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There is blood. Warm, sticky blood that feels like a glove sliding down her hand, fusing into her very being. Blood that stains her and defines her being, blood that fills her nose with the scent of iron and makes her stomach twist and churn. She can hear the man choking, making a weird gurgling sound as voices around her speak words she doesn't know in panicked fearful tones. At least that part she understands.
She stands there, still as stone until suddenly she isn't. She runs. Runs away from the blood and the dying man, from her father, the only person she’s ever truly known. She runs into the night, into the unknown, into something completely different.
The blood is still thick and sticky on her hand…
Cassandra Cain wakes with a scream in her throat, her body jerking upward with violent force that nearly puts her on her feet in one motion. Her heart races as dark brown eyes dart around the dark space and she tries to regain her setting. Small room, a bed, bare walls, the space Barbara gave her in the clock tower. She’s in Gotham, early morning light leaking through the dingy aged windows of her room. It must be a little past dawn now, meaning Cass barely slept at all, since patrol ended not long ago. She runs a hand though her matted, sweaty hair and lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.
The dreams, nightmares, whatever they're called, aren't new, but since her father, David Cain. reared his ugly head a few months earlier they’ve been more frequent… annoyingly frequent. Cass groans and lets her body flop back onto the bed, but a knock on her -Is it hers or is it Barbara’s? Cass doesn't know, she’s never had a door- jars her laying.
“Cassandra? Are you okay? I thought I heard yelling,” Barbara Gordon’s voice echos though the wooden door after the knock. Cass frowns as she opens her mouth, but then closes it.
Words. Words still don’t come easy at all. She’s starting to understand people better, she got most of what Barbara said. Her name, the one Barbara herself gave her. Are you okay? A question and the redhead asks that one a lot. And yelling. She didn't quite get the beginning, but context clues give her that Babs heard her. Context clues. Cass is also learning context clues.
Words and learning them feel like labor, labor far worse than any training or workout. Understanding them is like a massive puzzle, spread out a table too big for her to reach every piece. She’s always having to move about, find the angles even when they feel so unnatural to her. Understanding the words is one thing. Speaking them…that's a whole other unfun awful thing.
Speaking feels foreign and makes her tongue feel thick, unless she tries to shape sounds and craft understanding into something she’s never ever done. “I’m okay.” That's what she SHOULD say to make Barbara go away and leave her alone but it's going to come out slow and awkward and she’ll sound WRONG.
So instead of speaking out Cass walks to the door, her bare feet chilled on the wooden floor that creaks with her steps. She knows Barbara is trained to hear those creaks just like she is. Cassandra opens the door just a crack, staring out into the dark hall where she can see Barbara. The older woman isn't dressed in daytime clothes, she’s in a t-shirt that Cass assumes belongs to Nightwing, and her legs are bare in her wheel chair. Babs hair is all messy, and her glasses are slightly crooked, put on in a rush.
“Hey,” Barbara says, her tone soft and meant to be comforting, but to Cass it just feels like she’s being talked down to. “Are you alright? I heard–”
“Fine,” Cass says, flat, sharp, toneless because tone is hard when the words don't come naturally and she always gets it wrong. And Cassandra shuts the door just as sharply and it echoes though the silence in a way she finds…unpleasnt. Still she stalks back to her bed, laying down face flat in the pillow.
It's hard. Words are hard. Connection is hard. Feeling like she isn’t haunting Barbara’s space and disrupting her life is hard. It's true Barbara invited her in, named her, gave her Batgirl, the only thing keeping her going. But why? Because Cassandra saved her dad? A small drop in the bucket of things she has to make up for, barely worth a thing really. Pity? Cass doesn’t want it. Because she’s Batgirl now? Well…maybe that one's a good reason, but she’s better off without her still. Everyone would be.
Cass lays in the gloom of the early Gotham morning, and even though it's been years, she swears she can still feel the blood sticky and thick on her hand.
~~~
Barbara Gordon isn’t a dumb woman. In fact, she’s quite the opposite, a very smart woman indeed, and a smart woman knows what a door slammed in her face means. She pushes up her glasses and pinches the bridge of her nose as a headache starts to creep in. She turns her wheel chair about, calused hands rolling over the wheels as she makes her way back to her own space in the clock tower.
