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One would think that because most of the family had chronic medical issues, the Waynes would skip certain physically intensive activities during family holidays.
One would be wrong.
Football was actually a Thanksgiving Day tradition for the Wayne family. According the legend, it had begun as a way for Bruce to encourage Dick to become more physically active as he’d recovered from his spinal injury. Over the years, as more Waynes had joined the fray, it had evolved into an actual, organized game. Sure, there were certain accommodations and adaptations made in order to ensure everyone could safely be included, but that didn’t make the family any less competitive.
Cass enjoyed football. A lot of the skills she’d learned in ballet crossed over, and she loved playing with her dad and brothers. Even when things got rough, they never deliberately hurt her like her biological father had. And all scrapes and bruises they did inflict on each other were quickly forgotten over the delicious Thanksgiving dinner they all shared afterward.
This year, Cass and Bruce were chosen to be captains. Cass had selected Dick and Tim for her team while Bruce had taken Jason and Damian. And since the youngest Wayne’s spinal hardware had finally gotten removed back in the summer, a lot of the games’ physical restrictions had been lifted. For the first time in years, they were actually allowed to touch each other (though, full-on tackling was still technically against the rules; not that most of them complied).
“I expect a clean contest today, all,” Alfred warned as everyone gathered on the playing field (AKA the backyard). As always, his role was to act as referee/medic. Bruce's trauma first aid kit sat ready on the sidelines, as did emergency snacks for Jason and Tim's respiratory supply bag. Ace, of course, also remained by Alfred's side, prepared to pounce at a moment's notice should his handler need him.
“Yes, please don’t make me work,” Bruce echoed. “Again.”
“I’d like the record to show that what happened last year was not my fault!” Jason huffed.
Dick scoffed. “Timmy started coughing up blood!”
“It was just a minor pulmonary hemorrhage,” Tim argued.
Jason threw his arm around his younger brother. “Yeah, and it was because the dipshit was sick and didn’t tell anyone. Not because of one ill-advised tackle.”
“Actually, both factors contributed,” Bruce corrected. “You see, chronic inflammation of the small blood vessels can erode and weaken –”
Cass hopped onto her father’s back. “No medical talk!”
“Yeah, Papin,” Dick agreed. “I thought you weren’t working today.”
The doctor hooked his arms around his daughter’s legs. “And I thought we agreed ‘no tackling’?”
“This is a hug,” Cass defended innocently.
Alfred cleared his throat. “Might I suggest we get started? We are on a bit of a schedule, after all.”
Jason glanced at his watch. “Alfie’s right. I gotta take the turkey out of the over in 97 minutes. Let’s play some football!”
The first hour of the game went by quickly. Alfred had called a timeout at some point when Ace had alerted the butler that Jason’s blood sugar had dropped, but one quickly chugged juice later, they were all right back at it. Dick had the best arm in the family, so Cass made him quarterback while she did most of the running and catching. Tim acted as her backup.
The score was tied.
“All right, Cassie, I want you to go long this time,” Dick instructed. “Tim, you head up the field in the opposite direction to split their focus. I’ll throw to whoever’s more open at the time.”
Cass nodded, accepting her mission. If they could just score one more touchdown, then all they had to do was run down the clock until Alfred called the game.
Everyone got into position.
Dick gripped the football tightly in his hands. To make things easier with his crutches, he didn’t have to have the ball snapped back to him. “Blue 52, set, hut!”
Upon the signal, Cass took off sprinting towards her team’s end zone. Bruce was on her tail while Damian went after Tim. Jason, as usual, remained ready to charge Dick.
Her eldest brother threw the ball in her direction. It spiraled at a breakneck speed as it soared through the air towards the end zone. It sailed over Cass’s head, but she dove for the ball and caught it just before hitting the ground.
She felt a sharp pain followed by an audible “pop” as she landed on her left shoulder. The celebratory yells of her teammates were muffled by an intense ringing in her ears. She rolled up to sit and noticed her left arm hung limply at her side. Her shoulder was also visibly lower than its counterpart.
It was dislocated. Again.
Cass’s shoulder had been dislocated many times throughout her life. The first time had been when David had wrenched it out of its socket during a “discipline” session when she’d been twelve. Since then, it slipped out of place at least once a year or so.
Immediately, Bruce was on her. He dropped to his knees beside his daughter and surveyed the damage. “Cass, sweetheart, don’t mov–”
“Hang on,” Cass said through gritted teeth. Before her father could say anything else, she braced her forearm against her knee and rolled her shoulder forward. Another dull “pop” was her as the joint slid back into place. Cass let out a breath of relief and flexed her fingers a few times. “There. All better.”
Bruce blinked, momentarily frozen from shock. “What was that?”
Cass furrowed her brows. “It was wrong, so I fixed it.”
“Did you just fucking relocate your own shoulder?” Jason said incredulously as he and the other boys gathered around their sister. For once, no one chastised him for his language.
They all looked horrified. Cass didn’t understand. “Why wouldn’t I? It hurts when it’s wrong.”
