Chapter Text
Bruce ruffles her hair one day and she freezes. She stands there. Immobilized like she so rarely is.
Being the daughter of a father has always meant kicking and punching and bleeding and fighting to get an inkling of attention. Tooth and nail. Blood and snot. Tears, too, at the beginning and when weakness still took over easily. Then love was in the nod of approbation and the pride in a stature.
The attention there, is here, but it wasn't fought for. It is simply here. And it doesn't look like it was such an important thing to him, too. (It wasn't. It's in the way he stands there and in the low set of his shoulders, in the slight furrow of the eyebrows that means confusion, then something close to pity that she doesn't know the name of yet. It's in the way he asks if she is okay.)
And she doesn't get it.
The thought of fleeing away flashes through her mind, like for an animal startled by the unexpected behaviour of a bigger creature. It's very quickly put aside, but it was there. She shows a shrug she doesn't entirely mean because she is feeling way more than just it, but that at least gets Bruce to drop the subject.
He leaves the room with an unnecessary smile. She is left confused.
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She asks him. Outright. Direct, daring, because running unfazed into dangerous situations is something she has always done. The light coming from the fireplace means warmth and relief and comfort. She is still feeling tense, a little.
"Bruce. What does love mean?" she asks, and she observes as the light reflects across his face and illuminates the subtle shift of his expression as he registers her question.
Curiosity, confusion, frazzlement, stress. Many more she doesn't care about naming, too. Because he is answering and she is more interested in his response.
"That's.. a complicated question. What spurred it on?"
She shrugs. "I have. Have been thinking about it."
"I suppose it means the affection someone feels for someone else. Or for something, sometimes. And not always romantically, too. Love's a complicated emotion." He stops, then, and his hand goes to adjust his turtleneck in a way that is asking if the answer is enough to satisfy her. It isn't. Not really. She isn't, but he has answered already and she doesn't think he can answer in a way that will really suit her, anyway.
Love's complicated, yes. She nods a thanks and goes back to enjoying the way the fire is dancing around. Twisting around. Burning. It's easier to.
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The sun is going down. This is the time of the day where there are less people out and about and more fear and anger than usual.
She observes a man hurry a little boy to go across the street more quickly. Another vigilante might have thought this is a kidnapping, because the man pulls on the tiny arm harshly when the kid slows down. He glances around, like he's checking to see if anyone noticed them.
But Cass stays there, perched up.
The man isn't being harsh because he is scared of his crime being seen. He's scared of crimes. When he pulls, the kid, old enough to know what a kidnapping is, isn't scared. Frustrated, then defeated, but in a way that isn't scared. More acceptant than anything.
And when the father pulls, he keeps looking down to glance at the child in a way Cass can't exactly interpret. Not because she's too far to see. Is this it? Is love being scared for someone and it showing through actions?
They keep leaving, and she loses sight of them not too long after. She stays a little longer. Then she's leaving, too.
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Bruce offered to brush her hair. It's been getting long enough to get in her face when she is training down in the Batcave, but he doesn't ask her to cut it all off. He doesn't simply do it, too, which surprises her even more.
Logically, she knows he wouldn't, because Tim's hair has also been getting long and he doesn't say anything, too. And because Bruce's just not like that, too. But her thoughts aren't always the most logical.
She's not sure why she accepted Bruce's offer, for example. It's not that it bothers her, but she has never pictured... this. Ever.
Barbara brushes her hair sometimes, when it gets too tangled for her. Like that time she ended her day diving in the Queens River to grab a too high dealer out of the water. Barbara saw her hair when she got back to the tower. She asked. Cass accepted. It became something like a ritual.
Barbara brushes her hair, and that's it. How it is. But never Bruce. Never Cain.
But now Bruce is brushing her hair, and he is being.. Careful. As Barbara is. Not tugging at knots like Cass does.
"Would you mind me braiding it?"
Cass stares down at her knees, and at the rug she is sitting on. Her hand is toying with the loose-ends parts of it. It could look like hair, maybe. She has never braided her own hair. Always thrown it into a quick ponytail. Mostly when she needed it out of her face. Or into a small bun. She thinks she doesn't know how else to do it. She has never thought about learning other ways. It'd be easy, though, to watch someone do it for somebody else and learn that way. Easier. She could ask Barbara or Steph to show her. Maybe even Bruce.
