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Chapter Text

On his day off, Tim is nudged awake from his sleep by something warm and soft brushing against his cheeks.

He drags his eyes open to find a cat watching him. A cat with a magnificently shiny and long black pelt with startling, bright, blue eyes. He resists for a full second before he succumbs to his inner cat lady and sinks his fingers on top of the cat’s head to scratch behind his ears.

A low, pleased purr fills the air. Lulled by the gentle rumbling and his warm sheets, Tim starts to drift off back to sleep.

He’s never his best when he’s drenched in a groggy, sleepy haze. Another full second later, Tim realises that he might have forgotten a small, miniscule fact about his own life.

Tim doesn’t have a cat.

He snaps into a sitting position on his bed. “What the heck?” He stops scratching and starts squinting. “How did you get in here? Why are you in my bed?”

All questions Tim thought he would never ask anybody in his life, much less a cat.

The cat blinks up at him. If possible, it’s eyes grew sparkly to exude sweetness and innocence.

Smart cat, Tim thinks, then narrows his eyes even more.

Smart and cute cats are the most dangerous kind. If Tim lets his guard down for even a moment, he might find himself waltzing out of the animal store with cat food, a scratching post and a bed. And Tim can’t have that—his life isn’t conducive to keeping pets right now.

Reaching out with both paws, the cat gently skims his claws and play-bites his hand. Then it scampers off, and climbs his window sill. Tim expects the little creature to jump out but the cat looks back at Tim expectantly.

“What?” Tim asks. “You want me to follow you?”

The cat meows.

He groans. “But it’s my day off and I want to sleep in.”

The cat slants him a disappointed stare—wait, can cats even do that?

What is Tim even doing? Is he really having a conversation with a cat right now?

Sighing, Tim rolls out of bed. The cat gives one last happy meow, satisfied that Tim is finally seeing things it’s way, before jumping out the window. Considering that Tim’s apartment is five stories up, that’s a little worrying. Is he being led around by an adrenaline junkie cat?

He’s already indulged the little creature this far. Might as well go all the way.

The cat leads him behind a dumpster a block away. There, Tim finds a big, orange tabby lying on his side, fur crusted with dried blood, and a smaller black cat hissing at Tim.

The cat that brought Tim there bumps the smaller one aside, and Tim leans down to examine the orange tabby. Its breathing is laboured, and Tim has no idea how long the poor cat’s been injured. They’re going to need to go to the vets, get it stitched up and antibiotics for after care.

Carefully, Tim slides his hands underneath the cat, and lifts him. The cat doesn’t try to bat away his hand, either from the pain or being resigned to the fact that it does need help.

“You poor thing,” he says. “Let’s get you to the vets. You’ll be better in no time.”

Both cats followed him home and jumped into the car with Tim. They don’t even seem mildly distressed about the car ride, something very unusual with cats.

From observing them interact in their drive, Tim’s already started giving them nicknames in his head. All of them have matching blue eyes, so it fits that their name should also match in some way. The one who woke him up is Bubbles, for the cat’s general bubbly nature. The orange tabby is Blossom to match its fur, and the smallest one, the one that’s managed to scratch Tim four times in the span of ten minutes—the devil cat—is Buttercup.

There’s a small flash of vindication in Tim at Buttercup’s offended look when Tim tried calling them with their new names. He decided to keep the names out of spite, even as the vet declares them to be boys later on.

A small part of him is urging Tim to take them to an animal shelter, but Bubbles seem stuck to Tim’s side during the vet visit like he’s been Tim’s for years. He’s always bumping his head under Tim’s hands as an order for Tim to scratch his ears. As Blossom’s wound is treated and sutured, Bubbles continues to blink up at Tim expectantly.

Tim’s probably going crazy, but it’s like Bubbles is begging to let them stay.

“Gotham City’s pet shelters are well-funded, you know,” Tim says as he’s scratching Bubbles under his chin. “The Martha Wayne Foundation sets aside a generous budget for it. I should know—I sign the forms when Bruce, my boss, decides to disappear into thin air for, like, the hundredth time. It’s a comfy place to wait for a nice family to take you in.”

Bubbles meows in protest.

“You won’t like me,” he tells Bubbles. “I work long hours, I don’t have a yard, and I barely remember to feed myself. I don’t know how you expect me to remember feeding you three.”

Bubbles pleads and looks up at Tim. Buttercup, almost reluctantly, pads up to Tim’s lap, puts on paw on him, and deigns to ask him with a single, sharp, meow. As if following their lead, but careful not to move his body, Blossom’s eyes slides over to Tim. He closes his eyes—preparing himself—before unleashing one of the saddest cat face Tim has ever seen in his life.

God, the sorrow and the sparkling—those begging eyes puts Puss in Boots to shame.

Let us stay with you.

Tim suspects that he’s dealing with three very intelligent, quirky cats, ones who know how to play him like a puppet.  

Damn if his heart isn’t sold.

He’s always been a cat person anyway.

At the at the age of nineteen, Tim has a pretty stable life. He has a job as Bruce Wayne’s personal assistant, and while the job itself is pretty hectic, his occupational status is secure. He has a feasible goal to work towards; saving up enough money to buy Drake Industries away from Bruce. He has his own apartment—a significant feat compared to his college friends—and now he even has his own cats.

Three of them, to be exact.

Tim didn’t even know that he had this much love to give until he got his cats. They’re all little bundles of fur with their own personality that Tim can’t help but adore them the more he spent time with them.

Whenever he tries to deny his soppy feelings, all anyone needs to dispute him is his phone; it’s filled with their pictures. Tim was two pictures away from making an Instagram account dedicated to them but decided that it was too soon. Not now, but in the future. All of his cats looks so good that everyone needs to see them. He even whips out his good camera whenever Bubbles is being particularly photogenic, because he finds that out of all of his cats, Bubbles loves the spotlight.

Buttercup is the cat most likely to be found in a corner planning Tim’s demise. He also enjoys climbing up the tallest things he can find and loom over Tim every chance he gets. Probably to laud his newfound height over Tim. Jokes on him, Tim’s taller every other time Buttercup’s not on top of the fridge.

They never use the litter box Tim buys them, instead choosing to go outside. For that reason, and because his cats must be used to roaming around, Tim always keeps the windows open for his cats.

Bubbles and Buttercup are always out at night. They greet him from work with a meow and a bump against his leg—well, Bubbles does. Buttercup just stays on top of his scratching post glaring at Tim—and after dinner, they jump out of Tim’s window to do whatever it is cats do outside. When Tim wakes up in the morning, they’re always back in their beds.

Sometimes, he’ll even find Bubbles curled up under his hands, to which Tim can’t resist patting him. Bubbles is such a sucker for scratches and cuddles.

And then there’s Blossom.

Blossom who’s quickly becoming his favourite.

Of course, he would never say it out loud. He’s a cat dad who loves all his cats equally—a mantra he recites whenever Buttercup hides under his couch to nab at Tim’s ankles—and Bubbles is still pretty high up there, even if he does disappear half the time.

But Blossom has become his shadow, and Tim had a feeling that if he were a wizard, Blossom would be his familiar.

Blossom considered him with grumpy eyes and suspicious growls for all of two seconds. An adorable sight, since his head is collared by the triangular cone of shame. Then, burdened by a spot behind his neck that he couldn’t scratch, Blossom pads to Tim in grudging defeat. Within a couple of minutes, the angry cat ice cream has melted under Tim’s masterful hands.

From then on, while his brothers are outside, Blossom likes to drape himself over Tim’s neck like a scarf. A warm, fuzzy, cone headed, cat scarf. When he purrs, Tim can feel it on his neck.

“I see who you really are, Blossom,” Tim says, reaching up his shoulder to pat him. “You might look like a tough alley cat on the outside, but on the inside, you’re as soft as a marshmallow. As sweet as sugar.” Tim’s smiles twists into a smirk. “As cuddly as Bubbles.”

If cats could shudder then Blossom probably did. His tail softly whips against Tim’s cheek in reproach.

Tim snorts. “Alright, alright. No comparing you to your brothers. Gotcha.”

All of his cats have scars, and it confirms Tim’s theory of how street hardened they are. There are bumps and uneven skin when he brushes his hands through their fur. Blossom is the one who enjoys it the most when Tim showers affection on his scars.

Once again, soft as a marshmallow.

After a long day at work, Tim is settling down in front of his computer to surf the net. He’s making himself some tea, but considers switching it for a cup of coffee despite the fact that it’s night time. His hand hovers over coffee tin before he feels something brushing against his face again.

That’s another thing—Blossom is adamant that Tim keeps a regular eating and sleeping schedule. He’s probably a better functioning adult than Tim if Tim were honest.

Relenting, Tim picks up one of his zero caffeine tea, and boils some water.

