This post is to make it easier to view the creations from previous Cass Cain Weeks!
Fics for Cass week can also be found in the official ao3 collection.
Cass Cain Week 2025:
Day 1: Scars | Flowers
Day 2: Alone | Together
Day 3: Silence | Music
Day 4: Quotes | Comic Panels
Day 5: Death | Rebirth
Day 6: Past | Future
Day 7: Happy Birthday! | Free Day
Cass Cain Week 2026:
Day 1: Daughter | Sister | Friend
Day 2: Blood | Wolves | Ghosts
Day 3: Detective | Civilian Life | Fear Toxin
Day 4: Team-up | Crossover | Costume/Mantle Swap
Day 5: Gotham | Blüdhaven | Hong Kong
Day 6: Food | Love | Home
Day 7: Free Day | Batgirl (2024) | Fairy Tale
This marks the official end of Cass Cain Week 2026! Thank you again to everyone who participated this year. Be sure to check out our Cass Cain Week archive here to see everyone's wonderful creations from this year and last year!
Chapter 4 of my story for @casscainweek 2026!
Story features Cass Cain, Stephanie Brown, and an OC, but THIS chapter has a surprise appearance from Marvel's Daredevil!
AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78390616/chapters/210148926
NOTE: I know I don't leave notes but this is the first chapter I don't include all THREE prompts. This story is pretty much just the crossover prompt! DC vs Marvel baby!
Sometimes, the world doesn’t make sense, despite all the knowledge one has of it. For example, Cassandra might be, technically, a normal human. A mortal with no actual meta powers, magic, alien blood or heritage, and so on, but she was well aware of the existence of immortals, magic, monsters, and the related. She’d fought them, worked beside them, and studied them in depth just in case she’d ever have to face them.
Still, no one can prepare for anything, no matter how hard they try, and some forces of the universe remain as mysterious as ever. Their motives even more so. Maybe it was to help, or perhaps to harm, but Cassandra Cain was no longer in Gotham.
Her eyes snapped open as consciousness returned. She immediately sat up and glanced around, as if expecting threats, but found herself lying on a stone altar in the back of a church. To her right, extended a red carpet with two rows of pews, set up to fit roughly one-hundred people, until it reached a large wooden door that soared twenty feet high. The walls were carved out of stone and marble, decorated with paintings of religious imagery, stained glass windows, and carved columns, and mirrored on each side. The wall to her left, the back end of the church, had a statue of Jesus standing on a pedestal, looming over her with arms outstretched, and a cross on the wall above his head. He looked anything but merciful in the soft candlelight.
Where am I? Cassandra thought, without moving a muscle. She still wasn’t completely sure she was alone, or who had brought her, and any more noise could warn potential company to her wakefulness. The last thing she remembered was pushing Stephanie out of the room, then those horrible words, and then darkness coming to put a merciful end to that tirade.
Her new greatest fear wasn’t herself. It was her best friend not loving her back. That thought returned to make her heart squeeze itself tight- Driving a pain in her chest worse than any weapon or training ever had. Yet there was no time to think about it. Not until she got back home and made sure Stephanie was safe.
Eventually, once her trained ears were sure no one was around, the vigilante sat up and slid her legs off the altar, tentatively standing up and taking care to avoid the candles on the floor surrounding the stone. The way it was set up, she looked like some sort of Catholic sacrifice, but that didn’t make sense. From her few talks about religion and history, she was pretty sure sacrifices were nailed or burned to the cross. This was more akin to an...offering, she decided. But for whom? And from who?
Hm? Her eyes widened, body tensing with alertness. She wasn’t quite sure what had flagged her instincts; The shift of a flame, the other movement of a shadow, maybe just a change in the air. But she wasn’t alone. Something was watching her.
A wish in the air, barely audible, came from her top left, and she flipped backwards to avoid it. A metal baton clanged against the floor, then the wall, and then stopped as if caught.
Oh yeah, something was definitely here. Her eyes scanned the darkness up at the roof, but this was one of her only weaknesses: She couldn’t read what she couldn’t see. It’s why honing her instincts, training until every reaction was muscle memory and instantaneous, fighting like she didn’t have body reading abilities, was important.
“How did you find this place?” The low rumble of an angry man, coming from somewhere in the shadows. After a moment, it spoke from a new direction. “Whoever sent you...it isn’t worth it. Leave.”
Her training told her to move. Hide in the shadows and play cat and mouse. Her instincts told her that wouldn’t work, although she wasn’t sure why. So, instead of acting with her body, she decided to act differently and speak. “I don’t want to fight.”
“...liar.”
What? She thought to herself, frowning. But as soon as the accusation reached her ears, she realized it was true. The way she held herself, what her instincts screamed at her, the beating of her heart- She would have read it as battle-ready.
