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Chapter Text

Dick can breathe again when he knows Tim is going to be okay.

Bruce has been preoccupied with some new masked criminal in Crime Alley for reasons that he wasn't explaining to anyone. Dick had offered to help round up a couple C-listers while Tim was off with the Titans. Dick had checked Calendar Man and Condiment King into Arkham, again, and put in a report about just where Killer Moth was not hiding this time. Dick had been ready to go upstairs when Robin's panic beacon interrupted the quiet of the Cave.

It takes too long to get from Gotham to San Francisco even with Batman punching in the override that lets the Cave connect straight to Titans Tower via zeta tube.

The seconds between finding Tim crumpled on the floor and finding a pulse had been too long. It felt like an eternity. Tim's pulse is stable, though, strong and regular. Dick can't feel any damage to the neck or back. The worst obvious injury is raised lump on Tim's head.

All of the Tower's security systems and failsafes were completely deactivated and the reboot process is moving slowly. Cyborg is up on the Watchtower doing what he can from space. Oracle is keeping an eye on them from Gotham. Batman is working his way through the Tower to look for any trace of the person that attacked Tim. The other Teen Titans are still locked down in their rooms.

So far, the only other living creature in the entire shared living space is the black cat that had been sitting on Tim's chest before Dick shooed it away.

The cat follows Dick to the medical bay. That does not justify locking the thing in a containment cell. It's a cat. It's a cute cat with incredibly vivid green eyes and plush black fur broken only by a streak of white on its forehead. It's not the cat's fault that Dick has more experience with lions than house cats and that Dick is clocking the tiny predator as a threat.

Dick does not want the cat in the medical bay. Cats being cats, it doesn't listen, but once Dick has carefully laid Tim on a gurney, the cat backs into the hallway before Dick risks the animal's claws.

Dick ignores the cat positioning itself in an angry loaf in front of the thick glass panes on either side of the closed door. That glass is thick enough that it passed muster from overprotective Justice League members and none of the original Titans had been willing to budge on the potential security risk. They had too many people on the team who needed to see the rest of the Tower beyond the doors and know that they were safe. The floor-to-ceiling windows have opaque shades Dick could pull down if he cared that a cat was staring. He works with a cat looking on.

Tim's vital signs are stable. Dick murmurs apologies while he digs his knuckles into Tim's sternum. He stops the moment Tim grimaces. Tim isn't responding to anything but painful stimulus, not yet, but he's stable. Setting up the CT scan Dr. Mid-Nite requests is easy enough.

Waiting in the hallway with the cat for the minute it takes to scan Tim's head is strange. The cat is stares at Dick the entire time. Dick is not about to put out an all-League call for normal cat behavior, though, because someone would ask why on earth Nightwing keeps judging the thing based on lion behavior. There are not that many reasons that someone is more used to elephants and lions than common pets. Going from the circus to Batman to a team with Beast Boy and his one-man menagerie left Dick unsure if it was normal for a cat to glare that much.

He might ask Victor or Babs when they're less distracted with trying to figure out what happened.

The cat stays in the corridor when the CT scan is done. There's no sign of intracranial bleeding and suddenly breathing is even easier.

“Robin is stable,” Dick says quietly into the comms after Dr. Mid-Nite signs off. “The worst injury is a hit to the head, possibly caused by his own staff. It's safe to move him to the Cave.”

Batman grunts in response.

Dick isn't offended. Seeing Tim like that... Dick's just happy that Bruce is responding, and that he moved from securing the Tower's entrance points to checking on Tim's teammates again. Most of them still seem to be sleeping. Vic and Babs are still trying to figure out if an intruder kicked the Tower into the highest security precautions or if Tim had done it himself to keep his teammates safe.

Dick moves to a private channel. Bruce will make it back to the medical bay when he's ready. “One of us will be heading back with Robin soon, Agent A,” Dick says quietly. There's not much else to do so he pulls a chair close and starts to carefully run his fingertips along Tim's scalp. Other than the raised area high on the right side of his head, Dick can't find any other injuries. “I'll try to push for B to take him home. I know the Tower better and the Titans are going to talk someone's ear off the second they wake up and realize what happened.”

“Dr. Mid-Nite's written report is still pending.” Alfred's voice is so calm that it almost sounds like he's using a voice modulator. Alfred would be offended at the comparison and talk at length about his time treading the boards, on a good day, but today neither one of them will be in the mood for Alfred's favorite stories from his time as an actor. “Injuries?”

“Blunt force trauma to the head. Robin's starting to look a bit better but still only rousing to noxious stimuli.” Dick breaks off for a second, looking down at his little brother. “Robin?” No response. “Tim? Timmy,” he coaxes. Dick leans back with a sigh when nothing happens. “Still not responding to name, A. He might have a few other injuries but his vitals are stable and I don't want to take him out of the suit here.”

“Hm. Oracle mentioned a cat?”

Dick does not look toward the glass panels on either side of the medical bay doors. The cat has not moved from his position hunkered down against the floor glaring in. “There is a cat and I have no idea where it came from. It was sitting on top of Robin when I got here. Robin doesn't have any scratches or bite marks, which made me think it's someone's pet, but B still hasn't found a trace of cat food or a litter box.” Dick does not look away from his brother to glare at a cat because that would be ridiculous. He is not going to glare at a cat because someone hurt Robin in Titans Tower.

“Curious.”

Dick's lips twitch. At least Alfred's feeling recovered enough to give his words the tiny inflection that mean that it's time for bone-dry British humor. No one had been up for joking when they were scrambling to get to Tim. “Very. He's been glaring in through the medical bay window the whole time.”

Bruce sweeps into the medical bay just moments later. Unfortunately, the cat has more than enough time to slip through the door between Bruce and his cape.

Dick is ready to continue his irrational crusade of keeping the angry little beast away but the cat moves too fast. It leaps up onto the bed next to Tim and shoves its head under Tim's hand. Dick sighs when Tim's hand moves to pet the cat and some of the tension eases out of Tim's face. The cat plants itself under Tim's hand and Dick gives up. The black cat doesn't have glowing green eyes and a malevolent expression, Dick had just been on guard for anything that he could fight.