Blossom purrs in satisfaction.

“Don’t get too smug, little guy,” Tim tells him. “I can take you on if I get sick of you pushing me around.”

The look Blossom gives him is doubtful.

“Nah, you’re right,” Tim says. “You’re way too cute to lose a fight.”

It is while scrolling through the Batman subreddit that Tim leans back, pondering on the newest city wide conundrum.

“Nightwing hasn’t been sighted in three weeks,” Tim whispers to himself, petting Blossom as he thinks. “Neither has Robin, and the Teen Titans were in the news just yesterday. Batman has been seen asking questions about those two, along with Red Hood. Suffice to say, they’re all missing. Explains why Damian and Dick hasn’t visited the office in a while.”

Blossom is lying on the couch beside him, head partially on Tim’s lap, and he tenses as Tim continues to stroke him.

Tim sighs. “I hope they’re okay. They’ve never disappeared this long without being injured.”

Blossom quickly flips his body round and pads onto Tim’s lap. Tim only just had enough time to move his computer aside before Blossom sits on it. He locks his eyes on Tim and meows sternly.

“Huh?” Tim asks. “Did I say something wrong?”

Blossom meows again, tail whipping side to side, and Tim has never seen a cat look so grave.

“Do you mean about Dick and Damian?”

Another meow, this time in confirmation.

“Oh, that.” And because Tim couldn’t resist—Blossom looking serious is damn adorable—he boops Blossom’s nose. “Yeah, that’s a secret. A really huge secret. You’ll keep the secret for me, won’t you Blossom?”

Blossom meows in reply, and brushes his side against Tim’s body as if to say, Of course I will, silly. Then, his ears poke out, and he tilts his head. He meows again and this time Tim gets a sense that Blossom wants to know more.

More about Tim’s obsession with Batman and Robin. More about deducing how Dick Grayson was Robin and Bruce Wayne was Batman at the tender age of ten, and everything that came after that.

Tim has separate albums for Batman and each of his Robins that’s only ever been seen by his eyes. He’s itchy to show them off. They’re his pride and joy, a craft that he’s been refining since he was ten.

And, well, Tim’s never had a willing audience before—for obvious reasons. Even if Blossom’s just a cat, thinking about showing off his photos sends a rush of giddiness through him.

“Man, you have no idea Blossom.” Tim shakes his head. “I used to be ridiculously obsessed. I still am, but I’m more low key about it. You sure you want to open this can of worms?”

Blossom meows, eyes determined, cementing his place as Tim’s favourite.

“I don’t think anyone could work green, red, and yellow as well as Dick does,” Tim says, pointing at his photo album. “And he did it pantless. What an icon. Look, he even made a disco suit look mildly okay. Not good—no, wouldn’t want to mislead you about that monstrosity of a suit—but not terrible either.”

A neutral meow.

“Not your cup of tea? Don’t worry, you’re not alone. Discowing was an era everyone wants to forget.”

Blossom seems to agree by the way he bumps Tim’s arm for him to flip to the next page.

And that’s how it goes for the next hour. Tim goes through Damian’s album—I don’t think I’ve ever caught a picture of him smiling. His face might crack if he tried, to be honest—Stephanie’s album—She’s Red Robin now. I saw her break someone’s face with a brick once. She’s so awesome—and Jason’s album last.

Blossom preens when he sees the thickness of the album.

“This is Jason’s album,” Tim explains. “They’re all pictures from his Robin days. I don’t have any of him as Red Hood since I might, you know, get shot trying to capture a picture of him in that side of town, but maybe I’ll get luck one day.”

Turning to him with pretty severe expression for a cat, Blossom bumps his side.

“Hmm?” Tim asks. “You want to know what I think about him? Is he your favourite, Blossom?”

“Meow.”

Chuckling, Tim picks Blossom up and places him in his lap. “Is it because he’s a red-head like you? Ginger solidarity?”

“Meow.”

“Yeah, I really like his red hair too, and his freckles. It’s a shame he’s always dying it black. And as for Red Hood, he’s a pretty cool guy. He’s donates huge amounts to the Wayne Foundation’s Homeless Shelter every month, but that’s not surprising since Jason has always been a pretty caring guy.”

“Meow.”

“Do I care that he’s a criminal? I suppose not really,” Tim says. “As much as Batman tries, crime will never be stopped. There are people out there worse than Red Hood, and it’s comforting to know that someone like Jason’s keeping an eye out and regulating those kinds of people before they can go too far.”

If Blossom was pleased before, it’s nothing compared to now. He’s purring as if he’s hiding a motor in his little cat body, and he's rubbing his face against Tim’s belly.

Tim laughs. “Wow, you must really like Jason.”

A twinkle appears in Blossom’s eyes.

“He drops by the office sometimes, whenever Bruce disappears for Batman business,” Tim says. “When you’re all better, and if you’re good, I’ll take you to the office so you can meet him one day.”

Usually, his photo albums are locked inside a safe placed in the darkest corner of Tim’s closet. He’s particularly tired tonight, probably from talking to Blossom about his photos, so he leaves them piled up under his bed, before he falls asleep.

He wakes up to sounds of thudding, and all three of his cats meowing.

Interrupted sleep. The plight of all cat owners of the world.

Groaning, he turns on the light and sits up, only to be greeted by the strangest sight in all his life.

On the floor are three of his photo albums open. Dick’s, Damian’s and Jason’s. All the cats have their eyes on Tim, a touch of desperation in them.

Watch, their eyes beg. Watch and understand.

Bubbles, always the leader of their group, steps forward and stands on Dick’s album. Blossom follows, and he stands on top of Jason’s album. Finally, Buttercup stands on top of Damian’s album, and together, their stares begin to burn holes into.

And Tim understands. The timing of their disappearances, and the timing of his cats’ appearances, their distinct personalities, their human-like intelligence—

“Oh my god,” Tim says to himself. “Oh my fucking god.”

He debates about calling Commissioner Gordon to summon Batman, but he decides against it, choosing instead to drive to Wayne Manor and deliver the cats personally.

Tim’s going to die from embarrassment anyway so he might as well go all the way.

Alfred greets him at the door, perplexed but polite as always. “Mister Drake,” he greets. “Always a pleasure to see you. Might I ask why you’re giving Master Bruce a box of cats in the middle of the night, adorable as they are?”

“They’re Dick, Damian and Jason.”

Alfred is instantly alert. “Pardon me?”

“They’re Dick, Damian and Jason,” Tim repeats again. “They came to me weeks ago, roughly the time Nightwing, Robin and Red Hood disappeared. I know this sounds crazy, but I think they’ve been turned into cats.”

As if on cue, the cats start meowing at Alfred.

“Oh dear,” Alfred says. “Please, make yourself at home. I’ll hail Master Bruce right away.”

As far as interrogations go, his one is really comfy.

There’s a kind, paternal air that constantly surrounds Alfred, and despite his ever straight back and impeccable demeanour, he’s generous with his smiles. A smile that crinkles the corner of his eyes, and gentles the harsh dryness of his throat. After sitting him down in living room sofa, Alfred brings a tray of tea, and it only takes him two patient words to coax Tim into conversation.

“How long?”

“Since I was ten.”

Alfred raises his eyebrows. “That long?”

“Yeah,” Tim says, fiddling with his cup of tea. “Dick’s quite unforgettable”

“I assure you, that’s not the first time I’ve heard that phrase,” Alfred says, amused. “But please, do elaborate. What about Master Dick gave drew you to your conclusions?”

“His quadruple aerial somersault. Robin did them so effortlessly…it wasn’t hard to connect the dots afterwards. ”

“Ah yes, Master Dick’s acrobatics is unmatched. I’ve yet to see an equal.” Alfred takes a sip of his own tea, and places his cup on the table. “You’ve never told anyone?” he asks gently.

Tim straightens. “What? No! I’ve never—” he breaks off to clear his throat. “I’ve never told anyone. Well, except Blos—Jason. And that was when I thought he was a cat. I’ve never told anyone and I never will. Batman needs his secrets and Gotham…Gotham needs Batman.”

Taking a huge sip of his tea, Tim looked at his cup, at the chair, the bookshelves—anywhere but at Alfred.

It’s a shame he didn’t. If he had looked up at Alfred a second sooner, he would have seen the approval flashing across his face.

“Am I going to lose my job?” Tim blurts out. “Now that Batman—Mr. Wayne, sorry—now that Mr. Wayne knows that I know that he’s Batman?”

Alfred chuckles. “There is no need to panic, Master Timothy. Master Bruce does not punish cleverness and goodwill.”

Tim must have looked as distressed and doubtful as he feels, as Alfred sighs.

“Rest assured that your job is safe, as you will see for yourself tomorrow,” Alfred says. “Now, may I offer you the use of one of the manor’s guest rooms for the night?”

