Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Is she . . . alright?” Bruce was down in his workshop, swapping out kevlar that had too many chunks either hacked or shot out of it.

“She still will not sleep, does not touch the food I bring her. She’s fitting right in.” Alfred tapped Bruce on the back of the head with a fork, causing Bruce to turn, to see Alfred holding a plate of pasta he himself had let run cold.

“I’ll get to it Alfred, I promise." Bruce thought of something foolish, a memory, a simple irrelevant memory. “Maybe . . . Maybe she doesn’t like tomato sauce.” Bruce himself was a picky eater, texture, taste, smell, he was skeptical of most new food. His mother had, when he was young, claimed it to be a phase. It hadn’t been. Bruce still was particular, knew what he would and would not eat, what he was and was not comfortable with trying. Maybe the girl was like him in that way? She was still relatively new to their home, and didn’t converse much. Maybe rejection was easier to her than trying to voice her concerns or comforts.

“Maybe.” Alfred put down the plate. “Though I think we both know it is more than that.” Bruce didn’t know how to respond to that, so he simply didn’t, focusing back on his body armor. Alfred, however, refused to be dismissed. Continuing on, he pressed. “Master Bruce, did you consider that you may not be equipped for this?”

“Not really.” Another memory hit Bruce, one far more recent, far more bloody.

They had been going blow for blow, for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. They both knew Bruce was stalling for police backup, as David had the better endurance, and a long fight was sure to go to him. Bruce was distracted once he saw her, pacing the rafters. Above him a small girl with nothing but fight or flight in her eyes. He kept catching glances of her, he kept focusing on her instead of the fight. Consequently, it led to him taking more shots than he normally would have, led to him not noticing the detonator in David’s hand. It led to well-placed explosives to go off, causing fires all around, but more importantly it caused the girl to fall. Bruce had to let David go so he could catch her.

When he turned back, all he saw behind him was smoke and fire, Cain was gone. When he looked down, all Bruce saw was fight or flight, flight or flight. Big brown eyes blinking up at him, her whole world was ash and all she had to cling to was him. “Are you alright?” She didn’t say a word, but Bruce heard her loud and clear anyway. She was angry, she was alone, all she knew had betrayed her and all she had was an astonishing tight grip right at his chest.

“Don’t be afraid.” He knew she wasn’t, but it’s what adults said to children after traumatic events. Children were afraid of the now, adults were afraid of the future, afraid of how the present would affect the future. “I’ll get you-” Bruce heard the sirens, the police were on scene, all he needed to do was step out the front door, hand her over to an officer, that was the rational, responsible thing to do. “Let's go.” He turned for the rear exit, down a side alley, to his car.

He should have put her in the backseat, that was safer for children so small, but Bruce only learned that later, when he researched childproofing. Instead, he sat her in the passenger seat, fastening the seat belt before driving them towards Wayne Manor. “You can stay with us for now.” Even though the sentence was short, vague, lacking any emotional tone it felt like a promise. Kids like promises, it makes them feel safe.

Bruce remembered Alfred promising that his parents were proud of him after each aced test, each sports trophy, each sat through investors expo. It couldn’t be proved, it was simply a set of words with an occasional hug attached to it, and yet it had meant so much to Bruce. Glancing at the girl through the rear view mirror, Bruce couldn’t gauge if his words meant anything to her, when all he saw was still fight or flight, fight or flight. But, she hadn’t chosen to fight him yet and that had to mean something.

“Do you have a name?” Alfred would surely want to know the name of the child Bruce brought home.

The girl didn’t respond with words, but her reply was clear in her body language. ‘I don’t know you.’ She squinted in his direction, distrust in her small round face. She didn’t trust him, she couldn’t trust him, life had done that to her, maybe Cain did that to her. Bruce couldn’t undo that; he knew from experience you can’t undo trauma. People tried, they tried and tried and tried, but eventually gave up. Bruce wasn’t going to try, at least not to fix . . . maybe to build, he could try to build trust.

“Bruce.” He saw her eye twinkle a little, knowing she had been told a secret, kids liked secrets. Bruce had felt an odd desire to chuckle, he didn’t but he did feel his lip quirk up slightly. The girl caught it, children were far more perceptive than they were giving credit for.

She reached across to his chest again tapped the symbol there, then she crossed her arms over her own chest, crooking in her pointer fingers, it was sign language for bat.

“Yes, that too.” He watched carefully as her hands moved again.

‘C’ then ‘A’ and then she stopped, bunched her fists up in her lap. It was her self preservation, not wanting to let him in so quickly, Bruce could respect that, but he couldn’t just call her Ca, and he needed to call her something.

“Until you’re ready.” He had an idea, he wasn’t sure it was a good one, but it was something, and he had to try something. “You can borrow mine.” Taking his hands off the wheel for a second, he mimicked her actions, crossed arms, crooked fingers ‘Bat,’ “If you’re a bat . . . like me well . . .” It felt right, but also awkward leaving his lips, if she rejected his idea he wasn’t quite sure where he went from there. “We’re a team.”

She pondered for a moment, Cain had been some sort of teammate to her, and he’d left her to die. As he studied her soot-covered features, he figured she was more than just a protege, she was his daughter, and still that hadn’t been enough. Could a girl like that believe in heroes? When her own family let her down, was there anything Bruce could do or say to convince her that, while he had no idea what he was doing, he’d never hurt her, never abandon her, would try to figure out how to help her?

‘Girl’ He watched her thumb slide down her cheek to chin. At first Bruce thought she was just informing him she was a human girl rather than a winged animal, but then her arms crossed her chest again, fingers crooked. ‘Bat’

“Girl Bat?” He watched her nod, then concerningly started to shadow box. Did she think he was asking her to fight alongside him? He could see how she got there, he said they were a team, she’d just watched him go ten rounds with her father in a fight, she assumed Bruce was taking her home to quite literally take her under his wing, make her his sidekick of sorts.

“Height requirement.” Bruce didn’t exactly lie, so much as make a rule out of thin air. She made a sour sort of face, catching the on the cuff decision, maybe feeling it unfair.

They pulled up to the manor and as he parked, Bruce felt himself hesitate to open the door. A concern brewing inside him, that if he was her, the second the door was open he’d run. He didn’t want her to go out into the night alone, didn’t want her to return to Cain. “I will help you find . . . Do you know where your mother is?” She didn’t respond, just blinked at him. “You can stay here as long as you want.” Again she didn’t respond, her face briefly went into that fight or flight mode again, causing Bruce to sigh.

“If you leave-” Bruce shook his head and opted to pick up his two-way radio. “Hello?” It always took Gordon four or five tries to find which coat pocket he dropped his radio, Bruce waited, the girl waited, they had been parked for minutes, things were getting awkward. “Gordon?”

“Bats? You hurt? The fire at the narrows? That you?” The radio clicked, but then sparked back, Gordon wasn’t done. “Actually don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” The radio clicked again and then sparked back. “But you really need to keep the property damage down. If it’s not floods, it’s fires, I can’t-”

“The signal, light the signal.”

