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Cass meets Dick Grayson at dinner. Babs brings him to the restaurant, all bubbly (like, Cass reads. Hope. Friends. Maybe more?)
“He’s my best friend,” Babs says, wheeling herself in next to Dick. “The Robin to my Batgirl.”
“A long time ago,” Dick says, with a smile. “It’s good to meet you, Cassandra. Babs has told me a lot about you.”
She nods. “Good to meet you,” she says, smiles, even though Cass hasn’t really talked about him so much. (The Boy Wonder, she’d say, with a fond, wry grin, a spark in her eyes. Cass knew better than to ask for much more.)
“All good things,” Babs says, dry. Her shoulders are relaxed. Dick Grayson is safe, then.
“Robin’s seen you around,” Dick says. “He says you’re good in a fight.”
Too good, Cass doesn’t say. She nods, instead. “He’s not patient enough,” she says.
Dick snorts. His eyes are sparkling. “I’ll let Jason know.”
“Aww, come on, Dick. Patience is overrated.” Babs' voice is light, teasing.
“Tell that to Batman,” Dick says, dry. He shoots a look at Babs Cass can only describe as - does she know? No, is in Babs’ frown. (Know what? Know Batman. But Cass knows Dick is Nightwing from the way his shoulders rise, from his even stride, from the spark in his eyes. The rest is not so hard to figure out.)
Jackie comes over with noodles. “Eat up,” she says, hands Cass a serviette. “You too, mouse,” and Cass nods, smiles, says her thank-yous, and Babs’ eyes are soft, when she looks over.
“Robin,” Cass says, and tries not to smile when Robin jumps, turns.
“You didn’t scare me,” he protests, but she can hear the waver in his voice, the tense line of his shoulders.
“No,” she says, dry, amusement in her tone.
He rolls his eyes. “Anyway. What’re you doing up here?”
“Patrol.”
“Yeah, but why? B and I are out.”
Cass shrugs.
“Bored?”
That’s not it, really. Father is not-here but here, and Gotham is hers, and Cass needs to protect it. Especially now she’s Batgirl.
“B likes you,” he says, walking along the edge of the rooftop. “He says you have good technique. And you don’t kill. He likes that.” He turns, stares, gaze sharp. “Where’d you learn?”
She shrugs. “Lots of places.” Not a lie, technically.
Robin stretches his arms. “You don’t need to tell me, I guess. You think they’ll strike again?”
“Who?”
“Garzonas and his crew. I shouldn’t say this - B wouldn’t agree - but after what they did to that woman - I mean - it’s not right, just letting them out free.”
“No. They’re going to prison.”
“Yeah, but…” Robin sighs, shakes his head. “They’ll just get out. And they’ll do it again, and hurt more people, and it’s…it’s not fair.” Hurt, she reads. Anger. Unheard. Annoyed.
“No,” she says.
“Nightwing’s off-world. You heard?”
Cass makes a noise of agreement. Robin is Nightwing’s kind-of-brother, according to Babs, which seems complicated. Babs likes him. (“He’s funnier than his predecessor.”)
“Of course you did. Everyone…anyway. B, I’m over here! I’ll see you around, Batgirl.”
“See you,” she says, and watches as he swings away.
She doesn’t see him again.
Dick comes to the restaurant one night, sopping wet and bruised and vibrating with grief-hurt-anger, and sits down in one of the chairs. Babs comes over, talks to him, low and quiet, but Cass doesn’t need to know what they’re saying to know who they’re talking about.
“Because I wasn’t there!” Dick says, and Cass flinches, muscles tensing, because he’s maybe a threat, even though he’s not supposed to be one, but neither are Fathers–
“It’s fine, Cass,” Babs says. Dick murmurs an apology.
“You know what you need?” Jackie says, dropping a bowl in front of them. “Soup. Soup makes everything feel better.”
Dick’s expression molts, shutters. Guilt and grief and pain. Cass looks away.
“I’ll be going to Haly’s for a while,” Dick says.
“Okay.” Babs reaches over, squeezes his arm.
“I’ve let Kori know.”
“Okay. Good.”
“You’ll let me know if she needs anything?”
“Of course.”
She learns his name, that night, as the television plays a recording of his funeral. Jason Todd, fifteen years old, dead…
He’s younger than she is.
The new Robin pops up a few months after Jason dies. (“He’s smart,” Babs tells her. “He gets it when I get all technical - likes his computers, too. And he’s got gumption, finding Dick all the way in Haly’s and convincing Batman he’ll become a good Robin. After - well, you know.”)