Tim didn’t sleep at the manor, even as Alfred offers the guest room, instead driving back home to lie restlessly on his bed. Every time he closes his eyes, he’d see flashes of the past few weeks. Cooing at his cats in a baby voice, carrying them around everywhere he goes, cuddling Bubbles, nuzzling kisses onto Blossom, sneaking a couple of pats onto Buttercup—and boy did he have the scars to prove it—and more.

So many more, embarrassing things. All before he knew that they were human.

Grabbing a pillow, he covers his hot face and resists screaming for a full hour.

Thus, it’s no surprise that he shows up to work with droopy eyes and low expectations. He finds a USB on his desk with a note attached. Glancing over it, he notices that it’s Bruce’s handwriting.

I need a second opinion.

Eyebrows furrowed, he opens the USB on his computer. Inside is one executable file which installs in a couple of minutes. Clicking around, he explores through pages and tabs, and his eyes widens at the new windows popping up.

29th April 2017. 14:57 A tip was given to Commissioner Gordon that Jonathan Crane has been sighted—

“Oh my god,” Tim says as he scrolls through Batman’s case files. “Oh my fucking god.”

“Timothy!”

At the distinct sound of Dick’s exuberant voice, Tim freezes in his chair. He calculates the distance from his desk to the door, eyes up the window, and even considers hiding under his desk before his shoulders slump in defeat.

“Hi, Dick,” he says weakly.

He expected awkwardness, because Tim is ridiculously awkward, in everything that he does. What he got is a full body hug where Dick even lifts him from chair.

“You were so sweet to me when I was a cat,” Dick says. “I never got to thank you! I never seem to catch you too. Bruce must be piling up all the work on your desk now that you’re part of the team.”

“That’s okay,” Tim says, voice squeaky. I totally wasn’t avoiding you or anything.

Dick is crushing all the air out of him, but his hug is very nice. Tim doesn’t get a lot of hugs, and he savours this, even if he’ll probably end up like a flat pancake afterwards.

“Still,” Dick says, putting Tim down and patting his back. “Thanks. Honestly, you made what was an extremely unfortunate event pretty bearable. Even luxurious at times, I felt a little pampered. Explains why Jason ditched searching for Bruce every night in favour of your cuddles.”

Tim flushes. “He what?”

All of a sudden, he’s reminded of Blossom and how he purred like a mini motor vehicle whenever Tim nuzzled his face into his fur.

Smirking, Dick leans in closer. “You think a couple of stitches would stop Jason from running around if he wanted to? It never did before; he’s gone patrolling in worse. He just never wanted to.”

Tim really doesn’t know what to do with that information. He needs like at least four hours to deliberate on it before coming back to Dick with an appropriate reaction.

“Well,” Tim says instead, “you never complained about my cuddles either.”

“That I never did,” Dick agrees. “Expertly done, every single time. But I’m getting off track. I’m here to take you to lunch—my treat, of course—and ask you for a favour.”

Perking up, because he adores free things, Tim asks, “What kind of favour?”

“I’m going to need you to burn that picture of me in the disco suit.”

“Picture?” Tim’s smile is innocent. “What picture?”

It sneaks up to him, at times, the sudden embarrassment that would make him want to smash his face into the keyboard. The fact that he’s cuddled and kissed his boss’ sons pretty shamelessly, and how he misses doing it. He misses having a small furry friend around his shoulder. He misses his cats.

His cats that ended up being his boss’ sons.

“I’m never going outside ever again,” Tim mumbles under his breath.

A snort. “You never did in the first place.”

Tim looks up from his computer screen, and his breath catches. Standing in his leather jacket, white shirt, and jeans, Jason is like a breath of fresh air compared to his computer screen.

“Hi,” Jason says, a little shy.

“Hi,” Tim greets. “Wait, did you just roast me?”

In an instant, all shyness is gone. Jason leans on top of Tim’s desktop monitor and grins. A cheeky expression that kind of reminds Tim of Blossom.

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” Jason says. “Let me give you a good reason to go outside. Go on a date with me.”

Tim folds his arms. “Not interested,” he says. “I don’t need the sun to roast me when you’re already doing a good job of it.”

Clutching his chest, Jason brings a hand up his forehead. “Don’t play with my poor, feeble heart like that. I even left my hair red to because you liked it that way.”

He did, because red-headed Jason is handsome as hell.

Jason leans down, a fond smile on his face and eyes so familiar Tim couldn’t break the stare.

“So what do you say, Professor Utonium?” he asks.

Grinning, Tim relents. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “I’ll see you after work.”

Chapter Text

The idea comes to him through the internet, and by the time he finishes trawling through enough YouTube videos and Buzzfeed articles, his interest is piqued.

He’s going to walk one of the cats.

He might not survive if all these articles headlines with bolded words like ‘pain’, ‘eternal suffering’ , and ‘pure hell’ are anything to go by, but by god, he’s going to try.

Thus begins Operation Cat Walk.

After his one sided conversation with Buttercup (“What do you want, Buttercup? No, you can’t have more. You already have food in your bowl, you naughty cat. I already put food there—hey! No! Paws off my food!”) that ended into a glaring contest, Tim has ruled out Buttercup as a willing participant. It works, in the end. Buttercup wouldn’t have let Tim walked away unscathed after fitting the walking leash on him—he was particularly claw-happy when Tim has first fitted his collar—and Tim prefers to keep his hand whole, thank you very much.

Tim did, however, picked the most clashing, rainbow coloured collar as revenge. It even has bells, on it, bells, which jingles every time Buttercup moves. A cheery forewarning of Tim’s impending doom.

Bubbles showed promise in the initial testing; practically sliding into his walking leash and was happy to slink beside Tim when they walked around the house. But then, Bubbles is a busy cat. After his cat-duties, the ones that takes him the whole night to do, he crashes on Tim’s bed from morning till Tim finishes work. When Tim tries to wake Bubbles up with soft, coaxing scratches, Bubbles would bat away Tim’s hand, drag one eye open to consider Tim in a sleepy haze, before curling back to sleep.

A solid no in cat language.

Which is fine, Tim has three cats anyway. And Tim has a feeling that if he did try walking them outside, he’d be one of those people that’d end up dragging their unwilling cats across the ground while sad music plays in the background. Buttercup, he would be dragging because of belligerence. Bubbles, because he was asleep.

Blossom it is, then.

“There we go,” Tim says as he finishes tightening the straps of Blossom’s walking jacket. “Well, don’t you look handsome?”

Blossom, if it’s possible, stands straighter while having all paws on the ground and sitting on his hindlegs. He throws a narrow, side eyed glance at Buttercup and Bubbles, who are watching from their respective languorous spots, before facing Tim again and meowing his ready.

Tim slides him into a cradle in his arms, nuzzling his face into Blossom’s fur and kissing the spot right at the back of his ears. They’ve recently removed the cone of shame, and Tim’s free to truly bury his close to Blossom’s. He smells like cat to be honest, so not pleasant, but he’s warm, his fur is soft, and his weight is comforting.

“Don’t pay attention to your brothers, Blossom,” Tim assures. “They’re just jealous of how much of a handsome boy you are. You ready to see the sun?”

At Blossom’s meow, Tim carries him to car and drives them to the nearest shopping complex.

Tim has done his research, you see. Cats aren’t good with wide, open spaces, so the park is a definite no. Especially because it has strangers and dogs running around. Blossom, Tim notices, is calmer than the average cat. Hardier, too, but Tim doesn’t want to risk stressing him out if a dog comes bounding up to them without warning.

The shopping complex that Tim’s taking them is reasonably busy but not crowded. There’s enough patches of grass and trees that Blossom is free to trot around without being overwhelmed by loud cars and too much people.

Blossoms seems happy to walk around, perky even. He leads while Tim follows, and he never strays too far. He really is such a smart cat and every time Tim thinks about how smart his cats are he wants to squish something until it explodes.

And Tim is learning so many things about Blossom. Mainly, that he loves to veer off and admire his favourite things; cars, chilli dogs, and girls.

“Nope,” Tim says as he stops Blossom from jumping to the roof of a red Lamborghini.

“Hell no,” Tim says again as Blossom slinks close to the newest Peugeot model.

“Blossom, no,” Tim says, cradling him in his chest.

Blossom eyes the futuristic, sleek looking Mercedes. He meows at Tim pleadingly.

“I can’t afford to pay for accidental scratches,” Tim explains. “And I’m sure the owners would freak at finding a kitty lounging on the roof of their million dollar cars."

And really, who leaves million dollar cars parked on the street without bodyguards surrounding the place? Don't they know that car happy cats could easily sleep on it at any possible moment?

