Archive of Our Own

Damian had never cared much for birthdays before coming to Gotham.

In the League, birthdays were acknowledged with efficiency rather than celebration. A weapon surviving another year was not considered remarkable. There had been no cakes, no balloons, no wrapped gifts waiting on tables. At most, his mother would nod once in approval and inform him that he was growing stronger.

But Gotham was different.

The manor was different.

His father's family was different.

Birthdays here meant decorations appearing overnight, Alfred baking enough desserts to feed a small army, and his brothers becoming increasingly irritating in the days leading up to the event. It meant warmth. Noise. Attention.

And worst of all 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

And this birthday—his 𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘩 birthday—mattered more than all the others combined.

Tomorrow he would shift.

Every member of the Wayne 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 was lucky enough to carry the blood of great cats in their veins. It was old magic, instinctual and deeply woven into the family itself. On the morning of their ninth birthday, every person in this family took their first transformation.

Damian had spent months imagining it.

He imagined massive paws striking rooftops. Sharp fangs. Powerful muscles beneath spotted fur.

A predator.

Something worthy of being Bruce Wayne’s son.

Something worthy of Robin.

He sat cross-legged on the rug in the library, trying very hard not to look overly interested while Alfred adjusted the fire.

“You are staring holes through Master Bruce, Master Damian,” Alfred said mildly.

“I am merely observing.”

“You’ve been observing him for twenty minutes,” Tim muttered from where he was sprawled upside down over an armchair.

Damian glared.

Tim grinned without fear.

Across the room Bruce lowered his newspaper slowly, one brow raised. “You could simply ask.”

Damian straightened immediately. “I was not aware I required permission to ask questions.”

Jason snorted loudly from the couch. Dick outright laughed.

Bruce’s mouth twitched.

“You want to see the shifts again,” Dick said.

“I did not say that.”

“You absolutely did.”

“I did not.”

“You’ve been vibrating with excitement all day, demon spawn.”

“I am not vibrating.”

Jason leaned over and flicked Damian’s forehead. “You are a little.”

Damian swatted his hand away with a hiss.

Alfred sighed deeply. “Please refrain from wrestling in the library.”

“No promises,” Jason said.

Bruce folded the newspaper neatly and set it aside. “We can go down to the cave after dinner.”

Damian immediately sat straighter.

Dick caught it and smiled softly.

It annoyed Damian how easily they could read him now.

“Will you explain the instincts again?” Damian asked carefully. “And the physical changes.”

Bruce nodded once. “Of course.”

Damian tried not to feel relieved.

Later, Dinner was louder than usual.

Jason and Dick argued about whether Dick’s lynx form counted as “intimidating.” Tim claimed it looked like an oversized housecat with anger issues. Dick threatened to bite him.

Damian listened quietly while pretending not to.

“Your first shift usually reflects personality as much as bloodline,” Bruce explained at one point.

Damian immediately focused on him.

“The form itself is inherited,” Bruce continued. “But temperament, instincts, size, and behavioral traits vary.”

Jason leaned back in his chair. “Like golden boy over there.” He jerked a thumb toward Dick. “Acts all graceful until he sees a laser pointer.”

Dick gasped in betrayal. “That happened one time.”

“Two times actually.”

“It's literally instinct, what do you want me to do!”

Tim nearly choked on his drink laughing.

“And yours?” Damian asked Bruce.

Bruce’s expression softened slightly. “Cougars are protectors by nature,” he said. “They guard territory. Family.”

Dick immediately pointed across the table. “That’s true. B gets ridiculously overprotective in shift.”

Bruce gave him a Look.

Dick ignored it. “He once carried me around by the scruff because I sprained my wrist.”

“You tried to resume the mission while injured.”

“I was fine.”

“You almost fell off the building.”

Dick lifted a finger. “Technically I di.”

Jason barked out a laugh.

Tim shook his head. “Bruce’s instincts are honestly terrifying sometimes.”

“They are efficient,” Bruce corrected.

“They’re neurotic.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes.

Damian watched the interaction carefully.

The ease between them still fascinated him.

The League had never sounded like this. Never laughed like this.

No one in the League had ever argued over laser pointers during dinner.

Alfred set dessert in front of Damian first.

A small thing. Barely noticeable.

But Damian noticed.

He always noticed.

“Thank you, Pennyworth.”

“Happy birthday eve, Master Damian.”

Jason gagged dramatically. “That was disgusting.”

“You are merely jealous no one celebrates your birthday eve.”

“I’m going to steal your cake tomorrow.”

“You will lose the hand attempting it.”

“That’s my emotionally stable little brother.”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose.

Dick looked delighted and Tim looked exhausted already.

Damian found, strangely, that he did not mind the noise.

When they started down to the cave, Damian noticed it smells different at night.

Cool stone. Electronics. Motor oil. Faint animal musk lingering in the deeper areas.

Damian followed Bruce down the stairs with barely restrained anticipation.

The others were already waiting near the training mats.

Jason leaned against the Batmobile with his arms crossed. Dick sat atop one of the computer consoles. Tim held a tablet, probably recording something unnecessary.

“You are documenting this?” Damian asked flatly.

“For science.”

“You simply want blackmail.”

“That too.”

Bruce stepped into the center of the open space.

“The shifts are instinctual,” he explained. “You do not force them. They respond naturally.”

Damian nodded seriously.

“The first transformation can feel strange,” Bruce continued. “Disorienting. But your body already knows what to do.”

Jason smirked. “Translation: it’s gonna itch like hell.”

Dick groaned. “Mine hurt.”

“Brucw said it's you panicked halfway through,” Tim said.

“I was nine!”

“You 𝘣𝘪𝘵 Bruce.”

“In my defense—”

“You also hissed at Alfred.”

Dick looked offended. “I did not hiss.”

Everyone stared at him.

“…Much.”

Bruce exhaled slowly before looking back at Damian. “Would you like to see?”

Damian nodded immediately.

Bruce stepped back.

Then he changed.

Damian had seen the shifts before, but it still stole the breath from his lungs every time.

The transformation rolled through Bruce fluidly. Bones shifted. Muscles stretched. Dark hair spread into tawny fur. Within seconds, the man was gone.

In his place stood a massive American cougar.

Power radiated from him.

Large paws pressed silently against the cave floor. His shoulders were enormous, built with dense muscle beneath sleek fur. Golden eyes fixed on Damian with unmistakable intelligence.

Beautiful.

Dangerous.

𝘚𝘢𝘧𝘦.

Bruce lowered his head slightly in invitation.

Damian approached carefully.

Even knowing it was Father, instinct screamed at him to show respect before a larger predator.

The cougar bumped his head gently against Damian’s shoulder.

Warm.

Solid.

Protective.

Damian lifted a hand slowly and buried it in thick fur.

The purr startled him.

It rumbled through the entire cave like distant thunder.

Dick immediately grinned. “Looks like he still likes you.”

Bruce’s tail smacked him across the legs.

“Hey!”

Jason laughed.

Then Dick shifted next.

Unlike Bruce’s fluid stillness, Dick’s transformation seemed almost energetic. Fur burst into existence in uneven waves, spotted ears flicking sharply as a Siberian lynx landed lightly on the floor.

He was long-legged and elegant, all thick silver fur and massive paws. His ears twitched constantly.

The lynx immediately trotted toward Damian and headbutted directly into his stomach.

Damian stumbled backwards. “Richard!”

Dick purred louder.

“You’re crushing him,” Tim said.

Dick ignored him entirely and rubbed his face against Damian’s chest like an oversized affectionate disaster.

Jason looked disgusted. “You’re embarrassing the species.”

Dick’s tufted ears flattened smugly.

Then Jason shifted.

His transformation was rougher somehow.

Sharper.

The caracal that emerged was lean and powerful, with dark furred ears tipped in black and distinct white tufts between them. His golden eyes gleamed under the cave lights.

Jason stretched lazily before immediately jumping onto the Batmobile.

“Show off,” Tim muttered.

Jason’s tail flicked.

Then, without warning, the caracal leapt down directly in front of Damian.

Damian barely resisted stepping back.

Jason was smaller than Bruce’s cougar but radiated something wilder. Street-born danger.

The caracal sniffed Damian once before nudging his hand.

Something warm twisted painfully in Damian’s chest.

Tim shifted last.

The ocelot was smaller than the others but moved with quick alertness. Sleek patterned fur rippled as he circled Damian once before sitting neatly beside Bruce’s cougar form.

“You’re tiny,” Jason informed him.

Tim hissed instantly.

Dick started laughing again.

Damian stared at them.

At all of them.

Different sizes. Different instincts. Different personalities.

But all unmistakably feline.

Waynes.

And tomorrow he would join them fully.

Excitement curled hot beneath his ribs.

“What did your first transformations feel like?” he asked quietly.

Bruce shifted back first.

The others followed a moment later.

