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Bruce had come back over a week early from a League mission and had decided to do a quick patrol on his way back to the manor.
He should have just gone home.
Bruce looked down at his paws, only able to conjure up exasperation and irritation.
Some sorry excuse for a magician had taken it upon themself to terrorise two young girls taking a shortcut through the alleyways. Bruce had at least managed to get the civilians to safety before the spell took hold.
He flexed his claws experimentally, sighing at his predicament.
He was a cat.
-
Selina's place was close by, so Bruce had made his way there and perched on her window sill until she took notice of him.
Not that she was much help. Once she figured out it was him she laughed. For seven minutes.
“I always thought you were more like a cat than a bat, I'm glad Discount Dumbledore feels the same.” She said through chuckles, wiping away a tear from the corner of her eye.
Bruce growled at her, puffing up and giving her his best glare.
She snorted. “You don't scare me as a six foot man with shoulders that put Superman to shame,” He rumbled happily at that, ignoring Selina's eyeroll. “And you certainly don't scare me as a little ball of fluff.” She tapped his nose.
Bruce sighed and gave her a beseeching look. It would be good to have her explain his situation to the kids. The quicker they knew, the quicker it gets solved.
Selina grinned. “As much as I would love to help you, I've got a heist planned this week and I can’t have you getting in the way.” She shrugged.
Bruce growled. Selina.
“Don't worry, I'll still drop you off.” She scratched his head. It was soothing, which was inconvenient as Bruce was very annoyed. “But you're gonna have to wait until I've got my diamonds before I can help you out, honey.”
Bruce glared but did nothing else. She was his ride home after all. Damn it.
-
“Hey kitten,” Selina smiled warmly at Damian. “I got a present for you.”
Bruce glared at them both from the passenger seat. He started tapping in morse code, something he'd taught to Damian himself, so his youngest should have no problem understanding.
Selina may think she's got the week. But Bruce knows his son, young, smart, observant and intuitive, will see right through the enchantment and–
“He's perfect.” Damian stared at Bruce in awe. “I shall get him settled immediately.”
“Oh, I know you'll take good care of him.” Selina lifted Bruce up and handed him to Damian. “See you around, kiddo.”
“Goodbye, Selina.” Damian cradled Bruce in his arms, ignoring Bruce tapping his arm in code. “We shall tell Father that you've been here the whole time.” He proclaimed. Bruce stopped, staring up at Damian with a glare. Just how stupid did his son think he was?
“It's worked before, it will again.” Damian muttered to himself.
Bruce sighed as Damian walked into the manor. It seems his youngest was a conniving little devil, as well as a mediocre detective.
He would be grounded the moment Bruce turned back.
-
Bruce eventually managed to escape his youngest, only to run into his eldest instead.
He stared up at Dick. Fifteen years of history. Mentor and ward. Father and son. Equals. Surely he'd be able to see through this.
His eldest, affectionate, sharp and a seasoned vigilante, his amazing son–
"You are so cute!" Dick snatched a shocked Bruce up into his arms and cuddled him close to his chest. "Such a handsome kitty!"
Bruce endured fifteen minutes of snuggling, his attempts at morse code going unnoticed by Dick.
"Aren't you just the most adorable kitty cat?" Dick cooed as Bruce tapped his arm again. Bruce was really starting to understand why Damian hated having that voice used on him. It was demeaning.
Bruce growled at Dick. Stop that.
"Who's a little tiger? You are!" Dick kissed his forehead.
Bruce usually prided himself on his relatively even temper. If nothing else, he maintained his composure in the least ideal situations. But right now, he was truly contemplating attacking his eldest.
"Grayson, what have I told you about using that tone on my creatures?" Damian chided from his place on the chair across from them.
"I can't help it." Dick kissed Bruce's forehead, making an obnoxious mwah sound as he moved back.
Usually, Bruce found Dick's affectionate nature endearing, but when trapped in a tiny form that seemed to be fueled by spite, he had no patience for it.
-
Jason. Bruce realised. He would go to Jason. His sweet, smart boy would see through this in no time.
Bruce heard a strange rumbling sound and realised that he was purring. Damn it, how does he switch that off?
Dick cooed and went to snuggle him once more. Maybe he should get his son a cat for his birthday? Not this one, that would be rewarding his bad work ethic. Maybe the next one.
