AN: This was an idea I had banging around in my head for a while. I'm using elements of the comics and the whole canon, but I'm also taking liberties with ages and plot lines. For the purpose of this story, Bruce is in his late thirties and Batman, Dick is 23 and Nightwing, Jason is 19 and after his death and Lazarus Pool dip is Red Hood, Cas is 17 and Black Bat, Tim 15 and Red Robin, and Damian 10 and Robin. Any complaints I get about this not being strictly canon will be ignored as it seems a staple of Batman stories that each writer/director creates his or her own world with the same characters, ie. Gotham or The Dark Knight or The Batman cartoon.

A good deal of my ideas about the Bat Family are inspired by JT's gen fanfiction which is amazing. You can find her stuff at tumblr under fyeahbatmanandrobin. Her phones texts are hilarious, too.

I also wanted to play with the narration taken from a character that rarely speaks, almost omnipotent in observation yet still present and human. Hope you enjoy.

The Bat Family – I Move In

I moved into the Batcave on a Tuesday.

I was caught on Thursday.

I am adept at hiding and staying quiet. I can stay silent for days, weeks, and it never bothers me to be alone in my own company.

The cave was empty most of the time. For all that Batman thinks he uses the cave, it's only a few hours of training or tech use a day. The computers keep monitoring when he and the team are gone, so as long as I didn't use any tech I could go undetected.

There are monitors outside the cave and there are monitors on the computers, but other than that, it's a pretty safe place – three floors of nooks and equipment, rafters high above that could conceal my body.

I watched the team most of the time. Tim worked on his systems' maintenance between sparring with Bruce and avoiding Damian. Jason showed up, sulked around with a scowl, and only got activated when Bruce caught him installing machine-gun-like launchers on one of the bikes. Damian hung out in the way that only a ten-year-old could, trying to get attention and spatting with Tim until Bruce broke them up.

Hiding the way I did gave me a chance to discover their secrets. Tim regularly snuck junk food in the cave and crammed it into his mouth whenever he was alone. Jason, who had taken up smoking to annoy Bruce, used an electric cig whenever he was alone. The actual smoking was done in front of Bruce who promptly tossed him out of the cave each time the tough punk pulled out a smoke. Damian himself had no secrets in terms of sneaking around Bruce (he would have sooner cut off his own hand than disobey his revered father) but the kid brightened up every time Dick came to visit and he wouldn't leave the room when Dick was around unless Bruce ordered it.

I have my own secrets – I always have though I grew up unable to speak them. Signing comes easy to me, and though Oracle taught me to speak, I would rather stay quiet. Words are hard and people lie through them. Bodies and movement are easy and speak the truth. Oracle denies that she feels pain, but I catch her grimacing at times. She lies, but her body doesn't.

I love her. I want to stay with her forever and be her friend and daughter and sister and assistant and partner. But she wanted me to go to school. She made me read every night, nodding along while I stammered over words from a third-grade book.

I hate her. I hate her insistence that I speak and that I act human. I was assassin. I can be a girl. I can be a warrior for justice, a member of the bat-team, Black Bat. But I can't be human in the way she wants.

I left her Tuesday morning and moved into the Batcave.

I slept, I practiced, I stole food, and I watched.

I could have lived there forever but Bruce came in one early afternoon while I was taking a shower. At the top floor, there are small shower stalls hidden from view so everyone can clean up before they go upstairs. I had just washed the shampoo out of my hair when he came to that floor, calling out, "Tim? I thought you were going to school today. Is this about Damian again? He's being homeschooled because I don't want him to kill a classmate."

I hesitated. There wasn't enough time to hide and the cave was freezing outside of the hot water. I stepped around the stall and faced him full forward, naked with water dripping from my hair and sliding down my body.

I'm only seventeen, but I've used my nude body since I was twelve and went on missions. Standing before a grown man with every inch of me on display guarantees me one of two responses: the man is shocked or turned on. The shocked man sputters and hustles me into my clothes, gasping about how I'm a child and he is not a pervert. The excited man sometimes says the same thing, but he takes his time looking at me, often getting near enough to touch me. One man cut to the chase – "How much?"

I used those moments to attack, to maim, to kill – all within the scope of my job. My father never cared how I got the job done as long as I returned home with the target incapacitated.

I waited for Bruce to react.

He frowned. "What are you doing, Cassandra?"

