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Seasons of Drabbles - Summer Round 2024
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Published:
2024-07-20
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2,500
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1/1
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37
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Nourish

Summary:

In which Cass builds relationships, occasionally trolls her brothers, and loves and is loved.

A series of vignettes (double and triple drabbles) about Cass and her family for the theme "fruit"

Notes:

Work Text:

Cass wakes hungry. Approaching the kitchen, she is relieved at the lack of hubbub: her body feels good, pleased with last night’s work, but there was also lots of talking. Today feels like a signing day, not a vocal day, and that’s easier with fewer people.

When Cass enters the kitchen, it is only Bruce, and Cass’s mouth curves up. She will not even need signing for Bruce.

He is standing at the cutting board, slicing strawberries. His shoulders hips feet tell her that he knows it is Cass who approaches, but he glances back to verify.

Bruce’s mouth doesn't smile as he faces forward again, but his whole stance brightens, happiness in his turned and trusting back.

Cass stands next to him, getting a bowl and pouring cereal into it. He nudges her with an elbow as she adds oat milk, and she dips her head, yes and thank you, so he tips a handful of cut strawberries to top the grains.

They don't sit down to eat, staying at the counter with their bowls. They say no words, but in her peripheral vision Bruce says, over and over, how much she is valued, how much she is loved.

---

Cass has many homes.

The manor, first and foremost. If Cass hears “home,” she pictures the manor. If they’re in uniform, the cave.

Tim's apartment is home; Cass doesn't use that word, but the feeling is right. Dick's apartment is welcoming, but not a home, when she’s there by herself, but it’s another family home if she's with other siblings.

The Clock Tower is home. The Clock Tower might have been the first place to be home, when Cass was still figuring out the manor and her siblings. Barbara makes space for her, for her clothes and her weapons; Barbara keeps her favorite foods stocked.

Cass brings over groceries sometimes. "You don't need to, you know," Barbara said once, a little sternly. Cass knows she feels it is her duty, as Cass's mentor and big-sister figure, to take care of Cass. That, and Barbara likes things just-so, and does not like accepting anything like help.

"You care for me," Cass responded. "I want to care too."

Barbara's gaze softened. "Well. I suppose dessert every so often would be appreciated."

So Cass brings over cherry chocolate chunk for Babs, and raspberry sorbet for herself, knowing it has a space at home.

___

"I gotta admit, I did not expect my training to involve as much juggling as it does," Duke says. He is keeping five oranges aloft, and his body says he's feeling a bit smug about his ability to do so. "It's cool, and it makes total sense when you know who designed half our training regimen, but -- I did not foresee it."

"It's good for reflexes," Cass says. When she judges that he's concentrating too hard to use his powers to see ahead, she throws another orange at his arm.

He yelps and shifts to avoid it -- without dropping anything, which is good. The best option would have been for him to incorporate the orange, but that takes advanced skills when the orange isn't gently lobbed but thrown at speed. He'll learn. "What was that?!" he asks.

"Just juggling is boring," Cass said. "This is the next step."

"Juggling while dodging projectiles?" His rhythm is breaking.

"Yes. Or you can catch them," Cass says, whipping an orange at his chest.

Everything falls. Duke's shoulders slump. "Great," he says, and his body reflects discouragement as he bends to pick up the scattered oranges.

"Hey," she says, picking up one herself and then tapping his shoulder. "This was your first try. You are good. You will get better. Take a break, have a snack, and we will try again."

"All right, snack it is," he says. She watches him gather himself, casting off tiredness. His mouth quirks. "Maybe we should eat the oranges so you won't be able to throw them at me."

She shrugs. "Sure."

"....really?"

She starts to peel the orange and says, "We can switch to something else. Apples. Dragon fruit. Knives."

He is unsure whether to believe her. She hands him an orange slice and smiles wide.

___

Music rolls out from the kitchen, overlying the sounds of Dick bopping in place. A blender whirs. Cass's feet are always quiet, but she goes sneakier still as she tiptoes. She rounds the kitchen door -- to be safe and kind, checks his energy -- big! and bright! -- and POUNCES.

"Cass!" he squawks, and keeps squawking while they wrestle. His whole body laughs.

