Archive of Our Own ^beta

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. 

Chapter Text

Dick, Alfred and Bruce have really been the only three Tim’s had real conversations since the incident.

Yeah, Tim called up Kon once. They chatted mindlessly for an hour or two, but Tim was having a hard time opening up. As if that was new. Kon always had to pry it out of him in the past, but it was harder over phone call. 

Pat spent most of his time either curled up on the teen’s lap or exploring the manor. Surprisingly, Alfred the cat and Pat the fat cat got on rather well. Tim had even found both of them curled up on Damian’s bed. He’d fawned/insulted them until Damian kicked him out, spitting nonsensical and outdated insults the whole walk out.

Tim hadn’t taken the kid’s bait, instead giving him a side hug and leaving the cats be. 

One person the ex-Robin faintly wondered about was Jason. After all, he was there that night. 

It wasn’t like he visited the manor often. He had his own projects and priorities, but he still tried to make it out once a month, unlike Dick, who made the trip up to Gotham far more often. Tim wondered when Jason would care for a follow up. 

The two had a decent relationship. They both felt comfortable in each other’s presence, and that’s all that really mattered in Tim’s book. Jason even used to take the younger up to the manor when Tim lived on his own. 

The teenager tried to tell himself he didn’t care if Jason bothered for a follow up visit, that whatever the second Robin did was his own business. Why did he care so much? He was, as he’d been told by both admirable and deplorable figures, a genius. He didn’t need his pseudo-brother to coddle him the same way Dick did. 

...

Bruce had come one morning to tell Tim that he could go back to patrolling if he stayed paired with another person. The teenager thought he’d be more ecstatic about it, but he only felt a small flutter of hope. 

It was monumental for the older man to relent on the patrol ban. Tim gloated to Damian about getting his way, but Damian only turned his nose up and muttered something. The teen did a little victory dance anyways. 

The youngest boy had a strange look in his eyes as Tim spun in clumsy circles cheerfully. It was a mix of pity and bewilderment. 

Don’t look at me like that! He wanted to snap, but he wouldn’t let that brat get in the way of his W. 

With a ‘Tt’, Damian left the room and Tim stopped making a fool of himself, before retreating to his room again, where he stayed for the rest of the day and part of the next morning, before he was interrupted. 

“So this is where you’re hiding out.” A gravelly voice came from Tim’s doorway, nearly startling him if it weren’t for Jason clunking about the halls before his entrance. 

“You need to work on stealth.” The teen piped up from his bed, where he’d taken to after his desk chair started to hurt his back. His hair (now on the longer side) was sticking up at odd angles, no doubt from being unwashed.

His worries about Jason judging his state of mess were dwarfed by the excitement of finally seeing his older brother after weeks. The fact that Jason had even sought out Tim made everything worlds better. 

Tim didn’t miss how the second Robin’s lips were drawn in a thin line as he looked around the room.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” The man  responded distractedly. “And it smells like a locker room in here, sans body spray.” 

Tim flushed an angry red from under his blankets, but he made an effort not to show it. “If you’ve come here to antagonize me, you can leave now.” Disappointment shot through him like the gun if he had pulled the trigger. 

Oh, wow. That was uncomfortably dark. 

“Well gosh, did I interrupt someone’s nap time?” Jason drawled irritably. 

Just as Jason turned out of the room, Pat turned the corner and rubbed against Jason’s legs. 

“Oh, hello cutie.” He picked up Pat, then turned back to Tim, who was doing his best to ignore his older brother.

“This yours?” Jason gestured to the cat.

“Don’t touch him.” Tim muttered. 

“Oh? He seems to like me. Hi kitty. What’s stopping me from taking you?” He cooed to the cat, trying to rile up Tim. The teenager ignored the bait and opened his phone instead. 

Jason sighed in defeat and set the cat back down, reentering the room. Tim didn’t look up, instead saying, “If you want to talk to me, I want an apology first.”

The older man rolled his eyes. “Sorry.”

“I don’t really care, I just wanted you to say that.”

When Jason caught Tim’s gaze, the teenager was smiling mischievously. Jason snorted and sat down at the foot of his bed.

“What’s been going on with you?” Jason asked after an awkward pause. He wasn’t good at this, but he knew he had to check in on Tim somehow.

“Oh, I get to go on patrol again, which is a plus. I just can’t be alone. I, uh, got a cat. His name is Pat, and he does not like you, so leave him alone.”

Jay huffed. “Rude.”

“And… I don’t know, Dick’s been nice. Bruce has been weirdly nice. Damian avoids me, which I suppose is nice on his terms, though I’d kind of like to talk to him. You’re an ass, but I didn’t really expect you to change.” 

“Now,” His eyes narrowed dangerously, “Would you not expect me to change?” 

Tim swallowed, knowing he should have just shut his mouth when he had the chance. Whoops. Damage was already done. 

Tim shifted his blankets around slightly, freeing his arms from the blanket cocoon. 