“Your signal? Why?” Bruce looked over at the girl, considering if he wanted to tell Gordon about her. Something told him no, not yet. “You want to signal yourself?”

“Sending a message.” The Bat signal meant Bruce was needed somewhere, would be out on the prowl within short order, it was a warning to criminals and a beacon that order was coming to those caught in the chaos.

“Alright, give me a minute. Elevator's broke.”

It ended up taking several more minutes of waiting, but eventually the sky lit up a faint yellow hue projecting onto the cloudy night sky. Bruce pointed it out to the girl.

“If you ever leave, and need help, that light’s on top of the Gotham P.D. If you ever light it, I will come.”

Her left hand, palm flat went to the top of her head, then pulled in on itself.

‘Why?’

“That’s what Bats do.”

In response, she signed the words ‘Bat’ followed by ‘girl’, then pointed to herself.

“Height requirement.” Bruce did finally unlock the car doors. “Did you want to meet Alfred?”

She made an L shape with her hand, held it to her chin and bent her index finger. ‘Who?’

“A bat’s best friend.” He answered, but it seemed incomplete. “I wasn’t always this tall.” It was an odd way to say Alfred raised him, but Bruce sometimes had a hard time explaining what he really meant, the words jumbling a bit convoluted in his head.

When the girl was moved in and given a room, she tended to stay there, only leaving once or twice to raid the kitchen when she thought everyone was asleep. She didn’t trust Alfred’s meals, or maybe didn’t want to owe these strangers more than she already did. Either way, she was doing her best to be silent and self-sufficient. It had been two weeks by the time Alfred finally possessed the question if this was enough for her, if he and Bruce were enough, letting this child lock herself in her room. It was no life for a young girl.

“Master Bruce, she needs to see a doctor, she needs to be enrolled in school, she needs . . .” Alfred let out a sigh of concern and mild annoyance. ”She is not a batgirl Bruce that name . . . We don't even know her name!”

“I know that.”

“I don’t think you do, you are seeing the way she is closing herself off as . . . normal, because that is what you have done. Is that what you want for her? A child needs more than a bed Bruce, they need attention. Have you talked to her since you brought her here?”

“I-”

Bruce wasn’t much of a talker, what small talk did you make with a five-year-old? She didn’t exactly seem like the my little pony type. Or maybe she was, and he just met her in a traumatized state, or maybe she wasn’t yet but wanted to be. “I should buy her one.”

“Buy her what? You cannot solve this with-”

“A pony. . . toys . . . girl toys . . . or . . . I liked trains, maybe she would like trains?”

“Gifts are not what the girl needs.”

“Kids like toys Alfred, tomorrow morning, I will take her to a toy store.” That was decided. Bruce wiped his hands of the leather grease he’d been applying. “Do we have more of that?” Bruce pointed at the plate of pasta.

“You want seconds of a meal you didn’t touch?”

“Maybe she doesn’t like tomato sauce.”

“Upstairs, don’t burn the kitchen down.”

Bruce boiled the pasta, let some butter melt over it and then covered two servings in more cheese than was likely recommended. He walked the plates upstairs, knocked on the girls door. She didn’t answer, just as she hadn’t answered Alfred. Bruce sat the plates down and walked to a nearby closet, moving around boxes till he found what he was looking for. He came back to the door and turned on the flashlight, shining it through the crack in the door. “Bat signal.” He didn’t hear her move, but after a few moments the door opened. “Alfred is mad we’re not eating the meals he cooked. I don’t want to be in trouble with him. Help me out?” He offered her a fork.

The girl took the utensil and for one small second she looked like she might stab him with it, gripped in tiny white knuckles, then she plopped to the floor, started eating. Bruce followed suit, they were teammates after all, in this together. They ate in silence, the girl shoveling food maybe because she was hungry for something warm, or maybe because it was some sort of race, either way the plate was quickly emptied. Then she just started at him, expectantly looking for some next task.

“Good job batgirl.” Her eyes lit up again, then looked a little disappointed. “What?”

‘C’ predictably followed by ‘A’ she hesitated for a minute.

“Bat girl is a secret identity; you need a name for me to call you in public.” Her eyes blew big in question. “I need to scope out a toy store tomorrow.” the girl squinted and shook her head. “Fine, I want to look at train sets and maybe . . . thought you might like to come?”

‘C’ and then ‘A’ finally another letter came ‘S’ followed by another, eventually she spelled out Cassandra.

“Cassandra.” Bruce spoke it aloud and alarmingly the girl began to cry, she slammed the door right in his face.

Bruce didn’t leave, you can’t just leave a crying child, but he knew what it was like being that crying child, how oddly comforting that closed door felt, like it could keep the whole world out. So instead he leaned his back up against the door, and just stayed there, keeping her company from a distance. “Goodnight Cassandra.” He muttered when his own eyes grew a bit heavy.

Chapter Text

“Why not?” Alfred had told Bruce that he had to change his plans, that he couldn’t just show up at a playground with a child. “I would have one built here, but Leslie says getting out would be good for her.”

Cassandra had been with them for three months now, and had grown accustomed to life in the manor for the most part. The house, the quiet, the stability, it was all good for her. What wasn’t? The lack of new faces.

When Leslie Thompkins came over to make sure the young girl was healthy, didn’t have any undiagnosed illnesses or untreated injuries she pointed out that it was important that Cassandra socializes with peers her own age. Cassandra was bright, could already read and write in multiple languages, could read body language with an eerie precision, to the point sometimes she seemed psychic, but when it came to two way communication, human interaction, there was a wall there that would only grow in height if Bruce kept her isolated.

Cassandra hadn’t been accustomed to socializing, it took a solid month for her to get used to hearing her own name. Bruce realized through his research of David Cain and the information or lack thereof regarding his daughter that she was not treated as a child, hardly a person, something seen and not heard, a shadow. Bringing her out, or when people got too close, it wasn’t that she didn’t like them, so much as she didn’t know what to do with them. She knew from her experiences with Bruce and Alfred that not everyone was an enemy, but if someone was not an enemy and not a teammate, then what? Cassandra didn’t grasp the concept of friends. That should change. Most people weren’t like Bruce, most people needed friends, children especially, if the dozens of parenting articles Bruce read had anything to say about it.

“Why not? Though you like to pretend it’s not there, public intrigue does exist.” Alfred sighed, but Bruce barely heard it, focused on getting the knots out of Cassandra’s hair without her stamping her feet or running away. It was proving quite the challenge.

“Hm?” He had a hair band in his teeth, nearly finished, he glanced up at Alfred with a look of can’t this wait? Unfortunately, that look had lost it’s effect, as Bruce had used it far too often, and Alfred had long since grown an immunity.

“You cannot just . . . have a child. People will ask questions: Who is she? Why is she with you? Where did you get her?”

‘Bat Girl.’ Cassandra signed at Alfred, to her that explained everything. She was here because for the time being they were a team.

