Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"So, really, you can pick whichever colour you want! It's just for the walls, though. And only for your room."

Cass held the paint cards, staring at the symbols on each. A frown crossed her face, pressing the tips of her fingers to the symbols. There were so many colours. She couldn't help her brows knitting together, the corners of her mouth turning downwards; how was she supposed to pick? Her room before had been nothing. Gray and empty. Stone and soulless, exactly how it was meant to be. Exactly how she was meant to be.

"That says Powdered Violet. Do you like it?"

Cass placed the card back. This girl, Stephanie, sure could talk. At first, Cass had found it somewhat frustrating, the endless noise. Now she welcomed it. Stephanie's noise could block out some of the noise in her mind. She ran her fingers through her hair, moving it out of her face. Focusing on something as simple as the colour of her room seemed impossible. She was not excited to think about furniture- which Stephanie kept insisting was the best part.

"Hm," Stephanie said, "you keep picking up purple cards. I guess you like purple, like me."

Did she like purple? How was she supposed to know what she liked? How did anyone know anything? The smell of this store was going to drive her insane. Normally, smells and lights wouldn't bother her. But the smell of dust and burnt wood, the bright lights overhead and the sheer amount of colours to choose from were all making her feel like her head was going to explode.

In an effort to move away from the overwhelming display, she picked a random colour and handed it to Steph.

"Ah! Timeless Lilac, this one says!"

Cassandra walked away. As much as she wanted more than anything to put her head down, to hide from all the light and noise, she kept her head up. She didn't want to be surprised by something. She didn't want to get hurt. Stephanie's footsteps followed her, chattering away about furniture and whatnot. Cassandra tuned it out, her eyes focusing on the three in the distance.

There was the girl with reddish hair. She sat in something with wheels- two small, small wheels at the front and two large wheels on the back. The larger wheels, Cass noted, were slightly tilted to the side. It was all held together with a metal frame- guards to stop the girl's arms touching the wheels, fabric and something cushioned so she could sit. The girl had glasses and dark circles around her eyes. A light coloured sweater hanging slightly off her bones.

Next to her stood a tall man. His jaw was sharp and there were smile lines on his face. A few spots here and there, and his hair was a dark mop on his head. His nails were painted with something- Cass wasn't sure what it was- and every so often, he would check the paint on his nails, absently running his fingertips over his nails.

Between them was a somehow taller man she recognised to be Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne, who pulled her out of the strange, empty place she was in. Bruce Wayne, richest man in Gotham. Bruce Wayne, Batman. She indebted to him now, she supposed. There was a hole too deep to fill, yet she found herself compelled to find a way to fill it up, so that there was no way anyone could ever use her like that again.

"Is she capable of speech? Any speech?" Dick asked, hands in his pockets. He had a love-hate relationship with the smell of the store. Sometimes the dust brought him a sense of comfort, a reminder of the circus. Other times, it brought back all the wrong things, opened boxes he wanted to stay closed. Something about flood lights. Something about trapeze acrobats.

"Well. She can make sound, I think." Barbara leaned back in her wheelchair. "She got surprised the other day. Squeaked and ran off. So I suppose she could be capable of speech, yeah. It would just be difficult."

As Barbara adjusted her glasses, Bruce and Dick exchanged a glance.

"Difficult how?"

"Well, for one, it's different from teaching a baby to talk. Cass is a teenager. She'll want to be good at it immediately- to fit in. But also… I heard she could speak, but she was punished severely for it. There would be a mental barrier, I imagine. Lots of anxiety."

Dick looked at Barbara like he was stargazing. Her mind never ceased to amaze him. Perhaps he had been the boy wonder once, but Barbara would never stop wowing him. When she wasn't their eyes and ears, she was his heart and soul, the air he breathed.

"Nothing we can't work through," Dick assured her. If anyone could work something out, it was Dick and Barbara. They had already gotten through so much, worked through a mountain of difficulties. There were still mountains ahead- they both saw them every day- but Dick always told himself it was how you looked at the mountain. Sometimes, you just have to take the scenic route.