"Okay", she says.
Bruce's hands are gentle as they gather all the locks of her hair into a single ponytail. He is careful with how he moves them around after. Up, then down, then Cass loses the steps because she stops following them.
The end of the rug stays loose.
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"Well. I need more practice."
"Yes."
It stays at that.
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Her reflection in the mirror stares back at her as intensely as she is doing.
It looks good. The braid is a little loose and a little lopsided because her head was turned away from the hands that braided, but it is still looking good. To her at least.
She likes it. The braid doesn't come undone when her fingers toy around the hair tie.
She thinks she likes Bruce indirectly asking to share other moments like they did here even more. She knows she's going to ask him to do her hair again. And she already knows he's going to be saying yes, too.
It's a really nice feeling, how convinced she is of it.
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She doesn't like thinking of what it means to be the daughter of a mother. She doesn't ask herself what it means. To be the daughter of a mother. Not often. Being the daughter of a father, it isn't exactly easier, but it's…
A possibility. It's something she's often considered, that she willingly chooses to ignore sometimes. Something she deals with a lot.
But mother-figures are different. Further away. They're fine, but from afar. Observed across the streets, on the TV or in stores and galas.
Far away.
Or a little unacknowledged. It's easier like that.
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Metal gets slammed against metal with a bang.
Frustration.
Batman gets out the Batmobile with knuckles clenched too tight around the fabric of his cowl. Cass follows with a strain to her chest and her head held up high.
He takes off the cowl. Sharper than usual movements. Resentment. A bit of ire. He turns to face her.
"Batgirl."
"Batman."
"You cannot. And I mean that, you cannot do that again. Ever."
His words are not shaky, but to her, it is just like they were. She ignores his scowl and she stands straighter.
"You were gonna get hit." The scowl that is in Batman's gaze gets even deeper. She holds his gaze. "You didn't."
"Yes. That isn't the point. The point, Batgirl, is that you were hit by something I could have easily handled."
"I did." She holds his gaze, even when his eyes leave hers to go look at the arm she had wrapped around her chest. Frustration. Through her veins and brain, this time. "I handled it."
"If you are going to fight by my side, then you let me handle what I can handle", he answers, something in his posture Cass doesn't want to be seeing right now.
"My side. It was my case. You came."
"Cassandra. Don't do that again", he says. His words are harsh. Worry. This is worry in the tightness of his shoulders.
She keeps holding his gaze, and when nothing in it shifts, she turns around towards the med bay. She needs balm. For her bruise.
She leaves wrapping out for his sprained wrist even when the frustration keeps flowing in her blood.
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"He's always been like that", Barbara says between two clicks of the tea machine. "I don't know if it's because he's an ass or if that's just his language. Probably both simultaneously, I think. Which do you want?"
"Blue one", Cass answers from her place at the kitchen table.
"He just can't say things right up. You know, he always has to express himself through actions. You're pretty similar, actually, except you also share your emotions outrightly." She spins around with one hand, holds out the cup with the other.
"Thanks", Cass grabs the cup.
Barbara spins back around just when the tea machine starts making a sound. A wheezing one. "He was likely scared and fear isn't an expression that's encoded into him. If you see him getting your favorite food, that means sorry in his love language. But you do need to be more careful, Cass."
Cass frowns into her empty cup. Fear. Again. And love, in the same context. Almost the same sentence. It doesn't make sense for them to be together, to her. But apparently it does.
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She goes back to the manor after, before Bruce is leaving for an off-world mission. When she is calmed down.
Bruce hands her a bag, a little later after. It's full of burgers. They are still hot, fresh from the Batburger. They're still steaming a little.
It isn't her favourite food, but it is something she really likes. In a big amount, just like she also likes. It's a sorry. It might be an I love you.
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She used to think violence was a form of love. When the bullets grazed her, the scars meant she was learning how to be tougher. And being tougher meant being able to live longer. To her, if he wanted her to live longer, then that meant he didn't want her dead, and that was him caring.
And. When she loves, she does hurt people. Her loving Gotham means she hurts people. The people that hurt it.
