Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

At the sound of the alarm, Cass’s eyes snapped open.

In a millisecond, she took in her situation. Status: unrestrained, no signs of drugging, uninjured except for the twinge in her knee that meant it was going to rain later. Location: the familiar cluttered space of her bedroom, four walls only barely further apart than the width of her body. Time: based on the bright sunlight at the edges of her curtains and the loud honking echoing up from the street several stories below, sometime during the morning rush hour, perhaps 8am.

The middle of the night for vigilantes, given that she didn’t get back from patrol until almost 5am.

The loud sound that had woken her was the alert on her Bat-Communicator. Which meant words, with no body language attached, right after she had woken up.

Great.

Groaning, she rummaged through the box under the bed where she kept her Black Bat gear, and finally hit the “Answer Call” button.

“Yes?”

“Batg– uh, Black Bat.” Dick was not used to her new codename. This was alright. She was not used to his codename either. “We need you in Gotham.”

That was more or less what she had expected, given the unsociable hour.

“Airport?”

“I’m sending the Batjet. How soon can you get to the rendezvous point?”

It was a long bus ride, followed by a hike into the country park where there wouldn’t be anyone around to witness it. And of course, she’d need to pack up all her equipment.

“Four hours?” she estimated.

“The jet’s on route to arrive in five, so you should be able to meet it as it lands.”

“What enemy?” She would need to pack differently for magic than for aliens. It was unlikely the attack had already begun, or they would be calling in a Super or speedster to get her to Gotham faster, but the Batjet suggested some level of urgency.

“No enemy.”

Cass blinked at the communicator, wondering if she’d misunderstood.

“Repeat?”

“This isn’t an attack. It’s – it’s good news. Red Robin was right.”

Cass’s mind spun with the implications.

“Batman is coming home.”

#

By the time the Batjet touched down, 4 hours and 47 minutes later, Cass had packed up all of her essentials – armour, weapons, toothbrush – bought herself breakfast and a lunch for later, hiked up a mountain carrying half her own bodyweight, and performed her usual morning katas under the shade of a nearby tree.

Then she strapped herself into her seat and tried to not think about anything, because she had to spend the next ten hours inside a metal tube with no-one to answer her questions, and worrying wasn’t going to make that go any faster.

Someone had helpfully loaded the onboard computer with a number of relevant reports, so she spent a good couple of hours struggling her way through those. Yesterday, around the time she was having her 1pm breakfast of rice noodle rolls, Ra’s Al Ghul had attacked a number of the family’s allies in Gotham. Apparently Tim had worked with him, then betrayed him, then been kicked out of a window. Cass wouldn’t know for sure until she could see her brother again, but she was guessing none of that had been good for him.

Tim’s information had apparently been passed on to the Justice League just in time, since they were launching a mission to rescue Bruce Wayne during a narrow window of opportunity that would occur in less than two days. Cass was a little annoyed that none of the family were slated to participate, but apparently the mission involved time travel and omega energy and other such things, so if Dick and Tim were willing to leave it to the experts, she wouldn’t argue.

And then, if all went well, Bruce Wayne would be home.

Cassandra closed the reports, and slept for as much of the flight as she could.

#

The jet’s systems pinged Cass awake when it was time to start the descent, although on this occasion the plane landed itself just fine without any need for pilot intervention. Cass stood and stretched as the plane taxied itself off of the disguised runway and into the cave system underneath Wayne Manor.

The moment that the safety interlocks disengaged, Cass threw open the door and flew down the stairs, throwing her arms around Tim who was waiting to meet her. After a moment of surprise, he huffed at her in fake-annoyance and then squeezed his arms around her tight, just the way she liked.

“You did it,” she told him, because sometimes her brother needed to be told the obvious things. “He will be back.”

Tim stiffened under her touch in obvious anxiety, but Cass ignored this. Tim would never believe a good thing until it was there in front of him; in the meantime, she would have enough faith in their father’s return for the both of them.

“It’s good to see you,” Tim replied.

“You’re taller,” she observed as she released him. Looking him up and down, she frowns at how much weight he has lost. “Eat more.”

There’s a laugh from a few paces away, and Tim’s posture immediately shifts to show discomfort.

“That’s exactly what Alfred said,” Dick explained. Cass barely heard his words though, as she was distracted by Dick’s body, which was blaring guilt like a neon sign, with a ducked chin elaborating guilty-about-Tim, one hand in his pocket adding awkward, and a slight hunch to the shoulders giving defensive.

He half-expected anger from her, which made it frustrating that she wasn’t sure why. The emotions were certainly outsized, but that didn’t necessarily mean the actions they related to were – especially not in this family.

So for the time being, she ignored it, and wrapped her arms around her brother.

“Hey there, Cassie.” He hugged her back hard enough to lift her off the ground, and spun her around. She giggled, and Dick relaxed a little.

When she let go, Tim was not-looking-at-them in a way that she was pretty sure would be obvious to anyone, not just her. Dick’s guilt immediately returned even louder than before.

Huh.

“You are awake early,” Cass said lightly. For Bats this was still the crack of dawn – unless, of course, you had risen early due to bad dreams.

“I thought I’d come on over and make sure this place was habitable for you!” Dick said with a smile. Cass didn’t point out that she normally stayed with Babs when she visited; they both knew who the Manor was really being made ready for. “Besides, I was the one who called you, I thought I should be here. Do you have any questions about the League mission?”

“I told you I had it covered,” Tim said, annoyance tight in his jaw. “I wouldn’t miss Cass’s flight.”

Except for the four visits over the last eight months where he hadn’t been in Gotham.

“No questions,” Cass said. “I am sure you both checked all details. But I need to move.” She stretched her arms over her head, trying to wake up the aching muscles after hours of staying still. “Who is sparring?”

“Do you even need to ask?” Tim replied with an exaggerated sigh. “I know full well I’m your favourite punching bag.”

But his body language said this is familiar and comforting, I welcome this, so she ignored him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Dick contemplating staying. That seemed like a bad idea with the negativity between him and Tim, so she turned to him with a touch too much enthusiasm, rolled her shoulders, and offered: “You will join us? Spar together?”

Dick recoiled with a memory of pain and wounded pride, the flash of a grimace gone in a moment.

“Oh, thanks Cass, but I’d better not. There’s a lot to do today! How about I go get the kitchen ready so you can have lunch when you’re done?”

Cass shrugged as though that hadn’t been exactly the response she wanted, and turned her face sweet instead.

“Carry my bags up? Please?”

“Of course, madam.” Dick smiled and bowed ostentatiously. She laughed and watched him climb the steps into the Batjet, before turning to pull Tim by the wrist towards the mats. Tim hesitated for a moment before acquiescing.

Cass looked at him questioningly, but his only response was a dark look back in the direction of the plane.

They didn’t bother going to the lockers to change. Both Cass and Tim favoured comfortable, loose clothing when they were at home, so all it took to get ready was Cass tying up her hair and Tim taking off his hoodie and watch. But they needed to warm up, so Cass started on a familiar stretching routine that they had done side-by-side a thousand times.

Dick waved at them as he walked past, Cass’s backpack slung over one shoulder. At the sound of the Cave door clicking shut, something in Tim uncoiled slightly. Cass heard him take a slow breath before he asked, without turning his head towards her:

“Did you want to spar with Dick instead?”

Cass snorted, which surprised him for a moment.

“No,” she said simply. “He wanted to stay and be nosy. But he hates to lose to me. I asked so that he would leave fast.”

“Reverse psychology,” Tim named for her. Another slow breath, a little more tension gone. He still carried far too much, even for Tim.

“You are angry at him?” she prompted.

“Privacy, Cass.”

“What privacy? We both know!” she complained. “You are not…” She hesitated for a moment, looking for the word. “Subtle.”

Tim huffed in annoyance at her unassailable reasoning.

“I know you know, and I know he knows. Everyone knows! But I’m working on it. I don’t need you interfering, okay?”

Cass was surprised at the level of venom. Normally, when she didn’t understand something about a social situation, Tim was happy to explain it to her. Even when she was truly just being nosy, they didn’t have many secrets from each other.

