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She turns on her heel when the next ring starts up, movements tight, breath measured.
It’s going on the sixth ring and just as many hallway lengths when the phone goes silent. Then a garbled, electronic announcement she can’t quite make out. JJ sighs, pulling the screen away to confirm that she’s been sent to voicemail, when she hears, “Hello?”
Instant relief. “Hello, can I speak to Stephanie Brown?”
“Speaking.” There’s a trace of amusement in the younger woman’s voice, clocking JJ to be of the landline generation. A mild guilt coats the observation, knowing that JJ will soon scrape away all mirth. “Who is this?”
“Jennifer Jareau. I’m a member of the-”
“BAU. What happened to Cass?”
The background chatter and beeping that JJ has slowly been piecing together as hospital abates a bit. She imagines the woman stepping into a private space. Good. This needs to be taken seriously.
“Cassandra was in an incident earlier today. She’s currently in the Ellsworth Memorial Hospital, in Delaware.” Basics first. Brown’s area code was from Gotham, New Jersey and her occupation was listed as a medical resident. Far away and long shifts to contend with. Considering that Brown was also checked as a friend rather than family, it would be hard for her to get work off easily.
“What happened? Something you need testing for? Gun shot, concussion, broken bone, poison- Actually, if it’s poison you should-”
“She’s been admitted to the Arcane Care Unit.”
Brown takes an aborted breath. “Right.”
JJ can only imagine how her mind is spinning. Magic is rare but any small arcane incident is reported in the news and spammed on social media. It looms large in the minds of the public, an easy leverage point for those fear mongering about the homo magi and their contemporaries. Spells, curses, potions, rituals. All with devastating uses, when the right components are brought together.
In the BAU, they handle about one novice magic user a year. Anyone more proficient and they send a consultation request to the Justice League Liaisons Office.
Even that minor experience has counterintuitively desensitized JJ to the worst of the bad rap that magic gets. That, and she knows that Cassandra is alright. Her vitals are stable and she’s sleeping. Emily gave her the liaisons office’s number to report the magic incident and they’re in one of the twenty hospitals nationwide with an Arcane Care Unit.
Currently, Brown doesn’t have any of those reassurances. To stem the panic, JJ continues on, “While she’s unconscious, her condition is stable and she’s being cared for by a team of proficient doctors-”
“I know,” Brown interrupts. There’s a burst of noise again, intercoms paging and nurses speaking. “Ellsworth is one of the few hospitals equipped to deal with magical incidents. That’s not-” A heavy door clanks shut, then thundering footsteps. Stairs. “What’s the ACN?”
JJ scans her memory, then decides she misheard. “Sorry, could you repeat that?”
“What’s the ACN? The Arcane Classification Number?”
“Um.” Was there an ACN? Dr. Deb Kafka, Cassandra’s physician, had explained that this is a common magical effect, though its many possible causes makes it complicated to treat.
“What happened?” she asks for the third time.
It’s now that JJ realizes that Brown isn’t panicked. She has been calm and controlled throughout their brief conversation. What she is, is irritated. “Cassandra was de-aged, meaning-”
“How old?”
The stark iciness of the words cuts through all of JJ’s concerns to just one. For years, she’s noted how Cassandra never speaks about her childhood. JJ doesn’t mind. A lot of her team has had painful experiences they prefer not to dwell on. Now, here, JJ realizes that this omission could be more than avoidance.
“Between seven and ten,” she reports as steadily as she can manage.
“Right.” Another door clanging open and the rush of wind. “Cass is an H-sko. Tell the attending physician and then call the JL, do you understand?”
The tables have turned. JJ thought she was the one advising and calming the other. As Brown speaks, the opposite manifests.
Quickly, without running, JJ returns to the nurses station.
“What’s an H-sko?”
The nurse, who hadn’t blinked when JJ blundered into the unit with a nonsensical description of the magical trap Cassandra stumbled into, looks up in alarm.
JJ freezes on her approach. A pair of nurses, purple scrubs with runes embroidered on the fabric, stride past.
“They’ll know. Do you need the JL’s number?”
Shaking herself, she declines. With one more encouragement to contact the Earth’s last resort, Brown ends the call.
The charge nurse, Marliyn Summers, beckons her forward with one hand, still typing with the other. “What’s this about an H-sko?”
Collecting her fraying nerves into a ball and pushing it far far down, JJ releases a breath. “Cassandra Cain’s emergency contact asked that I relay to her attending physician that Cassandra is an H-sko.” The word is meaningless on her tongue, slightly mangled. Mispronounced, in that she doesn’t give the term the same weight as the others.
The nurse’s eyes brighten momentarily, too blue. She straightens. “I see. What level?”
JJ shrugs helplessly. “She didn’t say. What’s-”
“I’ll put her at a- three then.” She types rapidly after hitting a black button protected behind a clear case. “Do you know her SSPs at this age?” There’s a lack of faith in the words and she doesn’t look up. She’s not expecting JJ to have an answer.
The doubt twists in her chest. Cassandra has been her teammate for three years. She’s attended Henry’s basketball games and Michael’s plays, driven JJ to Will’s grave, brought meals over on their wedding anniversary. She never forgets a birthday and always knows when she needs a hug or a distraction or a reminder of the good they do after a hard case.
JJ doesn’t know why her emergency contact has a Gotham area code.
“SSP?” JJ clarifies despondently. Her shoulders are heavy with all she doesn’t know.
The nurse clicks her tongue, brow furrowing at what she sees on her screen. “Safe, supportive person. Sometimes a parent or caregiver. Siblings, friends. Anyone she’d recognize when waking up as a non-threat.”
If Spencer were here, he’d spout off the exact percent of de-aging cases that are both physical and mental in nature. All JJ knows is that it’s high. Very high.
She doesn’t know how to get in touch with any of Cassandra’s family. She’s never met any of them. Only overheard a few phone calls when hotel rooms were sparse.
“I’m not sure. She has a few siblings and I just got off the phone with her friend. She told me to contact the Justice League.” The absurdity of that request hits her. An emergency contact, a civilian, advising her through the proper chain of reporting.
The nurse gives a half smile, glancing over her shoulder as a tall, strong orderly hurries down the hallway. She points the newcomer to Cassandra’s room. “There’ll be a lot of that today, agent. Better get calling.”
She shuts off her computer and leaves her station in the direction of the orderly.
JJ allows herself one, just one, moment of total confusion, before slipping back out her phone.
There’s a handful of updates from Tara, looping her into the case. There are twice as many messages from Penelope, asking for updates on their impacted teammate. She ignores them for now in favor of plugging in the phone number Emily forwarded.
This call only rings twice before connecting.
“Justice League Liaisons Office, this is Quinn, can I ask who’s calling?”
JJ rattles off her name, unit, and badge number.
“Excellent, thank you so much SSA Jareau. Now, how can I help you?”
She lets out a breath. JJ knows her areas of expertise and is never above asking for help when a problem exceeds them. Already, she feels assuaged by the calm, professional nature of this conversation. None of the scrambled irritation from Brown, none of the stern urgency of the nurse.
“I’m reporting an incident. Magic use impacting a federal agent.”
A hum encouraging her to continue. Non-plussed.
“My teammate was impacted by a magic user’s ritual, de-aging her.” As she speaks, she wanders back toward Cassandra’s room. The blinds, previously half turned, are fully closed now. “We’ve already checked into the ACU at Ellsworth Memorial Hospital and got in touch with her emergency contact.”
The faint sound of typing only puts her more at ease as she’s reminded of Penelope’s inspired competence. “Alrighty… And could I get the name of the agent impacted.”
“Cassandra Cain.”
“And the badge number?”
JJ reads it from the notes app list she probably shouldn’t keep in her phone.
“And- One moment.” More typing. A lot more. JJ shifts uneasily. There’s an electronic noise humming from Cassandra’s room and the faint rumble of machinery. She can’t see inside. “I- Okay. I actually need to transfer you.”
JJ blinks. She’s always been the one to call this line. She was the team’s media liaison for years, it was only natural that she also handle interdepartmental and multi-organizational collaborations. Never, in all the time that the Bureau has brokered a deal with the JL, has she been transferred.
“Why? She’s receiving care, we don’t need to transfer the case or-”
“I’m sorry. That badge number flagged in our system, I’ll need to transfer you to- Oh. I-” More typing.
It’s just a report, JJ thinks with increasing frustration. She tries the door handle to Cassandra’s room. Locked.
“I’ve never- Okay, that’s approved. I’m transferring you to Director Gordon now.”
“Who-”
The call hits a half second of hold music, then re-connects.
“Agent Jareau,” the new voice greets. “What’s the age of the DG-S-1?”