"You are purrfect." Dick squeezed him tighter and attacked him with more kisses.
Maybe not. The cat would probably murder him out of sheer annoyance.
Bruce sighed.
Dick's eyes went wide. "Did you just– No, nevermind."
He put a paw on Dick's arm and stared into his eyes. He wanted his son to look back on this moment and see the pure, unmarred disappointment Bruce was projecting right now.
"You want pats?" Dick guessed.
Bruce hissed.
-
He eventually managed to sneak out the manor when Alfred called Dick and Damian for dinner, forbidding them from taking Bruce with them.
Bruce gladly took the opportunity to jump out an open window on the ground floor, sneak his way onto a bus and make his way to find Jason. Wherever he may be.
After two hits and misses he managed to track down his son at his safehouse a few blocks from the Bowery.
It was night, so he elected to wait on the fire escape until his return.
He also didn't have the thumbs needed to disable the traps guarding the window.
Bruce heard Jason about a minute before he saw him. There were some advantages to being a cat.
Then, instead of Jason observing his surroundings, seeing Bruce and slowly putting it all together. He stepped on Bruce's tail.
Bruce mrrped to notify Jason of his presence.
The red helmet swivelled round before looking down at Bruce.
"I'm so sorry," the mechanised voice was surprisingly soft as Jason crouched down to look at him.
Bruce went to ruffle his hair out of habit, instead he batted the helmet with his paw. It's me, chum. He wanted to say.
"You're a tough little cookie, aren't you?" Jason sounded amused, almost endeared.
Bruce growled. He did not come here for more coddling.
"Come on." Jason said, before scooping him up.
The only reason Bruce didn't scratch him was because fathers aren't supposed to inflict injury on their children. Funnily enough, the book didn't mention anything about said father being turned into a cat.
Also, Jason shouldn't be inviting strangers into his house, even if they were cats. This was Gotham after all. Out of all his children, he'd expect Jason to know that best. Perhaps after Duke.
Jason set him on the couch before wandering off. The sounds of a medkit being set out in the bathroom had Bruce rushing off.
"Hey, kitty cat." Jason glanced up from where he was wrapping a bandage around his upper arm.
Bruce growled. There was a gash on said arm. It didn't look too deep, but it still put him on edge.
"Tis but a scratch." Jason tied off the bandage and started packing the medkit away.
Bruce narrowed his eyes, vaguely noting his tail swishing angrily behind him.
He sprinted over before Jason could close the box, putting his paw on top of a packet of moderately strong painkillers.
"I gotta pack this away–" Jason went to gently move his paw away. Bruce dug his claws into the box, glaring. "Oh, fine. You can have it."
He growled when Jason refused to take the painkillers even when Bruce threw them on his lap.
Jason's gaze sharpened as he stared at Bruce, scrutinising him. Bruce's chest swelled with hope.
Of course his strong, sharp, resilient boy would be the one to put it together. Always thinking outside of the box, his unorthodox genius–
"You hungry?" Jason asked.
Bruce wilted.
Then, in a brief haze of frustration, he swiped the medkit onto the floor.
"And that's why I refuse to keep a pet." Jason rolled his eyes.
I'm your father. Bruce hissed.
Jason blinked at him. "I finally found a creature more pissed off than me. Damn, Goldie's going to love this."
Bruce loved his eldest son, he truly did. But he did not have the mental fortitude to deal with his incessant cooing again. In this form, he may actually try to kill Dick. Which would make him a hypocrite.
And a murderer.
And a bad father, probably.
Either way, Bruce would never hear the end of it.
Bruce put a paw on Jason's shoulder and stared into his eyes. He wanted his son to recall this moment with the amount of endless shame it deserved.
The Red Hood, blinded by a cat. Damian, he could understand. Dick, he could accept. But Bruce had expected better of Jason. He was sharp when it came to the peculiar, almost as observant as–
Realisation dawned on him.
Tim.
He would go and find Tim. He was likely staying at the Nest, which was quite a long journey to make– especially as a cat– but Bruce would manage.
Tim, his bright, clever, brilliant son, the actual genius would put the pieces together in no time. He had memorised all their protocols at fourteen years old. Not to mention he was the best detective in the family, he'd surpass Bruce within a few years if he hadn't done so already.
