Chapter Text
Tim watched Alfred the Cat weave through the kitchen table legs, occasionally licking the tile for leftover crumbs of toast or flecks of jam left from the busy residents of the manor. It took all of the power he had not to scoop the cat up and plop it on the table’s surface, allowing it free range on Tim’s breakfast.
How Alfred had allowed the cat in the kitchen was beyond Tim.
“Hey, fuzzy brain.” He greeted the animal.
If the teenager had it his way, he wouldn’t even be at the manor, but after Bruce’s begging, Tim moved back in and resumed residing in his old room.
Bruce had a good reason to beg, he supposed. Tim wasn’t doing too well on his own and the man noticed that. And Tim held a gun to his head during patrol. Still, the thought both infuriated him and warmed his heart. Tim snuffed it out before he started tearing up again. It had been a rocky few weeks of emotions.
Hence the gun.
Maybe the young man was downplaying the recent events in his life. Maybe downplaying them made it easier to breathe.
Alfred the Cat looked up at Tim, then walked out of the room.
Suddenly, the raven was struck with a revelation.
He needed his own cat.
…
Tim was manipulative by nature. Lying was like breathing to him. He knew using his… rocky mental state was manipulative and probably wrong, but there were worse things to vie for.
“Hey, Alf.” The boy greeted Alfred as he entered the kitchen. Tim was just putting his dishes in the sink, ready to concoct a plan in his bedroom.
“Good morning, Timothy.”
Tim met the older man’s eyes. They were soft and fond as they gazed back into Tim’s. The younger one felt uncomfortable and flighty. Did Alfred always look at him like that?
“Mornin’.” He went for a smile and ended up with more of a grimace. Something in Alfred’s eyes shifted.
The boy cleared his throat. “I’ll be in my room.”
After a quick retreat to his bedroom, Tim opened his laptop to look at the Gotham animal shelters.
He had been thinking on the topic as soon as it had struck him.
There was a ratty old red baby blanket loosely wrapped around the boy as he typed, one foot propped up on the desk chair and the other underneath him.
He knew the issues with pets wasn’t money, as indicated by Damian’s cow, cat, and dog. And the several bats in the cave that Alfred surprisingly still fed. The issue was maintenance and trust and Tim was currently unreliable. Despite that being unspoken, Tim knew that’s how everyone felt. He didn’t blame them, but he also knew himself and how he would take care of a cat better than himself.
If Bruce could look past his fake son’s current reputation and the number of animals already in the manor, Tim was confident he could get a little cat. Or a big fat one. Perhaps a raggedy elder one…
(He didn’t bother thinking about what would happen if Bruce said no, because he didn’t want to believe that would happen.)
The next day, Tim slipped out of the manor to head to the local shelter. He purposely didn’t tell Bruce or Alfred that he was leaving, knowing Bruce’s inability to let go and relinquish his controlling tendencies. The young man only hoped the head of the household wouldn’t notice his disappearance.
The building was small, with concrete floors and a little desk at the front of the building. A shorter man was sitting there, reading something off of the monitor set on the desk.
“Oh, good evenin’.” The volunteer said upon noticing Tim. “How can I help ya?”
Tim gave a polite smile. “Hi, I was hoping to look at the cats?”
The man stood up out of his chair and waved the teenager over.
“Sure, yeh, It’s just back here.”
The volunteer pushed open a heavy door into a room filled with cages and loud cats, meowing as the men walked past.
“You’re welcome tuh look around. If you need any help or want to hold any, I’ll be back up front, ‘kay kid?”
Tim nodded numbly, taken by all of the felines in a room. The smell of kitty litter and wet food was pungent, invading his senses.
Once Tim was alone, he put on some hand sanitizer and walked past each kennel individually. Cats of all sorts could be found, with each of their information papers taped to the fronts. When the raven leaned into one crate, something snagged at the back of his shirt.
An orange tabby by the name of Princess had caught his t-shirt through the bars, shrieking in a cat-sort of way.
“Aw hell.” Tim found himself laughing, surprised.
All of his troubles melted away as he individually greeted each animal, studying and acquainting himself to each cat.
One that stood out to him was a tan, rat looking thing, with big sad eyes. The cat, Pat, as named by the shelter, leaned his body against the grate of the kennel to be pet by Tim. Tim happily obliged, sticking two fingers in between the bars to stroke him.