JJ releases the handle, pulling her phone away from her ear. It shows the same DC area code. “I’m sorry, who is this?”
A dismissive noise. “What age is Agent Cain right now?”
The light seeping under the door disappears and the humming sound lessens significantly. “The paramedics put her between seven and ten.”
“Thank you… You’re in the Ellsworth Memorial Hospital ACU, which… has a H-sko certification. That’s good.”
“Ma’am,” JJ interrupts. “Please. Cassandra is my teammate, I’m her medical advocate. What is an H-sko? Is she in danger?”
“Agent Jareau.” Calm, undisputed authority. “Answer three more questions and I’ll explain. I promise.”
She backs away from the door. Her phone buzzes with another message. At the nurse’s circular station, Dr. Kafka consults a heavy tome with a frown. “Okay. Fine.”
“Is she conscious?”
“No.” It had been hard to find Cassandra asleep in the carnage of her hotel room.
“Is she injured?”
“No.” The paramedics hadn’t reported anything of the sort. Just drying blood under her nails that’s already been swabbed for testing.
“Good. Is she mentally de-aged?”
“I don’t know.”
Gordon hums once. There’s typing. Always typing.
JJ’s phone buzzes again, the unique sequence that indicates her mom.
“Alright. I’ve dispatched an operative to your location. She should be there within two hours.”
“It’s… a de-aging,” JJ expresses quietly. “The staff here made it sound like it’s a pretty routine magical effect without active dangers, since it’s a stable age.”
“All generally true,” the director agrees. “Except Agent Cain was an H-sko child. H-S-C-O. Highly skilled, combat oriented. They’re classified at seven levels, based on various factors including time and intensity of training as well as combat experience. Agent Cain would have been classified as a level six at age seven and as a level seven at age ten. She did not have any SSPs, safe, supportive people, at those ages. She did not have the ability to communicate in any language until much later, and was highly attuned to body language. Until we’ve confirmed her memory access, we’ll treat her as a level seven, hostile HSCO.”
Each new detail is like a shot hitting her bulletproof vest. Not enough to take her out, but worse to ache for many weeks to come.
She tries to piece it all together. To match the polyglot she knows to a child without language. The beloved sister and friend to a young girl without safe people. The pacifist who only engages in violence when it’s absolutely necessary with a kid described as hostile and combat oriented.
Attuned to body language, at least, is a foothold of recognition. Cassandra has always outshone the others in her ability to read a person’s minute reactions and tells.
Highly skilled. That too rings true. Her teammate set records in the academy and had a first year close rate that rivaled Derek’s.
“I’ve sent an operative,” Gordon repeats. “She’ll be able to manage Agent Cain until a re-aging is possible. You did everything you needed to, Agent Jareau. I’ve sent medical files to the ACU. They’re equipped to handle an HSCO up to level 7. She’ll be safe and cared for.”
The door clicks open. Both nurses step out. Inside, the room looks emptier than before. Smaller. The cabinets have disappeared, blocked behind three stiff walls. Cassandra’s too small sleeping form is curled up on a bed that has lost all its unnecessary medical equipment.
“Who’s the operative?” she asks finally. Who is going to assure Cassandra when she has no one she would recognize as safe upon waking?
Gordon types a little more. “Operative Gamma Alpha Bravo Golf Double O Five. She’s a JL affiliate familiar with HSCOs… You spoke to Cass’ emergency contact, correct? Stephanie Brown?”
“I- Yes. I did.”
“Good. That’s good.” Gordon clears her throat, loses the strangely familiar worry in her tone. “Two hours then. If you need anything in the meantime, don’t hesitate to call back. I’ve set your number to route straight to my office.”
“Thank you.”
The call ends without a returned salutation.
She wants nothing more than to close her eyes and re-analyze the last conversation, the last three conversations, for every missing bit of context. Instead, she faces the charge nurse. “The liaison I spoke with informed me that Cassandra was a level seven HSCO at this age.”
Summers pauses for a half-beat. “Head,” she calls to the young man halfway to the nurses station. “We’re upping to a seven.” She turns back to JJ. “You’re certain?”
“Level six at age seven, level seven at age ten. Erring on the side of caution.”
The nurse nods. “That’s how we usually do things. She’s such a tiny thing that I… Normally I default to a four when the HSCO level’s unknown, but…” She sighs. “We’ll get it set up. There’ll be an observation space to the left of the door. Once we get the room converted, you can stay there.”
“I can’t wait with her?”
The nurse shifts her weight authoritatively. “No, agent. It takes a few years of training to get that sort of authorization.”
The orderly returns, pulling a key fob from his pocket. “Level seven?” he asks, swiping it on the black panel of the door.
Summers nods, swiping her fob next. That precaution hadn’t been in effect a few minutes prior. “Let’s get her situated while she’s still out. If we’re lucky, she’ll sleep the whole time.”
And then JJ’s shut away from her teammate once more.
Her head falls back to the painted blocks of concrete. The heavy walls that seal this section of the hospital off from the rest. If she recalls one of Spencer’s Halloween tangents correctly, the walls are filled with all sorts of runes and wards.
Inexplicably, she knows that very few of her questions have answers in the realm of magic. That the world Cassandra came from is not one of spell components or dead languages, yet still filled with intangible mystery that JJ never expected to confront in someone she’s considered a friend for many years.
HSCOs and SSPs and ACNs. Certifications and authorizations.
Over a decade removed, JJ has a moment of intense déjà vu harkening back to her State Department assignment.
There was an intensity there. A closed circle. An intelligence community built on harsh hierarchy. Where terminology is hyper-specific and in the know.
If she really presses her memory, she does remember encountering the term Highly Skilled, Combat Oriented when speaking with Andi on a joint BAU-Domestic Trafficking Task Force operation. Andi hadn’t had the kind of familiarity and urgency it takes to shorten an acronym.
Gordon does. Summers does. Brown does.
Probably this BG operative too.
Scrubbing a hand over her face, JJ pulls back out her phone. Her screen brightens to contend with the harsh hospital light.
An eleven digit pin later and she’s looking at her ever-expanding messages.
A half scroll down and she’s at the BAU group chat. Her thumb hovers over it. Does she really want Cassandra to read these messages later? What is she even planning to say?
Our teammate of three years who has never dropped a single hint about her childhood in all this time has been identified by the Justice League as a child so dangerous that at ten years old she required the highest security level available. Any updates on the therapy connection of the first and fourth victims?
A sickness churns in her gut.
Would have been. That’s how Gordon phrased it. Cassandra would have been classified as a level seven HSCO at ten years old.
Implying that Cassandra wasn’t classified as such. That the Justice League didn’t know about her. No safe people in her life points to Cassandra being unknown to anyone trustworthy at ten. Ten. She imagines her boys having no shoulders to cry on, no arms to wrap around them, when they were that little.
It’s unconscionable.
Her grip tightens on her phone. It drops in brightness. She taps it to keep it awake.
Scrolling further doesn’t reveal a better group chat. She hasn’t texted Emily, Penelope, Tara, Luke, and Spencer without Cassandra since planning Dave’s retirement party. She’s gotten a new phone since then. Those messages are gone.
Fingers stiff, she creates a new group. It takes many drafts, but finally she sends out, I got a hold of Cassandra’s emergency contact and the JL liaison. Her badge number flagged in their system and I was transferred to a director who let me know Cassandra’s treatment may be a little more complicated. They’re sending an operative with the call number AGBG005. I can consult on the case remotely and will keep everyone posted. She’s still sleeping peacefully.
That sent, she goes back to her unread messages. She sends Penelope an extra reassurance that Cassandra is okay, as empty as it feels, responds to Tara’s updates with some potential insights into the burial sites, and reacts to her mom’s photo of the boys camping with a trio of hearts.
A new message has appeared in the meantime. The number’s unsaved, but vaguely familiar. After a moment, she realizes it’s the nine digits she punched in to dial Stephanie Brown.
Expecting a request for an update, she’s surprised when she sees, She’s at least a level 5 HSCO btw. I can check for sure if the JL didn’t come through.
Another pings a moment later. Her dad doesn’t travel well, but he let me know he’d be able to video call if needed. Can I pass along your number?
Then another. If you weren’t able to get through to the JLLO, lmk and I’ll put in a priority request.
Typing out a more courteous unnecessary, yes, unnecessary, JJ tries to feel soothed by the idea that this friend doesn’t know as much as Gordon. She fails.
The door opens again as she’s hitting send. “- offload my other patients. It shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes,” Head, the younger nurse, promises, briskly walking toward the nurses station.
Summers waves him off and gestures JJ in. “You’re welcome to wait right in here, agent. I overheard something about an operative. Did the JL mention if they were sending someone out?”
