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It had been about ten years since Tim had first begged his parents for a pet. Over the years, countless hours of work had been put into well-worded emails and meticulously crafted slideshows that his parents barely glanced at. Even more time had been spent just going into the streets of Gotham and photographing stray dogs and alley cats–and on one interesting occasion, a live monkey.
But every single time, he was brushed away with a ‘no’ or a ‘it’ll ruin the carpets’ or ‘well we certainly aren’t going to take care of it.’ No, his parents had made it abundantly clear: Tim was not getting any sort of pet when he was living under their roof.
Well, he wasn’t living under their roof anymore!
Tim laughed aloud, probably making him seem more than a little insane to everybody else on the bus. He was finally out of his house (after a very long emancipation process and several yelling sessions over the phone to his parents) and into a nice, moderately sized, apartment. No more echoing, empty house. No more rooms so cold he had to wear three sweaters even with the heat blasting. No more lying awake at night as the house creaked and shifted.
Instead he’d spent the last three nights in a secure, cosy, one-bedroom apartment, music playing loud enough that it was audible from every part of the house, and warm.
And still very, very alone.
Tim was still a little proud of himself–he had managed to wait until he was mostly unpacked to go to the Humane Society. That was longer than he’d expected, given how he'd been planning this since he was seven years old. Move out, get a pet. Preferably multiple. Rescues, of course.
The bus screeched to a stop, letting out a menacing sounding puff of air, and Tim hurried off, shooting a quick thank-you wave to the driver. Who proceeded to peel away at the speed of light when he was barely off the bus. Amazing. Tim just loved Gotham.
His heart rate jumped when the humane centre came within view, and he started walking just a tiny bit faster, excitement jumping in his veins. Honestly, he was kind of shocked that he was actually doing this.
He was going to get a pet.
Just like he’d always wanted.
He paused at the door to shake out his hands nervously, before taking a deep breath and pushing it open. A bell jingled pleasantly as he walked in, making him jump slightly at the sudden noise. Somehow he was getting more spooked walking to do something he’d been waiting for for years than he’d ever been running around Gotham with a camera at night.
Tim awkwardly walked up past the front desk and into the hallway, following the sounds of barking and meows until he found himself faced with a wall of cages.
For a second, he just stood there staring at the dozens of cats in front of him, sleeping or playing or eating or somewhere in the room behind the cages. A large orange cat pressed itself to the front of the cage, purring, and he stuck his fingers through the squares for him to rub against. His purrs were loud and rumbling, audible even from a few feet away, and Tim grinned. The little card attached to the cage read Simon, 8, and Tim gave Simon a last pat on the head before moving on to a pair of grey kittens in the next cage over. (Abby and Ava, 3 months, do not separate)
He wasn’t sure how long he spent there, but once he had spent a few minutes with every willing cat, he shifted to the dogs. Mallory, 3, was a happy-looking golden retriever. McGee, 5 months, was a yappy puppy, chasing his tail in circles and bumping his head against the cage wall. Sammy, 2, was a German Shepherd who attempted to lick his hands through the wire.
It was all amazing. Tim wasn’t sure how he was going to decide–it seemed impossible. Theoretically, a big dog might be difficult in his small apartment, but they were large and cute and could lie on top of him and press him under the weight.
He wandered over to the small pets section, which only held six pets: a pair of long haired guinea pigs (Cheech and Chong) , three bunnies (Scotch, Toast Malone, and Chippy) and a single sad-looking parakeet that shied away from his touch.
“You’re Timothy Drake.”
Tim jumped, startling the bird even farther from his touch when he spun on his heel. A small, tan boy was glaring up at him with brilliantly green eyes. It only took a second to place him: Damian Wayne, the newest Robin. The one with a sword and ties to the League of Assassins.
“Yeah,” Tim said after a minute. He wasn’t sure what to feel. This newest Robin wasn’t his favourite, but he definitely didn’t dislike him. (He was a little scared of him, actually.)
Damian sniffed, nudging Tim aside and reaching out to the small bird, letting it hop onto his brown hand. He held it out to Tim with a self-satisfied look, clearly proud of his accomplishment but not showing it.
For a second Tim just stared. How many times had he worn that same look, holding out his photos or test scores or anything to his parents, only to be brushed off with a roll of the eyes or an order to ‘do something useful, Timothy.’ Thinking of that, he reached out and gently stroked the bird along the beak.
“She really trusts you, huh?”
Damian grinned slightly, hiding the proud expression but not fully. “I’m the only one that can pick her up,” he bragged, and Tim smiled. He’d never really been big on kids, but he didn’t dislike them either. Really, he just remembered what his parents had done and then chose to do the opposite.
“What’s her name?” Tim asked after a pause, watching the boy guide the bird to do a fluttering hop over to the next finger.