“And that, that should stop. You're giving her the wrong idea. Do you plan on taking her out on the streets with you?” At that Cassandra turned around in Bruce’s lap, looking up at him curious.

“No.” Bruce hadn’t brought her home because he was looking for a sidekick. She didn’t need to prove her worth or earn her keep. He brought her to his home because children should have homes, have names, they shouldn’t be left to fend for themselves. He knew what that did to a person.

Cassandra stood up, turned around, glaring a bit at Bruce. She felt betrayed, she felt rudderless, she felt expendable without a goal. Bruce knew that feeling too. “Height requirement.” He didn’t know how long that would appease her, he would have to explain to her sooner rather than later that he had no intention of sending a child out against the city, but today didn’t have to be that day.

“All of her paperwork is in order.” Bruce was Cassandra’s legal guardian. Bruce knew the right people to go to, who would sign paperwork without reading it over, without asking questions, so long as some sort of business favor or early Christmas gift came their way.

“It’s the court of public opinion you need to worry about.” Alfred tried again to make Bruce see, to have him understand that the facts could all be in line but if the rumors were louder, that’s what really mattered.

“Why?” Cassandra’s hair was finally tangle free and tamed. “We’ll be fine. We’re a team.” Bruce turned Cassandra around and smiled at her. He was doing his best to be supportive, positive, optimistic, he was trying to smile more. It was getting a little easier, when he tried to smile so did Cassandra, they were both faking it till they made it, and day by day it grew a little more natural.

“Prying eyes aside, are we not worried this is too large a step?” Alfred wasn’t being as negative as he sounded, he was being protective. He had grown attached to Cassandra and was being the seasoned parental figure of Wayne manor. Bruce needed to walk before he ran. He’d learned that the hard way.

“We roll with the punches Alfred, it’s what we do.” Bruce shrugged.

Sometimes plans changed, had to adapt, Bruce had already learned that the hard way when they had gone on their toy store excursion. In his mind it had seemed simple, but children weren’t simple, they were complex. It didn’t mean they gave up, they just tackled it in a way that made sense to them.

Cassandra had gotten into the car, they had driven into the city but the deeper they drove the more visibly uncomfortable she became. It had to do with her not being a child or rather not being able to look at the world from a child’s perspective. When they parked she signed a curious question, L shape with her left hand held it to her chin, bending her index finger ‘Who?’ She thought they were here to fight someone. Bruce decided it best to ignore that line of questioning, hoping it to be something if he kept doing so it might pattern out of her.

“Who are we going to see? It’s a shop . . . you pick out something you want and we take it home with us.” They had gone after closing, at that point Cassandra still wasn’t legally supposed to be under Bruce’s watch. He had still been looking for her mother, the search ultimately came up fruitless, what little information he did find very much spelled out Gotham was a safer place for her than anywhere Cassandra had been before.

Cassandra seemed to agree, maybe too much. She cupped her right hand holding it to the corner of her mouth and then brought it up to her ear. ‘Home.’ She understood the manor beyond that was still new, unfamiliar, practically alien. The city, walking it’s streets just to do so, that didn’t make sense to her.

“You don’t want to go?”

Cassandra repeated the same motion. ‘Home.’ She didn’t want to get out. Perhaps she was worried Bruce planned to leave her there. Or maybe she saw only the threats, the vulnerabilities of being out and about as civilians. It could have been as simple as her rather preferring to be back in the manor running around the garden or playing hide and seek with Ace. Whatever the reason, Cassandra wanted no part of this excursion.

Bruce had no qualms with having the car turn around, but he was an inquisitive man. On top of that, he had taken on the duty of looking after Cassandra, it was important he knew what about this trip bothered her. He tried the simple method of asking, hand up to his head pulling it inward ‘Why?’ Though Cassandra didn’t answer, she gave a shrug but not much else.

“There’s something in there I think you’d like. Something Alfred will let you keep.” Cassandra had a habit of finding Alfred’s hand rake for gardening and carrying it around, Bruce eventually had to move it, along with other weapon adjacent items such as pen knives and bottle openers into his subterranean workspace because no matter where he or Alfred hid it in the Manor, Cassandra would find it. The only reason she didn’t take the kitchen knives, was that they'd explained it was vital to them eating, a team activity she’d already agreed to.

Cassandra made an unsheathing motion, swiveled her small hand around. ‘Sword?’

“Won’t know till we go in.” Bruce held out his hand. That hadn’t been on his prospective shopping list but they did miraculous things with Nerf nowadays, perhaps a foam Excalibur would appease her slightly. “Backup?” Bruce held out his hand to her, she tentatively reached out and took it.

‘It’s so small.’ Bruce really looked at Cassandra’s hand in his, felt how tight she was squeezing. ‘She’s so small.’ Bruce felt a sudden swell of anxiety in his chest as they walked. He remembered swinging between his parent’s a hand held by each of them. He remembered them slowing their pace to let him keep up. He remembered the way his father would look down and smile at him as they rounded the city, to Bruce at the time, the whole world, hand in hand, a family. Bruce felt that same smile on his face now.

‘Oh shit.’ Bruce gulped, feeling his own hand tighten over Cassandra’s. ‘I can’t . . . I won’t let her go.’ It was hitting Bruce, really hitting him that even if he found some viable alternative living situation for Cassandra, one that he could be sure she was safe and taken care of, he wouldn’t want her to leave, the way her fingers slotted into his, this was his child and he was her parent. Whatever came before, whatever laid ahead of them, this was a fact he felt in his bones. ‘Oh shit I don’t know how to be a dad.’ Bruce knew what he felt, but he also knew what he knew. The shift in title in his brain dumped so many new responsibilities, concerns, plausible branches of future events onto his shoulders all at once. ‘I can’t turn back.’ Bruce glanced down at Cassandra and smiled, she was afraid of the new and still taking steps forward. ‘So can I.’ He gave a small smile all his own. 

“This is what I wanted to show you.” After greeting the shop owner and walking the isles a bit Bruce took a large box from a shelf. It was a child’s camping set, it came with a small tent, binoculars, a flashlight, an all plastic Swiss army knife, but what Bruce thought she might like best were the walkie talkies. If you didn’t know Cassandra that might’ve seemed an odd or even mocking sort of thing to give the girl, but Bruce knew her, or was getting to know her. “I will carry one, you will carry the other.” She stalked the windows of the manor when Bruce left at night, her eyes glued up at the sky for the bat signal. She would not sleep till Bruce got back and knocked on her door to say goodnight, she worried about him.

“There will be times I need you not to call-” What a disaster it would be to be tailing someone only to have to pause and answer a child’s toy. “But I can rig it so you can always reach me. As long as we’re not in stealth mode, if you need me-” If she needed to check in on him. “I’ll answer. What do you think?” Cassandra nodded, this toy set made sense to her, Bruce wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t fashion herself a utility belt of sorts.

“Now, I’m going to find a train . . . or a puzzle, just for fun, something just for me. Pick out something just for you?” Bruce tried to hide a frown when again she made a sign for a sword.