Stephanie and Cassandra approached. Stephanie looked as bubbly as ever and Cassandra looked… empty. Drained of life. Her eyes looked exhausted and worn, like there wasn't much left of her. Her arms and legs looked sore. Where there wasn't muscle, there was bone- as if she had been completely hollowed out.

"Find any good furniture?"

When Cassandra didn't answer, Stephanie cheerfully mentioned something about paint, handing a sample card to Bruce. Cassandra continued to glance around the store in a calculating manner, analysing every route and escape. He'd seen that look before in Jason and Damian- a constant fear of something happening, anything happening. A need to know the exits. A need to be able go as quickly and as easily as possible.

"Why don't we look for more furniture?" Steph exclaimed.

Dick was no genius. No, he wasn't the genius of his makeshift family. But it didn't take a genius to tell that furniture hunting would be far too much for Cassandra. He glanced at Bruce, then at Cass, before he opened his mouth to protest.

Barbara got there first. She always was quicker than him.

"I'm tired," she said. "My back is hurting."

Both were outright lies- Dick knew when she was tired and hurting. It seemed Barbara had been watching Cass as well, taking a note of her state. Overwhelmed. Deer in headlights. Out of control. Dick wasn't sure he could even imagine it. Even he'd been overwhelmed when decorating his apartment with Barbara. He couldn't imagine how overwhelming this was for someone who had never had the freedom to decorate their own space before.

"Of course." Dick nodded. "Let's head out to the parking lot, then."

Dick and Barbara took the lead, while Bruce walked behind. Stephanie and Cassandra melded into the middle, though Dick mentally noted Cassandra didn't seem happy about it. Approaching his car, he opened the door for Barbara, watching her hoist herself into her seat, pulling her legs inside one after the other.

"I got this, I'll put it in the back," he said, taking the wheelchair and closing her door afterwards. As he went round to the trunk, he noticed Cassandra following him. Well, why not let her? Ever since she'd seen Barbara, she'd been fascinated by her wheelchair.

She stood and watched as Dick took the wheels off, removed the added cushion, placed the frame and wheels into the trunk. He stepped back to let her look at it some more. Cassandra reached out, her fingertips ghosting over the frame of the chair, as if she could understand it more by touching it. She tilted her head, her eyelashes fluttering a little. Her fingertips ran over where the wheels came out of, over the wheel spokes, over the arm guards.

Then she withdrew entirely, climbing into the back seats.

Chapter Text

Cassandra had seen a TV before. Granted, it had been from a distance, but she knew what one was. The mixes of small, tiny dots, coming together to make pictures. So many pictures shown so quickly, it was like the pictures were moving. A video. She'd seen videos before.

They were never nice videos. Blood, gore, violence. Another form of training, her father had said. It got her mind used to the idea of death, of pain. She had not been allowed to look away. She had not been allowed to close her eyes. Each horrific sight was another image burned into her mind.

But this TV was calm compared to what Cass had grown used to. Jason had put on a movie. He didn't talk much either, but he seemed to like this movie. She understood some of it. Guns, computers, hiding. Hiding, hiding, hiding, always hiding.

"I think we can handle one little girl," the man on the screen said.

People had said that about Cass before.

And then what had happened?

Her breath caught in her chest, stopping. No, what happened next? In the movie, the girl was winning the fight. Glass shattered, things crashed, men hunting. The movie. Look at the movie. Don't look at what you've done.

She breathed in again, turning her attention to Barbara and Jason. The movie was a little much. She needed something she knew, something she understood, something familiar. Cassandra needed to learn the way she knew how to learn- observing.

She would start with Barbara. Barbara was easier to read. Her legs were a clear weakness- it didn't take a genius to work out that Barbara couldn't move her legs. But the muscles on her upper arms were lean; while she may not have been able to move her legs, she must regularly train her arms. Propelling herself in her wheelchair must help. Her nails were clipped short, perhaps to avoid getting caught and torn by the wheel spokes. Dark circles under her eyes- clearly she stayed up late, doing whatever it was the Oracle did. Barbara was always yawning. Despite it all, Barbara was confident- she leaned back, kept her body language open.