Jason immediately stole one of Bruce’s protein bars.

“I was terrified,” Dick admitted. “I thought I’d mess it up somehow.”

“You kinds did,” Jason said.

Dick threw a glove at his face.

Tim looked thoughtful. “Mine felt…natural. Like something clicking into place.”

Bruce nodded slightly. “That’s usually how it feels.”

“And your instincts?” Damian pressed.

“They develop over time,” Bruce explained. “At first they’re subtle. Increased territorial behavior. Protective responses. Enhanced senses.”

“You also start doing weird cat things unconsciously,” Jason added.

Damian frowned. “Define weird.”

Dick immediately pointed at Bruce. “He slow blinks when he’s relaxed.”

Bruce looked deeply unimpressed.

Tim added, “Jason purrs in his sleep.”

“I will kill you.”

“Dick chirps when excited.”

Dick gasped. “Traitor.”

“You all shed everywhere,” Alfred said from the cave entrance.

Everyone turned.

Alfred stood calmly holding a tray of hot drinks like this was a perfectly normal conversation.

Which, Damian supposed, for them it was.

“You have all forgotten the worst instinct,” Alfred continued.

Bruce sighed quietly.

Alfred looked directly at Damian.

“The nesting.”

Every single one of them groaned.

Damian blinked. “The what?”

Jason looked horrified. “Don’t.”

Dick collapsed dramatically onto the floor laughing.

Tim hid his face behind his cup.

Bruce looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

“Nesting?” Damian repeated.

Alfred remained entirely serene. “Felines instinctively create comfortable resting spaces when stressed, injured, or protective.”

Damian stared.

Then slowly looked at Bruce.

Bruce refused eye contact.

“..Father.”

“It is instinctual.”

“You make...𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴?”

“No,” Bruce said immediately.

Jason burst out laughing. “He absolutely does.”

Dick pointed accusingly. “He stole six blankets after Tim got concussed.”

“He was 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 injured,” Bruce defended.

“You tucked me in like a burrito.”

Damian looked stunned.

Tim snorted into his drink.

Jason grinned viciously. “Wait until you see golden boy in winter. He hoards fuzzy blankets.”

“I like being warm!”

Damian found himself laughing before he could stop it.

The cave went quiet.

Small silence.

Not bad.

Just surprised.

Damian froze slightly.

Then Dick smiled.

Soft. Immediate. Fond.

Bruce’s expression gentled too.

Jason looked unbearably smug.

Damian scowled instantly to recover dignity. “Do not make it strange.”

“Too late.”

Alfred handed Damian a mug of hot chocolate.

“You have nothing to fear tomorrow, Master Damian.”

Damian looked down at the drink.

Warm steam curled upward.

Nothing to fear.

He wanted to believe that.

“I know,” he said quietly.

But the truth was he still felt nervous. What if he transformed wrong? What if something happened? What if—

Bruce seemed to notice immediately.

The others drifted off naturally after a while, Dick and Jason shoving each other toward the training area while Tim argued about something involving patrol schedules after damians shift.

Bruce stayed beside Damian. “You’re worried,” Bruce said quietly.

Damian stiffened. “I am prepared.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

Silence stretched.

Finally Damian admitted, “What if I fail—? What If I can't shift, or—”

Bruce looked genuinely startled. He interrupta firmly. “You won’t.”

“But if I do?”

Bruce crouched slightly so they were eye level. “Damian,” he said carefully, “there is no failing this.”

Damian frowned.

“The shift is part of you already,” Bruce continued. “Whatever form you take tomorrow will be exactly the right one.”

𝘌𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦.

The words settled somewhere deep inside Damian’s chest.

Bruce rested a hand briefly against the back of Damian’s neck.

Warm. Steady. Protective.

“Come on,” Bruce said softly. “It’s late.”

Damian followed him upstairs.

The manor felt quieter now, wrapped in winter darkness. Snow drifted softly beyond the tall windows.

Bruce walked him all the way to his room.

Something else Damian still wasn’t entirely accustomed to.

People staying.

People caring.

At the door Bruce paused.

“You can wake me if you need anything tonight.”

Damian immediately crossed his arms. “I am not a child.”

Bruce’s mouth twitched faintly. “You are a child. 𝘔𝘺 child to be exact.”

“I suppose.”

“Mm.”

Damian hesitated.

Then quietly, “Were you nervous?”

Bruce looked surprised again. “Yes,” he admitted after a moment. “Very.”

That eased something ugly twisting inside Damian’s chest.

Bruce rested a hand briefly in Damian’s hair.

A rare gesture.

Gentle.

“You’ll be alright.”

Damian nodded once.

Bruce moved toward the door.

“Father?”

Bruce glanced back immediately.

Damian hesitated.

“..Goodnight.”

Something warm flashed in Bruce’s eyes. “Goodnight, Damian.”

The door clicked softly shut behind him.

Damian crawled beneath the blankets slowly, heart still buzzing with nervous excitement.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow he would finally become what he was meant to be.

A true Wayne.

A true cat.

____________________

Damian woke before dawn.

For a long moment he simply laid there beneath the blankets, staring into the darkness of his room while snow tapped softly against the tall manor windows.

Today.

The realization hit him all over again, sharp and electric.

Today he would shift.

Excitement burst through him so suddenly he sat upright immediately, blankets tangling around his legs. The digital clock beside his bed read 4:12 AM in dim blue numbers.

Too early.

Far too early.

But there was no chance of sleeping now.

Damian pressed both palms against his knees, trying to steady the nervous energy clawing through his chest. His heart was beating far too fast. His stomach twisted strangely with anticipation and anxiety.

Today he would finally become what he was meant to be.

A true Wayne.

Outside, Gotham still slept beneath heavy winter darkness. Snow covered the manor grounds in pale silver beneath the moonlight. Everything felt hushed, waiting, for 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

Damian climbed carefully out of bed. The floor was cold beneath his feet.

He crossed the room quietly and stood before the mirror for a moment, studying himself.

Small.

Human.

Ordinary.

Not for long.

He imagined what he would look like after. Large paws. Thick spotted fur. Sharp teeth. Powerful shoulders.

A predator.

His chest tightened with excitement.

He had spent months imagining it.

Bruce’s enormous cougar form radiating calm strength. Dick’s elegant lynx with massive paws and silver fur. Jason’s dangerous caracal eyes glowing in the dark. Tim’s sleek spotted ocelot slipping silently through shadows.

And him.

Damian inhaled slowly.

Then exhaled.

Father had said the shift was instinctual.

Do not force it.

Your body already knows.

Damian glanced toward the bedroom door.

Silent.

The manor was still asleep.

Part of him wanted to wake Bruce immediately.

Another part—the stubborn, proud part—wanted to do this himself first.

He could show them afterward.

Confident. Controlled. 𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵.

The idea settled firmly in his mind.

Damian padded into the adjoining bathroom and splashed cold water across his face. His reflection stared back at him afterward, emerald eyes bright with nervous anticipation.

“You are prepared,” he whispered quietly to himself.

The words sounded less convincing aloud.

Still, he straightened his shoulders.

Then he returned to the center of his room and sat cross-legged on the rug exactly the way Bruce had shown him.

Relax.

Breathe.

Let instinct guide you.

Damian closed his eyes tightly.

At first nothing happened.

He focused harder.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears.

Breathe in.

Out.

Again.

Minutes crawled by slowly enough to feel endless.

Then—

Something shifted.

It started deep beneath his ribs.

Warmth spread suddenly through his body, strange and unfamiliar. Damian gasped softly as heat rolled down his spine. His skin prickled painfully.

Then came the ache.

His bones hurt.

Not sharp agony—something deeper. Pulling. Stretching. Rearranging.

Damian clenched his jaw hard enough to ache.

His fingers twitched violently.

The sensation intensified rapidly after that.

Pressure squeezed through his chest and limbs while heat flooded his entire body. It felt wrong and right simultaneously, terrifying and instinctive in equal measure.

A startled sound escaped him halfway between a gasp and a hiss.

Then suddenly everything stopped.

Silence filled the room.

Damian sat frozen, breathing hard.

His heart hammered wildly.

It worked.

Excitement flared instantly like never before.

He shifted.

He 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 shifted.

But—

Something felt strange.

Wrong.

Damian frowned immediately.

The rug beneath him felt enormous.

No.

Not enormous.

He was lower.

𝘔𝘶𝘤𝘩 lower.

Confusion flickered through him as he opened his eyes.

The room towered around him.

His bed loomed impossibly high overhead. The desk looked massive. Even the chair beside the window suddenly seemed gigantic.

Damian’s pulse stuttered.

No.

No, that was not right.

Panic began curling slowly beneath his ribs. He pushed himself upright too quickly and nearly stumbled.

His balance was wrong.

Everything felt wrong.

The movement caught his attention first.

Not hands.