It's not been long since she took in Cassandra Cain, the strange daughter of David Cain, who even now can barely speak and would much rather run all over Gotham defying death and criminals alike then do the sensible thing and LEARN. Cassandra is a frustrating girl, defiant and stubborn and very stuck in her ways. She’s a mess, she eats far too much to be normal and she uses all the hot water! But still…
Barbara sees the pain that lingers behind her actions, and more than anything, she remembers how readily Cass though herself into not just harm's way, but death's open arms for Babs’ father, a total stranger. David Cain trained a killer, but Cass isn’t a killer, not by any choice of her own at least. And that weight sits on her, dragging down and Barbara can see it so clearly and she wants nothing more than to take it away.
But Cassandra won't let her in, not a lot, at least. She’ll accept the food and first aid and tutoring when Babs can catch her for it, but not much else. Comforting touches are flinched away from, words of assurance barely understood and certainly not accepted. There is a space between them and Cassandra keeps it wide no matter how hard Barbara tries.
Barbara returns to her room and Dick Grayson is sitting up in the bed still, propped against the wall, waiting for her.
“Cass okay?” Dick asks as Babs lifts herself out of her chair and back into the bed, folding her arms behind her head and staring at the ceiling.
“She’s not hurt, but she slammed the door in my face with a ‘fine’,” Babs grumbles, taking off her glasses and setting them neatly on the nightstand, next to the picture of her and her father at her college graduation and the bottle of pain medications she’s had to use far less these days.
“A teenager is a teenager is a teenager,” Dick lets out a bit of laugh as he leans over Babs, looking down at her. “And you…well, you were never much of a teenager were you?”
“More than you, boy wonder,” Babs snorts. “I didn’t start the superhero bullshit till I was well and good in my college years. You were running around in sparkly shorts at the ripe old age of twelve.”
“True, and I did slam plenty of doors in Bruce’s face,” Dick says. “He deserved it though, you don’t… most of the time.”
“Most of the time?” Babs raises a brow at him.
“You can be a little hard on her,” Dick offers. “I know you find her lack of communication or motivation in that area frustrating but ... I mean, it's got to be frustrating on her end to, ya know. It's hard to tell you what's wrong when she literally can’t tell you what's wrong.”
“I know that, I do,” Babs says as she shafts to lay on her side, propping herself up on an elbow so she can look at Dick better. “It’s just frustrating when the answer is right there but she just doesn't want to work towards it, because…because…”
“It's hard,” Dick says. “It is hard, Babs, and probably easy to focus on what she knows. The fighting, saving people, and Bruce is more than happy to indulge her on that side of things.”
“Of course he is! He’s trying to turn her into a mini him! No life, no self care, no being a human being! Just Batman, Batman, Batman,” Barbara shoots up in bed, throwing her arms in the air. “He doesn't think it's a problem! Who cares if she can’t talk or read or write as long as she can throw some asshole in a dumpster, right?!”
“Wow, wow, breathe, Babs,” Dick says quickly, rubbing his partner’s back. “I don't think it's good either, just to be clear, but remember she’s not Batman. She’s Batgirl, and that was yours, not his. You…you can help her, you just have to try and meet her in-between more.”
“In-between,” Babs repeats, slowing her breathing. “In-between what?”
“Stubborness,” Dick smirks. “You’re almost as bad as she is, you know.”
“I am not,” Barbara says, knowing damn well it's a bold faced lie. But maybe Boy Wonder has a point…
~~~
Cassandra rips off her batgirl mask as she crashes her way onto the balcony of the clock tower. Her breath is coming too fast, sweat making the suit cling to her body and oh god her hands. Even with the gloves of her suit it soaked though. The blood, the blood is all over her, getting though every little tear and crack in her suit. The smell is in her noise, metallic and familiar.
It wasn’t her this time, but she tried so hard to make sure it didn't end the same way. She’d been entering a warehouse, illegal arms were being run out of it and Batman had tasked her with taking it down while he dealt with the actual head of the snake. Easy enough, really easy, Cass had thought. But with so many guns, so much panic when she cut the lights…
It wasn't till the hail of gunfire stopped and all men were downed she realized one had been hit with his own side's bullets. His whole body had been riddled and he was laying on the ground spasming, that same gurgling sound coming out of his mouth.
Cass had pressed down on the wounds with everything she had, ripped off her cape to try and stop the bleeding, to help him, save him, do anything. It didn’t work, and he died on the cold warehouse floor as Cass screamed in rage and frustration and hurt. And that’s when she noticed the blood…
Now she’s tearing at her suit, wrenching and trembling as the smell and feeling of blood consumes her thoughts and takes her back to that night, that feeling, what she did and what she now couldn't do.
