Archive of Our Own

Timothy Drake did not own a cat.

He had nothing against cats. Nor any animal, really. Except hamsters, because Tim’s fourth grade classroom had one as a class pet, and she had babies, and then she ate her babies, successfully scarring Tim and his classmates for life. Hamsters had been soured for Tim ever since.

But cats, cats were fine. Tim had even thought about getting one, once. Or a dog. At the tender age of seven, Tim had drawn a picture of himself in his house with a puppy and a kitten, and had shown it to his parents as a persuasion tactic. One that was ultimately dead in the water, despite the glitter Tim had added, and the words “Tim’s Happy House!” written in crayon at the top.

“Just imagine the mess!” his mother had shuddered. “Besides, we don’t have time to take care of an animal.”

That made sense to Tim. They barely had enough time to take care of him. So he let his childhood dream die, the way he had let the one about his parents being home for his birthdays and the one about him teaming up with Batman do.

The fact that the second one eventually happened was irrelevant. It still died eventually.

After his parents passed and Tim moved out, he never once thought about getting a pet. The lifestyle he led kept him away from his apartment at all hours, and that wouldn’t be fair to a living thing. Tim doubted he could even keep a fish alive.

So Tim lived alone, no pet of which to speak of, and certainly no cat.

Which made the fact that one was sleeping on his living room couch all the more strange.

“What?” Tim asked the world in general, staring down at the creature peacefully curled up into a ball.

He looked around, as if someone was about to jump out at him and cry, “Gotcha!” But his place was as empty as ever. Who would even do something like this? He wasn’t close with any of his coworkers, not like this. Well, maybe Tam, but she wouldn’t pull a prank with a living creature.

Tim was on good terms with Catwoman, but he wouldn’t say they were close. He couldn’t see her just suddenly dropping off a cat for him.

And any of the Bats? Forget it. Tim hadn’t had a conversation with them outside of costume in weeks. Months, maybe (best not to think about that). He didn’t even think they knew about this apartment. 

Could it have just wandered in? Or snuck in while Tim wasn’t looking? But Tim had really good, like top-of-the-line good, security, and he prided himself on his situational awareness. Even when he came home exhausted at the end of a long day he knew what was going on around him.

So how was this possible? Tim had the half-thought that it might be a hologram, or a fake of some kind. He slowly reached out a hand and poked the cat’s side.

Instantly, the cat opened its eyes and lifted its head, making a sound like “murr?” as it did so.

Tim pulled his hand away quickly. So it was real. What now?

The cat got up and stretched itself out, arching its back. It was mostly orange, with a stomach that faded into white and a striped tail. Short-haired. It sat and looked at Tim, allowing Tim to note its blue eyes.

It said, “Murrp?”

“Aren’t you supposed to say meow?” Tim knew the words were ridiculous before he even said them, not least of which because he was talking to the cat like it would respond. 

It sort of did, though. It blinked at Tim, and then took a couple of steps forward, butting its head against Tim’s leg. Then it looked up at Tim, and when he didn’t move it did it again, more insistantly.

Slowly, Tim put out a hand, and the cat rubbed up against it. Tim brought it down the length of its back, and it pushed up against his hand with every part he touched as he did.

“Well,” Tim said. “This has been fun. But it’s time for you to go.”

“Murr?” The cat blinked.

“Yes. You need to go home,” Tim said. “You’re way too friendly to be a stray. You probably belong to someone in the building and got lost. I’m sure they’re worried about you. So, while this had been great and all, you’ve got to go.”

There Tim went again, talking to a cat. But it wasn’t like anyone but him would ever know.

Tim went to the front door, opened it, then paused. Wait, could a cat find its way back to its home? Should Tim be walking it back? He knew you were supposed to do that with dogs. But cats were smart, right? It would be fine. Yeah. This was fine.

Satisfied he was doing the right thing, Tim looked down, expecting to see the cat strolling outside. All he saw was his welcome mat (“No soliciting”) and a distinct lack of cat.

Tim looked over to see the cat once again sitting on his couch.

“Well?” Tim said. “Out you get.”

The cat stretched, then laid down into a loaf, wrapping its tail around itself and staring at Tim.

Tim sighed. Leaving the door open, he went back to the couch. He braced himself for the sting of claws, but none appeared as Tim awkwardly picked the cat up. It squirmed but allowed Tim to hold it. 

“Mur-uph?” 

“Yes, goodbye to you too,” Tim said, placing it down in the hallway outside his door. “Now go home.”

Tim closed the door quickly before it could dart back in and sighed. Well, that had been interesting. He looked over at his couch, which now had one seat covered in fur. As he brushed off what he could he noticed that one corner of the couch had clearly been used as a scratching post at some point.

Tim groaned. Mom was right, he thought, inspecting the damage. More trouble than they’re worth, pets.

After cleaning up what he could, Tim went to bed. As in, he physically lay in bed, while using his phone to do some late-night/early-morning work for Wayne Enterprises. In the process he forgot all about the cat, and by the time he finally passed out an hour later, it was as if it never existed. 

That lasted until about five in the morning, when Tim’s alarm went off. He reached over to push snooze, and then all of a sudden he felt something walk on top of him.

Instinctually, he bolted up while pushing the thing off of him. He heard something hit the ground, and he quickly reached over to turn on his bedside lamp.

There, sprawled out on the floor and looking affronted, was the cat from the night before.

“Oh, it’s just you,” Tim said. Then, “No, wait. You’re not supposed to be here. How did you get back in here?”

The cat just jumped back up onto the bed, stepping onto Tim’s legs and proceeding to kneed his lap.

Deciding he wasn’t nearly awake enough for this, Tim decided to ignore the situation. He pushed the cat off (gently, he wasn’t a monster. He didn’t fling animals across the room on purpose), went to the bathroom, got dressed, and made himself his first cup of coffee of the day. After he felt at least somewhat awake, he went back to the bedroom and looked at the bed, which was distinctly cat-free.

“Okay,” Tim said. “That’s fine. The bed isn’t supposed to have a cat on it. So it’s not concerning that there isn’t one there now. Right.”

Still, Tim kept looking back at the bed the entire morning, and did a quick scan of his apartment before he left. Just in case.

There was not a cat to be seen. He had probably just imagined it or something. He only had a few hours (two counted as a few, right?) of sleep, so it made sense he was seeing weird things. Or he had just been dreaming. Yeah, that was it. A dream. Nothing to worry about.

Nothing at all.

Tim should have worried, was his first thought when he returned back to his apartment after a long day of CEO-ing and a long patrol shift. An ounce of worry could have led to a pound of cure, or however that saying went.

Tim’s apartment had been, for lack of a better word, ransacked.

In the kitchen, almost every cabinet was open. Various dishes had been pushed off the shelves and now were scattered across the counters and floor. Most everything Tim owned was plastic (shattering some dishes as a small child and being yelled at for it had led Tim to shy away from such dishware now), so nothing seemed broken, but everything would surely need to be washed. A bag of chips had been torn open, and its contents littered the floor like confetti after a parade.

In the living room, both ends of Tim’s couch now had claw marks in them. What few pillows he had were on the floor, some threads and tassels torn and loose.

The bathroom got the worst of it. The full roll of toilet paper that Tim had just replaced that morning was torn to shreds and had turned Tim’s bathroom into a winter wonderland. There was a wet corner in the tub that Tim was not going to think about… it was the wrong color for water (don’t think about it!).

The bedroom was largely untouched. Apart from the criminal mastermind peacefully sleeping away on Tim’s pillow.

“You!” Tim shouted, startling the orange cat awake. It looked around before focusing on Tim. It seemed to perk up and scampered in his direction, rubbing its head and body against where Tim stood glaring at it. 

“Oh no,” Tim said. “Don’t start acting like we’re friends. Not after you destroyed my place! It’s three am! Do you think I want to be dealing with this sort of thing at this hour?”

The cat lowered its head. “Murr.”