But, also, the people she loves personally, as faces and not... concepts: she doesn't hurt them. Or. Not intentionally. That definition she was crafting, she throws it away. Love is not what gets you to hurt people. It's not just that.
And, fear : love is not that either. It isn't anger.
Bruce told her love isn't always romantic, and she agrees with that as well, but she doesn't think it's only affection. She feels a lot of feelings that aren't always affection towards people she thinks she loves. Frustration, for example. For the people that are now her siblings, for example.
So love can't be explained through words. Actions, maybe. Through who she is compared to other people, maybe also. It’s something she thinks she is always going to struggle with, that definition.
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Being a sister is something she has never done before. She's still learning. It is kind of difficult.
Being a sister means a lot of things.
When she does these things, she knows she is expressing love, so that is enough to her. Asking to people what love is is complicated, often, so she avoids doing it anymore. With Tim, for example, she doesn't ask, because his relation with love has been complicated. They don't talk about their parents.
But, she does tease him about him and Kon.
It might be unfair of her. Because he still hasn't realized. He hasn't realized the way Kon looks at him when they are both in Gotham. When he arrives, but also when he leaves. He also hasn't realized that the way Kon leans on him is not the same way he leans on the other Young Justice members.
But. It's funny to. And she'd like it if they both realized. So, really, she is helping when she states, discreetly, the obvious.
"He wants you."
Tim almost chokes on his coffee. Luckily, Cass doesn't have to do Heimlich on him. He splutters the coffee out instead of choking on it.
"Oh. You didn't know I was there", she assumes, gazing at the droplets of coffee rolling down one of the Bat-computer screens.
"No, I did. Alfred is going to kill us, are there still any tissues down here?"
"You're changing the subject", she observes.
"Yeah, sue me.", he says. Ironical. Not frustrated. But... embarrassed, a little. "You can't just say things like that all out of the blue, Cass."
"Why not?", she asks " It's the truth. You're his friend. He wants you."
"Don't put it like that then, people are going to assume things. ", Tim says, wiping at the screen with the tissues he just found.
She knows that already. And he does, too. He's not dumb. Hah. Denial, then. She huffs a laugh. It quickly turns into an assumed snort at the way Tim's face is turning red under his seriousness. He blushes. Getting more than embarrassed.
"I meant that. You can't just say that to people's face, they'll assume you mean it carnally."
She laughs. Outloud. And very loudly this time.
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Being a sister:
she likes it.
She loves it.
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It's difficult, sometimes.
She is on good terms with Tim now, and with Dick, too.
Jason, it's different.
He is their brother. Still is Bruce's son, in the way that matters. So, that means they should be siblings, technically. But it isn't as easy as that. He rarely comes to the manor. They rarely see each other. As civilians, or as non-civilians. When they do, they don't speak. Or they fight. Verbally. Not physically. She'd win.
But they fight verbally, rarely, and he wins when they do, usually. With words that hurt.
Still.
Steph appreciates him sometimes. Tim and Damian and Duke, too, more often. Dick does, always. So, Cass tolerates him. And Jason is sometimes appreciable. And those times, she does like his presence. Then there's still the other times.
Maybe that makes them more like half-siblings. Spiritually. Can you love someone partially?
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It's easier to be a sister to Duke and Damian, somehow. Maybe it's because she is older than them. Being a sister to them, it means being even more of a support than she tries and be with the others. It means showing up at Damian's art show even if she is coming back early from patrol, for example.
She is looking at the portrait of a rabbit when he notices her.
He doesn't come immediately. She has time to switch to another of his drawings before he does. It's pretty. As detailed as the other one. The fur's nice. It looks very real.
"This is the neighbour's dog. His name is Winston", Damian announces himself.
"It's really pretty. I like the light in his eye", she notes, still looking at it.
"..Thanks. I drew him after that time he got into the garden. ", he says, switching the subject away from her admiration. They do that a lot. Maybe it's a brother thing, being uncomfortable with admiration.
He usually starts sulking, whenever he notices she sees the admiration in his eyes, too. "Yes. I remember. I pet him too. He was sweet. Did you meet that rabbit too?", she says, looking back at the previous drawing she was admiring, instead of praising him more.
