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Stephanie stares at the reference sheet that her doctor gave her, noting all of the kinds of canes that she could use and what ones would help with her osteoarthritis. Because she has that now. And it’s going to affect her for the rest of her life. All because her being a vigilante put too much stress on her joints and wore them down too much. But only her, because why would anyone else have chronic pain?! Only she’s allowed to have shit wrong with her body, apparently. She feels tears begin to well up in her eyes and she pushes that thought process far away.
She looks at the recommendation that her doctor underlined, single-point cane, it reads. Use when having a flare up + the following day. Meaning that she has to use it whenever her knee hurt, which, if it continues with how it’s been, is at least twice a week. Plus the following day, meaning that she has to use a cane at least four times a week. A tear lands on the paper, muddling the ink in a blue outline. Stephanie takes a deep breath, closing her eyes and trying to ground herself. She opens them back up after a moment, grabbing her computer off of her side table and opening the website that her doctor told her to order the cane off of.
She scrolls through all the options, looking at the ones with designs and patters, all the different colours and grips and it’s all so overwhelming, all the different options. Her head spins with all the words, her vision going blurry as the descriptions become more indecipherable. Helps with this pain! and best seller for long term use for that condition upon more and more confusing ones with even more confusing names and Stephanie nearly throws her computer across the room. She chooses the first one she saw, ordering it in black and deciding that she can deal with it when it gets there. Out of sight, out of mind, right?
~~~
Stephanie stares at the cane that lays on her bed, a million thoughts running through her head, but the one saying this is going to look awful with my outfits being the one that speaks the loudest. She nearly jumps when she feels a hand on her shoulder.
“When did you get here?” She yelps, spinning around to see Cass standing behind her, an unreadable look greeting her. Cass hums, looking at the cane on Stephanie’s bed. Stephanie looks at the ground, flustered. “It came a few days ago, but I just opened it today.” She whispers, her words barely loud enough to reach Cass’ ears.
The aforementioned bat reaches out, slowly laying her hand on the smooth, black cane.
“I don’t like it.” Stephanie admits. Cass hums once more.
“Not… not you.” She says after a moment.
“It is now!” Stephanie laughs bitterly, but Cass shakes her head in response.
“No, is not you. Needs to be yours.” Cass explains. Stephanie purses her lips.
“What, like, you want me to paint a bunch of waffles on it or something?” She sarcastically retorts. Cass shrugs.
“Make it yours.” Cass says, handing the cane to Stephanie with gentle hands. Stephanie nods, her mood sobering. She thinks for a moment before a grin dances on her lips.
“I think… I think I have an idea.” Stephanie says, dragging Cass out of her room and to the kitchen. On their way, she grabs a large bottle of glue and a bad of purple glitter. Stephanie’s grin grows as they near the kitchen, a near giddy feeling overtaking her as her mind goes to how cool she’s gonna look with her new accessory, as opposed to how bad she’ll look.
When the pair reach the kitchen, Stephanie plops them on the floor, laying the cane on the floor and grabbing a paint brush from Damian’s stash (she’ll apologize later… or she’ll convince Damian that he never had that one) before settling down, sitting criss-cross-applesauce before opening the glue bottle.
“Alfred is gonna kill us.” Stephanie comments as she coats her cane in a thin layer of glue. Cass shakes her head.
“Alfred will kill you.” She corrects, and Stephanie can’t even disagree with that. The two sit quietly, Stephanie occasionally saying whatever comes to mind, and Cass humming in response, all the while still somehow perfectly conveying her feelings. Stephanie eventually grabs the glitter, dusting it over the cane with careful precision. She startles, though, when a familiar, accented voice interrupts her, glitter flying everywhere when Stephanie flinches.
“Miss. Brown, what do you think you are doing in my kitchen?” Alfred asks with his perfectly posh voice. Stephanie nervously laughs.
“I’m trying to make my cane purple?” She tries, her statement said more like a question. Alfred lets out a displeased hum.
“And you could not have done that, say, outside?” He raises an eyebrow. Stephanie looks at Cass for help, but the other girl merely shrugs. She looks back up at Alfred.
“I’ll clean it up when I’m done, I swear!” Stephanie says instead of admitting that she could, in face, have done it outside. Alfred nods.
“That, you will, Miss. Brown.” Alfred agrees before turning around, likely to attend to his other butler-ly duties. Stephanie stares at Cass, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm her heartbeat.
“I thought he was going to cry when he saw the mess.” Stephanie admits. Cass huffs out a quiet laugh at that.
“I believe he left to do just that.” Cass remarks, smiling when Steph snickers as she continues to pour glitter over her cane, watching as it finally turns into something she might enjoy using– or, at the very least, allow herself to use.
~~~
Stephanie looks at herself in the mirror, a purple skirt sitting on her waist with a black crop top just above it. She smiles gently to herself, choosing a glittery-purple purse to match with her cane. Her first time using it since getting it.
She admires her final look, her black combat boots pulling the final look together, making her look, quite frankly, badass, even with her cane. Her leg, too, feeling so much better with the weight not falling on it, and she’s glad that she finally gave in and started using it. She feels infinitely better with it. People may stare when she walks around, and people might tell her that she doesn’t actually need it, and she’s just using it to get accommodations and attention, but she knows that she needs it, and she feels so much better with it.
She waddles out of the house, nodding a farewell at Alfred as she gets in her beat-up old car, her cane in the passenger seat, and her leg feeling well enough to drive safely for the first time in months. Maybe, just maybe, she can go on patrol again soon.