“No I don’t.” With that Tim picked up the cat firmly and carried it out of the bedroom. He eyed the hallway, but that hadn’t worked last time. Tim looked around before spotting the window. He strode over, tucked the cat under one arm while he pulled the window open, and then set it outside on the fire escape.

“There,” he said. “And stay out.”

He closed the window firmly before turning to survey the crime scene. He sighed. What a mess. But he knew from personal experience that if he went to bed without cleaning it now, it would just turn into one of those things he never did, and then months from now someone would stop by unexpectedly and say something like, “Why do you have shreds of toilet paper all over your floor?” Best to do it now.

Tim started with picking up the pillows and straightening them. As he placed the last one on the couch he heard the sound of something rubbing against glass. He turned to see the orange cat staring at him.

It lifted a paw and ran it down the glass again.

“Stop that,” Tim said. “Go home.”

“Mrrr-uff?”

“No. Go home.”

Tim resolutely ignored the cat, even as it started to rub both paws down the window and meow(?) incessantly at him. He just cleaned the living room, and then the kitchen. 

The sound of the cat was more muffled from the bathroom, and by the time Tim went into the bedroom he couldn’t hear it at all.

He changed as quickly as his final dregs of energy would allow for, and face-planted into bed. He pulled the covers up and closed his eyes.

He started to hear a tapping at his bedroom window. There was a split second where his mind went to the cat, but moments later the sound turned into the clear rhythmic patter of rain.

Oh, thought Tim, snuggling down. That’s alright then.

A thought came to Tim a moment later. He tried to ignore it. It persisted. He turned over and shoved it away. It returned and hit Tim in the face with a knapsack of guilt.

“Fineee,” Tim groaned to his stupid conscience. He got out of bed and returned to the living room window.

Sure enough, the cat was right where Tim had left it, only now its fur was flat against it so it resembled nothing more than a drowned rat. It looked through the window at Tim with the most pitiful eyes he had ever seen.

“Fine,” Tim huffed as he unlatched the window. “But just for tonight, alright?”

Making no agreement, the cat bolted into Tim’s apartment as soon as the window was open a few inches. It stood in the middle of the floor, dripping. It flicked its tail, sending off a couple drops of water, before starting to lick one paw. Perhaps realizing that this was not making it any less wet, it looked up at Tim and meowed sadly.

He sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

After rubbing the cat mostly-dry with one of his bath towels, Tim settled into bed for a second time. The cat kept trying to climb onto Tim, but after the third Tim Tim pushed it off, it settled for the foot of his bed.

“Goodnight, menace,” Tim said. “You’re out of here first thing in the morning.”

When Tim woke up, it was to something heavy on his chest. Not too heavy, more like a concentrated weighted blanket. It was kind of relaxing, especially when combined with the vibrations that seemed to sink through Tim’s chest until even his bones were relaxed. 

Slowly, Tim raised a hand and brought it down the side of what he was now realizing was actually pretty soft fur.

The vibrations increased in intensity. 

Tim stayed like that for a moment, just petting the cat.

“Alright,” he said at last. “Fine. You win.”

Now he had some preparations to make.

The first day of being a cat-owner, Tim took the day off of work. He certainly had enough unused sick days for it. Though he had accidentally scared Tam into calling him, thinking he was dying. When he explained the situation she laughed at him for what he felt was several minutes too long, before giving him a list of needed supplies and recommended brands. 

Tam was the best.

Tim spent the day online shopping, choosing same-day shipping for everything. He opened up a can of tuna for the cat while they waited for the cat-specific food to arrive, and it seemed to appreciate it a lot if by the way it devoured the contents was any indication.

There was a terrifying moment thirty minutes later where it seemed like the cat’s stomach might have revolted against it, but after a few hair-raising gagging noises the cat calmed down like nothing had happened.

Actually, if the cat was going to hang around, it was going to need a better alias than “the cat.” 

“What do you want to be called?” Tim Drake, animal whisperer, asked the cat.

It looked over from where it had been bathing its leg. “Murr-uph.”

“Murphey it is.” This was almost immediately shortened to Murph.

An hour later, Tim finally thought to check, and it turned out that Murph was a male, so that worked out nicely. 

An hour after the supplies had been delivered, Tim's apartment had fully transformed from “a sad young adult lives alone here” to “a sad young adult lives with his cat here.”

(Was that actually an improvement?)

Tim had rearranged his kitchen cabinets, and now one shelf was fully dedicated to cat food, both the wet and dry variety. There were two bowls on the floor, one with water and one with a scoop of dry cat food that Murph was happily munching from. The living room had a scratching post, the bathroom a litter box, and the bedroom a cat bed on the floor. Tim had also gotten a cat toy shaped like a mouse, which Murph had batted around a bit before getting distracted with the food.

Not too shabby, for a first-time pet owner, Tim thought.

He spent the rest of his day off researching cat behaviors and going down a rabbit hole of cute cat videos, while Murph alternated between taking a bite or two of his food, scratching his post, cleaning himself, and sleeping next to/on Tim. Murph would lie next to Tim if his lap was full, such as with his computer, but the second Tim moved it away Murph claimed Tim’s lap as his, and he always purred so happily once he was there that Tim didn’t have the heart to move him. 

The good news was that Murph didn’t get into any more trouble. Tam and the internet had explained that his behavior the day before had been due to being bored and hungry, and now that those needs were met he shouldn’t get up to any more mischief.

Not much, at least.

Tim went out on a short patrol that night, and when he returned Murph was right on the bed where he had been when Tim left. 

That gave Tim the confidence to leave for work the next day without worrying about the apartment being destroyed while he was gone. That confidence lasted until right around lunchtime, when Tim decided to actually take his full hour and eat back at his apartment.

Apart from one section of his couch seeming a little more torn up, everything seemed fine. Murph was certainly happy to see him, rubbing up against his legs repeatedly. Tim fed him a couple of treats while he made some more coffee.

He took a sip, set his mug on the counter, went over to check his computer, and the next thing he knew there was a shattering sound from the kitchen. He hurried back to see exactly what he expected: his mug shattered on the floor, his coffee forming a sad brown puddle of wasted energy, and an innocent looking cat sitting where his coffee used to be.

“That was unnecessary,” Tim scolded. He started searching for a towel. “Unnecessary and rude.”

By the time Tim was done cleaning up the mess he had to start heading back to the office and there was no time to make any more coffee. He snagged an apple on his way out, glared one more time at Murph who seemed entirely unrepentant, and left.

The rest of the week went by mostly uneventfully. Tim didn’t always come back at lunch (some days he really was just too busy), but Murph was always so happy when Tim came back that he tried to make it back as often as he could.

He certainly made sure to leave the office no later than 5 pm. Before, he would often work overtime, sometimes even leaving for patrol from the office. But now he had to go back to make sure Murph got fed dinner, and that he hadn’t gotten hurt or up to trouble.

While the former had yet to happen, the latter happened semi-regularly.

Tim always threatened him with eviction (“It’s not like you even pay rent, freeloader.”), but by now Murph had clearly learned that Tim was not one to stand by his threats, and that a purr and cuddle session usually forgave all sins.

The little manipulator.

The only real thing of note that happened during the week was that Bruce left him a voicemail, asking him to come by in regards to a case.

Tim thought about it for all of two seconds. But as this was the first time in recent memory Bruce had reached out to Tim about anything, he felt justified in blowing the man off. 

Let one of the others help. Tim was busy.

He tossed another spring to Murph (the toy collection was steadily growing. Almost every day Tim told himself he had bought the last cat thing, and then the next day anywhere between one to five packages would arrive).

He had so far resisted buying a cat tower, but he wasn’t sure how long he would be able to hold the line.

Exactly one week after Murph had suddenly entered Tim’s life, he disappeared. 

It took Tim half a day to notice. Sure, when he got up in the morning, Murph usually was right there, next to or on top of him, but sometimes he liked his own space under the bed (so far he had refused to touch the expensive cat bed Tim had purchased, much preferring Tim’s dirty floor, to Tim’s annoyance).