Sometimes Dick has too much energy for Cass. Sometimes he has too much energy for himself. But when the two of them match, it’s fun to play. "Wanna go work out for real?" he asks eventually, and she nods and waits while he pours a smoothie into a glass and cleans the blender. "C'mon, Cass-a-lass," he says when he's done, patting his shoulder, and she hops on his back for a piggyback ride.

"Want some?" he says as he walks, already holding the smoothie up to her. She drinks less out of want than because it is offered, because he likes sharing. It does taste good: sweet, all kinds of berries mixed. She passes it back and kisses the top of his head, murmuring, "Best biggest brother," just to feel his happiness bloom outward from skin, muscle, bone.

___

Alfred is no danger -- Alfred is safe -- Alfred loves --

Cass knows these things, but the aftermath of fever dreams tangles her thoughts, and she sees threat as he approaches: the metal tray he carries, his piercing eyes. He carries no weapons; his footfalls carry the echoes of training that can turn that tray, or his body, into one.

She glares him to a stop.

He eyes her. Hums. His jaw tells her of his worries that if he presses, she will squirrel herself away someplace he cannot assess her recovery. His spine proclaims his desire to help, his displeasure that she will not let him perform his duty. His fingers are rueful, accepting: his charges are independent, and have been hurt in ways that impair trust, and he cannot place his duties over his duty of care.

He sets down the tray on the desk. “Will you eat?” he asks.

If she blinks he is David Cain, scowling at her sickness, weakness in his tool. If she blinks again he is Alfred, whose duty is to get them in top form for their mission, but who also wants them to be well because that is what you want for the people you love. Who has brought oatmeal with sliced bananas and hot tea.

She assesses herself: neck damp with sleep-sweat, tired, no longer shaky or nauseous. She can make it to the desk to breathe in steam and eat comfort.

She nods. Signs a thank you.

“Of course, my dear,” he says, “I’ll return in a few hours for the tray and with a snack.”

He leaves, which is relief and lightness; but she knows that once she is well she will press his hands and thank him again, and trust him fully, and that is lightness too.

___

Almost always, Jason has a running stream of words in his head. Cass sees the monologue flitting behind his eyes as it crosses his face; sometimes the words spill over. He talks back to characters in books when he's very absorbed, or narrates his own life when he's very tired.

So when Cass hears him in the kitchen, she doesn't assume there's a second person there. Just Jason, declaiming, "Do I dare to eat a peach? Yes, J. Alfred Motherfucker, I do, and you could too if you'd stop fucking dithering about it --"

He freezes when she enters, mouth about to bite. His eyes narrow. "This is the last one and it's mine, eat something else!" he exclaims.

Had he not said that, she wouldn't consider taking it from him. She almost doesn’t consider it anyway: Jason can be protective of his food. But as soon as he says it, she reads sheepishness in his eyes, and something like regret. (Jason isn't always a generous person by reflex, but he wants to be so badly. She's watched him purposefully build that trait like a muscle.)

So it is only generous on her part, to give him a chance to rethink, yes?

Besides, it might become a fight. Fighting is fun. So is ruffling Jason’s composure.

She says, "Oh?" and weighs distance and strategies, watching the sheepishness melt into consideration and preparation. If she leaps over the kitchen island -- ?

"Argh!" he says, "Fine! We can't -- Alfred'll kill us if we mess up in here again -- we'll share it."

He cuts it carefully. Deliberately gives her just a shade over half. She says, "Thanks, little brother," just to ruffle his feathers some more. Before he can start sputtering, she adds, "Tell me about this J. Alfred Motherfucker?" and listens while she eats.

___

Nothing is wrong.

Cass is not sick, hurt, or working a hard case. She is not at odds with any family members or friends. She is not haunted by intrusive thoughts or nightmares.

Nothing is wrong, and Cass has no reason for being out of sorts.

But she is.

She does not want to be, so she stops by the good local grocery to buy its spicy noodle salad and a bag of lychees, and then heads over to Steph's place, where she crawls in the window.

"Oooh, noodles, tasty," Steph says, perking up. Then she adds apologetically, "I can't hang out for long tonight, though. I've got to study. You can stay here if you just want to hide out from Bruce and mope or whatever, but I've got to make flashcards and shit."

