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Nobody particularly noticed at first, if only because their own forms often tended to be ineffective in most fights, sure, sometimes Dick could make a quick getaway, reach new vantage points, carefully slip into situations undetected but if it came to a fight, his form was a liability. He was small and thus an easy target to anyone with claws or fangs or body mass surpassing his own. Tim proved similar. Slightly bigger form, sure, and a little bit more of a fight to him, but Tim still had some weak aversion to shifting. He’d been with the family a while now, of course, after the legal battle Bruce fought to make the boy his son, but there was still doubt and condition buried in Tim’s brain that equated shifting as being bad.
But Damian?
None of the older brothers fought with their forms and so it took a while to realise that Damian didn’t either.
The issue was, Damian was a Caracal, not necessarily a massive predator, but a predator nonetheless, with strong legs, sharp fangs and claws. His form could easily decimate any of the siblings in a fight. Damian only shifted in the manor though, on rare instances, to lie in the sunbeams in the library or curl up against Dick’s side after a particularly bad night.
It only really came to their attention after a run in with Black Mask, who despite his status as one of Batman's most persistent enemies, the man was a full blooded human, not a trace of shifter DNA in him. That didn’t stop him from pinning Damian down though, the fight turning one sided very quickly, gun held hard and sharp against the boy's skull, a warning for Batman and Red Robin to halt, on where they’d attempted to surge forward and help.
“Ah, ah, ah, no you don’t. If you don’t want another dead little birdie you won’t take another step.” Roman tutted as Damian struggled in his hold.
“Let him go.” Batman ordered, voice sharp and warning. Roman scoffed while Tim assessed the situation critically.
“I don’t think I will. Is your little birdie a shifter or not? He never changes like your other pets.” Roman pondered, gun digging in harder when Damian tried to elbow Roman in the face. “I could make him my pet, I need a new guard dog, they all break so easily and this ones pretty on the eyes.” He leered, the hand not on his gun, but instead holding Damian’s arms behind his back squeezed tighter at the words. Damian hissed.
“Get your hands off me, you cretin!” Damian struggled and Roman didn’t hesitate to bury a warning shot in the floor beside Damian’s head, the boy instantly tensed. Of course he did, a bullet near his sensitive ears? He was frozen, a glazed look to his eyes that had the two bats worry. Damian wasn’t with them anymore, mind drifting somewhere else, perhaps to escape the pain likely ringing in his ears or maybe the sound had triggered something…
Regardless, Tim leapt forward without thinking, shift rippling over him, Raccoon form present, ready to run up and maul the bastard who’d dared try and hurt his little brother. He never got a chance though. As soon as Roman saw the raccoon scuttling toward him, he screamed murder, letting go of a limp Damian to surge backwards. The scream was high and out of character and full of fear. Tim was confused but didn’t stop, scurrying after the man as Batman yelled at him to stop, that the endeavour was foolish, a mere adolescent racoon against a man with a gun?
Tim didn’t halt though, he bared his teeth and Roman let out another scream, turning on his heels to run away, at breakneck speed, noises spilling from his mouth the entire time.
Tim was so confused but triumphant. Who’d have thought, Black Mask, scared of a raccoon?
Of course nobody could figure out why, Roman had never told a soul about the Rabid Raccoon in his childhood.
Damian was recovered quickly, mostly unharmed physically and tucked into Batman's arms, swung home in silence that was wildly uncharacteristic. Damian didn’t like being held and so to be so still was concerning.
Once the three were back to the Cave, not chasing after Roman after his dramatic fleeing, Damian was given a quick once over, confirming there were no physical injuries apart from mild temporary hearing impairment but still the boy sat, quiet and unwilling to communicate.
“Dami?” Dick asked quietly, he’d been brought down as soon as the trio had returned. “Damian?” The boy still refused to give a response though, so the young adult shifted, his recently acquired adult form tucked into Damian’s limp arms, emitting a quiet purr to try and ease Damian, feeling satisfaction twitch onto his face when one of Damian’s hands moved, slowly to rest on Dick’s back, fingers carding through fur.
