for us. But I have news - is that a cat? Jason, is that a cat?” Dick started grinning, clearly delighted as Tim walked leisurely over, meowing for good measure.

“Fuck,” Jason said under his breath. “Yeah, it’s a goddamn cat, move on.”

“He’s so cute!” Dick crouched down, holding out his hand. “Pspsps. Come here, kitty!”

Only mildly offended by that kind of summon - Dick was always a bit patronizing, but he meant well - Tim obligingly came closer, allowing Dick to pick him up. “Little wing, why didn’t you tell me you got this little guy? He’s so soft and fluffy and sweet!” Dick started to pet him, still cooing, and Tim purred, leaning into his touch. He’d missed Dick over the past week of being stuck in Jason’s apartment.

They’d been more distant since he’d fired Tim, but they at least talked some. Tim continued to purr as Dick kissed the top of his head. Jason rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, my cat is cute. He’s also a fucking menace, but we don’t talk about that. Tell me what’s happening?”

“Right, right. Tim’s been missing -” Tim meowed as loud as he could, head jerking up to look Dick in the eyes, “- what is it, kitty? Am I petting you wrong? Jay, what’s his name?”

“Tim’s missing?” Jason hesitated. “His name? Oh, it’s - Whiskers. His name’s Whiskers.” Jason glanced at the section of wall where Tim had startled himself with his own whiskers. Oh, come on. That was just cruel.

“That’s so basic! I thought you’d name him something mean like Spike, though.” Dick looked down at Tim, who was feeling very frustrated at his family, supposedly made of detectives. “Yeah, he’s been missing for a week. He didn’t check in after patrol last Monday -” It was Tuesday now, “- and he hasn’t spoken to anyone or showed up at WE since. The last person he fought was an upstart Rogue, no powers that we know of. And we found his suit and com where the fight was.”

Jason frowned, reaching for Tim, but Dick didn’t relinquish him. “A week? Doesn’t Tim regularly go twice that long without talking to anyone, and that’s normal for him? Why are you so worried?”

Tim laid his ears back, hissing. He did not vanish for two weeks at a time. He always texted someone, and if he didn’t, it was because he was busy. The last time he did that was when Bruce was missing, and it wasn’t like anyone noticed. “It’s okay, baby,” Dick said soothingly, tapping him on the nose. “Yeah, but he’s been getting way better about that. He usually sends a text to one of us after he gets home after patrol. Plus, he always shows up for his job - he’s a CEO, he kinda has to. I’m just really worried. Last time he went missing without explanation, he went to Ra’s.” Dick’s hold on Tim tightened a little until Tim squirmed.

“Give me my cat back,” Jason said gruffly, taking Tim back. Tim thrashed until Jason put him down, then circled them anxiously. “What do you want me to do? ‘S not like the League’s particularly fond of me these days either.”

“Just -” Dick sighed, seeming heavier. Tim hated to think that his disappearance did this to him. “Just keep an eye out, yeah?”

“You got it, big bird. I’ll drag him back by the scruff if I see him.” Jason’s expression softened, stepping forward to hug Dick with Tim trapped between their legs. “Take care of yourself. Won’t be any help to Tim if you’re dead.” At his name, Tim meowed loudly, rubbing against their shins. “Whiskers agrees, apparently, though no one asked for your opinion.”

“Thanks, Whiskers. And Jason, I guess.” Dick squeezed Jason for a few more seconds before bending down to pat Tim on the head. Then he climbed out the window with a salute and swung away.

Jason sighed, sitting back on the couch and patting the empty space beside him. Tim approached, suddenly feeling wary. What if Jason made the connection, and got angry? What if he kicked Tim out onto the street? What if Tim never turned back? What if -

“Come on up, Whiskers. I won’t hurt ya, promise.” Jason’s voice cut through his thought, and Tim slowly jumped up, settling beside him cautiously. Jason started petting him, running his hand down his spine.