That is fine with Cass. After they eat, she lies on Steph's bed and mopes, and plays quiet games on her phone, and peels lychees, alternating between eating them herself and tossing them to Steph. She listens to Steph say things out loud to memorize them, and quizzes her on her flashcards, and by the time Cass heads home she is in sorts again.

___

Orphan and Robin share the watch. Neither talk. Neither fidget, even if Robin's back reads boredom, and his legs a wish that something would happen. They are experts with long training and pride in their work.

Cass reads grief, sometimes, when the others look at her or Damian. They both started their training so young, and not by choice.

Cass knows it was an atrocity, how she was raised. But sometimes she does not want to deal with other people’s horror at the thought of what she went through to gain her skills. She just wants to use them.

Damian is like that too. He does not want the others to feel guilty about relying on a kid. He wants them to be impressed and proud.

So they act professionally, when they are paired together. They take turns with a short break, stretching their legs and eating nuts and dried apricots. Orphan wants to leave Robin more than half, but she divides everything exactly even. In the manor, he is her little brother, to be picked up and swung around. In the training room, he is her junior, to be trained better.

On this rooftop, they act as equals.

___

Cass and Tim have accompanied Bruce to a benefit for Gotham's parks and recreation system. They are undercover as themselves.

The other attendees see Tim Drake-Wayne and Cassandra Wayne: the young man circulating through the crowds, the young woman mainly sticking close to Brucie while he brays laughter. Occasionally she drifts away to find more hors d'oeuvres or to hang out with her brother for a while.

Batman peeks behind Brucie and sees Orphan and Red Robin, how they meet up periodically to exchange progress reports on what they’ve heard and what they’ve seen. Batman’s gaze is proud, and Brucie’s is affectionate; sometimes it’s the other way around.

Cass, meeting up with Tim in a corner so they can finish off their mocktails and murmur messages to each other about their mission, sees him in layers: Tim underneath, with Red Robin and Tim Drake-Wayne laid over him like spackle. Two layers have had a productive night and just-Tim beneath them is tired, though anyone could see that from his gigantic yawn.

Cass alone sees that Tim trusts her enough to close his eyes as he yawns, to look down at his almost-empty drink and blink a few times afterwards. "All right," he says, taking one final swallow of his drink, and one ice cube, because he likes chewing on them.

The swap of glasses that follows is automatic. Cass's mocktail contains a plastic sword toothpick with three maraschino cherries speared on it, too sweet for her but Tim likes them. She trades it for his slice of lime, letting her mouth pucker. It's too tart but in a way she likes.

She likes, too, that their trade was automatic. Tim Drake-Wayne knows his sibling, and Red Robin knows Orphan, and Tim knows Cass, and Cass likes that. Being known.

___

Cass wakes, David Cain dissolving from her mind. She is alone. She is in her room in the manor. Five things, and four things, and three, and two, and one.

The filmy remnants of the dream propel her upward and away from her bed, from her room.

The manor in early morning is peaceful and creaky. She knows its sounds. She would know if the sounds changed in any way that meant danger. David Cain is not here, and Cass is.

She stretches her arms out to either side, fingertips brushing the wall. She takes up space. Places her feet precisely, like the dancer she has made herself to be.

She wavers at Bruce's door, shifting on her feet. Shifting forward on her left foot: She could wake Bruce, and he would not mind. Shifting backward: He was knocked around today, and sleep restores.

She will not wake him now, but she will talk to him later, she decides, and her feet carrying her away feel good, so she moves on to the dance studio.

She does not lose herself in music, movement, sweat. She coalesces into herself instead. She catches glimpses of herself in the mirrors that line the wall: the power in her thighs and calves; the grace in her carriage; the fearlessness in her outstretched arms. She is made of instinct and deliberation, the compassion she has chosen and the love she has given and received.

When Cass is done, she gets a bottle of water and a container of mango yogurt from the minifridge, and settles in the middle of the floor. (David Cain controlled what she ate. He controlled everything she was.) (He is not here, but Cass is.)

(Cass is.)

Cass is.

Cass stirs the fruit to the top, and dares to eat.