So Tim got ready and left for work, leaving Murph to his own devices. It wasn’t until he returned in the evening and was greeted by a complete lack of cat that Tim started to worry. Murph always greeted Tim at the door, always.

Tim went and shook the bag of food, another way to get Murph to come running. No dice, and no cat. That was when Tim really started to worry.

“It’s fine,” Tim said to himself as he got ready for patrol. “He’s disappeared before. Sure, not after you spent triple-figures on the highest quality cat things, but it’s happened. He’ll be back.”

Tim spent all of patrol worrying, and ended up cutting it an hour short. 

There was no cat when he got back, and without his personal heater/vibrating pillow, it took him forever to fall asleep.

Tim woke up to a weight on him, and it took him several minutes of drowsily waking up to remember why that was odd.

Tim opened his eyes to see Murph inches away from his face, staring at him.

Tim smiled. “Hey, buddy. Glad you’re back. I was worried.”

“Murrr.” Murph leaned forward and butted his head against Tim’s forehead. Tim stroked him down his side.

After a minute of petting, Murph got up, which was unusual. Typically he’d do everything in his power to extend cuddle sessions, not getting up until Tim physically forced him. 

As Tim sat up Murph padded over and jumped down the edge of the bed, before crawling under it. Tim was about to get up himself when there was a hiss from under the bed.

Tim froze. Murph never hissed. He was incredibly easy-going. What was under the bed making him hiss?

A moment later Murph wiggled out, and it suddenly became clear to Tim that it wasn’t Murph hissing. Held in Murph’s mouth was a tiny ball of fluff, which started squirming and revealed itself to be a protesting kitten.

Murph jumped up on the bed and stood in front of Tim, the kitten still being held in his mouth by its scruff. Up close Tim could see that it was mostly white, with the tips of its ears, tail, and paws a light gray. It looked at Tim with light blue eyes, and almost seemed to glare at him.

“Is this how cat acquisition is supposed to happen?” Tim asked the universe in general. “Or is there a portal to a cat dimension under my bed?”

Tim slowly reached out to pet the little kitten. As soon as Tim’s hand was in reach the kitten hissed and swiped at Tim, catching him with its tiny kitten claws. Tim pulled his hand back quickly, and saw that he now had a line of three scratches on his hand, one of which was deep enough that a couple drops of blood started to well up.

“Murph, I don’t think your friend likes me,” Tim said, keeping his hands close to his chest now. “And I think the feeling’s mutual. I don’t think he can stay.”

Murph tried to meow with a mouth full of kitten, and when that failed, set down the fluffball, who booked it for the bedroom door and took off down the hall, though not before turning and hissing at Tim one more time.

Murph gave Tim what almost seemed like an apologetic look, headbutted him once, and then padded off after the kitten. 

Tim sighed. He had a sneaking suspicion that he was going to need to invest in milk soon.

Tim did not end up giving the kitten milk. Not because the kitten left, though that would have been the preferred outcome. But because he talked to Tam about his predicament, and she said milk was bad for cats past a certain age, and even young ones should only have their mother’s, not cow milk or any other kind. And since Tim’s newest roommate could see and walk and generally take care of itself, it was probably too old to need milk and would be fine with cat food.

The kind designed for kittens, Tam was quick to add. The kind he gave Murph was probably too big and hard for the little one.

So Tim took another day off, and made some more emergency purchases.

While he waited for it all to arrive, Tim did some investigating. After a short chase and fight that he didn’t lose but didn’t come out of unscathed, Tim could conclude that the kitten was probably male.

“You’re a little terror,” Tim told the kitten as he bandaged his hand. Murph had begun grooming the aforementioned terror, who was putting up with it. “Maybe I should name you Terror.”

It may have been Tim’s imagination, but the kitten seemed to sit up taller.

“Then again, you are pretty cute,” Tim teased. “How about Mr. Fluffykins?”

Definitely-not-Mr. Fluffykins tried to launch himself at Tim, hissing all the while, but Murph pinned him down.

Tim laughed. “Okay, okay, fine. Terror it is.”

If Tim mostly referred to the kitten as Tiny Terror, and eventually shortened it to Tiny, well some things were worth getting attacked for, and teasing an innocent kitten, who barely even weighed a pound and Tim would easily beat in a fight, happened to be one of them.

…that didn’t sound very good when Tim thought about it like that.

He decided to keep the history of Tiny’s name to himself.

It took Tiny much longer to settle in than it took Murph. While Murph had largely cut back on his cat crimes (apart from his seemingly endless mission to destroy any full cups of coffee Tim made), Tiny was quick to show Tim just why exactly his mom had forbidden pets.

He was constantly getting into, under, and on top of places where he was not supposed to be. When he inevitably got stuck and Tim was forced to retrieve him, he never showed any gratitude apart from doing his best to take Tim’s eyes out.

While Murph had adjusted well to the scratching post (except for when the edges of the couch became too great a temptation), Tiny had made it his mission to leave his mark on every piece of furniture and clothing Tim owned. Thankfully Tiny turned out to be litterbox trained, so the problem could have been way worse, but still, Tim didn’t exactly appreciate having loose threads and tiny holes in everything he owned.

In desperation he bought a whole new assortment of toys, hoping to find something to distract Tiny. He knew the kitten played with them, because he could hear the jingling when he was in another room, but the second Tim was near Tiny would stop and shift his focus back to making Tim’s life difficult.

The jerk.

In addition, despite being less than half the size Murph was, Tiny shed twice as much. Tim hadn’t fully realized before just what a difference there was between long-haired and short-haired cats, and Tiny was certainly the former. When he wasn’t terrorizing Tim he was spending what time he spent awake desperately trying to groom himself. It proved difficult for the little guy, who was constantly getting his little tongue stuck in his mass of fur.

Fortunately Murph was always willing to help out with grooming. He seemed to treat Tiny like his own kitten, and had they not looked completely different Tim would have thought they were father and son. 

Tim was also grateful to Murph, who seemed to sense when Tiny was on the verge of destroying Tim’s last shred of patience, and would step in and carry Tiny off somewhere for what Tim thought of as “kitten time-out.” When Tiny would reappear later he was always equally grumpy but less destructive.

There were a few (very few) upsides to the kitten.

The first was that the little guy was, when you looked past the violence, completely adorable. He was literally the cutest kitten Tim or any of his coworkers had ever seen.

Tim may have taken one or one hundred photos of the cats and shown some of them off, and enough people had declared it so that Tim felt he had enough data to declare Tiny the cutest kitten in Gotham.

The first time Tim heard Tiny meow he just about lost it. It was a few days after his addition. Tim and Tiny were in the living room, Tim sitting on the couch doing some research and Tiny destroying one of Tim’s shoelaces. Tim had inwardly sighed and considered it sacrificed, and stayed focused on his work.

“Mee.”

Tim looked down, to see Tiny staring up at him, frozen for a moment before going back to Tim’s shoe. When nothing else happened Tim slowly directed his attention back to his work, only for the sound to come again.

“Mee!” 

Tim looked again. Tiny was glaring up at Tim. Without breaking eye contact he reached out one little paw and swiped at the shoelace, which by now was completely untied. 

Tim felt himself slowly start to grin. “Does somebody want attention?”

Tiny swished his little tail and turned his head away. Tim faked going back to his work, only for Tiny to let out the loudest squeak/partial meow yet and pound on Tim’s shoe.

Tim chuckled. “Yeah, alright, fine, you win.” Careful not to get clawed, Tim took off his other shoe and undid the lace so he just had a dangling bit of string. Tiny stared transfixed at it. Tim started dragging it along the floor, and he and Tiny spent the next half hour in a combination of keep-away, chase, and tug-of-war.

If Tim had thought Tiny’s meow was cute, the first time he sneezed just about did him in.

The absolute cutest thing about Tiny though, was when he slept. Being a force of destruction took a lot out of him, so when he crashed, he crashed hard. Asleep was the only time he allowed Tim to touch or pet him without retribution. 