Tim melted, closing his eyes and allowing his mind to go blank. Jason sighed, sounding more mournful than Tim had heard him in a long time. Probably because he was more vulnerable with his cat than his brother. “I’m just worried about the kid, tell ya the truth. We weren’t on the best of terms - I did some bad shit to him, Whiskers - but I don’t want him dead. He’s a good kid, real smart, kind. He deserves better than this.”

Tim made a soft, inquisitive noise. Mrow?

Jason huffed out a chuckle. “Curiosity killed the cat, you know. Don’t tell anyone, but I do care about my brothers - even Tim, the little shit. Heh. You kind of remind me of him if he was a cat - snarky, tiny, adorable.”

Tim. Wanted. To. Scream. He settled for digging his claws into Jason’s leg.

“What the fuck?” Jason pried his paw off, flicking him on the nose. “I’m sharing and caring right now and this is how you treat me? Vicious little shit.”

At least Jason cared about human him, even just a little. It was all he could ask for. Tim mewed innocently, butting Jason’s hand softly. Jason huffed. “Stop looking all sweet after randomly attacking me.” But he started to pet Tim again anyway, scratching at Tim’s favorite spot.

Tim would have to turn back. But for now he could enjoy the easy affection.

Being a pet was interesting, to say the least. Tim had the run of Jason’s apartment for most of the night, while Jason was off attending to crime lord duties, but Jason was home for a good chunk of the day. He’d run errands and such, but had Tim for company, and he privately thought Jason enjoyed having someone to talk to, whether they understood and could reply or not. Though, he’d probably be surprised at how much Tim could understand. It was Sunday, if Tim’s count was correct, which meant Jason was getting ready to leave for brunch. Tim wished he could go with him, even if it meant dealing with the demon brat’s constant insults that no one bothered to scold him for.

Jason pulled on his jacket. “Whiskers, c’mere.” He patted his thigh, and Tim went over to him, albeit irritably, because he wasn’t a dog. He wasn’t technically a cat, either, but he really wasn’t a dog. He pressed his head into Jason’s hand as Jason scratched lightly between his ears, arching his neck. “Good kitty.” Tim’s ear twitched as he pulled back, hissing lightly. “Aw, c’mon, relax. You know what today is?”

Tim meowed questioningly, tipping his head to the side. He already knew the answer, but he was polite like that.

Jason chuckled. “Family brunch. You know who’ll be there? Dickie and the demon brat and everyone but Tim. Who they’ll all be stressing over, and what better to temporarily relieve that stress than a cute cat? Also, I get to shove the fact that I got you before Damian could in his face, and we’d both enjoy that. How do you feel about that, my good sir?”

Tim rather did like the idea of seeing his whole family again, and annoying Damian, so he circled Jason, rubbing against his legs. Jason took that as the yes that it was, scooping him up and setting him on his shoulder. Tim froze, claws digging into Jason’s jacket in an attempt to keep his balance. Jason set one hand on his side. “Easy, furball. Come on, cats do this all the time. You should be a natural at this.”

That was true, except for one small little detail. Tim was not a cat. Not an experienced one, anyway.

Tim shifted, trying to remember what Alfred the actual cat looked like when he perched on Damian. Jason’s hand was on his side, keeping him from falling, and Tim trusted him not to let him topple. He curled around Jason’s neck, hind legs on one leg, front legs on the other, and nudged Jason’s head. Jason, interpreting it correctly, dropped his hand. When Tim didn’t fall, he took a careful step forward. Tim wobbled for a moment, but dug his claws in and stabilized.

“Good job. I knew you could do it.” Jason didn’t even sound mocking, reaching up to boop Tim on the nose, like Tim was some sort of cat. Tim nipped at his finger as he withdrew. For his dignity, you see. “Brat. Alfred - that’s our butler, but he’s totally in charge, don’t let his legal status of employee fool you - is picking us up, because I told him ahead of time so he could prepare for the chaos. But he also refuses to let me drive us on my bike, so it looks like we’re getting the fancy chauffeur, my little street rat.”