“No, I-”
Another wish in the air, from two directions. Cassandra sidestepped the first baton, then ducked sharply under the second, and from the darkness came out a man she could only describe as a devil. His foot slammed into her stomach before she could react, sending her back into the stone altar, and the batons had already bounced back to her hands.
This devil was human. Now that she could tell that much. He stood taller than her, with a sleek suit of red armor, a mask with small devil horns, and two eye slits painted red. His lower jaw was exposed, and his chest had two over-imposed D’s painted in black. An acronym? His body language radiated pure anger, like a dog ready to snap at the slightest movement, his jaw tight, his fists gripping the batons even tighter, every muscle poised to charge.
“You have one chance to give up...but I really hope you don’t,” Daredevil said. Cassandra stood back up, pursing her lips together and raising her fists. She knew he wasn’t going to give her a choice. Either from cruelty or due to this uncontrolled pain and anger, he was going to lash out. She didn’t even have to worry about it either.
She could see him. She could read him.
Daredevil smiled. He raised his batons and closed the distances, swinging down in quick, precise, and clearly trained movements. Cassandra stepped into his range, deftly blocking each attack at the forearms and wrists, ensuring the hard metal never touched her form. He seemed surprised when she blocked and spun, two fists connected with his stomach, sending him three painful feet back. This surprise was returned with the stutter in Cass’s heartbeat, as she realized he barely seemed to register the pain.
Great, she was fighting some sort of masochistic juggernaut. Maybe it’d make him sloppy?
That notion quickly left her mind as he threw both batons, charging in while Cassandra was distracted, dodging them. His training was clearly intense, as he seemed just as skilled with the escrima sticks as Nightwing, and as good at martial arts as any of the heroes Cassandra worked with. Maybe even better than some.
But not better than her. Cassandra easily blocked two kicks to her sides, then grabbed his foot after he spun and aimed a boot at her head, pushing him back. She slid in close, punching his side, ducked a counter, and nailed his jaw, side-stepped a grab, and returned three quick blows to his stomach. She refused, however, to deal a quick and decisive blow. She wouldn’t break his bones. She wouldn’t hospitalize this man. Not unless he gave her no choice.
“You’re good,” he grunted, rolling backwards and to his feet after taking another hit, panting from the exertion. “That’s a neat trick.”
Trick? Her eyes widened as the realization struck. Somehow, he’d figured her out. Was that even possible? Had he encountered someone like her before?
Daredevil ran forward, kneeling and sliding underneath a vicious roundhouse from the Batgirl, grabbing his escrima sticks as he did. He spun to a stand, facing her, and flung his wrists to the sides. Each baton flew into the wall and bounced, zipping over the candles with almost impossible precision, extinguishing the majority of the flames. The little light in the room dulled to a small glow. Daredevil himself had used the new darkness to disappear, and a few moments later, what little candles remained were also snuffed out.
No problem, Cassandra thought to herself, fists up as she inhaled, listening intently. We’re just on equal ground, at worst.
Her opponent was stealthy. But she was stealthier, meaning she heard him right before he could strike. She leaned back, barely avoiding a stick, and then instinctively stepped again as another swiped through the air where her head had been. With a skip, she raised her leg to kick- But faster than should’ve been possible, a boot hit her standing leg, knocking her down. She rolled to the right only to hear both sticks slam into the stone ground where she had been a moment ago, and then jumped to her feet, only for a fist to slam against her jaw.
Spots flashed in sight for a moment before another fist slammed against her. She blocked the third and fourth, only to take a fifth when trying to counter. After that, she jumped and flipped backwards, judging that she was a foot from the wall, but an escrima stick bounced off a nearby column and hit her leg, forcing her to one knee.
Too late, some faraway thought reasoned, if she could anticipate any move via sight, this person must be able to do the same in the dark. He was keeping her on the defensive and blind- A weak position for the Batgirl.
A stick hit her across the face, making her head spin and bringing forth the taste of blood. A fist hit her side, and then she tried to counter, coming up with only air. His voice came through the dark, a low and hateful growl.
“You come to my one place of peace,” he said, right next to her ear, tanking her punches almost on purpose, before snapping her head up with an escrima stick. “You disturb me in my suffering.” Another hit of the stick and Cassandra fell again, lifting her hand to grab his wrist and stop the next blow, only for the other stick to slam into her ribs. “All I want is to be alone and at peace!”
Something about those words clicked into Cassandra’s brain. Once upon a time, she thought being completely alone would be peace. She’d felt like a tool of pure violence, and the guilt she suffered obviously still affected her. She remembered how Sol looked at her when she’d nearly killed the werewolf.
