fic: if it's crowded, all the better
So rarewomen happened, and this is what I wrote! It is also here, if you like the AO3 better.
Title: if it's crowded, all the better
Fandom: DCU - Batman
Characters: Cass, Steph, Damian
Word Count: 1,428
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own Bat-anything.
Warnings: None
Summary: In which Black Bat and Batgirl save the day. Err, night.
A/N: For somehowunbroken, who wanted Cass and Steph saving batboys. Thank you to ityellsback for being the best idea bouncer/cheerleader. Title from LCD Soundsystem, "All My Friends."
“Which way?” Cassandra asks, her whisper echoing faintly down the ducts.
“Left. Crap, I mean, my left. Lemme just-” Stephanie’s voice is tinny in her ear. “Okay, right.”
“It is right? Or I go right?” Cass hisses back.
“Uh, both, actually,” Stephanie says. “Ha, sorry, that was confusing.”
Cass inches forward, holding her breath as she slinks around the corner. “Next time…I’ll keep the map…and you can…crawl through tiny spaces. Oh, wait…can’t.”
“Thank you for that. You are the most hilarious of all,” Stephanie answers. “Not everyone can be a contortion-ow!”
“What?”
“Oh, don’t mind me, I’m just electrocuting myself here. Funnily enough, giving you directions and taking apart a circuit breaker are not actually compatible activities! Who knew?”
“Maybe if you talked less…would have less trouble,” Cass teases, eyeing the stripe of light several feet ahead of her. “How close?”
“Do you see a vent? That should be the one,” Stephanie says. “When you get there, just wait for-ow! Again? Seriously?”
Cass does not laugh, because the noise would carry and it is a reflex she can suppress. But she smiles to herself, just a little, as she slips through the dark. She can hear the soft crackle of static as her hair is drawn to the top of the duct, and the brush of her cape against the metal walls. She hears Stephanie, tone flattened by the radio, swearing violently at her own work. And, more distantly, she hears voices in the warehouse below. One, two…four voices. Angry, or maybe afraid.
And Damian, high and hoarse and furious. It’s hard to make out the words, but the inflections are familiar and she can guess at his threats. If you expect mercy, she knows. Within an inch of your life, she expects. When they come for me, makes her smile. Good. He’s learning.
The light grows brighter as she approaches the vent. When she can touch her chin to the edge and peer down through the slats, she taps her mic and whispers, “Here.”
“Eeeow! Oh, for the love of-” There is the noise of Stephanie dropping something, and then a rustling. “Didn’t O ever tell you not to make feedback like that?”
“Just making sure…you would hear,” Cass says, barely mouthing the words. “Are the lights ready?”
“Almost. Whatcha see down there? How’s the goon squad look?”
Cass leans forward to peek through the vent. Four people: sitting, standing guard, moving boxes. She can tell the leader by the way she carries herself-tall and sharp, shoulders straight. She moves with strength but not stability, and Cassandra can see just where her weaknesses will be. The others will not be difficult-this one has a bad knee, that one’s movements are unconsidered. This one is simply scared, flinching whenever Damian yells.
“Well?” Stephanie sounds impatient, and also like she is doing too many things at once.
“No,” Cass breathes. “Not too many. Nothing special.”
“Good. And our favorite little badger?”
“…Badger?”
“Yeah, your brother? The really annoying one we dragged our butts here to save?”
Cass bites back a laugh, continues scanning the floor below. Damian’s voice isn’t far away, but there are too many boxes obscuring her view, and the angle from here is all wrong. “Is there…but I can’t see him. Sounds all right. Angry.”
Stephanie snorts. “Yeah, that’s our Robin.” There is a slightly metallic sound over the line, and then she says, too loud, “Ha, yes! Take that, electricity! All that with just a light timer and duct tape. I bet you haven’t been pwned so hard since Tesla!”
“Talk too much, BG,” Cass says. “No stealth.”