Jason was a different story. He sat, hunched over, arms folded, closed off to everyone around him. A constant scowl seemed to be on his face- and the white streak in his hair didn't look dyed to her. His arms were hardened, strong, and he evidently worked hard to keep himself strong- physically, at least. Cassandra wasn't so sure about mentally. His closed off body language suggested the opposite. Not necessarily a weak mentality, but a fragile one that could crumble with a few wrong-

"Knock it off. Stop staring."

Cassandra blinked in surprise. She had been so focused on reading his body, she'd forgotten to read his eyes- which were glaring at her. Unsure of what to do, she simply stared back at him, bewildered. The way his nose crinkled to meet his furrowing brows- he was annoyed, if not angry.

"Cass, it's alright," Barbara spoke. "You're just trying to understand us."

Jason grumbled under his breath something that Cassandra couldn't hear.

"Jason, it's what she knows. It's the main way she can figure us out. Besides, she can't help it."

Jason grumbled some more, before sitting back and continuing to watch the movie. Barbara gave Cass a pitiful glance, before turning her attention back to the movie as well.

She didn't want to watch the movie. She wanted to work out how to get everything out of her head. Everyone else could speak, but the thought of talking was so strange, so distant, so terrifying to Cassandra. Still- everyone else spoke. How was she supposed to tell them things without talking?

How could she do anything without a voice?

Chapter Text

"So, she's with Babs for the day?"

"Yeah, she was watching The Matrix with Babs and Jason yesterday and then pointed at her throat. I guess she decided she wanted to learn how to talk, so Barbara was up all night researching speech therapy."

Stephanie and Tim sat on the floor of the manor's living room, various craft materials around them. Pens, a small printer, a laminator, scissors, anything they could think of. Tim had messaged Stephanie at 2AM following the minor incident the day before- while Cassandra slowly worked on learning how to speak, she would need another way to communicate. He had been researching for hours before he had come across various versions of AAC- Augmentative and Alternative Communication. He'd looked into several kinds, but the one that would be quickest to get hold of was a communication board.

In fact, they could even make it themselves, and it would be fully customisable.

"But how do we know what she wants to say?" Stephanie asked.

Tim sat back, considering the options.

"Well, we don't. We're not mind-readers. But we can give her basic options and then we can see from there. You're way more social, so I was hoping you could help with some ideas."

Stephanie hugged one of her knees, chewing her lip as she thought. What were things she talked about regularly? Missions- no, she couldn't include missions. Bruce had said Cassandra was nowhere near ready for a solo mission. Food. Stephanie talked about food. And the family, even if she wasn't officially one of Bruce's children.

"Food. And family. We could do… hungry, thirsty. Name each member of the family. Include Babs, she's taken a real liking to Babs."

"Okay. Who's gonna draw the icons, then?"

They both stared at each other. The only person they knew in the family who could draw well was Damian, and he'd been rather avoidant since Bruce had brought Cassandra home. It worried Tim, but when he'd brought it up to Dick, he'd simply said not to worry about it and that he'd handle it.

"I guess the drawings don't have to be amazing…" Tim sighed. "Alright. Let's get to work, then."

Bruce had asked her to stop by the manor- not for vigilante work, but to see if there was anything she could do to help Cassandra. Dinah supposed her work as a therapist would sometimes bleed through into her other life and it didn't bother her. If anything, it helped. Heroes were in such a unique situation. Their work was always so traumatic, yet there was often no professional they could talk to out of fear of their identities being leaked.

That was where Dinah Lance came in. Therapist by day, vigilante by night.

"No, Steph, put it here, you've got it in the completely wrong category!"

"No, idiot, hair isn't clothes!"

For some, the sound of teenagers arguing would be annoying. But the amount of therapy Dinah had given to this lot, she was pleased to hear them argue about normal teenage things- not stressing about dying or missions or whatnot.

She poked her head around the door to see Stephanie and Tim sitting on the living room floor, a plastic board between them. Both were holding little cards with drawings and words. A hot glue gun had been cast aside and the two were bickering non stop- so much so they hadn't even noticed she was there. It wasn't hard to work out they were trying to make a communication board for Cassandra.

"Make a body section," she spoke up, startling them both. "After all, what if she gets hurt and can't tell someone?"

