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Tim hated Inventory Weekend!!!
Every few months, usually on a three day weekend, because it took him hours to do the chore, his mom and dad would send him a spreadsheet and forty bucks for pizza. And then Tim would have to go into the scary part of Gotham, where DI owned several warehouses of items and spend hours and hours counting. Not doing anything interesting, just Tim alone with rows of boxed items and shelved artifacts and his printed spreadsheet.
When he was first learning how to do inventory, Tim had felt very self important. This was a task that his parents entrusted him to do! And sure, the warehouse was large and scary and he usually ended up spending his weekend in the office there, curled up under the desk with a sleeping bag since he couldn’t afford to waste time going home to the penthouse in the Diamond District and coming back in the morning. But it had been something that was just for him, and the call that he would get from Mom after submitting the updated sheets had been worth it.
Key word, had.
Now, at age twelve and on year three of doing inventories for his parents, Tim was plain sick of it. The dust would make him sneeze for a week afterwards, and while he may not have any friends to hang out with after school due to the fact that he’d skipped several grades– along with the other students at the weeknight boarding school seeing him like an annoying kid brother. But sometimes he made plans for himself, like taking photos at the arboretum or going to a skatepark. And the people at the skateparks always welcomed Tim with open arms, always happy to see what new tricks he was learning.
He was losing precious free time, alone in the warehouse. It was late Saturday night, and Tim’s head was buzzing from the amount of numbers he’d written down and imputed, tongue dry in his mouth because he’d forgotten his water bottle two rows over, with the Babylonian textiles. His plans had him finishing two more rows and then he’d turn in for the night, spend the rest at the office computer with a window open to Netflix and one open on the spreadsheet. Tim also had splurged on a few microwave meals in case he didn’t want to heat up old pizza, and he had his eye on a pasta dish with ‘3x the amount of meatballs’ according to the packaging.
Tim craned his head back. Most of the top shelves of the warehouse were empty– a must when Bats and rogues occasionally crashed through the roof of buildings. But for some reason he could see that at the very top of this shelf was a handful of boxes, just enough out of sight that he couldn’t find their contents on his sheet and guess the amount. Tim sighed and tucked his clipboard into his backpack, tightening the straps before he was climbing onto the first shelf and walking to where he could more easily scale the side supports.
The top of the shelves was dusty and musty, making his nose itch something terrible. He drew his shirt over his nose, breathing shallowly through his mouth. Tim wobbled carefully across to where the boxes were, shoes leaving clean prints in the dust like it were snow. He popped the taped seal of the boxes with his bus pass (maybe Tim should invest in a box cutter….), pushing aside packing material to pull out a handful of vases.
Tim did not recognize these. Not at all, but sometimes his parents bought stuff that wasn’t on his spreadsheet, like the Mongolian warhorns that turned out to be illegal assets that Tim hadn’t supposed to know about.
But unlike the warhorns, which he was able to identify a geographical time from, he was unsure of when or where these vases would be. The first few looked like they could be Greco-Roman, specifically like the pottery that copied from older civilizations and confused younger archeologists.
The last vase was large, almost the size of Tim’s torso. Sleek black and shaped like a cat, with a lid designed like the cat’s head and only one handle that made up the tail. It was so heavy too, and Tim grunted as he pulled it out of the box, sitting next to it. He pulled out his spreadsheet, checking the reference tag tied to the vase’s handle. The filing number placed it towards the back of his paper packet, despite all of this being in the smack middle of his sheets.
Almost as if someone was trying to hide it…
Tim shook the thought away and flipped to the end of his packet. He cataloged the other vases easily, ticking off each number down the list. No cat vase though. As if it did not exist at all.
The shelving rattled. Tim swayed with it, the cat vase shook… tipped…
He made the mistake of lunging after it when it toppled off the shelf. The fall was entirely too long and quick all at once, Tim landing on his feet and immediately crumpling when pain blasted through his whole body, ankles snapping in sync. The vase shattered loudly, his head hit the ground, digging into glass shards, and Tim?