(Cass does know. She’s spent the last few months seeing Batman get worse and worse, meaner and crueler and harder, spent the last few months trying - failing - to help him, spent the last few months stretching her patrol times so she gets to people before Batman does.)
“Sit,” Jackie tells her, one night, before patrol. “You need to eat, and sleep, and I won’t ask what that metallic smell is, but you need a shower and to do some laundry. Gotham won’t crumble to bits just because you miss one patrol, mouse.”
Cass always crumbles when Jackie calls her mouse. It feels like something a Mother would do.
“Okay,” Cass says. “No patrol tonight.”
Jackie wraps one of her scarves around Cass’ shoulders. “There. Go shower, and I’ll make some food for you.”
She has lunch with Erik. (“Friends?” She had said, a few months ago, and he had nodded. “Yeah. Friends.” She’s come to realise they’re better off with books and the library and eating sandwiches than they are with anything else.)
“You know,” he says. “There’s this girl in my art class who likes drawing sunsets.” Cass grins, eyes dancing. He rolls his eyes at her, but his cheeks flush red.
“Er, hi,” Robin says. “Batgirl.”
He’s a little uncomfortable. She can’t talk well. She’s reading him too well. That’s why, she knows.
But all Cass can think, really, is that he’s a little small.
“Need more balance,” she says, instead, because this is something he can fix.
He holds her gaze, nods. “I know. I’m working on it. Nightwing’s helping me.”
She nods. Good.
He pauses, for a second, like he wants to say something else. Then, instead: “Batman’s getting better, and I’m around, now. You don’t need to patrol so often.”
Cass shrugs. Maybe she doesn’t, but maybe she doesn’t trust them to take care of her city, either. Not yet. Not just yet.
She meets Spoiler a week later. She’s chasing Cluemaster - Father, Cass can tell - her shoulders tight and voice sharp.
“I don’t need your help,” she says, when Cass knocks Cluemaster out.
(She does. Cass doesn’t say this.)
“Careful,” Cass says, instead, and Spoiler sighs and leaps off into the night.
“Jesus, kid. When I said be careful, I didn’t mean get shot.”
Cass gives a thin smile. Jackie’s already scolded her - does Babs have to, as well? Her shoulder throbs when she shifts, but she pays it little mind. She’s used to pain.
“It’s fine. It’ll heal,” Cass says.
Babs sighs, throws a bag onto Cass’s lap. “No patrolling until you’re healed. Do these instead.”
Cass opens the bag. Sudoku for Beginners. 1001 Crosswords.
“You weren’t around for a month,” Spoiler says. She’s not concerned, exactly, but a little confused, a little wary.
“Fine now,” Cass says.
“Which means you weren’t fine before,” Spoiler says. “You got hurt? Is it safe for you–”
“Fine,” Cass says, more firmly.
Spoiler’s posture changes: a little amused, a little warm. “Well. Alright, then. I’m joining you tonight.”
Cass goes to protest - it’s too dangerous - but Spoiler keeps talking.
“Oracle said I could,” she says, and Cass finds herself nodding. This is Babs’ way of taking care of her, Babs’ way of making sure she’s alright.
“Okay,” Cass says, and they walk.
“Could you teach me that?” Spoiler lands next to her. For someone with little training and a fabric suit and no fancy technology, she fights well. Not well enough, but well.
Cass tilts her head. What?
“How to knock people out like that.”
Cass shrugs. “Learn how to fight first.”
“I know how to fight–”
“Properly,” Cass says.
“Okay. Then - teach me.”
Cass’ lips tilt up, even if Spoiler can’t see it. “You have Robin for that.”
“Well–” Spoiler’s voice is flustered, and her shoulders rise, embarrassed. “You’re better.”
“Beat him, first,” Cass says, and Spoiler grumbles.
“We work together,” she says. “It’s sparring. It’s not real. And, anyway, it’s good to learn from new people, isn’t it? Get new perspectives?”
Cass makes a noise of agreement. She’s not wrong, but–
But, but, but. Cass is still dangerous. Cass can still kill. Cass is still a weapon.
Dick comes to the restaurant with Robin, one evening. Cass can tell - that even stride, those sharp eyes, the way his smile catches the light.
“Grab the menu for us, would you, Tim? ” Dick says, and Cass files it away.
“I can’t believe you missed the landing,” Dick says, while they’re waiting for food, voice teasing, and Tim scowls, but his shoulders are still relaxed.
