date posted: 2023-04-22
summary: Less than a minute, maybe an extra ten to twenty seconds on it. Her voice was shaky, but the words were certain. The audio crackled from the distance between Cass and the microphone at the desk, the lossy compression on the file.
Barbara had little to deduce from it; it was spelled out for her in Cass’ tone.
Barbara and Cass, after the fight with Shiva in Batgirl #25.
event: unsent letters exchange
word count: 1,677 words
notes: this is kind of au because babs doesn't really act this way towards cass in canon, i guess? not with this kind of heavy mother perspective, if it makes sense. i wanted to try writing barbara with that sort of perspective, but matched with the events of batgirl 2000, specifically the ones that were significant for cass. how barbara might've reacted with a little more depth to it than she already had in the comic. idk
partially inspired by furusato by morning musume. it's a beautiful song about moving and family and constrictions and all. i highly recommend it though with how the fic turned out there's barely a resemblance between the two lmao.
this fic came out a bit of a mess but to the person i wrote this for, i hope you enjoy it!
TO: b@wtchtwr.mail.org
FROM: or@bop.mail.org
SUBJECT: Batgirl
Batman,
As we briefly went over, the Spoiler covered the consequences of the duel and the assailants were dealt with.
I discussed the details of the duel with the Spoiler before she set out to fight Shiva’s worshippers. I know you took issue with my described tone with the Spoiler in my report for you. The report you requested from me; might I add, the one I didn’t have to provide.
My levity is never to be mistaken for flippancy; I worry for her as much as I worry for Batgirl.
That’s all on that for now. We can discuss it further another time. This is not about Spoiler’s mission.
Batgirl has been quiet and focused. Has a notably positive attitude, compared to before. She has been working with the Spoiler more often, in street-level missions and clean-up work. I know that this work ethic is what you like to see from her. We’ve discussed this before and I shouldn’t have to repeat it. The fight with Shiva was another reason that Batgirl needs normalcy and stability.
This life is dangerous, and she was raised in it. The mental toll doesn’t matter to you – I’m well aware of that. Please recognize that her well-being is far more important than your mission. If you can take it alone, then do it. She is an asset to you, but in my care, she’s anything but.
This life will never been good for her because of how she was raised. It’s pushed her to suicidal tendencies. That’s what led her to the deal with Shiva.
I tried to stop her, but I couldn’t. Neither you nor I could’ve stopped her, through force or words. I don’t care what you have to say to me about that. One way or another, she was going to fight Shiva.
She has a death wish. Her focus and lighter attitude mean nothing to me on a greater scale. She cannot be okay; if it exhausted her physically to the point of a days-long coma, then I feel comfortable concluding that it damaged her mentally far too much. She already has enough to deal with; she did not need this.
If you won’t help to guide her in a direction that is beneficial for her more than you, then you need to cease involvement in her life, in some way. I can’t cut Batgirl from her cold turkey, but I want the best for her, and I’m trying to push her towards there. You want the opposite.
As I can’t remove her from Batgirl immediately, I can’t remove you from her life, as much as I want to. She needs you as much as she needs me. I need you to recognize that her well-being matters most above all, including your mission. This will not work if you continue to refuse to recognize that. After this, I’m done trying to make things work as they are.
Please realize that I am doing what I think is best for her and her well-being, that I need you to cooperate instead of focusing on your own agenda. She isn’t an asset – she’s a teenage girl.
Respond to me ASAP. Oracle.
-
Cass’ shadow in the door cuts through the wall of blue light casted by her monitors. Barbara almost jumps when she notices her, but is used enough to her presence that it’s less of a surprise than it used to be.
“Hey,” Barbara starts, otherwise wordless. She looks at Cass from the corner of her eye, and only sees an unreadable expression. Exhaustion, maybe. Barbara should know this immediately.
Cass shrugs, and Barbara feels her starting to braid pieces of her short hair, Cass leaning against the edge of her desk. Barbara looks away to her lap, still speechless, almost frozen.
She talks without thinking, again.
“You should be asleep,” she starts, but stops herself before going any further. She’s reluctant to push, not the way she usually does.
Maybe she pushes too much. She knows Cass needs the prodding, needs to realize that there’s a life outside of Batgirl, anything else but her fists. Maybe it’s bad for her, for them.
Barbara folds her hands in her lap, scrunches her eyes closed for a moment. She opens them and looks back at Cass, who looks almost indignant.
Cass speaks, voice rasping. “You should sleep too. Oracle isn’t never-ending,” she says.
Barbara shrugs, quiet. “Oracle – I should be never-ending,” She briefly leans her head back, but Cass pushes it forward to keep braiding. Cass looks focused, as far as Barbara can tell.