Tim straight up passed out, splayed out on the ground and hurting, and his last thought was ‘owie, shit, fuck’.
.
.
.
He woke up.
Somehow.
Tim blinked back a pounding headache, managing to push himself into a sitting position. His entire body ached as if he’d ran a fifteen mile sprint, but there was no blinding agony like that one time when he broke his wrist. He squinted up at the dim warehouse lighting, and had the scent of mildew always been that strong? His entire senses seemed to focus on that, and when he dropped his mouth open to try to breathe through it instead of his nose, the smell got worse.
He whined, it sputtered into a mewl and Tim slapped his hands over his mouth.
His hands, that were covered in fur!
Tim screeched and scrambled back, tailbone aching, legs kicking and those were paws! He didn’t have feet anymore! His feet were gone and what had replaced them were delicate looking cat paws, furry ankles that disappeared up into his pants. He risked a glance at his hands again and thank god he at least still had fingers, even though said fingers were now coated in dark brown fur up to his elbows, paired with claws and… and… what could only be described as toe beans padding the tip of each finger. He let out a panicked yowl, ears on the top of his head swiveling wildly as the sound made them ache ache ache.
He never felt at home in his body, usually there was a vague disconnect, often worsened by the awful terrible texture of his school uniform. But now he was TOO aware of his body and he crossed his arms close to his torso, hugging himself as he collapsed onto his side, a cat tail lifting and wrapping around to add to his self hug.
Through teary eyes, his gaze fell on the vase. It had shattered, he’d seen it break when he’d fallen, Tim had heard it break, he’d gotten glass in his hair when he’d passed out. But there it was, perfectly intact and glinting in the poor lighting.
Stupid vase. No wonder it wasn’t in the spreadsheet. His parents probably bought it through less than legal means, because that was the only reason why they’d have something this cursed in the first place! And now Tim was an undetermined percentage of cat and his Mom would definitely be mad he’d done and gotten himself catted. He had to hide this somehow, or fix it, or maybe just disappear into the sewers forever and see if Killer Croc would adopt him.
But the sewer water would ruin his fur. Tim tapped at his elbows with his fingers, the sensation strange with the fur and his toe-beans. Finger-beans? His hands weren’t paws, nor feet. Finger-beans sounded strange in his head. Pads? Finger-pads instead of fingertips. That would have to do.
The inventory would have to wait, Tim would just copy and paste the last spreadsheet. If he was called out on it, then he’d make the excuse that he’d gotten explosive vomiting or something. In a climate controlled warehouse, the last thing any one wanted was vomit mucking up the place.
He forced himself to stand up. Padded over to the vase, which was much smaller now. Normal vase sized. Very rude of it, making itself small enough that Tim could shove it into his backpack. He did so unceremoniously, carrying the backpack in his arms to avoid it knocking against his new tail.
Back in the office, kneeling on the deskchair, Tim put himself to googling. Cursed vases, cat vases, any type of magic that might have been used to get him this way. His browsing didn’t turn up anything useful on the main web, and while Tim had tentatively dipped into the dark web before– mostly to see what the rogue forums were rumbling about so he could avoid it– he was too rattled right now to try accessing it from a DI computer. A few hours later and a new budding migraine from the now too bright light of the screen, Tim resigned himself to his fate as half a cat and made his bed under the desk.
He flicked the lights off, closed his eyes. Tried to get comfortable in his makeshift sleeping bag nest, pillow tucked under his cheek.
Tim eventually opened his eyes, unable to rest. He squinted at the sign above the office door, inscribed with DI’s company motto.
He could read that sign even with the lights off. Tim reached for his phone and opened a new google search.
What traits do cats have?
.
.
.
To his eternal surprise, neither of his parents had argued when Tim had asked to be switched to online schooling. In fact, both had been downright ecstatic when Tim had mumbled his request during a phone call on Monday night, his phone held up near the top of his head because his ears had moved places and he couldn’t take calls normally anymore. In the ensuing weeks, Tim had not left the house at all during the day, unwilling to risk someone seeing him during daylight hours and calling the cops or worse.