Paws.

Small paws covered in pale fur.

Damian froze.

For one horrible second his mind refused to process what he was seeing.

Then instinctively he looked toward the mirror.

And saw—

A 𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯.

A tiny snow leopard kitten stared back at him with enormous green eyes. Fluffy pale fur spotted with smoky rosettes. Rounded ears. Small paws. A thick tail nearly dragging against the floor.

𝘛𝘪𝘯𝘺.

𝘛𝘪𝘯𝘺.

𝘛𝘪𝘯𝘺.

Damian’s breath caught painfully in his throat.

No.

No no no—

This was wrong.

Something had gone 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨.

He stumbled closer to the mirror in horror.

The kitten moved with him.

His reflection looked soft.

Small.

𝘞𝘦𝘢𝘬.

Not a predator.

Not dangerous.

Not impressive.

A child.

A 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘤 little cub.

Damian stared at himself in growing disbelief.

This could not be his shift.

It couldn’t.

Bruce became a cougar.

Dick became a lynx.

Jason became a caracal.

Even Tim’s ocelot had looked sleek and capable.

And Damian—

Damian was tiny.

His throat tightened painfully.

There had been no mention of this.

No explanation.

No warning.

Just stories of powerful feline forms and instincts and strength.

He looked ridiculous.

Humiliation crashed through him so violently it made his stomach twist.

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩.

The thought hit instantly and absolutely.

Not cruelly perhaps—but they would still laugh. Todd would smirk. Richard would coo over how “cute” he looked. Drake would probably take pictures. Father—

Damian’s chest constricted sharply.

Father would be disappointed.

The great Batman. The massive cougar. The protector of Gotham.

And his son became this.

A kitten.

Hot tears burned suddenly in Damian’s eyes. “No,” he whispered shakily.

His voice came out wrong too—small and high and terrified.

Damian backed away from the mirror rapidly, ears flattening instinctively against his head.

This could not happen.

They could not see him like this.

Panic overtook rational thought quickly after that.

Without thinking, Damian forced himself to shift back.

The reverse transformation came easier somehow, though it still ached. Fur disappeared painfully beneath skin while bones rearranged once more. Damian collapsed onto his knees afterward, breathing hard.

Human again.

But the humiliation remained.

His eyes burned fiercely now.

A kitten.

He had become a kitten.

Tears finally spilled over before Damian could stop them.

He wiped at them furiously.

𝘞𝘦𝘢𝘬.

𝘚𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥.

𝘗𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘤.

Of course this would happen.

Of course he would somehow fail even this.

Maybe the League had ruined him. Maybe he was defective. Maybe he simply was not truly a Wayne.

The thoughts spiraled viciously.

He imagined their faces when they saw him.

Pity. Amusement. Disappointment.

Damian curled inward tightly, hands gripping the sleeves of his pajamas hard enough to hurt.

He could not let them see.

The instinct became immediate and overwhelming.

𝘏𝘪𝘥𝘦.

Hide before they know.

Hide before they realize what you are.

His breathing quickened sharply.

The manor was still asleep. It was still dark outside. No one knew yet.

Damian looked toward the door.

Then toward the window.

𝘙𝘶𝘯.

The thought arrived sudden and sharp.

He could leave before anyone saw him.

Before they rejected him.

Before they realized he was wrong.

Fear swallowed everything else.

Damian moved quickly after that, no longer thinking clearly enough to stop.

He yanked open drawers with shaking hands.

Clothes. He needed clothes. Warm ones—

No.

No time.

His fingers closed around the first sweatshirt he found lying over the desk chair. Too large. Probably one of Dick’s left behind after movie night.

Damian shoved it over his head anyway.

Then sweatpants.

No socks.

No coat.

His thoughts were moving too fast now.

Go.

Go now.

Before they wake up.

𝘉𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘍𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘴.

The tears still wouldn’t stop completely no matter how angrily he wiped at them.

Damian crossed the room quickly and unlocked the window with numb fingers.

The freezing winter air hit him instantly. Snow swirled softly outside.

Any rational part of his mind should have realized how dangerous this was.

Nine years old. Before dawn. December in Gotham. Underdressed. Emotional. Alone.

But fear drowned out logic completely.

All Damian could think was: 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘦.

He climbed carefully onto the windowsill. Cold wind bit immediately through the thin sweatshirt.

Damian hesitated for half a second.

His room behind him looked warm.

Safe.

Home.

Father would come wake him in a few hours. Pennyworth would make breakfast. Richard would probably tackle-hug him before noon. Todd would pretend not to care. Drake would watch him shift scientifically.

𝘍𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺.

The word hurt suddenly.

Because families were proud of strong children.

Not tiny helpless kittens.

Damian’s throat tightened again.

Then he jumped.

The drop from the window to the lower balcony hurt his ankles slightly, but Damian barely noticed. He climbed downward quickly after that, using stone ledges and drain pipes with practiced ease.

Snow coated every surface in icy white.

The cold became unbearable almost immediately.

By the time Damian reached the ground his hands were already numb.

But he kept moving.

Away from the manor.

Away from the lights.

𝘈𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦.

The woods surrounding Wayne Manor were dark and silent beneath the snowfall. Branches cracked softly under Damian’s feet as he ran.

His breathing burned painfully in his lungs. Tears froze cold against his cheeks.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t think.

Just ran.

Every horrible thought chased him through the dark.

Tiny. Weak. Embarrassing.

A kitten.

His family were predators, 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘴.

And he was—

Damian abruptly shifted mid-run.

The transformation happened instinctively this time, fueled by panic and emotion.

One second he stumbled through snow in oversized clothes.

The next a small snow leopard kitten burst through the woods instead.

The world changed instantly.

Scents exploded around him. Sound sharpened painfully. Cold seeped deeper beneath fur than he expected.

But smaller was faster.

Smaller could hide.

Damian sprinted through snowdrifts and shadows with frantic determination.

His paws barely left tracks.

Good.

𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥.

No one would find him.

The thought should have comforted him. Instead something painful twisted inside his chest.

The manor slowly disappeared behind him. Its lights vanished first.

Then the shape of it.

Then even the scent.

Damian kept running.

Toward Gotham. Toward cold alleyways and unfamiliar streets.

Toward danger.

Because somehow all of that felt less terrifying than letting his family see him small.

The city skyline emerged slowly through the falling snow.

Dark buildings. Neon lights. Smoke curling into the winter sky.

Gotham.

Huge.

Hungry.

Dangerous.

Damian should have been afraid.

Instead he only felt numb.

The cold worsened steadily the farther he traveled.

His paws ached from frozen ground. Snow clung wetly to his fur. Exhaustion already tugged at his small body, but Damian forced himself onward stubbornly.

He could survive this.

He had survived worse.

The League had taught him endurance.

Pain tolerance.

Adaptation.

But the League had never prepared him for loneliness, not after being loved for a whole year.

That realization struck harder than the cold.

Damian slowed finally beneath an overpass near the edge of Gotham.

Cars hissed distantly through wet streets overhead.

The city smelled wrong.

Too many people. Too much smoke. Rotting garbage and gasoline.

Home smelled cleaner.

Warm.

Safe.

Damian shoved the thought away immediately.

No.

The manor was not safe anymore.

Not for him.

Not after this.

The tiny snow leopard curled instinctively beneath the concrete overhang, tail wrapping tightly around himself for warmth.

He was shivering now.

Hard.

Snow dusted his pale fur while freezing wind cut through the shadows.

Damian pressed himself smaller automatically.

Hide.

Stay hidden.

Do not let them see.

Somewhere far behind him, beyond the woods and snow and distance, Wayne Manor still slept peacefully.

Unaware that manor’s youngest resident had vanished into Gotham before dawn.

Unaware that a terrified little snow leopard kitten was curled beneath an overpass freezing himself half to death because he believed being small meant being unloved.

____________________

Wayne Manor was warm with celebration by the time the sun finally began to rise.

Soft golden light spilled through the tall kitchen windows, reflecting off fresh snowfall outside. The scent of cinnamon, coffee, and chocolate filled the air while Alfred calmly directed the chaos around him with the patience of a saint.

“Master Richard, if you touch the icing again, I shall remove your hand.”

“I was fixing it.”

“You were eating it.”

Dick gasped dramatically, frosting still very visibly smeared across his thumb. “Slander.”

Jason snorted from where he leaned against the counter nursing coffee. “You literally licked the spoon while staring him in the eyes.”

“It’s called confidence.”

“It’s called being an idiot.”

Tim sat hunched over a tablet at the kitchen island, dark circles beneath his eyes despite the fact that he’d actually slept for once.

“I still think we should’ve let him shift first before the party,” Tim muttered.

Dick shrugged. “He’ll be fine.”

Jason looked smug. “Kid’s probably already awake freaking out.”

“He was quite nervous yesterday.” Bruce said quietly.