Or at least, that was how it used to be.

“… Should I be angry at him?” she asked, as they finished up their final stretch.

Tim flashed her a half-smile.

“Thanks for the support. But like I said, don’t worry about it.”

Then he straightened suddenly, and spun a kick towards her head, and the conversation was over.

Chapter Text

The Manor was dead. Cass had never heard it so quiet. If her footsteps made a sound, they would have echoed.

Dick, Damian and Alfred had moved out not long after she and Tim had left, and the place had been undisturbed since then. Most of the rooms were still shrouded in dustcloths, curtains drawn against the watery light of the Gotham sun. Many of the ornaments and paintings had been placed in storage, scarring the walls with irregular, aching voids.

The Cave had looked the same, only a few hours before. Dick had spent a few hours this morning reopening it, before moving on to the main kitchen and den.

“You’ll have to get by with just that for now, or clear up yourselves,” he had said to her over lunch. Tim had not joined them; he excused himself to go nap as soon as Cass had thoroughly exhausted him on the training mats, to Dick’s relief-guilt-concern.

Then Dick had excused himself to go check on Damian back at the penthouse, worry born of love written in the creases of his forehead as he talked of the brother Cass barely knew, and Cass was left alone in the dark, silent skeleton of her former home.

She went to her room, backpack waiting in the hallway just outside, and unpacked her toiletries, clothes, and a couple of photos that lived on her nightstand. Cass was aware that most people couldn’t fit their whole life into a single bag, but once upon a time even these few possessions would have been an unthinkable luxury to her. She revelled in finding a space for them with her everywhere she went, and that meant that for the next few weeks at least, they would be here at the Manor.

Once that task was complete, she wandered slowly down the corridor.

The door to the master bedroom was locked, not that that delayed her long. When she opened the door and slipped inside, she found that there were no dust sheets here, although the curtains were drawn. Had Dick come and removed them already, or had Alfred never covered this room over in the first place?

They should wash the sheets fresh. Bruce knew the smell of the laundry detergent Alfred used, even if he didn’t know he knew it. It would help him know he was home. And he’d need clean pyjamas too, the flannel ones he wore when he was sick or injured and they all piled into his room so that he couldn’t find an excuse to leave.

The weight of the memories hit Cass like a building collapsing on her. She took a shuddering breath, but she was drowning, drowning, and she needed her father, needed him here where he belonged. Tomorrow, she thought to herself desperately, and she believed it to be true, only –

Only she needed tomorrow to be now.

She didn’t fall on the ground. Didn’t drop to her knees, or throw herself on the bed, where the cold emptiness of the sheets might have broken her beyond repair. She stood silently, holding herself with perfect stillness, and breathed in the pattern Bruce had taught her before she even knew words, pressing her hand to his chest to feel the rhythm of it.

In – hold – out – out. In – hold – out – out.

And when the pain in her chest eased a little, when her limbs could move again, she tore the sheets off the empty bed with clawing hands, and carried them to the laundry room.

#

By the time Cass returned upstairs, the light in Tim’s room was on. She pushed open the door to find him perched in his desk chair, feet on the seat with his knees hugged to his chest, as he read through something on the laptop screen.

Cass stood in the doorway, contemplating her brother. The spar earlier had shown that he had some new abdominal injury – he unconsciously guarded the area, and the scarring had reduced his flexibility, although it was old enough that he had adapted to the change. More worryingly, gone were the days when Cass would tease her brother for always pulling his blows during training. Tim had struck at her hard and fast, without hesitation. He was a better fighter than when they had last met, but in gaining skill he had lost something too.

Well, Cass knew what that was like.

Tim’s body now told her that he had been awake for a while, despite not sleeping as much as he needed too. Bad dreams, most likely. It surprised her that he hadn’t come and found her. Neither of them particularly liked to sleep alone, and they had often curled up together in one bed to ward off a bad night.

But then, more than half a year apart might have been long enough to break that old habit.

“Work?” Cass asked, gesturing at the screen.

“I’m reading through the recent casefiles,” Tim explained. “I want to make sure I’m all caught up with what’s been happening in Gotham.”

So that he can report it to Bruce, Cass filled in automatically. This was the kind of thing Tim did when he was anxious. It was part of what made them such a good team – Tim’s first instinct in times of trouble was always for information, where Cass’s was for action.

Speaking of which…

“Patrol together tonight?” Cass asked.

Tim looked pleased for a moment, but then he hesitated.

“I don’t know if Dick is expecting us to go out.”

Cass looked at him flatly.

“Oh no.” She said without emotion. “Batman will be mad.”

That made Tim snort with laughter. “Okay, you’ve convinced me.”

“Good,” Cass answered. “Dinner?”

“You cooking?”

Cass shook her head, with a smile.

“Okay, I’ll order take-out. But if Alfred finds out I’m blaming you.”

“Pizza,” Cass told him, walking over to the window. She slid it open and, in a single practised motion, swung up onto the roof of the Manor.

“With a side of hot wings?” Tim called after her.

“Always!”

Cass quickly made her way over to the spot on the roof between their two rooms that was her favourite place to sit up here. She had to clear away some moss, which crumbled into soft chunks under her fingers, before she could settle herself down.

The clouds above Gotham were the dark purple of a bruise, only barely lighter than the dark spikes that made up the city’s jagged skyline. Between those rough peaks, bursts of blood-red light bled through, bright enough to leave spots on her vision. The city was an open wound upon the world.

That, at least, hadn’t changed at all.

#

After dinner they headed down to the Cave. Tim had some computer things to set up before patrol, so Cass made herself useful checking over the armour and weapons. She made certain to familiarise herself with Tim’s new uniform, asking him to wear them while she checked the contents of each pocket in turn. Batman had always taught them that their partner’s equipment was exactly as vital to know as their own.

Finally, they headed over to the bikes and Tim radioed in.

“Hey O. Think you could make use of a couple of extra pairs of hands?”

There was a few moments’ hesitation.

“You and Black Bat?” Babs prompted, and Tim confirmed. “You aren’t in our systems, I won’t be able to track you.”

“You think I didn’t think of that? I already uploaded the data.”

There was another silence. Cassandra wondered for a moment whether Barbara was going to order them to the Clocktower. Whether Cass wanted her to.

But Babs made the same choice she’d been making since Cass left Gotham, and ended the interaction as quickly as possible.

“Head over to the Lower Town and patrol along route 17C. Should be pretty quiet but…”

“Gotham’s gonna Gotham,” Tim finished, flashing Cass a grin. “We’ll check in every hour.”

“Over and out.”

It was a standard patrol through a part of Gotham with no active cases. Cass hadn’t done a lot of street-level work in Hong Kong – without a local information network or Oracle’s high-tech algorithms, gangs were far easier to track and had much greater capability for harm.

Bruce had started his Mission working mostly against Gotham’s mafias, but over time they had become wise to Batman’s tricks, and increasingly difficult to predict or control. Which, of course, had peaked in the gang war –

Cass shut down that train of thought before it could go any further. Focus on the street, on signs of movement, on sounds of a struggle. Be the one watching when the criminals think they can act unseen. Be the one who stops them.

She was justice. She was the night.

Over the course of a few hours, they prevented two robberies, although the second robber was so terrified at their appearance that he more or less surrendered on the spot. They had also checked in on some of the bars at closing time, breaking up one altercation with their mere presence on the skyline. Her body itched for more direct action, but this was the nature of patrolling Gotham – long periods of inaction, watching and waiting for the big fight that would always inevitably come.

So when Cass heard a noise on the other side of the rooftop she was on, she simply tapped her finger on the mic twice to let Red Robin know she was investigating something and crept across the rooftop, half-expecting to find a stray cat or some beer cans blown over in the wind.

Instead she found… nothing. An emptiness, and a tingling on the back of her neck, telling her that she was watched.

She strode to the middle of the rooftop, intentionally turning away from the deepest shadows. Every part of her body strained for awareness. Then – half a footfall, a sharp inhale –

All thoughts fell away, and Cass became motion. She spun a kick at where she expected her attacker’s head to be, only to over-rotate as her foot swept clean over the hooded figure attacking her. They ducked away from the blow and used the momentary fumble to sweep at her other leg, but she flipped into the air before they could connect and used the momentum to throw them.