Bruce stares at Tim for a minute before managing any words. “How is he.”

Dick doesn't tease about the complete lack of inflection. Bruce is trying, he knows that, and Dick knows that part of Bruce's mind will always be stuck in Ethiopia. It's only going to be worse when Robin was attacked and they still don't know who had done it.

“Better,” Dick says softly. “Dr. Mid-Nite agreed he's stable enough to move back to the Cave. Agent A's set up for him there. Will you take him home?”

Bruce hesitates. “The cat.”

Dick shrugs.

“If I may,” Alfred says quietly through the comms. “We are suspecting a concussion and having some silent companionship might be very helpful. We can sacrifice one of the guest rooms overdue for renovation in case of any feline mischief.”

The cat seems happy enough with the arrangement. After Bruce carefully lifts Tim up from the bed, the cat leaps up and lands on Tim's abdomen. The cat still looks cranky to Dick's unpracticed eye but Tim's hand again moves to settle on the cat's long fur.

Dick sees them out through the zeta tube and relaxes when Oracle confirms that they're home safely. Bruce will panic when it's time to talk about emotions and he'll have trouble separating his need for information about the attack from the possibility that Tim won't be able to remember. If Tim has a bad concussion, he might never remember who attacked him. If the head wound is bad enough...

Dick can't think about that. Tim is likely to make a full recovery and Dick can be one of the people hoping for the best. Until then, Dick can make a full survey of Titans Tower while waiting for Tim's teammates to wake up and let themselves out of their bedrooms. Bruce had been thorough, because Batman is always thorough, but the Teen Titans always held a few secrets back from the Justice League. If human senses alone couldn't find anything, maybe he'd call in one of several friends that weren't limited to human perception.

Dick wasn't going to stop until he knew who attacked his little brother.

In his defense, Jason hadn't thought the woman in Crime Alley was serious. It hadn't been that unusual that he stumbled across a woman dressed a bit too nicely for an alley or that he couldn't seem to find that particular alley again. He'd been away from Gotham for a few years and away from Crime Alley longer than that. Anyone could get a bit turned around in that neighborhood.

She'd been railing about Crime Alley deserving a protector in its own right, which it did, and then went on about her neighborhood deserving better than some spite-bound fool who didn't even know what he wanted. He'd managed to fight past an odd temporary paralysis tell her that she was wrong, which was about all the words he'd been able to force out with her attention fixed on him, but that had only set her off all over again loudly proclaiming that he didn't want what he thought he wanted. There had been an uncanny gleam in her grey eyes when she said that he'd understand when he regretted what he thought he wanted.

She unnerved Jason enough that he put his Crime Alley plans on hold for a few days until he dealt with the Bats. Going after his replacement first was just moving in reverse order, that was all. It wasn't like he had to go all the way to California to get away from that absolute certainty on her face when she said he'd have time to reconsider and that his time would only end when he told himself the truth.

Jason had time to reconsider alright. She'd said that he'd have his chance just when he felt sure he was on the right path. Apparently she meant that after he beat the current Robin into the floor, when he was looking down at the kid holding a stolen bo staff and wondering if that was it. All his sense of righteousness about the message Bruce would receive wavered when Jason pictured just what Robin would see if his eyes were still open. Robin would see someone standing over him with a weapon. That was when the world had blurred and he'd wound up staring at Robin from roughly the level of the floor.

He'd had several minutes to control four legs and a tail without any surveillance recording the embarrassing failures to keep his balance. Nobody would ever have a video of the first time he tried to jump. The Tower was locked down and only lit by floodlights. He'd used the old failsafe codes Nightwing had built in so many years ago, the codes that would shut down the Tower's security and lock all the other Titans safely away in their rooms. It left Red Hood plenty of time to finish his fight.

With his body under control, Jason had turned back to Robin, and an unwanted flare of sympathy had drawn an involuntary hiss out of his cat body. From this angle... Robin looked bad. Really bad. Jason can't be sure how much was the shift in his vision and how much was looking right at someone that looked more limp than asleep. Robin was way too pale beneath that mask and not stirring.

Jason had set the communications blockade on a timer. All he'd needed to do was leave and the kid would wake up and call for help on his own. That would have left Jason alone in California as a cat. In a town used to superheroes, it would probably be easy enough to convince someone to grab a magician and change him back. All he'd need was a way to prove he wasn't an ordinary cat. Jason would probably do a bit better with getting help if he didn't go to one of the Titans first, not with Robin still on the floor, so he had planned his approach. He'd tried to scratch out a note or time meows to Morse code before giving up. None of those thoughts translated to actions.

Whoever the woman in the alley was, this was her doing. He really should have been paying more attention to exactly what she said and less attention to the green fury thrumming through him at anyone presuming to know how he should deal with Batman.

Jason had clambered up onto the workstation and his paws that would not type a message or scratch a recognizable image eased up the Tower's lockdown. He left the other Titans locked in their rooms and made sure that had a long countdown. He was not going to try to tangle with a Kryptonian, an Amazon, or a speedster when he was stuck as a cat, let alone all three. After that, the best option he had was walking back over to Robin and pushing his paw down hard on the panic beacon fixed into the suit. Keeping eyes on Robin was sensible, not sentimental. Watching Nightwing glare at a cat was just funny. The smart option after that was letting Batman carry him to Wayne Manor.

Jason was stuck in a guest room with a kid who spent most of his time dazed or sleeping. Jason mostly hid under the bed. Dickie was mostly absent, at least, because Dick was still searching Titans Tower for clues and reassuring the current Teen Titans. Bruce didn't mind the new Robin having a cat around. (Of course the new Robin was spoiled enough that Bruce would bring a pet home without Robin even being awake to ask.) Alfred was oddly tolerant of a cat in the manor. Being a cat was undignified in general but Alfred serving the rich-people cat food out of good bowls was a tiny bit better. Jason had eaten worse than that before. Alfred also cleaned the litter box at least three times a day and never mentioned it as if Alfred needed more reasons to be the best person in the house.