Bruce was walking a fine line with Cassandra, she related to him more when she thought of him as a partner, not a parental figure, it’s what she was used to. Bruce knew feeding that perception would lead her down a path he didn’t want for her, but he needed a way in, he needed her to trust him, only then could he try to introduce her to the sort of life a child her age should be living, it would take time and creativity.

“A sword . . . and then something . . . that is just for you, not to fight with just to have.”

Bruce knew it was coming but he watched and waited for Cassandra to sign ‘why?’

“To practice protecting something, because it’s yours, because you care about it. I do . . . what I do because I care about them-” Bruce pointed out towards the shop’s door. “And I want you to care about things important to you.” Bruce was pleasantly surprised by Cassandra’s next move, she placed the camping box back in his hands and went back to an isle they had already been to, occasionally glancing behind her to make sure Bruce was following.

“That makes sense.” Bruce laughed fondly at her choice, she’d taken his request maybe a bit too literally but it was a step in the right direction. Cassandra was holding up a purple carebear. “Perfect. Now I’ll get what I need and we can go home.”

Bruce thought everything was going well, Cassandra eventually found her Nerf sword. At one point he thought she might even ask for a second toy, as she seemed to ogle a transformer for six, maybe seven minutes, but when she touched it, some sound went off and it startled her. She dropped everything, lifted the toy up and smashed it into the ground stepping on it until it was good and dead.

“Cass, Cass stop, it’s just a toy, no one’s attacking us.” Bruce dropped what he was holding and picked her up, her attack on one had set others off and it was becoming a chain of plastic carnage. “It’s ok, It’s ok, It’s ok.” Bruce held her close to his chest. “You’re ok.” It hurt, the look of embarrassment in Cassandra’s face when she finally calmed down and looked up at him. She felt this outburst would be viewed as a failure, that he was disappointed in her.

The store owner came around the corner, he was gawking at them. “Bag these things up?” Is all Bruce could think to say.

“Even the-”

“Yes, I wanted a puzzle. Putting it back together should be . . . fun. Sweep it up and we can put one together. You’ll help right?” Bruce smiled down at Cassandra, hoping she saw that mistakes happened, that emotions happened and he would not hold them against her, simply find a way to work with them. Cassandra didn’t quite smile but she gave a big nod.

As it happened the transformer turned out to be the bigger hit than the stuffed bear. It became a project he, Cassandra and Alfred all worked on together, finding where the salvageable pieces went, gluing them back in carefully. They had to put a band aid over a part that had been lost to the shop room floor, but once it was done, it quickly became Cassandra’s most prized possession, something she carried around with her everywhere, being careful with it, protecting it.

“Maybe we save the playground.” Bruce understood Alfred’s concerns upon second reflection. There would be no control over the environment, there could be strangers that got too close or sounds that triggered Cassandra in one way or another. If another child tried to take Cassandra’s transformer, the one she held even as they pondered the day’s activities, she might lash out. It wasn’t her fault, Cassandra just needed to be eased into activities differently, taking her world’s view into consideration. “We’ll feed the ducks again.” He still needed to take Cassandra out, he tried at least once a week to go on a walk with her there was a trail on the outskirts of the city that led to a lake, it was easy enough to avoid people, it was one of the few places off the manor grounds Bruce found peaceful.

“May I make a suggestion?” Alfred offered as Bruce and Cassandra switched places. Cassandra was a fan of fair trade, trusted touches that were reciprocal: Bruce was allowed to comb her hair because she was allowed to comb his, proving safety, establishing trust.

“Yes?”

“Cassandra, have you ever played baseball?"

Bruce glanced over his shoulder to see her predictably shake her head no, quirking her head to the side in curiosity.

"Wait here." Alfred left and after a few minutes returned with a photo album.

"That little grass stain is Bruce and that-" Bruce’s chest tightened, he grimaced seeing the photo. "That is his father, Thomas Wayne." It was their sport, his father would take off work to take Bruce out to see ball games. They would play catch till the sun went down on warm spring days, sometimes even his mother would come out and watch.

Bruce remembered the first opening game after their death. He remembered Alfred asking if he wanted to go. Bruce didn't, he saw no point, without his father shaking his shoulders or shouting at the away team, watching men swing bats and run bases seemed so utterly void of enjoyment.

"Cassandra I think would be a natural. No swords, but you do get to swing, run, throw.”

"Sign her up for tee ball?" Bruce imagined having a catch with Cassandra and it made a genuine smile twitch around on his face.

A team sport would be more organized than a playground. Bruce could introduce her first to the coaches, then to her teammates and their parents, the social circle growing incrementally. Baseball was not a contact sport, so Cassandra could use her skills and competitive nature without risking injuring the other children.

Cassandra pressed her thumb to her stomach and raised it upwards, a question in her face, ‘proud?’ She wanted to know if participating in the activity would make Bruce proud of her.

“You . . . can use my glove.” It was up in the attic, along with many other things he had given up on because they reminded him of a time and place he couldn’t get back. “I-” This moment wasn’t about him, it was about Cassandra. “I . . . we are all proud of you. Me, Alfred, Ace . . . We will come to all your games.”

Cassandra made the letter C, holding it to her face before bringing it in front of her other palm. ‘Photo.’ She wanted a photo just like the one she was still staring at.

“Say cheese!” Alfred already had a camera out, wanting to capture this moment of sharing memories.

“Cheeeeeese!” Cassandra smiled big and infectious, with even Alfred grinning shocked but pleased from behind the camera. Bruce too gave a small awe-struck smile. Maybe they could do this, together, as a team.

Chapter Text

Hyenas, jackals, was nothing sacred? Bruce had always had a mild to at some points boiling disdain for the press. He was close to boiling at this point. This was Cassandra’s first tee ball practice with her team. Bruce had done his best to make this stress free, teaching her all the rules to the game, introducing her to the two coaches beforehand, explaining to them her preferred method of communication, that it was important not to push her to do anything she didn’t want, including interacting with the other players. She would get there, if she wanted, at her own speed. They had assured him it was tee ball, you didn’t get much lower pressure than that, they thought he was being overbearing. Bruce didn’t care what they thought, just that they understood how important this was, how important Cassandra was.

Bruce wanted this to be good for Cass, even if she decided the game wasn’t for her, he wanted her to feel she could try new things, do things for fun, interact with others and it wouldn’t be a battle, just a way of life. Yet these reporters, the ones waiting around the baseball diamond, clicking photo after photo, shouting his name, trying to get his attention, they could ruin all of that. With each click, each shout Bruce found himself flashing back to a time when he deserved space, deserved compassion, but the only thing he got was a public dissection. Every time Alfred took him out reporters would run up to him, ask how he was feeling, coping, what he planned to do with his life. He had been eight, he had no plans. He had been eight and just lost his parents, he felt lonely, hurt, scared and angry. He had been eight and they wouldn’t let him be, didn’t want him to be. They wanted to pick his bones, catch each tear under a microscope and examine it. They wanted to make money off his pain, they wanted to sell his childhood trauma to the highest bidder, for the public's consumption and morbid curiosity.