Bruce started inspecting her arm, evaluating her circulation and neuromuscular status. “I take it this has happened before?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve never seen a doctor for it?”
“You’re a doctor. Dr. Dad.”
“Besides me.”
Cass shrugged. “No. David broke it. Then he fixed it. I learned from him what to do whenever it breaks again.”
Her father paled. “Cassie, that’s not okay. Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“Because I can fix it,” she replied. She didn’t understand why everyone was making such a big deal out of it. She was fine.
“Honey, the reason your shoulder keeps dislocating is because the injury has never been properly addressed,” Bruce explained patiently. “And if you continue not to fully treat it, then it’s only going to get worse. The damage could even become permanent.”
Cass hadn’t thought about that. Her biological father had never seemed concerned about permanent damage; though, she supposed that didn’t mean too much. David Cain hadn’t cared about any of the repercussions of his abuse, so as long as it got Cass to do what he wanted.
“You can make it stop?” She asked. She’d never even considered the possibility of asking for help. David had made it sound like her weak shoulder was her own fault and that it was something she’d just have to deal with forever. But it hurt whenever it popped out, and it was always horribly sore for days after she fixed it. She’d love nothing more than for it to never happen again.
The doctor offered a reassuring smile. “There are ways to treat chronic joint instability, yes. You might need surgery, or, at the very least, intensive physical therapy. We’ll need to get some imaging of your shoulder to see what the damage is and get you in to see an orthopedic doctor, but that will have to wait until after the holiday.”
“Are you going to take her to the hospital, Father?” Damian asked, his voice worried.
“No, Habibi, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Bruce assured. He turned back to Cass. “The ER is always crazy on Thanksgiving, and, at the moment, there’s no visible deformity, sign of nerve damage, or circulatory compromise. So, for now, I’ll immobilize your shoulder and get you some ice for any residual swelling. I’ll take you in first thing in the morning. But if at any point you start feeling any tingling in your fingers or loss of sensation, I want you to tell me immediately. Does that sound okay?”
She nodded. She was very glad she wouldn’t have to miss Thanksgiving dinner. “Yes, Dad.”
“Hey, at least that means we won!” Tim pointed out cheerfully.
Jason snorted. “Yeah, at the expense of a limb.”
Cass’s smile was wolfish. “Worth it.”
About a month later, just a few days before Christmas, Cass had surgery.
According to her MRI, the repeated damage done to the joint was unlikely to heal on its own. So, Bruce had arranged for her to see Dr. Carter Hall, the orthopedic surgeon who had treated both Jason and Tim after their car accident the previous year. After reviewing her imaging for himself, he had immediately scheduled Cass for shoulder stabilization surgery.
The operation itself went well. It took place very early in the morning, which meant that Cass was discharged by lunch. Her shoulder was strapped into an immobilizer sling and abduction pillow, which would remain her constant companions for the next six weeks. She immediately complained about how restricted her movement was, but her father had gently reminded her that was the whole point. Ugh. At least she wasn’t left-handed.
The rest of the day, Cass was fussed over by all of the Wayne men.
As was tradition, Bruce stopped and got her a milkshake on their way home. Upon arriving at the Manor, she got settled onto the couch in the main living room. Alfred brought her ice packs and kept her pain medication on a tight schedule to ensure her discomfort remained at a minimum. Then, Tim brought in her favorite pillow and blanket and helped her get comfortable while Dick got her favorite Christmas movie queued up (The Year Without Santa Claus, which she loved solely for the Miser Brothers’ song). Damian, accompanied by Titus and Alfred (the cat), piled onto the couch with her, providing a certain type of warmth the blankets never could. Finally, Jason brought her a cup of his specially made hot chocolate when she’d finished her milkshake.
“Your bio dad can kick rocks,” he muttered as he handed her the mug.
She smiled at the sentiment. “Thanks, Jay.”
It felt kinda strange being the center of everyone’s attention. Learning and speech delays aside, Cass had always been the “healthy” one in the family. Sure, she had lots of scars, both psychological and physical, but overall, she typically required a lot less hands-on care compared to her brothers. Granted, Bruce always made sure she received equal attention, so she never felt like she was getting less from him. Just having the entire house rally to take care of her was new. It was kinda nice.
Bruce squatted in front of her. “Can I get you anything, sweetheart? How’s your pain right now?”
“I’m good,” Cass answered with an honest smile. She patted the free space on the couch next to her (the side that Damian and his animals weren’t occupying). “Sit with me.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” her father chuckled. As soon as he was settled, Cass repositioned herself so she was laying against his chest. Bruce pressed a kiss into his daughter’s hair. “I love you so much, Cassie. I wish more than anything I could take away the pain you’ve suffered.”
Cass shook her head. “No. The pain brought me to you. To my brothers. I’m glad it happened because it made me a Wayne. I love you, too, Dad.”
When Cass had turned against David Cain on that fateful day, unable to speak or read or write, she hadn’t had any idea what was to become of her. But this… this wonderful life she had now, was worth every bit of suffering she had endured.
Even if it meant dealing with the stupid sling.