Damian woke to the sound of knocking on his door and started to get up. Bad move. He groaned and fell back. His whole body hurt. Bob had beat him good. “What?” he barked, trying to process who it could possibly be.

“It’s noon, I figured I should wake you up.”

Damian blinked. Oh, right. Mr. Taylor had found him yesterday and now he was at the man’s house. Letting that happen hadn’t been the best idea, but what choice had he had? He had hurt yesterday and didn’t want to move quite yet when the man had wandered into the alleyway and almost called 9-1-1. He couldn’t go to the hospital. He would have to go back to living with his dad if he did that and he hated the man.

Damian swung his legs over the side of the bed and got up quickly. He crumpled instantly, biting back a yelp as he hit the floor. Dammit, his ankle was hurt. He had forgotten with everything else hurting too.

The door opened and Mr. Taylor peered in, looking concerned. Damian just stared at him from his position on the floor and when he walked in and offered him hand, Damian took it and hefted himself up.

Mr. Taylor just let go of his hand, no lingering touches or the instant drop like touching him would infect him with whatever he thought Damian had. Mr. Taylor had actually been nice this whole time. And he hadn’t made one move on him either. It made Damian wonder when the other shoe would drop.

He quickly cleared his head. Maybe Mr. Taylor was really a nice guy and would prove all of Damian’s defenses unneeded. Damian figured it was more likely he was feeling white high class guilt for “the poor abused teenager” that would quickly run out when Damian proved generally uncooperative and ungrateful.

He followed the man silently, limping, and curled into a proffered chair, looking around curiously. Mr. Taylor had led him to what was presumably his kitchen. It had a well used look and looked a lot more high-tech that Damian’s own counter, fridge, never used stove, and oft-used microwave.

“Do you like waffles?”

Damian almost laughed at the question, although he had no idea why. “I need to go home,” he said flatly.

Mr. Taylor looked up sharply. “Why?”

Damian just glared.

Mr. Taylor glared back. “You haven’t answered all my questions yet, so, no,” he said, returning to digging through the cupboards.

“I’ve got cats,” Damian finally said quietly.

“You’ve got what?” Mr. Taylor said, turning.

“Cats. Well, kittens really.”

The older man looked startled. “You can’t even take care of yourself, yet you have cats?”

Damian bristled and glared. He so could take care of himself! Okay, so maybe he wouldn’t be living in a decent apartment, or really anywhere at all, but he could survive on his own. He had done so for two years after all and he had been younger at the time.

Mr. Taylor sighed. “Fine. We’ll go and feed your kitties. You need to eat first. You realize you’re underweight?”

Red just shrugged. Mr. Taylor rolled his eyes and turned back to making waffles. The silence settled in. A few minutes passed before Mr. Taylor broke it. “Do you like dogs?”

Damian shrugged and nodded.

-

Simon looked at him for a moment before shrugging mentally and going to get Lord and Lady. He opened the door and both charged through with joyous barks. They stayed swarming around Simon until he reached the kitchen and they caught sight of Red. Then, they switched their attention on them. Lady approached him slowly. Lord was less hesitant and jumped up, setting his front paws on Red’s lap.

Red yelped and tried to jump back. The result was him tumbling off the chair. Simon chuckled until he saw that Red was still trying to get away from Lady who had joined Lord in licking him. He looked seriously scared. Simon quickly shot forward and pulled Lord off Red. He then swept Red up and set him on the counter, where the dogs knew better than to jump. “I thought you said you liked dogs!”

Red looked up at him, green eyes huge. “I’m okay with normal sized dogs! Those things are monsters!”

Simon stared for a moment before smiling. Red was surprisingly cute when scared. His eyes were large as he stared down at the dogs and his hair was in complete disarray. Gently, Simon took Red’s hand and pulled it down so Lord and Lady could sniff for a moment before drawing Red’s hand to scratch behind their ears.

Red let his hand be pulled along reluctantly. The dogs snuffed at it and then began to rub their heads against Red, encouraging petting. The boy tentatively began petting them. Slowly, his stokes became more firm and Simon felt confident enough to pull back.

“So, kittens,” he said, handing him a plate. Simon scowled at the two dogs but tossed them both a waffle. They backed off begging.

Red nodded, picking at his waffles. He took a tiny bite. “Mudpie and Bonaparte.”

Simon blinked. “Come again.”

Red repeated the names.

“Why did you name a cat after Napoleon?”

Red tilted his head to the side. “He’s bossy.”

Simon couldn’t help but grin. “And Mudpie?”

“She reminds me of the mudpie dessert I got all the time when I was kid.”

Simon smiled. “Okay, just finish your breakfast,” he repeated.

Red ate a few more bites before setting it down. Simon hesitated for a moment before letting him. He grabbed his car keys and was about to walk out when he realized Red was fidgeting and not moving. “What?”

Red waved a hand at his clothes.

Simon flushed slightly. “Oh. Here, I’ll get you clothes.”

Red followed him up the stairs, hovering in his bedroom doorway and looking around with interest. Simon ignored the intrusion as best he could and tossed him an old pair of jeans and a t-shirt that he had managed to shrink substantially in the wash.

Red took one long last look around and disappeared to change.