Tim huffed irritably, but it’s not like Jason meant it as an insult. Technically, he had been a street cat for all of five minutes. He was glad Alfred was picking them up, though. Maybe Alfred would notice.

Jason made his way out of the apartment and down the stairs, occasionally stopping to let Tim rebalance himself if he wobbled. They went outside to a discreet black car, not unusually fancy for Gotham, which was good, and Jason slid in the front, dislodging Tim from his shoulders to set him on his lap. “Hey, Alfie!”

“Master Jason. I’m glad you could make it today, unlike last time,” Alfred said pointedly, and Jason ducked his head.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Wanted to get the little menace settled in first.” That was a lie. Tim possibly tried to eat coffee beans - for purely scientific reasons! - and thrown up on Jason’s carpet. He hadn’t tried again. “Anyway, this is Whiskers. Whiskers, say hi.”

Tim obligingly meowed, clambering over the console to rub his cheek against Alfred’s proffered hand, purring. He hadn’t seen Alfred since a couple days before his transformation, and he’d really missed the butler, his calm voice and wry expressions. “A very fine cat you have, Master Jason. I’m sure the rest of the family will be delighted.”

Alfred gently shooed Tim back to Jason, and he settled forlornly over Jason’s lap, head resting on his paws. Jason petted him absently as he talked. “Thanks. Did you tell them? It was meant to be a surprise.”

“I gathered that, and they remain uninformed,” Alfred said with a hint of amusement.

“Obviously. I never should have doubted you. Anyway, I kinda stole this horrible bean from the de - Damian, so it should be funny. Finders keepers and all.”

“Hm.” Alfred started down the road, still chatting with Jason. Tim listened, but none of it was especially interesting, just Jason telling Alfred how he’d been in increasing detail as Alfred asked tactfully placed questions. Tim already knew how Jason was faring, since Jason tended to give Tim a rundown of his day, which Tim appreciated.

When the subject of his ‘disappearance’ came up, Tim abruptly stood, meowing and looking Alfred right in the eye. Alfred frowned a little, then turned his gaze back to the road. “Master Jason, your companion appears to be in distress.”

“What’s wrong, Whiskers?” Jason asked, lifting him up with two hands to look at him eye to eye. Tim looked at him, eyes wide, and drew his lips back in a silent hiss. “Oh, come on. Share with the class.”

Tim lashed his tail, trying in vain to force his feline mouth to produce a human word, his own name. It came out strangled, nothing recognizable.

Jason sighed, setting him down and running a soothing hand down his spine that did not soothe Tim at all. “Sorry, Alfie, he just does this sometimes. He’ll settle down in a minute.”

Tim snapped at Jason’s fingers, filled with frustration that no one was getting it. He was trapped as a fucking cat, helpless and only alive because Jason decided he was cute enough to keep. Easy to brush off, easy to ignore, because what could a cat say? Fucking nothing.

Jason forced his jaw shut with his hand. “Hey. Don’t get all snippy with me, I fucking feed you. Calm your fluffy ass down and be nice.” Tim flattened his ears and lashed his tail, claws digging into Jason’s thighs. Jason pressed Tim’s face against his thigh, holding it there forcefully enough that Tim couldn’t move it. Tim hissed, long and drawn out.

“Language,” Alfred said primly, and Jason chuckled.

“Sorry.” He used his free hand to run slowly up and down Tim’s back, as Tim slowly relaxed, pulled his claws back, stopped fighting Jason’s hold. He heaved a sigh, mourning the loss of his family’s intelligence, and decided that he might as well enjoy taunting Damian, since the most intelligent member of the Bats hadn’t got it.

“There we go. What was that about, my dude?” Jason pressed down lightly on his head before lifting his hand. Tim rolled over and sat up, staring out the window. They were almost there. He flinched when the very top of Drake Manor was visible, above the treetops. Jason shushed him, and then they were pulling into the driveway. “Alright. So, everyone is going to be so jealous that I have a cute - and bratty - cat, so be prepared.”