For whatever reason, Tiny hated sleeping alone, and always sought out Murph before passing out next to him. Sometimes Murph would stay with him, often sneaking a grooming session in, but not always. On the occasions Murph didn’t, he would always bring Tiny to Tim, giving him the kitten to watch over. Tim had learned the hard way that Tiny did not appreciate waking up on top of Tim, and so he usually set him next to him. 

He had tried keeping Tiny a safe distance away but still within sight, like on the other end of the couch or bed, but without feeling someone else nearby Tiny would start making these little whimpering noises in his sleep, twitching his little ears and paws distressingly, and so Tim was forced to find from trial and error the best distance to keep the sleeping kitten at. Touching the edge of Tim’s leg was usually best.

When Tiny had been living in Tim’s apartment for almost a week, Tim woke up with two cats touching him for the first time. Murph on his usual spot on Tim’s chest and Tiny curled up by Tim’s hip.

Tim smiled. This wasn’t so bad.

“This is so bad!” Tim groaned. He swung his finger and pointed at Murph accusingly. “Why are you multiplying!?”

“Murr?” the orange cat said, as if he didn’t know what Tim was talking about.

Tim pointed to the black and white spotted cat staring at him from a corner. “Do you think this is some kind of hotel? I’m not some bed-and-breakfast for all your cat friends to stay at!”

“Murr.”

“Grr-oww,” said the new guy. 

Tim sighed. Guess he had three cats, now.

Tim’s third uninvited houseguest was, in a way, the most polite of them all. He never scratched at Tim, or purposefully made a mess. Unless you count during the first day of his arrival where he refused to go in the litterbox. Eventually that problem was solved by getting him his own private litterbox in Tim’s closet, and after that the messes stopped.

He hardly bothered Tim at all, actually. He rarely tolerated being petted, but wouldn’t lash out if Tim got too close. Most of the time he would just move away, though always nearby. He always seemed to be watching Tim, staring at him with almost glowing green eyes. More than once Tim had woken up in the morning to see those eyes staring at him from his dresser, and Tim knew that the cat had just been watching him sleep. Kind of creepy, but whatever.

However, the distant politeness only extended to Tim. The others were offered no such mercy. 

Routinely the new cat would get into fights with the other two. Usually they were instigated by him, though sometimes by Tiny, who didn’t seem to realize he was the size of an appetizer to the other cat. Murph for his part would just be sitting there, and then all of a sudden a black and white blur would appear out of nowhere, and they would be rolling around on the floor and screeching at each other.

This habit led to the new guy’s name: Berserker.

Though, like Terror’s name, this too soon got shortened. The cat didn’t seem to like the name Bessie very much, but Tim thought it fit the white with black spots pattern the cat had pretty well.

Bessie won all of his fights. He did have the advantage of size, on Tiny obviously, but also on Murph. He was at least an inch or two taller and wider, and it seemed to be all muscle. However, Tim had the suspicion that Murph let Bessie win half of the time. Bessie always seemed to be in a better mood after a fight, and Murph never seemed too bothered about losing.

At first Tim tried to put an end to the fighting, by separating Bessie in a closet (“Grown-up Cat Time-out” Tim called it). It never seemed to work. Murph would sit at the door separating them and meow incessantly until Tim let Bessie out. Sometimes Bessie would bolt out the second Tim opened the door, and then he wouldn’t see the cat again for hours. The worst was the time Bessie didn’t bolt, and Tim found him in the corner in the back of the closet, rolled up into the smallest possible ball he could be. Murph entered and laid next to Bessie, grooming between his ears, until he opened his eyes and walked slowly out of the room. 

Tim never put him in the closet again after that, and soon learned to tune out of the sound of catfighting. He only interfered if it seemed like a cat was about to be seriously hurt, or if they were about to break something.

Despite all of his free time now being overtaken by cats, Tim felt better than he had in a long time. It was strange.

Could it be because he was going to bed earlier at the cats’ insistence, and when he fell asleep he was much less likely to wake up from insomnia or nightmares? Even when he did, the warm bodies around him generally soothed him back to sleep within minutes. 

Could it be because he was drinking less coffee? A combination of Murph (and sometimes the other two) knocking over any cup he made past noon along with the cats distracting Tim enough that he forgot to make his afternoon pot half the time led to much less caffeine consumption.

Could it be because he was eating more full meals now? Since he was home much more, he decided he might as well invest in some actual groceries and meals, instead of surviving off of coffee and granola bars and the occasional takeout. The cats certainly seemed to like Tim’s change in diet. Not that he fed them anything not meant for cats, he knew that was a bad habit from his research.

He’d just give them a little bit of fish if he happened to be eating it.

Or pieces of shredded cheese.

Or bits of scrambled eggs.

Just a little though, and not every day! 

…

Okay, every day, but not every meal!

…

Okay most meals, but only when the food was safe for feline consumption. He never fed them anything like chocolate or milk (he knew the shredded cheese was pushing it, but they seemed to like it so much, and he only ever gave them a little bit). He didn’t even buy onions or grapes, just to be safe.

Anyway.

Could it be because he was laughing more, and was generally in a more relaxed and better mood? Even though they caused problems, he liked being around the cats. It was relaxing to pet Murph, it was fun to tease Tiny, and even Bessie’s steady presence was growing on him. 

He hadn’t taken pictures that weren’t for a case in years, but now he found his storage on his phone quickly approaching quadruple digits, and he was considering digging out his old camera from the back of his closet to get some particularly nice shots. 

Could it be any of that, or all of the above?

Hmm… nah. Probably just a coincidence. Tim would take it though.

Not even Bruce leaving him another two vague messages that boiled down to orders to report to the Batcave asap could bring Tim down.

He left Bruce on read, and felt no guilt over it.

The fourth and final cat was the only one Tim invited into the apartment himself from the get-go.

It was the middle of the night. Tim had woken up and felt thirsty. He miraculously managed to get out of bed without waking any cats, and made his way to the kitchen. He had finished his water and was heading back to bad when something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.

He looked out the window. At first he couldn’t make out anything in the dark. He got closer and squinted.

Suddenly he realized he was looking into something’s eyes.

Tim startled back, before curiosity got the better of him and he got closer again. Sure enough, something was out there, an animal of some kind, something that from what Tim could make out was even bigger than Bessie.

What were the odds it was a possum or a raccoon or a really large rat or something?

Tim sighed. With his track record, unlikely.

“You’re out of luck,” Tim whispered to the thing outside, knowing that it probably couldn’t hear him through the glass. “My three get into enough fights as it is without introducing a stranger. I’m afraid you’ll need to find somewhere else to stay.”

The probable-cat just stared at him.

Tim shook his head and went back to bed. No, three cats was plenty. No need to add any more.

He eventually fell back asleep and in the morning forgot all about the likely-cat.

Until the next night, when the same thing happened again.

“Look,” Tim said, hands on his hips, staring down at the creature. “I really mean it. I’m not letting you in. No vacancies. Seek shelter elsewhere.”

No movement, just stares. 

“Fine,” Tim said. “Don’t blame me if you get cold, though. It’s supposed to get down to freezing tomorrow.”

With one final shooing motion Tim went back to bed.

“Ughhhh!” Tim moaned quietly the next night, cursing his kind nature. “You win! But just for tonight, okay?”

Tim opened the window a crack, trying not to let all the warm air out. What looked like a small jaguar in size padded in.

Tim switched on one of his lamps. Now that he could actually see the thing, he could tell it wasn’t quite that big. Still bigger than Bessie, though it was hard to tell how much since this cat seemed to have as much fur as Tiny. Actually, it had a lot of similarities to Tiny. Like the kitten, this was a cream-colored long-haired cat, with darker markings on the paws, tip of the tail, face, and ears. Though while Tiny’s markings were a light gray, this cat’s were almost black. Tim wondered if the two were the same breed, and if Tiny would grow up to look like this. This cat also had blue eyes, though a darker shade than Tiny’s.

Tim went and poured out some food for the big guy, who walked slowly over to the dish, seeming to inspect everything in the apartment first, before diving into the bowl like he hadn’t eaten in days. 