“Well, we aren’t really close, if we’re being honest with ourselves.” The raven tries to be light on his delivery, but controlling emotions weren’t exactly his thing.

Jason scowls. Rightfully so. 

“You and B might not be related, but you sure are his son.” 

The acceptance as part of the family still made the younger boy’s heart flip, but he didn’t let that distract him. Jason could be trying to manipulate him, to make him drop the subject, but Tim was smarter than that. 

“Tell me I’m wrong.” Tim deadpanned. 

The agitated older man threw his arms up. “Oh my God! Is everything a dick measuring contest with you? Have you considered I’m trying to make amends, but you keep shutting me down? No wonder you’re alone all the time, you are insufferable to be around!” 

Tim looked away from Jason, who was still fuming. He felt guilty for being called out. And properly chastised. That last bit was below the belt, he wanted to say, but his throat was closed up and his eyes were stinging. 

He had never been quick to cry, but wow had the past few weeks been the exception. He could usually take someone raising their voice with ease. Feeling awful afterwards hadn’t been a problem Tim ever faced. 

Logically, crying was normal. It was just a reaction. There wasn’t much Tim could do to prevent it. But emotionally, it was humiliating. Especially with Jason, the notorious ‘I-don’t-know-how-to-comfort’ child. The opposite of Dick. 

The boy grasped his blankets and stared at his hands, blinking away at the tears rapidly. His head shot up when he heard Jason sigh.

“This isn’t a ploy to make me apologize, right?” He sounded weary. Tim frantically shook his head. 

The second Robin continued, averting his eyes slightly, saying, “Then that last bit was… asshole-ish. But just to be clear-! I’m apologizing on my own terms. Not because I feel like I need to, or you’re making me.

Tim huffed softly, a ghost of a smile on his face. Jason smiled back, unstable and very cumbersome. It was completely in character.

The younger brother felt a little better. 

A somber look crossed Jay’s face as he started speaking again. 

“You know, I do care about you. A lot.”

Tim forced himself not to squirm. Did he? 

“And I mean, like, a ton. That night, you know, I was terrified.” Jason pulled at his fingers, mouth fidgeting.

The teenager tried to remember Jason that night, but he could hardly remember what caused him to draw the weapon on himself, muchless the aftermath. Had Jason been among the voices shouting?

“I don’t remember. That night.” Tim mumbled. 

“Yeah, I figured.” He sighed. “But I was freaking out. I was- I was crying. Probably looked like a fool. The little brat wouldn’t stop hissin’ things at me in different languages.” 

“Damian needs work.” Tim agreed. 

Jason’s lips quirked up. He motioned out the door as he stood, asking, “Are you hungry? Alf has food set out still.”

The raven (with blue eyes, not green), tilted his head in consideration, before peeling the blankets back and joining his older brother.

…

“Would you stop?” Tim hissed at Dick, who kept kissing his hair every time Tim turned away. “I’m focusing.” 

“No no, Dickie. Keep distracting him, I have to win.” Jason’s eyes were glued to the card pile and Tim tossed down another card. 

Damian rolled his eyes at the two, hands neatly folded on the table instead of hovering over the cards like Tim and Jason. Dick had opted out of playing, but forced Damian to take his place instead. 

“Ooh, Timmy, look who it is!” Dick sounded delighted, pointing at Pat the cat, who’d just strolled into the game room.

The teenager didn’t dare tear his eyes away from the active game. “Nice. Don’t touch him.” 

The oldest brother shrugged.

“I’m more of a dog person, anyways.” 

Tim slapped his hand down on the card pile, quickly followed by Jason and Damian. Jay groaned and Damian tutted at their loss, but Tim cheered quietly.

“Me too.” Jason agreed. “But I like messing with Tim.”

“What about you, Dami?” Dick inquired. He tried to lean forward and give the youngest a kiss on his head, but Damian shoved Dick back.

“I do not have a preference.” 

Tim gathered up the cards and put them in the respective box. “Boo, sure you do. I like cats better. Discuss.” 

Damian considered carefully. “Then I like all animals equally.”

“Even spiders?” The second Robin looked doubtful. 

“Yes, Todd. I take it you don’t?”

Dick snorted. “The only time I’ve heard Jason shrill-scream was when he found a massive spider in his combat boots.”

“Hey now!” Jason interrupted. “It almost frickin’ bit me! I also wore those boots with a spider in them.” 

Tim snickered and Damian looked judgemental. Dick gave Jason a hug and flopped on the couch, begging for someone to bring in some food. 

…

Later that night, Alfred regaled Tim with a rare story of his life pre-Waynes. Bruce joined his children for dinner and everyone talked amongst each other, enjoying their time together. 

After dinner, Damian and Tim talked about their cats while Jason, Dick and Bruce watched a car showcase television program in the theater room. Alfred listened to the two youngest as he baked bread. 

Tim wasn’t perfectly fine, and he had no shortage of relapses. His family wasn’t always what he needed and sometimes nothing helped, but he was always able to come back to the manor, cat in tow and take a breather.