They landed flat on their back on the rooftop, with Cass’s knee on their chest.

“… Robin?”

Cass had met Damian Al Ghul-Wayne on a handful of occasions, but never for particularly long, and she had never been paired with him while in costume as Robin. She was aware that he had been raised an assassin, that he had killed before, and that he was slowly learning to be better than his past. She had sympathy, and hoped for his success, but she had not forgotten that he had attempted to kill Tim upon their first meeting.

Even in costume as Robin, he carried a sword, although it remained sheathed at his back. Perhaps that was a sign of the progress Dick insisted had been made.

Cassandra rose, and offered Robin a hand to get to his feet. He took it, and looked up at her with – excitement? Awe? Cass wasn’t sure she had a word for what she saw, but she knew it unsettled her.

“Black Bat,” he greeted. “I wished to welcome you properly on your return to Gotham.”

“Ambush?” She asked, lightly.

Robin huffed and folded his arms, radiating embarrassment.

“I did not think to best you, of course. However, I felt it prudent to allow you to assess my skills at the earliest possible opportunity so that our future partnership can be based on mutual respect –”

A lot of words. A lot of complicated emotions, too. He wanted approval desperately, that much was clear.

Cass only hoped that he wanted her approval as a Bat, not as an assassin.

“I understand. It was fun,” Cass said, winning a flash of a shy smile, and for a moment she felt like she might have done something right.

Then a purple-caped figure with blonde hair flipped onto the roof, saying:

“– swear to God, I am going to wring your scrawny neck this time, you little –”

Stephanie Brown – Batgirl – stopped dead as her eyes met Cass’s. Her look of uncertainty and shock mirrored Cass’s own feelings.

What were you supposed to say to your best friend who died, only she was never really dead, but she let you believe she was for over a year, only to come back like nothing had ever changed? How did you tell her that you had given her your mantle and fled halfway across the world trying to outrun your own grief but now you were back, and the mantle you had given her looked good on her, but you almost hadn’t recognised her for a second?

(Her Batgirl outfit was a lot more like Babs’s than Cass’s had been. Had that been Steph’s idea, or Barbara’s? Did Babs like this one more?)

“No killing,” Cass said, her voice faux-gruff.

Immediately, Steph’s face flashed into anger, and Cass knew she had said the wrong thing.

“Not literally!” she snapped, and then, before Cass could explain that she had been trying to make a joke: “Robin! What have I told you about disappearing on me?”

“I am perfectly capable of navigating the city without your assistance.” Robin tutted at her, sparking another flash of fury in Steph.

“I know you are,” she said, “that’s why I know that you know that you are a mile and a half off of your patrol route right now, in direct violation of my instructions.”

Damian shot a look at Cass, and Cass did not like the undertone of we are superior to her she saw in it.

“Listen to Batgirl,” she said sharply. “You should not have come.”

Damian shrunk back, chastened – but to her surprise, Stephanie rounded on Cass.

“Don’t talk to him like that,” she snapped. “I do not need your help with this.”

Cass opened her mouth to respond, but before she had formed the words, Red Robin rounded the corner.

“Of course!” Steph cried, immediately turning her back on him. “Just what we need! Come on, Robin, we’re leaving.”

For a moment, Tim and Damian locked gazes. It was like two animals, circling each other, each waiting to see if the other would strike first.

“Robin!” Steph snapped. Both heads turned to look at her.

Then, after a moment, Damian followed her off the rooftop.

Cassandra looked at Tim.

“We’re running late,” he said. “Let’s get back to patrol.”

Chapter Text

As instructed, Cass and Tim were uniformed and waiting in the Batcave at 11am sharp when the Batmobile pulled up.

Dick was the first to get out – uniformed as Nightwing, but still carrying the stiffness of Batman in his shoulders. Robin was quick to follow, sword on his back and fists balled at his sides. And finally, with a hand from Dick, Alfred emerged, still in his usual suit and shirt, but with a black domino over his face – the Justice League medical facility they were travelling to was theoretically secure, but they were still Bats.

Alfred’s expression lightened when he saw her, as close as the man ever got to a smile.

“Miss Cassandra,” he said. “How good to see you.”

Cassandra clasped his hand. When Alfred allowed the touch to linger beyond his usual two seconds, she knew he was feeling the same tension as the rest of them. She was fairly certain that neither Tim nor Dick had slept that night, and while she had managed to rest, she had entirely avoided breakfast that morning to spare her roiling stomach.

The five of them filed onboard the Batjet, Dick taking the pilot’s seat. Damian moved to sit beside him, but Dick held up a hand.

“As your partner, I am at your side in all matters –” Damian began.

“You don’t know how to fly the plane,” Tim pointed out.

Dick sighed.

“That is immaterial –”

“Enough, Robin,” Dick cut him off. “Not today.”

Tim took the other chair in the cockpit, leaving a fuming Damian to strap himself in between Cassandra and Alfred in the passenger section.

The flight wasn’t a long one. The Justice League operated several bases around the country with at least rudimentary medical facilities for use in emergencies. It was part of the League’s Disaster Response plan, as devised by Batman.

But every time the clock ticked on by one more minute, the mission timetable replayed itself in Cass’s mind. 11:00, security perimeter established. 11:15, mission team arrive on site. 11:25, medical evacuation team in place.

At 11:40, final equipment checks, they landed at the facility and were directed to a waiting room. The medical wing was almost silent, their only patient for the day yet to arrive. There were no footsteps in the corridor.

For a few moments after the door closed behind them, they all stood aimlessly amongst the hard plastic chairs. Then Dick collapsed with a sigh into the chair next to the door, tipping his head back against the wall and rubbing his temples. Tim took a seat along the wall, pulled out a tablet and began tapping away at something. Alfred sat primly a few chairs down from him, his spine taut as a bowstring, and Damian perched beside him, poised on the edge of his seat.

Cassandra did not sit. She could see the movement behind Dick’s eyelids, knew the scenarios he was playing out in his thoughts. She did not want to be in thoughts right now. So instead she moved to the back of the room, stacked a few chairs neatly to one side, and began practising her katas.

Strike. Block. Kick. Lunge. Block. Focus on the motion, on the shape of the body. Slow, fast-fast, slow. Breathe in time with the movements. Feel the way your limbs align, your joints extend, your muscles stretch. Become a motion you have been a thousand times before, without letting the memory take over.

“I don’t know this exercise. Can you teach me?”

Cassandra’s eyes snapped open, annoyed with the break in her concentration. She completed the sequence before answering Damian’s question.

“Watch now,” she said. “Learn later.”

He clicked his tongue at her, and she ignored him. She tried to sink back into the focus she had before, but it was difficult not to feel the intensity of his gaze tracking her back and forth across the room. After a couple more routines, she was about to give up and tell him to join her when there was a knock at the door.

No-one in the room breathed.

Dick stood and opened the door, and Superman was on the other side.

“Complete mission success,” he said immediately. “By all parameters.”

Dick looked as though he had been electrified by his own escrima.

“He’s alive,” Clark repeated, wrapping Dick in a hug. “He’s back.”

Damian was still frozen. Alfred’s lips were moving silently – a prayer. Cass walked past them both and put her hand on Tim’s shoulder.

I told you, she tried to convey as their eyes met. I said you would bring him back to us, and you did.

From the way his spine straightened, she thought he understood.

“What’s his status?” Tim asked, his voice clear as a bell.

“No major injuries,” Superman answered. “He’s already in the ambulance, they should be here in about ten minutes. He’s unconscious, but that’s mostly exhaustion and dehydration.”

“Mostly?” Tim asked pointedly, and suddenly several pairs of Bat eyes were narrowed in Superman’s direction.

“Okay, there was a complication, and his heart was temporarily stopped. We resuscitated him as soon as we were able, about two minutes later.”

Tim settled again. “Oh, okay. I was worried it was something major.”

Dick didn’t look so relieved.