Jason's strategy of fuming under the bed all day is going to fail sooner or later. Bruce and Alfred both think that he is shy and only comes out when they aren't around. Robin is still foggy enough that he couldn't remember that Jason mostly hides. Robin still can't remember anything about the attack and only looks upset when someone tries to ask questions and he can't answer them. Robin's memory is shot and only might come back when the concussion resolves.

Robin is the only person aside from Talia to know that Jason Todd and the Red Hood are the same person. Red Hood had only teased around the edges of being too well-informed with Batman. If Jason had just dropped the truth on Batman like a dropped gauntlet, there might be a chance someone would recognize him as a cat other than the woman's vague idea that he'd change back when he knew what he really wanted.

Acting like a cat with people looking at him would suck but ending up trying to break his curse on his own would be worse. Getting stuck at a shelter was a no-go. Unfortunately, that means pretending that he was his replacement's cat until Jason comes up with a better idea.

Moving as a cat is easier a couple days in. It only takes a few seconds of psyching himself up to leap up onto the bed.

Sitting on the bed comes with a separate problem. The small impact wakes up the replacement Robin, again, and Jason doesn't like the confused look in those unmasked blue eyes. Robin still isn't focusing quite right, which leaves him dizzy almost all the time, and he still can't remember a thing about why there had been a cat in Titans Tower. None of his friends know, either, so everyone seems to think that Jason had meandered his way into Titans Tower by accident when Robin needed a friend.

The replacement's gaze is a bit sharper, this time. When Jason moves in range, Robin's movements are much smoother when a slim hand settles on the thick ruff of fur around Jason's neck.

Robin doesn't talk much when it's just the two of them. Jason doesn't mind. He doesn't really want his replacement talking to him. Jason is just bored and stir-crazy after two days stuck in a room with an invalid. Jason is also still reeling from picturing how different Robin looked from ground-level.

When Jason had been standing over Robin, looking down at someone whose gaze was hazy after a single hit to the head... for a second, any feeling of triumph had vanished when he had wondered just what Joker had seen before he walked away and left Jason to die.

It's a relief when Dick shows up again. Jason was about to try figuring out purring again just to see if he could make Robin look a tiny bit less like someone broke into a place where he felt safe and left him with a potentially permanent head injury.

Dick lets himself in the replacement's temporary room. When Robin manages a sad little smile and waves him over with the hand not resting on Jason, Dick clambers right onto the bed and lies back next to Robin on his mound of pillows keeping him partially upright.

“Still dizzy, huh?”

Robin sighs quietly. “Yeah. It's a little better. The headache's gone down, too, but I still don't remember anything and I'm trying to not be frustrated but I still can't concentrate.”

Jason tries to focus on not tensing. Dick is staring at him, again, and Jason would like it a lot better if Dick would admit that something was clearly wrong and call for help. Clawing or biting anybody is too dangerous. Alfred tolerating a cat is weird enough. Jason can't risk pushing him. Alfred will not keep Jason around if Robin or Dick develop a few puncture wounds.

“It's too early to worry about that,” Dick says, voice gentle. “The security lockdown at the Tower was a neat enough job that we think you might have done it.”

Robin focuses on a few seconds of actually-impressive petting Jason instead of looking at Dick. It feels nice, even if it is coming from his replacement.

“Nobody's said what happens if I don't get better,” Robin says quietly.

Dick snakes his around Tim's shoulders and squeezes. “That's because nobody needs to talk about it, Timmy.” Dick raises a brow at Tim's reflexive protest and waits for Tim's mouth to click shut under the force of Dick's Disapproving but Loving Big Brother look. It only takes two seconds. Jason always held out longer than that. After about five seconds, Dick would add a wobbling lip and that was too funny to miss out on.

“Bruce adopted you and that is permanent,” Dick says. “There are no take-backs because somebody hurt you. It doesn't matter if you don't get back to the way you were. You know that, right?”

Tim refuses to look at Dick. He focuses on Jason instead, which seems like a decent strategy for somebody overwhelmed by Dick's Loving Big Brother shtick.

Tim runs his finger along the white stripe just above Jason's eyes. Jason has seen it in a mirror, however bizarre it is to look in mirrors right now, but nobody's tried to pet him there before. It feels oddly nice.

“You know you're doing better than yesterday, Tim, and it's too early to call anything. Dr. Mid-Nite and Leslie both said that you need a few days of rest before we can even figure out how bad the concussion is. Nobody's even going to guess if this could be permanent unless this lasts a couple weeks.”

Tim slumps back. He correctly does not stop stroking Jason's head. “I know.”

“Relative rest is awful, though, so all you have time for is thinking what-if,” Dick says sympathetically. His hand moves up to Tim's hair thoughtfully. “Alfred said that you're due for another nap before the next check-in with Leslie, right?”

Tim nods again. The strokes are starting to get a little more confident after a minute without any hints of fang.

“I'm not going anywhere.” Dick's voice is quiet and Jason's tail lashes without any input from him. A few years ago, Jason had been the one getting that promise from his big brother. It hadn't worked out. “Your Titans were definitely ready to kick me out of the Tower. They understand that when you're ready for text messages or a phone call they will restrain themselves on pain of Batman looking sad.”

Dick's hand is moving through Tim's hair. That was <i>their</i> thing. Dick had been so surprised, the first time Jason had felt comfortable enough to massage Dick's scalp and play with his hair the way Jason's mom had always liked. It wasn't anything Bruce or Alfred usually did. That was theirs.

The hair petting is also completely distracting Tim from his vital job of cat-petting. Jason has spent way too long without touch being safe and he wants more time to get used to it.

“Jason was so much better at this,” Dick says quietly. “It was the fastest way to put me to sleep so I thought I'd see if this helps when it's me trying it. I know you've got to be sick of taking naps.”

Jason freezes. When he manages to turn his head to stare at the two of them, Tim has ducked his head shyly.