Even leaving at night was risky. Tim took to hiding in his room when the housestaff came by to clean the penthouse, refusing to let them clean his space. He knew how to use a vacuum, and windex. Tim could clean his own room now, he was old enough, he wouldn’t snitch.
If they’d cared about that, none of them said anything. Probably too relieved they wouldn’t have to clean a preteen boy’s room. Tim’s seen the horror stories on Youtube, he knew his age group was a nightmare.
It’d been two months. In one more the school year would be over and his parents would be flying in for the start of summer business, where a few galas and jamborees were scheduled. Tim had not made any progress in the past two months, even with putting the vase on reddit and the dark web black magic forums. No one had any answers for him, and the only messages he’d gotten were from weirdos wanting to meet up with him.
Tim was not nearly that stupid, thankfully. He knew his condition would probably interest someone out there, and he did not want to be one of the kids who just disappeared because of a ‘friendly’ person inviting them to hang out because they were soooo special.
While he could only go out at night now, at least it was easier than it had been when he was normal. Tim could jump so high and far now, clearing rooftop gaps that he would have never attempted the few times he’d snuck out to take photos of Batman and Robin. And with his night vision, he no longer needed a flashlight or to stick to paths that still had working streetlights. It was so freeing after being cooped up at home, his world shrunk to just the walls of the penthouse.
He’d even seen Robin once or twice, and the other vigilante– Batgirl, who Tim had never seen because she was so fast and illusive. Robin was easy to spot, but Batgirl wore dark colors that blended with the buildings, the bat on her chest often mistaken for a flash or trick of the light.
Small blessings, Tim was trying to be positive about his new life, and attempting to not focus on the fact that every day that he remained half-cat was another day closer to his family finding out and getting mad that he’d ended up like this.
Tim wasn’t going out tonight. He had too much homework, having put it off in favor of going out the past few days. The weather had been nice, he couldn’t be blamed! Running across the rooftops was fun, freeing. Homework was dull, distracting and hardly important if Tim would never be able to join the general public again.
At least he had his vase for company. Tim had tried to break it several times since bringing it home, even threw it off the balcony, but nothing worked. Damn thing refused to shatter like how it had the first time. Tim couldn’t even get the lid off anymore, the vase more of a glorified hollow decoration now. It did look nice on his desk, so if Tim’s life fully fell apart at the seams in the next month, then he could look to the vase as his only bright spot in a gloomy Gotham night.
He was halfway through an essay on the bubonic plague when he heard a creak from the balcony doors. Tim was all the way across the house, with his bedroom door shut too, but with his new ears, sounds affected him more, and he was able to pick up even the smallest of noises from anywhere in the penthouse. It made it nice when he could listen for the grocery delivery at the front door, and much less cool when hearing a potential break in.
Tim closed his laptop as quietly as he could. Carefully unfolded himself from the shrimp position he’d been typing in, silently leaping off the chair and slinking to his door. He had to grip the handle using only the pads of his fingers to avoid his fur slipping on the smooth metal and once he’d pushed the door open, Tim was able to quietly walk out to the living area, keeping close to the shadows and low where someone wouldn’t think to look immediately.
Someone was standing in the living room. Hands on their hips. Body hugged by a sleek catsuit, a whip rolled up on one hip, a grapple gun on the other. Tim gasped when he realized who it was, and she turned around at the noise, locking in on him.
For a long moment, they both just stared. Catwoman looked as surprised as Tim, her gaze bouncing between his ears, the tail, Tim’s delicate paws as he stepped into the living room and politely folded his hands in front to show that he had no weapons.
“A kitten…and here I was thinking my score was currently vacated..” Catwoman said finally. “Why are you home alone?”
Tim flicked his tail in response. She pursed her lips, tapped at them with one of her gloved fingers.
“I see. You got a name, little one?”
“It’s Tim,” Tim said. “And I’m not little. I’m twelve.”
“Ah, of course, my mistake.” Catwoman said magnanimously. She gestured to the couch and so Tim went and sat down, her coming to join him.