He had saved Bruce from himself countless times, he'd see through this in seconds.
The rumbling was back, goddammit.
"Look at you, settling in." Jason commented, before scratching Bruce's chin.
They'd need to have a talk after this.
Still, Bruce tilted his chin up slightly.
-
Bruce thumped on the door with his paw. He refused to meow, even if it would be more likely to help. He still had some dignity left.
After nearly ten minutes of thumping, he finally heard footsteps shuffling towards the door.
Bruce looked up as the door swung open. Tim squinted ahead of him, looking around in confusion. Bruce couldn't judge him too harshly, no one would expect a cat to be knocking on the door of their secret base.
Bruce patted Tim's leg after a few moments, feeling slightly bad when the boy jumped and scrambled back.
"Oh," Tim blinked down at Bruce, dazed. "Hi."
Bruce blinked slowly at him before making his way into the Nest and hopping up onto the couch.
Bruce was exhausted. It was a long journey to get here. He had to walk for hours, no bus to assist him. This is why Tim never should have moved out the manor.
He made a note to inform his third son of this fact once he had been turned back.
"Uh…okay then?" Tim shrugged and sat down, going back to what he must have been doing before. He shot Bruce a befuddled look but seemed content to leave it be.
Bruce, on the other hand, was not.
He growled quietly to himself and walked over to Tim’s side of the couch, looking up at him expectantly.
"I'm as confused as you are." Tim muttered.
Bruce growled, louder this time and started patting morse code onto Tim's arm.
Tim, instead of putting it all together like the brilliant detective he supposedly was, started patting Bruce's head, smiling softly.
Bruce growled again. Timothy Jackson Drake. He wanted to yell.
"I'll call you Grumps, for now." Tim decreed with, frankly, unearned confidence considering his history with choosing names.
The disappointment was crushing. Tim, his only light in this horrid cesspool of a city, was about as bright as an ancient storeroom bulb.
Bruce yowled. What had become of his family?
Tim scratched Bruce's head, yawning as he dodged Bruce's swipe.
Slow reflexes, drooping eyes, yawning.
Bruce perked up.
Ah, his poor son was sleep deprived. That's why he wasn't piecing it together. And he would continue to remain oblivious if he kept working.
So Bruce sat on the laptop.
"Uh, Grumpy?" Tim blinked owlishly. They would be having a talk after this. After Bruce had lectured Dick and Jason. Not Damian, he's still young. "You're gonna have to," Tim tried to gently push Bruce off the laptop. Bruce did not move.
Tim sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Guilt pierced at him momentarily for causing his son such distress but Bruce's humanity was more important.
And Tim's health, of course.
He can prioritise, thank you Alfred.
Eventually, Tim slumped his way into his bedroom. This would have been good if he didn't snatch Bruce up like a teddy bear while he did so.
Bruce growled but as his son didn't seem to have any self preservation instincts to speak of, he paid him no mind.
Tim kept muttering to himself. Out of concern Bruce placed a paw on Tim's forehead. He was looking a little paler than usual. Running a little warm, but not feverish.
Tim blinked owlishly at him, then grinned. "Oh, maybe I'll gonna call you Grumpy Bat. Or Floofster." He chortled.
Bruce growled.
Grounded. No computer, phone, Titans, patrol or W.E. for a week.
In fact, Bruce would send him to the Bahamas. Nothing to do but relax there.
He briefly wondered if the fact that, what was essentially a forced vacation, would be seen as a punishment by Tim should concern him. Then he firmly pushed that thought aside.
That was human Bruce's problem to solve.
"Batcat." Tim snorted. "I am vengeance, I am the floof."
Bruce had to take his paw away before his claws dug into Tim's forehead and scalped the boy.
It was more difficult than it should have been.
-
Bruce would never dare say this to Tim's face but, he had never been more disappointed.
Actually, dammit all, he would. This is appalling.
He'd tried morse code, typing and pointing at a picture of himself. Tim, his so-called smartest child, had missed every single signal.
Now Bruce was sitting on the counter of the breakfast bar, scrunched up into a loaf position to stop himself from clawing Tim.
"What do I feed you?" Tim muttered, searching his cupboards. "Coffee?"
Bruce's ears perked up. Tim had always been his favourite, after Duke. Such a good son, the best a father could ask for–
"Wait," Tim looked up from his phone. "Google says that could kill you, sorry Grumpy Bat. No coffee."
