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Tim side-eyed Bruce where he was sitting in the passenger seat. His dad, now currently a black and white cat because an ancient witch blessed him, was awkwardly rubbing his neck against the upholster and pawing at his black collar. He was causing a terrible ruckus, ringing the bell around his neck with every swipe of his paw, the metal clanking horribly against the cheap yellow bat pendant hanging from his collar. Bruce lacked his usual finesse and grace but still managed to remove the collar from his neck, a commendable feat considering his lack of opposable thumbs but Tim was not impressed.
Bruce gave the collar the worst stink eye Tim had ever seen a cat make and pushed the thing off the seat. It fell to the ground with one final ring which made Bruce’s tail twitch with satisfaction. Bruce then sat in his seat like the primest, most proper cat there ever was as if he did not just do that.
When they stopped at the traffic light, Tim rolled up his sleeves and showed Bruce his scratches – long, thin red lines curving around his forearm as if he’d been scratched by a horrid beast. The horrid beast in question averted his guilty eyes and flattened his ears back against his head.
“Mrowww,” he mournfully cried.
“I will put that thing back around your neck no matter how many times you scratch me. Stop taking it off, Bruce.”
Bruce licked his paws and groomed himself, flattening the fur that had been displaced by his collar shenanigans. He was sorry about the scratches but not sorry about taking off the collar that Tim shed blood putting around his neck.
The traffic light turned green again so Tim started driving again.
“Why do you hate the collar so much anyway? It’s cute! It’s got your branding!”
Bruce made one short sound that sounded like chirping. Tim was not aware that cats could chirp. But being an expert at interpreting Batman’s strange sounds (because even while he could speak, the man preferred not to), Tim was able to discern the clear contempt and disdain Bruce held for the collar and the idea of being collared itself. Wait. Tim replayed the sound in his head. It was disdain for the… bell?
“B, do you hate the bell?”
Bruce made a very cute-sounding meow, an enthusiastic agreement.
“Why? All cats have bells.”
Tim heard the most indignant meow a cat could make.
“I don’t know what you’re saying, B.”
Bruce growled and then meowed. His tail hit the seat with irritation and his ears flickered and twitched before flattening against his head.
“Wait. Is it too loud for you?”
“Meow.”
“That’s the point of having a bell! I almost stepped on you this morning because I didn’t know where you were, B. If I heard you, I wouldn’t have dropped my bagel. My bagel, B!”
“Meow!”
“Who cares about your Batman reputation?! Cass is more silent anyway. Plus, you’re a cat right now, Bruce. You don’t need to hunt for criminals in the shadows.”
This was the most surreal conversation Tim had ever had. What has his life become? First, his dad disappeared into the timestream and everyone except Tim believed he died. Then, he found his dad only for him to faint and turn into a cat. And then, once everything was explained and they made the decision to go home, his cat-dad scratched Tim just because he didn’t want to be collared! Because apparently, the bell ringing every time he moved ruined his reputation of being silent.
God damn drama queen!
Tim pulled into a gas station and glared at Bruce. He grabbed his cat-dad and put their foreheads together.
“You need the bell so we don’t accidentally step on you,” Tim reasserted.
“It won’t happen and even if it did, I’ll dodge. I don’t want the bell, Timmy. How can I be Batman if the bell gives me away?” Bruce whined.
“Selina’s cats don’t always make sounds when they walk even if they have a bell. You can just learn how to make it not ring when you want to be silent.”
“Hn.”
“Did you just make that sound mentally? Bruceeeee, you don’t speak in your mind too?”
“Hrn.”
“Anyway, I’m going to put your collar back on. Don’t scratch me.”
“It’s uncomfortable. I don’t like it.”
Tim rolled his eyes. “We can get you a better one with a tracker in it once we’re home. We’re keeping the bat and bell though.”
Bruce hissed.
Tim struck his tongue out at him. He set Bruce back down and got out of the car and walked around to the passenger seat. Tim rummaged around the floor for Bruce’s collar and gave him a warning glare. Bruce huffed and obediently sat still as Tim put the collar on him.
“Good kitty.” Tim patted Bruce on the head and grinned at him.
Bruce grumbled in cat.