After a beat, Barbara speaks again, unsure.
“Why are you here?” she asks, reluctant, glancing at Cass. Her focus is interrupted by Barbara’s words, and her hands still for a few moments. She feels a tug at her hair, ever briefly, until Cass drops the braids, unfinished. Barbara twitches.
Briefly, she wonders where Cass learned to braid, who she learned it from. In her mind, there’s only one or two logical answers, one being the most likely, but then she feels that stabbing again, right at the edges of her. Spoiler, Stephanie. She needs to check with her. She… not now.
“Why do you think?” Cass bites back, cutting through. Barbara wants to clench her fists from the frustration, but worries about how Cass would perceive it.
Barbara knows herself, usually, knows when she’s doing her best, doing the best she can for others. The people she cares about. She strives for it, as Oracle – a living data nexus, she’s reliable, informational.
Righteous. Maybe it’s a crock of shit. She sighs, again.
“Me and my big mouth,” she says, all too resigned. Barbara looks up at Cass again, who looks… numb, more than anything.
More tugging, in her chest. She has to force herself to relax her shoulders, to focus her vision.
“Are you ok?” she starts over, exhaling.
She says it because she’s nervous, unsure of herself as much as she was when she had found out Cass was going to fight Lady Shiva. Cass, afterward, exhausted and unconscious. The message on her computer, scheduled an hour prior to the fight.
Less than a minute, maybe an extra ten to twenty seconds on it. Her voice was shaky, but the words were certain. The audio crackled from the distance between Cass and the microphone at the desk, the lossy compression on the file.
Barbara had little to deduce from it; it was spelled out for her in Cass’ tone.
She had tried to argue that to Bruce, to make her point clear. All that, and she’s still waiting on a response. The thought of it, his ignorance, makes her clench her jaw.
He has no right dictating to her and Cass the way he does. Barbara has enough experience with him to hold her own when he’s like this, to make it clear that ultimately, she doesn’t answer to him, isn’t an operative of his.
With Cass… it’s muddled. Bruce is important to Cass. Bruce wants more from Cass, and she’ll give her life for it. Barbara knows this. It makes her really grit her teeth, nervous, enraged.
How dare he force this on her the way he does. He wants another asset, as she spelled out to him in her message. He thinks she isn’t aware of this, but she has her eyes wide open. It’s what she does as Oracle; as she watches over Cass, watches over Batgirl.
Cass glances to the side, which is enough movement from her to bring Barbara out of her thoughts. She waits longer, observing Cass for something, anything that could give her more of an answer. She’s prodding, pushing again.
She hears Cass clear her throat, and then she speaks again, “I’m… better, now. I’ll be ok,” she says. It’s shaky – dishonest, if Barbara wanted to be pessimistic. Maybe she’s right. Maybe she’s pushing.
She pushes more, because she has to. “How do I know that?” she says quietly. “I heard your message. I… I can’t be sure that you’ll be ok.” Her voice shakes through it. She tries to relax her breathing.
Cass steps forward, tenuously, and leans forward, wrapping her arms around Barbara’s, leaning her head on her shoulder. Barbara can hear her unsteady breath as she reaches up and covers Cass’ hand with her own.
Her voice cracks. “I’m – sorry,” she starts, and doesn’t know how to continue. Her stomach’s in knots, a knife cutting her up, doing its worst. The nerves make her dizzy. She stares at her lap, tightens her grasp on Cass’ hand, still hears that shaky breath.
They stay like that for a minute or three, in the stillness, not long enough. Cass’s hands are a little cold, her arms too thin. Barbara squeezes tighter, not enough to hurt, but enough to feel a pulse in her wrist, to put some warmth into it.
Barbara leans her head back, looking up at Cass, who has her eyes closed. There’s something unreadable in her expression again – maybe Barbara doesn’t want to read it.
She says something, because she has to, again.
“You should go to bed,” she says. Cass looks up, head off Barbara’s shoulder. Barbara looks to her from the side again, then turns her chair to face her in full. They’re both exhausted.
Cass deserves more than her exhaustion, she knows. Barbara owes her that much.
She feels Cass’s loose grip on her hand, from where it slipped down her as Barbara turned her chair. Cass steps back, creating distance.
“I’m sorry,” she repeats, not knowing what to do with herself.
Cass tenses, then speaks.
“It’s…” she pauses – hesitates. “It’s fine. You’re fine,” she says, shakily, then moves to leave. Barbara watches her as she goes, her shadow slipping further from her monitors, then out of the doorframe, into the hall, then out of sight.
Barbara leans her head back again, feels her braided hair twisting together against the chair. She doesn’t move to untangle it.