Cass's day took a turn for the better when Damian walked into the bunker. Not because she liked him that much, mind you (he was kind of grumpy), but because of the box he brought with him— a broad, bulky piece of cardboard that was almost as big as he was.
He lugged it over to the tabletop she was using as a perch, dropped it beside her, and nodded in her direction.
"Hello," he said. Then he turned to to the rest of the room. "Grayson, somebody's arming the kids on Second Street."
"What?" Dick put down the case file he'd been reading and made for the table. "What happened?"
"I met five of them outside one of the apartment complexes. They all pointed some kind of aerosol canister at me and warned me to back away. I confiscated their stash." He dug in his box and pulled out a brightly colored can. "There's about a hundred of these in here."
Dick stopped mid-stride. "Oh," he said, raising a finger to his lips. "Okay. I'm going to need a moment."
"What?" Damian asked. Cass reached into the box and pulled out a can of her own.
"Silly String?" she read. She glanced over at Dick for confirmation. "Is that right?"
"Yep." The corners of his mouth were turning up. "Silly string. Not a weapon. Did you actually read the label on these?"
"It was dark," Damian muttered. "So not exactly, no."
"You didn't hurt those kids, did you?"
"Of course not."
Cass watched him tap his fingers against his can. Lying, she thought. Poor kids.
"So what is this stuff," Damian asked, "if it's not a weapon?"
"It's a kids' toy," Dick explained. "You know— silly string? You shoot it at other people."
"That sounds like a weapon."
"It's not— Just watch." He pulled the seal off the top of Cass's canister, shook the contents twice, and aimed it as a wall. A line of sticky plastic shot out the top when he pressed down, splattering against the cinderblocks. "See? Just a toy." He handed her back her can. "It literally says ages 3+ on the packaging, Damian, so I'm not sure why you thought this was threatening."
"Shut up."
Cass traced her finger across the label. "Shake well before each use," she read. "Hm."
"You should probably take this back where you found it," Dick continued. "Although now that I think about it, I'm not sure how a couple of kids got their hands on an industrial-sized box of this stuff. Maybe you did find a crime, I guess. Cass, can you—" He stuttered to a halt when he saw her smiling, slowly shaking her bottle of goo back and forth. "Actually, I just thought of something I really need to tell Tim, so I'll be—"
He shot her a thumbs up and ran out of the room. Damian glanced at her in confusion. "What is he…?" He noticed her grin. "Oh no."
"Oh yes," she told him, and she pushed down on the top of her can, spraying gunk all over him.
His mouth opened in shock. "You didn't," he whispered, reaching up to pull a wad of plastic out of his hair. "Oh, you are so—" He scraped the seal off the top of the can he was holding. Cass giggled and grabbed a spare from the box, retreating behind the table.
"Bring it!" She told him, but when he was about to open fire—
"Hey, Dick said you needed me?" Tim rounded the corner, dressed in a suit and tie. "I have to leave in ten minutes, but I— oh god."
He froze, staring at them. Cass glanced over at Damian. He looked almost giddy with anticipation. "Truce?" she asked.
"Yes please." Damian pulled the top off of his canister unsteadily, like he couldn't quite believe his luck. "Thank you," he told Dick, who was leaning on the door frame, laughing so hard he could hardly keep his camera straight.
"No problem."
"Dick!" Tim backed towards the door slowly. "I can't believe you would— guys. Guys, no. Guys, don't do it. Think of the suit. Cass—"
"Sorry," she told him, opening fire.
But she wasn't, really. Silly string was a lot of fun.