“I didn’t miss it. I landed fine.”
“You nearly–”
“I got myself. Didn’t you knee someone–”
“Alright, alright. Kids nowadays - can’t even tease them.”
“You’re not that much older than me.” Tim’s eyes glint under the lights, bright. “Or should I start calling you–”
Their noodles arrive. Cass slips upstairs.
“Good noodles,” Cass tells Robin, the next time she sees him on patrol.
“What?”
“The restaurant. You can bring Spoiler.”
“I - um - look–”
He’s flustered. Cass kind of wants to laugh. “Better balance, now. You just need more force when you punch. Good technique, but less strength.”
“It’s - I know. I’m working on it.” He composes himself. “The Riddler’s been leaving ciphers around the city. B sent me out to look for them tonight. You want to help?” Cass nods.
“Your Father,” she says, when Spoiler and her sit on a rooftop, watching Cluemaster get carted away again.
“What?”
Cass nods at Cluemaster. Spoiler falls silent.
“Yeah. He is.”
“My Father, um. Made me a weapon.”
“Oh. I’m sorry,” Spoiler says. “Guess we both share shitty fathers, hey?” She cracks a grin in Cass’ direction. Cass smiles back.
“Are you ever going to teach me how to knock someone out like that?”
“Maybe,” Cass says, and Spoiler snorts.
“That means no.”
“Nerve strike,” Cass says, after.
“That’s what it’s called? A nerve strike?”
Cass nods. “Need to be careful. Can kill with it.”
“I’ll be careful. Promise.”
“Maybe,” Cass says, again.
Spoiler rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get it out of you one day.”
Cass spots Tim and Spoiler - Stephanie Brown - in the restaurant one evening eating noodles, faces flushed across from each-other, shy, nervous, and slips out of sight before they catch a glimpse of her.
“I’ve been looking into the Joker,” Robin tells her, one night.
Cass stills. “Dangerous.”
“I know.”
“He killed the last Robin.”
“I know. I’m prepared.”
Cass watches him. Relaxed, loose, confident. Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t, but–
“We’ll help you,” she says, and he cracks a little grin.
“I know.”
Cass sits in Titans Tower. (“Come on,” Robin had said. “I’ll show you something cool.”)
“Nice couch,” she offers, and Tim snorts. “Nice view,” she says, and Tim warms, smiles.
“Isn’t it? You can see half the galaxy. And it’s useful, tactically.”
It’s Cass turn to snort. “Useful, tactically?” She says, teasing, and he rolls his eyes.
“I’m right!”
“Red Hood?”
She steps in front of Tim. Danger, danger, but - something else. Familiar. Stance and movement and gaze.
“Oh,” she says. “You. Robin.”
He stills, frowns, scoffs. Rips off his costume, only to reveal the Robin suit underneath. (Cass doesn’t laugh, but later, she’ll tell Babs and they’ll think it’s a little funny.)
“Jason,” she says, and he lunges, but he doesn’t have a chance against her.
No one ever does.
Cass stares at Jason Todd. Tim’s frowning at the computer, murmuring under his breath about Joker’s reappearance and ties to Talia Al Ghul, and Steph is poking around the Batcave like she hasn’t already been there before. (“Yeah, I’ve met Batman. I think he likes you more.”)
He looks small, like this. Younger than - eighteen, or however old Tim said he was. He’s lying on a bed, hooked up to a machine, and Cass has to look away because it reminds her a bit too much of the people she’s hurt.
“Dick’s coming over soon,” Tim says. He keeps glancing over at Jason in something like awe-grief-frustration-hope, gaze darting away like he doesn’t want Cass seeing what she already knows. “Babs knows, too. I think she’ll come over tomorrow. Were they close?”
Yes, Cass can’t say. He was a good Robin, too, she doesn’t say. She makes a noise of affirmation.
Tim sighs. “He’s been all over, you know. I can…I can trace some of these things back to him. London. Russia. Bruce won’t be happy.”
“Maybe,” Cass says, because she sees the way he looks when he thinks of Jason: all agony and grief. She thinks he’ll be a little happy, even if Jason’s come back different. He can still change, after all.
“It was like this, right?” Steph practises the movement, glances up at Cass. “Right?”
Cass walks over, moves Steph’s shoulder down, uncurves her palm. “Like this. Then down.”
Steph turns to Tim, grins. “I’ll use this on you next time.”
Tim flushes, glances back at his computer. “I have to write up my report.”
Steph snorts. “Yeah, alright. Let me practise.”