This devil sounded just like she did at her worst. It was self-hatred. It was depression, guilt, and desperation. He tanked her hits to feel pain. He fought to maybe, hopefully, never open his eyes again. He wasn’t trying to lose, but maybe he wished it so.
Not so long ago, she could have related.
“Being alone is hurting you,” Cassandra snapped, grabbing one wrist as he struck her, then the other as he tried to free himself. She pulled herself back against the ground, bringing him along. Her feet pushed against his stomach and launched him over and back, into the wall. She might not be able to see. She might not be able to read. But she was the best fighter on the planet. She didn’t need those benefits.
While he grunted, the air knocked out of him, she turned and pounced. The two began to wrestle. He clearly knew wrestling, judo, and other combat styles. But Cassandra knew nearly every martial art. She was flexible, smaller than the man, and it seemed less beaten. Had he been smart, he would’ve taken into account his prior injuries and not challenged her so directly. Now, she could guide herself with touch, and whatever way he had to detect her wouldn’t help.
“You want someone to finish you,” she continued, voice tight as he tried to lock his legs around her, only for the Batgirl to knee a joint, roll to the side, and pull him into an armbar. “You feel like a bad person. You are angry, overwhelmed, and in pain.”
“You don’t know me,” Daredevil growled, gasping as she pulled his arm taut, his free arm grasping at her leg. “Don’t you dare-”
“I don’t think you are a bad man!” She cut in, raising her voice. “Please, let me talk to you!”
She never thought that was how she’d end a fight. With words rather than action. Certainly, she had him pinned and could win now, with a twist she could snap his arm, and from there she could finish him. A part of her wanted to do just that- Follow her training, deal with the threat, and move on. But he was in pain the same way she was, and this time she wanted to help. To live up to the type of hero she was supposed to be, and not the scary vigilante or murderous weapon she’d shown the other night.
Thankfully, Daredevil seemed to pause. Panting tiredly, he loosened himself a bit, tilting his head as if to listen rather than look at her. “Now you want to talk?”
“Since the beginning,” she said, holding back a sound of indignation.
Ten minutes later, and with a very awkward introduction, the two sat down at opposite ends of a pew, right at the front and near the altar. Daredevil had taken the time to re-light the candles and say a small prayer. It was a strange pairing- a nineteen-year-old girl dressed in civilian clothes with a grown man in devilish armor, inside a church with shadows dancing across the face of Jesus Christ.
“So, your powers let you read people,” he said, an attempt to start things off. “But with sight. You somehow know what people will do.”
“And you can do the same with hearing,” Cassandra replied, glancing over at the man. “Is it super hearing? I am perfectly quiet, but you knew I was here.”
“It’s better than non-supers,” he admitted, nodding. “But it isn’t necessarily a superpower. Just something I developed between my blindness and special training.”
“Makes sense. My...sight was trained the same way. But instead of no sight, I had no voice.”
The two fell back into silence for another two minutes, neither quite good at this, especially not after the battle. Cassandra decided to take the lead.
“I know how you feel.” Her voice was calm and soft, considering her words with care. “It might sound weird, because I do not know you, but...the way your body spoke, the way you spoke, and fought-”
“It was all too similar,” he finished with a dry chuckle, leaning back in the pew. “You’re really young. I’m sorry you can relate.”
“I’m sorry you’re still in so much pain.”
More silence, this time with a tinge of comfort. Daredevil continued. “This isn’t my usual church. It’s...a home away from home. Abandoned, fixed up so I can come and wallow in my sins. How did you end up here?”
“I’m not sure. I was caught in a trap and blacked out. When I woke up, I was here.” Cassandra looked up, voice slightly louder. “Is this Elizabeth? New Jers-”
“Hell’s Kitchen, New York.”
Not an impossible distance to cross, but who had brought her here?
“Are you from Elizabeth?” Daredevil asked.
“No, Gotham.”
“Gotham? Where is that?”
Well, that opened up an entirely new can of worms. The man’s head tilted again, registering the change in Cassandra’s heartbeat, and he sighed, continuing without being prompted. “Not here, I take it. But somehow you’re safe, away from your trap, and here with me.”
“Why?” The girl’s voice is quiet again. Confused.
“Divine intervention, maybe,” he whispered, looking up to the statue of Jesus, guiding the Batgirl’s attention there. She wasn’t religious, but she knew divine intervention could happen. It would explain her instinctual confusion, as if even the air here were different, and her body could tell. “I needed someone to keep me from breaking tonight. What did you need?”
“I...I’m not sure,” she admitted. “A lot of things have happened lately, with people I care about. I...struggle. With people. Emotions. How they work. What I want.”