“Damian?” Tim asked instead, since Dick no longer could, Bruce hovering a little further back, concerned.
“Chum?” He spoke, voice worried, unmasked. Damian blinked and then frowned.
“I’m sorry, I apologise.” Damian finally spoke, the light returning to his eyes, blinking a couple of times before he frowned again, looking down at Dick who was still snuggling against him, wide eyes looking up.
“You have nothing to apologise for, Damian.” Tim replied, confused why his little brother felt the need to say sorry when it had mostly been Tim’s fault the shorter boy got caught by Black Mask.
“I let myself be caught and couldn’t fight my way out.” Damian explained and Tim felt the need to butt in with a question he should have perhaps waited to ask when Damian had fully calmed down from the experience, after all the boy was only nine and sure his upbringing wasn’t normal but he had still just been held at gunpoint.
“Why didn’t you shift? Mask is a standard human, you could have slipped from his hold and bit him.” Tim supplied, Dick still letting out soothing minor purrs, Damian still absentmindedly stroking through the fur.
“But it was a fight?” Damian asked, confusion dusting his features.
“Exactly?” Tim replied, in question.
“What do you mean, Damian?” Bruce asked, the cowl pulled back from his face to reveal his own furrowed brow.
“Using one's form in a fight is both dishonourable and a cowardly move. If one cannot train their own body to excel in a fight they fail to have the right to fall back into the capabilities of their form.” Damian spoke, reciting clearly.
Tim frowned, Dick let out a mumbled screech and Bruce sighed.
“I suppose the League taught you such things?” Bruce asked, Damian nodded.
“Damian…” Tim trailed because his brother thought his form was a weakness? A coward's answer to a brawl? Even when Damian’s form was made for hunting and fighting and everything Tim lacked in his slightly plump adolescent racoon form.
“Your form, Damian, is still you, you and your Caracal are not two separate entities, you’re one whole. If you can gain the upper hand in your shift that is not a coward's choice but a smart choice, a choice that means you can perceive the best course of action in a fight and commit to it. You, above all else, have a form capable of such feats, you have incredible jumping power and weapons in your arsenal some of your siblings lack…”
“But nobody else fights in forms.”
“I may not fight with mine often unless the situation is dire.” Bruce spoke, remembering the cougar incident, “and your siblings often don’t, but Dick and Tim don’t have forms that particularly excel in fighting.” Bruce carefully explained to the young boy. “And Jason…” Bruce trailed because Jason was self explanatory, he only used his for his spray but Bruce couldn't bring himself to speak of the young boy.
“So, if I use my form in a fight.. That's okay?”
“As long as you don’t kill or do more damage than you need to, to escape or incapacitate, then yes, I don’t see any problem at all.” Bruce explained, relaying the same rules Damian had gotten when he’d become Robin.
“Honest?” And Damian sounded young, sounded his age for once, Dick climbed his way up Damian’s chest to snuggle under his chin instead, resting on the child's shoulder, Tim moved forward too, cuddling his younger brother closer. Damian melted into the touch and within seconds instead was a fluffy baby caracal curled up around a surprised sugar glider. Tim grinned and instantly joined the pile, suddenly in his racoon form, eagerly curling up amongst the smaller forms.
Bruce gave a warm smile but didn’t join them.
“Honest. Damian. I swear, we’ll love you the same no matter how you look or how you fight, you’re my son and you’re a part of this family no matter what.” Bruce offered up, earning a proud look from the sugar glider and twin looks of awe from Tim and Damian.
Bruce departed, knowing Damian was safe surrounded by his brothers, instead departing up to the manor, leaving the three siblings curled together in the cave.
Now all he had left on his list of amends was Jason.
Which…surely couldn’t be that hard? Right?