Not much had changed, not enough had changed. Bruce was still Gotham’s poster boy orphan, nothing he’d done, nothing he’d accomplished had made him more than that. His parents had wanted him to be so many things, a doctor, an architect, a business tycoon, he’d wanted to be an astronaut, a cowboy, a veterinarian. Yet he was none of those things. Would they be disappointed in him? In what he had become? In what he hadn’t? That he existed to mourn them and nothing else? Bruce’s internal questioning was paused when he felt a small squeeze at his hand. Cassandra, she could tell he was upset, and it was upsetting her.

Cassandra placed the fingers of her right hand against her lips before moving it hand down and away, ending with her palm facing downward. ‘Bad?’ She asked that a lot when they went out. She read Bruce’s body language when interacting with strangers as combative. She viewed him as good, so anyone who made him uneasy, they had to be bad. Bruce was who she was looking to in hopes to make sense of this new life of hers.

“I don’t like what they’re doing.” Bruce grimaced as someone snapped their fingers at them like they were a set of dogs. “That doesn’t make them bad.”

They were just doing their job, most of them would much rather be doing stories on real celebrities, real sports, real news, they were just doing what they were being told, and lack of results could cause them to lose their job, their livelihood, their dream. Sometimes, that brought the worst out of people, Bruce understood that to a point. He had to believe taking measures most would disapprove of to achieve the goals you were after did not make you a bad person. His whole identity as the bat hinged on that being a truth.

“Hey Jimmy, lean back, easy on the flash. She’s just a kid you’re spooking her. Wait till she’s on a Wheaties box to get that close.” One reporter was pulling his photographer back away from the fence. He wasn’t whistling and hollering, more or less just standing there. Either he was more respectful or less interested than most, Bruce could work with either.

Bruce crouched down next to Cass “Are you ok to listen to Coach Holly? I’m going to go handle this.” Cassandra’s head turned to the side, she wanted to know how Bruce planned on dealing with the feeding frenzy.

“See that one?” Bruce pointed to the reporter who stood out by not overreaching.

‘Yes.’ Cassandra nodded, interlocking her index fingers twice. ‘Friend?’

“No.” Bruce didn’t have friends, didn’t need friends. “They all want to interview me.” He waved over the sea of reporters.

‘Why?’ Her palm lifted from head.

“Because . . . I’m important, or they think I am.” Bruce had an important lesson to teach Cassandra, to teach those reporters as well. “I don’t have to talk to them.” Bruce stood up and pressed out the wrinkles in his slim fit suit. “But there are benefits to giving an exclusive. Don’t do anything amazing until I’m watching alright?” Cass gave Bruce a thumbs up, he scruffed her hair slightly and then walked over to the piranhas.

“Mister Wayne, is that your child?!”

“Bruce, who is the mother?!”

“Do you feel adopting a child makes up for the misuse of the orphanage your family funded?”

“Is it true the child was dropped on your door by the Batman?” More questions, theories, flashes of cameras hit Bruce in the face. It was unpleasant, Bruce wanted to turn around and ignore them but he didn’t. It wouldn’t make them stop, part of Bruce knew he couldn’t avoid this forever.

“I came over here to let you all know, if I see one photo of my daughter’s practice in your papers, I’ll sue.”

“On what grounds?”

“Let the lawyers figure that out.” Bruce shrugged. “I will sue till I own whatever papers you used to work for.”

“You can’t threaten the free press, this is-”

“You. Glasses.” Bruce turned to the reporter that didn’t whistle or snap at him.

“Me?” The reporter looked to his left and right, seemingly surprised he’d been singled out. “Jimmy stop.” He grabbed his photographer's camera still wrapped around his neck and tugged it away, making the smaller man flail comedically.

“I will let you interview me” Bruce turned around and headed back towards the field, snickering slightly at the sound of him hopping the fence. Bruce was setting a precedent, he would be hostile with hostile reporters, but to those that were respectful, there were perks. This was a new Bruce Wayne, one willing to play ball.

“Are you not good at your job?” Bruce was glad the reporter was quiet but found it a bit odd that as they stood and watched the kids take turns up at the tee, he remained completely silent.

“I am.” They both watched as Cass put on her helmet and got ready for her turn. “Though if someone had pestered my Pa when I took my first bat . . . he’d sock em and I don’t think they’d let me back in Metropolis with a shiner from the prince of Gotham. Pride thing, you understand.”

Bruce barely heard the reporter, most of the words hitting him as white noise as Cassandra, oversized purple helmet on her head, got up to bat. ‘Fatherly pride.’ Is what he had heard, no it’s what he felt as Cass swung hard, hitting the ball and started to run. She turned his way as she neared first base, she waved at him, and he waved back and he couldn’t have felt anything other than pride.

Cassandra was lightning quick, agile, focused. Cassandra was too gifted to be kept hidden, but Bruce didn’t want her to be exploited by the press. He wanted to protect her, but he also wanted her to spread her wings, to excel, he’d have to find the right balance for her, for them, he had to practice.

“You took a photo when I told you not to.” It is hard however, when people continuously betray your trust, take for themselves.

“Cause you didn’t.” The reporter handed over his cell phone. “Here, text it to yourself then delete it from my phone.” But sometimes they surprise you, sometimes they think of things you don’t, offer different views.

“You have questions?” Bruce did send the picture of Cass rounding the bases to himself, he would print it, maybe start a photo album for her like his parents had with him.

“I’ll take an I.O.U.” The reporter held out his hand for his phone.

"I adopted her. . . Not for any of the reasons they said." This wasn't a love child he couldn't pay away, nor was she some penance for past sins, he wanted it to be known why Cassandra was with him, why there was no other place for her. "Because she's my daughter." Maybe he never would grow up to be an astronaut or neurosurgeon, but he was something his parents would be proud of. He himself had become a parent.

"Not exactly the scoop of the century." The reporter didn't sound as disappointed with that sentence as maybe he should have. "I'll leave you to it." He patted Bruce on the shoulder.

“I left your number in my phone. I will give you that interview.” Bruce didn’t have to do that, he owed the man nothing but if he spun this right, if he made an ally out of a reporter, showed Cassandra that not all of them bit, she would slowly grow more comfortable with the spotlight he couldn’t hide her from forever.

“I’m glad to see you out again, Mister Wayne, doing well. You never know how much you missed someone till they come back.”

“You’re not even from around here.”

Bruce’s focus was split, trying to maintain this casual conversation and holding his breath when both Cassandra and some other child both went for first base. She stood her ground for a second, stared the young boy down but then she surprised Bruce, she backed down, not because she thought the boy would be better at the position, no Cassandra was just confident that she would be best wherever she went, she could go anywhere and shine, and she was right.

“What happens in Gotham doesn’t always stay in Gotham, news travels fast.” Bruce turned to ask the reporter what he meant by that but in the time he took to turn the reporter had gone.