“You’re still monitoring him in the ambulance?” he asked.

“Of course,” Superman reassured him. “I’ll let you know if he wakes up or if anything changes. He’ll be here soon.”

Bruce would be here soon. It wasn’t until she thought about those words that Cass let herself admit that there had been a possibility that this wouldn’t work. The realisation made her want to fall to her knees.

Her grip on Tim’s shoulder tightened minutely, and he looked up at her. His body shouted with pride at his accomplishment, but there was also a sag of relief there, so strong that Cass suspected he was glad to be seated.

He tilted his head at the chair next to him, and Cass finally sat down.

Tim held her hand, tight, and didn’t let go until a nurse knocked on the door and told them they could go through.

#

Cassandra held her breath as she took in the sight of Bruce Wayne, lying asleep on a semi-reclined hospital bed. He was truly asleep, not seeming unconscious or drugged but merely exhausted beyond even his limits. She had half-expected him to be in the Batsuit and cowl, even though she knew he had been somewhere with no access to such things. Instead, he wore unfamiliar clothes in his habitual black. Someone – perhaps Superman? – had placed on his face one of the disposable paper domino masks that the Justice League kept in its medical facilities, stuck on with a couple of strips of surgical tape.

He was alive. He was here. A medic was checking the soft-beeping machine beside the bed, the one whose slow tempo was every beat of her father’s heart, and he was alive alive alive –

“Good, you’re here,” the medic said, addressing Nightwing. “He should be out for the rest of the day, but I’ve worked on Bats before so, realistically, it won’t be long before he’s awake again. He’s not cleared to be out of bed, not even to go to the bathroom, not even if the world is ending, until I’ve had a chance to screen him for neurological damage. I’m expecting you to enforce that, understood?”

Dick nodded sharply.

“Then I’ll leave you to it. Call me when he’s awake.”

Dick pulled up a chair at the head of the bed, while Tim took a position further down the bedside, around where Bruce’s eyeline would be when he woke. Alfred began inspecting the labels on the bag attached to Bruce’s IV. Cass settled in position beside the closed door, knowing that Bruce would feel better if he knew she was standing guard. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Damian move to stand beside her.

No-one touched him. The world held its breath.

Then the beeping machine stuttered, just a single beep coming a half-beat too soon. Cass could see the change immediately, and her heart swelled.

Dick looked to her for confirmation, and she nodded.

“You can stop pretending you’re asleep, B,” he said softly. “It’s safe.”

Bruce opened his eyes to meet Dick’s gaze. After a moment, he looked around the room, taking them all in. Cass watched a tendril of dread creep through him.

When he spoke, it was blank and emotionless: “Handshake protocol QmF0bWFu.”

Of course. The familiarity of it warmed Cass, even as she fumbled in her memory for her own codephrase.

Tim was faster, of course.

“Verification Um9iaW4z. Dark skies above.”

Bruce was looking at Tim intently now as the fear faded away.

“Report.”

“You’re at a Justice League medical facility. You were brought here by med-evac after a successful mission to rescue you from the timestream. You’re dehydrated and need a neuro-eval but –”

“It worked?” Bruce asked, and hope erupted inside him so fiercely that Cass’s chest ached.

“It worked,” Nightwing echoed, taking his hand. “You’re back, B. You made it.”

The two men looked at each other for a moment, and then they were colliding with the force of a freight train. Dick buried his face in Bruce’s shoulder, and Bruce clung to him like the fate of the world depended on it. Cass looked away, not wanting to spy on the emotions that passed between them.

“It’s good to see you, chum,” Bruce murmured as he let go.

As soon as he released Dick, he reached for Tim, who seemed surprised to be pulled in for a hug just as fierce. Cass nudged Damian forwards next, who received the embrace with a rush of awkward embarrassment, before she herself stepped forwards.

Their eyes met for a second, and there was nothing there but love and joy. Then Bruce’s arms folded around her, and she found they still had the power to make her feel small and safe and cherished, even in a hospital bed. She wanted to tuck up her feet and curl onto the bed beside him, nestled against his side where nothing in the world could possibly hurt her.

“Cassie,” her father breathed against her hair, so soft no-one else could possibly have heard it, and that was the moment that the tears flooded her eyes. He was back. The hurting was over. The world was right again.

Slowly, far too soon, he let go, and she stood straight again. She smiled at him, to let him know that she was okay, despite her wet cheeks. Then he looked around and –

Oh.

Alfred stepped forwards, and Cass didn’t have words for the emotion she saw in Bruce, but perhaps it was a lot like what she might have seen in the mirror at that moment. Alfred stepped forward and offered Bruce his hand, and Bruce took it – but then he pulled Alfred a half-step closer, and leant his head against the older man’s ribs, hugging him around the waist. After a moment of surprise, Alfred settled his hands onto Bruce’s shoulders.

“My boy,” he said softly. “Every time I think you cannot surprise me any further…”

“I’ll try not to repeat this one, A,” Bruce said. He let go of Alfred, reluctantly, and asked: “How long was I gone, from your perspective?”

Dick and Tim exchanged a look which said, all too loudly, how much are we going to tell him?

“Nine months,” Dick said after a moment. “Almost ten. It’s September now.”

Bruce started, moving as though he was going to get out of the bed, but Alfred frowned at him, and Tim said: “You aren’t cleared to stand yet, B.”

“Ten months.” Bruce shook his head. “Is everyone alright? Is Gotham –”

“Everyone is fine,” Dick said. “Oracle and Ba- uh, Spoiler – are watching the city for us. There have been some crises, of course, but nothing we couldn’t handle.” He paused for a moment, and added: “Jason still isn’t our biggest fan, but he was in one piece when I saw him a week ago.”

Bruce let out a little breath of relief.

“Still,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with me. I should get back to –”

He moved to leave the bed again, and this time Nightwing grabbed his shoulder and pushed him down.

“B,” he said, forcefully. “You disappeared for ten months, and I thought you were dead for most of it. You’ve been alive again for less than an hour, can you please try to keep it that way?”

Bruce met his son’s gaze for a moment, a thread of tension running between them. Then he leant back.

“Of course, chum. I can wait for the doctor if you want.”

Dick’s hand stayed on his shoulder until the medic had come.

Chapter Text

With Bruce inside it once more, the air inside the Manor seemed lighter, brighter.

Bruce had claimed that he was fine to start getting back to his normal activities, but Alfred had made his “absolutely not” face, so Bruce was meant to be staying in bed. He had managed to bargain for a shower, and they had agreed to leave him alone for a little while.

Cass had waited a couple of minutes until the corridor was clear, and then slipped back into his room, settling herself in the chair near the window to doze in the late-afternoon sun. After a few minutes, she heard the water in the bathroom shut off, and Bruce’s footsteps on the bathroom floor.

A few minutes after that, the door opened. Bruce was in a robe, his hair still damp. He was tense from head to toe, and Cass frowned at him.

“Cassie.” He gave her a pained smile, and moved towards the bed. “I know, I overdid it. But if you’d been stuck in a time before indoor plumbing you’d want a hot shower too.”

“Drink,” she told him. Alfred had left a bottle of water by the bed, with instructions that Bruce was to drink the whole thing every hour, or else be put back on the IV fluids.

Cass waited beside him with her arms on her hips until Bruce had drained the bottle, then took it to the bathroom to refill. When she returned, she climbed onto the bed beside him, curling up under his arm. He began stroking her hair absent-mindedly, and the sensation was so familiar that Cass’s whole chest ached with nostalgia for it, even in the moment as it was happening.

“I thought of this,” Bruce said quietly. “Everywhere I went, when I needed to keep going, it was you and your brothers I was coming home for. You know that, right?”

“Yes.”

“… Almost ten months. I can’t believe I missed so much.” Bruce sighed beneath her. “What have you been up to while I’ve been gone?”

“Got pregnant. Had grandbaby.”

Cass felt Bruce’s heartbeat race for two or three beats, before it slowed again. He nudged her gently.

“No you didn’t.”

“I didn’t. But I got you.”