Maybe he hadn’t. Tim shoved the guilt down.

“You can stay the night,” he said. “But I already have two cats who don’t get along with others, so I doubt they’ll take kindly to you. First thing in the morning, you’re on your way.”

The cat continued eating, and Tim left them to it. He went back to bed, picked up Murph and placed him on top of his chest, and went back to sleep.

Tim awoke to the sound of caterwauling. While that wasn’t too unusual considering Bessie, this one sounded more intense than usual. 

Tim’s eyes flung open. Oh shoot. Had he remembered to shut the bedroom door last night?

A quick glance at the open door was the only thing he needed to answer that question.

He sprung out of bed and bolted for the living room.

There was the new cat, sitting in the middle of the floor, seeming for all the world unperturbed. There was Bessie, growling and hissing at it in pure fury, eyes almost seeming to glow with rage. There was Murph, against Bessie’s side, trying and failing to distract the enraged cat. And there was Tiny, sitting by the new cat’s side (huh, he took to it surprisingly quickly. Maybe they were related). 

“Okay!” Tim said loudly. Three pairs of cat eyes turned to look at him. Bessie did not, but he did flick an ear in Tim’s direction and his growling lowered a decimal or two. “There’s no need for all the dramatics. This guy just needed a place for the night. He’s not staying.”

Maybe it was Tim’s tone, but Bessie finally relaxed. Then, for the first time ever, he went and rubbed himself against Tim’s legs.

Tim laughed, and managed to get one quick pet in before Bessie moved away. 

Tiny and Murph, on the other hand, had taken the opportunity to go to the new cat and start rubbing against him. The large cat didn’t reciprocate, but didn’t push them away either.

Murph looked at Tim with pleading eyes.

“No,” Tim said firmly. “They’re not staying. Bessie and I outvote you two, because the newcomer doesn’t get a vote and mine counts as ten because I’m the only one who pays rent. So there.”

But maybe the new cat didn’t have to leave right away, Tim thought. I’ve never seen Tiny this calm, not even with Murph. And it is still pretty cold outside… I’ll give it an hour.

Tim meant to send the cat outside before he left for work, but Tiny was taking a nap next to them at the time and so he figured he’d kick them out after work. Then after work he returned home to find his place the least-destroyed it had ever been since letting cats live with him, so he figured he’d let them stay until after patrol in gratitude, and then after patrol it was cold outside again, so he decided to wait until morning…

What with one thing and another, Tim never got around to having the newcomer (soon dubbed Mr. Grumpy, or Grumps for short) leave, and soon he forgot that was ever the plan.

With a fourth cat, the dynamics and interrelationships within Tim’s apartment changed once again.

Tiny was calmer. While he still antagonized Bessie on occasion and tolerated Murph’s company and affection, it was clear that Grumps was his favorite. He was never far from the other cat, and seemed to listen to him better than he ever did Tim. When Tiny would start attacking one of the others or Tim, Grumps would let it happen just enough for Tiny to burn off energy, but the second it started to look like blood was about to be drawn, he would call out to Tiny, who would immediately stop and return to Grump’s side.

Tim couldn’t believe that he had four cats, and not a single one of them could meow properly. Grumps rarely made any noise at all, but when he would he made a sound that was more like a cry of pain than a true meow. 

“Ow,” he would say. Somehow that was all he had to say and suddenly he’d have every other cat’s attention.

Tim tried to teach the four of them to meow properly once, but after five minutes of trying to get them to copy him the only thing he had accomplished was feeling ridiculous. He also had the distinct impression that the cats, though silent, were laughing at him. Something in the twitch of their tails.

With Tiny spending more time with Grumps, Murph started spending more time with Bessie. At first Bessie was entirely against this idea, and made his displeasure known loudly, but eventually he grew to tolerate and even seem to like Murph’s presence. Tim had even seen him seek Murph out once or twice.

Bessie was still not a fan of Grumps, but they seemed to reach a compromise, which involved Grumps not coming within three feet of Bessie, and not touching any of Bessie’s things. Tim had to once again buy more supplies, as Bessie refused to share food or water dishes or toys with Bessie.

He also finally broke down and bought a cat tower. Two, actually, since Bessie claimed the first and wouldn’t let anyone else on it. All of the cats greatly enjoyed climbing up to the top of the towers and looking down at Tim from above.

So far Tim had held himself back from buying cat tunnels and shelves for the walls, but he knew his resolve would dissolve at some point. Maybe he could spin it as a Christmas present? People bought Christmas gifts for their pets, right? That wasn’t weird.

He double checked with Tam, just to be safe. She said it was fine.

A week after Grumps arrived Tim kept feeling on edge, half-anticipating the arrival of another cat, but when almost two weeks had passed since his arrival Tim felt safe to relax.

Four cats was plenty. And even though some of them had their issues, Tim wouldn’t want to change a thing. 

When Tim fell asleep at night, it was to Murph on top of him, Tiny a foot away but slowly inching closer until he was right up against Tim’s side, Bessie at the foot of the bed (his current favorite sleeping spot), and Grumps watching from the top of the bedroom cat tower. 

He didn’t think he had ever slept better in his life.

Of course, just when Tim’s life seemed to be going perfect, he got a call that threw everything off again.

Not from Bruce, this time. Tim hadn’t actually gotten a call from him for a couple of weeks. No, this call was from Babs. And if there was one rule a vigilante in Gotham didn’t break, it was that you didn’t ignore a summons from Oracle. Not if you wanted reliable tech and information in the future.

He was at the Clock Tower within the hour.

“What is it, Oracle?” he asked as he entered.

Babs spun around in her chair and glared at Tim. “It’s about time! No one’s been able to talk with you for months!”

Tim stared at her blankly. “I received about three phone calls total in that time, all from Bruce which boiled down to, come. No one else has reached out at all.”

Babs stared at him before sighing and muttering something like, “Your family, I swear.” Moving on she said louder, “Have you seen any of them recently?”

“No,” Tim said. He hadn’t thought it was odd, but now that he was here, he realized he hadn’t even seen one of the others in passing on patrol in awhile. Usually he’d glimpse at least one of the others from a distance occasionally, but he couldn’t remember doing so recently. “Is something wrong?”

“In a word: yes,” Babs said flatly. “Gotham’s vigilantes have been disappearing one by one. I have no idea where Batman, Robin, Nightwing, or Red Hood are.”

“What!” This was serious. “Why is this the first I’m hearing about this?”

Babs glared at him again. “Well I asked Batman to pull you into the case weeks ago, but someone never responded, and now he’s missing too!”

“We all make mistakes, let’s move on,” Tim said quickly. Switching into detective mode he asked, “What do we know so far?”

Babs filled him in. Over a month ago Nightwing had disappeared. Since he sometimes went on undercover missions no one thought much of it at the time. Then Robin disappeared a week later. Batman started searching for him every night, pulling in Red Hood after a few days, but then Red Hood went missing too. 

“And now Batman’s gone,” Tim said. “What about Spoiler and Black Bat?”

“Both of them left to chase some leads down overseas, in case they were taken out of Gotham. They check in once a day. So far they’ve found nothing. I’m thinking of having them come back to Gotham.”

“No, they should stay out for now,” Tim said, thinking out loud. “If something’s happening to the vigilantes in Gotham we need them somewhere safe for now as backup.”

“What do you suggest, Red Robin?”

Tim stood up straight, plans starting to form in his head. “I think it’s time I joined the investigation.”

He chose to ignore Babs’ muttered, “About time.”

Tim dove into the investigation headfirst, spending every moment where he was not forced to be at Wayne Enterprises on it. He searched for clues on patrol, watched hours of security footage, interviewed civilians and criminals alike. There was no sign of the others anywhere. The longer it went on the more frenzied and worried Tim became, and the less time he spent at home.

He could tell it was starting to bother the cats. 

Murph had to practically herd him to bed each night, and refused to get off of him in the mornings. He’d meow at Tim loudly whenever he tried to leave, and on more than one occasion tried to leave with Tim. He had to start keeping the door mostly closed as he squeezed out of it each day to prevent any breakouts.