They continued to drive home with the sounds of Tim’s awesome playlist and Bruce’s bell to entertain them. When they passed the sign that said ‘Turn back, Gotham lies ahead’, Tim’s mind started going into overdrive. How was he supposed to do this whole thing? Could he just waltz into the manor and pretend that the last time he was there, he didn’t run out because Damian was Robin and no one believed him when he said Bruce was still alive? Should he pretend he didn’t go around the world looking for clues and that he didn’t lose his spleen and blow up a LOA base?
When they pulled into the manor driveway, Tim only had one stupid idea in his mind so he shrugged and went for it.
Tim stood there at the doors of the manor with a sheepish look on his face. Dick had been imagining what they'd say to each other since Tim stormed out too many months ago. He knew what he’d say: tearful apologies, explanations for what they’d been too busy fighting to say, and demands to know where Tim had been. From Tim, he expected explanations for why he was gone for so long, or maybe just a simple "I'm home" (and a small hopeful part of himself imagined Tim saying "I found Bruce'').
He never quite imagined this.
Tim raised the black cat in his arms up like that one scene in Lion King and announced, "Behold, Bruce the cat."
Maybe Dick should have expected the unexpected. His little brother did love to surprise.
Damian walked closer to Tim with Alfred the cat in his arms and Titus by his side. “Did you name a cat after Father, Drake?”
Tim looked a little startled by Damian’s civility which didn’t surprise Dick because it was only after Tim left that Dick sat Damian down and had a long talk with him about his treatment of Tim. The Damian Tim knew would have taunted him with barbed words as soon as he walked through the door.
Tim looked down at the cat in Damian’s arms and then at his cat, Bruce the cat. They looked remarkably alike, though Alfred the cat had a white belly and Bruce the cat didn’t.
“This is Alfred,” Damian introduced.
“Meow,” Bruce the cat said with what sounded like shock. It tried to wriggle closer to Alfred the cat but Tim stopped it by hugging it closer to his chest.
“Is that Alfred or did you name a cat after Alfred?” Tim asked cautiously.
Damian scrunched up his nose. “Why would this be Pennyworth?”
Tim exhaled in relief. “Okay, I wasn’t sure because anything could happen these days. And to answer your question: No, I did not name the cat after Bruce, though it’s kind of cute that you named yours after Alfred. This is Bruce. He’s alive! Hooray!”
…
Silence.
“Drake… Are you okay?”
Wow. Damian was 100% genuine there. Dick could almost cry. He never thought he'd live to see the day Damian showed Tim sincere concern.
“Never been better!” Tim chirped happily.
The cat in his arms meowed.
“Here, I’ll let you talk to Bruce.”
Tim shoved Bruce the cat into Damian’s arms, forcing Damian to put Alfred the cat on the ground to hold Bruce the cat instead. The cat pressed its forehead against Damian’s and… Dick couldn’t see Damian’s face but he saw his shoulders tense and relax and his entire frame tremble with emotion.
“...Father?” Damian whispered with disbelief.
Bruce the cat meowed.
“I… I missed you too, Father.”
Feeling left out of the loop and beyond lost, Dick looked at Tim. He had a small smile on his face and was bouncing a little on the balls of his feet.
“I’m glad you’re home even if you’re a little cursed. Though, I must say, Father, being a cat for a few days once a month doesn’t seem too bad of a curse. I wouldn’t call it a curse at all.”
Tim snorted. “Is he going on about the curse again? Don’t let Bruce lie to you, kid. When he was explaining it to me, he said he was blessed by a witch but considered it a curse. I think he doubled down on it being a curse because I kept teasing him with cat toys. He couldn't resist them at all!” Tim laughed.
Bruce the cat meowed indignantly.
“Father, you should accept your blessings with grace,” Damian said with mirth underlying his tone. “You’re being rather rude to the witch who restored your memories.”
Pieces of a puzzle slotted together to form an impossible picture but, well, stranger things had happened. Dick inched closer to his brothers and the cat in Damian’s arms.
“Dami, may I?” he asked, reaching for the cat.
Damian easily gave Bruce the cat to him.
Bruce the cat pressed his forehead against Dick’s. “Dick! Chum, I missed you so much. Have you been eating well? You don’t look like you’ve been eating well.”
Bruce’s voice sounded in his mind.
“Bruce…?” Dick breathed out in disbelief.