Twitching his ears, Blossom concedes to Tim’s points. He settles more comfortably in Tim’s arms before giving Tim’s chin a lick.

Tim deflates, all stress leaving him. Blossom’s tongue is scratchy and wet on his skin. The sentiment, however, is much appreciated.

“Ugh,” Tim says. “I can never stay mad at you.”                 

Blossom lingers at a chillidog cart, when they stumble upon one, and that was the most challenging obstacle to pull him away from. He stands like a soldier greeting an old lover after coming back from war. He even closes his eyes while breathing in the savoury smell wafting from the chillidog cart. With each second that passes, his muscles loosen until Blossom is almost a happy cat-puddle.

Tim feels like he’s intruding on a private moment.

He sighs. “Human meat is too processed and salty for your cat body, you know that right?” Tim tells him. “Think of your poor little heart valves, Blossom. They're going to be working on overtime after you eat a chillidog.”

A second pause, before Blossom moves to stroke his whole body against Tim’s leg.

Devious cat.

“You’re making it real hard for me to say no,” Tim says. “But I have to. Healthy lifestyle and all.”

In the end, Tim has to swoop down and carry Blossom in his arms, much to the amusement of the vendor. Blossom shuffles until his chin is hooked onto Tim’s shoulder. He watches the cart as they walk further away.

His meow is wistful and a little forlorn.

And then there are the girls. The girls.            

(To be fair, there are a couple of cute boys too.)

For each quantifiable value used to measure how much Blossom enjoys the shopping complex, it’s evident the shopping complex enjoys Blossom more. He’s been stopped regularly, especially if he’s carrying Blossom in his arms, by people who want to coo about how much of a good cat Blossom is, and by people who take photos of themselves with Blossom in his walking jacket.

The people are insatiable with their praises and their adoration.

Blossom flourishes under the attention.

One girl gasps when she cards her fingers through Blossom's fur. “Does he have scars on his body?” she asks. “I can feel the scars under my hand.”

“Yeah, he was a street cat before I took him in,” Tim says. “I think he had a pretty rough past.”

“Aww. Poor kitty!” The girl seems to be on the verge of exploding into joyful tears. “I’m so happy you found a new home!”

Lapping up the pity, Blossom goes more lax under her hands and meows pitifully. Playing up his tragic backstory.

Tim refrains from rolling his eyes.

“Is he an indoor cat?” another asks.

“Yup,” Tim answers. “Thought it would be a good exercise for him after seeing some success stories on the internet.”

The girl nods. “Probably for the best. He looks like he’s a bit plump.”

Blossom freezes, and Tim can feel a rumble coming from him.

Tim lands a kiss behind Blossom’s ears. “That’s all muscle,” Tim tells her. “He is bit heavy but,” Tim quickly adds when the tips of Blossom’s claw skims at his arms, “it’s all solid muscle. Trust me, nothing jiggles when he moves.”

The girls giggle, and Blossom retracts his claws.

Disaster averted. Tim even gets the gist that Blossom approves of what Tim has said.

God, he needs more human friends.

“Time for us to go home,” Tim says. “Say goodbye, Blossom.”

Blossom meows right on time, and the girls melt at his goodbye. Tim has the sudden sense that this is what it must feel like to be attractive and admired.

Well the girls can praise and adore all they want, Tim’s the one Blossom’s going home with.

He even relents and buys a chillidog on their way home. He feeds half of his sausage to Blossom, and Blossom purrs for ten minutes straight.

Consider Operation Cat Walk a huge success.

Chapter Text

Tim really shouldn’t have been poking around, but he can’t help it; it’s the Batcave! The one thing he’s imagined stumbling upon since he was eleven! And it is everything he’s ever dreamed of. Big and sprawling, state of the art tech at every turn—every visit feels like the first time, and his fingers itch to touch everything.

But he is behaving himself. He hasn’t touched anything other than the computer, and settles for leaning in and cooing at all the amazing things his boss kept down at the cave.

He’s admiring a small black blob in the corner of the cave when it happens—when the temptation became too much.

Caving (heh) in to his curiosity, Tim brings one hand up to touch the blob. It looks like it’s alive, a small rise and fall that resembled breathing patterns. Tim brushes a finger against the fur, in awe at how soft it is, despite being synthetic.

Then he realises that there is nothing synthetic about the blob. The blob is a bat.

An actual bat.

And, annoyed at his prodding, the bat flies at his face.

He brings both hands up and shields his face. As the bat flaps closer, Tim flails harder. He shuffles backwards, thinking, ‘Not the face! Not the face—'

He didn’t mean to bump into anything, but he ends up smacking into one of the exhibition cases from his wild chicken dance. The one with something that looked like a ray gun inside of it. In a moment of complete, utter, absurdly bad luck, the case tilts over. Glass shatters, and the ray gun bounces onto the floor.

A ray of light shoots right at Tim.

One moment, he’s rubbing his poor, sore butt. Next thing he knows, his eyes are almost at ground level. His vision is sharper, his sense of smell is more acute, and colours are not what they’re supposed to be.

“Oh dear,” Alfred says, examining the mess.

He’s holding a tray of tea for Tim, and Tim knows something is deeply wrong because Tim has to crane his neck up ridiculously high to make that observation.

Then, the absolute most baffling thing happens. His mind has already formed what he wants to say, but when he opens his mouth, nothing comes come out. He licks the top of his mouth once more, and tries again.

Instead of words, he hears a meow.

Alfred sighs. “I’ll call Master Bruce and Master Jason.”

When it’s Tim alone with his curiosity, boredom, and a room full of dangerous equipment, it’s normal to expect the absolute worst. They’re never a good mix, and with that in mind, it’s totally normal for Jason to blitz down Gotham on his motorbike and scale the brick walls of Wayne Manor in record time. He slides up the window to his bedroom, and doesn’t even bother closing it before sprinting towards the longue.

Jason crashes through the lounge doors. “I got your call, Alfred. I’m here! Is Tim—Steph?”

Stephanie pauses, her face pursed in a kissy face. She’s lifting up a long-haired tuxedo cat at face level. Jason’s mind whizzes from the black and white fur, to the blue eyes, and to the emergency call. He knows, with a certainty, that the cat’s definitely Tim. Tim got turned into a cat. Typical.

That’s not even the worst part. No, the worst part, the one that leaves his truly betrayed, is what Steph has managed to do in the small space time it took for Jason to get his ass here.

“Is that—” Jason says. “Is Tim wearing a Red Robin shirt?”

Indeed, fitted to Tim’s small torso, is a replica of Steph’s Red Robin uniform.

Stephanie swoops in for a kiss on Tim’s nose, before hugging him to her chest. “He looks good with my logo on,” she defends.

“He can’t be seen endorsing Red Robin merch,” Jason protests, because really that’s the big issue here. “He’s my boyfriend.”

“Irrelevant. No one in Gotham knows who the Red Hood is.”

“Still.”

Steph huffs. “He’s my best friend.”

“Okay, valid,” Jason says. “No way in hell your uniform looks better than a mini leather-jacket, though.”

“My uniform is rad, and you’re going to have to wait your turn with Tim,” Steph says, as she uses one hand to bring out her phone. “We’re going to a mini photoshoot where I’m going to capture all these wonderful blackmail photos to use for the future. You’re welcome. Alfred had to go out for errands, by the way. I was already coming here to wait for Cass so I volunteered to watch over him.”

Throughout the  whole exchange, Tim has been happily flopped in Stephanie’s arms, content to watch them banter back and forth like a tennis match. He does that when he’s human too, although he often would leave halfway grab something to nibble or drink before coming back.

When Jason holds his arms out, Tim wiggles signal Steph that Jason has his permission, and Steph hands Tim over.

Tim is slight for a cat; definitely smaller than he and Dick was, but bigger than Damian. Jason’s hand covers three-quarter of his torso, and he almost explodes from how soft Tim’s fur is. Okay, he’s definitely starting to understand Tim’s obsession with nuzzling his face into Jason’s fur when he was a cat.

As it is, Jason sneaks a kiss behind Tim’s ear, and Tim’s ears fold forward before bouncing back upright. So floppy and twitchy.

Steph sighs. “Alfred and I have taken the liberty to contact Zatanna and Zatarra, and both of them are busy until next week. Zatanna in with the League, and Zatarra’s in outer space. I know, I didn’t ask. Also, every magic user we know seems to be busy until tomorrow at the earliest, so Tim’s stuck. At least for today.”

Jason nods. “Thanks, Steph. Appreciate it.” Then he turns his attention onto Tim. “You touched something, didn’t you?” Jason accuses.

Tim cranes his neck around, and blinks wide, innocent eyes at Jason.

“Oh, you touched something, alright,” Jason mutters. “That’s your ‘I didn’t eat the last pudding cup’ look. Even though you totally did.”