Of course, Bruce would have to be the one person to not respond the way all other men did. I shrugged and I put my right hand on my stomach and let my fingertips trail over my wet skin downward.

He moved then.

Stalking up to me, he grabbed my damp shoulder and spun me sideways.

The slap he landed on my naked rear made me jump. Pain blossomed across both cheeks – his hands were big and I was small – and he smacked me again.

"I don't know what you're doing," he scolded, "but I don't like it. I have always treated you children the same. I have never said that girls couldn't pull their weight, and I've treated you within the bounds of your individual talents. But there are boys who live here. You don't walk around like that."

He smacked me twice more before turning me towards the showers. "Go get a robe on and then come out."

I turned towards him, posing myself to attack. He shook his head.

"You attack me here and I'll erase every sign of the Black Bat from this city. Get a robe on."

I glared at him, about to give him the finger, but there was something scary in his face. I turned and stalked to the hooks where an assortment of towels and robes hung. I thought about reaching for his, but I took Tim's instead. It was too big, hanging loosely on me.

I came a few steps towards him, but then I looked away stubbornly.

"How long have you been living here?" he asked.

I began to sign two days, but he shook his head.

"No, you are not mute. Speak out loud."

I glared at him again. I would not speak, not to him.

"Cassandra," his voice was getting closer and closer to the Bat growl, "you talk to me right now or I'm going to lock you up in the cell downstairs until we get to the bottom of this."

"T-two das," I said. I hated the sound of my own voice. I knew what the words were, what they should sound like, but when I spoke, I sounded like a deaf person speaking or a mentally-handicapped person. The team never teased me about it, but when I spoke out in public, I heard the whispers, the word retard used.

"Two days?" he raised his eyebrows. "You moved into my house for two days?"

I let my eyes wander sideways, hoping he would take the implication that we were in a cave, not a house.

"Did Oracle kick you out?"

I shrugged. The pain from the few smacks he had given me had mostly disappeared. My body was tough, and though he can strike hard, he had whacked me open-palmed with a fraction of his strength. But I wasn't prepared for the surge of anger that drove through me. I suddenly felt an urge to attack him, to beat him unconscious and watch his blood drip out of the shower area.

"I'll call her and tell her you're coming back," he moved towards the ledge.

I whirled and struck him in the side. Any other man would have crumpled to the ground with bruised or broken ribs, but right before the blow landed, he tensed, jerking back slightly. My foot landed too high, and he grabbed my ankle and spun me off. I back-flipped onto my feet and charged at him again.

My skills are trained and lethal. I had speed while he was big and clumsy. I could see all his movements before he made them. We were speaking my language now – movement and body motions.

I landed a rapid series towards his face and neck, but his arms were up, blocking me as he moved backwards.

If I had a knife, I could have dug it deep into his neck, right in that hollow below his Adam's apple, and I could watch as the light faded from his eyes. I would have won over Bruce and the Batman. Gotham would be mine and I would never have to speak again.

I made a movement for his eyes. I would pluck them out and watch as he struggled, blind and bleeding.

I moved, but not fast enough.

He kicked me off the third floor ledge.

The kick was to my side and I tumbled off with a noise of terror. I hadn't been watching where I was going, too intent on destroying him, and I fell and flailed in the air.

A line caught me around the leg before I fell to the rock and waterfall below. It hurt, cutting into my ankle, and I dangled upside down, the robe barely covering my shoulders as I struggled to grab hold of something.

He pulled me to the second story floor, grabbing me and righting me on my feet and yanking the robe to cover me.

"Cassandra Cain," his voice was ice, "you have one second to apologize for attacking me in my cave. I'm going to deal with you and you better be repentant. I do not want to take you to Arkham but I will because –" he leaned forward until I could see the black of his pupils surrounded by the vivid blue – "you have to be insane to attack me in this cave. You don't attack Batman and you're not going to attack Bruce Wayne, either."

It was mildly weird how he often referred to himself in the third person, but he was not joking.

"I'm uh-huh thorry," I said. Lisping was a problem that Oracle had tried to train out of me. I hated her for the way she insisted, "No, your name isn't Cathandra. Cassandra. Sss-sss. Put your teeth together and make the S sound."

"I could have hurt you," he went on. "You know we only spar in the training areas. If we start fighting just anywhere in the cave, everyone gets hurts. I understand your rage and your anger - I know how it feels to lash out in pain, but I'm not having you fly into a rage like that."