He chuckled, and Cass had never heard a better sound. She sat up to look at him, to enjoy the way his skin crinkled around his eyes as he smiled at her.

“I gave Batgirl to Steph,” she admitted. There was no surprise in his reaction. “You knew. Dick said.”

“I did,” he admitted. “Do you mind if I ask why?”

She half-shrugged. “It felt right. Trusted her with it. And Batgirl was for Gotham.”

“You didn’t stay in Gotham?” Here was the surprise.

“Hong Kong. Months now. Triads fear Hāak Pīnfūk.”

“The Black Bat,” Bruce translated. “I’m glad you got the chance to go, to explore that part of your heritage.”

Cass almost spoke – but she hesitated, and let the moment pass without speaking correction.

“Will you be going back there?”

“Not soon,” Cass replied. She couldn’t speak to the future, not now when the whole world was shifting under her feet. But right at this moment, she could not imagine leaving Gotham.

Bruce tilted his head in a way that said he was grateful she was staying, but he didn’t want to say it and make her feel pressured about it.

“So Black Bat will be in Gotham now?”

“Hm.” Cass folded her arms across her chest, letting her body show her discomfort.

“Or not?” Bruce prodded.

“Nosy,” Cass huffed. But after a few more seconds, she added: “Black Bat will learn Gotham. Gotham will learn Black Bat. Only… it is strange. For there to be a Batgirl, and she is not me.”

“Hn.” Bruce’s noise meant I see and I want to give the answer but I do not know. “I can’t say that’s something I have much experience of. Maybe you should talk to your brother… speak of the devil.”

The door had been thrown open, and Dick dived inside, starfishing face-first onto the bed.

“My arms are going to fall off,” he declared loudly. “How are a bunch of old paintings so heavy, and – wait, you were talking about me?”

“Cassie was asking about –”

Cass waved off Bruce’s explanation.

“Later,” she said. “Not urgent.”

Dick rolled over onto his back, peering up at them both. The look of need in his eyes was so naked that Cass felt certain Bruce must see it too – the way Dick craved time close to him, the physical reassurance of his father’s presence.

“I will go help Alfred with storage,” Cass announced, and Dick gave her a grateful half-smile.

“Will you be out tonight?” Bruce asked, a familiar euphemism.

“Babs asked for another pair of hands for a bust at the docks,” Dick added, pleadingly. “I can cover it if you want…”

But he didn’t want to leave.

“I will go,” Cass huffed. “But you –” she pointed at Bruce – “will be here –” she pointed at the bed – “when I get back.”

“You going to check on me, sweetheart?”

“I sleep here tonight,” she said flatly. “No nightmares of being alone.”

Not for either of them, she didn’t say. She thought Bruce understood.

#

As Cass’s bike pulled up to the Clocktower’s underground garage, the barrier remained stubbornly in place. It was only when she waved at the security camera (hidden above the doorway to the left) that the gate reluctantly opened for her.

That was always a bad sign.

As the lift doors opened onto Babs’s operations centre, Cassandra could hear that she was already ranting:

“– asked for Batman specifically, but no, I’m sure that whoever happens to be hanging around at the Manor will do fine –”

“Hello Barbara. Yes, flight was good.”

“If you wanted a social call, you could have bothered to stop by yesterday, instead of waiting until someone bribed you into it,” Babs snapped.

That was a lie, even though Babs believed it. She always found some excuse to be mad when mad was what she wanted to be.

“I volunteered. Dick needs family time tonight.”

Babs made a small scoffing sound, which confirmed that she and Dick were definitely in an ‘off’ of their on-and-off relationship right now. When they were together, hearing Dick’s name always softened Babs; when they were broken-up, it hardened her.

“I can handle docks,” Cass said, fighting to keep her voice level. “Hong Kong had docks too.”

“Gotham is complicated,” Babs said, pushing her way past. Cass rolled her eyes. “There are a thousand variables that could be important to any given mission and you aren’t up to date on any of them.”

“Patrolled with Red Robin yesterday.”

“Tim can be trusted to read the mission reports!”

“Hey.” Cass waited until Babs had turned to look at her before saying: “Fuck. You.”

Babs made her face, the one that meant that she had gone too far, and she knew it, but she wasn’t going to admit it or apologise. Cass would very much like it if that face was less familiar to her.

“Until you’re caught up with everything you missed, you need a partner who is aware of the situation on the ground right now. And you need to listen to what they tell you.”

Cass jutted her chin out.

“Cassandra. I need confirmation.”

Cass scowled at her.

“I will do what is best,” she said.

Babs sighed. “That’s as good as I’m going to get from you, isn’t it? I hope you bought gear with you, all your old stuff is still in storage.”

#

If Barbara’s anger was a high, unclimbable wall, then Steph’s was more like the waves which blew in to the Gotham Docks. For the time being, all seemed calm, but if Cass let her guard down, a sudden swell could come out of nowhere and knock her off her feet.

“So,” Steph said as she peered through a pair of binoculars, her clipped tone shouting look how professional I’m being even though I’m pissed at you, “when do you think he’ll be back?”

Cass didn’t have to ask who she meant.

“Two weeks, maybe?” she guessed. “No real injuries, just deconditioning.”

Steph whistled, and Cass saw flashes of more emotions than she could identify.

“So soon,” she said softly.

“You could visit,” Cass suggested. “Not in masks. He would like seeing you, I think.”

“Uh huh. He asked about me? By name?”

“Didn’t have the chance. N gave full report as soon as he was awake.”

Steph glanced at her, surprised.

“Yeah. Well.” She turned back to the dock they were surveilling. “He’s good like that.”

“He knew B wanted to know.”

“Hm.”

Steph was showing I disagree but I don’t want to argue about it. Frustrating – but under the circumstances, Cass decided not to push it.

“Movement,” Cass observed instead. “Left warehouse, in the shadows.”

“And that boat is definitely coming this way,” Steph acknowledged. “Got you, fuckers.”

It was textbook. The boat pulled up quickly, without enough lights. There were too few men on the docks to meet it, and they were nervous, looking over their shoulders. Someone came off the boat and spoke to them, and then the whole group boarded, and that was the moment that Steph and Cass struck.

Cass approached first, getting close enough to toss a stun grenade onto the deck. As the men cursed and rubbed their eyes, Steph landed on top of the cabin and Cass made her way up the gangplank, knocking down the smugglers as they went.

“It’s the Bats!” someone screamed, and Cass grinned viciously. It was good to be home.

There were four men on deck, at least three more down below. Steph took out the guard on the door and slipped inside. Cass took down numbers two and three, tossing their guns overboard into the harbour, and handcuffed the final man when he surrendered without a fight.

It was as she was securing the handcuffs that another figure burst out of a hatch to her right. Cass turned but he had already spotted her, and with only a moment’s hesitation, he took a running leap for the edge of the boat.

To Cass’s surprise, he managed to land the jump, stumbling only somewhat before he took off running at high speed. From the way he cradled one arm against himself even as he sprinted full-out, Cass knew he was carrying something that was both heavy and valuable.

Cargo.

“Runner,” Cass grunted into the comms, taking off at a sprint after him.

“Black Bat, hold on –”

“Negative.”

The man was clearly young and relatively fit, and his height allowed him to outpace Cass, but he only had a few seconds’ headstart and she knew the layout of the dockyard well. He was heading straight for the north-east exit. Cass raced after him, the thrill of the hunt pounding in her ears. She was dimly aware of a voice on the comms, but she couldn’t make out the words, could barely even tell if it was Steph or Babs. She wasn’t a creature of words right now – she was action.

The runner slammed through the gate with a loud, metallic sound and Cass was there within half a minute. Her hand was on the gate –

There was the sound of a gunshot.

Cass slammed out onto the street to find the man she was chasing curled on the ground, clutching at a blood-slick leg. Over him, the menacing figure of the Red Hood loomed.

Black Bat dropped into a fighting stance.

Hood regarded her for a second. The gun was still in his hand – loose, pointed off to the side, but there was no doubt he could shoot before she reached him.

“Turn around, Bat,” he snarled, his voice modulated into Hood’s signature robotic growl. “This is my territory.”