Tim was no longer his favourite. Bruce swiped his mug off the counter, revelling in the way it smashed on the floor.
If he can't have coffee, no one can.
Tim gasped. "This is why I don't have pets!" He hissed.
Bruce hissed back.
"You," Tim pointed at him. Bruce batted at his finger. Don't point at me. "Can starve." Tim pulled his hand back and stomped off to get a brush. "Starve!"
A plate of tuna was placed in front of Bruce precisely eight minutes later.
He glared at Tim as he ate it.
-
They ended up going to the Manor together. Bruce immediately stormed off to go to an unused room and take out his burning rage on a curtain or five.
-
Bruce growled. Even Alfred, the man who raised him, saw him at both his worst and best, hadn't figured it out.
So, understandably, his temper got the best of him.
Bruce stared into Alfred's eyes as he slowly swiped a silver teaspoon off the counter.
Being a cat had somehow taken away all his fear and left him with spite. He wondered if this was how all cats felt.
Alfred raised an eyebrow at him.
Bruce puffed up and swiped a fork off this time.
Quickly, so fast that even to Bruce it was a blur, Alfred swiftly picked up Bruce by the scruff of his neck rendering him into a useless puddle of fur for the foreseeable future.
"That is quite enough from you." Alfred said primly as they left the kitchen.
Tim was sitting on the couch in the main living room, typing away on his laptop. He looked up as they came in, blinking in confusion at the sight.
"Ah, Master Tim, very good." Alfred placed Bruce into Tim's arms in an aggressively gentle manner before walking away. He shut the kitchen door with a firm click.
Tim stared down at Bruce with wide eyes. "What did you do?" He asked fearfully.
Bruce folded his ears back. He was done with this whole week.
-
He avoided Alfred for a while after that.
-
Does it count as abuse if you hit them while in cat form? Bruce contemplated this. It wouldn't be that hard of a hit, he wouldn't even use his claws. It would be just enough to get the point across. A love tap, really.
Dick's voice was a high pitched coo and had been for the past ten minutes. It was very grating. Especially since Bruce was trying to pat out morse code on the couch and Dick kept interrupting.
So he decided to give it a try. If for no other reason than to soothe his irritation.
He slapped Dick with his paw. A calculated strike right across the face.
"Aww, are you fighting me? Who's a ferocious baby? You are!" Dick cupped Bruce's face in his hands and moved his head from side to side.
Bruce whacked him again, snarling. He could feel his fur puffing up and his tail lashing angrily.
"Ha, you kind of look like Jay. When he's going all Red Hood." Dick remarked, tapping Bruce's nose. "I'm not asking you to kick in with me, I'm telling you!" He growled playfully.
Against his will, Bruce's whiskers twitched in amusement at the comparison. Before his blood pressure zoomed right back up.
Why do none of his children have self preservation instincts? If faced with an angry cat, you back away. They could carry all kinds of diseases. One bite or scratch from an animal is all it can take, tetanus jag or not they shouldn't be risking it–
Bruce realised that he was growling, meowing and chittering at Dick, who looked very confused.
"Baby Hood." Dick murmured to himself, absently patting Bruce's head.
Bruce went quiet out of pure shock.
How dare he.
"You like that name?" Dick scratched the top of Bruce's head.
Bruce wanted to slap him again so badly. Did that make him a terrible father? Perhaps. But in his defence, Dick– all of his children really, were asking for it.
That was a terrible defence. It's a good thing he and Harvey aren't friends anymore, otherwise he'd be so ashamed.
Harvey liked cats back in the day, maybe Bruce should go to him. He's got at least two faces to slap.
-
"Hey, Cookie Monster." Jason smiled. He sounded more like Dick than ever, with how close to cooing he was.
Bruce glared. Cat or not, he refused to answer to that. He had his pride, shredded as it was.
"Is no one giving you any attention?" Jason asked.
Bruce wished.
Between one blink and the next, Bruce was being peppered with forehead kisses.
Honestly, he wasn't sure how he should be feeling about this.
He was leaning towards happiness.
"You are so adorable, if anything were to happen to you I'd kill everyone in this city then myself." Jason spoke softly.
Bruce felt his eyes go wide.