Stephanie clutched her heart, clearly trying to recover from being startled. She must've been very engrossed in the argument, Dinah thought. Tim, on the other hand, had his head tilted in thought.

"But she won't be going on missions. Not yet, anyway."

"So? People can get hurt outside of missions. What if she has a headache?" Dinah shrugged. "Emotions would be good too. Basic words- yes, no, stop, go, hot, cold, stuff like that."

Dinah took a seat with the pair, wondering how these two had thought of a communication board before she had. It made complete sense. When a person can't talk, you find other ways to communicate with them. Sometimes this was gestures, text to speech, sign language. But gestures wouldn't be enough. Cassandra couldn't read or write. And learning sign language- would it be too stressful, given all the current changes she was going through? In the future, it might be a good option.

But of course, as per usual, Tim had found the most logical solution: pictures. Him and Stephanie had gotten to work on this themselves, without telling anyone, of their own accord. They found a problem and were solving it in the way they knew how. Of course, it was to be expected from these two- but the kindness of the family never failed to break Dinah's heart.

"I told you the tire pressure was low."

Jason knelt by the wheels of the batmobile while Dick stood behind him, grinning. There was nothing Dick loved more than annoying his adoptive little brother half to death. No, that was wrong- there was nothing Dick loved more than his family. But annoying Jason was a very close second. Very close.

"Alright, alright, I'll admit defeat. The tire pressure was low. You got me."

"Don't fuck around, you jerk. If someone took the batmobile out, it could've fucked them up."

"Good thing there's five other batmobiles, then." Dick laughed.

"Oracle to the Batcave."

Jason got to his feet as Dick turned to the computer. The pair approached, taking a headset each as they prepared themselves for whatever mission Barbara was going to send them on.

"We're here, Oracle. Where do you need us?"

"GCPD received an anonymous tip regarding the Renegades."

The Renegades were a gang that had been operating in and out of Gotham for several years now. No matter how they chased, somehow, they could never get any of the Renegades. They were violent, typically carrying out 'hits' or trafficking drugs or weapons. The 'hits' were never kills- more like savage beating, sometimes maiming or disabling a person.

"Go ahead, send it over," Jason spoke.

"They're going to be operating in Gotham for the next six months. Something to do with some debts another gang owes. I'm not sure where exactly. It seem they're very good at hiding. But with how elusive they are, this tip has to have come from the inside. Keep an eye out."

"Understood, Oracle. Me and Tim will look into it." Jason was taking notes of everything Barbara was saying. Dick guessed he must've had a run-in with the Renegades when he was younger, before he met Bruce- most homeless people in Gotham had.

"Oracle out."

"Finally," Jason sighed. "A fucking lead."

Chapter Text

"Okay, so, we know you really wanna tell us stuff but you're not talking yet, soooo.. me and Tim made you this!"

Stephanie grinned, holding out the board to Cassandra. Barbara sat in her wheelchair nearby, a warm smile on her face. Taking the board into her hands, Cassandra looked over each picture. The words, the symbols, they didn't make sense, but the pictures did. Some of them, anyway. Some of the cards stuck down didn't have pictures.

She looked at Stephanie and Barbara with a confused frown. Steph took a seat on the floor, gesturing for Cass to sit as well, and so she did. Barbara leaned over her chair to get closer to the pair.

"It's to help you talk to us," Stephanie explained. "See? Food. If you want food, you tap that."

Stephanie demonstrated as Cass crossed her legs. The effort these people were making for her was confusing. Why? This didn't benefit them at all. It just didn't make sense. Neither did some of the pictures. How was she supposed to work out what each one meant?

She tapped a picture card with what looked like a cut on it. Why would she need to say to cut something?

"Hurt?" Stephanie asked.

Ah. Hurt. That made more sense.

Her frown deepened, confused, stressed.

"Here," Barbara said gently. "Let's go through each one. Alright? That way you know what you're saying."

Dick stepped into the small art room they had constructed for Damian. It was more like a sun-room, or a conservatory if you called it that, but it full was of easels and paints and any art supplies Damian could want. Occasionally, the others raided it for their own projects, but everyone knew to return what they took- lest they invoke the wrath of Damian.