“I know,” Dick says as if Tim had spoken. “We don't talk about Jason often. It still hurts, but... you're my brother, too. You know how much all of us were hurting and sometimes I think we forget that you only came in when everything was falling apart. We all know the stories and forget that you don't.”

Tim leans further into Dick's side. “I know a few stories,” he says quietly. “Mostly when Alfred's in the mood to talk, but some from you. Bruce...”

Jason is ready to claw a hole straight through the bedspread. He never wanted to hear this. He doesn't want to hear this. He doesn't want to miss a single word of this.

“Yeah,” Dick agrees quietly. “If Bruce manages to say anything about Jason, he needs a lot of space afterward.”

Jason doesn't know what to do with that. He stops trying to keep his tail still and listens. Dick starts an aimless story about the times that Jason had casually insisted giving Bruce on a head massage while they waited for a fear toxin antidote to kick in. Every time Bruce fell asleep instead of going straight back to reports or exercise, Alfred would bake an extra batch of cookies or scones for Jason. Sometimes Jason would bake with Alfred. No one before or since Jason has been trusted anywhere near the bread pantry while Alfred is baking.

Tim falls asleep somewhere during the fifth story. All of them are about Jason, not Robin, and none of them were what Jason would have expected Dick to say. Jason doesn't know what to do with that so he gives up and hides under the bed again. Dick just stays with Tim and eventually pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts tapping the screen. Dick's playing some mobile game or texting someone as if it's no big deal that he had that many stories about Jason that shouldn't have been important enough to remember.

There is way too much time to think when Jason doesn't have the chance go out as Red Hood. He hadn't realized just how many times he headed out for patrol earlier than he planned rather than sit in an empty safehouse with just his thoughts for company.

Jason knows what he wants. He wants Batman to admit that he's wrong. He wants Batman to admit that there isn't a world where he loved his son and let the murderer go free. There can't be a world where Batman cares and Joker wanders in and out of Arkham like the asylum installed revolving doors.

Jason could leave. He could still probably figure all of this out on his own. He's supposed to know what he wants and then turn back. He'll keep Crime Alley safe, no matter what the woman in the impossible alley says, and he doesn't need Batman to do that.

He can keep that as a secondary plan. The replacement's concussion is still healing and if his memory comes back, he'll remember that Red Hood turned into a cat. The Bats will call Zatanna or Constantine or someone and Jason's chances at a successful escape are much better once he has opposable thumbs back.

He'd overheard Dick talking about flyers posted in San Francisco with Jason's cat-face on them the day before. If the posters used the picture where he'd been ready to claw right into Bruce's face for pointing a cell phone camera at him, it wasn't much of a shock that nobody was calling to ask about an angry cat. Jason isn't sure if the witch will be able to find the posters but knows there's an uncomfortably high chance Talia's agents might come across the pictures. Talia might notice the Titans helped put up the flyers and that Jason wouldn't go radio-silent for no reason.

If he only gets out of this because Talia realizes that someone changed him into a cat, he's going to deserve all the mockery she sends his way.

Chapter Text

Four days after the fight in Titans Tower that he still doesn't remember, Tim finally can move around the house without Dick or Bruce hovering every second he's on his feet.

Tim needs five minutes of rest after ten slow minutes of making his way to the kitchen but it's so much better than staying in bed. His headache is almost gone and he doesn't feel like the house is spinning around him anymore. The fight itself is still foggy but he's starting to remember hearing footsteps behind him and reaching for his staff. After that, all Tim can remember is red and green. It's not much to go on. Maybe he'll tell Dick about the vague clues after yet another nap and hope he has something better than that. So far, everyone has been kind enough to not say Tim is probably compensating for a sleep debt while he's injured. It makes it much easier to give in and nap a few times a day.

Durnik hasn't done anything to mess up the guest room so they had moved the cat things over to Tim's room. Tim still isn't sure if Durnik likes him. Sometimes, Durnik eases himself right under Tim's hand, and when the cat is especially tired he'll purr and fall asleep next to Tim. Other times, the cat's eyes glint lime green and Tim keeps his hands to himself. Durnik usually hides under the bed for a few hours when he's that angry and looks a lot less murderous when he comes out again.

Tim pauses when he sees an open bedroom door on his slow walk back to his room. He'd forgotten that it was Thursday.

Tim is usually at school on Thursday afternoons. He's only come across the open door a few times, and after the first time, he's never spent more than a few seconds at the threshold. The first time, he'd stared so long that Alfred almost caught him.

Alfred always cleans Jason's room on Thursday afternoons. Alfred also spends part of Thursday afternoon in the bread pantry where he is to be interrupted only if there is copious bleeding no one else can deal with or a fire that needs more than a single fire extinguisher. Usually, Alfred gets halfway through cleaning Jason's room before he makes his way back to the bread pantry to work on something, and by the time Alfred comes back it seems like he had never been close to losing composure.

Tim usually stops at the entrance to the room for just a moment, if he happens to see the door open. This is where they remember Jason. Tim stopped at Jason's grave once, months after starting as Robin, and the marble headstone didn't feel nearly as important as this room. The memorial case in the cave feels more like Batman's self-punishment than a place to grieve. It's uncomfortable to look at the careful stitches that put Jason's costume back together and know just how badly Jason had been hurt while wearing it. It's proof that Robin doesn't always come home.

Tim has never asked Alfred why he still keeps the room tidy. He's never seen Bruce anywhere near Jason's room on Thursdays. Tim had seen Bruce heading toward Jason's room, once, and Tim had immediately headed for the library.

Today, something is different. Tim takes in the familiar sight of the bookshelves and the half-done essay spread across the desk before blanching. His cat is settled right in the middle of Jason's pillow.

Tim closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them again, the cat looks even more smug.

“Durnik,” Tim hisses. “Durnik, no.”

The cat stretches out its front legs and extends gleaming claws at the apex of the stretch.

Tim glances over his shoulder. The hallway is empty. Alfred hadn't been in the kitchen when Tim started the slow walk back to his room. If he's fast, Tim might be able to get Durnik out before the cat damages any of Jason's things or Alfred catches them.