“It’s me, Dick,” Bruce said kindly. “I know I look like a cat right now but that’s because I saved an ancient witch while my amnesiac self was being thrown around the timestream and she thanked me by restoring my memories and then cursing me to turn into a cat once a month if I don’t sleep for seven hours every night!” Bruce rushed out in a single breath.
At a loss for words, Dick could only murmur, “Timmy said you told him it was a blessing.”
“That’s what the witch said but being a cat isn’t a blessing, chum.”
Dick rolled his eyes. “Selina would beg to differ.” At the mention of Catwoman, Dick’s eyes lit up with unholy glee.
Bruce hissed. “You are NOT to tell Selina a word of this!”
Dick felt his lips split in the widest smile he’d sported in a whole year; he hadn’t smiled like this since Bruce ‘died’. “Oh, Selina’s going to love this.”
“Not. A. Word,” Bruce growled.
“You’ve got such a cute collar on and you’re so fluffy, Bruce,” Dick teased even as tears stung his eyes and he held Bruce closer to his chest. “She’ll find out even if no one told her.”
“Dick. Dickie. Chum. My beautiful son. You know I love you, right? If you love me back, you wouldn’t do this to me. Have you no pity for your father? Selina would show no mercy!”
God, Dick missed this dramatic asshole so much.
He sniffled and buried his face in Bruce’s fur, losing whatever telepathic connection they had. “I’m siccing Selina on you as punishment for dying, Dad. Next time you do that, I’ll make sure you turn into a bat. And not something cool like a vampire bat or a fruit bat. A hummingbird bat. They’re the tiniest mammals, Bruce. The size of a thumb! You’ll hate it. So don’t you dare die again, B.”
He heard Bruce let out a soft mournful meow and hugged his dad tighter. Bruce’s fur soaked up his tears as Dick let out his grievances from the past year and cried his heart out.
“I love you, Dad. You’re not allowed to die ever again.”
While Dick was talking to Bruce and having a mild crying session, Tim and Damian respectfully evacuated the premises and gave Dick some privacy.
“Drake,” Damian began, “...You have my gratitude,” he said through clenched teeth.
Tim froze. Did he hear that right?
“Thank you… for finding Father even though no one believed you.”
Tim unfroze as some brotherly instinct he didn’t know he had possessed him. “No need for thanks, brat. Bruce is my dad too. I was just doing what any of us would have done.”
“You were the only one to save him, Drake.” Damian gave him a deadpan look. It was very similar to Alfred’s.
“Yeah, but if you had the evidence I did, you would have done it too.”
“Hm.” Damian looked down at the floor. “I… apologise, for trying to kill you. I won’t promise to not do it again but if I do, it will be an attempt at fratricide instead of mere homicide.”
Was that…? Tim hid a smile. That was the most awkward and endearing way of admitting brotherly bonds that Tim had ever heard. And Jason did it by calling him his dumbass little brother!
“What’s a little fratricide between brothers? The Cain instincts compel us.” Tim laughed. “And it wasn’t like I was totally blameless too. Sorry for how I treated you when you first came to Gotham. I shouldn’t have told you to go back to your real home. This is your real home too.”
Damian sniffed. “Apology accepted, Drake. Let’s never mention this again. Especially not to Grayson.”
“Agreed.”
The short exchange alone wasn’t enough to sweep what happened and how they treated each other under the rug but it was a start. A very good start.
Feeling like it was getting a little too chummy, Tim began to tease Damian, “Did you really name your cat after Alfred?”
“I did.”
“Awww, that’s so cute. Is Alfred your favourite? You love your grandpa that much, Damian?”
Damian’s cheeks darkened as his blood rushed with embarrassment. “I named him after Pennyworth because his markings are similar to his suit!”
“There’s no need to be ashamed of your love for your grandpa, brat. Just admit it. You love Alfred!”
“I’ll kill you, Drake!” Damian pointed a dagger at Tim. Ah, the good ol’ Cain instincts. Got to love that brotherly love.
“Come on, get me, Robin!” Tim danced out of the way and stuck his tongue out at Damian.
“Red Robin!” Damian screeched.
Tim laughed and ran through the hallways of Wayne Manor. It was good to be home.