“Not to help with the magic,” JJ responds, stepping inside. There’s a tiny walkway with a bench seat folded down, a black plastic bin on the floor underneath it. The observation window isn’t very big and there’s a pair of switches next to it. One is labeled OPAQUE, switched off, and the other ONE WAY, switched on. Beside them is an unlabeled square button, with the holes of a speaker above it.
Try as she might, she doesn’t know where the wall sectioning off this bit of Cassandra’s room came from. It’s sturdy and thick, with no indication that it was folded and no railings on the floor for it to slide along. There’s a door with another fob lock on the far side, with an electronic panel reading HSCO-7 PROCEDURE ACTIVE. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
JJ walks toward the second door to make room for the nurse in the small space.
Summers tracks her with eyes that have rightfully mistrusted many, many patients. “I’m not worried about the magic. Our team here will figure that out and reverse it. It’s what we do.” Well-earned pride. “Did they send someone for Ms. Cain?”
“Agent,” JJ corrects absentmindedly.
The nurse hums. “Not right now. At least, I hope not.” She thumbs through some messages on her pager, but glances meaningfully at JJ. Awaiting an answer.
“They said they’re sending Operative AGBG005.”
“Helpful,” she mutters.
JJ feels a little vindicated at that.
Summers pushes away from the door. “Well, make yourself comfortable. Nurse Head will be back soon to keep an eye on things. If she wakes in the next few minutes, hit the call button.” A matte black panel that she doesn’t remember being in the room previously. “And don’t mess with the window settings.”
There’s a finality to the click as Summers leaves.
JJ lets out a breath and steps to the window.
On the other side, Cassandra is so horribly small. Her dark hair is longer than JJ’s ever seen her wear it. It’s brushed out of her face in a show of care JJ didn’t expect and can’t pinpoint a likely candidate to take that time. Where it rests behind her, JJ can make out the matting and tangles. It lends to the idea that Cassandra has been sent to a particular moment of childhood, rather than her body generally at that age. Or, maybe this is how Cassandra’s body did exist more often than not that young. No one to brush her hair.
Or wipe her skin. She noticed it before, how dirty Cassandra had looked when JJ had found her in the remains of the ritual circle. Her face has been wiped down, but there are still edges of soot. There are scabs along her arms and there’s a redness to her hands.
Her nails are the cleanest part of her. Someone has cut them to be quite blunt and cleared away the remaining blood. She anxiously awaits the crime lab’s results.
Her breathing is deep and slow, almost rhythmic. JJ hopes she’s having sweet dreams, though the slight tension in her brow indicates otherwise.
Though sleeping, her arms and legs have been drawn inward. Curled into a ball, an even smaller figure. There’s a protective twist of her shoulders and a defensive curve of her spine.
It’s hard. Reconciling this vulnerable child with the invincible woman she knows. Three years of cases and Cassandra has only been injured a handful of times. She doesn’t resist hospital visits so much as hospital visits resist her. Her instantaneous prioritization rarely ranks her last, but it never ranks her first. She has a clarity that JJ worked decades to hone.
When cases become personal, JJ only learns after. She knows that siblings hurting siblings is especially decentering for Cassandra, as well as isolated children.
JJ used to understand the latter as Cassandra’s outsized empathy, but today is proving it to be experience.
This little girl, still, calm, has decades of potential within her. If Cassandra could go back and impart a message on this child, JJ wonders what she would say. How she would say it.
Her hand comes up to fiddle with her sister’s necklace, letting go of her assumptions about who Cassandra Cain is. With luck, she won’t ever learn what it takes to be classified as a level seven HSCO. If Cassandra wanted her to know, she would. Simple as that.
There’s a soft ding and the door opens. Nurse Head gives a muted smile, stepping inside.
“Agent.” He clicks through a pager quickly before indicating the window. She gives him space to peer inside.
He’s bulky and tall, muscles built in a way that implies physical labor. Probably maneuvering patients, though he seems on the younger side. Maybe early twenties.
Everyone else on the floor has been her age or older, a level of expertise and experience required to staff this unit. His steady, serious demeanor gives her no reason to doubt his credentials. Wise eyes study Cassandra, likely picking up on all the same quirks JJ had.
“Any updates?”
His gaze slides to her. The back of her neck prickles for just a moment, until he blinks. “Yes. Or rather, no. Dr. Kafka left for the morgue a few minutes ago to inspect the remains for any lingering magic. None of the initial assessments revealed a known ritual or mage.” He gives her another brief smile, muddy green eyes brightening with pride. “But our team does not give up. We will restore your teammate to her present-day health, rest assured, Agent…” He trails off.
“Jareau,” she fills in, looking back to Cassandra’s sleeping form.
She almost doesn’t notice the way his body stiffens. “Jareau,” he repeats woodenly. “What unit do you work for, Agent Jareau?”
“The Behavioral Analysis Unit. We primarily work on-”
“Cases with serial offenders.” His cheeks darken at his own interruption. “My father is a fan of David Rossi’s books. My whole family has read them.”
Through the window, Cassandra’s breathing hitches for half a moment before steadying. Head pauses, watching. He reaches for her chart, now hung by the window, and jots down a note on the tablet. His finger hovers over the submit button. “Your teammate is Cassandra Cain?”
There’s an urgency, a franticness, behind his words of which JJ can’t identify the source. His relaxed competent demeanor remains as a base, but it becomes colored with a layer reminiscent of Spencer’s incessant need for information.
She nods, confirming what he must already know from the chart. If this hospital has any expediency, the medical information from the JL would already be attached. More data than JJ would ever be able to provide about her teammate. Or, whoever her teammate was at seven, eight, nine, ten years old.
“I-” His fingers twitch toward his pager before movement distracts them both. It’s subtle, Cassandra’s matted hair falling into her face. Her hands tucking back into their protective hold. An attempt to feign sleep and cover her expressions in one go.
Head hooks the tablet, now blacked out, back into its position. “If you have any concern for my, her, or your safety, press this button and Nurse Summers will be here shortly,” he announces hastily. Into the black bin below the bench, he hastily sets aside his pager and badge. He gives JJ a long look, then sticks a little black cube in his front pocket before gesturing JJ away from the interior door.
In this time, Cassandra has done nothing more than breathe. “Don’t you think we should let her get her bearings?” JJ suggests.
His lips press together. “Standard protocol, I’m afraid. HSCOs of her rating tend to get creative when they feel trapped. Trapped survivors rarely have high regard for their own health and safety.” His gaze goes a little distant, rapid thoughts flashing through his mind. “I’m sure you have similar standards for calming victims. If there was someone else…” He shakes himself, loosening his stiff, powerful body into something approachable. A chameleon effect of his body language. “But I’ll have to do.” In one swift motion, he swipes his fob and tosses it effortlessly into the bin.
Gut swirling with lost confidence, JJ watches him step through. Summers trusts him, she reminds herself. She wouldn’t allow an unqualified nurse to observe her patient. Head is obviously a respected member of the team, and his clear self-efficacy seems well earned.
Something unsettled him. Just before Cassandra woke, he read something in her chart. Or maybe recognized her name?
JJ knows she comes from a wealthy family up in the northeast. His accent hadn’t been anything so stereotypical, but it certainly hadn’t been reminiscent of the Metropolis residents they’ve interacted with for this case.
She itches to ask Penelope about the Cain family. To narrow down the reason why Head went from firm assurance to uneasy reluctance.
Instead, she watches through the window. The moment the door opens, and swiftly shuts, Cassandra sits bolt upright. Her hair hangs down in uneven patches, while her fingers curl in her lap.
Unconcerned, Head takes slow, sure steps to the back corner of the room, near where the sink was before these extra walls were installed. His shoulders are loose and hands unclenched. There’s a softness to his gaze and smile that would be difficult to replicate. Cassandra’s dark eyes track his every step. Her chest rattles and arms tremble.
When he arrives at his destination, he lowers himself to the ground. He kneels for a moment, two, before shifting into a more comfortable crisscross. His scrubs crinkle and his clogs squeak on the clean tile floor. “Hello, young one,” he soothes.
Cassandra draws her knees to her chest. At first, JJ mistakes the shaking for weakness. It’s sustained exertion. Prepared movement. Ready to flee. Ready to attack.
JJ’s seen a lot of cornered, scared kids in her time. And Cassandra is one, undoubtedly. But there is also something more to her. A thread of impossible strength, pinpointed intelligence, and deep understanding.
“You are safe here. You will not be hurt and you will not have to hurt.” He gestures very carefully to the room around them, inviting her to drop her intense focus.