As if to prove his not-guilty-at-all stance, Tim reaches up and licks at the bottom of Jason’s chin.

Steph grins. “That is evil.”

“The actual worst,” Jason agrees.

“Are you going to give him a cat name?”

Jason tilts his head at Tim. “It’ll only be fair. How about Mojo JoJo? Black and white like his hat?”

Tim starts to rumble, and skims his claw lightly against Jason’s skin.

Jason has to agree; nothing about Tim is green.

“So a no,” Jason says. “What about Tim Tam?”

A second where Tim deliberates, before a meow. Being named after a chocolate biscuit is probably the most sugar he’ll see in a while, and Tim knows how to pick his battles.

Steph almost squeals, but settles for stroking through Tim’s fur. “Alright. Tim Tam, it is.”

Jason’s never been a cat person, even though he was, at one point, a cat. Something about a dog’s energetic, enthusiasm really appeals to him. And their loyalty; how it shines from their big, puppy eyes. Who could ever hate a dog when they look at you like you hung the moon?

While he’s on the train of thought of dogs…

“Let’s go for a walk,” Jason declares, putting his book down.

Tim is sprawled on Stephanie’s lap on the couch, bribed with the promise of scratches for all his photos. He narrows his eyes, and moves his head backwards into something that resembles a double chin if he had done it as a human, and each of his ears flatten sideways.

Tim looks absolutely disgusted

It’s so damn adorable. 

“Let’s go outside,” Jason decides. “We can’t neglect on getting your daily dose of Vitamin D, Tim.”

Affronted, Tim looks up at Steph for help. He places on paw on Steph’s thigh and meows one, shaky, hopeful meow.

“You are really pale, Tim,” Steph observes. “Some Vitamin D will do you some good.”

Tim’s eyes quivers into something resembling betrayal and despair.

Steph is weak, Jason thinks, eyeing up how her bottom lip trembles the longer Tim gives her his pleading stare. He should know; he’s used his own version plenty of times before when he was a cat. He needs to intervene now, because Tim is ruthless, and if he leaves it a second longer, Stephanie will fall prey and become Tim's willing minion.

He slips his arms under Tim, and Tim yowls as he’s carried into Jason’s arms. Tim won’t scratch him, even as he rumbles in his hold, because Tim will get guilty and fussy over Jason’s scratches. It’s what his human self does whenever Jason come home with surface wounds.

An idea strikes him, one that is sure to make him happy, and Tim mildly okay with being outside. He holds Tim out to Steph, and she takes Tim dutifully for a moment. Patting his leather jacket, he zips it up halfway, before taking Tim back from Steph and tucking him under his jacket.

Tim settles in like he belongs, a warmth weight on his chest, right beside his heart.

His paws peeks out of the lapels of his jacket. Jason gives the top of Tim’s head a quick scratch.

“There,” Jason says, pleased with himself. “All secured and ready for a walk.”

Steph bites her cheek in. “I’m not judging you or anything,” she says, pulling her phone out again, “but is it really a walk if you’re carrying him everywhere?”

Jason doesn’t deign such a silly question an answer, and he certainly doesn’t mind her giggles as she takes numerous photos of Tim’s head poking out of Jason’s jacket. No doubt that those pictures would end up in their family chat, as well to Roy and Kori, but Jason’s not worried at all.

Let them seethe in jealousy.

Jason settles an arm under Tim for extra support, and nods to Steph before leaving.

If Tim could glare at the sun without becoming blind, then he would. All day and every time he goes outside. As it is, Tim has a bad habit of squinting at the sky when he does have sunglasses, and he's always two seconds away from shaking his fist up above. Even as a cat, he glowers in a sullen manner that reminds Jason of eternal suffering and death.

“Come on, Tim Tam,” Jason says. “It’ll be fun.”

Tim doesn’t look convinced.

So they walk around the block, and Jason keeps up a steady chatter which Tim trills once and a while to answer. The amount of times they get stopped for pictures rivals the time Tim took him out for a walk as Blossom. At some point, Jason has to turn people away with an apologetic smile when Tim becomes a bit too frazzled and overwhelmed from all the strangers.

They must look a sight. Someone as big and burly as Jason with a small, ball of fluff cradled in jacket. Twitter is going to go wild with this one.

Afterwards, as a reward for Tim, Jason let’s Tim ride front on his motorcycle.

Tim sits straight, almost rivaling his bike with his purring, as Jason rides around the block.

It usually only takes Jason five minutes to complete a circuit, but at the pace they’re going, it’ll take them closer fifteen or, even, twenty minutes. It’s all worth it, of course, to see Tim reveling in the way the wind is brushing up through his fur. A fluffy figurehead guiding Jason's bike home.

Like Tim’s having his own Titanic moment, the one where Rose and Jack are standing against the railing and imagines they're flying.

Jason grins the rest of the way home.

After dinner, Tim roams around the mansion, puttering around while Bruce is talking to Jason, and waiting for the time Tim can just loaf on top of Jason and demand his rightful cuddles.

His new senses are something to become adjusted to, but with one sniff, Tim can tell that the room he has stumbled upon belongs to Damian.

He ruffles himself, and watches how a strand of his hair falls onto Damian’s carpet.

Inwardly, he smirks.

Rubbing himself on every single furniture in sight, Tim makes sure not one piece is free from his molting fur. He rolls on beds, shimmies up curtains, finds Damian's nicest pieces of suits and leaps to embrace it like they're Jason. When he's back to his human self, he'll help Alfred de-fur everything, but for now, he's going to bask in Damian's screams. Afterwards, he sneaks out and starts to sniff out for hiding positions.

Tim hears someone coming up the stairs, and darts into the nearest open door. The room unravels to towering bookcases and the slight musty smell of old paper.

“Hello.”

Tim startles, because even with his hearing, he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him.

Hands slide under him, and like instinct, he flops into the hold. Whoever’s holding him lifts him up until he sees—

Cass, and her small, sweet smile.

“Hi, Tim,” Cass says. “Did Jason leave you to get lost by yourself?”

Tim meows a ‘yes’, and it was the most pitiful meow he ever mustered. One that portrays a tragic tale of how he was just padding around when Jason ditched him to fend for himself. How he was minding his own feline business, alone and defenceless, and how he definitely wasn't causing chaos and mayhem all over Damian's room or anything.

“That’s okay,” Cass says. “You can sit with me while I read.”

Then Cass carries Tim to the window side, and leaves Tim to knead on her lap like her thighs were dough while she opens a book. It hits Tim then—how tiring his day has been. Getting turned into a cat, going outside, meeting all those strangers.

All so very draining.

Cass runs her finger through Tim’s fur. “I know, Tim Tam. People are tiring. Sleep here with me?”

With such a tantalising offer, how could Tim ever deny her?

Tim rubs his face against Cass’ hand in a silent ‘thank you’, before curling around himself. He listens to the silence, soothing and soft, listens to the sound of Cass turning a page in her book. Safe, secure and warm, he slips into sleep.

Chapter Text

Steph usually comes over to his place once every two or three days. It’s basically where she lives when she’s not at the Wayne Manor or off on some Red Robin business out of Gotham—not that Tim’s supposed to know anything about her Red Robin shenanigans.

Today, Tim invites her over for dinner, the first time that she’s been free since he’s acquired his band of furry children. Nights like this usually calls for movie marathons and Youtube binges, maybe even catch up on the newest, most disappointing season of Game of Thrones, and endear her to his infamous rowdy group of Powerpuff cats.

(Which is what he calls them behind their backs. Tim has the feeling that Buttercup would use his face as a scratching post if he ever found out their collective nickname.

Ah, Buttercup, Tim thinks fondly. Always determined to wreak havoc unto the world and watch it burn from his superior view on top of his fridge.

He truly is the devil cat.

Unfortunately, he’s Tim’s devil cat.)

Tim was ready. He was prepared to run interference and use his own body as a meat shield. It would be duty anyway--as the Cat Dad of his stranger-hating, claw-happy Powerpuff cats.

What he wasn’t ready for...was for his cats to absolutely cuddle the living shit out of Steph.

Tim’s pretty sure he’s just fallen into some kind of alternate dimension right now.

Bubbles has been under her hands from the minute she stepped into his apartment. Blossom left his rightful perch on his shoulder--for which, the betrayal Tim will never forget--to curl himself against her side. Even Buttercup allowed himself the indignity of jumping down from Tim’s fridge to rub his side against her.

Even Buttercup!

If Tim were mistaken, the Powerpuff cats seem to be fighting for her attention.

They never fought for his attention…

“God, Tim, tone it down,” Steph says in delight. “You look so jealous right now.”

“I’m not jealous,” Tim says.

Steph raises one eyebrow, and under her hands, even Bubbles tilts his head at Tim curiously.