“Cassandra,” Cass head snaps to the side, and she sees Barbara in the doorway, looking fearful. “Cassandra, oh my god are you hurt?!” Cass stares at the woman, she knows she’s saying words but they arent…processing. All she can focus on is the blood on her skin and how she’s gone from wanting to rip her suit off and tear her skin off instead. She wrenches again and this time some stomach bile comes up her throat and spills out her lips onto the floor as Cassandra’s shoulders shake.
“Cass? Cass, talk to me,” Babs moves closer, hovering around Cass, but careful not to enter her space too quickly or readily. “Are you hurt? What’s going on?”
Cass looks up at Babs, wide eyed, shaking. She opens her mouth, but all that comes is a weak breath. Words. Where are the words? Any words! Barbara’s speech sounds like static, her own tongue is dry and sticking to the roof of her mouth, and nothing is working. Cass can’t get off the floor, her mind is spinning as images of death and blood rushes behind her eyes, clogging up the ability to give anything helpful.
Wordlessly, Cass raises her bloody hands to Barbara, staring up at her desperately, wide, fearful eyes begging for help. Her hands are shaking, her black suit shines with the wetness of the blood. Babs swallows and reaches out, carefully, slowly touching Cass’s hands and gently pulling the gloves away from her skin, leaving stains of red on her skin. Cass lets out a shaky breath and starts trying to rub her arms and hands, trying to get the blood off, but she’s only spreading it around. And the gloves were only half the problem, her whole suit is drenched. She looks at Babs again and opens her mouth, this time a pained, helpless sound comes out.
“Oh…Oh Cass,” Babs mutters as realization seems to come over her. Barbara is a smart woman after all, she knows what a breakdown looks like better than most. She thinks about what Dick said last night, about meeting in the middle and decides that the middle is too far for Cass right now. So without a word Barbara moves, pulling Cass up off the floor and into her lap, wrapping one arm around her tightly while the other pushes the wheels of her chair as she moves them both to the bathroom.
Cass is shocked, frozen in this sudden show of charge and comfort. Barbara has never been very physical and she’s always let Cass make the pace between them, even if it causes her annoyance. And was she always this strong? This is different, and she’s not even trying to speak anymore. But in the absence of words and the added overestimation, Cass starts to see the language of Babara’s body again.
Strong, intentional, protective, guiding…
Baraba doesn't speak still as she moves them into the bathroom and she shifts Cassandra in her lap, unzipping the back of Cass’ Batgirl suit and maneuvers her out of it. Free from the tight, hot material, Cass feels another wave of clarity coming back to her. There’s still blood on her skin and the smell is too much, but even that gets a little better when Barbara hurls her ruined suit off into the hall, far away from both of them.
Cassandra can hear the slow, steady rate of Barbara’s heart beat with how close they are and it becomes a point of focus, a consistent rhythm to ground her. As Cass sits still against Babs’ and listens, she feels Babara’s hand running over her, looking for injuries, though there are none and once Babs is on the same page with this she moves to a new task. Cass has closed her eyes to focus on the sound of Barbara’s heart beat but she does hear the running water and is aware of a warm, wet cloth being run over her skin.
Barbara works steadily, making sure to remove every drop of blood from Cass’s skin, her movements careful and slow. She feels Cass’s shaking fade away, her breath coming more even again, and much to Bab’s surprise, Cass lets herself go even heavier against the redhead's torso. Barbara lets herself smile a little, letting herself be the stone support for Cass’s body. And once all the blood is gone, washed away by Barbara’s hand, Cass is totally still, pressed up close to Barbara, like a child…well a child younger then she actually is.
“Cassandra,” Barbara speaks finally, and to her relief Cass eyes open and gaze up at her, seemingly finally hearing and understanding her again. “Are you alright?” Cassandra doesn't speak still, but instead nods her head, carefully moving herself out of Bab’s lap.
“You should take a real shower,” Babs offers, gesturing to the shower to help make her point clear and again she met with a nod. So Babs starts to remove herself from the small bathroom, giving Cass her privacy but as she does Cass finally speaks.
“Thank you, Barbara,” Cass says, and her voice is so clear and steady, her words lacking hesitation or frustration.
Babs smiles. “Anytime, Cassandra, I’m always here.”
“I know,” Cass affirms. “Thank you.”
And nothing else needs to be said, and maybe they are a little closer to finding the middle. And maybe Barbara is more than okay with being the one who goes a little extra to find it.