"I thought I might find you in here."

"Can I help you, Grayson?"

Dick closed the door behind him, pulling up a stool and sitting nearby.

"Mm, yes, actually."

"What is it? Please make it quick."

Dick gave a sigh. If only Damian would talk about emotions. He supposed that was a tall order coming from the son of Bruce Wayne, master of never talking about his feelings or problems. The main difference was Bruce was an adult, mostly all set in his way. Damian, on the other hand, could be persuaded.

"Well." He stretched. "I happen to have two tickets to the amusement park and nobody to go with. I reaaally don't want to go alone. Will you come with me please?"

"Take Stephanie."

"She's busy with Babs."

"Tim."

"Busy with Jason."

"Cassandra."

"The furniture store overwhelmed her. The amusement park might give her a heart attack."

"Father. Alfred. Literally anyone else."

"Nope."

Damian groaned, dramatically tossing his paint brush aside in a manner that suggested he'd already given up. Dick didn't mind if Damian kicked and screamed about his childhood- Damien deserved to be and act like a kid, regardless of what he'd been forced to do. To be a child forced into such awful things so young, it stole something from you.

"Fine. I will get dressed and be by the door within 10 minutes, Grayson."

Dick used to struggle with the amusement park. The colours and the lights used to always remind him of the circus, of that night, but overtime he'd come to love the amusement park. The greasy food, the rides, the shitty prizes you could get- they were the epitome of childhood. To Dick, anyway. Perhaps he could get Damian to feel that way, too.

"This is trivial. It's boring. The rides are predictable and the games are for children." Damian had been non stop complaining since they'd arrived. In Damian's defense, he had at least tried some of the rides and the games- but one thing he hadn't tried was the food. If Damian would talk, this would be the thing to get him to talk.

"Okay, okay. One more thing and then we'll go."

Dick led Damian to a food stall, allowing Damian to order whatever he'd like, ordering himself loaded fries. He led them to a picnic table, sitting with him and eating quietly. Being the oldest brother of the Wayne family had taught Dick many things. He had always been silly and patient, but it had also taught him how to get people to talk. It didn't always take pushing. Sometimes it was just sitting outside with a hot, greasy meal.

"Fine. I shall ask. Why did you insist on taking me out here?"

Dick wiped his mouth and hands with a napkin, sniffing for a moment to gather his thoughts.

"Well. We're worried about you. You've been very withdrawn ever since we brought Cassandra home. Is something bothering you? We can't really help if you don't tell us."

Damian paused, placing the wooden fork down. Dick could tell he was thinking hard. Another thing he had learned being their oldest brother was that sometimes, it was better to be quiet, to let them gather their thoughts.

"There is too much change. I am not sure how to deal with it."

Perhaps Dick should've predicted that. In fact, no, Dick definitely should've predicted this- Damian had been diagnosed with autism a year ago, which he suspected he'd inherited from Bruce (though he would never say so) and his research had shown that autistic people struggled with change. Cassandra's arrival had been relatively sudden, with very little time to prepare. She had arrived very sickly, so she had been mostly holed up in their makeshift infirmary for the first few weeks. It was only in the last few weeks she'd been getting out.

"Yeah. There has been a lot of change," Dick agreed. "How can I help?"

"I hate when people ask me that. I don't know. You are the adult. You are supposed to figure it out."

Dick couldn't deny his logic. He tried to think back on all his research, trying to pick out what could help, what wouldn't help.

"You've been in the art room a lot. Has that been helping?"

"I suppose so. There are many things in my head that make more sense when I see them on the easel. I am beginning to accept that Cain is staying."

Dick ate another fry, letting Damian speak for as long as he needed to. When he didn't continue, Dick spoke up again.

"Some things are still the same, you know? Breakfast is still 8 on the dot. Alfred keeps his meal plans stuck up still."

"It does help. I know not everything has changed. Things are just a bit extra. But…"

Dick lowered his cardboard fork, looking at Damian with soft, worried eyes. He sounded genuinely troubled by something. Oh, Dick hated when any of his younger brothers and sisters were bothered by something. None of them were ever good at talking- it usually came down to him or Barbara to push a little, to get them going.