Jason smiled. "That's right," he said, booping Bruce's nose, which was an experience he planned to suppress for the rest of his life. "You get a boo boo and this city goes boom boom."
Bruce slapped him out of sheer panic.
Jason laughed. "Whoa, there's my little Cookie Monster."
Bruce growled.
"Yes, you are so tough. Bet ya can beat up all the other cats." Jason grinned down at him.
God, were people always this condescending towards cats? These creatures used to be worshipped. Now they're treated like, like…
Pets.
Bruce bristled.
When Bruce gets turned back, he will change this. He'll buy out all the cat shelters in Gotham, hire people who remember the old ways and the city will worship cats again!
Was this how the Rogues got their gimmicks?
All it takes is one bad day.
Bruce shivered.
"You look like you're having a midlife crisis." Jason remarked. "Or a kitlife catsis." He chuckled.
Bruce stared at him for a moment, utterly appalled, then walked away. Before he did something he regretted.
He'd expect this kind of behaviour from Dick, to see Jason, his former golden child, stoop to such lows was heart wrenching.
"Shoulda just kept that one to myself." Jason muttered.
Yes, you should have. Bruce thought bitterly. Nevermind murder, it's things like this that make Bruce want to unadopt Jason.
-
Bruce sat on the back of the couch, looking over Tim's shoulder as he typed away on his laptop.
Pictures of the scene took up the screen. Close ups of blood on the counter, post death bruises on the neck, disturbed dust on the floor.
It was likely an attack done by someone who knew the victim. A crime of passion perhaps?
Bruce purred.
It was nice to be doing what he's best at again.
-
Tim was drawn out of his analysis by a loud rumbling sound.
Grumpy Bat was purring as he stared at Tim's screen. Which was currently taken up by pictures of a dead body.
Tim ignored it in favour of zooming in on the bruised around the victims neck. The hand prints were small, slim fingers so that made the scales lean towards a female perpetrator, but he wouldn't rule out–
The purring got louder.
Grumpy Bat was closer, staring at the screen intently. Just purring.
Tim took in a slow breath.
Wait, he zoomed in on the victim's neck. There were very faint imprints of nails where the tips of the fingers ended–
Grumpy Bats pupils dilated as he purred even louder.
Oh God. Grumpy Bat was a murder kitty. Of course their family would end up with a psychopathic cat, Tim doesn't know why he ever expected otherwise.
"Dick would tell me to put this away if he were here." He remarked, looking between Grumpy Bat and the crime scene.
Grumpy Bat hissed.
Tim did not have the energy to deal with one of the cat's tantrums. Well, he did, but he didn't want to use it. Let it be Dick's problem.
"So, I think it's more likely to be a female perpetrator, due to the shape and–" He began explaining his theory to Grumpy Bat, who rumbled happily and stared up at Tim with warm eyes.
-
Dick watched in horror as Baby Hood lapped up the mug of coffee he had left on the table.
The cat looked up at him and they stared at one another for a few moments.
He kind of reminded Dick of Bruce when he was trying to sneak coffee behind Alfred's back or Damian when Dick caught him throwing out Alfred's waffle making machine.
Damn it, Dick sighed.
“You can have a few more sips, then you’re done.” Dick said, ever weak for small, angry creatures.
Baby Hood blinked slowly at him before going back to his questionable treat.
-
Bruce rumbled happily to himself, lapping up the glorious elixir he had been denied for too long. Dick had always been his favourite, after Duke.
-
Bruce glared as he thought about his family. He had been a cat for almost a week and they still hadn't figured it out.
Talentless detectives. An embarrassment to the name. He was genuinely contemplating unadopting them due to this appalling display of incompetence, waste of paperwork–
So that's where Damian gets it from. He'd always blamed Talia.
On top of everything, Dick and Tim were functioning on sugar and coffee respectively, Jason's apartment wasn't insulated enough and Damian had adopted at least three animals behind Bruce's back–
He yowled in despair.
"There, there." Alfred soothed scratching Bruce's ears.
It was nice, like the few times Alfred would run his hands through Bruce's hair when he was a kid.
Bruce mrrped sadly, looking up at Alfred with the most pathetic expression he could muster up.
"Oh dear, you poor thing." He murmured, scratching Bruce's head.
Bruce purred in agreement, tilting his head up towards the scratches. He was very unfortunate.