Tim huffed, flicking his tail, and prepared to jump out, only to be thwarted by Jason tucking him into his jacket. “Nuh uh. You’re going to faceplant, I’ve seen you do it before, and I don’t want to present you to the mob looking like I abuse you, which I don’t.” Tim meowed loudly in protest, and Jason tapped him on the nose. “Shut up, I don’t abuse you.”

Tim bit lightly at his fingers just to be contrary, and Jason rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s head in.”

The three of them walked past the front door and into the dining room, where Steph, Damian, Dick, Duke, and Bruce were all seated, talking in low murmurs. Tim noticed how almost all of them had dark circles under their eyes.

“‘Sup, bitches.” Jason dragged a seat out and sprawled over it, keeping Tim mostly hidden in his jacket. Tim was with that program, ducking his head to hide. The comedic timing of a cat randomly popping out from Jason was far greater than the urge to annoy his older brother.

“Hey, Jay. Glad you could make it.” The unlike last time was implied as Dick waved at him, and the rest of the family followed suit.

“Whatcha guys talking about?” Jason leaned back on two legs, taking Tim with him. Tim dug his claws into Jason’s shirt to steady himself.

“Haven’t you been notified, Todd? Drake went and got himself in some manner of disaster and hasn’t been heard of for nearly three weeks. Typical.” Damian somehow managed to sound scathing despite looking mildly concerned. Tim was not touched.

“Damian,” Bruce admonished lightly. “But yes, we are all worried about Tim.”

Conversation continued on that note, but Tim mostly tuned it out - he really didn’t want to listen to his family’s dumbass theories about what happened to him. They were so stupid. For the love of God, how hard was it?

Suddenly, Tim was being dislodged from his cozy spot, curled against Jason’s chest, and held out by two hands under his front legs like Simba in the fucking Lion King. Tim lashed his tail, immediately assaulted by coos and Damian lunging across the table. “Todd! That is my cat!”

Bruce caught him in time to pull him back. “Damian! What was that?”

“The demon brat’s jealous, obviously.” Jason set Tim back down as he was bombarded with questions, settling Tim on his lap. Tim sat down, wrapped his tail around his paws, and mewed. Just for the way everyone’s expressions melted. Suckers.

“I knew Jason had him!” Dick proclaimed loudly, clearly smug that he was in the know.

Jason shushed him. “Everyone, this is Whiskers. I like him more than you.” Tim nudged at his hand with a hint of teeth, just to keep him on guard. “Yes, even though he’s a filthy street rat.”

“Jason!” Duke looked at him like he was crazy, which was definitely called for and entirely fair. “Don’t be so mean to him!”

“Who, Whiskers? He’ll survive. He owes me after I saved him from Damian.” Damian, who was still practically frothing at the mouth. Tim mewed again, for show, and Jason pet him absently.

“How’d you save him from Dami?” Dick asked, standing up and walking over to coo at Tim from a closer angle.

“Poor little furball here was hiding in the Cave while Damian was searching badly for him. I got him, and voila. Proud owner of a useless slinky.” Jason reached down to scratch Tim under the chin. Tim closed his eyes and leaned into it, purring.

“He’s so cute!” Steph exclaimed, crowding Jason to gently scratch between Tim’s ears. Tim purred louder, absorbing the affection until he caught the scent that he recognized as Damian - he hated that he knew that.

His eyes snapped open, and his claws were out, just in time to swipe at Damian, claws scoring his hand and drawing blood. Damian drew back, frowning. “What is it, Whiskers?”

Tim flattened his ears and hissed. Fucking demon brat thought he could get on Tim’s good side by being nice - well, Tim knew how much of an asshole that kid could be, and wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. He pressed back against Jason, who shushed him and ran a hand down his spine. Dick and Steph stared at him, visibly confused.

“Doesn’t like Damian, I guess,” Jason said, looking smug. Tim meowed, pawing at his jacket. “Yeah, furball?”