“Why hello. You are positively disgusting-looking.” Tim paused, midstroke. “I like you.”
Any notion of sadness or despair had been long forgotten at the door with the introduction of animals. He wished he could volunteer at the shelter if he weren’t so busy.
Tim found the male worker back at the front.
“Could I hold one of them?” The boy asked.
The man smiled. “O’course.”
Pat the cat nuzzled Tim’s chin until the boy worried about breaking out in hives and put him back.
Tim stared at the cat a little bit, snorting when Pat flopped on his side.
“Holy frijoles, Batman.” He whispered to himself when the tan cat yawned. “I thought cats could only get so cute.”
“You scuffed little thing…” The boy muttered, stretching behind his ears before closing the crate. Pat looked up at him with big yellow eyes.
…
Tim procrastinated asking Bruce for a cat. There were a lot of animals in the house and there was a chance that the man of the manor would see through Tim’s manipulation. If he saw through that, there was no hope of trust again.
The teen understood that he was playing a dangerous game. He didn’t need a cat. He would live just fine without one. Using his problems as an excuse would sever any trust he’d gained from moving back into the manor.
Tim’s heart twisted into knots. Maybe tomorrow, he thought as he slipped into his bedroom to work on his laptop all night.
…
The next day was no different.
The former Robin subtly avoided Bruce and Dick, who was visiting the manor for the day.
He caught Damian in the lounge at one point and stealthily raced back to his room, where he watched videos about cat maintenance for the remaining time until dinner.
Tim already knew as much as there was to know from the time he spent reading as a young child, but a little relearning was reassuring. Plus, it gave him more persuasive points as to why a cat would be perfect in his care.
Maybe what the boy ought to do was subtly push the point that Tim would be better with an animal companion.
Originally, the boy left his room in the middle of the night just to do that: to make the family worry. To seem like he needed help, even if it would bite Tim later. But the longer Tim held an empty glass cup in the kitchen, the longer he was left with his thoughts… the worse it became. His vision blurred and his mind was reeling. His hands were shaking.
Tim set the cup down and gripped the countertop, scenes of the night he picked up that gun flashing through his mind.
The cool air lifting up his sweat-slick hair. Two other voices talking to each other in the alleyway, trading information.
His judgement wavered and an opportunity struck.
Tim would never be happy, so why not stop the misery? Maybe then he could rest.
The boy didn’t need some good cry and a full night’s sleep. He’d cried in the shower and rolled himself up in his blankets afterwards. It was ineffective.
But if he pulled the trigger…
Tim wanted someone to stop him, but he didn’t know it then. The way his trembling fingers kept locking up whenever he squeezed. He desperately needed someone to help him.
Tim leaned over onto the counter, elbows propped up and face in his hands. Tears burned but wouldn’t fall, as if he’d cried enough already. Everything hurt and Tim just wanted it to stop.
“Hey, what are you doin’ up?” Dick looked groggy, a bandage on his cheek and mussed hair highlighted in the dim lighting. “Tim?”
The former Robin made a choked sound, pressing the palms of his hands deeper into his eyes.
Dick was quiet as he made his way over to his younger brother. Large hands rested on Tim’s shoulders, bringing him back to the dark kitchen, with cold socked feet and a thin t-shirt. He wasn’t in uniform. There wasn’t a gun. He wasn’t going to die.
“What’s wrong?” The first Robin’s voice was meaningful and low as Tim sniffled.
I almost died! A part of him wanted to yell. The other part of him wanted to assure Dick that he was fine, and that Tim was just being ridiculous. That he didn’t need anything but a lie down and some time alone.
He wanted to make a joke about it in typical Tim fashion and swallow his sorrow.
The older boy wrapped his arms around Tim and squeezed. The younger sobbed.
…
During the next day, Tim knew he had to rip the band-aid off. He’d (regrettably) pulled an incredibly convincing act of a boy in need.
(C onvincing because it was real.)
He was so ready for a cat, and was confident Bruce would say yes.
The older man had definitely mellowed up over the years with the reintroduction of Jason and the introduction of Damian. He was still the same man Tim had forced into his life, but much more open then before.
Tim was surprised Damian had so little so say about him moving back in. He wondered if Dick had begged the devil child not to antagonize Tim.
The notion that the teenager was ‘fragile’ or ‘delicate’ made Tim want to kick a wall.
(He knew everything going on in his mind was conflicting, but he didn’t know what to do about it. He both wanted pity and respect. And a cat.)
