Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Things change for her after Peachtree. She’s Anderson now, not Rookie. People don’t bother her about her lack of a helmet anymore. The stories of her bringing a man to his knees with only her mind got out somehow, so they fear her now, too. That’s okay. Fear can be useful.
What’s changed most of all, though, is that she’s Dredd’s partner. His first partner ever, which makes her slightly giddy every time she thinks of it. The legendary Judge Dredd is her partner. Everything has changed.

Sometimes, in the middle of a firefight, Dredd lets her into his mind. Only during emergencies, of course. The man’s more protective of his mind than anyone she’s ever met. In the beginning, she kept reaching out to him without thinking, brushing against the surface of his thoughts.
She hadn’t meant anything by it, it’s just how she works. Words can mean anything, but the brain has no lies. Each time he would glance at her when she pulled out, then continue gunning down criminals. She stopped the day he pinned her against a wall at Headquarters and promised to knock her out the next time she tried getting into his head.
She stayed away from him for a while after that, but eventually he let her back in his head, where she gets brief flashes of enemies and positions to take and anger, always the anger running under everything. She likes the anger. She’s angry, too, has been angry since her parents died choking on their own blood while she panicked inside their heads.
Now she and Dredd go together like clockwork. He’s a steady presence at her side and in her head, closer to her than anyone she’s ever known. He’s twined around every part of her brain, his gruff voice a part of her conscience, and she knows she’s a part of him, too. If she sometimes wakes up from dreams of his hands on her skin, she’s able to hide that, and hide it well.

It’s her fault when Dredd gets hurt. They’re fighting against the Judged, ducking behind ruined stone walls and debris. She’s got her helmet on, the area too dangerous to leave it off and her telepathy useless when they’re this far away. Dredd’s beside her, the left side of his body pressed against hers. Solid. Always so solid.

“Jesus, Anderson, where’s the backup?” he hisses, darting over the wall to take out two men.

“I called, they’re on their way,” she promises, sweat dripping down her nose. They might die here. She’s okay with that. If she has to die, she wants it to be with her partner. Her only friend. She’s got a bullet wound in her right thigh and one of her fingers is broken. Dredd appears to be okay, but unless she’s in his head she can never tell with him. He grunts and nods.

“Look, Dredd, if we die out here, I have to tell you- ”It’s because she’s wearing her helmet that she doesn’t notice one of the Judged sneak up behind them, take a shot directly at Dredd’s back. Whatever guns the gangs are using now are strong enough to pierce Judge armor.
Dredd makes a choked sound as he falls forward in a spray of blood and she tears her helmet off, instinctively lashing out at the boy. His eyes roll back in his head and he topples over, onto Dredd. She shoves the kid aside and pulls Dredd’s head into her lap. She can just hear him through the helmet, weak and pained and there’s blood everywhere. “Dredd…Dredd, I need you to stay with me,” she begs, like she begged her parents a decade ago. The gunshots have stopped, so she ignores everything, presses her fingers to Dredd’s neck where the pulse is weak. “This is not how you’re supposed to die!” she screams, unable to do fucking anything to save him.

“Hey.” There’s a hand on her shoulder and she shoves it away with psychic force but it’s weak, she’s so tired and Dredd’s bleeding out in front of her. “Hey.” There’s someone crouching by her side now, someone pale and thin with long greasy hair. The boy from Peachtree, the one whose eyes Ma Ma gouged out. “We took care of the Judged. We can save him,” the boy says quickly, reaching out for Dredd’s helmet. She pushes him away and there’s the distinct sound of guns cocking, but the boy shakes his head. “Look, you helped us, we help you,” he says, and backup’s not here, Dredd’s dying, and she’s been in the kid’s head already, found no malice there.
“Fine. Help us.” The kid nods and two men scurry over to pick Dredd up, help her to her feet. “If this is a trick, I’ll break your mind,” she swears, not sure if she can actually do that.

“Alright.” The kid turns and calls for someone who can fix a wound.

“We’ll have to bring him back home,” the woman who stepped forward murmurs, her fingers skittering along Dredd’s armor. She has the same look as the kid, unhealthy and paranoid. “He’ll need a blood transfusion.”