He turned around and put one paw on the table, then looked at Jason questioningly. “I dunno ‘bout that. Don’t think cats are on Alfred’s approved list of things to go on tables.” Jason shrugged, looking over at the butler, who nodded. He was looking at Damian’s arm, despite Damian’s grumbling insistence that he was fine.

Tim mewed again, looking at Alfred and widening his eyes. Alfred’s lips twitched in a smile. “I’m afraid the answer’s still no, Master Whiskers.”

Tim flicked his tail irritably, but he expected nothing else from Alfred, so he turned to Dick instead, knowing he was a sucker for a little wide-eyed pleading. Dick’s expression softened the second Tim gave a little mrow, accompanied by a glance at the table. Alfred was taking Damian to get his arm disinfected, which was fair, if a bit of an overreaction.

Dick looked conflicted for a moment, but Tim moved towards him, tilting his head to the side and making another quiet sound, and he broke, just like Tim knew he would. “Sh, kitty,” Dick warned as he picked Tim up, and Tim obliged, making not a sound as he was set on the table. Steph was stifling a laugh, trying to get Tim to come over to her, but Tim had a mission. First, he licked Dick’s hand in thanks - and they said you couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks - and sauntered past Jason, flicking his tail in his face. Jason rolled his eyes.

“It’s on your head, not mine.”

Tim delicately stepped over dishes until he was in front of Bruce, who had been seemingly absorbed in his newspaper - honestly, who still read an actual newspaper instead of an online article, how fucking old was Bruce - and only looked up when Tim batted at it a few times.

“Hm?” Bruce looked at Tim, then at Jason. He gave Tim a nod of acknowledgement then kept reading. Tim swiped at the newspaper a few times, then he started tapping. Morse code, an SOS.

Guess fucking what. Bruce didn’t notice. He gave Tim a strange look, reached out, and carefully patted him on the head - despite his caution, Tim’s head still bobbed with the force of it - and then read his goddamn newspaper. This family. Tim snapped his jaws at Bruce’s hand as it retracted, but missed because whatever was out there absolutely despised him.

Jason snapped his fingers. “C’mere, little menace.” He patted his thigh, and Tim reluctantly turned and padded silently over to him, stopping on the way to nudge at Duke’s hand and earn a few pets. Jason lifted him back into his lap mere moments before Alfred returned with Damian in tow. Tim butted his head against Jason’s chest, settling more comfortably on his lap.

Alfred looked at Jason, then Tim, with a stern expression. “Animals are not permitted on the table, Master Jason.”
Jason glanced at Dick and shrugged. “It wasn’t me who let him up.”

“Master Dick. We’ve had this discussion before.”

“But, Alfie! He looked at me with those big eyes and I couldn’t say no! Look at him!” Dick gestured frantically at Tim, who mewed, biting down on Jason’s hand lightly. Jason swatted him with the other hand and he bit down harder, but Jason was unfazed. He waited for Tim to let go as Alfred lectured Dick, running the back of his newly freed hand across Tim’s cheek.

Tim decided the time for listening to his family bicker over his disappearance was over. It was time to go make their lives inconvenient, the price of their stupidity. He jumped down from Jason’s lap, paws skidding on the hardwood and nearly falling before Jason steadied him with a hand under his belly. Tim nudged his hand in thanks and trotted away, leaving Dick to be scolded by Alfred.

Jason chuckled and watched him go.

Tim headed straight for Bruce’s room, making his way up the stairs and down the halls. Since God hated him, the door was closed, but Tim made a plan. He launched himself upwards, pulling down on the handle at the same time he slammed into the door. It took a few tries, but he finally managed to get it open. His ribs were only slightly cracked. He slipped through the doorway and into Bruce’s room.

He was immediately hit with the smell of Bruce. The deodorant he wore, just him. He suspected it would be similar if he entered anyone else’s room, except for Jason’s, because he never stayed there. Cat senses. A little overwhelming, but cool.

