Chapter Text
BRUCE'S POV
Bruce loved that Tim was finally comfortable enough to shift freely. It had sunk Bruce’s heart down to a watery grave when he realized to what extent Tim was going to make them happy.
It felt like he had accidentally reduced his own son to nothing more than a pet doing tricks for them and Bruce immediately had a discussion with the others about Tim and his powers. The discussion was good, exposed some things Bruce still hadn’t known about and they all walked out feeling better and more confident.
Bruce figured his son would transform less often, and he had.
Except he kept finding his son in weird places.
For example, the raccoon that’s fast asleep on top of the refrigerator.
Bruce tip-toed into the kitchen, trying to keep his footsteps quiet on the squeaky linoleum. Alfred still refused to let him replace the spotted flooring after all these years for old times sake. The memories of Bruce’s childhood highly consisted of sitting at the table, above this very flooring and watching Alfred cook.
Squuuueeeak.
Bruce winced when the old sound rang out in the room.
The raccoon that Bruce very much hoped was actually his son stirred and his eyes blinked open.
Tim blinked at him and chirped and pawed at the air, gesturing for Bruce to come over.
“Sorry I woke you.” Bruce apologized as he slowly opened the fridge in hopes of finding some of the lasagna Alfred made last night.
Little hands yanked on Bruce’s hair gently and Bruce smiled at the childish gesture. They had discovered that Tim often gave into his inner child more often in a shift and it was adorable. Bruce always tried to encourage the behavior. Tim didn’t have a healthy childhood.
Tim chirped and whistled at Bruce before gracelessly tumbling onto his shoulder. Bruce automatically helped the awkward weight on his shoulder stay there.
A little claw grasped his ear and the other wove itself into the fabric of Bruce’s sweater, inadvertently tangling into the fabric.
Bruce chuckled under his breath as he pulled out his prize, the lasagna dish. Tim happily chirped his agreement and whistled as Bruce pulled out his fork. There was enough for one or two servings and both of them were eager for the prize.
Bruce sat them both at the kitchen table, whispering for Tim not to tell Alfred of their infringement on the rules. He didn’t have the heart to tell Tim to shift back, he wanted his son happy.
Even if they should find a better hiding place.
JASON'S POV
Jason turned around the corner of the kitchen doorway, halfway considering looking at the lasagna he knew was still in the fridge.
And froze in place.
Bruce was giving him the deer-in-the-headlight look and for good reason.
Tim was sitting on the kitchen table, happily digging his raccoon paws into the tray of lasagna Jason came in here for.
The stinkface was an absolute mess, spaghetti sauce coated his whiskers and paws, and Jason was certain there was a whole tomato hanging out on the kid’s forehead.
Why in the world did Bruce let him stain Alfred’s lace tablecloth? There were pawprints all over the cloth and Bruce was silently grimacing at the marks.
Jason snuck a quick photo the second Tim noticed him. The raccoon stood on his hindlegs in a welcoming gesture and waved his paws in the air. The replacement would be so embarrassed when Jason blackmailed him.
“Hey Meeko! Whatcha up to?” Jason asked, now unashamedly recording the kid’s enthusiastic response along with Bruce’s embarrassed glances.
The kid chittered and clicked at him, obviously excited to see Jason and then bent over to dig through the pan until he found his prize in the mess.
Then, the little paws waved a lasagna noodle in Jason’s general direction and he chirped enthusiastically at his offering.
“Oh? Offering me a piece, eh?” Jason asked, a bullshitting grin no doubt plastered on his face.
“Jason, don’t encourage him.” Bruce groaned, side-eyeing the horrid pawprints already popping up on the tablecloth.
Alfred is going to whack Bruce with a glove for this. Jason thought gleefully as Tim scrambled up to him, leaving a trail of red pawprints behind him.
The kid grabbed the fabric of his outfit and scrambled up Jason’s body, finally resting at his shoulder. His claws dug into the t-shirt and Jason refused to wince at the discomfort. There was no need to make Timbo nervous.
Tim chittered as the stupid piece of pasta was once again offered to Jason. The floppy piece hovered in Jason’s face and a small smile appeared on his face at the offer.
“Naw, kiddo. You keep it.” Jason encouraged, internally wincing at the thought of anyone eating the pasta at this point. It had been fished out, brought on a journey across a table, and held on as a furry raccoon scampered up Jason’s leg.
The kid considered the offer as Bruce tried, and failed to clean the tablecloth older than him with a paper napkin.
Jason snorted as Tim gobbled down the piece, furry lips smacking in joy as he squeaked at Bruce from Jason’s shoulder. The poor man, who Jason could not have any pity for, was desperately trying to clean the table.
Jason chortled when he pulled out the cleaner solution. The cloth would need bleach to get anywhere near white again.
“Good heavens! What happened to your Mother’s tablecloth Master Bruce?” Alfred gasped from the other doorway.
Jason held in a laugh when Bruce turned the same shade of white the tablecloth used to be.
Time for him to disappear.
Jason scooped Tim up in his arms, red sauce and all and darted out the door. He knew exactly what to do with messy little creatures.
He set Tim down on the patio and the raccoon contentedly laid down, panting in the heat of late September. Jason turned on the hose and with no small amount of glee, chased the little bugger around the lawn.