"I am worried I will be forgotten about."

The idea of Damian being forgotten about was so ridiculous to Dick that it took an enormous amount of effort not to laugh or smile. As if anyone could forget about Damian! Even when he wasn't talking, his mere presence alone was loud and bright, shining on anyone near him. But of course, the sun couldn't see itself.

"How could we forget about you?" Dick spoke. "You've brought a lot of joy to us all. To Bruce, to me, Jason, Tim, Stephanie- Titus and Alfred the Cat, even. I have a feeling you'll bring some joy to Cassandra as well, once she settles in. Maybe you could show her your paintings."

"That might be nice. Everyone must admire my paintings."

Dick smiled. That was the attitude he was looking for.

"Thank you, Grayson. You made me feel… special."

"Right!" Stephanie exclaimed. "That should be them all."

Cassandra was buzzing with this new feeling. Light and jumpy in her stomach, she found it hard to sit still. The thoughts in her head stayed jumbled, but the words she could pick out- some of them had pictures now, with those strange symbols attached to them. And now, she had choices! The place with the paints had been too much, but if she was truly, truly allowed a choice, there was something she wanted.

She jabbed her finger at the card with the blood. Hurt.

She jabbed her finger at the card with the girl. Hair.

Hurt hair.

"Your hair hurts?" Stephanie asked.

Cassandra frowned. No, no, no, why could they still not understand her? She jabbed the 'hair' picture insistently, growing upset. What was she doing wrong?

"Okay, okay, slow down," Barbara spoke. "Hair. What about your hair?"

Hair. Go. Stop.

Cassandra looked at Barbara and Stephanie for a few moments, desperate to be understood.

"Haircut!" Stephanie exclaimed. "You want a haircut?"

Cassandra nodded, feeling her eyes light up a little.

This hair, her mother and father's hair, had to go.

Chapter Text

It had been six weeks since Cass had moved into the Wayne Manor. Three weeks since Barbara had started trying to teach her to talk. This family confused her to no end. Their noise was fuzzy, but warm. Their chaos was controlled. There was no angry shouting. Nobody hit Cass. When Cass told them she wanted a hair cut, Barbara and Stephanie immediately sat her in front of a mirror and asked how short. It had taken Cassandra a few minutes to understand that the person in the mirror was herself- her cheeks were a little fuller, her eyes weren't so dark- but when she did understand, she had pointed to her jaw. So, of course, that was what she got.

She didn't ask for much. In fact, she tried not to ask at all. She wouldn't speak unless spoken to, much too afraid of creating upset with the many thoughts and words she could pick out of the jumble in her mind. Sometimes the words in her mind were words that made her feel warm, comfortable. Other times, they made her freezing cold- or gave her such a hot stab in the stomach she doubled over from the surprise. Why did feelings have to become physical? She longed to understand these feelings more than anything, much like she longed to understand her thoughts.

Her alone time was nice. She'd worked out how to make the TV work. That there were little boxes with circles inside and if she put them into the TV, it played a movie. Damian, the little one, had arranged her favourites close to the TV so she could get them easily without having to hunt. Her current favourite movie has a lot on the box. A boy with a long stick, a big rabbit, a big man in a red coat, a little golden person and a strange bird person. It was quite the magical film.

She popped the circle out of the box, putting it into the TV to start it up. Cass wasn't sure what it was she liked so much about this movie, she just knew that she did. She liked things that were the same. Same, same, everything the same. New things were scary, especially when she had no idea what to expect.

She especially liked the first scene of the film. Where the boy, Jack, floats up into the sky in front of the moon and says that the moon spoke to him. At first, it had confused her. The moon was not a person. How could it speak? It had taken a while, but eventually she understood that it was pretend. Duh, of course, some things were pretend. Sometimes it took her a second to realise things weren't so literal.

Jason walked in as Cass sat, cross legged on the sofa, leaning forward and gazing at the TV in wonder. Jason leaned on the back of the sofa, arms crossed. For a few minutes, they simply watched the movie together.

"You really like this movie, huh?"

Cass didn't think to nod in response. She was mostly pleased Jason wasn't angry with her after their misunderstanding, as Barbara called it.

