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Cassandra is familiar with almost every type of wound a person could inflict on another.
She has been stabbed, shot, punched, burned, drowned, kicked, thrown, and pushed more times than she can count. She has trained herself out of reacting to any of it, made herself into the perfect soldier who could take a hit and come out on top.
It had been Cain’s greatest pride. He would shoot her at random times just to marvel at the straight posture she could keep in the aftermath.
So, she shouldn’t have reacted at all when that goon slapped her across the face.
It was a lucky strike. Another thug had attacked her from behind, distracting her for a single second, just enough to give him the opening.
She should have taken the pain and run with it. Punched back harder, breaking skin and bone, she worked through another five opponents before her body had even registered the hit.
Instead, her treacherous body froze.
Suddenly, she was no longer Batgirl. Instead, Cass was splintered—scattered across time and space. She was six, or nine, or twelve. She was small and controllable under Cain’s thumb, her cheek reddening and aching after he slapped her.
Out of all the things he had done to her, for some reason, that felt like the most humiliating. His open palm against her skin. The loud sound echoing across the training room. The smirk on his face as she forced herself to be still, to show no reaction.
She couldn’t tell how long she remained locked in place, unable to move. All she registered was the moment Babs’ voice echoed in her ear, calling to her.
“Cassandra,” it said, so faintly it could have been coming from miles away. “Cassandra, talk to me.”
Suddenly, the room came into focus. Cass could make out Tim and Duke fighting the remaining thugs, throwing concerned looks at her over their shoulders.
“I’m here,” she replied. The taste of shame was bitter on her tongue as she spoke.
Babs remained quiet for a moment. Then, she merely ordered, “Come back to the Clocktower. Now. Robin and Signal can handle this.”
It was a testament to her embarrassment that she actually took that order. With a quick wave thrown Duke and Tim’s way, she exited the warehouse they were fighting in through a broken window.
She made it to the Clocktower in less than fifteen minutes. The familiar route took some of the edge off her memories, but her whole body still felt like an open wound, overbleeding and sore.
When she made her way to Babs’ computers, the soothing mutter of her voice was echoing across the whole floor.
There was tea waiting for Cass on top of the desk and a chair pulled up by Babs’ side. She had her earphones on, dictating information to Bruce in one call and directing Tim and Duke in the other.
She was the most impressive person Cass had ever met.
Babs tapped the seat by her side, silently calling her over without missing a single beat. Cass took off her cape and mask, abandoning it somewhere on the floor, and obeyed.
For a moment, it seemed like Babs would say something, but she merely picked up the teacup and handed it to her. As Cass sipped it, Babs extended a hand and carefully tapped her knee, slowly enough that Cass could pull back if she wanted.
Instead, she leaned in, hesitantly putting her head on Babs’ shoulder. She closed her eyes, listening to Babs’ voice and her constant typing, finding more comfort in that controlled chaos than she would have had Babs tried to talk to her about her freezeup.
She remained there, taking one deep breath after another, until she no longer felt like she would break into pieces.
“Thank you,” she whispered into Babs’ shoulder.
“Anytime, kid,” Babs replied, running a hand through her hair. She looked down at her, humming. “Cain?” She asked, not needing more than a few seconds to read between the lines of Cass’ earlier behavior.
Cass confirmed quietly, “Cain.”
Babs tensed a bit, anger clear on her features, so much of it that Cass didn’t need her abilities to read it.
Still, she didn’t let it out. Babs locked her jaw in place, kept running her fingers through Cass’ hair, and stared ahead.
Cass ought to learn how to keep her anger under a leash like that. Most of the time, it felt like it controlled her, pushed her to make the type of impulsive decisions that kept Babs up at night.
Tonight hadn’t been one of those, though.
Tonight, she had been called to reason and listened. She didn’t merely push through her pain but sat with it. It didn’t feel like much of a win, but Cass knew enough to recognize it as one.
“Wanna talk about it?” Babs asked, even though the answer was obvious enough.
Cass shook her head. Babs nodded, showing she understood. She turned back to the computer and her many screens, just quietly keeping her company without asking any further questions.
There were no words that could express what that meant to her.
Babs didn’t need her words, though. She just needed her presence, and that Cass could give her—would always give her.
For once, it felt like it was enough.