“I’m coming with you,” Cassandra growls, and she’s rarely heard her voice like this.

“Yeah, of course, of course.” The kid walks ahead of them, and something’s changed since Peachtree. He looks confident. As a group of people trail behind them, she realizes it’s because he now leads his own gang, and she wonders what she’s gotten herself into. But the kid’s surface thoughts are benevolent, so she follows.

The kid’s created the biggest gang she’s ever seen in less than a year. There are hundreds of people at his base, all ages, all genders. Most of them look like the kid, but all of them stand with pride.

“You made your own gang,” she mutters, and the kid turns to look at her.

“Yeah. We’re the Blind, and we’re not gonna be victims anymore.” He keeps referring to himself in the third person, even in his head. His emotional ties to this gang are strong.

“That’s…good.” She focuses on Dredd again when they put him on a cot, start stripping off his armor. “Leave the helmet on,” she snaps.

“But we need to check his head for injuries…” one woman protests, and she glares.

“His head is fine. Leave the helmet on.” They nod nervously and continue. She delves into Dredd’s surface thoughts, which are foggy and more chaotic than usual.

Cassandra?

She smiles. He only calls her Cassandra in his head, or when he’s not paying attention. Roger that, partner
Cassandra Cassandra Cassandra
She frowns and presses deeper, where a wall has always been. The sounds of the medics are far off now. Dredd?
Pretty Cassandra
She pulls back when images of herself flood her mind, except she’s never looked that beautiful in the mirror. She presses a finger to his chin so the thoughts are clearer. His mind is open now, and she keeps seeing herself, smiling, laughing, yelling, wiping a smudge of dirt from her face as she grins, all wrapped around love and trust and family. He loves her. He loves her. His thoughts fade out as his consciousness does, with one last whisper of Cassandra.

She comes back to herself smiling. Her hands are shaking. “You okay?” he asks, and she nods, smiling.

“What’s your name, anyway?”

“Can’t have a name when we’re one of many.”

“Well, thanks for not killing us.”

He shrugs. “You saved our life, we save yours.”
They both turn to look at Dredd. His breathing is even, color returned. He’ll live. She puts her hand in his and squeezes. He’ll live.

Chapter Text

He’s stitching up a shallow wound, fingers splayed over the long muscle of her thigh. She leans her head back against the headboard and doesn’t make a sound, though he can hear her teeth grinding.

“Hell of a patrol tonight,” she grits out, tangling dirty fingers in his hair.

Understatement, he thinks at her, knowing it’s easier when she doesn’t have to talk.
Her mind in his is warm and familiar. She smiles tightly and nods. Done with the stitches, he puts a bandage over them and pats her leg. Meds?
She shakes her head. He doesn’t know why he asked, she hates medicine of any kind. Says it fucks with her abilities. He just hates to see her in pain. She strokes along his head, smiling like she heard the last part. Probably did. “Training early tomorrow.”

Don’t I fuckin’ know it, she sighs, swallowing. He eyes the smooth line of her throat, distracted, and she laughs, says hoarsely, “I almost died tonight, and you’re thinking about fucking me. Men today have no class.”

“I’ll show you some goddamn class,” he growls, helping her off the bed and into the shower, taking her mouth. She loops her arms around his shoulders for support, presses her forehead to his chest. Skin to skin contact makes their connection stronger. He’s learned the hard way not to touch her when she’s angry.
Her thoughts flow through his, exhausted and warm. He settles his hands at the roundness of her hips and squeezes. Hurry up and wash. Your current personal hygiene level is unacceptable for Judges.

She glances up, mouth quirked. That was so romantic. He smirks and hands her the soap, stepping back to wash his hair.
Warm water is still a novelty to her, probably always will be. He was raised for this life, given a few perks because of it. She had nothing. “You’re thinking so loud my own thoughts are muffled,” she mumbles, rinsing her face.
The pretty bow of her lips turns up in a smile and he’s distracted again. “Ah, there we go.” She’s leaning heavily against him, more than usual, but if she doesn’t mention it than neither will he.
I get a day off tomorrow, right?