‘Home?’ Cassandra signed once practice was over, before letting herself be lifted up in his arms. This was the longest there had been a distance between them when Bruce wasn’t suited up, sleuthing or sleeping. But even then, there had been once or twice he had fallen asleep in his study looking over case files, only to wakeup and find Cassandra had set up her play tent there.

A somber feeling washed over Bruce. He had done something similar when he was young, playing Zorro around his father's office while he worked. It was deja vu he was feeling. Was history repeating itself? Bruce didn’t quite feel scared, just concerned. What would happen to Cassandra if something happened to him? What if one day it was just her and Alfred in that big house? Would she be driven below ground? Bruce hadn’t realized how attached to each other’s hip they had grown in this short period of time. Losing him would crush her, and the odds of something bad happening to a man bringing a fist to a gun fight was far higher than any risk Thomas Wayne had put on his life in his attempts to clean up Gotham.

Bruce’s somewhat macabre thoughts were broken by Cassandra tapping him on the forehead, he blinked at her once or twice before doing his best to smile. ‘Ok?’ Cassandra was not buying it.

“Did you have fun?” Cassandra was just a child, he wouldn’t put those thoughts in her head, wouldn’t weigh her down with that worry.

Cassandra nodded and Bruce should have felt better, happy even, but he didn't, his stomach churned uncertain. His parents hadn’t braced him, hadn’t told him there was a chance that some punk with a gun could steal them away from him. Deja vu, it was a cruel concept, and one Bruce didn’t know how to avoid.

“I hear an ice cream truck. Tell me your favorite parts while we go grab some.” Adults feared the future, children feared the present, and Bruce was sure he was making some miserable ghastly face which would undoubtedly ruin Cassandra’s good day. He had to let her have this, she needed it, she earned it. So Bruce pushed his valid concerns deep deep down and let Cassandra eat frozen sugar and smirk proud that another little girl, Virginia, said she was cool. Deja vu could wait, it could bite him later, in the moment he just wanted to bask in fatherly pride something told him a balance of the two was more or less what parenthood was.

Chapter Text

“Cassandra!” He was bleeding, chained to a chair, his feet submerged in drying cement, watching as Cassandra beat a man over and over again with an aluminum bat. “Cassandra you can’t kill him!”

“Yes.” Thwack. “I” Crack. “Can!” Thump.

“Please don’t . . . Cassandra please trust me. You don’t want to kill him.” Cassandra stopped, taking big breaths in and out, staring at Bruce with scared eyes. She knew he was right, knew this wasn’t what she wanted, but she had been taught otherwise, her training disagreed with her.

“Have to.”

“No, Cass you don’t, you don’t have to.” How did they get to this point? Bruce tried to remember. His concussion was making it hard but he tried to scrape the memory to the front of his mind.

“Cassandra, I can’t make it to your game today.” Bruce broke the news over breakfast, if it could be called that, he had been delicately chewing blueberries, and even that was painful.

‘Face?’ Cassandra made a circle with a finger around her own as she ate her oatmeal.

“No, not that.” She was asking if Bruce was worried about the still healing black eye from earlier in the week, or the fresh bruise to his jaw. She was now used to there being photographers snapping at them whenever they went anywhere public. She had found it a mix of confusing and funny when the Gazette ran with an entirely fabricated story about Bruce Wayne’s most recent ‘motorcycle accident’ when he came to one of her games earlier in the season. They actually had the audacity to claim the Batman had run him off the road. “I have work to do. Good news is I will be able to read all about it, our friend Clark will be there.”

Cassandra slid her right palm over her left. ‘Nice’. Clark Kent had become a family friend, not at every Gotham little league game, sometimes news did happen in Metropolis, but he was a familiar sight. Cassandra saw Bruce interact with Clark in a less formal manner than he did with most, and that had spurred a chain reaction. The man could be trusted, it was safe to let your guard down around him, even smile, or save interesting stories for him. He asked for her autograph after an exceptional game and it had solidified him as not just a member of the press, but as a fan, a friend.

“Bruce, the game is at four. Can you not reschedule?” Alfred interjected after a sip of his tea. Most of Bruce’s work as the bat happened under the cover of night, Alfred assumed Bruce wanted to test something or tail someone, all work that seemed to be a bit negotiable.

“It’s important, can’t wait.” Bruce’s reply sounded more stubborn than maybe he intended.

“I understand everything you do is important to you, frivolous is not a word I would use to describe your actions but-”

“I will make it up to you Cass I promise.” Bruce couldn’t reschedule but he didn’t want to discuss the particulars in front of Cassandra. Which made it so odd that she found him later on. He thought he was being careful, thought he could keep the two sides of his life separate, he’d been wrong.

Cassandra held her left hand by her head and turned it inward then tapped both thumbs bellow her eyes. ‘Sunglasses?’

“Yeah, you can wear them. Play in style.” Bruce winced a bit at the influx of light as he took them off and passed them over, smiling as Cassandra’s small face was swallowed by the large shades. “Looks good.” He chuckled as they slid a bit down her nose.

Bruce had sent Cassandra to wash her hands so he could explain himself to Alfred. Had she somehow overheard? Snuck near the kitchen door undetected and eavesdropped on their conversation? “Six now.” Bruce had been washing dishes, maybe that’s why he hadn’t noticed his an Alfred’s conversation had been compromised.

“Six what?”

“Children, hospitalized.” Bruce nightly recapped ambulance chatter, it was often gang violence, muggings gone bad, drug overdoses but these cases had stuck out, they were different, alarming in how they had invaded Gotham homes. “P.D has been hard on the docks, can’t just ship drops in by the crate.” Cheerdrop was a huge moneymaker among the crime syndicates, the envogue party drug. It was disheartening the amount of time both he and the Gotham police had to spend weekly interrupting hand offs. For every one shipment they stopped, three got past them, it was a number game they couldn’t win. “This has to stop, not this way.”

“The correlation?” Alfred rightly asked, sometimes Bruce forgot how inside his own head he was. Things he wasn’t even particularly trying to keep tight to his chest that he never bothered to express. It was frustrating explaining himself to people, so much going on his mind at any given time.

“They are putting packets in cereal boxes.” Disguised as simple cereal, with simple prizes, ten to fifteen packets per box. “Shipped to some bought grocers, mostly in park row. Supposed to stay in the stock room for dealers to pick up." Accidents happened, too many.

"Cereal boxes are making it to shelves, to breakfast tables.” Alfred understood, just as Bruce finished with the dishes, utensils and a bowl clattering against the sink tossed down frustrated.

“They should be safe inside their homes Alfred.”

“You’re going to break up a drop off? Is that something you need to be there for?”

“No, that isn’t working.” Bruce had been cutting off deliveries, it’s how he got his most recent shiner. “Someone on the force is tipping them off.” He was losing the shaky credibility he had with the police force. Everytime he offered a tip as to where the next shipment would be taken, sure enough a truck would roll up, but it didn’t matter if the patrolman opened one box or ten, they only found whistles, stickers and decoder rings at the bottom of the boxes.