She reached out for his hand, so Tim carefully laid it down. Catwoman stroked over the fur on the back of his hand, pressed down on each finger pad, watching the way that Tim’s claws flexed at the pressure.
“I saw quite a nice cat vase online.” She said, “The IP address led me back to here, on my list of wealthy homes that don’t seem to have visitors often. Are you here all the time Tim?”
“Only more recently.” Tim mumbled. “I was normally at boarding school. But I can’t go to regular school looking like half a cat.”
“Ah.”
“I don’t usually look like this.” He quickly said. “But I did something dumb and now I can’t change back and I can’t go out and my parents are—” he snapped his mouth shut.
Catwoman tugged gently on one of his ears. She scratched the base and Tim rumbled out a purr instinctively, forcing it to stop the second he realized.
“Doesn’t look too bad to me. And they know?”
“No..”
“Hmmmm. When will they be back?”
“June.”
Catwoman’s hand scratching his ear stilled. She let out a soft sigh, the pitying kind that Tim recognized from teachers who saw him alone during parent-teacher meetings or catering staff at galas when he was younger and the only child left in the kids’ room when it got late and other parents went home.
“I’m fine.” Tim reassured her. “I got online school and a grocery delivery and sometimes I go out anyway and look for Robin.”
“You like Robin?”
Tim nodded vigorously, his tail wiggling happily. “He’s the best. The new one is pretty cool too I guess, but I wish that the real Robin was still in Gotham. I didn’t really get to see him in person ‘cause I was small. Now though I can follow new Robin and sometimes Batman so much easier.”
Catwoman let out a happy laugh at his ramble. “Robin is pretty cool. Do you want to meet him?”
“No!” Tim shouted. He leapt up, all of his fur standing on end. “No. No! He and Batman are so busy! I don’t want to meet them!”
“Another time perhaps.” She said breezily. Catwoman stood up and stretched her arms gracefully, walking towards the balcony doors. “I’ll take this home off my list little Kitten. And warn away others. We don’t like stealing from children,” she dropped her voice low like they were sharing a secret. “Don’t want to get on the Bat’s radar, now do we?”
Tim shook his head. Catwoman slipped out onto the balcony and he followed her, watching in awe at how easily she leapt up onto the railing. Catwoman had no known enhancements, all of her grace was her own, Tim couldn’t help but want to ask if she’d take him with her, teach him to move like a minnow in water.
He kept his mouth shut though, and waved shyly when she turned and fell backwards off the railing. There was the hiss of a grapple gun and Tim watched, watched, watched as Catwoman swung away until his eyes could no longer follow.
.
.
.
Tim got too cocky in the end. He’d snuck out around eleven pm– just a few short days after Catwoman had almost robbed him– and now, several hours later, he was running from several henchmen for hire, a canister of Fear Gas held close to his chest as he leapt and scrambled, weaving between alleyways and streets.
If he–
He just had to get to a roof! No person could follow his jumping there, but his hands were full with the Fear Gas and Tim was still too slow to outrun a fully grown man on foot. He was barely fast enough to stay ahead, so there was just no time to pull down a fire escape ladder and scramble up.
Tim had started his night following Robin. But then that had evolved into him splitting off on his own, distracted by a suspicious truck that parked outside an abandoned gas station. Upon sneaking in, he’d stumbled upon the whole operation, a new strain of Fear that even Batman didn’t have an antidote to.
And so what had Tim done?
He’d quite stupidly stolen some, accidentally set off an alarm and was now being chased through Old Gotham, yowling up a storm as gunfire crackled around him.
Tim leapt over a newspaper box, using his momentum to jump on a parked car, setting off the alarm. The noise disoriented him but also his chasers, giving him time to duck into another alley. This one was deadended, shit, but there was an overfilled dumpster at the end, and a glorious escape path up via fire escape. He poured on the speed, jumping, one of his paws slipping on trash as he pushed off again, using one hand to steady himself as he swung a leg over the railing.
He risked a quick glance back. They had just entered the mouth of the alley, one pausing and aiming their handgun up as the other kept charging. Tim yelped and started to sprint up the stairs, lungs heaving with exertion.