“Oh, yes, there is so much stealth to be stealthed down here in this totally empty basement,” Stephanie says. “In a warehouse, in the dead of night. If I dare to raise my voice above the tiniest whisper, one of these extremely menacing dust bunnies will definitely raise the alarm.”
Cass sighs. “Lights are ready?”
“Yeah, the lights are ready. Whenever you are,” Stephanie says, sounding disappointed. “Man, you could sound a little more excited about it. I only learned how to do this last week.”
“Am excited,” Cass agrees. “More fun in the dark.”
“Now that’s more like it,” Stephanie says. “Just say when.”
Cass waits until no one is standing below the vent, then crawls over it carefully. The slats feel sharp even through the wraps on her hands and the thick material of her suit. When she reaches the other side, she rolls onto her back and squares her boots against the frame.
“Ready,” she says.
“Awesome. You’ve got five minutes,” Stephanie answers.
“Won’t need them.”
Stephanie laughs in her ear. There is a loud sparking, and the high flaring noise of an electrical short. Then all the lights cut out at once.
Cass kicks the vent down.
It’s a freefall, but she knows how to land it, how to roll so the ground carries her safely back to her feet. She hears scrambling and voices, the snick of a switchblade and the scrape of a crowbar being lifted from the ground. It doesn’t matter. Cassandra is a bat, and she can tell them apart by their breathing, by the weight of their footfalls and the rustling of their clothes. In the shadows, they are scattered and she is simply turning, turning. Drives her fist to the jaw, hooks her foot behind the knee, sweeps a kick, turns, again.
Somewhere in the dark, Damian has gone silent. She wonders briefly, wrenching the crowbar out of a thug’s hand and hitting him with a nerve strike, whether she should be worried. But as she wrestles the leader to the ground, forcing her head back against the concrete, she listens. And on the far side of the room, she hears breathing, quiet and controlled.
Damian is listening, she realizes. Keeping score.
And Cassandra has won.
“Who’s there?” he says. His voice sounds hollow in the space of the warehouse, and the angry sneer is gone. “Black Bat? Is that you?”
“Yes,” Cass says, standing carefully and stepping away from the unconscious woman. “And Batgirl is coming.”
“Batgirl is here,” Stephanie corrects, leaning in the doorway. The lights are flickering back on one by one, and the purple of her costume is almost too bright for Cass to look at after the ducts and the blackout. “Oh, man, I’ve always wanted to make that kind of entrance.”
Damian tsks irritably, but there’s little force behind it. Cass turns toward the sound, still blinking in the light, and Stephanie brushes past her. When her eyes refocus, Stephanie has already freed Damian’s hands and is untying his feet from the legs of a chair. His armor looks battered, and he has a dark bruise on one cheek that extends to a shattered lens in his mask, but the way he holds his shoulders says only stiff, worn out.
“-are much too theatrical as it is,” he is saying, rubbing at his wrists.
“I bet you never say that to Batman,” Stephanie says back, smirking under her cowl.
“Tt. Why wouldn’t I say that to Batman? He takes far too much pleasure in dramatics.” But there is no bite to his voice, and when he stands up, one foot rolls inwards. He takes a few steps before he stumbles, sitting down hard on the concrete floor.
“Hey, take it easy,” Stephanie says. He grumbles a bit, but accepts the hand she offers, the tilt of his head saying reluctant, grateful.
Cassandra walks to meet them, and when Damian stumbles again, she catches him up almost without thinking. He stiffens, starts, “I do not need to be carried-” but she merely shifts his weight and carries on. If he continues the argument, or turns to snap at Stephanie, she is not sure, is not really paying attention. He is too tired to fight her very long, and after a moment, he curls his fingers into the edge of her cape. It’s a small gesture, but she understands. He is nearly too big to be carried this way, all muscle and bone under the armor, and Cass knows nothing weighs on you like having to be strong all the time. She remembers how it was, remembers days when no one was watching to see that she was safe, only worried for her failure. But not now, she thinks. Now they are a family. Stephanie smiles at her over Damian’s shoulder, and she holds her brother close, and together they head out into the night.