“I’ve been closing in, combing through financials.” Always follow the money. “He should be meeting up at Nana’s pool hall for a payout after his shift is through.” Bruce always told Alfred his starting location for his nightly excursions, on the off chance he needed to be picked up. That was a careless mistake, one he couldn’t make in the future.

“Alright, I will go with Cassandra. I will tell you what I told your father. Do not make this a habit.” Alfred was supposed to be the family butler, not Bruce’s father. “Your father was a smart man, he listened.” When he was alive, Thomas made time for his boy, put his family before his work, it might have cost him everything, but that’s what family is worth, everything.

“I’ll be careful.” Bruce knew under Alfred’s ‘be a present parent’ warning was one a bit more macabre, be a live one, Bruce was no good to Cassandra dead. “I said I’d make it up to her.”

Bruce would cave and agree to that double playdate with Gordon. Cass had taken quite a kinship with the commissioner's daughter, the girl was a few years older but enjoyed ditching the playground to climb trees. Bruce was not nearly as sold on seeing Nancy Drew on Ice as everyone else was, but he said he’d consider it and he would make time for Cassandra and her growing social circle, even if the activity seemed worse than water torture to him.

Bruce had been ready for a fist fight to break out at the seedy establishment, he’d even expected for there to be gunfire and had padded himself accordingly. Being over armored meant he was a little bit slower, he'd prepared for that, but what he hadn’t expected was the injection. Upon getting his bearings he still didn’t know what he’d been shot up with, but it was enough to disorient him, enough to make him moveable. They had dragged him down into the basement, away from the ‘regular’ patrons.

It hadn't been enough to knock him out fully, he felt the beating they gave him, heard the voices discussing what to do with him, one of them had been the crooked cop he was after. ‘They were going to send me swimming.’

Some goon had gone out to get concrete, to give him cement shoes before they would drop him in the river. Something had gone wrong, something they hadn’t accounted for. Yet, it was nothing Bruce did, it was Cassandra.

“How’d you get here? You’re supposed to be at your ball game.” Though maybe that had been hours ago, Bruce had no idea how much time had elapsed since he got here. Had it been hours? Had she been waiting by her window, peering out with those toy binoculars and when Alfred tried to assure her everything was alright, to turn in, she saw the lie in his body language, heard the concern in his voice and decided to act on it? “Alfred’s worried sick you know?”

Alfred only had to make a single phone call and Gotham’s finest would be dispatched to tear the city apart looking for Bruce’s Wayne’s daughter. They couldn’t lose another one, Gotham had so few innocent faces left and Cassandra had become their face, their silent partner in the struggle of surviving all the horrors that surrounded them. She was letting nothing hold her down, keep her back. Gotham loved her, had hopes for her.

Bruce remembered that feeling, that pressure. Would they say the same thing if they saw her now? Would they blame Bruce? The curse of the Wayne’s? Pretty faces that turned people ugly? Bruce hadn’t made Cassandra what she was, but he hadn’t protected her from feeling like she had to fall back on it.

“Taxi.” Cassandra was still standing over a beaten man, bat hoisted up in the air waiting to strike. It must’ve been heavy, not at first, but holding it up, holding it back for as long as she had been, her small arms must’ve started to get tired, they were shaking.

“Put it down, you’ve won, he can’t hurt you. He-”

“They come back.” Cassandra spoke from experience. “If you let them live, they come back.” Cassandra spoke words that weren’t hers, words that had been drilled into her head at some point during her short life. “Won’t let them hurt you again.”

“If you kill them I . . . We can’t put them back together Cass, they’re not toys!” He knew she knew that, she’d likely seen men die, be buried, she knew death was final, but did she understand there was another option? Bruce hadn’t told her, he hid both the bad and the good of what he did from her. As far as Cassandra could comprehend, Bruce wasn’t all that different from Cain, other than the foes he targeted and the fact that he worked alone.

“They will come back.” Cassandra’s voice was breaking, she was scared, she was scared of losing Bruce. “Don’t want to go back.” Cassandra was scared of what she would do to keep that from happening, but also scared of what would happen if she didn’t act as what she had been groomed to.

“You don’t have to, never ever. I promise.”

“You-” Cassandra was going to argue again but Bruce took command of the conversation, she needed him to be the voice of reason.

“I do what I do so they can come back . . . so they come back better, like I am, like you are.” The aluminum bat finally clinked against the floor. Cassandra ran over to him and began helping him out of his chains.

“You shouldn’t have come.” Bruce didn’t know what he would have done if Cassandra hadn’t showed up, but he’d prefer it over what happened.

Cassandra, now calmer, went back to the method of conversation that came easiest, her hands in fists she bumped her thumbs together before turning her hands over and tapping her pinkies together. ‘Team’

Cassandra had from the sounds of it, ran away from home, used some ‘I’m a poor lost child’ routine on some hapless taxi driver, gotten a ride into the thick of one of the worst places in a rough city. And with just her baseball bat and toy store gadgets, she had gotten into the basement of the pool hall, incapacitating six or seven thugs along her way, just to get to her teammate, just to save Bruce, to protect him.

Once Bruce’s arms became unbound he should have immediately contacted Alfred but something took precedence. Making the sign for the letter F he replicated the circular motions Cassandra had made. “Family, Cass.” He stood on wobbly feet, took Cass’ hand in his. “No height requirement for that.” Bruce checked the pulse of the ruffian Cassandra had taken down, then he removed the cellphone from his pocket, dialing 911 and holding it by his face before they departed.

They were able to get out without any further confrontations, slip quietly into the batmobile and start driving back home. Once the engine ignited Bruce dialed the manor, it was picked up on the first ring. “Where is she?!”

“Alfred. I-”

“Whatever you are doing, stop it this instant. Cassandra is-”

“With me.” Bruce winced, he was not going to be able to crash into bed and nurse his wounds when he got home, Alfred was going to make him wish they’d thrown him into the Gotham bay.

“Cassandra?!”

“Here.” She spoke up leaning close to the mic. “Sorry.”

“Sorry?! Sorry?!” Alfred was fuming. “Just come home safe, the both of you, now!”

“Alfred, this won’t happen again.” Bruce tried to offer Alfred some piece of mind. “Right?” Bruce glanced over at Cassandra who was busy looking over his body, lingering on ribs that had a little rattle to them. “Cassandra, you can’t come with me.” Bruce removed his cowl, his eyes pleading for her to understand. “I can’t let them hurt you.”

Cassandra reached out and softly poked at one of those ribs. It stung, but her point stung harder. He was a hypocrite, knowingly running into danger, purposely instigating fights with those that meant him harm.

“That’s different, I’m . . . an adult, you’re a child.”

It broke Bruce’s heart when she shook her head no. It scared him when she made that familiar set of signs. ‘Bat’ followed by ‘Girl.’

