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Bruce saved his report, glanced at the clock, and reluctantly admitted that he just needed to go to bed. He wanted answers. He wanted his son to be a safe, human shape again. But tinkering with paperwork and waiting for unlikely miracles wasn't going to get him any closer to that result. And he did technically think better when he'd slept.
He'd just started standing when his phone rang.
Only a few contacts could reach him when he was downstairs. This would be worth the delay.
Hopefully.
"Clark," Bruce said.
"Well, this is a list," Clark said.
"Yes," Bruce agreed. "And a report."
"And a report. You, uh, wanna tell me why we're just hearing about this now?"
"I sent it to you as quickly as I could," Bruce tried not to sound defensive, but it wasn't easy. This was one of Bruce's children. Clark had to know Bruce wouldn't have put anything off.
"I'm sure you typed as fast as you could," Clark consoled. "But. It says it's been over three weeks."
"Yes."
"And you only just called Zatana now?"
"I didn't know until yesterday," Bruce gritted out, trying not to be angry that Clark had made him say it.
There was a woosh in the phone, like a heavy breath. "Damn. Really?"
"Yes."
It was several seconds before Clark answered, which was concerning. Clark could think as fast as he could move, and the fact that it took any amount of time for him to reply meant his thought process was either that dramatic, or he was pausing on purpose.
"Wow," Clark whispered. "How did that happen?"
"He didn't tell us," Bruce admitted, unable to say more and hoping that Clark would understand.
"Hmmm. I reckon that's not a great thing."
He was scolding Bruce. Like Bruce needed scolding.
But then, Clark had been warning Bruce for a while that the status quo in his house was…not ideal. Bruce had snapped, more than once, that not everyone got apple pie perfect families, adopted or otherwise. Clark had always answered that love took work, and if there was anything Ma and Pa had been good at, it was putting the work in to something.
It showed. As irritated as Bruce was, Clark's call was still a comfort.
"Selina figured it out," Bruce admitted, and had to hear Clark whistle. "She was lucky," he added.
"Aw, it's your little grumpy voice," Clark teased. "I thought Batman didn't need luck."
This time he had.
"Tim was still trying to work his cases while trapped in a cat body. Selina caught him on scene in a place where he shouldn't have been."
"I wonder where he gets it."
"I would never—“
"You would. You absolutely would."
"I'd at least have told someone," Bruce muttered.
There was another pause, this one definitely deliberate before Clark asked, "Would you?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Because I am talking to the same person who's withheld information on multiple severe injuries, and even occasionally a life threatening one. Who took years to tell people his actual name when he'd taken barely a week to learn everyone else's."
"That's not the same," Bruce protested.
"Not exactly the same. But still. I wonder where he gets it."
"Dick," Bruce said, ruthlessly sacrificing his other son.
Clark snorted. "And where did Dick get it?"
"Oh, he came with it," Bruce said, thinking of those early months. Of all the things Bruce had missed because Dick hadn't wanted to be a bother, or hadn't wanted to make anyone sad. He was a performer. When the crowd came in, you performed.
Maybe Bruce shouldn't be so surprised his other children emulated the worst traits of the original Batman and Robin.
"So how did you not notice?" Clark asked, genuinely curious. "I mean, I know you keep tabs on all of them."
"I've reduced visual surveillance on Dick and Tim at their request." Jason hadn't requested, but he'd destroyed all of Bruce's equipment, and then done the run around and gone straight to Alfred. Which was just completely unfair. "And Tim was responding to emails and texts."
"As a cat?" Clark asked, his voice pitching just a little higher.
"Yes. I told you, he continued his work."
"Yeah, but that's not that same as texting. Was he sending memes? Using emojis? How did he type?"
"I don't know," Bruce confessed. He had a few theories. All of their messaging applications were also connected to their computers. And Tim typed slowly in feline shape, but deliberately and well enough.
"Huh. Doesn't look like anyone else noticed either. I don't have any messages from Dick. And the only other updates that I have from your family is that Damian got a new…”
Bruce closed his eyes, praying Clark wouldn't laugh. Condemnation Bruce could handle. Laughter?
"Bruce?"
"Yes."
"Did Damian get a new cat a few weeks ago?"
"Yes."
"Named Precious?"
"He did name it that."
"Bruce." Oh no. "Bruce, is Tim Precious?"
Not answering was an answer. There was no point in Bruce's silence. But it still took several seconds before he ground out, "Yes."
"Damian adopted Tim? And named him Precious? And you didn't know?"
"Yes," Bruce muttered.
And there was the laughter. Not as long or loud as Bruce had feared, but definitely still there. Even though there was no point since they were on the phone, Bruce hid his face in his hand.
The benefit of a mind that ran on super speed was that it processed jokes more quickly. The downside to it was Bruce didn't realize Clark had added Diana to the call until she asked, "Why is Clark laughing?"
"Traitor," Bruce growled.
"Did you see the list?" Clark asked.
"I've been reviewing it, yes. And wondering if Tim has offended some minor deity."
"Bruce didn't know," Clark said.
"That Tim was a cat?"
"And that Damian adopted him," Clark added with malicious glee.
Diana giggled. "Really?"
"He named him Precious."
"Oh, that's wonderful," Diana didn't tend towards boisterous laughter on the phone. But her amusement was clear none the less.
"If neither of you have any ideas for how to reverse this," Bruce said, "I'm going to bed."
"But you have not told me how Damian convinced you that he should be allowed to keep Precious," Diana said. "I distinctly remember you taking an oath that he would have no more pets until he lost one of his current ones."
"Oooo, an oath, Bruce."
"Shut up."
"A solemn oath," Diana added.
"Oh, a solemn oath."
"I'm hanging up."
"Tell Tim to engage in combat," Diana said. "Facing your challenges head on can do what no amount of thinking and planning can accomplish."
"He's a cat," Bruce protested.
"But still a warrior," Diana said. "His spirit yearns for victory."
"You could also just fill the house with coffee scented candles," Clark suggested.
"I'm going to bed," Bruce announced. "You're both useless."
He did hang up then, ignoring the texts that immediately followed. They would get around to actually helpful suggestions eventually. But Bruce needed sleep. He had a son to take care of.