Tiny stopped destroying Tim’s things for a while, then suddenly destroyed everything his little paws could reach, and when that didn’t make Tim stay any longer went back to leaving his stuff alone. Tiny stopped playing with his toys as much. He’d bat some of them around a little, but when Tim refused to engage he’d just lay down wherever he was. Murph usually came to comfort him.

Bessie had suddenly decided out of nowhere that Tim was his new best friend. He stayed right by Tim’s side wherever he went in the apartment, often getting underfoot and tripping Tim. Some nights he even kicked Murph off of his spot on top of Tim, placing himself on Tim’s chest. Tim didn’t really appreciate this as he was much heavier than Murph, but he didn’t have the heart to kick him off when Tim was barely around as it was. Murph graciously moved down Tim’s body and now slept on his legs.

If Tim had thought that Grumps liked watching him before, it had nothing on his behavior now. The cat was always staring at Tim. Never too close (Bessie wouldn’t allow it), but always watching, as if Tim needed constant supervision. Tim stopped catching Grumps asleep. Every time he saw the cat he was on guard over Tim, even if Tim happened to wake in the middle of the night.

Tim felt bad. He could tell none of the cats were happy, but sometimes things had to be done, and finding Gotham’s missing vigilantes was one of those things. Even if Tim did have mixed feelings about them.

It came to a head one evening, a little more than a week after Tim started searching. Tim needed to go on patrol soon. Some of Two-Face’s goons had recently escaped prison, and Tim wanted to track them down, not only to return them but to see if they knew anything.

He hurriedly filled each of the cat bowls with a scoop of dry cat food each, and then went to go change, not sparring a thought for the strange fact that the cats were nowhere to be seen. Usually they came running at mealtime.

Only Tim’s uniform seemed to be missing.

He stared at the empty spot in the standing safe. Did he forget to put it away last night? Did someone break in and steal it? Tim started to look around. 

He finally spotted a sleeve sticking out from under his bed. He tried to drag it out with his foot, and it felt heavier than it should. He bent down to look under the bed.

Only to suddenly feel the weight of one large, one medium, and one tiny cat leap onto his back simultaneously.

“Oof!” Tim said, wincing a little at the sudden weight. “What is this, guys? Get off.”

Not only did the cats not get off, but to Tim it felt like they settled down, sitting and laying on his back.

“Seriously, guys,” Tim insisted, trying and failing to gently shake them off. “This isn’t playtime. I have to get out there.” On his hands and knees Tim started to pull at the uniform, only for something to pull it back.

Tim lowered himself a little more, to see Grumps holding the other sleeve in his mouth. 

“Seriously?” Tim said again. He proceeded to have a tug-of-war which lasted much longer than it should have, due to the factors of Tim being weighed down and not wanting to pull so hard that he tore the uniform.

He finally managed to get it out, only for Bessie to yank it out of his hands and take off with it out of the room.

Tim tried to stand up, remembered that he was still covered in cats, and tried to free himself, which took several minutes as Grumps now kept getting in the way.

By the time Tim reached Bessie and his uniform, it was too late.

“Oh, gross,” Tim wrinkled his nose at the wet stain on his uniform, and the smell coming from it. Bessie sat nearby. If a cat could look self-satisfied, this one did.

“Fine, you guys win,” Tim said, throwing his uniform into the washer. “But I’m only staying until this is clean, got it?”

Tim wasn’t sure they did. Murph, Bessie, and Tiny went off to have dinner, while Grumps herded him to the couch. Once Tim was sitting he got on Tim’s lap, effectively trapping him.

Tim sighed and leaned his head back. Maybe this was alright. He had been getting by on just an hour or two of sleep each night. A short rest wouldn’t hurt, it’d make him more aware for patrol…

Tim was asleep before the three cats had even finished eating.

When Tim woke up to the sound of his alarm, he realized he had slept almost eleven hours. 

“That was not okay!” Tim scolded the cats from their various places on the couch. They looked at him unrepentant. “I’ve got important work I need to do. I needed to be out there, and now I may have just lost my lead!”

Murph rubbed up against him and purred. 

“No, being cute won’t make me forgive you this time. This is really important. It’s… family.”

Murph stopped purring and stared at Tim. All the cats did.

Not that surprising, Tim supposed. He had never said that particular word out loud before.

Tim reached over and grabbed his phone, searching for a specific picture. He felt a little silly as he did so. Why was he explaining things to the cats? But deep down he knew he was really doing this for himself.

He found the photo quickly. It was the oldest one saved under Favorites. It showed a kitchen. Four people were sitting around a table eating breakfast.

“I was lucky to get this,” Tim said as he stared at the screen. “It was the only time I had ever seen the four of them in the same room out of costume before. One of them almost killed me for it.”

Tim felt a bump against his leg. He looked down to see Tiny, who looked up at him before trying to crawl up on his lap and see the screen.

Tim let him, graciously ignoring the little pinpricks in his legs as he did so, and tilted the screen so the kitten could better see.

“See the moody one on the left? The small one? That’s Damian. He tried to attack me and make me delete the photo afterward. I think he didn’t like that his hair was unbrushed or something. I managed to escape and keep it in the end. Good thing I have practice not being killed by that kid.”

“Mee,” Tiny squeaked. He batted at the screen. Tim moved it away and incidentally moved it close to Bessie, who was sitting on Tim’s other side.

“Now, the moody one on the right,” Tim explained. “That’s Jason. He tried to kill me too. Came the closest, actually. I understand his reasoning more than I do Damian’s, but still. It’s like, he was my hero? And the first thing he did when we met was attempt to murder me. I still have the scars. It’s… yeah.”

“Grr-oww.” Bessie nudged Tim’s hand until he scratched his head.

“Ow.” Tim looked up to see Grumps resting on the top of the couch behind Tim’s shoulder. He held the phone up for him to see.

“The one in the back, looking down and like he’s half in shadow even though the room is fully lit? That’s Bruce. I know Jason thought that everything was perfect between us, but even before Jason came back it was rocky. He didn’t want me, you see, not really. He wanted Jason. And I couldn’t be him. And then Bruce was missing, and I spent all this time looking for him, and I did it, I got him back, and I thought things would be better between us, but he never reaches out unless he needs something, and I guess I’ve had enough of waiting around for parents who never show.”

Tim felt a single paw touch his foot. He looked down to see Murph.

“Murr-uph.” Murph tapped Tim’s foot again.

“Sure, you can look too, Murph,” Tim chuckled. He showed Murph the screen. “And that one in the front? The only one smiling? That’s Dick. There was a time when things were pretty good between us, actually. Right before Jason came back. We were almost brothers. But then there was Jason, and Damian, and Dick made it clear whose side he was on, especially once Bruce was gone. He tried reaching out a couple of times after this picture was taken, but I never responded, and eventually he stopped.”

Murph crouched down, then jumped up and landed in Tim’s lap (Tiny quickly moved out of the way, landing next to Tim’s leg) before rubbing his face against Tim’s.

“Haha, stop, I’m fine,” Tim laughed. “Really. I’m over it. So they don’t want me as their family. I can take a hint. I don’t need them. I’ve got Babs for help when I need it, and Spoiler and Black Bat are willing to come when I ask as long as they’re not busy, even if things are a bit weird between Spoiler and I. There’s Tam at work, and, well… there’s you guys.”

Tim tried to pet all four cats at once, and more or less succeeded. “I’ve really loved having you all around. It might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

After a minute of petting and getting massaged by purrs, Tim sat up straight and held up a finger. “But!” he said seriously. “Just because I have mixed feelings about those four doesn’t mean I don’t want them back. I don’t want them hurt, or dead. If nothing else, Gotham needs them.”

Tim glared at each cat in turn. “So, I expect you all to stop this whole stealing-my-uniform business. The sooner I can find them, the sooner things can go back to normal. We just have to push through. I promise once all of this is done I’ll take a week off of work, and we can do nothing else but hang out all day long. Alright?”