The conversation softened slightly at that.

Bruce stood near the coffee machine, sleeves rolled up, posture deceptively relaxed. But the faint tension in his shoulders hadn’t gone unnoticed by the others.

Damian’s first shift mattered.

Not just because it was a milestone.

Because it was Damian.

Proud. Defensive. Desperate to prove himself.

Bruce had seen the anxiety beneath the excitement last night. Damian had tried hiding it, but Bruce knew his son too well now.

What if I fail?

The memory twisted unpleasantly in Bruce’s chest.

“You reassured him, right?” Dick asked.

Bruce nodded once.

“He’ll be okay then,” Dick said immediately, complete certainty in his voice.

Jason rolled his eyes fondly. “You’re disgustingly optimistic.”

“And you’re grumpy because you care.”

“I could kill you right now.”

“Love you too.”

Tim looked up from his tablet suddenly. “What time are we waking him up?”

Bruce glanced at the clock.

8:17 AM.

Damian would usually already be awake by now.

A small flicker of concern brushed against Bruce’s instincts.

“He was up late,” Bruce said, more to himself than the others. “I’ll get him.”

Alfred handed him a mug of coffee as he passed. “Happy birthday retrieval duty, sir.”

Bruce huffed softly in amusement and headed for the door.

Behind him the kitchen remained warm and loud and alive.

Dick arguing about candle colors. Jason complaining about balloons. Tim trying to calculate how likely it was Damian would accidentally shift during breakfast.

Normal.

Safe.

Bruce walked through the manor quietly, coffee warm in one hand.

The house felt calm this morning.

Snow blanketed the grounds outside in untouched white. Pale winter sunlight filtered through the windows in muted gold.

As Bruce climbed the stairs, something restless shifted faintly beneath his skin.

Instinct.

Feline awareness.

He slowed slightly.

The second floor hallway was colder than it should have been.

Bruce frowned.

Very faint.

Barely noticeable.

But wrong.

He continued toward Damian’s room.

The cold intensified.

Bruce’s steps slowed further.

His instincts sharpened instantly now, predator senses waking hard beneath his skin.

Something was wrong.

The realization struck before logic caught up.

Bruce reached Damian’s door quickly and knocked once. “Damian.”

Silence.

Not unusual.

Bruce knocked again. “Damian.”

Nothing.

A strange tension began coiling sharply in Bruce’s chest.

He pressed down on the handle and opened the door quietly.

Cold air slammed into him immediately.

Freezing.

Violently wrong.

Bruce stopped dead.

The window was open.

Snow drifted lightly across the floorboards near the curtains.

And the bed—

Empty.

Every instinct inside Bruce roared awake at once.

His cub was gone.

The shift nearly overtook him instantly.

Bruce forced it back with effort, pulse thundering hard now as he crossed the room in three rapid strides. “Damian?”

No answer.

The blankets were tangled badly.

The room smelled wrong.

Fear. Panic. Cold air.

Bruce’s heart dropped heavily into his stomach.

Bathroom.

Bruce moved immediately.

Empty.

Closet.

Empty.

His chest tightened harder with every passing second.

“Damian.” The name came out rougher this time.

Nothing answered.

Bruce returned to the bedroom quickly, eyes scanning every detail with trained precision.

The window had been opened from the inside.

No signs of struggle.

No blood.

No broken furniture.

But Damian’s scent was everywhere.

Fear-scent sharp enough to make Bruce’s instincts snarl viciously.

The cold air carried another scent too.

Outside.

Snow.

Bruce moved to the window instantly.

Then froze.

Tracks.

Small footprints leading away across the balcony.

Not adult.

Not intruder.

Damian’s.

Bruce felt something terrible open beneath his ribs.

No.

No no no—

His mind rejected the possibility instantly.

Damian would not leave voluntarily.

Not without telling someone.

Not without a reason.

𝘓𝘦𝘢𝘨𝘶𝘦.

The thought struck instantly after.

Talia.

𝘙𝘢’𝘴.

Someone came for him.

Bruce’s hands clenched hard against the windowsill.

His pulse thundered so violently he could hear blood rushing in his ears.

He forced himself to breathe once.

Then turned and left the room at a near run.

The kitchen noise stopped the moment Bruce entered.

Every instinct in the room reacted immediately.

Dick straightened first.

Jason’s posture sharpened instantly.

Tim lowered his tablet slowly.

Alfred looked up from the cake.

Bruce rarely looked afraid.

Now he looked terrifyingly close.

“Bruce?” Dick asked quietly.

Bruce’s voice came out rough. “Damian’s gone.”

Silence crashed over the kitchen.

For one heartbeat nobody moved.

Then chaos erupted.

“What?” Dick breathed.

Jason was already standing. “What do you mean gone?”

“His window was open,” Bruce said rapidly. “His bed’s empty. I found tracks outside.”

Tim’s face drained of color immediately. “No no no—”

“When?” Jason snapped.

“I don’t know.”

Dick was moving toward the hallway already. “Did you check the cameras?”

“Not yet.”

“Could it have been—.” Tim whispered suddenly, before stopping suddenly.

The room went dead silent again.

Bruce didn’t say anything.

He didn’t need to.

Because they were all thinking it.

Damian was the grandson of Ra’s al Ghul.

Damian had enemies before he was even born.

And today—his first shift day—he would be especially vulnerable.

Jason’s expression turned murderous instantly. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Cave. Now,” Bruce ordered.

Nobody argued.

Within seconds the kitchen emptied.

Coffee abandoned. Cake forgotten. Birthday decorations left untouched.

Alfred remained only long enough to shut off the stove before following.

The Batcave exploded into motion the moment they arrived. Computers activated. Screens flickered alive. Comms snapped on.

Bruce strode directly toward the main console while the others scattered. “Pull exterior security footage from midnight onward,” Bruce ordered.

Tim was already typing furiously. “On it.”

Jason yanked armor from lockers with sharp aggressive movements. “Any signs of forced entry?”

“Not yet.”

Dick was halfway into his Nightwing suit already. “Could he have shifted and wandered?”

Bruce shook his head immediately. “No.”

Too immediate.

Too certain.

Everyone looked at him.

Bruce forced himself to speak calmly despite the violent instinct screaming through him. “His room smelled like fear.”

Dick’s face paled.

Jason went very still.

Feline instincts around cubs were overwhelming under normal circumstances.

Fear scent from a child—especially family—triggered something primal and vicious inside every one of them.

Bruce was barely containing it already.

Tim’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “I’ve got movement,” he said suddenly.

Everyone turned instantly.

Security footage flickered onto the main screen.

Grainy nighttime footage showed Damian climbing from his bedroom window before dawn.

Small. Alone. Wearing only thin clothes and an oversized sweatshirt.

Dick made a horrified noise. “What the hell is he wearing?”

“He’s barefoot,” Tim whispered.

Bruce stared at the footage with growing dread.

Damian moved quickly down the manor exterior and disappeared into the woods.

Alone.

No visible attacker.

No visible kidnapping.

Jason frowned deeply. “Why would he—”

Then the footage cut sharply to static for several seconds.

Tim swore loudly. “What happened?”

“Camera disruption,” Tim said rapidly. “Somebody jammed the signal.”

Bruce’s stomach dropped.

Dick looked sick.

Jason snarled.

It fit too well.

Damian leaves the room frightened. Someone intercepts him outside. Camera interference. Missing child.

It had to be the league.

Bruce’s cougar instincts were becoming harder and harder to suppress.

𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘶𝘣.

𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

𝘕𝘰𝘸.

𝘕𝘰𝘸.

𝘕𝘖𝘞.

He could almost feel phantom claws beneath his skin.

“Track every vehicle within five miles of the manor between four and six AM,” Bruce ordered sharply.

Tim nodded instantly.

Jason loaded weapons with terrifying calm.

Dick paced restlessly beside the Batcomputer, agitation radiating off him in waves. “He was scared,” Dick said quietly. “Why was he scared?”

No one answered.

Because none of them even had the slightest idea.

Bruce replayed the footage silently in his mind.

Damian climbing from the window. Small shoulders hunched tightly. Head lowered.

Afraid.

Something icy settled heavily beneath Bruce’s ribs.

He should have checked sooner.

He should have sensed something.

He should have—

“B.” Dick’s voice cut through sharply.

Bruce looked up.

Dick was staring at him carefully. “You can’t spiral right now.”

Bruce exhaled slowly through his nose.

Jason slammed one of his guns into place hard enough to crack plastic. “If the League touched him—”

“They may not have,” Tim interrupted quickly.

Jason rounded on him instantly. “The camera feed was jammed.”

“Yeah, after Damian already left the room.”

The cave quieted slightly.

Tim swallowed hard. “What if he ran?”

Bruce rejected the idea immediately. “No.”

But this time there was hesitation.

Tiny.

Almost invisible.