Bruce sits next to Jason’s bed.
“Batgirl,” he says, and Cass steps out of the shadows. Bruce’s shoulders are curled in, his lips thin. He’s - sad, and grieving, and angry, and things Cass doesn’t have the words for. “He’ll wake up soon.”
“I know,” she says.
Bruce sighs. “You can go home. I’ll watch over him.”
He wants time with Jason alone. Cass can understand that; Bruce is like Jason’s father, after all. Even if she hasn’t had the best experience with fathers, Bruce doesn’t seem like a bad one.
Jason stares at her. Scowls. “You fucking knocked me out.”
Cass nods. I can do it again, she doesn’t need to say. Jason looks away.
“I’ve changed,” he says, next. “I don’t need to stay here.”
“You’re hurt,” she says, pins him with her gaze without meaning to. He’s scared. Lonely. Hesitating. Wants the warmth of the fire and scared it’ll burn him. “Stay.”
He sits back down. His hands are still curled into fists.
“Food,” she says, pointing to the table next to him. “Water.”
“I can see.”
“Eat.”
“I will. You’re not - who are you, anyway? You’re not Batgirl.”
“I am,” Cass says. “Just not the old one.”
“She wouldn’t have given it to you.” He’s dismissive. Cass can feel heat rising in her chest.
“She did.”
Jason doesn’t respond. He takes the water and drinks.
Cass sits, flicks through the book Erik gave her. Pride and Prejudice She can’t really understand all the words, just yet, but she likes staring at the drawings at the start of each chapter.
“–don’t get why they can’t postpone it,” Steph is telling Babs and Black Canary. “I mean, I have bigger things to worry about than an exam.”
Babs starts. “An education–”
“Is important, I know. You sound like Batman. Or Tim’s Dad talking about him trying out for the football team. He doesn’t even like football, you know?”
Cass tries not to laugh. They’re so in love. Steph lobs a piece of carrot at Cass’ face. (She dodges, of course.)
“I just mean - it’s a Maths exam. It’s not the end of the world if I miss it. It’s not like my GPA is bad. But if my Dad…if I miss him…”
“Has he tried anything? Dinah says.
Steph shrugs. “Not yet.”
“Not yet?”
“I’ve been keeping an eye on him,” Babs says.
“Yeah,” Steph sighs. “I know. Dad’s been bringing people over.”
“People?” Cass echoes. Does she need to– “Relax. They haven’t…just - his criminal friends, you know. Bane. Some others. They’re using our house like their creepy, villainous headquarters.” Steph rubs at her forehead. “I’ve been keeping out of the house, so it’s…fine. I want to do something about it, but I don’t know what.”
“I’ll go with you,” Dinah says, after a pause. She doesn’t look particularly enthusiastic about it, but Cass can tell she’s concerned.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Cool.”
Is it so bad if she thinks of them and sees change?
She was a monster, once. If she can change, if she can become good, then why can’t they?
“I think I’ll study psychology,” Steph says. She’s sitting in the restaurant, eating with one hand, sketching with the other. Cass squints at it: it looks like a motorcycle? “We had careers day at school. It looks interesting. Might be useful, you never know.” Steph looks up. “I mean, you’re good at reading people, and that’s useful, right?”
Cass doesn't answer. Some days it feels more like a burden than anything else. “Why?” Cass says.
Steph shrugs. “I don’t know.” She twirls a noodle around her fork. “It would be nice to find out why my Dad does the things he does, I guess.”
“Fathers,” Cass says, dry, and Steph snorts.
“Yeah. Fathers.” Steph pauses. “You know, B’s got a piano at his house. You wanna learn?”
Cass flexes her fingers. Music. She can make something beautiful with these hands of hers. She nods.
Cass stares at Jason Todd. He’s got a backpack slung over his shoulder. He looks a little like a skunk, with that white stripe of hair, that defensive posture. Not that she’d ever tell him. Maybe tell Tim and Steph, later, since Babara and Bruce still have a soft spot for him.
“I’m leaving,” he says.
She nods, watches him.
He shifts from foot to foot.
“No more killing,” she says.
“What do you mean, no more–”
“No more killing,” she says, again, more forcefully. “Not in Gotham. Not in mine.”
“Fine,” he mutters. “But you know that won’t fix anything, right?”
She shrugs. Maybe it won’t, maybe it will, but Cass needs to believe people can change.
“Worse than talking to B,” Jason says, and Cass tries not to laugh. “And it’s Red Hood. Not Robin.”