Four cats blinked slowly at Tim, and he figured that was the best he was going to get. He maneuvered himself out of the cat pile, and went to check his uniform. It was still in the washer, and after sitting in it all night probably needed to be washed again. Tim set the timer and then went to the bedroom to get ready for the day.

He had just pulled on a new shirt when there was what sounded like an explosion in the living room. Tim rushed to the door, opening it to see the hallway filled with what seemed to be twinkling fog. He breathed it in before realizing that might be a mistake, and when he didn’t pass out decided to push on.

“Murph?” he called out, fumbling his way down the hall. “Tiny? Bessie? Grumps? Are you okay, what happened?”

“We’re fine,” a voice called back to Tim.

“Oh, good,” Tim said, relieved. Then, “Wait, what!?”

Tim felt a lightswitch and flicked it on, accidentally turning on the ceiling fan as well. It worked out though, as the glittery fog started to dissipate. 

Standing in Tim’s living room were four people. The same four people that he had spent all of his recent time obsessing over finding. Here they were, in his living room, perfectly fine.

Tim spluttered. “Wha? Dam… Bru… Jay… Dick?”

Jason was the first to respond. “Yeah I know we’re naked, you don’t have to point it out.”

As the fog faded more Tim realized that he was right. Tim quickly turned around. “What are you doing naked in my living room!?” he yelled, covering his eyes too just to be safe. 

There was some rustling behind him. “Would you mind letting us borrow some clothes?” Tim heard Bruce ask. “Only you just have the one blanket, and I’m afraid Jason and Damian are about to destroy it.”

“No we’re not!” The claim was followed by a loud ripping sound. “Oops.”

“Yep. Clothes. On it.” Tim sprinted back to his bedroom, glad to have a task to focus on, while the sound of fighting behind him increased.

Ten minutes later everyone was dressed, more or less. Dick and Damian were close-ish to Tim’s size, though one had to roll up his jeans and one had his ankles showing, but Jason and Bruce barely managed to squeeze into the largest pairs of sweatpants Tim had. It would have to do though.

“So, what are you all doing here, again?” Tim asked once everyone was situated. He glanced around. “And have any of you seen my cats?”

The four newly-unmissing vigilantes shared a look with each other. “Well…” Dick started. “It’s like this. See…”

Twenty minutes and one unbelievable explanation later, Tim was dumbfounded.

“So you’re telling me,” he said slowly. “That you four were my cats.”

“Yes,” Dick said.

“The whole time?”

“The whole time,” Bruce agreed.

“Because some sorcerer or whatever whose bank-robbing brother you all had beat up and arrested wanted to take revenge on you, so he cursed Dick first and then led the rest of you to him when you went to look for Dick?”

“Pretty much.”

“And since the sorcerer just happened to live three blocks away, the first place you went to once you were cursed was here.”

“Believe me, I would have rather returned to the manor,” Damian huffed. “I was heading that direction, but Richard found me and brought me here.”

Tim wheeled to Dick, desperate for any plothole that would prove this all wasn’t true. “And how do you explain you being able to get in and out, huh, and letting the others in?”

“Most of the others,” Bruce muttered, clearly still peeved about it.

Dick gave a sheepish smile and went over to Tim’s window. Using one hand he pushed it up, creating a gap. When he let go the window slayed in place.

“Your latch is broken,” Dick said as Tim stared open-mouthed. So much for his top-of-the-line security. “It wasn’t easy getting the leverage as a cat, but with practice I could do it easily enough. Then it was just a matter of getting it back down when I was done.”

“Okay,” Tim said slowly. “Fine. That makes… sense.” He grasped at another straw. “But then why did you all act like cats?”

They gave each other bemused looks. “Tim,” Bruce said gently. “We were cats.”

“Yes, but you didn’t have to act like them. You could have, I don’t know, written me a message with your food, or found a way to use my computer, or used Morse code by tapping me, something!”

“The thing about being in a cat’s body,” Jason remarked casually, “is that you have a cat’s brain, too. I only sort-of remembered being human, and I certainly didn’t remember anything as complicated as Morse code. I was doing good to get here, and after that all I wanted was to eat, fight, and sleep.”

“So, no different than when you are human,” Damian said dryly.

“Push off, Demon Brat,” Jason snapped. “Don’t forget who won all of our catfights.”

“Yes, but now I am human and have access to weapons.” Damian turned to Tim. “Drake, may I borrow a knife?”

“No you may not,” Tim said distractedly, still trying to wrap his mind around the whole situation. Damian huffed but thankfully made no move to acquire his own weapons. “So, what changed? Why are you human now?”

Dick shrugged. “I don’t remember much about when I was cursed.” 

“Nor do I,” Damian added.

“He said something about names, that’s all I remember,” Jason said.

“We had to be called by three names before we could be human again,” Bruce said. “We needed a name for everyday, a formal name, and a true name. Once someone called us by all three names the curse would be broken.”

“And did I do that?” Tim asked. “Call you each by three names?”

“I think you must have,” Dick mused. “You gave us each a name and then a nickname. And then earlier, when you were showing off the photo and saying who we were…”

“That counted as me calling you by your true name?” Tim asked. 

Dick shrugged. “Must have, or we would still be cats.”

Tim sat quietly for a moment. “I think I need some time alone. To process,” he said at last. 

“That’s fine,” Bruce said. “We should really be getting back.”

“I’ll call you a cab,” Tim offered.

Bruce nodded. “Thank you.”

After fifteen minutes that felt both too long and too short, the cab arrived.

Dick hugged him before leaving. “Thank you for everything,” he said, squeezing tightly. “See you later.”

“Yeah,” Tim mumbled. “See you later.” He couldn’t bring himself to believe it.

Jason slapped him on the back before stepping out, and Bruce and Damian each nodded at him. Tim closed the door behind them, and suddenly he was alone.

He looked around at his apartment, covered in cat things but without a cat in sight.

“Well,” he said to no one. “What now?”

What happened next was, Tim cleaned up what mess there was, put all the cat toys in a box, and then, even though he had just woken up a couple of hours ago, went back to bed.

He stayed in bed the whole day.

He took the next day off of work too. Tam was getting worried, but it was fine. Tim was the CEO, afterall. Most CEOs went on golf vacations and were gone half the time. Tim was allowed to take a couple of days to wallow.

He was doing better today, too. He had moved from the bed to the couch. Currently he was zoning out to old Disney movies.

There was a knock at his door. Tim looked down at himself, still in yesterday’s clothes, and decided to ignore it. After a second knock whoever was there left, and Tim relaxed.

Until he heard the window behind him open. He jumped up into a fighting position, only to see Dick wiggle his way through.

He flopped onto the ground and groaned. “Somehow that was easier when I was a cat.” He smiled up at Tim. “You still haven’t fixed that latch. That’s dangerous in Gotham, you know.”

“What are you doing here?” Tim asked, trying not to sound accusatory and not fully succeeding.

Dick got up and brushed himself off, closing the window behind him. “I missed you,” he said easily, as if it was true. “I got used to seeing you every day. I missed hanging out.”

“Shouldn’t you hang out with Damian?” Tim hadn’t meant to say those words, but they came out anyway.

Dick smiled sadly. “I was just with him. I want to be with you now.”

“Look, Tim,” Dick continued before Tim could speak. “I won’t apologize for the way Damian treated you. That’s his responsibility, and he knows it. But I will say sorry for my own actions. I’m sorry. I should have been a better brother to you, especially after Damian arrived. I just got so laser focused on him I forgot you still needed me too.”

“It’s fine,” Tim said automatically.

“It’s really not,” Dick responded gently. “But if you’ll let me, I’d like to try being brothers again.”

Tim hesitated for a moment. But, when it came down to it, he did really miss Murph, which meant that really, he missed Dick. “I was watching a movie,” Tim offered. “You can join if you want.”

Dick grinned like a sunrise, slow but bright. “I’m in! What are we watching?”

“Umm,” Tim bit his lip. “The, uh. The Aristocats," he admitted.