Affirmative.

You gonna have a substitute partner?

He can sense her jealousy, slides his hands down the slick curve of her sides. You’re my only, he tells her, knowing it means more coming from the head. “I’m going out on my own,” he says aloud, against her hair.

She smiles, reaching past him to shut the water off. Good.

She’s half asleep by the time he follows her to bed, curls in a halo around her face. She lies on her back, off the wound. He crawls in next to her, pushes his head into the bones of her shoulder. Touching her, he can hear her sleepy thoughts, flashes of fighting and blood.
That kind of thinking before bed can lead to nightmares, for both of them. Every thought they have asleep is shared. Sometimes he comes awake with memories of parents he never had, or she speaks of missions she never went on. That’s alright, but the nightmares make it ugly.
“Cassandra,” he murmurs, putting an arm across her chest. He thinks soothing thoughts, just like she taught him, til her mind is settled and soft. He falls asleep as she does, curled up safe in her head.

She reads and heals for a day, waiting for Dredd to return, like wives in the old books her mom used to read aloud. She tries not to fall asleep. It’s harder without someone there to keep her mind from expanding.
Her abilities are always changing, and sometimes, at night, she can hear the millions upon millions of voices that make up Mega-City One. It hurts like a dull ache in the back of her skull. She curls her knees close to her chest, ignoring any pain from the stitches, and waits.

She’s sitting up when he gets home, tugs his helmet off. How was patrol? She thinks at him, and he shrugs. You miss me?

Of course. Always nice to have a psychic. She grins and gets out of bed, tugging the shirt she’s wearing down over her thighs.
If someone had told him, two years ago, that he could have something good, like her eyes shining as she goes on tip toe to kiss his cheek, he would’ve told them to fuck off. But she’s his partner, in every sense of the word, so he smiles and starts stripping his armor off.

Chapter Text

Dredd.

He jerks awake, going for his gun out of habit. “Cassandra?” She’s sitting up, white shirt slipping off the delicate wings of her shoulders. He’s just off a 20 hour shift and his eyes are heavy with sleep, but Cassandra matters more. She’s hunched, the blonde curls of her hair bouncing; he puts a hand out.

“Don’t touch me,” she snaps, pushing back with her mind. He pulls away, smart enough not to touch her after being zapped six times.

“Talk to me,” he says instead.

“There’s too much,” she groans, rubbing at her temples. She turns to him, but she’s not seeing him, not really. “They’re all in so much pain and so angry and there’s so many voices,” she mutters all in a rush. “They’re all afraid.” She tips her head back.
You’re afraid. You’re afraid I’ll go crazy like your brother and you had granola for breakfast and your knee is aching and you’re thinking crazy crazy crazy…

“Cassandra,” he snaps aloud, unsettled more than he usually is. He wants to help her but she’s the strongest psychic they’ve ever seen. There’s nothing to help her, no nullifying room that can contain her power. At this level, she could kill half the city with a thought. They’re just lucky it goes in and out. Acting on instinct, he puts his hands on her shoulder, pressing down hard, and sends threads of his thoughts out. Cassandra, Cassandra. She shudders and goes still. Doesn’t shock him. He’s lucky.

Being in Dredd’s head is like walking into the precinct; everything in its place, violence thrumming underneath. So familiar she immediately relaxes. He’s a deep pool and the thoughts fade like closing a door. Holding her still helps, Dredd’s hands a solid weight on her shoulders.

“Are you alright?”

She nods waits as he removes his hands, breathing deep and slow. “Just got a little overwhelmed.” There are dark smudges under his eyes, which are half lidded. Jesus, he’s been awake for over 48 hours and she woke him up after an hours sleep. The man’s a wonder.

“You need something?” he grunts, kissing her shoulder. There’s a soft thrumming of voices at the edge of her consciousness, but she should be okay for now.

“Nah. Go back to sleep.” He’s too tired to argue with her, rolling over and asleep within seconds. Fond, she tucks the covers under his chin, kisses his cheek. “Night, Dredd.”