I like to imagine the absolute fear on the batsiblings faces when Damian uses slang for the first time instead of talking like someone who swallowed all of Shakespeares plays. Seemed funny to me I figured you could do something with it too
@insomniac-lifestyle
*sobs* no. No, no, no, no. rejected. I refuse to answer this ask, I’m too busy breaking down at the pure idea. No gen Z/alpha slang for Damian. Or any of them. I won’t allow it
each and every time Cass has lost her life, one way or another.
content— Cassandra Cain short character study.
word count — 1.8k
there's more to the world than bullet wounds and constellations. Cass only comes to learn this after leaving them behind—not by choice, because she's not allowed to have choices. not when she was born out of greed, out of a thirst for power, a morbid curiosity that she sometimes doesn't want to stop to think about for too long. a business decision, a tool, an idea and a goal in someone's head—in her father's head. a daughter, dressed in assassin gear and frilly dresses, with blood on her hands before she even knew humans could bleed.
her whole world crumbled the moment Faizul's body hit the floor. her life upturned, her beliefs mistaken, her understandings wrong. she felt her feet sway when she tried stepping back into David's arms, into the comfort of the father she loved and the father that loved her. the ground disappeared beneath her, and where before she could stand firmly, she now began tripping on air.
it wasn't a choice; it was a reaction, an instinct, a truth she couldn't cheat. she knew it deep in her gut when the blood started pooling on the tiles. something that felt wrong, something that scared her, something that was missing. the world suddenly became cruel and unfair. she bolted and abandoned everything she knew and had—though maybe she didn't have anything at all. not words, nor books, nor toys.
but she did have a life, however, and she lost it.
(she doesn't discover the word for that sinking feeling in her stomach until years later. she discovers far too many words, in fact, and it leaves her paralyzed.)
she starts finding pieces of a different life that could've been hers as she wanders around the new world—the real world, where smiles aren't earned but gifted, where words are shared and bodies don't scream. she dares to naively wonder if she could have ever been born out of passion. she was once a baby, too—even if she finds it hard to believe it—with nothing but admiration in her eyes, that desire to put a smile on her father's face. bright and innocent despite having sinned, dead and doomed before being born.
she watches children tossing a ball back and forth, a father paying for an ice cream cone, a high-schooler helping an old lady cross the street. only briefly, she considers how many of those children in the swings could best her. their movements say it all, practically spelling the answer out for her.
none of them have ever bled past a scrape on their knees.
two for flinching without guns. she'd never even thought about it. hopscotch, tag, hide and seek. kids breeze past her, younger and older than her, chasing one another with bright grins and carefree cackles. they're having fun, she realizes, the ones crouching by a bush to poke at roly-polies and the ones huddled in the shade reading a book.
she tries her hand at it. ten squares drawn on the ground with symbols she thinks she recognizes, but she can't seem to make sense of. she's never needed them. maybe she never will. she picks up a small pebble and tosses it on the floor, the same way she watched everybody else do. it rolls and lands just outside of a box.
admittedly, she doesn't know the rules of this game. she thinks she's lost. her eyes flicker around the park, bracing for the incoming bullet, hoping someone will explain how to win at hopscotch.
a ball rolls in front of Cass' feet. there's a voice that calls out, but the sounds are foreign, and it's not until she notices a kid waving their arms to get her attention that she realizes the call is for her. she can't make out the words—the noises—but her eyes easily catch how their gaze flickers down to the ball. it's easy to read those movements; the stance, the gestures, the anticipation. she grabs the ball off the floor and tosses it back at them. the kid smiles and makes a move to turn away.
they don't, however. they stop. their feet stutter. Cass sees it on their face, the moment they get an idea. then they're talking again, calling out to her with gestures and hand signs. she can't make sense of what they're saying at all, the sounds mixing with their waving arms, loud and louder.
it's overwhelming—a cryptic language everybody but her seems to speak. she's sprinting away from the playing children before her mind can catch up to her. she gets lost in the crowd of people bustling about, bumping shoulders without the words to apologize. she swears she doesn’t mean to hurt anybody.
by the time the sun is fully set, her legs are tired. no amount of rigorous training could have prepared her to carry the guilt hanging off her limbs like shackles. she manages to find refuge in the alleyways where the light doesn’t reach, where the echoes of her shame dance so nobody else can see.
it’s in the morning, when the sun seems to be asking what she will be doing today, that she tries to fight that nudge in her heart. it doesn’t matter if her skin is stained with blood, she starts by helping an old gentleman cross the street. he smiles at her, nods his head, and her chest feels tight. it leaves her frozen by the sidewalk, unblinking, holding a shaky hand over her racing heart.
the feeling settles in her gut, heavy and hollow. the man disappears into the crowd as she watches—until she can’t, until her eyes burn and her vision blurs, until she can’t see anything anymore. it’s not tears, because she was never taught how to cry. it’s a disparity in her skillset; she finds today she’s made of blood, flesh, and uncertainty.
she is alone. there is no one to blame.
words are the basis of miscommunication. Cass has found people lie through their teeth, change their tone to fit a different meaning, and, most of all, confidently speak unconfident truths.