"You know what it's called?"

She turned her attention to Jason then. No. She didn't. The symbols on the cover- the words- didn't make sense to her.

"It's called 'Rise of the Guardians.' Cause they're the guardians, yeah?"

Cass nodded then, her attention turned back to the movie. Jack always fascinated her. The feeling of not knowing, of not understanding why he was chosen was something she could relate to. Why had Bruce taken her in? Why not someone else? There were plenty of better candidates, she was certain.

As Jack walked on the phone wires, Cass found herself filled with a somewhat frightening urge to try to talk. At least say something. Just one thing. The music grew fun and light, and just like that, she found a smile on her face.

"Snow," she spoke, voice hoarse and whispery.

Jason didn't react much.

"Yeah. Do you like the snow?"

Cass nodded.

"Oh, man. You are gonna love our winter traditions when winter comes around." He ruffled his hair for a moment. "Fuck yeah. Snow. That's a good first word."

She didn't need to read Jason to know he was proud- and pleased that he was the one she had said it to.

"She spoke to me, dude."

"I heard you the first six times, Jason," Tim grumbled. They'd secretly been betting on who Cass would speak to first, and Jason had not been on the list. Most of them were certain it would be Barbara- she'd become so incredibly attached to her in the last few weeks, it seemed inevitable. "Can we just focus on the Renegades? I'm sure we'll be able to find something."

"Ugh. Fine." Jason kicked his foot off the desk, rolling the desk chair over to Tim. "What have you got so far?"

"A missing person's case. But it's five years old, and it's a cold case."

"Cold case doesn't mean it's not solvable. You've solved plenty of cold cases before. What's the big deal?"

Tim tapped his pen on the desk, grimacing. Truthfully, he wasn't sure what the big deal was. The girl had been young when she'd gone missing and there hadn't been a great deal of interest in her case at the time- probably why the case went cold.

"Her name's Florence Solace. She went missing when she was like… nine."

"And her connection to the Renegades is…?"

"She had a twin. A sister. She's a Renegade, I'm pretty sure. Isobel Solace."

Jason paused, staring off for a moment. Tim guessed a lot must've been going through his mind. Jason didn't talk about his run-in with the Renegades, but Tim had seen the scar on his arm. He stayed quiet, letting Jason gather his thoughts.

"Yeah. I remember that name. But the girls- the Renegades don't let the girls first. The girls are their drug mules. She just happened to.. be there, I guess. Her and her sister. Florence must've been a Renegade too. I'm not sure why I didn't remember that when you said…"

Jason trailed off.

Tim said nothing. He knew that sometimes, when a person had PTSD, they might need prompting to remember details. Or they might remember some things and not other things. They might remember everything in a lot of detail, or they might remember nothing at all.

"It would be reasonable to conclude Florence was murdered, then," Tim suggested.

"I wouldn't put murder past the bastard, no."

A part of Tim wanted to push to ask who the 'bastard' was, but he knew things like this took time. There was one other thing he could ask about.

"Did you.. ever run into someone called Wren? That's the only other name that's been flagged up."

Jason shook his head.

"No. I only remember the name Isobel. That's all."

Jason paused, a look of guilt in his eyes and painted on his face.

"I'm sorry. I don't know anything more."

Chapter Text

Cass had been assured that if she wanted to do missions here, they would be nothing like the missions her father had her do. Dick had approached her the other day regarding a mission- something about interviewing someone and would she like to help? All she would need to do was watch the interviewee. No danger- or very little danger. Dick would do the talking. She didn't need to worry about any of that.

Truthfully, Cass was feeling a little cooped up. She wanted to go outside- but the furniture store had majorly put her off going anywhere. Dick had explained she would need a costume of some sort so that bad people didn't try to attack them at home. Stephanie had sat down with her, finding a fabric that didn't burn her skin and a design that didn't make her head scream. Black with gold details and a little mask to cover her mouth and nose.

The woman in front of them had her hands cuffed to the table- though, even if her hands hadn't been cuffed, Cass knew she wasn't aggressive. She was strangely calm, her shoulders relaxed, head tilted back slightly. Yet there was a calculated look in her eyes, like she could be a few steps ahead of them.

