|The D.C Collection | Imagines, One-Shots, Preferences, and More |

Rest, My Love | Cassandra Cain x Reader

Description: Cass tends to fake sleeping, but only because you don't carry her so tenderly when she's awake.

Words: 425

Notes: When your inspiration well is as dry as a desert. I'm so sorry this is so short !

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"You got her?" Bruce asked.

Steadily, you nodded and shifted Cassandra as carefully on your taller back as possible. She is as still as a doll and just as light, hood covering a large portion of her face. You can see her lips dully mouthing something in her sleep. How she wasn't on high alert during patrol, you have very little of an idea.

Wordlessly, you carry her up the steps to the Batcave and manage to get the clock open with your foot, pushing your way through and into Bruce's study. By the time you reach her bedroom, she is still asleep—or at least, very, very good at faking it, which you don't doubt.

Her fingers hang over your shoulders, bobbing with your every step and swaying with your turns. They remind you of how she had clutched your own earlier. You had been falling, about to lurch for your grappling gun, before she swept in and caught you by the arm. You realized as she swung away how close to the ground you were; there wouldn't be enough time for it to catch you. But Cassandra finds and makes time. She always has when it comes to you.

Between Batgirl, Black Bat, Orphan, and any other gig she's played, there's a gray area in her schedule held for you. She'll enter your room through the window, or sneak in before you get home and wait on your bed (a startling experience) wielding some sort of activity. Yesterday it had been chess. When you arrive in Cassandra's room, it's box is neatly tucked beneath her bed.

You take off the pieces of her armour that you can and allow the bed to dip with her weight. The bruise you saw her get is freshly forming on her jaw, and you brush some of her hair out of the way of it when you pull the blanket over her body. Her blinds are already closed and her room is prepped and cleaned, so you don't bother even if it's one of your first thought. Something in your chest cavity warms at her figure, knotted in her sheets with her hair blanketing her pillow. Her fingers lay near her face, clenching and unclenching softly, like trying grab onto something. You are again reminded of the way she saved you, the way her hand clasped around her wrists with an almost bruising grip. She was worried even if she didn't display it.

Smoothly, your fingers wrap around Cassandra's. She squeezes back, smiles, then acts like she's still sleeping.