When Tim ducks inside the room, the cat only huddles deeper into the pillow.

Tim sighs. “Durnik,” he says quietly. “C'mon, you can come destroy a pillow of mine and I'll try to hide the evidence.” Tim reaches out slowly, wary of that odd light that usually comes to the cat's eyes before he lashes out with claws or teeth. This time, Durnik lets Tim rest a hand on his back. “Alfred cleans this room every Thursday. If the worst he has to deal with is cat hair, that still might be enough to get on his bad side.”

The cat stares up at him. His muscles aren't any more relaxed but he isn't more tense, so Tim keeps talking. If Durnik relaxes a bit more, Tim will be a little more sure that he won't get scratched and end up bleeding in Jason's room.

If Tim hears Alfred, he's just going to grab the cat and hope that he doesn't leave a damaged pillow behind.

“I've never even been in here before,” Tim says, voice barely audible. Durnik's ears flick. It helps that Tim doesn't have to say the words loud enough for anyone else to hear. Just the cat. “I look in if the door is open, sometimes, but that's it. Until you decided to be a pest.”

Durnik looks completely unrepentant.

“C'mon, Alfred won't be in the bread pantry all day,” Tim coaxes.

The cat makes an odd sound, something more like a chirrup than a meow.

Tim half-smiles. “Going to get us both in trouble,” he warns. “You're kinda out of luck if you want many stories about Jason. He died and Batman...” Tim still doesn't have the words, not years later. “I'm not sure if he would have killed one of those nobody thugs first or gotten himself killed first. He needed someone to help but he never wanted another Robin. Not after Jason. Alfred sent me out as Robin once because Batman and Nightwing were both in trouble. After that, I wouldn't go away, and here I am, I guess.”

Tim looks away from the red hoodie still draped across the back of the desk chair. Everything about the desk looks like Jason stepped away from the half-done essay just for a minute. It feels like Jason's the one that will walk back in, not Alfred, because the entire room is a time capsule as much as a memorial.

“I'd get the treats if there was any way I could make it back here before Alfred gets here,” Tim says. “All the treats you want if I can pick you up and get you out of here without damaging anything.”

The cat looks unimpressed.

Tim sighs. It was worth a try. “I can't move much faster than a slow walk right now. If I start getting dizzy again, I'm going to lose the chance to walk around on my own. Concussions are the worst and not just because Bruce sees straight through any attempt at a lie right now.”

Durnik's ears flick forward again and Tim doesn't fight off a smirk. “I mean, it's not like I always get away with lying to him,” he says softly.

It's not something to brag about when Bruce might overhear him but he's stuck in board meetings important enough that Lucius had personally picked him up from the Manor that morning. That left Bruce in Gotham and Dick working down in the Cave to see what leads they could track down based on the few traces of magic found in Titans Tower. A few different magic users from the League were squabbling and apparently the argument was intense enough that Tim was politely banned from any further research until they cobbled together a coherent theory. Tim had enough of a lingering headache already.

Alfred might overhear but Tim worked out quickly that while lying to the butler was a fool's plan, Alfred seemed to think Tim occasionally lying to Bruce was a valuable training exercise for both of them. Lying to Alfred only ends in trouble.

Durnik bats at his hand when Tim doesn't elaborate. Durnik is oddly reactive, sometimes, but whenever Tim thinks too much about how cats are supposed to act he starts to get a headache. Getting a headache again makes it all too likely that Bruce and Dick will refuse any hint that Tim can walk around his own house without getting hurt.

“I'll tell you the stories if you let me get you out of here,” Tim bargains. “The fake uncle adventures, the Justice League meeting where B found out that the Titans' after-mission report I wrote was accurate but maybe a tiny bit misleading... I'll throw in the time I didn't know that letting Alfred set up your undercover identity will only end in embarrassment for everybody but him.”

Durnik seems to be considering it. Tim isn't sure just why bargaining with a cat works but he just wants them to be safely on their way before someone comes looking for him.

“We just need to get out of here. If you screw up Jason's room, you are definitely getting evicted.” Tim catches the glint of lime green in Durnik's eyes but Tim will not back down. “No,” he says sharply. “Bruce and Dick and Alfred all love Jason. Maybe this isn't how everybody grieves but it doesn't matter. They need this and you are not going to screw it up for them.”

Durnik's lips draw back from his teeth but Tim isn't having it. He is not going to lose to a cat, not with this. Tim grabs the cat in a firm hold and he's already in the hallway when he realizes that he isn't in pain. He'd been bracing himself for a bite or for claws and instead he had a limp cat making no move to hurt him.

The cat makes a conciliatory-sounding chirrup.

Tim pauses long enough to look down at the cat's emerald green eyes.

“Stories it is,” Tim says softly. “Once we get back to the room, though, because talking and walking is probably a bit much when I'm carrying you. Maybe you can meow for hearing about my fake uncle or the the part where we didn't deny bringing a pet home or the time I went undercover as a doctor first.”

The cat settles even further into his hold and purrs.

Jason has a lot of time to think as Tim makes the slow trek back to his bedroom.

It might be a little easier on his replacement if he wasn't so stubborn but for once Jason can understand the point. Tim was trying to save an apparent cat from Alfred's fury.

It's Thursday. Once upon a time, he and Alfred had made the solemn agreement that Alfred would keep any tidying to Thursday afternoons. That was their compromise when Jason wanted his space but Alfred wanted to be sure that all bedrooms were adequately maintained. Jason tried to keep his room as neat as possible but somehow it always looked cleaner after Alfred was done with it. The store of food in the back of his closet was always refreshed with new homemade granola bars in a sealed container and there would be a twenty-dollar bill on top. Jason would come home from school on Thursdays, drop off his backpack, put the cash in one of his favorite hiding places, and head right for some lump of dough that was somehow always exactly ready for kneading.

Tim sets Jason gently on the foot of his bed. Jason is pretty sure most people just drop cats but he's a lot happier to slowly get his feet under him.