Red Hood. She’s not sure if the shape of the words suit him. But nor does Robin, not now. She nods.
Patrol is calming. She knows every one of these streets: the mould, the fog, the cracks in the road. It’s easy to lose herself in movement, in swinging through the air, in resting in the shadows.
She sees Batman and Robin again. No Red Hood, but Batman looks more relaxed.
“Better?” She says, and he glances over at her, saying nothing.
Better, she decides. They must have fixed things, in their own way. Tim gives her a surreptitious thumbs up. Cass tries not to smile.
Cass stares.
“He’s Bruce’s, apparently,” Tim says. “I went to greet him and he went all murderous-child on me, talking about heirs and worthiness. It’s weird.”
The way this boy stands, the way he moves, the coldness in his eyes–
This is a killer.
This is Batman’s son.
“Talia’s not so bad,” Jason says.
“Don’t call my mother by her first name. It’s disgraceful.”
“Disgraceful, is it? Look here, kid–”
“And it’s impudent, and impertinent, and–”
“–Just because you’re throwing a dictionary at me–”
“You’re just mad because you have poor strength and poorer reflexes and you got yourself killed.”
Jason’s jaw ticks. “I was complimenting your mother, you brat.”
Damian scowls.
“They’ve been like this since Jason got here,” Tim whispers to Cass. “Better him than me, though, you know? That demon gets on my nerves.” “Not a demon,” Cass says, and Tim elbows her.
“You know what I mean. I think Jason just came for some of Alfred’s food, anyway, so he’ll be out of the house soon.”
Bruce thinks this boy - Damian - shouldn’t be Robin, Cass knows. He’s been tense with worry over it, over showing Damian that there are better ways to solve crimes than murder, over trying to reason with Damian.
But Damian looks small, even now. Hurt. There’s insecurity, there, and anger, and confusion, and want. So much want.
“Batgirl,” Damian starts, but before he finishes his sentence, Cass slinks back to Alfred.
“No killing,” Cass pins them both with a look.
Jason sighs, scratches his ear, but Cass knows he won’t. Damian scoffs.
“Why not? Sometimes–”
“No killing,” Cass says, again. “The look. You don’t want that. The anguish. The pain. The cruelty.”
Damian mutters under his breath.
“If you want Batman to value you, then no killing.”
Jason snorts, this time. Damian’s eyes flick up, bore into Cass’.
“We all know about the old man’s morals,” Jason says. There’s a bite in his voice. “No need to remind me. I’ve been trying to get along with him, in case you haven’t noticed.” Not as Red Hood and Batman, but as Bruce and Jason, as father and son.
“Okay,” Damian says. “No killing. I’ll try.”
Cass makes a noise of approval. That’s all she’s asking, isn’t it?
“I can’t believe you have to…train him.” Tim’s face contorts into disgust. “He’s so annoying.”
“You make it really obvious you’re an only child,” Steph says.
“No, he makes it obvious he’s the youngest child,” Dick says.
Tim throws a chunk of bread at them both. “He tried to kill me!”
“Unsuccesfully,” Steph says.
“That’s what happens when you have younger brothers,” Dick says.
“I never tried to kill you. Nor did Jason!”
“So you think.”
“I don’t - ugh. You’re all annoying.” He glances at Cass. “Except you, Cass.”
Cass grins, mimes a bow.
Damian is quick, at least. Good reflexes. Knows where to strike. Deadly.
He’s not as good as Cass, of course, but then, who is?
“You are…good,” he says, after one night on patrol, where she’d taken down four gunmen. His eyes are a little wide. He’s a child, of course. It’s easy to forget, watching him fight, but he’s still so young.
She nods. “I’m Batgirl.” Jason snorts, behind her. “Yeah, alright, Batgirl. You got any more tips for him?”
Cass shrugs. “You can be faster. Rely less on your guns. And you–” she stares at Damian. “No killing doesn’t mean play with people. Quick, but not deadly.”
Damian mutters under his breath again.
Jason makes a noise of protest. “I wasn’t even asking about me!”
“Noodles,” Cass announces, and they both follow her back to Jackie’s.
(“You brought new friends?” Jackie asks her, after.
Cass thinks on this. “New and old,” she says, drying her hair, and Jackie smiles, soft.)
Jason goes to take his gun out, but Cass bats his hand away, spins to kick the Joker down.
“No killing,” Cass says, striking the Joker again, and Jason scowls, but doesn’t raise his gun again. Tim had knocked the Joker half-unconscious by the time Cass stepped in, but - well.