After Alfred set out lunch, Tim found Bruce.
“Tim?” The older man’s voice rumbling in the library. With Tim’s recent moving in, Batman had been less active. Other vigilanties were picking up his workload.
A book on old Gotham architecture sat open on Bruce’s lap.
“Hi.” Tim twisted his fingers a little, then forced his posture to go back to normal. He could do this.
“I was hoping, well, I've been thinking that maybe I could- I guess, rescue a shelter cat?”
The boy gauged Bruce’s reaction. His face was blank, so Tim continued.
“I know how to take care of cats because I’ve been watching a lot of videos on how to, and Damian’s cat, well, sometimes his cat comes into my room so I feed him…”
Tim wanted to turn back and run. He was asking a lot. His place in the manor was only temporary in the end. Once he was better, he would have to leave. Plus, what if another cat would upset the already existing animals? If his cat attacked, Damian’s, who knew what kind of fight that would result in.
Bruce looked up at Tim from his plush recliner. The mask he wore was expressionless. Something knotted in the boy’s chest, making him feel physically ill with worry.
He kept his breathing as even as he could, knowing that any show of concern would be detrimental to his case of wanting a cat.
“I know I’m a bit messed up right now, but...” Tim added, hopes already plummeting.
As a little boy, Tim had tried to ask for pets before.
It started big, like begging his parents for a Christmas puppy or kitten, but slowly dwindled to a rodent, then reptile, until Tim just left it at subtly bringing up goldfish every now and then to see if his parents would bite.
He always did proper research before asking, and thanks to that, the boy knew that goldfish could get up to twelve to fourteen inches in their long lifespan. Not that he’d ever really need facts like that.
At eleven years old, Tim finally stopped, receiving the ‘no pets’ message loud and clear. A year later, a couple weeks after his birthday, his mom bought him a small fish bowl and a fish to go in it.
The boy had no interest in goldfish anymore, but the thought behind it made Tim ecstatic, until he realized the fish was going to suffocate without the right equipment. When talking to his mother about that, however, she waved her hand and said it was alright.
The next morning, Bean the goldfish was upside down at the top of his fishbowl. Tim knew it was a dumb fish and he was old enough to handle death, but he still cried a little.
“Timothy!” Bruce reprimanded. The boy jumped backwards, hands shaking at the raised voice. What had he done?
And here it was; the rejection. He’d heard it many times before from his own parents. Now he’d hear it from his Not-Father too. The one who looked a mix of shock and worry.
Tim didn’t plan for this.
He already had cat dishes laid out in his room and blankets on every possible perch. He even had names picked out, carefully typed out on a Google Doc for every possible type of cat there was.
The teen even had a whole spiel on why he wanted to rescue and not get some fine bred cat. Not that it mattered in the end.
Bruce’s eyes were hard and lips thin, most likely thinking of how to break the news that no, Tim could not care for a cat.
Tim found himself speaking before Bruce had a chance.
“It’s alright, I get it. I’m in no shape for a pet.” The boy awkwardly laughed. “I can’t really keep myself alive.”
He wasn’t one to sob when things didn’t go his way, but he was damn near close. Things were rocky and he hadn’t been treating it so. He should have been. Tim was miserable and how would he change if he didn’t recognize it?
“No, Tim, that’s not it at all. Don’t call yourself messed up. You are such a kind and caring boy.” Bruce set his book to the side. “I’m sorry for raising my voice, Tim. I got startled. And that is no excuse.”
Tim stood in front of Bruce, still shaking ever so slightly, feeling reduced to nothing but a snuffling wreck. Embarrassment from how far he’d fallen crept up, but Buce seemed to be having none of it.
The taller man stood up and took a step towards Tim, arms open. The younger threw himself into the hold without a second thought.
Memories of Batman’s strong arms, reassuring words, whispers from after Hood wrenched the gun from Red Robin’s grip filled Tim’s mind. Bruce brought Tim back to the manor, muttering quietly.
Tim’s hands had been shaking then too, the same way they shook when Tim started staying up longer than thirty-five hours.
What if he had pulled the trigger?
The safety was already off on the weapon. The boy had snagged it from an unconscious goon. Hood, Batman and Red Robin had been in the alleyway together by coincidence. Tim wasn’t sure what came over him, but he found himself reaching for the firearm.