Dick didn't seem unnerved by the woman. He seemed confident, if anything. His faith and truth in his younger brothers was unlike anything Cass had ever seen before. If they believed this woman knew something about the case they were trying to crack, then Dick believed them.

"So," the woman sighed. "I'm guessing you're not here to get me out."

"You murdered two people, so.. no, you're still behind bars."

"One person. But that's not the point. What do you want?"

Straight to the point. Cass supposed she would be direct as well- what was the point in meandering? It was much easier, much quicker to get straight to the point. It created less confusion. Though this woman- Lily, Dick had said her name was- didn't seem confused. If anything, she seemed bored.

"We had an anonymous tip about the Renegades. It said you might know something about them. Do you?"

The woman rolled her eyes with a scoff, turning her head to gaze out of the window. Annoyance. Overconfidence. She knew something about these 'Renegades' that kept being mentioned. Dick looked over to Cass, tilting his head a little.

What was that supposed to mean?

"Does she?" Dick spoke quietly to Cass. She nodded.

Lily turned her head over.

"Your silent friend got powers to tell when someone's lying or something like that?"

"Something like that."

No, Cass thought. No powers. It was a language, something you can read, and Cass had this sinking feeling that this woman knew it. Lily's eyes raked up and down Cass- not in a demeaning way, in an analytical way. Who are you? Why are you?

Dick sighed, leaning on the table to get Lily's attention back on him. Lily merely gave him another bored look, raising her eyebrows briefly and shrugging. Try me. Challenge me. Entertain me. Cass continued to watch Lily in silence. It wasn't hard to work out that this woman could be dangerous- if she wanted to be.

"I didn't kill Mira Severight," Lily spoke, making direct eye contact with Dick. "My Dad, I did kill him. Mira, I didn't. I don't even know who she was. And for your information, I don't know anything about the Renegades. Or at least, nothing outside of hunches."

Dick took his weight off the table, leaning back a little and regarding Lily as she spoke. Curious. Who are you? What do you know? How did you get here?

"I'll take a hunch," he said.

"I'll tell you if you look into Mira's murder."

This was starting to look like a stand off to Cass. Dick seemed a little tense- perhaps there was something familiar to him about Lily. Lily, on the other hand? Her body screamed how amused she was with the situation at hand. She knew she had the upper hand here.

"Fine. Your hunch?"

"A family member of mine might be involved in the Renegades. I don't know how or why, but it's just a hunch. And I sincerely hope I'm wrong, because it would be my sister."

The car ride home afterwards was strange. The hum of the engine stretched out in Cassandra's mind, lulling some of the jumble and noise. If she had her way, she would just sit in the back seat of a darkened car, cross legged, and have someone drive her in silence. No horns, no revving, no bright lights, just the engine sounds. Sometimes the window could be open, if the window wasn't too much. She hated when her hair somehow managed to attack her. It was always spiky and it usually hurt.

Dick drove calmly. Usually, he liked to talk to Cass while he drove- or at least, he had on the journey there. The journey back was different. He didn't say a word until they pulled into the batcave. He reached into the back seat, and placing Cass' 'talking board' onto her lap. His brows were furrowed slightly. Serious. Worried.

"Was she telling the truth? About not killing Mira?"

Cass prodded a card. Yes.

"About killing her father?"

Yes.

Dick drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, thinking hard. As he moved to get out of the car, Cass patted his arm quickly.

Wait. Stop.

"What's wrong, Cass?" He moved back to his original position quickly, looking more worried now.

How Cassandra help Dick.

"How can you help me?" Not quite what she'd meant. "Well, you're good at reading body language. You can tell what someone's thinking or feeling just by looking at them. Not to mention you're incredibly smart. You helped by telling me that Lily was being truthful to me."

Why Bruce help Cass.

Dick paused, looking at the cards she'd pointed to.

"You know, I'm not sure. Bruce has a big heart. I think he wants to help you because he wants to make sure you don't get hurt more than you already have."

Not hurt Dad not hurt.

Dick gave her a smile, though his brows knitted together. Worried.

"Come on. I bet Alfred's got cookies and hot chocolate. Let's go."