They gathered back in the living room with a few more bruises than they had before. Dick had Bruce in his lap and Damian and Tim at his sides. They all stared at his phone as he drafted a message to send into the family group chat along with an adorable photo of Bruce.
“Okay, so here’s what we’ve got so far: Heyyyy, family :) so, good news and I promise we’re not crazy!”
“If you say that, they’ll think you’re crazy, Grayson.”
“What? Why? I explicitly told them we weren’t crazy.”
“That’s what a crazy person would say. Change it to: We have good news and it sounds crazy but wait until you read the entire message before you pass your judgement,” Tim suggested.
“Aight. Then we write: Tim is back and he’s brought Bruce with him! He’s alive! Hooray!”
“That’s too many exclamation marks, Dick.”
“Hush. There’s never too many exclamation marks.”
“Meow.”
Dick patted Bruce on the head. “Just because you don’t emote, doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t.”
“Get on with the message, Grayson.”
“So impatient,” Dick grumbled. “Bad news: Bruce is a cat right now. Insert cute cat pic. Good news: It’s temporary. Even better news: It’s part of a blessing and we get to see Bruce the cat for a few days once a month because he turns into one if he doesn’t get seven hours of sleep a night and there’s no way Bruce is sleeping for more than five a night.”
Bruce made grumpy noises and Dick silenced him by scratching the back of his ear. Bruce started purring instead and Dick grinned. Even Batman couldn’t beat the cat instincts.
“Bruce says it’s a curse because he’s in denial about how much he loves being a cat but it's a blessing because he gets restored to peak health once he turns back into a human! And we know all this because if you put your forehead against Bruce’s, he can speak in your mind. It’s pretty cool. If you don’t believe us and still think we’re crazy, you’re welcome to speak to Bruce the cat, not to be mistaken with Alfred the cat. Insert cute photo of Bruce the cat and Alfred the cat sitting side by side. We’re waiting for you at home.”
“You made no mention of the fact that we got him back from the timestream,” Tim said.
Dick shrugged. “We all got your email about your theory on how Bruce is alive. There’s no need to explain it.”
“Oh. Okay then.”
Dick threw an arm around Tim and tried to convey what he couldn’t say in the touch. There would be a time for apologies later but for now, this would have to suffice. Tim leaned into the touch in silent agreement.
“So, do we all approve of the message?”
There were hums from his brothers and a meow from Bruce.
Dick hit send.
The group chat exploded with responses but Alfred was the one that returned home first. He dropped his groceries on the floor and caught Bruce in his arms when Batcat jumped into his loving embrace. Bruce bumped his head against Alfred and let out an adorable sound.
“Oh, Master Bruce,” Alfred sobbed. “Welcome home. You have been dearly missed.”
“Meow.”
“I must say, the witch that blessed you has my eternal gratitude. Seven hours a night or having to take a few days off every month. What wonderful options. Which would you choose?”
“Meow!”
“No need to sulk, Master Bruce. You make a handsome cat.”
“Mrrrroowww!”
“Hm, you are right. We’ll get you a custom-made collar made from the finest leather and exchange that pendant with one engraved with our number in case the tracker stops working. We’ll be keeping the bell, of course.”
“Meow!”
“A cat’s collar isn’t complete without a bell, Master Bruce.”
“Meowww.”
When Dick and Damian made confused faces, Tim whispered an explanation. “Bruce hates the bell because it’s noisy. He thinks it ruins his reputation for being silent.”
Dick snorted. “Drama queen.”
Damian rolled his eyes. “He can just learn to move without ringing the bell.”
“That’s what I said too. But noooo, he refused to be collared. Look what he did to my arm.” Tim pulled his sleeve up and showed everyone his scratches. They honestly weren’t that bad – they wouldn’t even scar – but a love for theatrics ran in the family.
“Master Bruce!” Alfred put Bruce in air jail and scolded him.
“Meow.”
“Have you apologised?”
“Meow!” Batcat nodded.
“Good. Now, do you want salmon or tuna sashimi for dinner?”
“Meow.”
“Both? Very well, Master Bruce.”
Steph burst through the manor like a hurricane. “Where’s the cat? I need to put Bruce in air jail for making me waste my tears!”
Bruce jumped out of Alfred’s arms and escaped.
“Bruce!”