“Maybe we can talk about it.” An offer was being given to her with no small sense of relief. He wanted to do this; they both needed it, and despite being strangers, there was a sense of kinship.
“Okay.”
And so they did. For what felt like hours, they traded stories, doubts, and feelings. Daredevil turned out to be surprisingly good at this sort of thing, gently dissecting her concerns and confusions, asking questions in a way that didn’t feel intrusive or embarrassing. Likewise, Cassandra understood his pain and tried to guide him to a path that could help him step away from it and ease the burden of guilt. Not to reassure a man she did not know, but to explain how she (mostly) surpassed her guilt, and guide him to ways he could work on that as well. It wasn’t perfect, and both had the feeling it could not last, but it was nice. Until, finally, Cassandra yawned.
“...I think it’s time I go,” Daredevil said, his voice soft.
“But I don’t know…” Another yawn, the strangely tired drooping of her eyes, like something was pulling her under. “...how to get home yet.”
“It’s alright. I think...all it’ll take is some faith.”
Daredevil had closed the distance without her noticing, which should have been odd enough to set off alarm bells, but she just slumped against him as he picked her up in his arms. The man gently walked over to the altar, setting her down.
“If you ever find yourself back in my Hell’s Kitchen, come find me. I promise,” he chuckled, sounding only slightly guilty. “I won’t attack you again.”
“I’m glad we talked,” Cassandra mumbled, eyes hardly opened. “Daredevil.”
“Matthew,” he supplied, squeezing her shoulder. She wanted to reply, to give her own name in return, but the darkness was squeezing in around her.
Chapter 3 of my story for @casscainweek 2026!
Features Cassandra, with Stephanie as a costar, and an OC as a side character!
AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78390616/chapters/208892586#workskin
“I don’t like this.”
“You can sit it out until dark. I’ll just go in alone-”
“No.”
The werewolf attack from two nights ago had left questions unanswered. At the top of the lists for the two Batgirls was the issue of Sol. She had handled herself too well for a first real mission. Not simply pushing through the pain to heal others with her powers drained, but showing real skill. Her accuracy with the batarangs, how fearlessly she faced off Cassandra, and then the ambush outside.
She fought like she’d trained her whole life for it. That’s what Oracle had said when she’d shown Steph and Cass the videos from street cameras and bystanders she’d spliced together. They watched the moment her voice had been cut off, leaving them both worried sick, and the actions that followed. Civilians bitten by Lupus had begun to turn, almost at the same time, and one had surprised Sol. As she wrestled it on the ground, taking claw and tooth, her earpiece was damaged. Then she kicked it off and threw an explosive batarang, forcing it back. When she stood, four baby werewolves faced her.
It should have been game over. Yet, Sol stood up with pulsing green eyes and pulled out more batarangs. Without a single kill, she spent the entire time the Batgirls were inside fighting on her own. Slowly, but surely, she would wrestle or grab a wolf, eyes flashing as she tried to heal them, and they would actually collapse and turn human. From what Cassandra could see, she had used Judo, Capoeira, Aikido, and more.
Not something a civilian girl from Gotham University should just know. Not a fight she should have won.
“I hope we figure something out,” Stephanie said, her voice unusually soft and insecure. She spoke to fill the anxious silence, more than anything else, and brought Cassandra to an even more pressing thought: Herself.
She had been ready to kill for Stephanie, and would never know if she’d actually have done it, thanks to Sol. But regardless of the sin, the anger had been there, the want. All for her best friend. It brought back that comment from a week ago, and the question that prompted it.
I love you.
What are they to you?
Her brown eyes looked up to Steph, blonde hair flowing freely over her shoulders, blue eyes shadowed with concern, skin fair, smooth, and perfect. She was only wearing blue jeans, sneakers, and a purple (of course) hoodie, yet to Cassandra she was the warmth on this chilled day.
I love you. There it was, again, that invasive thought. So often had those words returned, the vigilante wasn’t quite sure what to make of them. Now, here they were. Together. Walking, talking, and pretending to just hang out as civilians. Even if this was really an investigation, when had this last happened? Just the two of them?
“It will be okay,” Cassandra said, taking her friend's hand. The blonde snapped her eyes over, glancing over at Cass, who had opted for leggings, sneakers as well, and a yellow and black Gotham Knights varsity jacket Dick had given her. Her short black hair was loose, tickling her ears each time a gust of wind pushed by them.
“I’m her best friend,” Stephanie said quietly, squeezing Cass’s hand as she walked and talked. “I have more people in my life. But Sol? That was it, for the longest time, it was me. And I...didn’t do that justice. I should have seen something. I should have known. I could have brought her in sooner. Investigated.”
“No,” Cass said again, simple but firm. “Not your fault.”