Call of the void, he knew it was called, but he’d never experienced it so strongly. It had never come to that before.
If he had succeeded in shooting himself, he wouldn’t be experiencing such a comforting hug.
“Of course you can have a cat. Any cat you’d like. I’d ship one from across seas for you.” Bruce murmured.
“I want a Gotham cat.” Tim spoke hoarsely. “A nasty looking one. A real gody one was gashes on its face and patches of fur missing.”
The larger one laughed gently and his grip tightened on his son. “You can have the meanest looking one you want.”
…
Tim ended up rescuing Pat the fat cat in the end.
The cat was already neutered and vaccinated, so after spending a considerable amount on pet supplies, Bruce and Tim took the cat home.
“What’s his name?” B asked, a small, fond smile on his face.
Tim held the cat carrier in his arms, peering through the top.
“Patrick. He looks like a Pat, but I can’t be so cruel as to name him just Pat. Besides, that’s what I told the guy to put on his papers. Weren’t you listening?”
To Tim’s surprise, Bruce looked slightly sheepish.
Bruce shrugged his shoulders. “I was quite taken with Patrick. Does he have a middle name?”
“What am I, five?” Tim sounded defensive despite already having given his cat a full, proper name.
The taller man stared at Tim as they loaded up into the vehicle. The teenager relented.
“Ugh, fine. His name is Patrick Elmore.” Wayne, he wanted to joke, but the words wouldn’t leave his mouth.
“Patrick Elmore Wayne.” Bruce laughed, somehow reading his son perfectly. Or experiencing his own possessive streak.
Two two sat in silence (other than Pat’s occasional mreow of mild distress) during the majority of the drive, just enjoying each other’s presence. Tim didn’t say anything until Bruce pulled up and started to climb out of the driver’s seat to pull out the cat supplies.
“I’m sorry for earlier.” The raven boy was looking away, still clutching Pat’s cat carrier.
Bruce responded with a simple, “It’s alright.”
Tim narrowed his eyes. “You don’t know what I’m apologizing for. It could be something you didn’t even know I did.”
A good-natured smile set on B’s face.
“Be that as it may, I know what you’re referring to.”
“I don’t need to spell it out for you? Have you been reading parenting books? Are you Bruce Wayne?”
Bruce huffed out of his nose, content and lightly amused.
“I’ve started going to therapy.” He said. “Understanding you boys is… challenging. I wanted to be better. I can look into it for you, if you so please.”
Tim sucked in his bottom lip, then let out a soft ‘oh’.
“I… maybe. I’ll think about it.”
B had a fond look cross his face. “Take your time, son.”
His adoptive father gazed at the garage ceiling, staring into the light fixtures before opening the back door to retrieve the purchased items. The two made their way back into the manor, neither speaking up again.
…
Dick was thrilled to find a new cat in the manor. A cat of which was practically attached to Tim all the time. The teenager loved it.
“Timmy! Who’s this little guy?” He asked, picking up Pat and nuzzling his face. Pat nuzzled back.
Tim was typing away on his laptop, not bothering to look up at his older brother.
“That’s my cat. Pat. No, you can’t have him. He’s mine.”
The oldest son spluttered, before setting the feline back down and plopping onto the floor besides Tim’s bedroom desk. His joints popped and his quiet huff of exertion spooked Pat, who was rolled over on the carpet.
“How’re you feeling?” Dick inquired, craning his neck up at his younger brother.
Tim shrugged, trying to give Dick the hint that he didn’t want to talk. He had better things to do. While he wasn’t in any shape to sanely patrol (he’d given up fighting about it with Bruce), he could still work behind the scenes. It was surprisingly relaxing.
The oldest’s eyebrows knit at the lack of response.
“Tim…”
His voice was quiet and cautious. Heat started rising from the back of his neck.
No. He would not have a hissyfit after getting what he wanted. He was fine now.
Tim’s demeanor was tense, one hand clenched around a mouse and the other shaking in his lap. He didn’t even notice Dick stand up until the man gave a horny-handed touch to his cheek.
The calloused fingers startled the teenager, jerking him out of his thoughts.
“What’s going on in your head, kiddo?”
Tim shuddered. “I-”
Dick’s arms wrapped around Tim’s shoulders, squeezing tight. The younger weakly protested before falling silent and leaning into the touch.
The boy was beginning to think he wasn’t manipulating as much as he thought he was.
This was okay.