"The sweetest.", Damian says. His face is suddenly brighter. "Yes, I did. Jon showed it to me last time I was at the Clarks' abode. We named it, also."
She hums, interrogatively, and that is enough for him. And for him to feel joy, apparently.
"We were hesitating between Gardenia and Bug; I wanted something related to its fur, but he wanted something 'sillier'. We settled on Cauli".
"Cauli?"
"... Short for Cauliflower. Jon was really insistent.", he goes on to explain.
The warmth that comes into her chest when she keeps listening is affection, she knows that, but it is also love. She knows that, too.
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Dick and her are more complicated. He trusts her now.
She forgave him a long time ago.
But he didn't forgive himself, not exactly, because that's… something he does, holding everything in himself. Their start, for example. Their first meeting, then what came after. There's been other things since. There's new things now. More recent ones. And it's adding up and up and up. Sometimes, she thinks it'll explode on him. All of it. She wonders how people don't notice.
It's obvious when he starts to stay on patrol longer and longer. It's obvious when his answers to Barbara keep being cheerful, but become shorter and shorter.
Not concise like hers are, not exactly. Not yet. But... still. He worries about his own city.
She worries.
It's why she follows him as he roams the streets of Gotham, later, in the day as a civilian. And a little after he gets closer to the borders of the city, too. Before he can decide to go back to Bludhaven, though, she considers stopping. Or stopping him.
She doesn't have to choose. He turns around, and she decides to step out of her shadows.
"Cass, hi! How long have you been following me for, exactly?"
She shrugs. Ignores his question. "Will you be back before next week?"
His tone is confused when he answers. It's a question she often asks, but never when Bruce's absent and he's there in his stead: It's something he usually does, filling in for him. "Well, yeah, obviously I will. Even-"
"Don't. Stay home. Rest. You need it. Gotham doesn't", she cuts.
He blinks. Surprised. Shoulders get a little more tight. His smile creeps harder onto his face, even as he crosses his arms in defense. Deflection? Maybe. She isn’t sure.
"Is that your way of saying I need to get more sleep in my system? I'm pretty sure I don't have any eyebags screaming about it, do I?
No. He doesn't. Because he's hidden them behind makeup, probably. She doesn't see any eyebags or any makeup, but she also doesn't see any sleep in his figure. So. She stays silent.
"I slept plenty last night, don't worry." he goes on.
"You do. Have eyebags. Metaphorically", she says. "Stay in Bludhaven. Your bed would be better than.. there." Or Bludhaven's streets would be. She is fully sure he wouldn't rest, but at least he could get to the cases he left back there, instead of thinking about them while working on the ones there.
He doesn't falter.
"B's out of town, you need my help here."
"No. I asked Duke to take over your case. With me. He said yes. We're okay", she says. He is stubborn, but she is more stubborn than he is. Or at least, she's going to be now.
"Barbara already locked you out of the documents.", she adds, driving the point home just a little more. The way his shoulders slump down is a little satisfying. The way he sighs instead of giving out a too light-laugh is, too.
"There's other cases I could work on", he tries, tentative. Stubborn. "Or I could just patrol."
"No", she says. Again. She doesn't care if she's repeating herself a little. He needs it. The rest. "We're already asking.. others to come in, too. You'll help more in Bludhaven." She can't say names because she isn't wearing the cowl right now, but she'll text them if she really has to. She doesn't take her phone out of her pocket, though.
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In the end, he does go back to the city that is as much his as Gotham is.
Cass is happy about it.
She almost doesn't go spying on him to check if he is resting. Almost. But she does it even if she knows he wouldn't like that, after, once Bruce is back as Batman and she knows Gotham is going to be okay.
Here, she is convinced she's doing that out of love.
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She doesn't bother with observing siblings moving across the street. She knows what she is to her brothers, and it's a sister.
She knows they are different from other siblings, but she doesn't care. She loves them, and they love her back as well. Even if they can be hesitant or discreet in their demonstrations. It's alright. She doesn't mind.
At least she knows what this is, here. That it is here. Love is more than just appreciation, there. She cares about them, but it's more than that. She cares about the people that live in Gotham, too. But not in the same way. There's things she'll do for her brothers that she doesn't do for just anyone, sometimes. Then maybe that means love is in the details. Not just the actions.