“I will not let you kill him,” Cass informed him.

Whatever noise he made at that, the modulator registered it as a pop of static.

He raised the gun in her direction, aimed about a metre over her right shoulder.

“I said leave. I won’t warn you again.”

“Black Bat, do what he says –” came Oracle’s voice over the comms.

Then a hand grabbed Cass’s shoulder and attempted to drag her back. Cass spun, and almost punched Steph in the throat before she realised who it was.

“Stand down, everyone!” Batgirl said brightly. “We aren’t looking for any trouble, are we Black Bat?”

Cass eyed her warily behind her white-out lenses, but you didn’t go against a teammate in the field. She nodded.

“Hood, we have info you need to hear. Then we’ll go back the way we came,” Steph promised.

Cass’s doubts deepened. Steph’s body language read improvising – but since when had Batgirl ever given information to a Rogue?

Red Hood squared his shoulders, clearly considering the proposal. He didn’t seem all that suspicious. He holstered his gun, but didn’t immediately approach. Instead he grabbed the bundle that the injured man had dropped off the ground.

Cass tensed, grinding her teeth at the idea of him taking the smuggled drugs – but Oracle snapped “don’t you dare move” down the comm line, and she forced herself to stay motionless at Steph’s side.

Hood extracted something from his pocket and stabbed it into the bag of drugs. Within seconds, there was a strong chemical smell, bitter and choking.

As Hood approached, he tossed the bag to Cass. She caught it, of course, but it was clear that whatever he had done was already denaturing the contents. It would be useless as evidence now.

“If this is stalling for time –”

“I know Batman told you about a planned mission a few days ago,” Steph said quickly. “I wanted to tell you that it was successful.”

Hood hesitated. The helmet hid some of the signals of his body, but Cass could still see the surprise there. He hadn’t expected Bruce to return.

Oracle sighed. “That’s going to have consequences.”

Cass agreed. She could still recall the battle after Bruce’s death – Hood tearing half the city apart in a desperate bid to replace him as the Bat, trailing death and destruction in his wake. Half-killing Tim for daring to stand against him.

“I thought you deserved to know as soon as possible,” was Stephanie’s only response.

“That it?” Hood growled. Steph nodded. “Then get out.”

Cass stayed stubbornly still for half a second, but Hood was already turning away. He didn’t look back at the man lying injured in the street.

Cassandra followed Stephanie back through the dockyard gate.

“Fucking dammit, Cass, I told you not to go, what the fuck were you thinking –?”

“Will he kill that man?” Cass demanded.

“What?” Steph’s surprise was genuine. “No, there’s a – we have an agreement. He doesn’t kill street-level criminals any more, and we don’t directly go after him. It’s a truce.”

“You… asked him to be here?”

“No.” Steph looked appalled. “Oracle has a back door into his systems. We knew he was planning something for tonight. That’s how we knew to be at the docks.”

“You left that man with him. He shot him.”

“Yeah, and I snapped a man’s collarbone tonight. It’s a rough city.”

Cass opened her mouth to reply, but Stephanie rounded on her, shoving her in the shoulder.

“Enough! Why the hell are you acting like you have a right to be upset here? You completely ignored my orders and I had to abandon the bust to come bail you out! Did you even stop to think for half a second that I might actually know what I was talking about?”

Cass glowered at her, too furious to speak.

“Go home, Cass,” Steph snarled. “Wherever that is nowadays.”

#

It was late by the time Cass slipped back into the Manor. Babs had thoroughly lectured her on every word and action, her shoulders reading you are supposed to be better than this.

The door to the master bedroom was perfectly balanced, and opened without a sound. Bruce was asleep. Alone? Yes, alone. Cass had expected to find Tim with him, or perhaps all three of her brothers piled in together.

But she was the only one, and she did not have to fight for space as she slipped underneath the black silk sheets. Bruce stirred, making a soft noise in the back of his throat.

“You are safe,” she murmured to him. “You are in Gotham.”

After a few seconds, the tension eased from his face, and he slipped back into a deeper sleep.

Cass lay beside him in the dark, staring at the ceiling, and counted the sound of his breaths.

Chapter Text

Breakfast the next day was a subdued affair. None of the Bats were particularly fond of mornings, and even though Cass was the only one who patrolled the night before, they were all still bleary-eyed at nine o’clock – except Tim, who had not emerged at all. There’s a companionable silence as they eat pancakes and fresh fruit, interrupted only by the rustle of Bruce turning the pages in the morning paper.

It was a pleasant scene. Soon, this would be their routine, and that was the thought Cass held on to. Before long, they would eat pancakes together, and her throat would not clog with the taste of ghosts, and that would be very pleasant, wouldn’t it?

Bruce finished his paper, glanced at Damian, thought about speaking, pretended to be re-reading something on the front page, and then looked up again:

“You’ll have to go back to school in a day or two, Damian,” he said. “We wouldn’t want you to miss too much.”

Damian reacted with mild surprise, but it was Dick who seemed affronted.

“Actually.” He spoke before Damian could react. “Damian is still home-schooling. His tutors say he’s progressing well above his grade level.”

Bruce was still for a minute. Then he made a grunting noise, looked down, and took a sip of his coffee.

That wasn’t good. That was definitely an “I’m not happy about this and I’m going to bring it up later” type of noise – and judging from Dick’s look of open exasperation, he didn’t need Cass to translate.

Well. Bruce and Dick picking an unnecessary fight was a different sort of routine.

Tim didn’t arrive until everyone’s plates were almost cleared and Damian had already departed for his online lesson.

“Sorry Alf,” he said, accepting his plate of lukewarm pancakes. “I slept through my alarm.”

One glance at him told Cass that was a lie.

“Hey, B?”

Bruce, who was standing up from the table, turned back to Tim.

“Can I have a minute sometime today? I have some reports to go through with you.”

“Civilian ones, I hope,” Alfred commented. Bruce was still officially banned from the Batcave, although based on Alfred’s general good mood, it would only be another couple of days before he began to “not notice” Bruce slipping downstairs to look at the computer for an hour or two. Cass would put money on Bruce being training in the Batsuit again within a week.

“Of course,” Tim said smoothly, even though all of them knew him far too well to believe it. “Both the company and your public image have taken some hits recently, and I wanted to brainstorm with you about our next steps.”

Bruce thought for a moment.

“I assume you had someone standing in for me as a civilian?”

“Hush,” Tim answered.

The muscle under Bruce’s right eye twitched, which was his version of pulling a face.

“Ah. I imagine there’s some need for damage control. I’ll be in my office when you’re done eating.”

He turned and left, and Dick made his excuses shortly afterwards.

Tim shot a look at Cass, trying not to look expectant. She smiled at him, and put another spoonful of blueberries on her empty plate. Tim rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the glow of happiness at her presence.

“Good patrol?” he asked.

She scrunched up her nose.

“Project going well?” she signed at him.

He sighed, his expression reading “I know I shouldn’t try to keep secrets from you but I wish you wouldn’t point out when I do.”

“I’ll loop you in soon,” he said.

“Good,” she replied.

Then she picked up a fork, and chased a berry idly around the rim of her plate, as Tim began to eat.

#

The problem with Gotham – one of the problems – was that Cass had nothing to do. In Hong Kong, she had cases to check up on, contacts to meet, information to gather, locations to watch. But here, she didn’t even have a territory to call her own, and based on last night, asking for casework was not likely to go well.

What had she done before leaving? It felt like trying to remember a million years ago. She used to dance most days, at the ballet school or in the studio at the Manor. But she hadn’t done ballet in months, almost a year.

Bruce always loved to watch her dance.

She didn’t go to the studio, but she did make her way to the upstairs gym to work out. Exercises for flexibility, for strength, for balance, for stamina. Feeling the way her body responded, adjusting, feeling her muscles shift. Learning every limit she had until she knew them better than the words on her tongue.

After a couple of hours, the door opened. She did not rise from her stretch until she was done with her count of one hundred. When she lifted her head, Damian was staring at her from the side of the room.

“Do you fence?”

Cassandra blinked at him.

“No.”