“remember, on those streets, you are me,” Batman tells her.
she believes him.
there is purpose in wielding the weapon she’s been made into. there is purpose in wearing the cowl. there is purpose in having a name, being called by it, responding to it. Batman gives her a mission, Oracle gives her an identity, and she finds herself in the sacrifice of her life. she knows it—she is not worth more than anybody else. if only she could die saving somebody else, then she can finally be like all the heroes she wistfully surrounds herself with.
nobody dies tonight, or tomorrow night, or ever again. she’s not nobody, however, she is worse.
as much as Batman gives, he also takes. the mission is his, after all. he rips Batgirl from her hands. her loyalties lie with the symbol she’s chosen to dedicate herself to. the goodness, the perfection—all she has she owes to the bat she wears on her chest. how is she meant to be happy if she doesn’t have where to live her life?
perhaps she simply isn’t meant to be happy at all.
it’s a rotund no screaming in her face. she’s forbidden from action, because she’s irresponsible, because she’s jeopardizing the mission. that is what Batman says, at least. all she hears is that she’s putting her own purpose in danger. she can’t speak on identity, she realizes, not when she kills herself in her search for absolution.
it all spills over from the bottom of her bleeding heart when Oracle holds her. the remorse from her childhood digs her grave and fills it up with the same uncertainty that haunts her. her ambitions rattle in her brain, her words rot.
she’s not her father, she has come to learn, so she is not bad like David. she’s also not Batman, though, so she is not good, either.
it’s quiet in the apartment. it’s empty; Cass is only here for water and a snack. although she’s used to living on her own, she’s been having a hard time spending time alone these days.
if before her world had crumbled, now the ruins are turning on their head. perhaps this is what killers deserve.
once out of the shower, she lingers. it’s too quiet in the apartment. she doesn’t particularly enjoy having a moment to breathe and ponder. Batman has kicked everybody out of Gotham, Oracle has left to expand the Birds’ reach over the country, Stephanie has—been killed?—died. Cass is now alone.
she sits down with the same book she’s been trying to get through for the past week. she’s still stuck on the same first page. the words only seem to become more complicated the harder she tries. she’s never felt this weak before. it might be hopeless—if Oracle couldn’t teach her, then who can?
Cass doesn’t know how to fix things, let alone herself.
she misses Stephanie at times like these more than anything. where Cass would kill, Stephanie could revive. how could anyone expect her to not believe in magic?
it’s quiet in the apartment until Cass hears the window slide open. she’s only managed to make out a single sentence. before Robin can see her, she sneaks out the door and heads back out. it’s hard to talk to him sometimes. she makes sure to leave enough of her presence to let him know she stopped by.
David Cain’s love is present and heavy. he is a blade in her ribs that she can’t destroy. he’s made sure she knows he is and will always be her father. for her part, Sandra Wu-San’s love is weightless and foreign. she’s riddled in secrets and teachings that never come in the shape of a mother.
every time she dies, she feels her cape and cowl rotting on her back.
Cassandra Cain doesn’t lose. this does not mean she wins, however.
she carves herself a place, builds herself a family, fights herself until the world lets her have peace she can keep. little by little, it almost feels earned. that is, until Batman dies and takes her whole life with that disintegrating symbol.
it crushes her more this time than ever before. she leaves this time. this is the life she is always meant to lose—lose her family and her friends, lose herself time and time again. she’s done bad things, but that doesn’t mean she’s bad. it’s getting harder and harder to still believe that. (she tries to.)
she does tries to.
she keeps coming back, trying again. she will continue trying again and again, no matter how many times she loses. the ground always crumbles, the ruins are always slippery, one false step will land her back in that empty grave she keeps crawling out of against all odds.
life can be so cruel, she wants to tear it out of her chest and die.
life can be so cruel, she wants to hold tight onto it and never let it slip through her fingers again.
hi i just want to sit next to my online friends i miss u guys so much even though i've never met most of you you're so nice to me and you're all awesome and i like you all and if you think this post isn't about you you're wrong because it is