She gives in, after a moment. Fear like JJ has only known in the worst moments of her life drowns in Cassandra’s flinty gaze. A terror so deep, instinct tells her to brace for impact. She has to catch her breath when Cassandra locks onto the door Head came through.
“I’m sorry, young one, but you won’t be allowed through.” Sorrow and true empathy washes through his words. “You’ve been misplaced through time, I fear. But we’ll get you home before too long. Your family will be very eager to see you.”
She looks back to him sharply.
The orderly cocks his head. “Home?”
She tenses.
“Mm, not a good word in the past. That will change,” he promises.
JJ lets it all sink in again. The statement from Gordon that Cassandra didn’t speak any language was, is, absurd. The few case studies, born out of horrific abuse, lend to the hypothesis that one cannot learn language if they aren’t exposed to it in the critical period of toddlerhood.
There is one very memorable case, back just after she became a profiler, where JJ encountered a more plausible, hopeful, explanation to Cassandra’s silence. The young boy, Angel, so cut off from society and so choked with fear that it took days for Derek to establish any real trust. Any real communication.
Derek had come over after the case, just to watch Henry happily chatter about all the games he had played that day.
Through that case, and so many others, JJ has seen the worst of human atrocities. The depravity that, left unchecked, scars children until there is nothing left of their inborn joy and light.
Depriving language is a cruelty that JJ does not want to map onto her young teammate. She doesn’t want this nurse to speak to Cassandra with the certainty that his tone is all she can understand. And he isn’t, obviously. He recognizes just like JJ that there are some words she has associations with.
She catalogues them just as the orderly does. Repeating the positive words and avoiding the negative ones.
Head speaks with her with no event for long enough that JJ relents to the buzzing in her pocket.
“Jareau,” she greets, watching Cassandra adjust her tense grip on the edge of the medical cot. She’s been slowly peeling at the white paper underneath her. JJ would chalk it up to nerves except for how each new fold is timed with when Head isn’t looking.
“Any updates?” Tara asks. She’s driving somewhere, based on the rumble. “You’ve got me and Luke.”
In the room, Cassandra tenses as Head describes an overgrown park near where he grew up.
JJ sighs. “Cassandra’s still a kid. Her doctor went to the morgue to work on identifying the ritual. What about you?”
“We’re on our way to interview the latest victim’s family. They just flew in and agreed to meet at the precinct.”
Through the glass, Head says, “There are many species of birds across the state. Progne subis, Setophaga aestiva, Pandion haliaetus carolinensis, Charadrius vociferus, Ardea alba, Turdus migratorius, Geothlypis-”
It happens in a matter of seconds. Head shifts slightly, sitting up a little straighter. Cassandra’s body regains all of its forfeited tension.
She launches herself across the room, snapping the paper now folded into a long strip at the two ends with a jerk of her small arms.
Landing with her knees against the orderly’s chest, her hands whip the paper around his neck and pull.
JJ’s eyes go wide. It’s not a sharp garrote, but it is strong.
She does as her training insists, grabbing Head’s fob to grant her access and slamming into the small room.
Pressed back against the wall, Head rests his hands gently on Cassandra’s trembling back. She hisses at him, unkempt hair falling between them.
“Hey,” JJ begins, stepping gently forward.
“Hold,” Head chokes out. His breathing is thin. His eyes are calm.
Cassandra’s arms, more muscle than bone, strain as she tightens her weapon.
“JJ? What’s going on?”
“Hold,” the orderly repeats. “Meal. Sleep. Cold.” All words that have garnered small positive reactions.
He presses his hands more firmly against Cassandra’s back. While her arms extend outward, tight grip on the paper, her core isn’t as solidified.
With an unhurried expression, despite his dwindling access to air, Head presses Cassandra to his chest. She loses the leverage her angle affords and the improvised garrote loosens.
Head grabs the paper where it crosses and gives a sharp yank. It snaps in half.
“Cold,” he murmurs. “Outside. Upstairs. You’re safe, you are not in trouble. Upstairs.”
Her tiny chest rattles with barely contained sobs. Her fearful breath comes out in harsh gasps.
Locking eyes with JJ, the orderly stills her urge to add another comforting hand to Cassandra’s back. He mouths something she can’t make out.
“What was that?” she asks softly.
Cassandra jolts.
“Hold. Child, young one,” Head starts, the last word a grunt as she knees his groin and elbows his gut. Two blows that would loosen the grip of most anyone. It’s what’s taught in defense classes.
Head only tightens his hold.
“Agent, you need-”
Cassandra worms an arm free from where Head has it pinned between them. Her cut nails slash at his face and he jerks back. His grip adjusts, just enough to re-capture her hand. Just enough for her to slip down, out of his hold.
She spins to face JJ, who opens her mouth to offer some reassurance. Her gaze flicks past JJ. To the small observation room beyond. Still accessible, because JJ has been hovering uncertainly in the doorway. There’s no time to back up or step forward. Cassandra has already leapt, pounced.
She whips her legs up around JJ’s neck, gaining impossible height. JJ stumbles back, dropping the fob as her hands coming up to stabilize Cassandra, but the girl is already scrambling over her. The fob skitters back into the observation room.
A yank on JJ’s shoulder and she’s stumbling fully into the medical room. The door shuts with a sucking seal.
Head is on his feet, hands hovering as he decides how to remove Cassandra’s writhing form from JJ’s back.
She almost waves him off, a mom to two rambunctious boys, when she feels a sharp jab in the side of her neck. She crumbles to her knees, doused in numbness.
“Young one, you must stop,” Head admonishes. He takes advantage of her lowered altitude to snatch the child from JJ’s shoulders.
JJ coughs, unable to feel herself breathe. She blinks black spots out of her vision.
“JJ? You there?” Tara’s voice is tinny and distant. Her phone is dark on the floor.
Cassandra lurches toward the sound, but the nurse keeps her contained, swaying her slightly and submitting to the battering of her fists and knees as she resists his hold.
“Agent Jareau, pick up your phone and back out of the room,” he orders.
“I-” Her throat feels dry. She doesn’t take her eyes off of them as she picks up her phone. “You can’t tie her down.” The few times an unsub has gotten the drop on her, and the even fewer times that she hasn’t escaped before the team arrived, they learned how agitating Cassandra finds restraints. She hopes that the feeling doesn’t extend, doesn’t originate, back to this too-young age. It’s a dull hope, seeing her teammate’s time traveled resistance and fear.
“I know,” the nurse responds. His jaw twitches. “I’ve got her.” He murmurs a few more soft words of comfort to Cassandra. His hand slips into his pocket and he retrieves the black cube from before. He tosses it to her. She nearly drops it. “Go.”
The door automatically opens and closes as she steps through. The small black plastic her exit ticket. One Head doesn’t have now.
“Garcia says her phone is still pinging at the hospital,” Luke is saying through the call.
“I’m here.” She presses the device to her ear, dropping heavily onto the bench. She nudges the fob with her shoe.
She really should not be this rattled. She’s been an FBI agent for decades, a profiler for almost as long. She’s seen the horrors of war. She’s killed.
Head releases her tiny teammate and she immediately skitters away from him.
Tara lets out a relieved huff. “What happened? It sounded like there was a fight.”
Nimble little hands investigate the exam table, searching with rising frustration.
“Cassandra… She woke up. She was scared and she lashed out.”
“At you?”
A piece of plastic snaps off of a drawer underneath the cot. Victory flashes through her eyes.
“At the nurse. I went to intervene. I think she… did a nerve strike.”
The child lifts herself effortlessly on top of the exam table, quick fingers feeling the edges of the plastic.
“Repeat that?”
“A nerve strike. I lost feeling in the bottom half of my body momentarily.”
“Was it an accident? I don’t see how a ten year old can execute a move banned by the Bureau for excessive force.”
Cassandra jumps, slashing the plastic at Head’s throat when she gets in range. Head deflects with little effort, absorbing with his bulk the punch that snaps out.
JJ’s heart is in her throat, but Cassandra kicks off his chest as if she were swimming laps in the pool and he were a wall to burst off of. She lands in a crouch.
“It was on purpose.” Her lips still feel a bit numb as she says it. “She’s… The Justice League liaison said she was highly skilled and combat oriented.”
“She’s ten,” Luke states, disbelieving. “What does that- One second.” A click. “Garcia, you’ve got JJ too.”
“And I’ve got Emily and Spencer,” Penelope announces. “Who bring news on our victims.”
“You identified a connecting factor?” JJ asks, watching as Cassandra attempts another attack on the nurse. All too belatedly, she hits that black button Head had instructed her to press if she was concerned for someone’s safety. It lights up white, flashing slowly.