“A meta human, with complete amnesia about the first sixteen years of her life, with training.” Stephanie scoffed, stepping closer to Cassandra but not meeting her eyes. “I should have noticed something.”
The quiet one recognized this: One of those annoying things ‘normal’ people did, when they tried to act angry or solitary, but really wanted reassurance, or help. The way she did not look at her and blamed herself, mixed with the sudden closeness and the tightness of their hand.
“That’s why we are doing this,” Cassandra said softly, shifting her arm to go around Stephanie’s waist in a protective manner. “To find out the truth and help her. Your friend. To figure it out.”
“There’s a lot for us to figure out, huh?”
At those words, soft and sweet, from Stephanie reached Cassandra’s ears, and those blue eyes looked deep into her brown ones, the girl meant to be a weapon felt something new: A blush. No, not the pink cheeks she’d gotten for Superboy once upon a time, but a full-on overheating of the body. Red bloomed from her ears and cheeks, crawling down her neck, until it reached the racing heartbeat in her chest.
I love you.
And then the two arrived, the moment interrupted by duty.
Before them stood the Elizabeth Home of Psychiatric Wellness. Located in Elizabeth, New Jersey, it’s the only place anyone could track Sol, too, and only those she had decided to share the information with, as there was no mention of her on paper or online. The building itself looked colonial, made of large dark stones that went up four stories, and pointed spires that shot up past the rooftop on all four corners. A rusting but once beautiful wrought iron fence protected the property, with spikes at the top, and a closed gate with a security guard impeded their progress.
“How can I help you two young ladies?” He asked, barely looking up. “Visiting someone?”
“Actually, looking for information on a former patient. She’s a friend,” Stephanie said, truthfully and cheerfully, that innate charm seeping outwards to the lame guard. She tugged Cassandra forward, nodding, and the silent one pulled out a small photo of Sol- A rare case of her smiling, her eyes still brown, from a Polaroid Steph had taken long ago. She looked tired and annoyed, but it was her.
“Go on in.”
“That was easy,” Cassandra whispered as the two walked through the gate, still holding Stephanie’s waist.
“A lot of these places aren’t very serious,” the blonde whispered back, as the two walked through a massive mahogany door into your typical clinic: Sterile, white hallways, flickering LED lights, and people dressed in scrubs. “Sol only remembers the last three months of her stay: Waking up to be discharged. The stuff she told me...wasn’t pretty.”
“What did she tell you?”
“That if this one lady, Lupita, hadn’t been here, she might have woken up in a worse state.” Stephanie frowned, the thought clicking. “If we find her first, we can probably get some information. Sol said she was supposed to be a personal caretaker. Feedings, cleanings, so on. This lady was there when Sol woke up.”
“I think we found her.”
The two had been walking deeper into the building, down a hallway, when Cassandra heard a jostle and looked into the open door next to her. Inside was a patient's room- a simple wooden floor, a small bed, black curtains parted so sunlight could pour in through a barred window. Caught mid-look was a woman slightly shorter than both heroines, with black hair, scrubs, scrawled on eyebrows and lips with too much red lipstick. A hand went up to her chest, but Cassandra caught it: A name tag that said ‘Lupita.’
“Are you Lupita?” Stephanie immediately asked, stepping in front of Cassandra, whom she knew to be too intimidating, even now. “We’re here to ask about an old patient. Um, Sol?”
“I sorry,” she replied, glancing between the two of them nervously. “I don’ know. No English.”
“Nosotras,” Stephanie repeats, slowly, her words awkward but clear. “Queremos preguntar sobre Sol.” When Cassandra gave her a puzzled look, she simply smiled and shrugged. “One of my best friends speaks Spanish, and it’s useful to know.”
“Supongo que no puedo pretender”, Lupita sighed.
Cassandra didn’t understand her, but the confusion on Stephanie’s face mixed with Lupita’s now serious expression, and the way her left hand shifted behind her, was enough to make her spring into action. Without thinking, Cassandra pushed Stephanie out of the room and kicked Lupita square in the stomach.
Click!
She fell and revealed the small device that made that sound. The door automatically slammed, and the vigilante turned around, seeing her friend running up just one second too late.
“Cass! Cass!” Stephanie yelled, pulling on the handle and then pounding on the glass. Nothing.
“Who are you?” Cassandra snapped, spinning back around and planting her foot on Lupita’s chest, heart racing. Already, her head was getting dizzy. A trap, clear as day, for anyone who might investigate Sol. “Who hired you?”
“Ay, mija,” Lupita sighed, smiling pitifully. “Neither of us will be alive for it to matter.”