Jason doesn't push when Tim falls asleep before telling any of the promised stories. He has the feeling that Tim will honor his word eventually. If Jason times a cue just right, maybe Tim will tell the story about Alfred helping with a cover just in time for Alfred himself to drop by with tea and polite insults.

Tim looks peaceful when he's sleeping. He'd looked awful in Titans Tower when Jason hadn't been sure if he was still alive.

Jason needs time to think anyway. It's hard to focus when someone's looking at him and all he wants to do is make them understand that he wants Zatanna or Constantine or even the lady from Crime Alley to make him go back to normal.

Thinking about bread is a lot easier. He'd taken so much anger out when he was kneading bread and Alfred always seemed to know which days needed a lot more dough to hit.

Being Robin had been magic but something Dick had done before him. Being the only person in the house Alfred trusted to make bread let Jason smirk at Bruce and sometimes Dick over dinner. He'd heard all the stories about what happened the few times Alfred let them try a hand at bread or pastry.

Being smug about making some really good bread wasn't anything like vivid post-resurrection daydreams about just where he could put a bomb under the Batmobile.

Jason had designed Red Hood for intimidation. Everything was meant to get under Batman's skin – the name, the outfit, the helmet, the approach. He could admit that now. Making Batman chase him as a priority was just as important as stealing an identity from the Joker. He knew that Batman would track down anyone possibly connected to the Joker and Jason had wanted Batman to watch. Red Hood was going to put Crime Alley in order and make it safer for the people that lived there. He would finish what Batman left undone.

Jason had always pictured Red Hood as the vigilante that would protect people no matter what it cost. He wanted people to look over their shoulder when they even thought about hurting a child in his territory. It shouldn't matter who the kids' parents are. They deserve to be safer than Jason was, back when he was on the streets and desperate enough to steal from Batman.

Red Hood went after Robin to chase his grudge with Batman. That didn't do anything to keep Crime Alley safe. Not when rage was always going to burn hotter when he kept feeding all the old grievances. Not when fury kept him too busy to wonder if that was really what he wanted. Not when he was all the way in California stuck as a cat and unable to keep a single person safe.

Some days he hates Batman more than he wants to protect Crime Alley.

The old lady was right.

The world goes green for a second, a darker shade of green than the Pit, and when the light fades he's human in bodyagain and sitting on the foot of Tim's bed.

Jason is sitting on Tim's bed with a bo staff in his hand and his helmet on his head. He's also back to dramatically out-weighing Tim.

Tim stills at the sudden change of weight. Someone without training would probably think he was still sleeping.

Jason reaches up very slowly to release the catches of his helmet. He's not sure if it was part of the transformation spell but no one had spent that much time wondering how a cat got into Titans Tower. Having a bomb as a failsafe in his helmet had sounded like a better idea when it didn't mean possibly setting off a bomb where Alfred might be the one in the blast radius.

Jason sets the helmet aside carefully before he eases off the bed and backs away.

“Hey, Robin,” Jason says. His voice sounds rough but he's pretty sure he doesn't sound angry. It might be the first time in months he hasn't sounded angry.

Tim's eyes open.

Jason tosses the bo staff.

Tim catches it, concussed or not, and rolls up to his feet in the same motion.

Jason puts his hands up, palms flat and shoulder height. He probably should put the guns down but can't think of how to take them out of the holsters without seeming like an immediate threat.

“Durnik,” Jason says instead of any of the things he really should say first.

Tim looks him over with a sharp gaze, pausing on Jason's hair. “His wife had a white streak in her hair.” When Jason stays still, Tim takes a few steps back toward the door. “Maybe the name's a little more on the nose than I thought.”

Jason stays back. If Tim wants to retreat to the hallway, that's a smart option and he's not going to stop him. He's pretty sure they're going to have incoming protectors any moment and having Tim in a safer position will make this easier for everybody.

Even if Jason ends up cooling his heels in a containment cell, he's not so sure Arkham is the only destination anymore. He hasn't had time to do all that much and he can't deny that they missed him. Not when he'd spent almost an hour in his old room. He might never be able to explain how cats interpreted the world but he could understand a few scents after so much time close to his family again. The traces of Bruce and Dick's scents were so faint he could barely detect them over Alfred's steady presence.

They'd wanted the fifteen year old version because Jason had died at fifteen. They hadn't thought seventeen would be an option. There was no way they could know when Jason had been alive for almost two years and no one had told them.

Tim makes it to the doorway while Jason keeps himself still. Tim looks ready to run out the open door the second Jason looks at him funny. That's definitely the smart answer when a second concussion could leave permanent damage. The first concussion isn't fully healed yet.

“Sorry,” Jason says. He peels his domino mask away in case that makes his sincerity a bit more obvious. It isn't much, and he knows that Tim deserves more, but Jason is still a little thrown by being stuck as a cat for days and being alive and indisputable proof that Alfred hadn't moved on. “You. Um. I understand if you want to keep a little space for a while. And you have no obligation to tell me any of the stories you promised to a cat. I got dunked in a Lazarus Pit and I'm not as stable as I thought I was. I shouldn't have gone after you and I'm sorry.”

Jason deserves the skeptical look. He doesn't deserve the considering expression that follows.

“Was it a curse?” Tim asks.

“A conditional one, yeah. End condition was getting my head on straight, so...” Jason gestures toward his legs. “I think it'll be a bit easier if I disarm first.” When Tim doesn't protest, Jason slowly reaches for one of his guns. Tim looks ready to run but he stays put when all Jason does is slowly draw it out of the holster in a two-finger pinch and bend to set it on the floor. Tim's just as watchful until the second gun is out of easy reach.

Tim looks confused. Jason can't blame him, the kid is concussed and his cat changed into a person while he was sleeping. “You were in a Lazarus Pit? And—um—thanks.”

“Long story that the old man's going to want to hear someday.” Jason isn't sure what else he might have added but he stops when he sees Tim's eyes flick to the side.

Dick slips through the open door and shoos Tim behind him. Dick has his escrima sticks held loosely in one hand and a searching expression. He isn't out of breath even after sprinting all the way from the Cave. “He won't be the only one that wants to hear the story.”