Emily gives an affirmative hum. “We just got back from Marcy Robinson’s roommate. She was able to find the therapy office that Robinson went to two years ago. It was Orchid Therapeutic Services. Renee Dawson’s and Claudia Noceda’s loved ones confirmed as much as well.”
There’s a moment of relief as Emily confirms her hunch. Before Cassandra was attacked, the two of them had interviewed both Danny Milton’s and Sadie Miller’s families. They’d learned that Milton had gone to Orchid Therapeutic Services after his divorce and Miller had gone to the same practice after the loss of her grandmother.
“We’ll ask Ryan White’s family when we get there,” Luke adds.
“Garcia, who’s employed by Orchid Therapeutic Services?”
As she rattles off the information, both staff who have been there for more than a decade and those who would have access to patient records now, the door to the rest of the ACU opens.
Summers steps through. She swipes her fob over the lit up call button. Heavy, sure footsteps as she approaches the window.
“How long has she been agitated?”
JJ glances at her watch. “Maybe ten minutes?”
Summers nods. She reaches for the tablet with the chart, updating it with a stylus.
“Aren’t you going to intervene?” JJ asks, lowering her phone.
The charge nurse gives a flicker of attention. “If she keeps it up for another twenty minutes, sure. Head’s already calming her down though.”
The rigid tension in Cassandra’s body is far from what JJ would judge as calm.
“He’s more than qualified to be with her until the JL operative arrives. All his certs are up to date and he’s more than proved his worth. We’re lucky he joined the department. Only eighteen too,” she adds as an after thought.
JJ blinks.
He looks young, but…
“He gave me this,” she forces out when Summers turns to leave.
Summers observes the small plastic cube for a moment, slightly annoyed. “Hang onto it, then.”
“He doesn’t need it back?”
The nurse huffs. “He won’t be leaving the room until the operative arrives. That was your bail out. Don’t go back into that room.”
JJ turns back to the observation window as the outer door closes.
“JJ? You still there?”
She returns her phone to her ear. “I’m here,” she promises. “What did I miss?”
Penelope lets out a breath. “Emily and Spencer are headed to Orchid. There are five clinicians that currently work in that office, plus a handful of additional staff.”
The work isn’t done yet. Delaware has pretty strict confidentiality laws beyond HIPAA. However, based on the blood in her nails, Cassandra did get a nasty scratch in on their unsub when she was attacked in her hotel room. They may not need victimology from here on out. Just a noticeable bandage.
She tries and fails to assuage the guilt that Cassandra was in such a position to touch their unsub at all. JJ had been the one to decide that they needed to make a statement to the public about the deaths. To soothe the concerns about the rampant, deadly magic in the city. The local officers had promised that the residents were hardened to such events, but JJ has worked too many cases to know what a panicked populace can do.
She gave the statement and informed the unsub the FBI was investigating the deaths. JJ caused the escalation. JJ’s the reason her teammate is currently a terrified child and she has the audacity to be grateful that Cassandra came to in this tiny form and lashed out at the first person she saw.
While the rest of the team solves this case, JJ has her assignment. She won’t leave Cassandra’s side until the tiny child passed out in the hotel is returned to her witty, unflappable teammate.
Tasks assigned and updates given, but Penelope doesn’t say goodbye.
“Alright. What do you need from me?”
There’s a quiet clicking of what JJ knows is a feathery pink pen. “How is she? I overheard the nurse. It sounded…”
“She’s awake. She’s scared.” JJ’s fault.
Head has confiscated the plastic, the rest of the paper, and what look like screws. Cassandra is crammed into the corner by the door, still. Calculating.
“You’ll… let her know we love her?”
JJ smiles. “Of course, Pen.”
There’s a thin slice of blood on Head’s cheek that he calmly smears with his thumb. He has nothing but affection as he regards her tiny teammate.
She lets the call end, knowing that she won’t be able to convey the sentiment until Cassandra is returned to a self who should already know how beloved she is.
Her teammate doesn’t settle for some time. There is a final attack that Head expertly fends off and then her energy tapers. She curls up in the corner and just observes.
Half of JJ’s mind sorts through the case, dredging for details that could identify their unsub even an hour faster. The other half is revolving around what Summers divulged.
Nurse Head is eighteen years old. He’s certified to work with the highest level of highly skilled, combat oriented children. A certification that takes several years to reach.
And his reaction to Cassandra’s name, his knowledge of JJ’s team. How does that slot into him being here, now? The one person in this specialized unit authorized to be with her teammate who had a childhood so scarring JJ still can’t quite slot it into reality.
The thoughts churn and churn for thirty minutes. An hour. Then, the soft ding of the swipe of a fob.
JJ stands to greet Summers, but she hasn’t returned. Instead, a young woman, teetering around drinking age, lets herself into this small observation room.
Her springy curls flow out from a hard black cowl, two little ears poking up on either side. Her eyes are concealed by stark white lenses, but her mouth is unobscured. She gives half a smile, slipping the fob into her bubblegum pink utility belt. All the accents on her otherwise black armor are the same shade of pink. Holsters and pockets. The inner lining of her cape. A mouthguard and rebreather that hook to her belt. Even the laces of her boots.
Most prominent though is the symbol on her chest.
A symbol that decorated Henry’s middle school backpack. That was on the chest of Michael’s favorite preschool action figure.
The Batman of Gotham. The mysterious founder of the Justice League.
She knew, the same way one knows that a soccer coach has a team, that there were others under that symbol. It’s not something she paid much attention to though.
She’ll have to start now.
“SSA Jareau,” the operative greets in a cheery tone. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” They shake hands. The gloves have grooves in them. Added friction for grip strength. “The jello sent me to keep an eye on Cass, Agent Cain, that is, until a re-aging is achieved.” Jello. It takes her a moment to translate it into the JLLO. More ease of familiarity.
She casts her eerie gaze through the observation window, immediately locating Cassandra and the nurse.
Her teammate is still blocking the door, while Head is on the opposite side. He’s been continuing his calm storytelling, this time discussing a cow on his friend’s family farm.
Is it worth disturbing this calm to allow a more seasoned operative to sit with this sharp child?
JJ steps out of her space. “I appreciate you coming.” Even though she can't quite agree on the necessity. Her tingling fingertips should be enough, but none of this feels real. Is it possible that this isn’t Cassandra at all, but some other child that has been through the brutal, depraved experiences that lead to a young girl suffering like this? The DNA test results aren’t back yet, at the very least. And magic is unpredictable. Of course, that would make even less sense, with the JL’s records. “Call me JJ.”
The woman nods.
“And I should call you…?”
A soft smile. “BG is fine.” Right. Part of the call sign.
Maybe Spencer will be able to puzzle out what that stands for.
“You’ve already entered the room,” BG states.
JJ flushes. “Nurse Summers mentioned that?”
The vigilante shakes her head. “She got a hit in. I’m guessing a disabling nerve strike, which is… good. That she didn’t aim to kill.”
“Cassandra doesn’t kill.” Ever. It’s a miracle she’s never had to in the line of duty.
BG presses her lips together. “No,” she agrees. “She doesn’t.”
She turns her back, taking a moment to place the mouthguard and rebreather in the same bin Head emptied his pockets into. With a small huff, she tosses Head’s fob in as well, from where JJ has left it on the floor.
Unsettled, JJ watches as BG flicks off the ONE WAY window switch.
In the room, Head immediately sees her. He holds up a fist with his pinky finger and thumb out, rotating them back and forth once in a strict hang ten. BG responses with the classic OK sign, an O with the thumb and index finger while the three other fingers fan out. She flicks her ring finger before returning the window to the one way setting.
“Damian will move Cass away from the door in a moment and the two of us will switch places.” The name tickles JJ’s memory, but BG moves on before she can give it much thought. “I’m sure experience is enough of a deterrent, but please stay out here.”
Experience is enough of a deterrent, so she agrees easily.
BG assesses her thoroughly with a gaze JJ has seen in the mirror. She nods once.
In the other room, Head has stood slowly. All the items he’s confiscated have been tucked away into his scrubs. His, she notices, have runes and wardings unlike any she’s seen before.
He takes a step to the left and Cassandra counters to the right. The anger flashing on her face indicates that she does know that this circling is to his benefit, but she plays along just the same.
While she must see an opportunity to escape, JJ doesn’t. BG has her hand on the door handle, ready to quickly step in and allow the nurse out. The room isn’t large, but Cassandra is so small. There isn’t a world in which she could cross that distance and get free. She’s not a meta.
The switch happens in moments. Head reaches the door, BG confidently unlocks it. BG steps in, Head steps out.
Cassandra is on the JL operative in an instant.
JJ watches. A small, quiet, suppressed part of her that survived the State Department is grateful that she isn’t certified to engage with an HSCO.