“I’m not!”

As if to prove him wrong, Blossom starts purring like a small generator; the way he usually does when Tim’s scratching his belly.

Steph doesn’t reply but her smirk grows wider by the second while Tim narrows his eyes at them.

Betrayal always comes when you least expect it.

“Okay, fine.” Tim purses his lips. “I’m a tiny bit jealous. A tiny bit jealous.”

It’s a lie. He’s so ridiculously jealous, it’s not even funny.

Steph moves onto the underside of Bubble’s chins, and he too starts purring like the shameless cuddle machine Tim knows he is.

“Gosh, Tim,” Steph says. “You should teach them to be a little more wary. A no-good stranger could come along and scoop them up, and they’d be purring through the whole ordeal!”

“Believe me, they aren’t usually this friendly,” Tim says, shaking his head. “Bubbles is. Though, Blossom likes to stare and Buttercup almost destroyed the mailman when he dropped a package in front of my door yesterday. Did you become some kind of cat whisperer last time I saw you?”

“Not that I know of. I patted Titus this morning.”

Strangely, that causes Buttercup to curl his tail around Steph’s ankle. Tim can see that Steph is literally seconds away from exploding.

“They’re so cute!” Steph says. “Have you got them fixed yet?”

The words have about the same effect as a bucket of ice cold water poured on them.

The Powerpuff cats yowl in outrage as they jump out from Stephanie’s arms and onto the kitchen counter—as if her touch had scalded them.

Steph burst out laughing—before she winces. Her hands twitch towards her ribs.

“Woah, woah, hold up,” Tim says. He opens a cupboard, quickly puts out a couple of cat toys to occupy the Powerpuff cats, and wanders over to the fridge. “The hell did you do to your ribs?”

Steph falters for less than half a second, before laughing and waving her hand. “Got overconfident at my Krav Maga lesson yesterday. Serves me right really.”

So Robin duties. Figures.

Tim grabs an ice pack and a tea towel, since he doesn’t want to restrict Steph’s breathing especially if she’s broken a couple of them. He slowly compresses it against Steph’s ribs.

Steph snorts. “I’m fine, Tim. And I can hold it myself.”

“Yeah, well,” Tim argues, although he relents. “You ever think about going easy on your Krav Maga classes?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Steph teases, although her smile feels a little forced.

Moments like this make a part of him feels guilty that Steph is tearing herself on the inside with the thought of keeping such a huge secret from him. He sees the necessity however, and to some point he agrees. Stephanie deserves a place that she can fully relax in. A place that is separate from her vigilante duties.

He changes the subject. “So,” he says casually. “How’re your brothers and Cass doing?”

This is familiar territory, Steph relaxes her spine a bit. Tim sees Blossom and Bubbles perk their ears towards her.

“Cass is good,” Steph says. “She’s going to come by here on Thursday, by the way. As for the rest… depends on if you want to satisfy your massive crush on Dick first or your even bigger, more massive, crush on Jason?”

“Wow,” Tim says. “I always regret telling you anything.”

Someone bumps their head on Tim’s arm. Tim’s hands automatically goes to brush his fingers against Blossom’s head and—

Tim must be hallucinating again. Blossom looks a bit smug with his head cupped in Tim’s hands.

“I saw Jason around town…two weeks ago, I think.” Tim sighs forlornly. “If anything, it just reminded me how he’s just completely out of my league.”

“C’mon,” Steph says. “Sure you’ll a little bit jumpy and tweedy, but you’re selling yourself short. Did you say even say ‘hi'? "

“Nope,” Tim says. “Too late by then.”

“Did you run and hide behind the nearest column you can find?”

“It was a tree," Tim defends, "and that still doesn’t change the fact that he looked pretty cosy with the two absolutely gorgeous redheads with him. I don’t have a chance with someone like Jason and I’m pretty happy with that. It looks like Jason caught the Dick virus anyway.”

If Stephanie had been drinking water, she would have sprayed it all out.

Tim rolls his eye. “The ‘Redheads’ virus. The penchant for redheads Dick seems to have—hey Bubbles, watch your teeth. Anyway, I already knew that Jason is bi. Still doesn’t change the fact that he’s out of my league. And how can you even talk about this so casually? They’re your brothers.”

“At some point, their stories just fade into a black screen in my head and elevator music plays over,” Steph admits. “See, you have to develop your own coping mechanisms or else you just won’t survive.”

“I feel that,” Tim says. “Especially whenever Ms. Kyle comes and visits Bruce.”

Another round of yowls, and this time Blossom gives Tim a warning bite on his hand. The sound is all drowned out by Steph’s gagging.

What is it with his cats acting a little strangely today?

Steph shudders. “Dude, I did not need to know that.”

“Me too, Steph. Me too. But sometimes we don’t always get what we want in life,” Tim says. “Although, we bonded I think. The last time she visited, she was gracious enough to give me a twenty minute lecture on the best kind of cat food for the Powerpuff cats, on top bringing a whole bunch of new mouse toys for them to play with.”

Did Selina acquire the cat toys she gave him legally? Probably not. Does Tim care? Honestly, not really. The Powerpuff cats really enjoyed them.

From the corner of his eye, Buttercup mauls his play toy with a new intensity that worries him.

Steph checks her phone, which Tim notices that she’s been doing a lot tonight. Which she shouldn’t be since she looks dead on her feet, on top of holding Tim’s ice pack against her ribs.

“Everything okay there?”

She doesn’t even look up. “Yeah, why?”

“Well, it’s just that you’ve got bags under your eyes, you look like you haven’t had more than six hours of sleep in the last three days, and you’re holding a pack of ice against your ribs, yet, you keep checking your phone every five minutes as if you’re on call for something.” Tim leans forward and catch her gaze. “Are you going to relax or do I need to set Alfred on you?”

Debating for a couple of seconds, Steph sighs before admitting defeat. She places her phone on the table and rubs her hands against her face.

“Sorry, Tim,” she says. “It’s just family stuff.”

At the word ‘family’ Bubbles, Blossom and Buttercup seem to freeze from whatever they’re doing.

“What’s wrong, Steph?” Tim asks gently. “What’s got you so overwhelmed?”

“Where do I start?” Steph says, slumping in her seat. “My brothers—they're being silly again. I worry about Damian because he’s too young and he’s not used to the idea of keeping himself safe. I worry about Jason because of our similar backgrounds with our criminal dads, and similar personalities, and how brash and impulsive that can make us behave...”

Steph looks so dejected that it takes all of his will not go over and hug her, which he really shouldn’t do, since he wouldn’t want to jostle her ribs.

“And I worry about Dick,” she says. “He keeps so much to himself—so much of himself away from us—like it’s okay for him to take care of us, but not the other way around. I just wish Dick would let us in a bit more—I wish they’d all just let me in a bit more and know that it’s okay to have people take care of them. I just…” Steph pauses “I just worry about them.”

Ah, screw the ribs. Tim goes over there and carefully leans her head against his chest. “To be fair,” he says. “Self-preservation doesn't seem to be a strong trait in your family.” He gives her ribs a pointed look.

She snickers. “Yeah," she says, sinking into Tim's chest. "We’re pretty shitty at it. Aren’t we?”

Years of being on best friend duty during many break ups and broken bones means that Tim knows exactly what she needs. He ushers her into the living room, grabs his duvet, and gingerly wraps Stephanie until she's basically an overstuffed burrito roll.

“Oof,” Steph says, but she doesn’t fight it.

He plops Bubbles on her lap, arranges Blossom beside him, and drapes Buttercup around her shoulders. Miraculously, Buttercup stays there, even deigning her with a single—one single!—cheek rub.

(God, Steph really is the cat whisperer, isn’t she?)

Stephanie flops her face into Buttercups neck. “The kitties are so warm,” she says, voice a bit muffled. “They kind of smell, though.”

“Yeah,” Tim says, fondly. “They kind of do.”

Steph shuffles under the blanket a bit. “Are you going to join us?” she asks, while lifting one end of the duvet up.

Immediately, Tim is faced with four pairs of bright, shining, pleading eyes. He was already ridiculously weak towards their huge begging eyes one by one, but all four combined together?

Tim rolls his eyes and resists melting like the weakling he is. “Alright.” He grabs his phone and his remote from the table, “You’re all so lucky that I’m such a pushover.”

He settles himself into the giant pile of warm bodies, sighs contentedly, and hands Steph his remote control.

Chapter Text

Jason didn’t know much about Bruce’s assistant before the whole cat incident. He knew that Tim was decent at his job, that teamed up with Lucius and Tam Fox, they run a very tight ship at Wayne Enterprises, and that Tim doesn’t look anywhere near old enough to be wearing a suit. Steph and Tim were close, Dick quite liked ranting about Bruce to him, and for a small period of time, Damian envied the mentor relationship Bruce and Tim shared.