She turned and began walking over to the weights.

“Kenjutsu?” Damian asked after her, his voice slightly raised.

“No.”

“Arnis?”

“No.”

A huffed breath. “Well, what is your preferred weapon?”

Cassandra spun to face him.

“No.”

Damian froze, reading incomprehension.

“I do not arm myself,” Cassandra explained. “Not unless I must.”

Damian relaxed a fraction.

“Of course, your core focus is unarmed combat. I respect your dedication to the form.”

Cassandra gritted her teeth. How many ways could he refuse to understand her? She could see it in his eyes, the way he looked at her, the way he saw only what he already expected to see.

He knew her to be a weapon, and he wanted to be taught her sharpness.

“You have lessons?” she asked, pointedly.

Damian’s eyes lit up.

“Yes, but I can be excused -”

“Return to them. Listen to the people who wish to teach you.”

She turned back to her exercises, pointedly looking away from him.

“I -”

There was a silence of several seconds before he moved to leave.

Cassandra did not turn around.

#

When Cass stepped out of the locker room half an hour later, Dick was waiting for her. His arms were folded across his chest as he leant against the wall. Serious. Upset.

“Care to tell me why Damian is in a sudden foul mood?” he said. The words were a question, but the tone was a demand.

“We spoke. He did not like what I had to say.”

Dick’s expression grew darker.

“Cassie -”

“He talks about fighting,” Cassandra interrupted. “He thinks about fighting. Always.”

“And you’re surprised by that?” Dick gave her a flat look. “You know his background.”

“I do,” Cass said, her voice flint.

“So what’s the problem here?” Dick breezed right past her warning tone. “You two have a lot in common. He’s trying to bond with you.”

“He is dangerous.”

Dick met her gaze for a long moment. Then he sighed heavily.

“Sometimes, you and Tim are just alike.”

The curl of his lip said “insult”, which showed just how little he understood.

“Tim almost died.” Cass had switched to sign, her fingers flying. “Did you forget? And now he -” she did not have a sign-name for Damian - “wants me to make him more of a killer.”

“You’ve killed before,” Dick retorted. “And you became something better.”

“Because I chose to leave. He never chose.” Cass shook her head. “He does not think killing is wrong, only that it is forbidden. And forbidden is temporary.”

“And what good would abandoning him do?” Dick demanded. “Do you want me to cast him out, let him run right back to the League? Will that make him less dangerous, do you think?”

“And if we train him, and he goes back to them anyway?”

“Then at least I tried!” Dick shouted.

Cass shook her head. The blood was pounding in her veins, and she wanted to scream, wordless and animal. But she gathered her will, and forced together a handful more words:

“The people he hurts – will not – be blood on my hands.”

Her final word. She shoved past Dick, eager to be anywhere else.

But as she left, Dick called after her:

“What about the blood of the people he could have saved?”

#

Two days later, Dick and Bruce had an argument at dinner, which turned into a screaming match in the front hall.

Dick was gone from the Manor by daybreak.

Cassandra said nothing.

Chapter Text

The Manor was quiet without Dick. It had often been quiet back before – Bruce was a man of few words, Cass took after him, and Tim was so often lost in his work. But this silence felt different, heavier. Damian’s presence infected the whole house with a sense of unease.

Cass was patrolling again. Damian wasn’t supposed to go out on his bike unsupervised, so she had been tasked with accompanying him as far as the Clocktower. Then he and Dick would go off together, possibly with Steph in tow, and Black Bat and Red Robin would be given some quiet part of the city to watch over, or a building to stakeout for hours.

Cassandra was not invited to work with Batman or Batgirl. Damian did not speak to her unless absolutely necessary.

Tim had been scarce, buried in some project at all hours of the day. He was quietly feigning oversleep in order to avoid attending breakfast until a half-hour later than usual. Realising he was avoiding Damian, Cassandra began to mimic this.

A couple of days after Dick’s departure, Tim gestured her to follow him after breakfast, and led her to his room. There he showed her a series of three images: a street in Gotham, which after a moment Cass recognised as being in the Bowery, a couple of blocks over from the Korean barbecue restaurant she liked; a mock-up of an indoor area reminiscent of the Batcave or the Clocktower with a large computer screen, gym equipment, and a medical bay; and a large open-plan kitchen and living room decorated in dark wood and chrome.

“What do you think?” he asked. Excitement buzzed under his skin, animating him in a way Cass had almost forgotten was possible.

“Explain?” she prompted.

“I’ve already purchased the building. It’s been abandoned since the earthquake, so it was going for cheap –”

Cass raised an eyebrow. She had forced Oracle’s map of Gotham into her memory in full, now, and that street… “Red Hood territory.”

Tim gave her a flat look. “So?”

Cass nodded approvingly. Finally, someone who wasn’t going to let Jason’s campaign to take over the city go unopposed. “Continue.”

“I haven’t started the renovations yet. The underground work will have to be high-secrecy, of course, but I have connections. I think I can have it ready in less than eight weeks.”

It.

“Big effort for a safehouse.”

Tim grinned at her. “Not a safehouse. A home base.”

Cass’s stomach turned to ice. Something inside her turned feral and panicked, clawing up her throat as she bit her own tongue. Tim. Leaving. No.

Tim clearly noticed her discomfort even if she managed to hide the extent of her dread. He tapped the back of her palm lightly. “Home for both of us, if you want. I’ve planned a room for you.”

Oh. That soothed the desperation, but Cass was still unquieted by the idea. She turned her wrist, and took his hand: “Why not the Manor?”

Tim’s forehead wrinkled, and he glanced at the door.

“Bruce has been generous,” he said, “but I’m emancipated now. I should be finding my own space.”

Ah. This again. Cass had thought Tim’s adoption had finally convinced him that he was a part of the family, that he had a place in the Manor. But with Bruce gone and Tim suffering whatever ordeals he had faced to get him back, it seemed that old wound had reopened. And with Damian haunting the Manor, a spectre of past violence…

Not for the first time, Cass felt her brother’s pulse under her fingertips, and wished that her words had the power to fix what was broken inside him.

“But if you want to stay, I understand,” Tim said, after a long moment of silence.

“I –”

Cass broke off with a frown. She wanted to have herself, her father, and her brother under the same roof. But if she had to choose… Tim had been the hardest thing to lose, when she left. Even with the weight of grief dragging heavy at them, two bodies in the water drowning each other in their desperation to break the surface, she hadn’t wanted to let him go.

She would not do so again.

But she hesitated still, unwilling to give up on what could be just yet.

“A few days,” she signed, letting go of Tim’s hand. “Let me think.”

Tim had a hollow, resigned look in his eyes that pierced her to the core.

“Of course,” he said. “Only – Cass? Let’s keep this between us, for now.”

Keep it secret, just between them, until it was too late for anyone to try to stop them. How many times had he asked that of her? And always she agreed.

She made the funny gesture he liked, of locking her mouth and throwing away the key. His mouth quirked into almost-a-smile again, but the energy of before was flattened, hidden beneath whatever Tim he thought she wanted to see.

But that she could bear. She would fix it.

She had a few days.

#

That afternoon, her phone buzzed unexpectedly. She had barely had reason to look at it since her return to Gotham, everyone she knew either within the same building or not talking to her, but now…

Now Steph was texting her.

The text was simple – a pinned location on a milkshake bar they used to visit together, sometime a million years ago. And with it: “30 mins youre paying”

Cass let out a slow breath. She had known this day would come – that Steph’s anger would pass with time, gone as soon as it had come. It had always been like this. Steph only held on to anger for a short while, for as long as it took for someone else to earn her fury.

That didn’t mean all was forgiven. Cassandra had no doubt that the next time they fought, Steph would spit this back in her face again, another entry in a long litany of every hurt she had ever caused, intentional or not.

None of them had ever been good at letting go of a grudge.

But for now, the calm waters were here. Who knew how long they would last? So Cass borrowed one of Bruce’s cars, and went to go meet her best friend for milkshakes.

“Your brother,” Steph declared as she sat down, “is driving me absolutely insane.”