The jabs to BG’s armor are precise and powerful. Tiny fingers find gaps at the joints and stab sharp nails inside. She disappears under BG’s cape and reappears with her legs locked around the JL operative’s neck. The strength, the knowledge to use it, the lasting stamina. It makes JJ ill all over again.
BG handles every attack with ease. She redirects and dodges the majority. When Cassandra finally gets her into a hold, BG uses the opportunity to lower them both to the floor and cradle this terrified child.
“Cass will be okay,” Head intones. He reaches for the tablet with Cassandra’s file and begins typing. His gaze flicks up every few moments, watching the power struggle.
JJ swallows, rephrasing her swirling questions and wrestling with which one she should ask first.
Then, Head turns off the tablet and refills his pockets from the bin. “I’ll be back shortly.” He gestures to his face. “Bleeding is generally frowned upon in our unit.”
“The hospital in general, I’d expect.”
He hums. “Blood magic is especially pesky.” He disappears out the door.
JJ shakes herself, leaving that statement for later analysis.
After a glance at the window—BG gently running her fingers through Cassandra’s tangled hair as the girl’s eyes flicker dangerously around the room—JJ pulls back out her phone.
Penelope has sent several more updates on the case. Emily and Spencer have made it to the therapy office and are being stonewalled by the receptionist. Tara and Luke are speaking with Ryan White’s family, a conversation that’s likely to only confirm what they already know. Stephanie Brown has asked for an update, which JJ provides. There’s an unknown number, identified as being from Cassandra’s father, asking that he be contacted if Cassandra needs anything at all so he can make it happen.
A reassuring generosity that JJ responds to with vague gratitude before her mind drifts back to the case.
She taps her nails on the screen. They're missing something. They all know it.
The victims have all been de-aged, yes. But Cassandra is eight while Renee Dawson was twenty according to the mortician.
She sends Penelope a trio of questions, turning the details of the case and the profile over in her mind.
The door to the ACU opens. Nurse Head steps through. The scrape on his face is cleaned and bandaged. He wears a fresh pair of scrubs, more standard to what she’s seen other nurses on the unit wear.
He observes his patient for a long moment, sharp clarity as she slips free of BG’s grip and darts to the far corner. A silent sigh escapes his chest.
“You recognized her name,” JJ says, watching him from the corner of her eye. He called her Cass. BG called him Damian. His gaze is heavy with emotion that strict professionalism would insist he restrict.
The nurse squares his shoulders. “Yes.” He shifts his weight. Uncomfortable. “In any other circumstance, I should not be treating her.”
“You’re one of her brothers. Damian.”
He nods tightly. His breathing is shallow.
Cassandra has endless stories about her siblings. Damian, as JJ recalls, is her youngest. He recently graduated high school—she was glowing the week before the ceremony.
She never figured Cassandra’s family is from Metropolis, but it doesn’t contradict anything she knows about her teammate. It is odd though, that Cassandra never indicated that they were working a case in the same city as her family. Las Vegas, New York City, Pittsburgh, San Francisco. If family’s nearby, Emily always ensures they take their time wrapping up.
JJ supposes Cassandra saw her family just a couple months ago for Damian’s graduation, but still. Family time is limited and Cassandra deeply cares for her family.
“Do you think calling any of your siblings would be helpful? The JL director I spoke to said she didn’t have any safe people at this age, but…” Surely her siblings would be considered safe?
Damian smiles sadly. “Cass didn’t join our family until she was a teenager. Maybe her biological father would at least be familiar, but he is… He is not someone I want to see my sister. He didn’t give her a name.”
“What.” JJ replays that statement in her head. No. There is no world in which that is true. Cassandra Cain, her brilliant, empathetic, competent teammate, grew up without language, without love, without a name.
Damian’s lips press together. “Apologies, I- I should not have shared that. I-”
“Her father is the reason she’s an HSCO?” The same father who Stephanie gave her phone number to? Who texted her with a façade of generosity? Who knows where Cassandra is because JJ didn’t question what sort of parent would allow a child to be raised in such conditions?
He nods, eyes dark. “Her biological father. Not her adoptive father.” His eyes flick to her. “I take it our dad has been in touch?”
“Yes.”
He smiles faintly. “Maybe he won’t be as upset with me delaying informing him then.” It’s enough to reassure her that she hasn’t just made a massive mistake. She never, ever wants to compromise her teammate’s safety.
Through the window, BG is humming a song Henry plays in the shower while Cassandra is prying at the seal between the floor and the wall with blunted nails.
“And you’re… Nurse Summers said you’re eighteen.”
It’s the only train of thought that hasn’t skidded off the tracks. Damian is eighteen, with multiple years experience under his belt. He is certified to work with the highest level of child combatants.
He’s still a child himself.
Who better to calm an HSCO than a former one?
“I used to wonder why she kept her father’s last name when he never granted it to her.” The words spoken are precious, secret. “But now I’ve taken on one of my mother’s names and I understand.”
His pager beeps. He snatches it up with the eagerness of someone who is desperate for a change in topic. JJ doesn’t let the guilt settle.
His mother. Cassandra’s father. What are the chances that they would eventually be adopted into the same family?
She doubts it’s a coincidence.
Still, it’s hardly relevant to the case or Cassandra’s de-aging. Maybe something to discuss during the next team dinner.
Damian tucks away his pager and retrieves the tablet with Cassandra’s medical file. His brow is furrowed as he scrolls through.
“What’s wrong?”
The nurse frowns. “Dr. Kafka messaged. She is wrapping up at the morgue and has a theory. I’m checking if Cass’ telomerase test results are in.”
“What’s the theory?” JJ presses. Her phone buzzes in her pocket.
“The ritual used has a mystic quality unique to telepathy spells.” He looks up from the tablet. “The de-aging process takes into account something from the target’s psyche.”
Her phone buzzes again. She pulls it out.
Danny Milton, attended therapy at age 44. Real age 45, de-aged to 43.
Renee Dawson, 22, 28, 20.
Marcy Robinson, 23, 25, 23
Sadie Miller, 39, 40, 35.
Claudia Noceda, 33, 33, 16.
Ryan White, 25, 29, 19.
Only Robinson was de-aged to the time she saw a therapist. It was a long shot, one that assumed that Cassandra had met their unsub years ago. Unverifiable, in Cassandra’s current condition.
She rewinds what Damian just stated, rewiring her thought process.
The victims all went to the same therapy office. Their unsub is either a therapist or a staff member of that office, someone with access to client files. The unsub’s ritual reaches into each victim’s mind to determine the age they return to.
The ritual doesn’t kill their victims. It’s a part of the signature, but not the actual means.
Their unsub needs something from their victims. They need them in a particular state. A particular emotion?
Why does one go to a therapist? To resolve internal conflict.
The bodies were all posed after death. Not just shallowly buried, but posed. Arms calmly crossed over their chests, hands flat. Dressed in white.
Laid to rest. At peace.
How better to resolve an internal conflict, than to remove all capacity for strife?
Danny Milton, attended therapy after divorcing his wife.
Renee Dawson, no longer housing her sister.
Marcy Robinson, quitting her job.
Sadie Miller, mourning her grandmother.
Claudia Noceda, going no contact with her father.
Ryan White, regretting his college major.
Decisions. Life altering decisions.
“The telomerase test was to pinpoint Cassandra’s exact age, correct?”
Damian nods, not looking up from where he types an update onto the tablet. “She’s currently eight years old.”
“Did Cassandra make a choice when she was eight? Something big, something life changing?”
The nurse freezes. His eyes flick to his sister. She’s begun to tear the fabric of the tiny gown she was dressed in. BG watches her with a calm expression. “Yes.” He swallows. “She- yes.”
The ritual consulted the target. Cassandra’s sentiment toward the decision matters. “Would she consider it the most important decision of her life?”
Divorce. Housing. Employment. Grief. Family. Education.
The brother sets aside the tablet. He nods slowly, studying JJ’s face as if he could follow the logic of a profiler. “She would.”
She needs to be certain. There are five therapists all with similar backgrounds and specialties. Their unsub caught their most competent teammate unaware. As much as it aches to pry, Cassandra Cain is their unsub’s only living victim. JJ needs to be absolutely certain she’s identified the correct signature before the team uses that information to make the arrest. To confront the magic user.
“What was the decision?”
Damian stares at her for a long moment. His flinty eyes hold a depth of wisdom that is uncomfortable to contend with. He was like Cassandra. Highly skilled, combat oriented. Terms too clinical to capture the abuse and depravity required to force a child into such a state.