Title: if it's crowded, all the better
Fandom: DCU - Batman
Characters: Cass, Steph, Damian
Word Count: 1,428
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own Bat-anything.
Warnings: None
Summary: In which Black Bat and Batgirl save the day. Err, night.
A/N: For somehowunbroken, who wanted Cass and Steph saving batboys. Thank you to ityellsback for being the best idea bouncer/cheerleader. Title from LCD Soundsystem, "All My Friends."
“Which way?” Cassandra asks, her whisper echoing faintly down the ducts.
“Left. Crap, I mean, my left. Lemme just-” Stephanie’s voice is tinny in her ear. “Okay, right.”
“It is right? Or I go right?” Cass hisses back.
“Uh, both, actually,” Stephanie says. “Ha, sorry, that was confusing.”
Cass inches forward, holding her breath as she slinks around the corner. “Next time…I’ll keep the map…and you can…crawl through tiny spaces. Oh, wait…can’t.”
“Thank you for that. You are the most hilarious of all,” Stephanie answers. “Not everyone can be a contortion-ow!”
“What?”
“Oh, don’t mind me, I’m just electrocuting myself here. Funnily enough, giving you directions and taking apart a circuit breaker are not actually compatible activities! Who knew?”
“Maybe if you talked less…would have less trouble,” Cass teases, eyeing the stripe of light several feet ahead of her. “How close?”
“Do you see a vent? That should be the one,” Stephanie says. “When you get there, just wait for-ow! Again? Seriously?”
Cass does not laugh, because the noise would carry and it is a reflex she can suppress. But she smiles to herself, just a little, as she slips through the dark. She can hear the soft crackle of static as her hair is drawn to the top of the duct, and the brush of her cape against the metal walls. She hears Stephanie, tone flattened by the radio, swearing violently at her own work. And, more distantly, she hears voices in the warehouse below. One, two…four voices. Angry, or maybe afraid.
And Damian, high and hoarse and furious. It’s hard to make out the words, but the inflections are familiar and she can guess at his threats. If you expect mercy, she knows. Within an inch of your life, she expects. When they come for me, makes her smile. Good. He’s learning.
The light grows brighter as she approaches the vent. When she can touch her chin to the edge and peer down through the slats, she taps her mic and whispers, “Here.”
“Eeeow! Oh, for the love of-” There is the noise of Stephanie dropping something, and then a rustling. “Didn’t O ever tell you not to make feedback like that?”
“Just making sure…you would hear,” Cass says, barely mouthing the words. “Are the lights ready?”
“Almost. Whatcha see down there? How’s the goon squad look?”
Cass leans forward to peek through the vent. Four people: sitting, standing guard, moving boxes. She can tell the leader by the way she carries herself-tall and sharp, shoulders straight. She moves with strength but not stability, and Cassandra can see just where her weaknesses will be. The others will not be difficult-this one has a bad knee, that one’s movements are unconsidered. This one is simply scared, flinching whenever Damian yells.
“Well?” Stephanie sounds impatient, and also like she is doing too many things at once.
“No,” Cass breathes. “Not too many. Nothing special.”
“Good. And our favorite little badger?”
“…Badger?”
“Yeah, your brother? The really annoying one we dragged our butts here to save?”
Cass bites back a laugh, continues scanning the floor below. Damian’s voice isn’t far away, but there are too many boxes obscuring her view, and the angle from here is all wrong. “Is there…but I can’t see him. Sounds all right. Angry.”
Stephanie snorts. “Yeah, that’s our Robin.” There is a slightly metallic sound over the line, and then she says, too loud, “Ha, yes! Take that, electricity! All that with just a light timer and duct tape. I bet you haven’t been pwned so hard since Tesla!”
“Talk too much, BG,” Cass says. “No stealth.”
“Oh, yes, there is so much stealth to be stealthed down here in this totally empty basement,” Stephanie says. “In a warehouse, in the dead of night. If I dare to raise my voice above the tiniest whisper, one of these extremely menacing dust bunnies will definitely raise the alarm.”