Cass looked her over for a minute. It used to be that she could always tell who Steph was mad at from the way she held herself, the tension in her shoulders and hands and jaw. But if she hadn’t said “brother”, Cass would have sworn that this was Steph’s Bruce anger –

Or rather, Batman anger.

“Dick,” Cass named.

“He really is,” Steph said with relish. “I don’t know why he’s decided I’m the person to vent to all of a sudden, but I guess that’s what happens when you piss off everyone else in your phonebook! So now he’s blowing up my texts trying to convince me to stop by the Manor and see how things are going – it’s bad, right?”

Cass blinked to be addressed directly. She shrugged one shoulder: “Normal.”

“Yeah, like I said, a shitshow.” Steph rolled her eyes. “I told Dick last night that I am not getting in the middle of his shit with B, and let me tell you he didn’t like that at all. You want your usual, right?”

Cass nodded in assent, and Steph rattled off their order to the waitress, before continuing with barely a breath:

“I’ve got enough on my plate right now without having to deal with this shit, there’s this one professor who absolutely has it out for me –”

Cass sat and listened to Steph monologue about her college woes, only occasionally requiring any comment from her audience of one. To some it might have been frustrating, but for Cass it was like watching a masterful performance. Even if she lost track of the words every now and then, Steph wore her emotions writ large across her whole form, telling the story of her life with every part of herself.

Cass has almost finished her milkshake by the time Steph winds around again to the topic of her family.

“So I had enough on my plate, and then everything last week happened and –”

Steph let out a long breath. Cass saw flickers of several emotions moving over her, all jumbled together until even Cass couldn’t pull it apart.

“Look, I’m so happy that happened. You know I’m thrilled for you to have him around again. But it wasn’t exactly something that any of us were planning for, you know? And now everything has been thrown up in the air…”

Steph tossed her hair back.

“Dick is worried about Damian.” I’m worried about Damian, said the shadow in her eyes. “I can’t say I blame him. He’s been working himself to the bone this last year taking care of that kid and now – look, I know B is his biological father, but biology ain’t shit, we all know that! Dick is the one who has been there, and it is killing him –”

Steph broke off suddenly, looking down. “Sorry. I told myself I wouldn’t yell.”

“It’s not me you’re mad at,” Cass acknowledged.

In truth, she wished Steph would continue. She wanted to understand this new balance in Gotham, one where Dick texted Steph his worries and Steph got furious on his behalf. Batman and Batgirl had always been partners, but Cass had never before had to learn that partnership from the outside.

Steph sighed, and stirred her straw in the melting remains of her milkshake.

“Look, Cass. Keep an eye out for Dami, would you? I know he can be annoying and he’s basically angry all the time, but.”

She glanced around, and leant forward. Cass leant too, until their foreheads were almost touching.

“He’s my Robin.”

It was somehow a shock, and yet she didn’t know why she hadn’t realised it before. There was so much emotion in that one word, and Cass didn’t need words to explain any of it. Had she ever had words for what was between her and Tim? There was something unbreakable there, no matter what the context. Stephanie and Damian were Batgirl and Robin together.

No matter how she felt, Cass couldn’t help but honour that.

Steph had leant back into her seat, and was looking at her expectantly.

“I will try,” Cass said, and Steph’s relief was immediate.

“Thanks.” She grabbed Cass’s hand across the table and squeezed it for a moment.

Steph began talking about something else, but Cass could hardly focus any more. She was preoccupied with dreading the thought that she needed to check in on Damian when she got home.

#

Cass returned to a Manor that was echoingly empty. There was no sign of any inhabitant in any of the common areas, all having retreated to their private domains. She hesitated for a moment in the hallway, then turned decisively towards Bruce’s study.

She knocked twice on the heavy walnut door, and waited a count of fifty before letting herself inside, setting the hands of the clock, and slipping through to the Cave. Even from the top of the long staircase, she could see the dim blue-tinted glow of the Batcomputer screens flickering below.

As she emerged out into the top level of the Cave, she saw Bruce immediately – and he looked more like himself than she had seen in almost a year. He had been working out earlier, and he carried the fatigue in his body. His hair was still damp from the showers, and he wore clean, soft sweatpants and a T-shirt. His forehead was creased with mild concern for whatever he was watching, but it wasn’t truly furrowed the way it got in the middle of a tough case. Nevertheless, there was a forgotten mug of coffee at his elbow, beginning to go cold.

“Drink,” she told him, and he almost managed to hide how he startled before turning to look at her.

When he saw her, Bruce’s look turned warm and gentle. I love you. He might as well have said it out loud. Cass hoped he could see the same thought reflected back in her eyes.

“Sweetheart. Are you here to train?”

She shrugged non-committally.

“Quiet upstairs,” she observed.

“Damian went into the city already. He’ll meet you at the Clocktower for patrol.”

“He’s at the penthouse?” Cass asked.

Bruce hesitated for a second, and something in Cass stuttered like a skipped record. Back before, Bruce had known every class she was taking and the names of all her teachers, had endlessly questioned Tim about which skatepark he would be at and which friends he was going with. He was still catching up, yes, but surely he had asked where Damian was going?

“Dick came to pick him up,” Bruce said, which wasn’t an answer. Cass began to share some fraction of Steph’s concern. “While he’s out – what do you make of this?”

He gestured to the screen, which was playing surveillance footage. Damian fought with his sword against several adult henchmen in Riddler green. Although he avoided severing any major arteries, his fighting style was still vicious. Cass winced as he sliced into the palm of one henchman’s hand, deep enough to do tendon damage. When the man fell to his knees, his mouth open in a scream, Damian jabbed the butt of his sword into the back of his head, knocking him out cold. He quickly subdued the other two opponents, and left all three unconscious. A pool of blood began to spread slowly across the floor around the injured man.

This was not the way Robin fought. This was a fight to the death which had withheld the final blow.

“Hn,” Bruce said, sharing a look with her that said he thought the same. “This is unacceptable.”

“When?” she asked faintly.

“About a month after he began as Robin. But there have been other incidents.”

He cued up a few more clips. Damian throwing a knife into a gang member’s shoulder. Damian striking an opponent’s throat hard enough that they collapsed, choking. Felling opponents with merciless strikes to the groin, or blows to the head, or broken fingers.

“This was only last week,” Bruce said, as he played a clip of Damian dropping onto a henchwoman from above and choking her out with his entire weight. It’s far from the worst thing he’s shown, but put all together like this, the picture is certainly damning.

Cass thought guiltily of her promise to Steph. But in this circumstance, the best she could manage was silence.

Bruce sighed.

“I don’t want to cast aspersions on your brothers. I know you were all dealing with a great deal while I was away. But I simply don’t understand what they saw in him.”

Cass can’t hide her moment of confusion and surprise.

“Mm?” Bruce prompted her.

“They?”

Bruce blinked, and repeated patiently: “What Dick and Tim saw in Damian. When they decided to make him Robin.”

“Tim did not. Decide.” Cass said.

Bruce tilted his head. “Well, I suppose not in so many words. But surely when he decided to pass on the position, it was clear who his successor would be?”

“Tim did not pass on anything!” Cass repeated, her stress growing with every second. “Dick – Dick took Robin. Gave it to Damian. Tim was forced to leave.”

She watched as the emotions flickered across her father’s face – the confusion, the distress, the anger. The same emotions she had experienced all those months ago, when a desperate Tim had told her what had happened.

“Dick… no.” Bruce shook his head, but it was heartbreak Cass saw there, not true disbelief.

“Tim didn’t tell you?” Cass demanded. But of course he hadn’t. Her foolish, selfless, secret-keeping brother, smoothing over all the uncomfortable details. Not wanting to start an argument, and in so doing, robbing Bruce of the chance to fight for him.

“It wasn’t in his report,” Bruce said, in a tone of resignation that told her he had deduced the same thing. “So approving Damian for the field –”

“Was Dick only,” Cass confirmed.

“Hn.”

Bruce frowned, his brow now furrowed deep in thought. Cass took that as her cue to leave.

Sorry Steph, she thought as she made her way up the steps. Someone had to speak.

What happened next was out of her hands.