He took his mother’s name to reclaim what was done to him. He has asserted himself a protector of children like him. He chose to be there for his sister in this vulnerable state rather than safeguard his own emotions.
He is gentle beyond words. His empathy is carved in his downturned lips. He, somehow, understands the weight of Cassandra’s privacy and the safety of the community.
He makes the choice JJ needs him to.
“She was ordered to kill someone.”
Inside the room, BG blocks in time for Cassandra’s fabric projectile to clink off her gauntlet.
The eight year old huffs, sharp eyes looking for the next chink in her armor.
“You believe the ritual transports the target back to a time of great decision?” Damian reaches for the square button near the window. “During the decision,” he corrects.
JJ nods, already pulling her phone from her pocket to call Emily.
The nurse presses down on the button, an intercom. “Batgirl.” The JL operative in the room jerks, glancing at the small window. “She is eight. Her father ordered her to kill Faizul just before the moment she has been de-aged to. She hasn’t run away yet.”
JJ’s call connects. “The unsub is bringing the victims back to the moment before a major, life changing decision.”
“They’re haunted by a decision that they believe they chose wrong about,” Emily picks up, never needing to be walked through a teammate’s trails of logic. Her tone changes, addressing someone at the office. The receptionist, probably. “They’ve probably discussed it at length with your colleagues. It’s the first thing that comes to mind when you think of this person.”
JJ twists her necklace in anticipation. Through the window, BG—Batgirl—holds up a flat palm, then slowly bends her wrist, as if laying down the hand.
Stormy, Cassandra stares at the gesture. She twitches, fingers clutched around the small bit of fabric, heavier than it should be. Batgirl lowers herself to the ground, feigning going to sleep.
Every muscle stiff, Cassandra copies her. Her mouth is still tightly puckered, clearly at odds with this turn of events. But she complies to Batgirl’s unspoken requests. Orders.
JJ’s stomach churns. A child without language still needs to be told what to do. Cassandra had no safe, supportive people at this age. Those hand signals are her abuser’s.
The tension in Damian’s shoulders releases slightly. “Thank you,” he says hoarsely, finger falling off the button.
He knew the sign, pained recognition shiny in his eyes. He preferred strangulation to using such commands on his sister. Not on the chance they wouldn’t be obeyed. Or maybe not on the chance that they would.
Her heart aches. But her cheeks stretch into a smile, knowing that Cassandra ran away from her tormentor as soon as she could.
Distantly, JJ can hear the employee Emily and Spencer are interviewing tentatively mention the name of a therapist who was fired five months ago. Just before the first murder.
The call hangs up so Emily can send their people to the home address of their unsub.
It rushes by her. Usually, she’d be itching to be a part of the take down. JJ has decades of difficult decisions to connect with their unsub about. Without a doubt, she could talk down this therapist.
But being here, now, is more pressing. She fears if she looks away from the developing calm in the locked down room, it will dissipate.
Cassandra Cain deserves calm. Deserves peace.
Not how their unsub envisions it, in the crossed arms death, but in the closeness of her siblings and the dedication of her friends.
The door opens with the familiar ding. Summers steps through. “Jenkins just clocked in, Head. She’ll take over for you.”
Damian nods stiffly. “I’ll finish up my observations and then can take back my patients from earlier.”
Summers raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You’ll finish up your obs and then clock out. You have a family member in the unit, we’re not bending the rules indefinitely.”
An argument visibly dies on Damian’s tongue as he looks back to his sister. “Very well.” Robotically, he takes back the tablet and continues typing.
The charge nurse turns to JJ. “Dr. Kafka is on her way back from the morgue. She has a preliminary plan for a re-aging. Your colleague should be back to normal before visiting hours end.”
Relief cracks through JJ’s chest. The small fear that Cassandra would be trapped as her younger self forever is discovered in its easing. “I’ll let my team know.”
The older woman nods. She observes the two of them a moment, then focuses on Batgirl and Cassandra. The pair breathe softly on the floor, each monitoring the other. “Wayne Tech is going to be all over the destruction of the room,” she mutters to herself.
“The JL added level seven as a classification for her,” Damian responds, a little proud and a little forlorn. “And only after my father took her in. We’ll never truly know what she was capable of.”
Every detail only broadens the sadness JJ feels for the childhood Cassandra was denied.
“Christ,” the charge nurse mutters. “Come see me before you clock off,” she orders, then disappears back out into the ACU.
JJ gives Damian a moment to collect himself, returning to her phone.
No updates from the team, but there’s a message from an unknown number.
Another stranger reaching out. Agent Cain’s chart indicates a re-aging plan has been drafted. AG-BG-005 will remain with Agent Cain throughout the 24 hour observation period. - B. Gordon, JLLO Director.
JJ stares at the message a long time before giving a Media Liaison response.
Damian leaves as she hits send, being replaced by a woman a decade JJ’s elder, coily hair graying and smile lines deep. She reviews the chart and watches Cassandra and BG rest.
“Patty Jenkins,” she returns after JJ introduces herself. They shake hands.
“You’re certified to work with HSCO children?” JJ asks after Jenkins puts the tablet away.
She nods, eyes warm. “Children are children,” she intones. “HSCOs like Cassandra here just need a little extra support with the care they receive.” Cassandra is inching toward Batgirl with a serious frown. The vigilante laughs quietly. “This is an easy case anyway. She’ll be an adult before the day’s done. It’s harder when they’re kids coming in for treatment for the first time in their lives.”
“You’ve worked with a lot of children like Cassandra?”
She shrugs. “Enough. Usually I don’t take responsibility for a patient higher than a level 4, but there were more than a few HSCOs in Gotham before I moved. At a certain point, you start getting them assigned to your case load automatically.”
A city bleeding child vigilantes. Henry did a presentation on the phenomenon for his modern history class. It made JJ sick, even as Henry enthused about the ‘epicness’ of the heroes.
“I was wondering how one would get certified.”
She hums. “Wasn’t a process like that until a couple years ago. I think Head is the first in this unit to not be grandfathered in. ‘Course, he’s a Gothamite too.” She looks as if she’s about to say more, dig even deeper into the speculation swirling in JJ’s mind, when Cassandra pounces on Batgirl.
They wrestle for a few heart-pounding minutes, until Batgirl flops onto her back, breathing heavily in exaggeration. Cassandra sits triumphantly on her stomach and, for the first time in this state, smiles. Victory and joy spread across her cheeks.
“Your family is going to be so sad they’re not getting any photos of you, you gremlin,” Batgirl teases. She doesn’t continue playing like JJ would with her sons when they were that age. Instead, she watches docilely as Cassandra grabs the ears of her cowl.
Gotham, JJ thinks. Batgirl is from Gotham. Damian, apparently, is from Gotham. She’s not sure why he’s working as a nurse in a Metropolis hospital, but people move. He could be going to school here. Spencer once considered getting a PhD from Metropolis University for pathology before deciding on returning to CalTech.
All this to say, it’s likely that the Cain family lives in Gotham. Or would it not be the Cains? Damian mentioned that Cassandra uses her biological father’s last name, indicating that her adopted family (and JJ didn’t know that Cassandra was adopted, not that it truly matters) has a different last name.
There is one wealthy Gotham family that immediately comes to mind, but that would imply that Bruce Wayne took in not one, but two child combatants and that just doesn’t compute.
She’s not sure it’s a thread she wants to pull. Almost every member of their team has had secrets come out on the job. There have been far too many family members she’s met solely because of a case.
Cassandra didn’t intend for JJ to meet her brother. Her emergency contact is a friend, not a family member. There are countless reasons why Cassandra would want to keep her family separate from the team and the horrors they pursue.
Is it fair for JJ to continue with this inquiry when Cassandra isn’t able to pace the access to information?
Then again, can their team afford not to know Cassandra’s past?
The door to the ACU opens and Damian steps through. He’s changed into dark wash jeans and a sweatshirt for Hudson University. His bulky frame is taut as he draws in on himself, a sliver of lost confidence.
When he steps through, a young woman is revealed. She’s around Cassandra’s adult age, blonde curls tugged back into a frizzy ponytail. A yellow rain jacket with stylistic white bat patterns on it covers dark blue scrubs. None of the runes of this ward, however.
“Damn, your unit has benches?” the woman asks. “I should transfer.”
“Your residency has a year and a half left,” Damian mutters. He regards Jenkins. “How is she?”
Jenkins raises an eyebrow, tilting her head toward the window. “Same as when you left. When’s the last time you slept, kid?”
They all observe Cassandra’s gleeful expression as she tugs at Batgirl’s cowl.
The newcomer’s lips twitch into a smile, despite the sadness deep in her gaze. She nudges Damian, standing half a foot below his height. “You gonna answer that, Dames?”