Tim sniffed around until he found Bruce’s shoes, the polished Oxfords he wore to work at WE a few times a week. Tim dragged them out of the closet with his teeth sunk into the back, and then got to work. He raked his claws down the fine leather, leaving scratches and flaking behind, over and over until both shoes were covered.

Served Bruce right for not being able to figure it out. World’s Greatest Detective.

When Tim was satisfied that not even Alfred could salvage them, Tim had a grand old time dragging every shoe in the closet out and scattering them haphazardly across the room, for no reason other than it would be mildly annoying for Bruce to scavenge for a complete pair of shoes. Then he trotted back down the stairs and stood by Dick, nudging at him.

Dick cooed, reaching down with both hands to pick Tim up, and Tim sunk his teeth into his arm, then slipped out of his grasp. While Dick was exclaiming over the betrayal, Tim settled under Jason’s chair, sprawling underneath it and accepting a pat on the head. Tim would have smirked if he had lips at the betrayed look Dick shot him. That bitch really thought. Amateur.

Jason chuckled, and Tim was content to lay there and tune out conversation. That was, of course, until his name came up. As always, Tim meowed as loudly as he could at the mention. The conversation paused for a moment, then continued. Every time someone said his name, Tim made a racket, because it wasn’t that hard.

After a few minutes of this, when he could hear the irritation creeping into his family’s voices, Jason reached over and pulled him up. Tim snapped at him, twitching his tail. Normally, he wouldn’t have minded being picked up - after the initial wariness of Jason had worn off, Tim found he was perfectly fine with being carried - but the longer he sat, silently pleading for his family to figure it out, the more irritated he became.

Jason pushed his face against his leg. “What’s with you today, dude? This is the second time!”

Tim hissed, but forced himself to calm down. Having a cat tantrum wouldn’t help. He mewed, sprawling over Jason’s legs. Jason squished his head a little more than let go. “Sorry, guys, he’s in a mood today.”

Dick glanced at Tim with a huff. “He was much nicer when I met him. Jason, have you corrupted poor little Whiskers?”

Tim meowed, a clear yes. Jason flicked him on the forehead. “Don’t listen to him - he’s lying for attention. Little brat. I think he’s hungry.”

Tim was not, in fact, hungry, He hissed, glaring up at Jason. “What. not hungry? Uh, what, are you plotting my demise?”

Tim mewed, rubbing his head against Jason’s hand. If only. It’d be easier than getting this family full of detectives to realize it was him. Dick laughed, and Tim noted that

Damian had returned, looking at Tim thoughtfully. Tim didn’t trust that expression.

Conversation carried on. Tim closed his eyes.

Jason was going on patrol. Not that it was unusual, since it happened every night, but this time, Tim decided to tag along. Not consensually, of course, but Tim as a cat managed to be small enough to squeeze into one of Jason’s jacket pockets that usually contained ammunition. He dragged it out, hid it under the sofa, and curled in there to wait. He didn’t have to wait long, as Jason was rushing, practically throwing on his jacket.

Tim had his reasons for getting out of the safehouse like a stowaway.

One, Tim wanted to see what Jason’s patrols were like. Tim had an endless amount of blackmail on Jason, but he could always use more. Secondly, he was bored. Being a cat didn’t give him a wide range of activities. Lastly, he wanted to see if he could sniff around the place he’d gotten transformed nearly four weeks ago. Tim hadn’t seen his family other than Jason since brunch, but Jason seemed even more stressed. Tim had to fix this.

Jason didn’t notice him, even after he pulled on his helmet and started down his patrol route. From what Tim had overheard, Bruce had figured out who attacked him, but unfortunately, he wasn’t associated with any type of magic, clearly new to it. He’d seemed more than surprised when Tim turned into an actual cat. So, that wasn’t working for them.

Tim poked his head out, just enough to see their surroundings, but not draw Hood’s attention. They were, naturally, in Crime Alley, but the direction Hood was heading didn’t seem like he was headed for the center like he usually did. Tim wondered if he would patrol the outskirts, but the further along they went, the less that seemed likely.