Dick frowned. “Why would he run?”

Again, silence.

Because there was no answer.

Damian had been excited yesterday.

Nervous, yes.

But 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺.

Bruce remembered the small laugh in the cave. The excitement in Damian’s eyes. The quiet goodnight.

Nothing about it suggested this.

Tim suddenly froze over the keyboard. “..Bruce.”

“What?”

“I found thermal signatures in the woods.”

Everyone moved instantly.

Tim pulled up drone footage from the manor perimeter.

A tiny moving heat signature crossed through the forest hours earlier.

Small.

Very small.

Jason frowned sharply. “That’s not human sized.”

Tim zoomed in further.

Snow and trees obscured most of the image, the footage grainy and distorted from weather interference. But for one brief moment pale spotted fur flashed across the screen before vanishing back into the storm-dark woods.

Silence filled the cave.

Bruce’s blood ran cold.

Dick looked confused. “Then what is it?”

Tim zoomed in further.

Snow obscured most of the footage.

But for one brief frame—

Spotted pale fur flashed across the screen.

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Jason stared.

Dick blinked rapidly.

Tim looked completely lost.

Bruce stopped breathing.

Snow leopard.

A tiny one.

A cub.

Bruce felt ice flood through his veins.

Damian had shifted.

The realization struck instantly.

His cub had transformed for the first time sometime before dawn.

Alone.

Fear clawed viciously through Bruce’s chest.

A first shift was vulnerable even under supervision. Instincts overwhelmed judgment. Young shapeshifters could panic easily, especially during the first few transformations.

And Damian had been frightened.

Bruce remembered the scent in the room.

Fear. Stress. Panic.

Not excitement.

Something had gone wrong.

Dick looked shaken. “Why would he leave the manor after shifting?“

If someone intercepts Damian outside the manor grounds. A frightened newly shifted child. A tiny form easy to overpower and transport.

And if Damian panicked—

God.

Bruce could barely breathe around the image forming in his head.

Small spotted paws in snow. Fear scent. A terrified cub being cornered.

His claws dug sharply into the console beneath his hands before he forced them to retract.

Tim swallowed hard. “The thermal signature disappears near county road sixteen. After that there’s nothing.”

“Vehicle?” Jason asked immediately.

“Possibly.”

Dick began pacing again, agitation radiating off him in waves. “He was barefoot, Bruce.”

Bruce closed his eyes briefly.

Barefoot. Underdressed. Freshly shifted.

His son had gone into Gotham winter conditions completely vulnerable.

A low warning growl built unconsciously in Bruce’s chest before he forced it back down.

Dick heard it anyway.

So did Jason.

Their own instincts sharpened instantly in response.

Protective.

Predatory.

Afraid.

Jason grabbed his helmet roughly. “I’m checking the east side first.”

“I’ll take Burnside and Bristol,” Dick said immediately.

Tim was already pulling up maps and surveillance grids. “I’ll track traffic cams, thermal hits, abandoned buildings, shelters—anything.”

Bruce stared once more at the frozen frame of pale spotted fur.

Tiny.

So small.

𝘏𝘪𝘴 cub.

Fear hit harder this time because Bruce knew exactly how dangerous Gotham could be to something small and frightened.

And Damian had no winter coat. No supplies. No experience handling shift instincts.

If someone found him—

Bruce’s cougar instincts surged violently enough that his vision flashed gold for half a second.

𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

𝘕𝘰𝘸.

His son was out there cold and alone and afraid.

Bruce grabbed his cowl sharply. “Move.”

____________________

The city did not stop moving just because a child was missing.

Gotham never did.

Even as Wayne Enterprises issued alerts, even as police channels quietly escalated priority status, even as Bruce Wayne’s public composure fractured into something sharper and more controlled than usual, the city continued its usual rhythm of noise, rain, and flickering neon.

But inside the Batcave, time no longer behaved normally.

It stretched.

It broke.

It dragged itself forward in uneven, suffocating increments where every minute felt like an hour and every hour felt like something that should have already delivered answers.

There were none.

Only fragments.

Only absence.

Only the growing certainty that Damian was not where he was supposed to be.

Bruce had stopped speaking in full normal sentences after the first day. He issued orders only.

Short. Precise. Controlled.

“Run facial recognition through transit cams.”

“Recheck League contacts.”

“Expand search radius east.”

“Scrub abandoned property listings.”

No one questioned him.

Not because he was Batman.

Because they could all smell the same thing in the air now.

Fear.

Theirs.

Dick was the first to stop sleeping properly.

It wasn’t something he announced.

It simply became obvious in the way he moved.

Restless pacing replaced stillness. Sharp head turns at every sound in the cave. Fingers constantly flexing as if trying to ground himself in motion.

When he shifted into his Siberian lynx form at night, it was no longer for stealth or scouting.

It was for control.

For something to do with the panic.

He ran rooftops until dawn broke, silver fur vanishing into Gotham fog, ears constantly angled for anything—anything at all—that could resemble a distressed cub’s sound.

But Gotham was too loud.

Too layered.

Too full of false positives.

And every night he returned with nothing but exhaustion and frustration clinging to his bones.

On the third night, Dick stood on the edge of a cathedral roof, wind cutting through his fur, and let out a sound that wasn’t quite a growl.

Not anger.

Not even fear.

Something worse.

Helplessness.

He dropped his head for a moment before forcing himself to move again.

Keep searching.

Keep going.

Jason was worse in a different way.

Jason did not pace.

Jason acted.

The Red Hood network had been activated within hours of Bruce’s initial alert, but by the second day Jason had stopped waiting for reports and started pushing his own people harder.

There were no speeches.

Just orders delivered with a low, dangerous edge. “Every alley camera within five blocks of Burnside gets checked.”

“If anyone sees a small cat—doesn’t matter what kind—you call me first.”

“I don’t care if it’s a damn housecat. You call me.”

His men had learned quickly that this was not a normal job.

This was not a favor.

This was something personal in a way that made even seasoned criminals cautious.

Because Jason was not just Red Hood right now.

Something instinctively protective in a way that made violence feel like a secondary language.

On the rooftops, in caracal form, Jason moved differently than Dick.

Where Dick searched broadly, Jason hunted tightly.

Focused.

Precise.

His ears caught every faint noise in the wind.

Every shifting of metal. Every scrape of shoes on wet concrete. Every sound that was not supposed to be there.

But there was nothing that matched what he needed.

No faint kitten breathing.

No frightened movement in snow.

Only the endless noise of Gotham.

Tim stopped pretending he was okay on the second day.

It started with his hands shaking.

Subtle at first.

Then more noticeable when he tried to zoom in on surveillance feeds and kept overshooting.

By the third day, he had stopped leaving the Batcomputer entirely.

He tracked everything.

Every thermal anomaly. Every abandoned building heat signature. Every sewer tunnel that showed unusual activity.

Every camera blind spot.

Every possible explanation.

And he eliminated them one by one.

Until what remained was not helpful.

Only absence.

Tim’s voice became quieter the longer it went on.

Less sarcastic.

Less reactive.

More clinical.

“Nothing in the Narrows.”

“Nothing in the industrial district.”

“Nothing matching League extraction patterns.”

Each sentence ended the same way.

Nothing.

Eventually even Alfred noticed.

And Alfred did not comment. He simply placed food beside Tim every few hours and removed it untouched later.

Bruce, however, changed in a way that was harder to define.

He did not sleep.

He did not sit unless forced.

He did not rest in any meaningful sense.

His presence in the cave became something constant and immovable, like a storm that refused to pass.

But what was more noticeable was the silence.

Bruce was not loud when distressed.

He became quiet.

But beneath it all, something primal was coiling tighter and tighter.

It showed in small ways.

The way his eyes lingered too long on Damian’s room footage. The way his jaw tightened when reports came back empty. The way his hands curled slightly when he thought no one was watching.

Cougar instincts were not gentle things.

They did not respond well to absence.

Especially not the absence of their cub.

And Gotham itself did not care.

It rained on the fourth day.

Hard.

Cold.

The kind of rain that soaked into bone and refused to leave.

It made everything worse.

Search grids blurred.

Thermal readings became unreliable.

Footprints washed away almost instantly.

The city erased evidence as if it were helping something hide.

Damian did not know what day it was anymore.

Time had stopped making sense.

It existed only in hunger and cold and the brief flickers of awareness between exhaustion and survival instinct.

He had learned quickly that Gotham was not kind to small things.

Especially not small, warm things. Especially not small things that looked like prey.

So he stayed hidden.

His Snow Leopard kitten form made it easier to disappear into the city’s forgotten spaces.

But it also made everything colder.

He had no coat.

No shelter that truly held heat.

No reliable food.

Only scraps.

Only instinct.

He learned quickly where warmth gathered.

Near vents behind buildings. Inside collapsed stairwells where wind could not fully reach. Beneath broken loading docks. Inside hollowed-out spaces where rats had once nested.