Cass knows pain can be a good teacher. And if she doesn’t do this now, Jason might do worse.
Tim sits in the corner. He’s hurt - Cass can tell from the way he's breathing, the tense line of his shoulders, one arm askew. Tim had sent out an alert to Babs which had brought Cass and Jason and even Damian, following Bruce, out here. Tim lets out a breath, shifts himself upright. His arm is broken, twisted at an odd angle. There’s blood on his cape. Cass frowns at it.
“You are injured,” Damian says, quiet. He’s donned a black mask (“Pennyworth made me one,”) and his movements are quick. “This is why you shouldn’t be Robin. You’re not a good enough–”
Cass makes a noise. Damian closes his mouth.
Tim rolls his eyes. “I’m fine. I’ll take two weeks off patrol. It’ll be fine.”
“Longer,” Cass says.
“I agree,” Batman says, from behind Cass. “Longer.” He cuffs the Joker’s hands and pulls him away, where Jason can’t get to him. “At least a month.”
“If he were dead, he wouldn’t have been able to hurt Robin,” Jason starts, and Cass shoots him a look. “I know, I know. I won’t.”
“A month. Really, B–”
“Gotham will be fine without you for a month,” Batman says. “Batgirl will patrol. Get the rest.”
Tim grumbles under his breath. Damian tightens his sling, even as Tim tries to bat his hand away. Cass walks over, helps him to his feet. “Come. Let’s go home.”
They’re sitting on the couches. Steph’s at school (boring, Cass had mouthed to her, and Steph had laughed), but the rest of them are here, save Babs. Tim’s arm is still in a sling, and he still winces in pain when he has to use it, holds it gingerly, but it’s healing well, Cass thinks.
“I’m not giving up Robin,” Tim says, then pauses. Damian looks stricken. It’s obvious to everyone, not just Cass. “But that doesn’t mean I might not outgrow it one day.”
“But–”
“And, to be clear, I don’t want Batman.”
Damian closes his mouth. “Really?”
Even Tim can hear the surprise. “Yes, really. I’m not the brooding type, in case you haven’t noticed.” His voice is dry. “I even have friends.”
“Like the clone.”
Tim shoots Cass a glance: why do I even try?
“So I can get Batman.”
“You don’t get it,” Cass says. “They give it to you. You prove yourself worthy–”
Dick shoots her a weird glance. “You don’t become worthy, you–”
“And you get it,” Cass finishes. “No killing. Good fighter. You want to help Gotham, not hurt it.”
Help Gotham, Damian mouths under his breath.
Dick sighs.
“Okay,” Damian announces. “I am ready to invest in Gotham, like Father does.”
“Oh, god,” Tim mutters.
Dick walks over, leads Damian away. “Let me tell you about…”
Cass sits in the diner. It’s dinnertime, and she’s eating noodles.
Erik sits on one side, flipping through the copy of Emma Jason’s just given him (“Seriously? Thanks, man,”); Tim and Steph sit on her other side, telling her about their last patrol (“And I totally knocked him out - I did, Tim! I’m a gymnast, I can do kicks like that–”); Jason is sitting near Babs and talking, low, about a case, shoulders relaxed; Dick is opposite Tim, listening too, occasionally glancing over to where Damian sits next to him, slurping up his noodles; Bruce and Alfred walk through the door, talking quiet. Jackie’s still serving, voice a loud comfort, greeting Bruce and Alfred as they enter.
“Over here, Bruce, Alfred,” Dick calls, pointing at the seat next to Damian, and Bruce looks over, all love and fondness and hesitation and sits. Jason greets Alfred and gives a thin nod to Bruce, who smiles back, and Bruce asks Damian about the noodles, (“They’re passable. Pennyworth, you should ask for the recipe,”) and Jason turns back to Babs, talking a little louder - “I really thought they would talk more with a gun to their heads,” - like he’s trying to get a rise out of Bruce, and Bruce just calls over: “They usually don’t, Jason. First rule of interrogating people,” and shoots him a grin, still a little raw, and Jason swallows, doesn’t answer back, but his shoulders still aren’t stiff. Erik whispers to Cass - “Are they always like this?” And Cass nods, grinning. It's fun,
“How’s it going, mouse?” Jackie whispers to Cass.
“Good,” she says back. “It’s good.” Mother, she doesn't say. She thinks Jackie can tell, anyway, from the way she's beaming at Cass, eyes bright.