Chapter Text
"So, really, you can pick whichever colour you want! It's just for the walls, though. And only for your room."
Cass held the paint cards, staring at the symbols on each. A frown crossed her face, pressing the tips of her fingers to the symbols. There were so many colours. She couldn't help her brows knitting together, the corners of her mouth turning downwards; how was she supposed to pick? Her room before had been nothing. Gray and empty. Stone and soulless, exactly how it was meant to be. Exactly how she was meant to be.
"That says Powdered Violet. Do you like it?"
Cass placed the card back. This girl, Stephanie, sure could talk. At first, Cass had found it somewhat frustrating, the endless noise. Now she welcomed it. Stephanie's noise could block out some of the noise in her mind. She ran her fingers through her hair, moving it out of her face. Focusing on something as simple as the colour of her room seemed impossible. She was not excited to think about furniture- which Stephanie kept insisting was the best part.
"Hm," Stephanie said, "you keep picking up purple cards. I guess you like purple, like me."
Did she like purple? How was she supposed to know what she liked? How did anyone know anything? The smell of this store was going to drive her insane. Normally, smells and lights wouldn't bother her. But the smell of dust and burnt wood, the bright lights overhead and the sheer amount of colours to choose from were all making her feel like her head was going to explode.
In an effort to move away from the overwhelming display, she picked a random colour and handed it to Steph.
"Ah! Timeless Lilac, this one says!"
Cassandra walked away. As much as she wanted more than anything to put her head down, to hide from all the light and noise, she kept her head up. She didn't want to be surprised by something. She didn't want to get hurt. Stephanie's footsteps followed her, chattering away about furniture and whatnot. Cassandra tuned it out, her eyes focusing on the three in the distance.
There was the girl with reddish hair. She sat in something with wheels- two small, small wheels at the front and two large wheels on the back. The larger wheels, Cass noted, were slightly tilted to the side. It was all held together with a metal frame- guards to stop the girl's arms touching the wheels, fabric and something cushioned so she could sit. The girl had glasses and dark circles around her eyes. A light coloured sweater hanging slightly off her bones.
Next to her stood a tall man. His jaw was sharp and there were smile lines on his face. A few spots here and there, and his hair was a dark mop on his head. His nails were painted with something- Cass wasn't sure what it was- and every so often, he would check the paint on his nails, absently running his fingertips over his nails.
Between them was a somehow taller man she recognised to be Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne, who pulled her out of the strange, empty place she was in. Bruce Wayne, richest man in Gotham. Bruce Wayne, Batman. She indebted to him now, she supposed. There was a hole too deep to fill, yet she found herself compelled to find a way to fill it up, so that there was no way anyone could ever use her like that again.
"Is she capable of speech? Any speech?" Dick asked, hands in his pockets. He had a love-hate relationship with the smell of the store. Sometimes the dust brought him a sense of comfort, a reminder of the circus. Other times, it brought back all the wrong things, opened boxes he wanted to stay closed. Something about flood lights. Something about trapeze acrobats.
"Well. She can make sound, I think." Barbara leaned back in her wheelchair. "She got surprised the other day. Squeaked and ran off. So I suppose she could be capable of speech, yeah. It would just be difficult."
As Barbara adjusted her glasses, Bruce and Dick exchanged a glance.
"Difficult how?"
"Well, for one, it's different from teaching a baby to talk. Cass is a teenager. She'll want to be good at it immediately- to fit in. But also… I heard she could speak, but she was punished severely for it. There would be a mental barrier, I imagine. Lots of anxiety."
Dick looked at Barbara like he was stargazing. Her mind never ceased to amaze him. Perhaps he had been the boy wonder once, but Barbara would never stop wowing him. When she wasn't their eyes and ears, she was his heart and soul, the air he breathed.
"Nothing we can't work through," Dick assured her. If anyone could work something out, it was Dick and Barbara. They had already gotten through so much, worked through a mountain of difficulties. There were still mountains ahead- they both saw them every day- but Dick always told himself it was how you looked at the mountain. Sometimes, you just have to take the scenic route.
Stephanie and Cassandra approached. Stephanie looked as bubbly as ever and Cassandra looked… empty. Drained of life. Her eyes looked exhausted and worn, like there wasn't much left of her. Her arms and legs looked sore. Where there wasn't muscle, there was bone- as if she had been completely hollowed out.
"Find any good furniture?"
When Cassandra didn't answer, Stephanie cheerfully mentioned something about paint, handing a sample card to Bruce. Cassandra continued to glance around the store in a calculating manner, analysing every route and escape. He'd seen that look before in Jason and Damian- a constant fear of something happening, anything happening. A need to know the exits. A need to be able go as quickly and as easily as possible.
"Why don't we look for more furniture?" Steph exclaimed.
Dick was no genius. No, he wasn't the genius of his makeshift family. But it didn't take a genius to tell that furniture hunting would be far too much for Cassandra. He glanced at Bruce, then at Cass, before he opened his mouth to protest.
Barbara got there first. She always was quicker than him.
"I'm tired," she said. "My back is hurting."
Both were outright lies- Dick knew when she was tired and hurting. It seemed Barbara had been watching Cass as well, taking a note of her state. Overwhelmed. Deer in headlights. Out of control. Dick wasn't sure he could even imagine it. Even he'd been overwhelmed when decorating his apartment with Barbara. He couldn't imagine how overwhelming this was for someone who had never had the freedom to decorate their own space before.
"Of course." Dick nodded. "Let's head out to the parking lot, then."
Dick and Barbara took the lead, while Bruce walked behind. Stephanie and Cassandra melded into the middle, though Dick mentally noted Cassandra didn't seem happy about it. Approaching his car, he opened the door for Barbara, watching her hoist herself into her seat, pulling her legs inside one after the other.
"I got this, I'll put it in the back," he said, taking the wheelchair and closing her door afterwards. As he went round to the trunk, he noticed Cassandra following him. Well, why not let her? Ever since she'd seen Barbara, she'd been fascinated by her wheelchair.
She stood and watched as Dick took the wheels off, removed the added cushion, placed the frame and wheels into the trunk. He stepped back to let her look at it some more. Cassandra reached out, her fingertips ghosting over the frame of the chair, as if she could understand it more by touching it. She tilted her head, her eyelashes fluttering a little. Her fingertips ran over where the wheels came out of, over the wheel spokes, over the arm guards.
Then she withdrew entirely, climbing into the back seats.