Uh oh, Cassandra thought, as one knee suddenly gave out. She touched the pulse point on her throat, confirming her heart was skyrocketing, and felt her brow for sweat. Then her vision began to swim and morph.
“Fear Toxin,” Cassandra croaked. Then she turned to the door, louder. “Fear Toxin!”
But Stephanie, the door, and the room were already gone. Instead, everything had been absorbed by darkness. Not the comfortable kind, not the ally she was used to, but a goopy and thick kind that seemed to drown her, allowing no quick movement or easy escape.
I can handle this, she thought to herself, trying to control her breathing. I’ve trained for this. They’d all prepared for this eventuality, whether they’d been unlucky enough to experience fear toxin or not. It would show her her greatest fear. Herself. She knew that. All she had to do-
“Love?”
The room was suddenly solid again. She was standing. A light shone from a doorway with a back-lit figure, but Cassandra would recognize that voice and that silhouette anywhere.
“Stephanie,” she said softly, lifting a hand between them, as if unsure whether to ward her off or pull her close. The toxin was clouding her mind; she knew it, but that didn’t make it any easier to remember what was real. Besides, why was Steph here? Cassandra knew her biggest fear.
“Spoiler alert,” Stephanie said with a too-wide grin. “I don’t love you.”
Oh no. Not that word. Not that thought. She wasn’t ready for-.
“First, you were jealous of Tim,” Stephanie cooed, stepping closer, forcing Cassandra to step back. “Boy Wonder and I had it good for so long. We were so close. Who knows, if it wasn’t for Bruce, maybe we would’ve stayed together. I still have feelings for him.”
Each word felt like a cut on Cassandra’s skin. She shook her head, retreating another step, heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her skull.
“No. We’ve talked about that. I know the truth,” she said, swallowing hard and looking away, reassuring herself. There was a way out of this. She just had to use calm logic, and-
“What’s pretty fucked up,” the fear-toxin Steph spoke on. “Is being jealous of my child. The one I never got to know. The first thing you said was you’d never had a kiss. You couldn’t even look at me.”
“That wasn’t because-”
“-because you saw me badly, no.” Stephanie pressed a hand to Cassandra’s heart, as if feeling the frantic beat herself. She leaned in, whispering in her ear. “You were just jealous I was with someone else. Cared more about that than my pain, than my child, than me.”
“Stephanie, please-”
“There’s also Sol,” the blonde continued, the sound of each slow step punctuated in Cassandra’s mind, making her panic intensify. “We are best friends. The only real person in my day life, in college, a normal person with normal problems. I know you see the way I look at her.”
“Stop it-”
“You can’t even be too mad at it, can you?” Stephanie chuckled, sighing and running a hand through her hair. “While you got all jealous and knocked her while she was down, Sol stayed strong. She did good. You admire that. You like who she is. So, she’s gotta be good for me, right?”
“I’m begging you-!”
“Sol would treat me right. She’d always worry about me. Always say the right thing, ask the right question, and get me what I need. She’s the opposite of you, a weapon with no emotion.”
“I said stop!” Cassandra yelled, grabbing her friend by the throat and wrist, spinning and pinning her hard into the wall instead, panting harshly. “I am not afraid of you! Of this! I- I don’t- We are-”
“I’m only around you because I have no choice,” Stephanie choked, grasping at her throat. She grins again, tears welling in her eyes. “You’re a monster. How could I love you?”
Cassandra screams. At the words, at the pain she’s putting Stephanie through, at the irrational fear coursing through her heart. She was ready for herself, ready for her murderous side, ready for the past that had been so unfairly given to her. Not this. She couldn’t beat or wake up from this, and in the back, some small part of her mind reminded her she was still potentially awake somewhere, hurting someone in her panic.
So if she couldn’t beat it, she could only avoid it.
Cassandra turned and ran out of the door, into the light, and didn’t stop. Not as it grew stronger. Not as everything around her disappeared. She ran, and ran, and ran until everything finally went dark.
Until all she was aware of were the tears streaming down her face.
I’ve gotten some asks about people interested in the Cass Cain cross stitch pattern I posted about for @casscainweek, so um here it is!
Cass Cain (Orphan).pdf
I know some people sell their patterns, and that rules, but I don’t want to worry about that. Maybe in 5 years when I’ve made more patterns I’ll make an etsy or smth, but uhh that’s too much work for one pattern. Also I want to see other people make Cassie
Feel free to make adjustments (I’ve got a .fcjson file for easier editing, if anyone wants it). If you make her and post her, pls tag me for credit and because I Wanna See.
A few notes on the pattern itself:
1) the pattern includes a gradient for her face, so there are a total of three floss colors. At least for the dye lots I got, there is next to no difference between two of the colors, and if that remains true, feel free to nix that gradient
2) I used 2 strand thickness for backstitching, but it could be interesting to bring that down to 1 for the gray in the hair. Dealer’s choice!