Cass sighs. “Lights are ready?”
“Yeah, the lights are ready. Whenever you are,” Stephanie says, sounding disappointed. “Man, you could sound a little more excited about it. I only learned how to do this last week.”
“Am excited,” Cass agrees. “More fun in the dark.”
“Now that’s more like it,” Stephanie says. “Just say when.”
Cass waits until no one is standing below the vent, then crawls over it carefully. The slats feel sharp even through the wraps on her hands and the thick material of her suit. When she reaches the other side, she rolls onto her back and squares her boots against the frame.
“Ready,” she says.
“Awesome. You’ve got five minutes,” Stephanie answers.
“Won’t need them.”
Stephanie laughs in her ear. There is a loud sparking, and the high flaring noise of an electrical short. Then all the lights cut out at once.
Cass kicks the vent down.
It’s a freefall, but she knows how to land it, how to roll so the ground carries her safely back to her feet. She hears scrambling and voices, the snick of a switchblade and the scrape of a crowbar being lifted from the ground. It doesn’t matter. Cassandra is a bat, and she can tell them apart by their breathing, by the weight of their footfalls and the rustling of their clothes. In the shadows, they are scattered and she is simply turning, turning. Drives her fist to the jaw, hooks her foot behind the knee, sweeps a kick, turns, again.
Somewhere in the dark, Damian has gone silent. She wonders briefly, wrenching the crowbar out of a thug’s hand and hitting him with a nerve strike, whether she should be worried. But as she wrestles the leader to the ground, forcing her head back against the concrete, she listens. And on the far side of the room, she hears breathing, quiet and controlled.
Damian is listening, she realizes. Keeping score.
And Cassandra has won.
“Who’s there?” he says. His voice sounds hollow in the space of the warehouse, and the angry sneer is gone. “Black Bat? Is that you?”
“Yes,” Cass says, standing carefully and stepping away from the unconscious woman. “And Batgirl is coming.”
“Batgirl is here,” Stephanie corrects, leaning in the doorway. The lights are flickering back on one by one, and the purple of her costume is almost too bright for Cass to look at after the ducts and the blackout. “Oh, man, I’ve always wanted to make that kind of entrance.”
Damian tsks irritably, but there’s little force behind it. Cass turns toward the sound, still blinking in the light, and Stephanie brushes past her. When her eyes refocus, Stephanie has already freed Damian’s hands and is untying his feet from the legs of a chair. His armor looks battered, and he has a dark bruise on one cheek that extends to a shattered lens in his mask, but the way he holds his shoulders says only stiff, worn out.
“-are much too theatrical as it is,” he is saying, rubbing at his wrists.
“I bet you never say that to Batman,” Stephanie says back, smirking under her cowl.
“Tt. Why wouldn’t I say that to Batman? He takes far too much pleasure in dramatics.” But there is no bite to his voice, and when he stands up, one foot rolls inwards. He takes a few steps before he stumbles, sitting down hard on the concrete floor.
“Hey, take it easy,” Stephanie says. He grumbles a bit, but accepts the hand she offers, the tilt of his head saying reluctant, grateful.
Cassandra walks to meet them, and when Damian stumbles again, she catches him up almost without thinking. He stiffens, starts, “I do not need to be carried-” but she merely shifts his weight and carries on. If he continues the argument, or turns to snap at Stephanie, she is not sure, is not really paying attention. He is too tired to fight her very long, and after a moment, he curls his fingers into the edge of her cape. It’s a small gesture, but she understands. He is nearly too big to be carried this way, all muscle and bone under the armor, and Cass knows nothing weighs on you like having to be strong all the time. She remembers how it was, remembers days when no one was watching to see that she was safe, only worried for her failure. But not now, she thinks. Now they are a family. Stephanie smiles at her over Damian’s shoulder, and she holds her brother close, and together they head out into the night.