He avoided people entirely.

People meant attention.

Attention meant danger.

And danger meant being seen.

Being seen meant being taken.

So Damian did not let himself be seen.

He moved only at night when possible, slipping through shadows between alley lights and street corners, his small paws silent against wet concrete.

Sometimes he shifted back into human form when necessary.

It was harder.

More painful.

But it let him pull abandoned clothing from trash bins.

Torn jackets.

Oversized hoodies.

Anything that reduced the bite of winter.

Nothing fit properly. Nothing was warm enough. But it was better than fur alone in rain.

He did not think about why he was outside.

Thinking made things worse.

Thinking brought memories.

The mirror.

The shock.

The panic.

The certainty that something was wrong with him.

So he avoided thinking.

He focused on moving.

On hiding.

On surviving.

On the fifth day, Damian’s body began to protest.

Cold stopped feeling like cold.

It became something deeper.

A weight.

A constant pressure in his bones. His paws ached even when he was still. His breathing felt heavier.

Slower.

Sometimes he would wake up and not remember falling asleep at all.

Once, he tried to hunt a rat in an abandoned alley and missed so badly he nearly toppled into a puddle.

He froze afterward, heart hammering, terrified of the noise he had made.

But no one came.

No one ever came.

That was both relief and fear.

The Batfamily’s search intensified in response to silence.

Silence was never good.

Silence meant distance.

Or concealment.

Or worse.

Bruce expanded search patterns further into Gotham’s outer districts.

Dick pushed deeper into the skyline’s forgotten heights.

Jason interrogated every contact network he had access to, from smugglers to street runners.

Tim rebuilt predictive models three times, trying to account for possibilities that refused to resolve into anything useful.

Alfred quietly prepared emergency supplies that no one touched.

Each day ended the same.

No confirmed sightings.

No verified tracks.

No sign of Damian Wayne.

On the sixth night, Dick returned to the cave earlier than usual.

He did not shift back immediately.

He remained in lynx form longer than normal, sitting on the edge of the platform above the Batcomputer, tail flicking slowly.

Bruce noticed immediately.

Dick eventually shifted back, fur disappearing into human form as he lowered himself onto the edge of the console.

“Nothing,” he said quietly.

Bruce did not respond.

Dick swallowed. “I checked the west rooftops again.”

Still nothing.

Jason entered a moment later, armor partially undone, expression sharp and tired. “East side’s clean,” he said.

Clean.

The word had started to feel wrong.

Tim did not look up from the screen. “Thermal scans are inconsistent because of weather.”

Jason scoffed. “Yeah, because Gotham decided to become a freezer.”

No one laughed.

Bruce finally spoke after a long silence. “Keep expanding.”

Dick looked at him.

“Keep expanding,” Bruce repeated.

There was something in his voice now.

Not anger.

Not command.
Something deeper.

Strained.

Controlled.

Like a predator forcing itself not to break through its own skin.

Dick nodded once. “Okay.”

Elsewhere in Gotham, Damian curled deeper into himself beneath a collapsed stairwell.

Rainwater dripped steadily through broken concrete above him. Each drop echoed too loudly in the small space.

He was shivering again.

Not violently anymore.

Just constantly.

A low, unending tremor that had settled into his muscles days ago and refused to leave.

His fur was damp.

His body tired.

His mind slow.

He pressed his face into his paws, trying to conserve warmth.

Outside, the city roared on.

Inside, there was only cold.

And silence.

And the faint, distant memory of something warm that no longer felt reachable.

He did not know that his family was searching. He did not know how desperately. He did not know how close or far they were.

Only that he was small.

Only that he was alone.

And only that he had to stay hidden.

So he did.

____________________

Three weeks.

Twenty-one days.

That was how long Damian Wayne had been missing.

By the end of the third week, the manor no longer felt like a home.

It felt like something grieving.

The birthday decorations had long since been removed. Damian’s untouched gifts sat stacked quietly in the corner of the sitting room because no one could bear to move them elsewhere. Alfred kept the manor spotless out of habit, but the warmth had vanished from it.

Everyone moved differently now.

More quietly.

More sharply.

Like predators stretched too thin.

Bruce had not slept properly since Damian disappeared.

Dick had started waking at every sound.

Jason had become violent enough on patrol that criminals fled at the sight of Red Hood’s helmet.

Tim looked exhausted down to the bone, surviving on caffeine and panic while buried beneath endless surveillance feeds.

And still—

Nothing.

No body.

No ransom.

No League contact.

No confirmed sightings.

Only absence.

Absence allowed imagination to become monstrous.

Bruce had imagined everything by now.

Damian hurt. Damian starving. Damian frightened. Damian trapped somewhere underground calling for help that never came.

Some nights Bruce shifted fully into cougar form simply because the instincts became too strong to contain in human skin. He would pace the cave restlessly for hours, claws scraping stone while every part of him screamed to find his missing cub.

But Gotham remained silent.

Until Burnsley.

It happened at 2:13 AM.

Tim nearly missed it.

The cave was dim except for the glow of computer screens and the occasional flicker of surveillance footage. Rain hammered steadily against Gotham aboveground while exhaustion dragged heavily across everyone present.

Dick sat half asleep on the medical platform.

Jason cleaned guns with sharp, irritated movements.

Bruce stood behind Tim’s chair watching yet another traffic feed replay.

Then Tim froze.

“Wait.”

Nobody reacted immediately.

Tim’s voice had sounded like that dozens of times over the past weeks—hopeful, uncertain, exhausted.

Most leads turned into nothing.

But then Tim leaned forward sharply. “No, hold on.”

Bruce moved instantly. “What is it?”

Tim rewound the footage rapidly.

A grainy alley camera flickered across the screen.

Burnsley district. Timestamp: eighteen minutes ago.

Rain distorted most of the image.

Empty alley. Dumpsters. Steam vents.

Then movement.

Tiny.

Low to the ground.

Jason straightened immediately.

The blurry shape staggered weakly into frame before collapsing beside a wall.

Pale fur.

Spotted.

Bruce stopped breathing.

Tim zoomed in desperately.

The image sharpened just enough.

Snow leopard.

Small.

So small.

Dick made a strangled noise behind them. “Oh my God—”

Bruce was already moving. “Location.”

“Burnsley, alley between Grant and Mercer,” Tim said rapidly. “Three blocks south of Robinson—”

Bruce didn’t wait for the rest.

The Batmobile roared from the cave less than thirty seconds later.

Rain slammed against the windshield hard enough to distort visibility.

Bruce drove like something feral.

Dick sat in the passenger seat twisting his gloves between white-knuckled fingers. Jason and Tim occupied the back, both frighteningly silent.

Nobody spoke.

Nobody breathed properly.

Three weeks.

Three weeks alone in Gotham winter.

Bruce’s mind kept replaying the footage.

The way Damian collapsed.

His chest tightened violently just thinking about it.

He was too thin.

Even from grainy footage Bruce could see it.

God.

“What if we’re too late?” Tim whispered suddenly.

The words shattered the silence like glass.

Jason immediately snapped, “We’re not.”

His voice sounded rough but fear leaked through it anyway.

Bruce tightened his grip on the wheel hard enough to creak leather beneath his gloves.

Not too late.

Not too late.

Not my son.

The Batmobile tore around another corner violently.

Burnsley approached fast.

Rainwater flooded gutters and streets alike, neon signs reflecting across wet pavement in blurred colors.

Bruce’s instincts were screaming now.

𝘊𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦.

𝘊𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦.

𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

The vehicle barely stopped fully before Bruce exited.

Rain soaked through armor instantly.

Dick was right behind him. “Alley’s this way.”

Bruce could already smell it.

Blood. Wet concrete. Rot. And underneath it was Damian.

Bruce’s pulse slammed painfully against his ribs.

They turned the corner fast enough to splash through standing water.

Then stopped.

For one terrible heartbeat nobody moved.

Damian lay curled beside the alley wall half-hidden beneath broken cardboard and a torn jacket several sizes too large.

Human.

He looked—

Bruce felt genuine horror claw through his chest.

Too thin.

His face looked pale beneath dirt and exhaustion. Dark circles hollowed beneath unfocused green eyes. Wet black hair clung to his forehead while violent shivering wracked his entire body.

His clothes were soaked through.

And far too small.

Dick inhaled sharply beside Bruce.

“Damian,” Bruce said immediately.

The boy flinched violently.

Not away.

Just startled.

Slowly, sluggishly, Damian’s head lifted.

His eyes looked unfocused.

Confused.

It took him several seconds to recognize them.

Bruce watched realization flicker weakly across Damian’s face.

Then fear.

Immediate.

Sharp.

Damian tried to push himself backward against the wall. “Wait—”

His voice cracked apart violently from cold and disuse.