3) There’s a blend of a black and red to do some of the darker blood on her costume. V cool, first time I’ve blended! When making the pattern, I chose a red not elsewhere in the pattern when in retrospect I think one would prolly work fine. So if minimizing colors is your thing, there you go
The joy of not having an etsy is I don’t have to optimize, I can make it y’all’s problem <3 Have fun stitching!
Sir Cassandra Cain of the Order of Robins, the Eyes of the Bat, next in line for the mantle of the Dark Knight, the cursed (emancipated) child of David Cain.
(Late) day 7 of Cass Cain week- Fairytale
Lore and alternate colors beneath the cut
Going off of the idea that each of the ‘robins’ have their own reasons to, at the very least, distrust magic, Cass was raised by David Cain as an experiment to give someone magic who was not born with it, which ended up cursing her instead. She was granted Sight, to see spirits and lies and people, and trained to manipulate and kill, which she has only done once. Witnessing a soul leave their body to haunt you, and I cannot stress this enough, sucks.
Before her deployment to keep an eye on the Amazons, she had gone on a quest to break her curse, which she only did partially, (granting her the ability to speak when before she was physically unable to utter a word). She prefers to stay away from violent conflict, from places dense with lingering dead. But she can’t avoid it forever, she can’t stay idle for very long, knowing she could be fighting to save people.
Anyway, I stole the background from one of my own previous drawings in the same universe but I did fuck with the colors a little. Most of her design is just based on her appearances in the comic, with added color and a couple inches of hair. Her cloaks clasp is a mix of the El shield and the bat symbol, inspired by the Mora superbat fusion which I feel like would be a thing between the El’s reign and Bruce’s acceptance of the throne as his birthright. Kind of a transitional period.
Honestly I would love to write about her if anyone is interested lol.
Thank you for celebrating Cass Cain Week with us this year! It was great to see people returning from last year and new people joining in for the first time.
If you didn't get something posted in time, late submissions will be open until the end of February.
Thanks you so much for hosting this! The themes were awesome and people's pieces just as much. I had sm fun writing too, really helped me get back into writing.
Kudos to you for reposting literally every one of our posts !
We’re glad you had a good time and were happy to have you participate! This blog is here to showcase all the great stuff people made for this event so our goal was definitely to make sure we reblogged everything.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
@casscainweek 2026 Day 7: Free Day | Batgirl (2024) | Fairy Tale
Summary:
Cass’s first word is “stop.” She says it as she faces her father, tears streaming from her eyes. It rattles violently in her throat. Rips itself from her lips. Shakes the world itself. Stop. Stop. Stop.
Or: Cass fights for control over her own life.
Characters: Cassandra Cain, David Cain, Tim Drake, Slade Wilson
Warnings: Child abuse (from David Cain), non-consensual drug use, mind control-ish drugs, brief mention of Shiva and Cass being suicidal
Can be read on AO3 or below the cut!
Cass’s first word is “stop.” She says it as she faces her father, tears streaming from her eyes. It rattles violently in her throat. Rips itself from her lips. Shakes the world itself. Stop. Stop. Stop.
Cain stops. Freezes, lets his gun fall to the floor.
One word. That’s all it takes, and Cain stops.
That was always how Cass learned—her father hurt her until she made him stop. Cain’s hand encircling her wrist in a bruising grip, his bullets tearing through her flesh. The pain wouldn’t end until she won. And Cain wouldn’t stop until Cass forced him. But now, Cass says, “stop,” and he stops.
Tears drip down Cain’s cheeks. He reaches out, cupping Cass’s face with one hand. She leans into his soft touch, despite knowing how quickly it could turn hard and painful. Cain speaks, words spilling out of his mouth. Cass doesn’t understand.
And then the man with the flowing coat kicks the door open. The target. Cain’s head turns, his eyes falling on the target and narrowing. He is hunting, and his prey is here. So, when her father picks up his gun, Cass knows what she must do.
“Stop,” she says as she tackles him, as they crash through the window, as they fall from the Clocktower. This time, the word doesn’t do anything that her body isn’t already doing, but she says it anyway. She savors the feeling of the word in her mouth. The whistle of air. The tap of her tongue against her teeth. The vibration in the middle of the word. The pop of her lips at the very end. Stop. Stop. Stop.
And for a single moment as they fall, Cass feels as free as a bird.
***
Cass learns other words. At first, it’s excruciatingly slow. Each word is a concept and a series of sounds and a set of tricky shapes she has to form with her mouth, lips, teeth, and tongue—not to mention directing the air through her mouth, and the fact that half the time no sound comes out when she tries to say a word.