Jason doesn't flinch. He's been waiting for the cavalry to get here and Dick didn't even bothered with a mask.

“Indeed.” Alfred positions himself in front of Tim. “I am sure that you will have the chance to tell that story soon.”

Alfred is wearing a flour-dusted apron and holding a shotgun, muzzle aimed down at the carpeted floor. He looks around the room, eyes sharp, before his gazes settles back on Jason. “Perhaps we might leave our weapons aside and settle in for a cup of tea before he arrives.”

Dick keeps looking from Tim to the impossible specter sitting across the kitchen table. He still had his escrima sticks and Tim had a collapsed bo staff. Jason had insisted that the two of them should keep their weapons but he'd left his guns and several knives behind.

Dick had been down in the Cave when the spell broke. He'd wanted to get some work done and he knew that the hovering was starting to make Tim a little stir-crazy. He thought that nothing could happen to Tim in Batman's own house if Dick left him alone for a few hours. Dick also made a point to not be upstairs on Thursday afternoons whenever he could help it. He never wanted to see the look on Bruce's face again when he was walking back out of Jason's room.

The retrospectively bizarre lack of concern for where the cat came from has to be part of the transformation spell. The entire Justice League had shapeshifter and mind-control protocols and nobody had even though to suggest following one.

Normally, Dick would be thinking about how to try to direct Bruce's fury about mind control toward crime-fighting and away from family. He'd also distract himself with Bruce's reaction to keep his mind off his own thoughts about mind control. This time... maybe this time it wasn't all bad. They never would have brought Jason home if they'd suspected that the cat was Red Hood. They might not have realized Red Hood was Jason before Batman went after him as a criminal instead of a curiosity.

Jason didn't waited for Bruce before he started talking. Jason kept his eyes on his teacup and gave the bare-bones account with only Alfred interjecting quiet comments and occasionally asking for clarification. It was probably for the best with the way that Jason's eyes seemed to change color to a brighter shade of green when he mentioned Bruce and just what Talia had said about Tim.

Tim's eyes were wide over his tea by the time the story was half-over but he didn't say a word.

Dick holds himself back but if he has to metaphorically bite his tongue for much longer that phrase might become literal.

Jason sighs. “Fine. Still don't know how I came back to life, but... Talia, Lazarus Pit, Red Hood, Titans Tower. You get one question, Dick.”

“Tim. How's your memory?” Dick asks.

Jason frowns.

Tim blinks. “Good,” he says, eyes somehow growing wider. “I can remember the fight. I think I couldn't remember anything because if I knew I was fighting Red Hood then I might have been able to connect him with the cat? That's all I can think of, anyway, because just a couple hours ago I just had the vaguest ideas about red and then green. One nap shouldn't have fixed that.”

Dick relaxes back into his chair. “If Tim didn't remember, I was going to let Alfred ask you about the fight to figure out if we needed to know anything else,” he says. “I'm glad, Tim. The memory loss was the last symptom that had us worried.”

Jason's expression is priceless. He looks like he's caught between being relieved and offended.

Dick meets his brother's eyes. There's no trace now of that strange green color that had always shown up when Jason-the-cat was so angry. Whoever the magic practitioner in Crime Alley was, she was really good at deflecting people off of any thought path that could lead to the right answer. Dick hadn't even connected Jason-the-cat's Lazarus-green eyes to the League of Assassins even though nobody there would ever risk getting close enough to a Lazarus Pit to save a cat.

“If you want to tell me something else, I'm happy to listen. I'm not going to make you tell me anything,” Dick says. “From what you've said, though, putting you near Bruce would be like putting gasoline on a fire and he's going to be back soon. Maybe you'd rather take a bit to get your head on straight.”

Jason looks from Dick to Alfred. “Seriously.”

Alfred looks thoughtful. “A civilian motorcycle, I think. It would hardly send the right message to have Red Hood driving about Bristol. Unless you would prefer a car?”

“Motorcycle's fine,” Jason says, looking between the three of them like he can't believe that they're going to let him walk out the door. “I don't know if I have my head on straight yet. Like I said, I got pushed into a Lazarus Pit and don't remember anything before that but dying. If you let me go, I'm not coming back any time soon.”

“So long as you return someday, Master Jason.” Alfred's tone is light but there is a steely glint in his eyes.

“Someday, Alfie,” Jason promises, pushing back from the table. “You—ah—walking me out, Dickie?”

Tim, bless him, has his tea cup cradled in both hands. He's flashing a 'go' hand signal where Jason can't see it.

Dick stands up to walk his brother out of the house. He'll probably have the mother of all breakdowns later, between Jason being alive and Talia causing havoc again and Tim being okay and mind control warping everything he perceived for days, but that will happen later. First he's going to take care of his older little brother. Tim looks content to stay at the table with Alfred so Dick should have plenty of time to get himself together before he takes care of his younger brother.

“Sure,” Dick says. “Let's swing upstairs first. If you leave the guns here they'll just vanish into Alfred's collection.”

A hesitant, crooked smile that Dick thought he'd never see again crosses Jason's face. “Can't have that. Thanks, Dick.”

“Of course, Little Wing.”

Jason doesn't even falter at the old nickname. For a second, Dick thinks he might even get a hug.

In a typical show of the worst timing possible, however, Bruce bursts through the door and Jason's smile vanishes behind a cold and blank expression.

Bruce is in a business suit without visible weapons, not that it means much for Batman, but he stops cold when he sees Jason's face.

“J—Jason?”

“That's our cue,” Dick says brightly. Jason's entire body had tensed when Bruce came through the door and the entire day had been enough to strain anyone's control. There is no way he will put his brother through more. “Long story, dad, I'll fill you in later.”

Dick should probably feel a little bad that he saves 'dad' for holidays and when he needs it but it works every time. Bruce nods without thinking and his eyes belatedly leave Jason to find Tim just where Dick had left him, sitting at the table with Alfred looking on.

“We're just going to pick up a few of his things and he'll head out,” Dick says before Bruce can come up with an argument. “Sit with Tim, will you? He's had a bit of a shock and I think a lot of the memory problems we were worried about might be related to a curse. Unknown magic user, Crime Alley, fill you in later.”