All three shots missed. The henchman swore, something about needing to reload and Tim let himself smile as he made it to the roof. Sweet freedom was only a few strides away, and then he’d be home free to run the Fear Gas home. Any other planning could come after that, Catwoman hadn’t given him any way to contact her but if she’d found him through Reddit the first time, then Tim wager he could make another post.
Too cocky, too careless. He assumed too soon that he was good to go, and that he was scott free after robbing one of the Scarecrow’s stashes and evading the goons. But Tim hadn’t been expecting it to start raining and he’d never been out with such low visibility, never run across the rooftops when they were slick from the water.
He slipped. Badly enough that he clipped his shoulder when he fell, bashed against a fire escape, his head unable to be protected as he curled around the Fear Gas canister in his arms. It wasn’t a fatal fall, but Tim landed in an empty dumpster, the metal clanging and echoing. His ears flattened against his head and he squeezed his eyes shut, sniffling as the rain kept pouring.
Tim would’ve laid like that forever, his body on fire. At least months ago when he’d fallen in the warehouse, he hadn’t been awake for most of the pain. Here and now though, the pain was just too much to stay awake to, but not enough to make him pass out. He was still in an unsafe place, and there was no way that he’d be able to go unnoticed with the amount of noise his crash made.
A shadow loomed from above.
Someone landed in the dumpster with him. The Fear Gas was pulled from his arms, and Tim scratched weakly at the hazy person, his claws bouncing off their armor. Murmured voices conversed around him, and hands started to help him sit up, Tim mewling pathetically as his body was jostled.
He was lifted up, transferred from one person to another. A gloved hand stroked down the bridge of his nose, a penlight flashed into his squinted eyes.
“Probably concussed….. you recognize him..Selina said that–” a low droning reply followed the words, and the person stroking his nose did not stop. It was nice, soothing, but Tim couldn’t pass out still, even as he was carried out of the alley and put into a car, a warm blanket tucked around his body before he was buckled in.
“No,” Tim pried his eyes open a bit further, slamming them closed when the light assaulted his senses. One of the someone’s sat with him, he heard the click of their seatbelt before one of his ears was getting scratched.
“It’s okay,” they murmured. “We saved you. Batman and Robin’s got you now.”
“Batman?” Tim rasped. “And??”
“Yeah.” Robin said. “I got you Tim, you can keep your eyes closed.”
Permission granted, Tim did just that. Tried to keep his cries at a low volume to not worsen his headache, even when the bumps from the drive made it ache something awful. Robin kept talking in that low, sweet murmur the entire time, and when Tim worked one of his hands free to try to scratch at the sticky blood in his hair, Robin stopped him by grabbing the hand.
He didn’t even sound scared by how awful Tim’s hands were compared to human ones. Just cooed kindly, dove-like and kept tapping a pattern out over Tim’s knuckles. Robin kept by Tim’s side when the car stopped, walked with him when the door opened and Tim was lifted into Batman’s arms. Their steps all echoed– Tim wondered vaguely if they were in a cavern, how ironic would that be? But perhaps not very sanitary, as he was laid down on a cot, Robin slipping his hand back into Tim’s.
His other hand was grabbed carefully by Batman presumably. The vigilante turned it over, exposing Tim’s elbow ditch. There was a prick of pain and then relief, the agony in his body getting chased away by a fuzzy-warm-exhausted wave.
“You can go to sleep,” Robin said. “I’ll wake you up when you need to be.”
Tim squeezed Robin’s hand. “I… I’m scared.”
“I’ll be here.”
“Okay.” Tim slurred out. “A Robin-promise.”
He wasn’t sure how long he slept, but when he was shaken awake, the pain was practically gone. Tim blinked away dots, the lights around him dimmed to something much more manageable, stalactites above him glinting with moisture.
And Robin was still holding his hand, smiling at Tim. The teenager had no mask on and Tim gaped at him.
“Woah.” His ears swiveled, taking in the humming around him. “You have a face…”
Robin laughed. “You do too, doofus.”