He scowls at her. “I’ll rest when she’s an adult.”
The woman elbows him teasingly. “Wrong answer, shortstack.” She steps further into the small, quickly becoming overcrowded, observation space, and sticks out her hand. “Stephanie Brown. We spoke on the phone.”
JJ shakes her hand. “Of course. It’s nice to meet you, although I’m sure we both would’ve preferred better circumstances.”
Stephanie snorts, but whatever she finds funny, she keeps to herself. “Any closer to finding your unsub?”
JJ nods. “The rest of my team is heading to her residence.”
Her brow scrunches. “Without a magic user?”
“The rituals take a fair amount of time to set up and the rituals themselves imply that this unsub isn’t an innate magician,” Damian responds before JJ can figure out how to word that notion in a civilian friendly way. She supposes it makes sense that someone on the Arcane Care Unit would be able to make such a deduction.
Stephanie accepts the response, taking a seat on the bench. A moment later, JJ joins her.
“Did I catch you at the end of your shift?” she asks, both polite and curious.
The younger woman blinks. “Ah, no. Took a little PTO.” Which is equal parts surprising and heartwarming.
They’re quiet for a moment before she asks, “How did you meet Cassandra?”
Her eyes fill with mirth. “I was dating her brother when she got taken in by her dad. Most of her family was… not thrilled about the summer job I’d picked up, but Cass never minded. She helped me master a few skills, I helped her learn to read.”
“And then you never left,” Damian snipes, but it’s not truly cruel.
Stephanie laughs at him. “I predate you by half a decade, Mr. Blood Son. I’ve got tenure.”
He hums, not rising to the bait. Stephanie stands to see what has his attention and JJ follows.
Cassandra’s tiny fingers have dug into small divots on Batgirl’s cowl, and the vigilante has caught her wrists to prevent her from removing it.
Her young teammate wavers, fearful, but Batgirl gently pulls her hands away. “Mask stays on Cass.” She boops her nose, causing it to scrunch up. “Someone very smart taught me that.”
It’s a bit painful, hearing her teammate’s name and seeing no sliver of recognition in her eyes. She wishes there were a world in which Cassandra had never been subjected to the horrific abuse that’s been laid out today. She wishes she had found out about it because Cassandra chose to tell her, not because of this awful twist of fate.
A pager goes off. Damian unabashedly reads over Jenkins’ shoulder as she attends to it. “Doc’s here,” she announces. “Y’all’ll need to wait elsewhere once she gets in.”
“Batgirl stays, right?” Stephanie asks.
Jenkins nods. Stephanie relaxes.
“How long do you anticipate the re-aging will take?”
“Shouldn’t take more than half an hour to get set up. Most re-aging spells are instantaneous, but there will be a day of observation before she can be discharged.” Stephanie and Damian both nod along to the explanation, like it’s not just familiar, but rote.
JJ’s phone buzzes in her pocket. It’s Penelope’s sequence. She excuses herself, stepping outside.
As the door closes, Jenkins comments, “It’s good to see you two on this side of the exam room.”
JJ adds that comment to the scattering of unanalyzed statements she won’t touch without Cassandra’s encouragement.
Penelope is calm when she answers the call. “Colleen Gervais is in custody and en route to the closest station for booking,” she updates. “Tara is meeting up with you, the rest are going to pack up at the station.” She sucks in a breath. “How’s Cassandra?”
“She’s good. Her brother and friend are here, and there’s a JL operative sitting with her.” She runs her fingers through her hair, tugging the knots free. “Her doctor thinks she has a solution and we’ll have a fully grown teammate before too long.”
“Good. That’s good… I always got the feeling her childhood wasn’t a happy one.”
JJ doesn’t breach her teammate’s trust by answering, but she doesn’t disprove Penelope’s claim by lying either.
“You’ll give her a hug from me when she’s up for it?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks.” Penelope lets out a shaky breath. “A Justice League operative, huh?”
“Batgirl. Personally selected by the JLLO’s director.”
Her friend chuckles, disbelieving. “Who knew our Cassandra Cain was so connected?”
They chatter idly about the case until Dr. Kafka arrives. The care plan described makes very little sense for JJ’s mundane mind, but she approves it as Cassandra’s medical proxy, especially when Damian and Stephanie have no concerns.
The doctor joins the on-duty nurse inside and the door seals once more. Hopefully for the last time.
She lets the past day settle over her. The knowledge that her newest teammate survived horrific, years-long abuse. The comfort that she has friends and family willing to drop everything to make up for what she was deprived. The misplaced guilt to believe that a demand to take a life is a true choice a child can make.
She wonders if Cassandra will remember this when she’s back. She wonders if it would have been kinder to keep her unconscious for the entirety of this de-aging.
Her phone beeps with a text from Tara, letting her know she’s parking now. It’s the push she needs.
JJ holds the device to her ear for one last call, walking down the hallway away from Damian and Stephanie.
“Agent Jareau.” Director Gordon answers on the first ring. “Is everything alright with Cass?”
Cass.
Like Damian, like Stephanie, like Batgirl, Gordon uses the familiar nickname. “The doctor is about to bring her back to adulthood. I thought you would appreciate an update.”
“Of course. Thank you.”
JJ fiddles with her sister’s necklace, glancing back at Stephanie and Damian. “You said before that she didn’t have any SSPs when she was this age. That’s not true anymore though, correct?” She hedges, “In your files?”
The Justice League Liaisons Office’s director lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Yeah. Her files are full of safe, supportive people”
“Good.” JJ stops pacing, letting the go of the mystery and intrigue except for one final piece. “The reasons Cassandra was an HSCO child—they’re done? They won’t come back to hurt her or anyone else?”
“They’re done.
“But they still hurt her.”
JJ closes her eyes. It’s expected. Of course it’s expected. The traumas of JJ’s childhood still impact her every day. “Thank you for your time, Director Gordon.”
“Of course. Tell Cass… Tell her I’ll call her when the obs period is over.”
JJ agrees, tucking away her phone just as Tara steps out of the elevator.
They lean against the opposite wall of Damian and Stephanie as they wait. The pair rile each other up and smooth the other’s ruffled feathers just as quickly. She’s reminded effortlessly of her boys.
After an hour, that strange mechanical rumble seeps under Cassandra’s door. Minutes later, it opens once more. The security measures for a Level 7 HSCO are gone and Cassandra’s sleeping form fills the entire exam table. Jenkins is marking down numbers from the monitor onto the tablet. Batgirl is sitting on a stool in the corner.
“Cassandra is a healthy thirty-one year old,” Dr. Kafka reports. “She’s also allowed one visitor at a time. I’ll allow you all to sort out who that’ll be to start.” She steps away, onto the next patient.
The four of them look at each other.
“Rock paper scissors?” Stephanie suggests.
“Agent Jareau should go,” Damian interrupts. He stiffens. “As medical proxy,” he justifies, but somehow JJ knows he is releasing her from her penance. She’s honored he would think her worthy of his sister after the strife she inadvertantly caused her.
No one protests. Tara squeezes her arm in encouragement and JJ steps back into Cassandra’s room.
Her teammate breathes evenly, her eyelids flickering in her sleep.
“Probably nightmares,” Batgirl corrects when JJ comments that she must be dreaming. The young vigilante plays with a flap of her utility belt. Empty, JJ realizes. All the pockets are empty. “I imagine she’ll have quite a few after this.” Her eyes flick up to JJ. “You’ll take care of her?”
She nods solemnly. “Of course.” Cassandra is more than a co-worker, a teammate. She’s a friend, she’s family. She’s one of JJ’s and that comes with all the protective energy that brought JJ to the path she walks every day. The one Cassandra walks down beside her.
There’s a small shift and then Cassandra is sitting upright in the bed, eyes darting.
“JJ?” she croaks, latching onto her presence.
She sits at the edge of Cassandra’s bed. “Hey. How are you feeling?”
Staring down at her hands, Cassandra considers the question. Her shoulders hunch inward as memories trickle through. “Not great,” she admits, sinking JJ’s heart only to raise it right back up. “Did we catch the unsub? Before- I was thinking about how the family members we interviewed mentioned their loved one had gone to therapy recently. There could be a connection there.”
JJ meets Batgirl’s eyes, the young woman smiling broadly at hearing Cassandra’s theory. At hearing her voice.
“We managed to figure that out,” JJ promises. “We’re not completely hopeless without you.”
“Just mostly,” Cassandra teases, rubbing the sheet between her thumb and index finger. “We caught them?”
JJ nods. She squeezes her friend’s hand. “I’ll catch you up,” she promises, everything she’s learned these last few hours discarded in favor of the love she feels for the Cassandra Cain of the present.