“She came with the name ‘Sparkles,’” Damian said, the wrinkle of his nose clearly showing what he thought of that. Tim huffed out a quiet laugh, moreso at the boy’s disgusted expression than at the bird’s–admittedly unfortunate–name.
He placed the bird back into the cage, carefully latching the door. “Are you in college now?”
“What?”
“You’re never in your yard anymore.”
Tim was briefly surprised by the fact that Damian even knew he’d existed, before he realised that oh yeah: the son of Batman and Talia Al Ghul would definitely be keeping an eye on his surroundings.
“Uh, I moved out,” Tim said awkwardly, reaching into the guinea pig cage once again instead of just standing there awkwardly. Toast Malone bit his finger, and he immediately pulled back out.
“Not to college?”
Tim shook his head. Honestly, he knew he probably should go to college, but he was perfectly happy right now. He’d graduated high school early and now, for the first time in his life he finally had a chance to relax without his parents’ crushing expectations all the time. Also he wasn’t a big fan of school, and he had enough money not to go for… a while. Maybe he should just start a business about his interests, like people on the internet kept telling him. (Somehow, he didn’t think ‘selling photography of Batman’ would work out so well. Yeah it would get him cash, but it would probably also get him kidnapped to the Batcave.)
Damian squinted at him, making Tim feel overall quite uncomfortable, but then just shrugged. “Are you here to adopt a pet?”
“Yeah, actually,” Tim said, grateful for the change in subject. Damian seemed like a nice enough kid (when he wasn’t out stabbing criminals with swords) but definitely a little awkward to talk to, with his propensity for threatening looks.
Damian nodded, looking a lot like Tim’s Dad did when closing a business deal. It was considerably more adorable on an eleven year old than on a forty five year old. “What were you thinking of?” He asked, sounding like he was running through a script. He probably was, to be honest. Tim was kind of surprised that they let the child volunteers talk to potential customers, when he’d volunteered (once) he hadn’t been allowed to do anything interesting.
“I’m not sure.”
“Well,” said Damian, his eyes lighting up slightly (though his expression didn’t change), “there’s some new kittens that were dropped off recently, those are ready to be adopted.”
Tim nodded. He didn’t really have much to do at home, he was planning on getting a bit of work done on Drake Industries, (one of his parents clauses for moving out) and then buying a new camera. Did he have enough spare time for kittens, though? Because he knew you were supposed to adopt at least two, and two kittens in his small apartment… well, it could work. He followed Damian, who had apparently taken his silence as an answer, until they stopped in the rows of cats.
“This one is Thomas,” the boy said, pointing at a grey kitten. “Next to him is Angeline, and that’s Martha.”
“Did you help name them?” Tim asked, judging off of the pride on Damian’s face, which was further proved by his nods.
...
Tim wasn’t sure how long he spent at the Humane Society. It was long enough for the world outside to darken from cloudy gloom to nightime gloom, and long enough that the other volunteers were long gone. Neither Tim nor Damian had even noticed that, though.
“Hey kiddo!” Tim jumped, accidentally almost dropping the sleeping puppy in his grasp, and Damian whirled on his heel.
“Grayson, you imbecile,” he hissed, and then proceeded to give no further information. Tim hurried to place the puppy back in it’s cage as the sounds of the brothers scuffling grew louder.
Because oh my god Dick Grayson. Dick Grayson, the first Robin, was standing right there in front of him. Tim felt like he was about to explode.
“Aw, did you make a little friend?” Tim bristled at that, the unintended slight at his age making him finally look up with a slight glare.
“I’m seventeen,” he said in an unintentionally snappish way, and immediately cringed. He just was rude to one of his heroes. Maybe he should just die.
“Oh–sorry!” Dick Grayson was apologizing to him. “You just—I thought—um.” Great. Dick Grayson thought he looked like a thirteen year old, apparently. Love that.
“No problem.”
“Sorry.”
There were a few seconds of awkward silence, before Damian scoffed at his brother. Turning to Tim, he said, “You didn’t get a pet today. I assume that means you’ll be back?”
“Uh, yeah!” He hadn’t even accomplished his one goal.
“Hm.” He paused. “I volunteer on Tuesday and Friday afternoons.”
Wait. Damian just told him when he would be here. After asking if he was coming back. Did that—did Robin want to see him again? Tim didn’t think he’d made that much of an impression. Tamping down the shock on his face, he cleared his throat and spoke. “I’ll remember that,” Tim said awkwardly.
Damian just nodded in a regal way, before turning and beginning to stride towards the door.
Tim blinked in shock, glancing at Dick Grayson—who looked very amused. Then he started to shuffle out the door, scooting out past Damian and turning the corner to the bus stop.
That was strange.
But it had been nice, too.