Jason’s expression broke instantly. “Easy, baby bat,” he said quickly, kneeling a few feet away. “Easy.”

Damian’s breathing sped up. “No,” he whispered again. “Do not—”

His teeth chattered too hard to finish.

Bruce crouched slowly in front of him.

Every instinct inside him screamed to grab his cub immediately and carry him somewhere warm and safe.

But Damian looked terrified.

Bruce forced his voice gentle. “You’re safe.”

Damian stared at him blankly.

Rainwater dripped steadily from his hair.

He looked exhausted enough to collapse sitting up.

Tim moved closer carefully, medical scanner already in hand. “Bruce,” he said quietly.

Something in his tone made Dick look sharply toward the scanner.

Then pale completely.

Bruce turned slightly.

Tim swallowed hard. “He’s hypothermic.”

Jason cursed.

Bruce looked back at Damian immediately.

Now that he was closer he could see it properly.

Blue-tinged lips. Sluggish blinking. Violent shivering. And beneath all of it—

How frighteningly light he looked.

Damian’s eyes kept drifting shut.

“No,” Bruce said firmly.

Damian blinked weakly back toward him.

“Stay awake.”

Damian swallowed with visible difficulty. “S-sorry.”

The apology nearly destroyed Dick on the spot.

“You do not apologize for this,” Bruce said immediately.

Damian looked confused by the statement.

As if he genuinely didn’t understand why.

Jason carefully removed his jacket. “Kid, I’m gonna wrap this around you, okay?”

Damian tensed instantly. Fear flashed across his face again.

Bruce felt something vicious twist inside his chest at the sight.

Three weeks.

Three weeks had taught Damian to 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 being touched.

“No one is angry with you,” Dick said softly, kneeling beside Bruce now. “Okay? Nobody’s mad.”

Damian stared at him silently.

Then coughed.

The sound was wet.

Tim looked terrified. “We need to move now.”

Bruce nodded once then slowly reached forward.

Damian flinched automatically anyway.

Bruce nearly lost control of his shift right there.

Easy.

Gentle.

Protect.

Bruce gathered Damian carefully into his arms.

And immediately realized how bad things actually were.

Damian barely weighed anything.

Bruce could feel sharp ribs through soaked clothing. His body temperature felt frighteningly low even against armored gloves.

Damian made a weak sound halfway between protest and exhaustion before instinctively curling slightly toward Bruce’s warmth.

Dick looked like he might cry.

Jason’s jaw clenched hard enough to hurt.

Tim was already moving ahead toward the Batmobile. “Cave’s prepped. Medical bay’s ready.”

Bruce held Damian tighter automatically. His cub was shivering so hard his entire body trembled.

“It’s cold,” Damian whispered weakly.

Bruce’s chest physically hurt. “I know.”

They moved quickly.

Rain hammered around them while Bruce shielded Damian as much as possible beneath his cape. Dick stayed so close their shoulders kept brushing. Jason scanned every rooftop viciously like he could somehow threaten the entire city for this.

The Batmobile doors opened automatically.

Bruce slid inside first with Damian still held firmly against his chest.

Tim climbed into the front immediately while Dick and Jason crowded close in the back.

The heaters blasted instantly.

It still wasn’t enough.

Damian continued shaking violently.

Bruce pulled him closer without hesitation, one gloved hand pressed carefully against the back of Damian’s head.

Safe.

Warm.

𝘏𝘰𝘮𝘦.

Damian blinked slowly up at him. “F-father?”

Bruce swallowed hard. “Yes.”

For a second Damian simply stared at him like he wasn’t entirely convinced Bruce was real.

“..You found me.”

Dick made a broken sound beside them.

“Of course we found you,” Jason said roughly.

Damian’s eyes drifted toward him slowly. “You searched?”

The entire vehicle went silent.

Bruce stared down at his son in disbelief. “You thought we wouldn’t?”

Damian frowned weakly like the answer genuinely confused him.

Tim turned in his seat, expression stricken. “Damian…”

But Damian was already shivering harder again.

His responses were slowing.

Bruce felt panic beginning to rise sharply beneath his ribs. “Keep talking,” he ordered softly.

Damian blinked once.

Slow.

“Tired.”

“I know.”

The Batmobile sped through the cave entrance.

Almost home.

Almost safe.

Tim was watching Damian with increasing alarm. “Bruce…”

Bruce looked up sharply.

Tim’s face had gone pale. “He's not shivering.”

The words hit the vehicle like a gunshot.

Bruce looked down immediately.

Damian’s trembling had weakened drastically. His eyelids drooped heavily.

“Damian.”

No response.

Bruce’s pulse spiked violently. “Damian.”

Slowly, green eyes opened halfway.

Confused.

Distant.

“Stay awake,” Bruce said sharply.

Damian tried.

Bruce could 𝘴𝘦𝘦 him trying. But exhaustion was crushing him now.

His head lolled weakly against Bruce’s chest.

“Dami,” Dick whispered fearfully.

The Batmobile screeched to a stop inside the cave.

Medics alarms already activated automatically around them.

Bruce shifted Damian slightly higher in his arms.

Then Damian spoke so quietly Bruce barely heard it. “..sorry.”

Bruce’s heart broke instantly. “No,” he said fiercely. “No apologizing. Just stay awake.”

Damian’s eyes fluttered weakly.

For one moment Bruce thought he would answer. Instead the child went completely limp in his arms just as the Batmobile doors opened.

“Damian!” Tim shouted.

Bruce felt the exact second consciousness disappeared.

And suddenly every predator instinct inside him became absolutely terrified.

____________________

The first thing Damian became aware of was warmth.

Not the weak artificial heat of subway vents or stolen shelter corners.

Real warmth.

Soft blankets. Heated air. The faint vibration of nearby voices.

Home.

For a long moment he stayed floating somewhere between sleep and consciousness, too exhausted to fully wake. His body felt impossibly heavy, every limb weighed down by soreness and lingering cold that seemed buried deep inside his bones.

Something beeped steadily nearby.

Medical equipment.

The cave.

Damian frowned faintly without opening his eyes.

He remembered pieces.

Rain. Bruce’s arms around him. The Batmobile. Voices.

Then nothing.

His chest tightened slightly.

Had he—

No.

No, he was here.

Safe.

The realization alone nearly dragged him back to sleep.

Voices drifted through the haze again.

“..not letting him out of sight for a month.”

“That’s insane.”

“He almost died, Dick.”

Silence.

Then quieter, “I know.”

Damian slowly forced his eyes open.

Dim cave lighting blurred above him at first. Everything looked soft around the edges, unfocused from exhaustion and lingering medication. He blinked several times before shapes became clearer.

Medbay.

Dick sat curled awkwardly in a chair beside the bed, still wearing part of his suit like he’d refused to leave. Jason leaned against the far wall with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, expression exhausted and sharp at the same time. Tim sat near the monitors watching numbers flicker across screens with intense focus.

Beyond them Bruce stood at the Batcomputer, typing something rapidly.

The steady clicking of keys echoed quietly through the cave.

Damian stared at them.

All here.

All safe.

Because of him they looked exhausted.

Guilt curled immediately in his stomach.

He shifted slightly beneath the blankets. Pain flared through his chest and throat instantly.

The movement was enough.

Dick’s head snapped up immediately.

For one second nobody moved.

Then all three of his brothers surged to their feet at once.

“Damian?”

“Holy shit—”

“Dami?”

Their voices overlapped completely.

Bruce turned so fast the chair behind him nearly toppled over.

The moment he saw Damian awake something in his face broke apart.

Relief.

Pure overwhelming relief.

Bruce crossed the cave in seconds.

Dick was already beside the bed, eyes suspiciously bright. “You’re awake,” he said softly, sounding like he couldn’t quite believe it.

Damian tried to speak.

His throat hurt immediately.

Jason shoved a water bottle into Dick’s hands. “Slowly.”

Dick carefully helped Damian sit up just enough to drink.

Every movement made Damian aware of how weak he still was.

His arms trembled. His head felt heavy. His entire body ached.

But he was alive.

And home.

The water helped slightly.

Damian swallowed carefully before glancing around again.

Everyone looked terrible.

Tim had dark circles beneath his eyes deep enough to bruise. Jason’s stubble had grown unevenly like he’d stopped caring about shaving days ago. Dick looked like he hadn’t slept properly in weeks.

Bruce looked worse than all of them.

Older somehow.

Like the last three weeks had carved exhaustion directly into his bones.

And suddenly Damian understood exactly how badly he had frightened them.

Guilt hit hard enough to make his chest hurt.

“I apologize,” he whispered immediately.

Four separate expressions crumpled instantly.

“No,” Dick said sharply.

Jason looked genuinely horrified. “Kid, absolutely not.”

“You do not apologize for surviving,” Tim added quietly.

Bruce said nothing at first.