Dick puts his arm around Jason's ridiculously broad shoulders and pulls him along. They're up two flights of stairs before there's a single murmur of conversation downstairs.

“Dick?”

“I know you, Jay. I know the way you tell stories,” Dick says. He thinks that is part of what his brother is asking. Bruce will probably want blood samples and cheek swabs and Zatanna to double-check what they can already see. Dick's pretty sure Jason won't be up for any of that without exploding. “You're alive and you disarmed yourself before I got there.”

“I hurt Tim before.” Jason sounds like he can't tell if he should be defensive or apologetic. He isn't pulling away from Dick's hold on his shoulders so Dick decides that it doesn't matter.

“I'm going to be processing that later,” Dick says plainly. “I have two brothers now and I've never had more than one living brother at a time. You made it a bit complicated, I'll admit that.”

“It's a talent, I guess.”

Dick hides a smile when Jason's stride falters at Tim's doorway. Jason controls himself quickly but he can't hide the flash of guilt that breaks through his stoicism. If Jason already feels guilty... maybe Dick's brothers can start getting along sooner than he'd hoped.

“Your gear,” Dick says. “No one in Crime Alley trusts us, Jay. I keep hearing that they trust you.”

Dick isn't afraid when Jason picks up his guns no matter what challenge is in Jason's eyes. Jason has always had a burning temper. When Jason was younger, it had been directed right at the kind of injustice that Robin was meant to hate. After Talia pushed his brother into a Lazarus Pit, it seemed that his temper isn't so focused. Maybe Dick will have a few words with Talia about taking proper care of his brothers once he's calm enough for the trip.

Keeping Jason a little bit confused has always distracted him just enough for Dick to wait out some of that temper and get Jason thinking a bit more calmly. Dick usually managed that through teasing and heartfelt remarks. Today, the truth seems to be enough to throw Jason off his game.

Jason clips the helmet to his belt and doesn't resist when Dick slings an arm around his shoulders again.

This time, it's a replacement for the hug that Dick suspects his brother won't accept instead of an easy way to haul Jason away before he said something he might regret later.

“Is a civilian motorcycle still okay? It'd be hard to explain Red Hood leaving from the manor and I'm not sure if you want to go down to the Cave,” Dick says just before the turning point that will lead them closer to the garage or the Batcave.

“Not the Cave,” Jason says immediately. “Motorcycle's easier to hide than a car. Anything that isn't locked away is going to get stolen in Crime Alley.”

Dick grins at him. “Like the Batmobile's tires,” he says. “One of the Ducatis is registered under a false name and we can write up some sale papers if you want to keep the bike legally. You can have the fake identity to go with it, if you want, the paperwork will all check out.”

“Dick. I gave your little brother a concussion.”

Dick doesn't slow down. “You did. You were also in his room unsupervised for days and didn't leave a single scratch on him. You were alone with him when you changed back and if he'd been the one disarming you he would have had you kick the guns his way.”

Jason doesn't say anything else until they get to the main garage.

“Tracker on this motorcycle you have in mind?”

“Passive only,” Dick says. “B probably could find a way to activate the tracker if he's being obnoxious but it's only meant to switch to an active tracker if you activate the panic beacon.” Dick pulls the protective cover off the Ducati in question. It's not registered to anyone in the house, it's modified to be incredibly fast, and it's matte black with gleaming red detailing.

Jason whistles. “Nice bike.”

Dick lets him admire the motorcycle while he opens the garage door and grabs two of the spare helmets. He holds them out. “Black is technology-free, red has a comm built in you can toggle on and off.”

Dick isn't surprised when Jason grabs the black helmet.

“This is it, then,” Jason says, helmet in his hands.

“Would it work if I tried to keep you here?” Dick asks. It's a rhetorical question but he's still a little disappointed that Jason doesn't say yes. “I'd rather let you come back when you're ready. Your codes for the front gate and the Batcave still work.”

Jason hesitates. “My code to get into Titans Tower worked, too. That's how I messed with security.”

Dick wants to hug him. He knows that it won't help, though, not when Jason looks ready to run. Jason looks like a single unwanted touch or word will send him so far away they'll never find him again.

Jason's broad shoulders straighten. “I'm sorry. For what it's worth. I told Tim, too, but... I'm sorry.”

“Thank you, Jaybird,” Dick says gently. “I'll have time to think about that later and will probably want to revisit that when we're both ready. But Jay... you're <i>alive.”</i>

Jason's lips quirk back into a dim echo of his old crooked grin.

“I'll do what I can to convince B to give you some space.” Dick looks his brother over thoughtfully before he continues. “That's going to be easy if you can hold off on killing.”

Jason doesn't say anything. He stashes his Red Hood helmet in the under-seat compartment. He puts on the plain black helmet, visor down, and gets on the motorcycle. He starts the bike easily and waits until he's a bit away from the house to open up the throttle.

Jason doesn't look back.

Dick stays in the garage for a long time after Jason disappears from view.

Alfred had kept up Jason's room, just as he promised.

Bruce had kept looking at the memorial down at the Cave as if he thought he could forget his son.

Dick had made sure Jason's motorcycle stayed in perfect condition. Dick rode it every month at a minimum and did all the maintenance work himself. No one else had touched it in years. Once upon a time, when Jason was fourteen and wanted a motorcycle for Christmas, Dick had promised him a motorcycle for his sixteenth birthday. Bruce had been appalled, Alfred had been amused, and Jason had been thrilled and started talking about what he wanted in a bike. Red and black and fast had been the biggest priorities.

Jason just might be interested in renovating his old room or at least reclaiming some of his possessions. Dick would do what he could to get rid of the memorial case before Jason visited the Cave. It had been macabre enough without the chance Jason could come across the uniform he died in.

Maybe he could get to work on that while Bruce was still shocked enough that he was easier to fight. Dick closes the garage and heads in to check on the rest of his family. Now that Jason knows they will let him leave, maybe he'll come back sooner.