“Alfred I’ll call you back, we’ll be home soon.” Pennyworth couldn’t possibly get more mad so Bruce only regretted slightly hanging up on him like that.

“Cass I know you’re not . . . just a kid.” Bruce could sign her up for sports, buy her toys, send her to the best schools money could buy but those experiences and skills would only add to her, not wipe out what she’d seen, how she felt, what her instincts told her.

“Not exactly, but I feel . . . I know what you’re going through.” She was like him, someone who thought they had to grow up, that they had to be strong, they had to protect what was theirs because they already had so much robbed from them. “I know everything else seems unnecessary.”

Bruce remembered tossing out his baseball glove, his Grey Ghost tapes, his party clothes, all in the trash, because fun was a distraction, would make you go soft, and when you were soft and vulnerable and not at constant attention, that’s when the world takes you down at your knees.

“I know you want to help.” Sitting idle was maddening, doing nothing as you watched people get hurt, circumstances get more dire, it was torture. “So, I will train you, if you’d like, so when you’re a little taller you can . . . make that decision if you want, but a choice isn’t a choice if you don’t have other options.” They were years and years away from when Bruce would consider taking Cassandra under his wing as some sort of ward, but she didn’t have to sit, wait and worry. There were other parts of her life he wanted her to live.

“I need some help at that part, at going out and facing my city, at letting them in. I need to be the man in Batman that people know. . . trust, maybe even like.” Bruce shrugged, finding that aspect maybe a bit too lofty a goal. “Can we start there? Learning what we can do in the daylight? Learning to stand up straight and tall?”

Cassandra folded her arms against her chest, not sure whether or not she agreed with Bruce’s vague multi year plan. “I’ll let you wear my shades?” Bruce got her to give a small snort of amusement at the pitiful bribe. “I just . . . want you to not just be safe . . . I want us to be happy Cass. Alfred says he gains a year to his life every time he sees one of us smile . . . and we’ve been doing good lately.”

Cassandra’s tense shoulders relaxed a little bit, she was now at least marginally entertaining Bruce’s idea of having merit. “That’s part of protecting and caring about people . . . you gotta let them do it back. Let us?”

Again she poked at his ribs. All well and good that he wanted her to grow up semi normal, she didn’t hate the idea, but still if Bruce was hurt. Was she supposed to do nothing? “I’m done growing Cass. You’re not.” Cassandra lifted her hands above her head. “Height requirement, non negotiable.” Bruce nodded.

Sometimes parents did have to go the because I said so route, because children were afraid of the now, adults worried for the future. Cassandra didn’t see it yet, all her potential, all the greatness and joys she would have as she grew, Bruce did, and he wouldn’t let a five year old sway him to jeopardize that.

Bruce remembered Alfred, all his mentors past and present, how they tried to discourage Bruce from his chosen path, how that deterred him not at all. If anything made him work harder to achieve his goals. Bruce decided to go a slightly different route.

“Who would fear the big bad Bat if you go around beating up all my bullies?” That got a confident smirk out of Cassandra. Bruce knew she was capable, but wanted to do things himself, didn’t want to be upstaged, or worse yet deemed replaceable, that finally made sense to her. Honoring her mentor, not bringing them shame, that clicked better than self preservation. It was a grim notion, but whatever it took to make sure Cassandra let Bruce call the shots a little while longer.

Cassandra reached out her hand and grabbed Bruce’s. “Be careful.” It was close to saying I love you, as close as Cassandra was ready for.

“I won’t let you down.” Bruce said I love you too, in his own way.

At home there wasn’t a lecture, there was a vital check, an I.V drip. They changed out of bloody clothes and then there was tea, there was cookies, there was a box of VHS in the den. “To calm my nerves, we will watch someone else save the day yes?” Alfred watched as Bruce dug through the box.

“I threw these out.” They were Bruce’s Grey Ghost films.

“I kept them.” Alfred had been where Bruce was, desperately trying to keep a child a child in a city that drained innocence through the cracks in the concrete. He was still doing it, you don’t stop, you don’t give up.

“Alfred, do you remember . . . my weed period?”

“Is that what you were up to in your university years?” Alfred’s brow rose confused.

“No, no. When I grew like a weed? You . . . Did we paint over the marks?”

“No sir, we didn’t. Miss Cassandra, while Bruce pops corn, come with me to the cabinet. I have something to show you.”

In the kitchen Bruce popped corn over the stove like he used to as a child, burning the first batch, though in his defense he was distracted, hit by deja vu again. He watched as Cassandra stood as straight as possible against the pantry door, Alfred measuring her height. “Write your name and age, and we’ll watch how you grow.” Alfred handed over the marker to the young girl.

‘Tall like you?’ Cassandra signed, asking Bruce what the height requirement was.

“Tall like you Cass, you’re not Batman . . . you’re you and you might grow even taller.” Bruce smiled as her eyes lit up a little hopeful, not just at the prospect of meeting some benchmark but possibly surpassing it.

“Now carry the popcorn.” He handed the bowl over to her. “I’m going to fix Alfred something stronger than tea.” Bruce gave an apologetic smile to the man who gave him every chance to succeed and fail, who had seen him through his highs and lows, who would continue to watch their family grow.

“It’s a start.” Alfred smiled back. “Now Cassandra, pick out a good episode for us.”

“That’s a trick statement.” Bruce was reaching through the high cabinets. “Even the bad ones are good.”

“Bruce.” Since Cassandra had been sent to the den, it was only Alfred and Bruce in the kitchen now.

“I know Alfred, I shouldn’t be encouraging her but I don’t know what else to do.”

“You just need to work harder Bruce, keep her safe as you can, teach her as much as you know. Push her upwards but not away. It’s not easy but it is worth it.” Alfred spoke from experience.

“We’re alike, she and I.” Bruce wasn’t sure that was a good thing, his life was not easy. It could be, if he wanted it to, but an easy life wasn’t what he wanted, he wanted a life that was worth it. “She’s . . . where she belongs right? This is better for her?”

“Better? Who can tell, she is home here and that, as long as you keep up your own growth, your bond with her, matters much more.”

“Home . . . it didn’t feel that way, for a long time.” Alfred tried, he really did but the manor felt more like a museum than a home most days to Bruce, that was till Cassandra came, running around touching everything, asking questions, opening the blinds to let the sun in. “I was wrong, I just didn’t want to see it, that it was still alive, that it wasn’t stuck.” Bruce hadn’t wanted a home, because homes broke, parents died. “Can’t do that anymore.”

“No sir, she won’t let you. She’s going to make you keep up with her.” Alfred took the drink from Bruce and went into the den.

“I look forward to it.” Smiling, Bruce grabbed his own drink and followed after. For the first time in a long time, he truly meant that. For so long he had thought the distinction between adult and child was that being an adult means you can worry about the future. He knew now it also meant he could look forward to it, that there were possibilities not just problems in the road ahead. There was hope, even happiness in the future. Whatever would happen, would happen. And they would go through it together.

Chapter Text

By the talented kitart15