He simply rested one hand carefully against Damian’s hair like he needed physical confirmation that his son was actually there.

Warm.

Alive.

Real.

Damian leaned unconsciously into the touch before realizing what he was doing.

Nobody commented.

For a moment silence settled over the medbay.

Not awkward.

Just emotional.

Heavy with everything none of them had processed yet.

Damian looked down at the blankets in his lap.

He knew what came next.

Explanations.

𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩.

The thought made anxiety twist painfully through him again.

Bruce seemed to notice instantly. “You do not need to explain anything right now,” he said softly.

Damian blinked. “But—”

“You almost died,” Jason interrupted roughly. “You get a pass.”

Dick nodded immediately. “Seriously.”

Tim looked like he might cry again just from hearing Damian speak.

Damian swallowed hard.

Part of him wanted desperately to avoid the conversation entirely.

Another part knew he owed them the truth.

Because they deserved it.

Because they had searched for him.

For three weeks.

The realization still felt unreal.

“You searched for me,” Damian said quietly.

Jason stared at him like the question physically hurt. “Obviously we searched for you.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened slightly. “There was nowhere on this planet we would not have searched.”

Damian looked down quickly after that because his eyes burned suddenly.

Warmth twisted painfully in his chest.

They had searched.

Not because they had to.

Because they loved him.

The understanding made everything worse somehow.

“I thought..” Damian stopped.

His voice shook embarrassingly.

Bruce’s hand remained steady against his hair.

“What did you think?” Bruce asked quietly.

Damian stared hard at the blankets.

Then forced the words out before courage disappeared entirely. “I thought something was wrong with me.”

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Damian kept speaking quickly before he could stop himself.

“When I shifted I was small.” His throat tightened. “I thought I had failed somehow.”

Dick made a soft broken sound.

Damian’s hands clenched tightly in the blankets. “I thought you would be disappointed.”

The entire cave went still.

Bruce looked genuinely stricken.

Jason’s expression cracked apart completely.

Tim covered his mouth briefly like he physically could not process what he’d just heard.

Damian forced himself onward despite humiliation burning through him.

“I did not understand why I was only a kitten,” he whispered. “I believed...perhaps the League had damaged something. Or that I was simply...𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦.”

“Damian,” Bruce said immediately.

Horrified.

Damian flinched slightly anyway. “I know it was foolish to run, but—”

“No,” Bruce interrupted sharply.

The force behind the word startled everyone.

Bruce inhaled shakily once before crouching beside the bed fully. “That was not foolish,” he said quietly. “That was our fault.”

Damian blinked at him in confusion.

Bruce looked devastated. “We should have explained,” he said. “All of us should have explained.”

Dick looked sick now that realization had fully settled in. “Oh my God,” he whispered. “We never told him.”

Jason dragged both hands down his face aggressively. “Because we’re idiots.”

Tim looked horrified with himself. “We thought you knew,” he said weakly.

Damian frowned. “Knew what?”

Dick stared at him for a second like he couldn’t believe this misunderstanding had spiraled so catastrophically. “Baby cats grow with their humans,” he explained softly. “Your shift changes as you age.”

Damian blinked slowly. “..What?”

Jason nodded immediately. “All of us started tiny.”

Dick held up his hands. “Bruce literally carried me around in one arm when I first shifted.”

Tim gave a watery laugh. “I used to fit inside hoodies.”

Jason pointed at himself. “I looked like a gremlin with ears.”

Despite everything, Damian stared. “You were all kittens?”

“Yes,” Bruce said gently.

The certainty in his voice shattered something painful inside Damian’s chest.

Normal.

He had been normal.

𝘛𝘩𝘦. 𝘌𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦. 𝘛𝘪𝘮𝘦.

Three weeks of fear and cold and loneliness because nobody realized he did not know.

Damian looked down quickly as tears burned unexpectedly in his eyes again. “I thought..”

Bruce immediately moved closer. “No, no,” he said softly, horrified all over again. “Damian—”

“I thought you would not want me.”

The confession destroyed the room.

Jason swore quietly and turned away for a second, jaw clenched painfully tight.

Bruce’s expression broke completely. He gathered Damian carefully into his arms before the boy could protest.

Weak and exhausted, Damian lacked the strength to resist anyway.

Bruce held him with terrifying gentleness. “There is nothing,” Bruce whispered fiercely into his hair, “nothing you could become that would make us stop loving you.”

Damian’s throat closed painfully.

Bruce’s arms tightened slightly. “You are my son,” he continued quietly. “Before anything else. Before shifts. Before instincts. Before expectations.”

Damian pressed his face weakly against Bruce’s shoulder because suddenly he could not breathe around the emotions crushing through him.

Warm.

Safe.

Home.

Jason eventually stepped closer again. “You really thought we’d reject you for being 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘺?” he asked softly.

Damian didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

Jason looked heartbroken.

Dick carefully touched Damian’s arm. “Dami,” he whispered, “we would’ve thought you were adorable and then lathered you with kisses and hugs.”

Damian groaned weakly in immediate embarrassment.

Jason barked out the first genuine laugh anyone had heard in weeks.

Even Bruce smiled faintly.

Recovery took time.

More than Damian expected.

Hypothermia and prolonged starvation had weakened him badly. Alfred and Leslie enforced strict rest while Bruce became almost frighteningly overprotective.

Damian was not allowed out of sight for nearly a week.

Someone was always nearby.

Always.

Bruce slept in the cave several nights despite Alfred’s disapproval. Dick hovered constantly. Jason carried snacks in his pockets “just in case.” Tim checked Damian’s temperature so often it became ridiculous.

It should have annoyed Damian.

Instead it made something warm settle quietly inside him.

Wanted.

Protected.

𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥.

By the second week Damian could walk around the cave again without exhaustion immediately forcing him back into bed.

By the third week the color had mostly returned to his face.

And finally—

Finally—

Bruce gently asked: “Do you want to try shifting again?”

Damian froze slightly.

Fear still lingered.

Embarrassing and stubborn.

But now it was softer somehow.

Safer.

Because now he knew.

Dick immediately brightened. “Oh my God yes.”

Jason grinned. “Tiny murder snow leopard.”

“I will bite you.”

“I wouldn't have it any other way.”

Alfred looked deeply fond from where he stood beside Bruce.

Damian inhaled slowly.

Then nodded.

The cave became suspiciously quiet.

Everyone watched carefully as Damian stepped toward the training mats.

Nervous energy buzzed beneath his skin.

But this time nobody let him face it alone.

Bruce stood nearby. Dick bounced excitedly on his heels. Tim held a blanket already prepared. Jason looked one second away from emotional collapse.

Damian rolled his eyes. “You are all behaving strangely.”

“We missed three weeks of embarrassing you,” Jason informed him. “We’re compensating.”

Damian huffed softly despite himself.

Then concentrated.

The shift came easier this time.

Warmth spread naturally through his limbs while bones shifted gently beneath skin. Fur rippled outward in pale clouds.

Seconds later a tiny fluffy snow leopard kitten stood on the mat.

Silence.

Complete silence.

Damian immediately flattened his ears suspiciously. “..Why are you staring.”

Dick made a sound Damian had never heard from a human being before. “Oh my God.”

Jason physically grabbed his own chest. “He’s so SMALL.”

Tim looked ready to combust from affection.

Bruce just stared softly.

Damian’s tiny tail puffed slightly in alarm. “You are all being dramatic.”

The words came out as tiny growls in shift form.

Which made things significantly worse.

Dick collapsed to his knees instantly. “HE GROWLED.”

Jason looked moments from tears laughing.

Tim carefully approached holding the blanket like Damian might vanish. “You’re freaking adorable,” he whispered.

Damian hissed weakly.

Nobody was intimidated.

Not even slightly.

Within seconds Dick scooped kitten Damian carefully into his arms.

“Traitor!” Damian squeaked immediately.

Dick buried his face gently into Damian’s fur. “You’re fluffy.”

Jason immediately joined. “Lemme hold him.”

“No.”

“You’ve had him for three seconds already!”

Tim carefully wrapped the blanket around Damian while Bruce and Alfred watched the disaster unfold.

Jason eventually stole kitten Damian anyway.

Damian protested the entire time while simultaneously purring loud enough to betray himself completely.

Jason froze triumphantly. “He’s purring.”

Damian stopped breathing.

Dick gasped dramatically.

Tim looked delighted.

“You purr when happy.” Dick cooed.

“I do not.”

The purring intensified.

Bruce laughed softly under his breath.

The sound made everyone pause briefly.

Because Bruce had not laughed properly in weeks.

Now he stood beside Alfred watching his children pile affection onto an indignant snow leopard kitten who was finally warm and safe and home again.

Bruce looked down at Damian quietly.

Small.

Young.

Alive.

His son.

And deep inside himself Bruce made a promise.

Never again.

Never again would any of his children believe they had to suffer alone to be loved.