-
Bruce may have lost his temper.
Again.
In his defence, they deserved it.
They had been ignoring Bruce's attempts at communication– the one time Bruce actually wanted to communicate– in favour of arguing over what to call him.
Baby Hood, Cookie Monster or Grumpy Bat.
Luckily, Damian was at school or else Achilles would be added into the already horrific mix.
So yes, Bruce lost his temper.
He battered them with his paws, praying to God that it didn't count as child abuse. He then jumped on Jason's head for a high point digging his claws in as a warning. Jason remained still.
Bruce growled, staring down at all of them with a disappointed gaze.
“Uncle Clark.” Dick called.
Bruce– and Tim-- stared at him in disbelief. Were his children truly that incompetent that they couldn't handle a cat?
Of course, Bruce was no ordinary feline, but they didn't know that.
“He's been wanting to meet Baby Hood. This is as good a time as any.” Dick said with a shrug.
Bruce glared at him. He was vindicated when Jason scoffed at Dick as well.
Clark appeared in the living room a few seconds later, his face lighting up at the sight of Bruce.
“Hey there, kitty,” Clark said softly, offering his hand to Bruce, not seeming to mind that Bruce was obviously holding Jason hostage.
Bruce glared at him, but he wasn't too angry. He expected Clark to be dense about this. His sons were the real disappointments.
Clark chuckled. “He reminds me of your dad.” He said to the boys. “Speaking of which, where is he?”
Bruce's heart leapt. He always knew Clark was more intelligent than he let on. Of course he was, he wouldn't be Bruce's best friend otherwise.
“What do you mean? He's still on the mission, right?” Dick said.
Clark tensed. “No, he came back early, about five days ago. Around the same time you got this little guy.” He looked back over at Bruce.
Bruce purred in response. What a brilliant, sharp, observant man, Bruce would buy him a house after this.
All his sons looked at Clark in horror. Bruce would feel bad for them, if they hadn't been so dimwitted this week.
“He's been missing for five days?” Tim's voice broke.
Bruce felt a little bad now. He hopped off Jason's head and walked over to Tim, rumbling comfortingly.
“I'll get the League on this.” Clark said.
Bruce growled. Not in Gotham, you won't.
He leapt in the air towards Clark, knowing he'd be caught. Once in Clark’s arms, he gave him a firm stare and started tapping on his arm in morse code.
“Sorry, pumpkin, but I've got to go.” Clark said apologetically.
So Clark was just as dimwitted as the rest of them. Damnit, if only Diana was here. She possessed more than three brain cells and was Bruce's actual best friend because of it.
Damn you, Clark. Bruce hissed, growled and smacked him across the face.
Clark, the bastard, rolled with the hit so that Bruce didn't break his paw on his invulnerable skin. That just made him even angrier, he slapped him again and clawed at him for good measure.
“Could you lock him in one of the guest rooms?” Dick asked, giving Clark a pleading look.
Bruce yowled in offence. How dare you betray me in my own house.
Clark, ever weak for Dick's sad face, did as requested. He gently placed a snarling Bruce on the large, four poster bed of one of the lesser used rooms and fled like a coward, condemning Bruce to life in prison.
-
Bruce had been confined to the room for over three hours. Apparently his children’s wayward self preservation instincts had kicked in at some point during his outburst.
He glared at the plate of smoked salmon left out for him. They didn’t even season it. No salt, lemon or anything. Savages.
Bruce had been left to slowly waste away in this rundown room, forgotten by everyone who claimed to love him.
He slumped deeper into the plush, silk sheets, staring at the way the light danced in the crystal bowl filled with freshly poured mineral water they left for him.
A trying time indeed.
The door suddenly clicked open and Bruce’s head snapped up.
Damian stood in the doorway for a moment before rushing over to him.
“Achilles,” He whispered. “I have come to free you from your wrongful imprisonment.”
Bruce placed a paw on Damian’s wrist. He wanted his youngest to look back on this moment with the pride it deserved.
“I know.” Damian stared intently at him. “You shall not suffer at their hands again.” He said fiercely.
Bruce mrrped in agreement.
“Look at this salmon, it isn’t even seasoned.” Damian sneered at the plate. "I shall get you something better."
Bruce’s chest warmed. Damian had always been his favourite, after Duke.