He seemed nice, if a little jumpy around him. Regardless, Jason didn’t think much. The first time they met, Jason got the idea that Tim’s probably one of those commerce-type rich kids, the ones that puts big corporate bosses on a pedestal, and Jason doesn’t really get along with those kinds of people.

Then he got turned into a cat and… well…

God, Jason thinks as he flops back on Tim’s bed. Tim’s hands curls and uncurls in a ‘scritch-scratch’ on his belly, and his nails are the perfect length that his scratches are sharp enough to sting a little. Just the way he likes it.

On top of that, Tim’s hands are so warm that Jason can’t help his throat from rumbling. 

“Aww, you’ve been a busy boy, haven’t you?” Tim coos in a baby voice while scratching him. “Napping all day, eat some yummy food, maybe change sleeping spots so that you catch some sun—the plight of poor, busy kitty cats, isn’t it?”

Tim’s the biggest dork ever; especially when he says the most random shit in that baby voice of his.

It’s so fucking adorable.

“I wonder where your brothers are,” Tim says idly. “I hope they’re not getting themselves into trouble…How about I go check on them, huh?”

They’re out looking for Bruce—something Jason should really do, but…

How about you don’t, Jason thinks. He puts one paw on top of Tim’s hand, keeping it on his stomach, and ramps up his purring.

Dick and Damian can handle themselves. Jason, however? Poor ol’ cat Jason’s a patchwork of stitches—he’s even in an ice cream cone because he hurt himself, and he needs someone, preferably named Timothy, to keep scratching the places he can’t reach and snuggle the good health back into him.

His life is very hard, okay?

Anyhow, so Jason had to swallow his words, his past opinions, a couple of hairballs here and there, and revaluate his first impressions of Bruce’s cute personal assistant. Yeah, Tim’s a little twitchy and jumpy, but he’s also chill once he calms down. He cares about his friends deeply, as seen from the way he acts whenever Cass and Steph show the smallest sign of being banged up on the job, and he’s funny in his dry, dorky way.

Tim’s also a little bit of a pushover, if Jason’s honest with himself, and Jason’s not above using his feline charms (aka plopping his butt solid onto Tim’s chest) to coax some more pats out of him.  

Now if he could just get Tim to pat him in his human form.

Wouldn’t that be the dream.

Another Saturday morning and Jason’s just lounging in bed. Dick, that touchy bastard, is dozing while flopped on top of him. On the other side of the bed, Tim snores away under a heap of blankets, bundled so thoroughly that only the top of his head is visible. Jason stretches, savouring the feeling of being free from his ice cream cone prison. He slinks his body out from under Dick’s sprawled form and shuffles himself under the blankets.

Tim stirs from his sleepy state when Jason kneads the spot beside him. “Hmm, Blossom,” he mumbles. “Stay on the blankets. Don’t want your hair on my sheets.”

Flopping onto his side, right onto Tim’s precious bed sheets, Jason exercises his feline right of ‘ignoring everything Tim has just said’ and nuzzles his face into Tim’s back.

Tim, predictably, scratches his head in a conceded grumble before falling back asleep.

Jason, one hundred and twenty-five. Tim, zero.

Tim smells really good. Delectable, even, like clean sheets, lemon shampoo and something earthy that’s unmistakeably Tim. He would smell even better, however, if he had a bit of Jason’s scent on him. Like if he wore some of Jason’s clothes; his Jason’s lucky leather jacket, for instance. Then, he would smell a million times better in Jason’s humble purely unbiased opinion.

If he could sigh he would. Cocooned in a warm bubble, surrounded by sluggish yet soothing sounds of the city waking up, Jason feels himself toeing on the edge of sleepiness as his breathing evens out.

Defenseless as they were, they were woefully unprepared for the shadow looming over them, digging her claws into his blankets—

Their blankets are stripped off them. A wave of chill slams into him, jolting him awake.

“Good Morning!”

Jason yowls and almost jumps off the bed.

Tim groans as he buries his head under his pillow. “Every time, Steph,” he groans, voice muffled. “I gave you a key.”          

“Windows are just more accessible.”

“Which I locked.”

“It’s Gotham, Tim,” she says nonplussed. “Either you have bars against your windows or you’re just asking for it.”

Steph shoves his curtains wide open. Tim hisses as sunlight hits him. Dick cracks one eye open, considers Stephanie in front of him, before turning and over and promptly closes them again.

Maybe if Jason glares hard enough, Steph will spontaneously combust into fire and leave him to his peace and quiet.

“I want to work on my conditioning today,” Steph says, reaching over to give Dick a quick pat. “So, I guess we’re working on our conditioning today! Yay!”

“Hhngh,” Tim says elegantly. “Kill me.”

“Oh, you won’t have to worry about that.” Steph laughs menacingly. “After this… you won’t need to worry about anything after we’re done.”

Jason yawns while he stretches. He pads over to Steph and Steph scratches his head in greeting.

Oh yeah, Tim’s going to suffer alright. Jason distinctly remembers Steph’s training routines and he figures that if Tim ‘what? You mean, like an—insert arm flail— ‘exercise?’’ Drake wasn’t so groggy he’d be quaking in his boots right now.

Someone pokes their head through the door—and oh—there’s someone Jason has sorely missed.

“Hello,” Cass says over her mouthful of toast, cradling her Damian in her arms. “You need more jam.”

Then, after swallowing her last piece of toast, she completely flops her face into Damian like the fucking fearless ninja she is. Damian gives a half-hearted bat on her cheek, before flopping over like a docile doll, recognising the apex predator in the room.

“Uhm,” Tim says, eyeing Cass with concern.

“Fluffy cat,” she says, nuzzling her face in deeper.

“Uhm,” Tim says again, louder this time.   

Cass sighs, her tone all soppy. “Sweet cat. Very good to me.”

Then Cass turns around, possibly to rampage through Tim’s fridge again with Damian in her arms. Before Tim could say anything more about the impending disaster ahead, his gym shirt and shorts lands on his face.

“Come on! The faster we finish, the faster we’ll get to eating.”

“Right,” Tim says, sliding out of bed slowly. “On it.”

Then comes Jason’s favourite part of the day. He rolls around to get a better view.

Tim takes off his sleeping shirt, heedless of anyone else in the room, revealing a body that’s lean and surprisingly muscled for someone his size. His shoulders are toned, his belly lined despite retaining some plush chub around his waist that Jason wants to pinch. When he shimmies off his pants, Jason gets an eyeful of a cute, toned butt wearing an eye searing shade of yellow underwear with the Batman logo scattered all over it.

Jason almost sighs. He stretches one short paw out in longing and finds cold, harsh air greeting him.

Tim’s wiggling his butt in front of him and he can’t even reach out and pat it fondly.

Truly a sick form of torture.

Steph snorts. “Nice undies.”

In her arms, Dick tosses him a knowing look, which Jason ignores, since Dick is being a massive hypocrite if he thought that Jason didn’t notice how he was stealing glances at Tim’s surprisingly firm ass when they first stayed here.

“Thanks,” Tim says. “They were on sale.”

Then Tim slides on basketball shorts that does absolutely nothing for his butt, and Jason doesn’t even believe in cops, but he almost reports the senseless act as a crime against humanity.

Steph wholeheartedly agrees. Jason can tell from the way she eyes up Tim’s shorts, even though she was the one to pick it herself. The other options must be truly horrendous for Steph to pick that shapeless catastrophe.

“You know…” Steph squints at his butt. “There is something there. Why don’t you ever buy pants that flatters your ass once and a while?”

“Why? It’s just the gym. Besides, you called my poor butt a table top once.”

“Because it’s true,” Steph says without remorse. “Someone could still make meal out of it.”

“Eh,” Tim says, because Jason can tell this is not a hill he wants to die on and that’s where their fundamental differences begins to rear its ugly head, in Jason’s opinion. “Who picks people up at the gym anyway?”

“Theoretically you could.”

“But who actually does, Steph?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you’ll find your Prince Charming there.”

“Why?” Tim jokes. “Is Jason going to be there?”

Steph groans. “Oh my god, Tim,” she says, but Jason can see the line in the corner of her eyes tightening, and Jason still doesn’t really know what to make of Steph being so affected by his disappearance much that he just stretches and rubs himself all over her.

Evidently, Tim can see the tension too. “Hey.” Tim reels Steph in for quick hug, tucking her head into his chest. “Still fighting with your brothers?”

They’re always fighting, if Jason’s honest. Especially since Jason did beat Steph half to death at the Titans Tower, but hey, he was fresh from the Pit back then, and he’s been trying to make it up to her. Rarely, however, do they just disappear inside Gotham without anyone’s knowledge.