Tim made a surprised sound when Hood veered straight out of his usual territory. It wasn’t that he didn’t even leave, especially now that he and the rest of the Bats were on better terms, but still. He usually stuck to his routes, and today wasn’t an important night as far as Tim could tell. But something in Hood’s movements was determined, precise. He knew what he was doing tonight, even if Tim didn’t.

For good measure, Tim clawed the inside of the pocket.

Tim knew the layout of most of Gotham, though Crime Alley was a bit foggier, since he didn’t often venture into what was distinctly Hood’s turf as Red Robin. He would drop by on occasion, usually offering informants and updates on a case as tribute, but he was wary of straying too far for too long.

Having said that, Tim knew they were drawing near to the place he’d been transformed. Tim flexed his claws.

What was Hood hoping to achieve? There was no way the magician of sorts would show up again, not in the same spot, not when he had to know all the Bats were chasing after him. But Hood seemed to know where he was going, looking around. “That dipshit. Right, two blocks from here, second floor.”

What?

Before Tim could ponder it further, Hood was off again, and true to his word, two blocks later he was climbing through the window of a second floor apartment. The door was locked, but it obviously didn’t stop them. Tim scraped his nose against the side of the window and rubbed it with his paw.

They weren’t alone in the apartment. Sitting on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table, was the guy who turned Tim into Whiskers. Minus the gaudy costume, instead in boxers and a tank top, and looking very surprised and terrified to see the Red Hood standing by his window. That was fair. Tim would be too.

“I - what - you -” Shockingly, he seemed to be struggling for words. Hood was not.

“You didn’t think I would find you? I know everything that happens in Crime Alley.” A bit of an exaggeration, but Hood did keep track of all the events and happenings in Crime Alley, to a downright concerning extent. “You took someone important from me.”

The poor guy still didn’t seem to be getting his words back together, scrambling upright. “You - who?”

“Oh, no one too special,” Hood said with a casualness so fake and edged with warning that Tim could taste it. “Just a little bird flitting around with a nasty stick, about yea high,” Hood held up a hand that was offensively level with his chest, and Tim wasn’t that short, “calls himself Red Robin. You know the one.”

The guy - Tim was going to call him Shitty Magician, actually - nodded, regaining a little confidence. “I do remember that. Say, did you ever find him? Wonder what happened to him.”

Hood didn’t react other than to unholster his pistol. Shitty Magician swallowed, and Tim poked his head out a little further, confident Hood was distracted enough not to notice him, and this may be his one chance, and - shit. The magician’s eyes locked on him.

“Nice cat.” He grinned, wide and smug, and he fucking recognized Tim, didn’t he?
“What -” Hood sounded confused, which was valid, before following his gaze and seeing Tim’s head stick out. “Fucking - Whiskers, what -”

Shitty Magician snickered, and just like that the gun was leveled back at him.

“Now, before you shoot, you should think about exactly how I handled your friend.” Shitty Magician was acting like he wasn’t scared, but Tim could smell the fear. He wasn’t kidding. He could actually smell it, the bitter edge souring the air.

“Oh? Why don’t you tell me more?” Hood cocked the gun.

Shitty Magician extended his hand, muttered something, and suddenly Tim was falling out of Hood’s pocket, but Hood didn’t notice, focused on his opponent, who wasn’t so much as an opponent as Tim had thought, because he was fleeing and - Tim’s vision blurred, just as he hit the ground.

The first thing Tim noticed was that he didn’t have paws. The second thing Tim noticed was that he didn’t have clothes.

Hood, somehow noticing the whole ass human being - Tim was human again! - turned to Tim instead of the running magician, and took two seconds to process, probably because seeing your younger brother appear out of seemingly nowhere, naked, might take a second. The first thing he did, however, was throw his jacket on top of Tim, which was rather thoughtful.

“Tim?”

“Uh -” Tim voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, hoarse from doing nothing but fucking meowing for a month, “hi?”