Dick burst out laughing. “Sounds perfect!”

They finished the movie, and watched one more besides, and over time slowly edged closer to each other on the couch, until eventually Tim fell asleep on Dick’s shoulder. 

That was miraculous enough, but what really mattered to Tim was that Dick was still there when he woke up.

After that, visits from Dick became a regular thing. They weren’t always able to meet every day, what with CEO-ing and vigilante-ing, but Dick came over as often as possible, sometimes meeting Tim at work and taking him out for lunch.

“If I go a day without visiting,” Dick told Tim once, “Then I make sure to make it a priority to visit the next day.”

It was nice, and slowly Tim got used to the new normal. Until one day Dick asked if he could bring Damian over.

“He’s had some time to reflect,” Dick said. “And I’ll be here the whole time. I’ll make sure nothing happens.”

“You were there before, too,” Tim pointed out. “I’m sorry,” he added quickly, when he saw Dick deflate.

“No, don’t apologize, that’s fair,” Dick waved him off. “He doesn’t have to come over if you don’t want him to.”

Tim thought about Tiny. How he fought more than a cat twice his size, and felt like he had to sneak affection. How he whimpered sometimes in his sleep. “He can come,” Tim said, only a little worried.

He needn’t’ve. The first thing Damian did when he entered Tim’s apartment was look around and say, “This place seemed bigger as a cat.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Well hello to you too.”

“Damian,” Dick said simply, following behind and closing the door. “Be nice.”

“I was working my way up to it, Richard,” Damian huffed. He looked Tim dead in the eye. “Timothy Drake. I have wronged you in the past, and not all of it was deserved. I wish for us to start over. Do you agree to this?”

Tim bit his lip. “Umm…” 

“And, Damian?” Dick prompted.

Damian sighed. “And I apologize."

Tim blinked. “Um, thanks? I forgive you.”

“No you do not,” Damian said firmly. “For if you did you would be a fool, and I refuse to have another fool as family. Todd is bad enough. But that is alright. You shall forgive me with time as I endeavor to make it up to you.”

Without another word Damian strode off towards the kitchen, where he started going through Tim’s fridge.

“Well,” Tim said to Dick. “That was… weird.”

Dick patted Tim’s on the back before whispering in his ear. “He was practising on the car ride here.”

“Drake!” Damian called out. “Do you have literally any kind of vegetable? Or is it just this processed garbage?”

Tim, Dick, and Damian spent the evening together, and when they left Tim was completely unscathed. He would consider that a miracle. 

He may even be willing to risk it again.

One day Tim arrived home, and standing in the middle of his living room was Jason. There was no hood in sight. Jason seemed to be dressed rather casually. That didn’t mean much to Tim, who had seen Jason turn from casual to savage more times than he could count.

Tim couldn’t help the way he tensed, remembering the last time Jason had surprised Tim with an unexpected visit.

“Relax, Repla… Tim,” Jason said. “I’m not about to hurt you.”

“That would be a first,” Tim glared. “What do you want, Jason?”

Jason sighed. He glanced over at the cat tower that Tim hadn’t gotten around to getting rid of, and then looked Tim in the eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Though he maybe should have expected it, Tim was still stunned. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Jason repeated. “I was real shitty to you in the past. I’ll try not to be as much of an asshole anymore.”

“Thanks,” Tim said flatly. “But I don’t know if I can forgive you yet,” he added on.

Jason actually smiled. “Good. You shouldn’t.” 

And then he actually stepped past Tim and walked to the door.

“Excuse me?” Tim asked, feeling totally off-balance.

Jason stopped. “Yes?”

“Is that it?”

“What did you want, a gift basket?” 

“No, it’s just the others… look, why don’t you stay for a bit?”

Jason would have looked less surprised if Tim had slapped him with a fish. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Tim nodded. “Dick and Damian are actually coming by later. It’ll be good. We can reminisce about old times. Like the times you pissed all over my walls and clothes.”

Instead of getting angry like Tim expected, Jason laughed. “Glad to see you still have some spunk, Re-Tim.”

“I like to think I do, Bessie.”

Now Jason actually looked annoyed. “You really couldn’t think of anything better than to name me after a cow?”

“I gave you a cool name too.”

“That you never called me!”

“It’s not my fault you had cowprint fur!”

“Okay, that’s it you little-!”

When Damian and Dick showed up later, it was to the sight of Jason and Tim fighting. This kind of fighting was different, though. Neither of them was getting seriously hurt, or intending to hurt the other. It was more like wrestling or playfighting than anything.

Damian was quick to join in. Dick did too, but not before taking a picture.

A week later the four of them were once again at Tim’s place. Somehow it had become their default hangout spot. It wasn’t that surprising when you factored in Dick living in a different city, Damian living with Bruce, and Jason refusing to tell anyone where he lived. What was surprising was the fact that the four of them were even hanging out at all. Tim still had to pinch himself occasionally. 

They were just about to start arguing over what movie to watch when Tim spotted something out of the corner of his eye.

He turned to look and almost fell off the couch. “Bruce! What are you doing?”

What he was doing was standing on the fire escape outside, staring at them all through the window like a creep.

“And people call me a stalker,” Tim complained to himself. He made a shooing motion at Bruce. “Go around and knock on the door like a normal person, jeez.”

Bruce nodded and disappeared, and two minutes later there was a knock at the door.

“I wonder who that could be?” Jason asked sarcastically.

Tim opened the door, and there was Bruce. Tim opened his mouth to either greet or berate him, it was even odds, when Bruce spoke first.

“I’m sorry.”

Tim closed his mouth. He stepped back and let Bruce inside before closing the door.

“Say it again,” Tim demanded quietly.

“I’ll say it as many times as you need,” Bruce promised easily. “I’m sorry. Tim, I once said we were partners. I haven’t treated you like one recently, maybe not ever, not really. I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me, and that’s fine. But I would like to try and make it up to you, if you’re willing.”

Tim crossed his arms. “And if I’m not?”

“Then I’ll leave,” Bruce said easily. “You can come to me anytime you need me. If that’s never, then I understand.”

Tim drummed his fingers against his thigh for a moment. Bruce had really hurt him. He didn’t think he was ready to forgive him yet. 

But then again, he hadn’t fully forgiven the others either, but he was giving them a chance. He could give Bruce one.

Just one, though. It was all the man deserved. Even if Tim really would like to have a father again.

“You can join us for the evening,” Tim eventually said. “After that… we’ll see.”

“That’s reasonable,” Bruce agreed. “Thank you, Tim.”

Not trusting himself to say anything else, Tim went back to the couch, where the others had been shamelessly listening in. “Move,” he said to Jason, who scooted over just enough that Tim could have his spot in the middle.

Jason pointed at the cat tower in the corner. “Saved your favorite spot for you, old man.”

Bruce didn’t say anything, but did go to the corner and lean up against the wall.

“Or you could stand there like a creep all night, weirdo.”

After a few more minutes of squabbling and followed by ten minutes of debate, they finally landed on a movie. 

An hour into it Bruce spoke to the group. “You know, I was talking with Selina earlier. She was telling me of a mother cat with kittens who needed a foster home. Does anyone know of a place that might be able to fit four cats?”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Dick mused. “It would have to have enough space.”

“It would need to have enough stuff ready to suddenly take on that many cats,” Jason added. “Bowls, toys, litterboxes, that kind of crap.”

“The person watching them would need to be well-versed in cat and kitten behavior and needs,” Damian pointed out.

They all looked at Tim.

“I see what you’re all doing,” he said. “You’re not slick. I’m not going to go to Selina to get four cats tomorrow.”

He didn’t, either. Because Selina came to him later that night. She set down the cats in a box on the fire escape and left, which is the opposite of what a catburglar should do, and well, it’s not like Tim could just leave them there.

“This is just for tonight,” Tim told the cats as he carried them inside.

But as he smiled down at the little faces looking up at him, he knew he was lying.

Timothy Drake once again owned several cats. And there was nothing strange about that at all.

The end.