Smiling bitterly, Steph buries her face into his chest. “Something like that.”

“I know what will make you feel better,” Tim says, rubbing her back. “Wrecking me at the gym? Pain always makes you smile.”

“Yeah,” Steph mumbles from his shirt. “It usually does. Cass is about to eat you out of a new home, by the way.”

“I know, I know,” Tim assures her. “I always budget for her in my shopping trips, anyway.”

Sleep is something he finds himself slipping into whenever he’s bored. He’s probably catching up on all the hours he missed past the age of eight, which explains why he gets sleepy after doing just about the tiniest things.

As usual, Dick is snoozing on Tim’s bed, tired from looking for Bruce all night. Jason flops on top of him, and Dick doesn’t even budge at his weight. Dick’s scent as a cat is an amplified version of his usual, so it lulls Jason to sleep. Much as he hates to admit it, Jason’s always associated Dick with the smell of home and safety.

Damian should just get over himself and live a little. Join their nap pile. Jason promises he won’t hold it against him…

… too much. Heh.

A long drawn out groan announces their return. Jason doesn’t register much, half asleep as he is, but he briefly notes the shower turning off and on, a hushed whisper of, “Leave him be, Steph. They’re sleepy boys,” before Jason can feel a pair of feet shoved underneath the blanket under him.

Cracking one eye open, he notices that Steph and Cass has somehow taken monopoly of the bed, and Tim’s closed the curtain for them, rummaging through his closet with a towel across his waist.

Sometimes, when he’s alone, Tim showers with his en-suite door open. Today is sadly not the case. Jason cranes his neck longingly as Tim heads into the bathroom. As he closes the door, he takes all chances of Jason seeing a wet Tim—a Tim, skin glistening with water—with him, and thus, not so coincidentally, taking all chances of Jason’s happiness as well.

He meows pathetically, but the door clicks close anyway.

Sighing, Jason stretches himself and pads over to where Stephanie is stirring under the sheets.

“Blossom,” she murmurs. “Come sleep with me, kitty cat.”

Steph’s baby voice is a nice change from all her threats and growling, but it isn’t the same. She might smell like vanilla bean, but she’s not Tim, and Jason’s not settling.

But he does give Steph a quick lick on her hand before she’s conscious enough to register it. Satisfied that she’s back asleep, Jason heads of to the living room, curious to what Damian’s up to.

“When Cass and Steph crash like this, they can probably sleep for days,” Tim says later. “I’ve literally dropped a whole bunch of pans in the kitchen by accident and they didn’t even budge.”

Draped around Tim’s shoulders, right where he belongs, Jason tilts his head in interest.

Tim pats him on the head. “Right? You’d think they’d prefer Alfred’s cooking to mine, but I guess it’s a small price to pay when you’re trying to avoid Bruce and his... Bruce-ness.”

Ain’t that the truth.

On top of the fridge, Damian’s ears perks at the mention of Alfred, but otherwise he does not budge from his perch.

Tim continues his ramblings to Jason while he stirs his pan, and Jason’s having the time of his life just pressing his cheek against Tim’s when there’s a knock on the door, and a leather jacket wearing, excessively gelled man leaning on the door frame like he owns the place.

Jason instantly doesn’t like him.

“Gavin,” Tim says, stiffening on the stop, his tone is as sour as a lemon. “What do you want?”

Gavin, Gavin, Jason thinks, flipping through his head for names, trying to think if Cass and Steph has ever mentioned him in front of Jason before.

Gavin Tim’s first and only boyfriend. Apparently shitty, because Cass and Steph doesn’t like him. Can’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Expected Tim to drop everything he was doing when he called and carry most of the weight of their relationship while getting pissy when he didn’t.

Oh yeah, Jason thinks, unsheathing his claws and feeling a rumble in from his chest. He remembers Gavin all right.

Gavin raises both hands up in a way that stretches the leather jacket over his broad shoulders and oh, Jason really doesn’t like him. “First of all, you don’t owe me anything. I just want to make that clear,” he says. “But can we talk? For old times’ sake?”

Tim bites his lip in thought and Jason projects his will as hard as he can.

Say no. Say no. Say no—

“Alright, fine,” Tim says, carefully extracting Jason off his shoulder. “But make it quick okay? I don’t have all day, you know.”

He places Jason gently on the ground, pushing his butt further in the room before closing the door, despite Jason’s valiant efforts. Jason’s left to scratch on the door and meow in protest. He doesn’t care if it makes him clingy, the situation seems iffy and Tim shouldn’t be alone with Gavin.

Jason can only just hear their voices. He’s makes such a pitiful racket that Damian abandons his perch and trails closer to the door, wary and listening. Together they listen as the conversation turns more heated, the whispers growing louder and raucous. Jason can feel their fur standing straight each second the door stays closed.

“—I said no! What part of no don’t you understand? Now I’m leaving.” The door opens a slither. “Bye.”

Through the slit, they can see Gavin catch Tim’s wrist before he can fully step through the door.

“Tim, come on,” he says. “You’re not even listening to me—”

And that was enough for Jason.

Before he could even leap off the ground, a blur of black comes yowling, a flying flurry of claws instilling a fear of the night onto Gavin’s leg.

“Holy shit!”

“Buttercup!”

Damian tears through his jeans, scaling up the leather jacket in a ferocity, clearly aiming for the face. Jason would be impressed, if he wasn’t trying to make Tim stay back, curling his body and hissing at Gavin.

“Stop—fuck, Gavin—be careful will you?!” Flailing after his stupid ex, Tim reaches maniacally for Damian. “You’ll throw him against the wall!” He’s the runt of the litter—he’s delicate.”

Gavin sputters, batting his arms around wildly. “Stop—your psycho cat is trying to fucking kill me!” he shrieks.

“He’s got an inferiority complex, okay? Calm down and he’ll calm too.”

Gavin looks at Tim like he’s the crazy one, just in to miss Damian climb to a uncovered patch of skin near his collarbone, unsheathed claws in his paw and fury in his eyes—

The howl of pain that Gavin lets out is like music to his ears.

Gavin retreats faster than a speedster after that. Tim throws a quick, “He’s had all his shots so you’re welcome!” behind him while Damian grooms himself with a smug look on his face. It’s very clear, at least to Jason, that the only one who’s allowed to give Tim a hard time is Damian himself. Dick would be so proud of his character development. Jason surely is.

Speaking of, Jason can’t believe that Dick, Steph, and Cass slept through the whole ordeal. That’s got to be a security risk or something.

Tim closes the door and quickly sweeps Damian into his arms. He cuddles Damian close to his face. “Buttercup,” Tim says, his voice lovesick. “You do love me! I knew it!”

All the scratches on his arm would attest otherwise but honestly, Tim looks more wrecked by the thought than he did having an ex-boyfriend come knocking on his front door. Damian graciously lets Tim pepper kisses all over his head as he licks the blood off his claws.

If cats could snort, Jason would. As it is, he stretches up on Tim’s legs, pulling at his pants.

“Oh?” Pausing, Tim looks down. “You jealous, Blossom?”

Jason meows and widens his eyes for maximum pity.

“You’re right. I’ve been cruel.” Tim bends down, keeping Damian close to his chest. “I can cuddle you both. I have two arms.”

Jason moves his head away from Tim’s kisses though—unbelievable, he knows—and meows him a question.

“Blossom, what’s wrong?”

Jason meows again and looks at the direction Gavin ran off to.

“What? What did I ever see in that guy?”

The question catches Damian’s attention and he looks at Tim curiously.

Tim sighs, hoisting the cats closer to his chest. “It was like my first time with any kind of attention you know. I was young and naïve and infatuated. He was a bad boy type and I was into that.”

A bad boy type? Tim’s into the bad boy type? Jason’s got that bad boy vibe down just fine! He's got the motorcycle, the leather jacket, and a criminal record as Red Hood (which Jason could argue his pants off about, but what can you do). Jason's a Grade A bad boy if you ask Bruce and only Bruce, that is. No one else can contribute to the conversation. Absolutely no one—

—especially Alfred.

 “Yeah, well, you do dumb things when you’re young, so you’re not allowed to judge, Buttercup,” Tim says. “I bet you’re not even past twelve in human years.”

Which only makes Damian more smug because he turned thirteen last summer.

“But I don’t need a boyfriend as I long as I have you guys,” Tim says. “Come on, let’s go finish making dinner and snuggle down with a movie.”

Snuggling with Tim is very nice but Jason wouldn’t completely agree with that statement.

You better watch out, Tim, Jason thinks, once Tim’s fed him some sneaky slices of roast pork and cuddled him on the couch. When I’m human again, I’m going romance the shit out you; I’m going to wine you, and dine you, and sweep you off your fucking feet—you won’t know what hit you. Just you wait, Tim.

Just you wait.