“You’re fucking alive - holy shit, Timbers, we’ve been so worried -” Jason shed his helmet, dropping down beside Tim as Tim sat up, wrapping himself up in Jason’s jacket, “where are your fucking clothes?”

Tim shrugged. The last thing he’d worn was his suit, then he’d shrunk down to cat size, so wherever they took that.

“Are you okay?” Jason seemed to compose himself a bit, voice gruff. “Hurt?”

Tim didn’t feel any pain, but just to be sure he rolled his shoulders and twisted side to side. “Nope.”

“Better question; what the actual fuck happened to you?” Jason met Tim’s eyes, and after a moment, he looked away. Actually, thinking about it, the moment Jason realized -

“”I -”

Jason cut him off. Jason cut him off before he could even start his explanation that he’d asked for. “Wait - where the fuck is my cat?”

“Your - cat?” Was that what Jason was worried about? His cat, who was admittedly Tim, but -

“Yes, Tim, my goddamn cat, who was here a minute ago, and is gone, and what if he got hurt? We’ve established you’re okay, but Whiskers could have gotten - what if the magician guy took him!”

Tim - Tim blanked. “I didn’t know you were a cat person.”

Jason turned to him, frowning. “Not normally, but I am out of spite. Nothing’s better than the look on Damian’s face when I steal a kitten from him, and the cute little shit’s pretty tolerable. Also, why are you naked? Just to revisit that.”

Right. This was probably the best time Tim was going to get to expose his secret life as a cat, while no one else was there and there was still a shock factor going. “Hey, my name’s Tim. You know that. But I go by Whiskers on occasion. When I’m a cat. So, in conclusion, your cat is fine and also talks.”

“You - you bit Damian!”

Tim smirked. That was one thing he didn’t regret. “Look me in my eyes and tell me he didn’t deserve it. That you wouldn’t’ve done the same.”

“Not arguing with that, but - they’re going to freak out - you were my fucking pet?”

Tim wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, but, gotta say, better than trying to get back to being human while being a street cat. To clarify, I was a street cat for like, ten minutes. Zero stars, would not recommend.”

“That’s why you wouldn’t eat any of the cat food I gave you!” Jason looked like that was the biggest revelation he’d had. Which, really, of course Tim wouldn’t have eaten cat food, because that stuff was disgusting.

“Yeah. Also why I was loud every time you said my name. Would you call Dick or someone to bring actual clothes? So we can leave?” Tim tugged the jacket a little tighter around him, shivering.

Jason nodded absently, but he still looked horrified. “Oh my God, we’re such idiots. Fucking hell.” He pulled his helmet back on, since apparently that was where he kept his comms, which was fucking stupid since if he lost it he had no way of communication. “Hey, guys. Guess who I found. The Replacement himself, alive and in one piece. No - shut up, just - Nightwing, get over here and bring some clothes. Yes. Hurry.”

“You guys are really stupid,” Tim said absently. “Not a half bad cat owner, though.”

“Thanks? I should’ve fucking known, you were a weird cat. But -” Jason frowned, cut himself off. Tim watched curiously as Jason reached out, but didn’t stop him and, oh, that felt nice. Tim leaned into Jason’s hand as he scratched his fingers lightly along Tim’s scalp. “Are you always like this, or is this a post-Whiskers thing?”

Tim shrugged, eyes half-lidded as Jason’s hand didn’t cease.

“Thanks. Real informative. Brat. Dick should be here soon with clothes, then we can head to the Manor and explain this cat-astrophe - Christ, pretend I didn’t say that.” Jason sat down again, beside Tim, and it was familiar enough, even in a different body, that Tim leaned against him. Jason made a vaguely startled noise before he started petting Tim again.

“Is that why you were so shocked to discover whiskers? That was really fucking funny, you know. I have a video.”

Tim groaned. You couldn’t even get turned into a cat these days without someone using it as blackmail. For now, he had opposable thumbs and his brother. That was enough.