-
Selina returned to the Manor with a new diamond bracelet in her wrist and a smug smile.
Bruce was starting to wonder what he ever saw in her. Then again, she was the only one able to figure it out, making her more intelligent than all his sons, Alfred and Clark combined.
“Hello, gorgeous.” She smiled at him.
Bruce pointedly looked away from her.
“Don't be like that.” She said with a laugh. Bruce's ears instinctively turned in the direction of her voice but he kept staring straight ahead. “You're such a cutie.”
Bruce hissed in reply.
“Selina? What are you doing here?” Jason asked, walking into the living room.
“I just came to see your dad.” Selina said with a mischievous grin.
“He's missing.” Bruce rumbled comfortingly in response to the hint of worry in Jason's tone.
His sweet, compassionate boy. Jason had always been his favourite, after Duke.
“Not exactly.” Selina gestured to Bruce. “He was turned into a cat.”
“What?”
-
A few hours later, Zatanna had undone the spell, Selina had gone to have tea with Alfred and his sons had collectively decided to throw an undeserved temper tantrum.
"You hit us!" Dick exclaimed.
"It doesn't count." Bruce said matter of fact.
"The fuck it doesn't, I have claw marks." Jason lifted up his wrist.
"I would have clawed you too if you called me Cookie Monster." Tim said.
Bruce concealed a vindicated smile. He knew his actions were justified but it was nice to have someone else agree.
Jason's face went red.
Out of love for his second eldest, Bruce decided to defend him. Even if he didn't deserve it.
"Grumpy Bat, Baby Hood and Achilles." He rattled off, shooting each of his sons a disappointed look.
"My name was noble." Damian sniffed haughtily.
"It was the lesser of four evils." Bruce conceded.
That wasn't good enough for Damian. “Tt. You have no taste.”
“And you're grounded.” Bruce replied. At Damian's indignant look, he added. “I know about the extra pets you smuggled in here. You can keep them, but you're grounded.”
Damian sighed, but said nothing in protest.
"We will be starting a training regime on how to recognise one another when compromised.” Bruce said to his sons, leaving no room for argument.
"It's not as if you gave us anything to work with." Dick snapped.
If Bruce were still a cat, he would have whacked him for that.
Jason shook his head. "The growling should have tipped me off." He said dejectedly.
"Bruce is more of a grunt type." Tim soothed, squeezing Jason’s shoulder comfortingly. "You know, hm, hrg, hng, that kind of thing."
Nevermind, Cass was his favourite. After Duke.
Bruce missed Duke.
-
Bruce heard Duke park his bike in the garage before walking into the Cave.
He rushed over, pulling Duke into his arms and holding on tightly.
"You okay, B?" Duke asked, patting his back.
"If I were a cat would you recognise me?" Bruce asked, doing his best to keep the urgency out of his voice.
"This gives off ‘would you love me if I was a worm’ energy.” Duke informed him. Bruce didn’t know what any of that meant, but he nodded all the same. “Would you still have your mind intact?”
"Yes."
"Then yes, you've got a lot of quirks that would be hard to miss, especially to someone that knows you." Duke said.
"You'd think so." Bruce muttered bitterly.
Duke tilted his head. "Rough week?" Bruce grunted. Hn, which meant you could say that.
"I was a cat.” He frowned. “They didn't recognise me."
"They're pretty stupid, huh?" Duke said. Bruce nodded, still quite upset about his children being so dim. “Is that why your aura–" Bruce knew that Duke hated using that word, but they had yet to come up with a better alternative. "Is a little off?"
"You can see something?" Bruce asked.
Duke nodded. "Yeah, it probably would have been more obvious if you were still a cat, I can't believe I missed that–"
Bruce stared at his only clever son with love and wonder. "Never leave me again." He said.
"For both our sakes, I'm not making any promises on that one." Duke laughed.
“Hm.” Bruce grunted, which meant, it'll do, for now.
"I've got my debrief all typed up and ready to go over. Plus, I think there might be an extra layer to this case." Duke held up a bag of his and Bruce's favourite coffee beans. "We could make a batch of this and look over the case together if you want–"
Bruce swept Duke up into another bone crushing hug, lifting him slightly so the tips of his toes barely touched the ground.
He smiled.
Duke had always been his favourite.