#Bruce thinks he’s hallucinating before he remembers he’s a cat and this day literally cannot get any more bizarre than this

[ghost-bxrd]

The cat is fucking weird, is the first thing Jason thinks when he dumps the yowling ball of fur on the ratty couch. It’s weird, and it stinks like somebody dumped it in a heap of trash.

And honestly, that last part is probably what ended up compelling him to take the antagonistic little shit with him. Jason wouldn’t call himself some kind of animal whisperer, no. That stuff’s reserved for Disney Princesses, please and thank you. But something about the skittish black cat he’d spotted scarfing down the pitiful remains of an abandoned burger, smack dab on the filthy ground behind some diner in Crime Alley, had resonated with him.

It’s a new low, Jason can admit. Identifying himself with a stray cat. But whatever, ‘s not like the cat’s about to tell anybody about it. This can be Jason’s good deed for the decade or something. He’ll just treat the cat to some quality tuna, make sure it stops limping (he definitely saw it favoring its left front paw before it spotted Jason) and hope the thing doesn’t try to smother him in his sleep like he’d read in some obscure Reddit article.

The cat hisses at him, blue eyes glinting in the warm light of the singular light bulb hanging precariously from the ceiling. Jason considered getting chandelier when he moved in, but then thought better of it when he remembered that this isn’t supposed to be a home. Just a safehouse. And chandeliers look stupid anyway if you don’t have the manor to go with it.

“Crime alley born and bred, huh?”

The cat growls.

Jason snorts, unholstering his weapons to line them up neatly on the kitchen counter, “Yeah, makes two of us, buddy.”

He reaches into one of the cupboards, rummaging around until he feels the curved edge of what he hopes is something cat approved. He thinks he remembers Selina remarking on cats being strict carnivores, usually. But honestly if this one survived in Gotham until now it could probably consume Joker venom and still be fine, so whatever.

The can he pulls from the cupboard turns out to be sardines, not tuna like he’d hoped. But it’s fish and it’s definitely not expired, so it’s leagues better than whatever the cat had to survive off of until now. Probably. Who knows, with that size the thing might have eaten a couple dogs.

“Sorry,” he tells the cat, studiously ignoring the angry hiss and raised hair making the feline appear thrice its size as he puts the opened can on the floor, “‘S all I got for now. Nothin’ special, but I ain’t exactly planned on a guest tonight.” He huffs, “Or any night, really.”

The cat doesn’t move from its defensive position, its eyes wide and moonlike in the way they’re fixated on Jason, eerily intelligent.

He shrugs and turns to fill all shallow cup with water and puts that down too. Food and water, he can manage that much. It would be fucking embarrassing to try and nurse a stray back to health only to have it die because Jason forgot to water it. He does not need a repeat performance of the potted plant incident.

Now he’s just gotta figure out what to do about the kitty toilet.

“You’re already a pain in my ass,” he tells the cat conversationally, reaching up to press at the latches of his helmet, “I should call you Batman.”

The cat seems to narrow its eyes at him, whiskers twitching.

“Yeah, he always does that stupid thing where he looks like someone stuck a stick up his ass too. And, fuck me, you also got the color scheme down. It’s just meant to be.”

Jason pulls the helmet off with a sigh, taking a deep lungful of unfiltered air for the first time in several hours and runs a hand through his sweaty bangs.

He loves his helmet, he really does. It’s one of his favorite inventions hands down, but the breathability still needs some work before he sets his major plans in motion. He refuses to reveal himself to Bruce looking like a chewed up hedgehog.

The domino comes off next and is promptly discarded on the counter along with the helmet before Jason shrugs out of his well worn leather jacket and hangs it over the backrest of the barstool.

Fuck that feels good. Nothing like coming home after a hard day of work.

Jason turns back to the cat with a small grin, “Alright, Batman. Be a good kitty and don’t piss all over the furniture while I take a shower okay?”

The cat just stares at him, stock still. It’s a bit unnerving.

“I really hope that’s you agreeing with me here, buddy. Gutter trash gotta stick together. And I’ll even throw in a good tuna brand for you tomorrow. Or milk. Or whatever counts as a treat to a cat.”

The cat just stares.

Newly crowned Crime Lord Red Hood stops in an alley. There’s a black cat there, lots of fur where he looks bigger than a normal cat. It’s eating a burger on the ground. It reminds Jason a little bit of himself. All alone, fending for itself.

Jason takes it back to his primary safe house with him. And it’s a cat, so he takes off the helmet and the domino around the fluffy animal. He chuckles to himself when he named the cat Batman.

And for two weeks, he had no idea that the cat was, in fact, Batman.