And then, she’s caught in a cyclone of words, spinning her around, throwing her every which way. Stop, she thinks as the words rush through her head. Stop, stop, stopstopstopstopstop!
She collapses to her knees, thoughts crashing against one another painfully, edges sharp with jagged words.
There’s someone standing over her. He needs help. Cass needs to get herself together. So, she does. Stop, she thinks, and she grabs ahold of all the words and forces them apart.
“Are you alright?” the telepath asks.
I’m fine, Cass thinks. The words startle her. It sounds like her voice, but it’s not hers, because she didn’t move her mouth at all, didn’t feel the words leave her. Who said that?
The words push at her, like she’s standing in the middle of a crowd. Far too often, one knocks into Cass, jostling her. And in the meantime, they just mill around, bumping into one another and causing confusion. But—
She thinks about telling her father to stop. How his gun fell to the ground. How he stopped because she said so. What else can she do, with these words running through her head?
And so, she thanks the telepath. Thanks him, until she tries to fight. Thanks him, until the words get in the way and the bodies around her turn silent. Thanks him, until she realizes the cost.
Stop, Cass tells the words, but they don’t stop. They’ll never stop.
Cass learns to live with them.
***
Cass has grown in skill since she was a small child with bloody hands. No one can control her, can hold her down, can force her to be somewhere or someone she doesn’t want to be. She realizes that, after she beats Shiva. When she goes to visit her father in his cell and doesn’t like what he’s saying, she can make him stop or just leave. If someone grabs her or shoots at her in the field, Cass can just break their wrist or kick the gun from their hands. And when she goes searching for Shiva for a second time and Verraco puts his hand on her, she snaps his pinky finger, grips his tusk, and throws him over her shoulder.
Shiva needs things to stop. Cass understands that. Shiva can’t make it all stop. Cass understands that too.
So Cass stops her. It hurts, like someone cut her heart in two. But Cass stops her.
And then, Cass goes back to Gotham. She joins Alfred at Wayne Manor, takes classes, learns more about speaking and reading and writing. And she feels…safe, almost. If anyone tries to hurt Cass, she can make them stop.
Until Deathstroke’s dart takes her by surprise.
There’s no fight, fair or otherwise, only a drug that slips into her system, spreads through her veins, and claws at her mind. And just like that, Cass is gone.
Sometimes, when the drug’s influence is wearing thin, Cass brushes against something approaching lucidity. Her mind is still fuzzy, still filled with feelings and words and desires that aren’t her own, but sobering fear cuts through all of that, cold and clear. Something is wrong. Cass tells herself to stop, as her blade slices through yet another body, as her hands snap yet another neck. Stop. Stop. Stop.
When Slade tells her it’s time for her next dose of the serum, Cass wants to say no. She wants to say stop. But she can’t. Her body screams for more of the drug, and her mind is too mired in its influence to be any help.
I want to stop, she thinks, tilting her neck as Slade injects her with the serum. Stop. Stop. Sto—
And then, she slips away again.
And again. And again. And again, until Tim gives her the antidote. Confused, thoughts spiraling, Cass ends up right back where she began. Her father holds her and tells her he had no idea what Deathstroke did, that he never would have gone along with Slade drugging her. He’s on her side. He loves her.
Something is wrong. Cass knows that. She’s supposed to stop this, supposed to be able to stop this. But she doesn’t, until she learns that Cain loves another daughter too.
Cass spirals. She doesn’t want to stop anymore. She wants to stop him. So, she kills him, kills and kills and kills until—
When Cass finally wakes up from her drug-induced haze, she remembers everything. Every time she killed, everyone she hurt, everything she ruined. And it hurts. It hurts so much.
Cass wants the pain to stop. The only way to do that is to make her father go away.
She goes after him. She makes him stop. And he lives. Cain lives, but it’s still over. Cass makes it stop.
***
“Stop.” That’s all it takes, and Tim rolls away, leaving Cass lying on the Batcave’s training mats. The point of the exercise is to practice escaping from pins, but all it takes is two taps or a “stop” and it’s over. It’s so different from what Cass used to know as training. Cain hurt her until she made him stop. Training with her new family rarely hurts—only by accident, or the almost-pleasant hurt of tired muscles—and it always stops when Cass wants.
“You okay?” Tim asks.
Cass smiles. “Just…checking.”
She says it sometimes, just to remind herself that she still can. To feel the word rattle in her mouth. To watch as people listen.
“You ready to go again?” Tim asks.
“Stop,” Cass says again, rolling the word around in her mouth, feeling every letter. “Stop.” She can hear her own voice, clear as day. “Okay,” she says. “I’m ready.”