“But, I,” Tim tugged his hand out of Robin’s, pushing himself to sit up. The other boy fluffed up Tim’s pillows, adjusting them to support his back and then patting the blankets once he had, tucking Tim into the sheets. “I’m not supposed to know your face…”
“You did already, didn’t ya,” Robin said. “Cmon Tim-kit, Selina already turned your room upside down packing everything. We know you know about Dickiebird.”
Tim ducked his chin down, bumping his chest. His ears flattened and under the sheets, his tail was swishing, threatening to worm its way up. “I didn’t want to say anything…”
“It’s okay.” Jason said. He turned around to grab something off of a medical tray, facing back to Tim and holding up a Jello cup. “Do you like strawberry? We got vanilla pudding or tuna too. But B says you need to eat some before we take out your pain IV for a bit so you can shower and get out of the Cave.”
Out of the Cave? His confusion must have showed, because Jason peeled off the Jello top, spooning some out and offering it out. When Tim shook his head, the other boy shrugged and took a bite.
“You know how Catwoman broke into your house?”
“..Yes.”
“Well she came to B that very night, and I was like, ew, please don’t have a date, me and B had plans to watch some hockey, but then we ended up going to the Cave anyway to look up child abandonment laws for Gotham. Surprisingly tight by the way,” Jason polished off another bite. “Anyway after forty days if a child has not been in custody of a birth parent or approved guardian, then the State can take you into their custody.”
Tim nodded, still lost. Jason ate the rest of the Jello in one big bite, blindly grabbing a second cup from the tray and giving this one to Tim once he’d opened it and gotten another spoon.
“So it’s been way over forty days for you Tim-kit. And B did find you alone and nearly dead in an alley, so he’s been calling social services and Gordon and also a few lawyers, cause in the morning they’re all gonna come over and let you foster here.”
All of this sounded nice. Tim wished his parents were home more often, and Batman– sorry, Bruce Wayne– was always in Gotham. Batman didn’t leave the city for months on end on work-vacations. Bruce Wayne had so many tabloid articles of him attending Dick’s childhood gymnastics competitions, little league games where Jason played softball.
But Tim was partly a cat now. And his parents never stayed for him in the first place, so why would he deserve a home like this one? He could manage on his own.
“I look …” Tim squeezed his Jello cup. Stared down at the red gelatin. “I can’t go to regular school. I’m cursed.”
“I think you’d be the most popular person in your grade. Everyone loves cats.” Jason said. “And really, it's good news you look like a kitten, it’s impossible to say no to a sad stare like yours! Plus I think it’s kinda illegal to turn your kid into a hybrid, so you’re definitely not going back to that empty penthouse.”
“What if I don’t want to be here?”
“We can find you a different family. That’s what social workers do. I promise B won’t hold it against you.” Jason leaned closer. “He’s kinda big and growly, ain’t he?”
“A little bit.” Tim admitted. He finally steeled himself to take a bite of Jello, purring at the sweet taste. “What if I don’t fit in with you?”
“You stole from the freaking Scarecrow.” Jason countered. “And I saw footage that Batgirl sent from your jaunt across Gotham before you slipped, you have some serious moves Tim! You’ll be like, a missing puzzle piece, we’re all crazy. I think B wants to bundle you in bubble wrap so no one ever gets a chance to hurt you again. Me too.”
No one’s ever said something like that to him. Tim blinked rapidly in an attempt to not cry, to no avail since the tears slipped out anyway. Jason crooned at him and climbed onto the hospital bed when Tim’s crying turned into wracking sobs, letting Tim lean forward into his shoulder as steady arms wrapped around him.
“I wanna stay,” Tim blubbered. “But I’m scared, I don’t know if I’m brave enough to try to stay.”
“I’ll be brave for both of us.” Jason vowed. “Robin-promise.”
Tim clung tightly to the back of Robin’s cape, his claws digging holes. “Okay. Okay. I want to stay. I’ll try.”
Robin rubbed his back, rocked them side to side. “That’s all we need from you, you wanting to stay. Me and B? We’ll take care of the rest.”
And Tim believed it.