I looked away from him, ignoring the hurt of his words. I hated words and the way people used them to tear at each other.

He took my arm and pulled me to a bench where he was testing invisibility specs on miniature batmobiles for cloaking devices.

I watched him put his left foot on a stool and motioned to me. It wasn't a tactic move I recognized but I moved towards him, ready for round two.

"No," he caught my left hand as I held it up to block, "we aren't sparring. Hold still."

I didn't understand, but he tugged me forward and I landed with my robed stomach against his raised thigh. He moved fast, and I was hanging in the air, over his knee with his left hand balancing me with a strong grip on my back.

"You children have no sense, nothing but impulses," he said. "I don't understand how I came to – to collect you all, but here you are."

I hissed at him, but he caught the edge of my robe. He raised it until I felt the cool air on the back of my legs.

He swatted me, his hand landing on the back of my legs, just under my rear.

Had he bared my rear, I could have accused him of impropriety, blackmailed him for molesting me which would lead to me ruling Gotham and never having to speak. But the robe coved my rear and privates, and he swatted the fleshy back of my legs while he scolded me,

"If you think I'm not treating you like I do the boys, you are mistaken. You are on my team and I demand the same respect from you that I do from them. I expect more from you as Black Bat – you bear my symbol and share my name. So you are going to take this punishment and when we're done, I want another apology."

I went rigid. I had already apologized! I tried to sign that to him, but he scoffed as he landed another few slaps,

"That apology was for attacking me. I want an apology for acting crude in my cave."

I did hate him. I hated every inch of his tall stature, his handsome face, his strength, and his stupid, stupid hands that kept me in place for a spanking and kept going.

My father had never spanked me. He had knocked me to the ground when I displeased him. He had cut slashes in my arms when I challenged him, often kicking me while I writhed in pain at his treatment.

"What do you say?" Bruce paused.

"I – I," I struggled to find the words. Inside I was conflicted. I wanted to hurt him, but I didn't and my chest tightened in a way I didn't understand.

"You can do it, Cas," his tone was low. "Say the words. You can do it."

He spoke in the voice he used when he was trying to get Tim to learn a new fighting move. My vision went blurry for a second, but I gasped, "I'm thorry."

"Good girl," he let me go and righted me up to stand in front of him.

I stared up at him, pretending I didn't notice the tears rimming the edge of my vision. Tears came in times of agony, a response to physical pain, but he hadn't hit me that hard. I didn't understand why I should cry at a spanking – I had broken fingers without a tear appearing.

"Oh, Cas," he put a hand on my shoulder, "what did he do to you? What secrets have you locked away in there? You have to do something. You can't turn into . . ." he trailed off, looking away awkwardly.

We stood there, both of us unable to act or speak. I didn't understand what I wanted and he looked so tortured that I wanted to run away. The skin around his neck was red, but his agony didn't seem to have to do with physical pain.

"Are you insane?" a loud voice broke out.

We looked to see Dick and Tim at the stairs, matching looks of horror on their faces. Dick was in his early-twenties, but Tim had gone through a recent growth spurt that made him look slightly older than his fifteen years.

"Have you lost your mind?" Dick sputtered as they both came towards us. "You can't do . . . that! Jeez, Bruce, she's seventeen!"

"Are you saying she's too old or too young?" Bruce asked.

"Both!" Tim hollered. "It's one thing when you . . . uh, well, when you, to us, but she's a girl."

"Girls don't get spanked?"

Both the boys turned red, and Dick looked ready to hit his mentor and adoptive father.

I raised my hands to sign that I was okay, but Bruce put his hand over my fingers. "No, say it."

I flinched and backed up, shaking my head.

"She doesn't have to say anything," Dick was swelling with anger, and Tim looked just as enraged.

"She's been living here," Bruce didn't seem fazed by their anger, "and when I caught her, she attacked me. Tell them, Cas."

"It true," I whispered.

"No, say all the words."

I could enter a pact with the boys to kill him and then I could kill them and rule Gotham and never, ever have to speak.

"It ith true," I lisped.

"You are such a bully," Dick drew me into his arms. I only came to his shoulders but he hugged me close, his chin against my short damp hair.

"You want to attack me next?" Bruce asked. "Because I have no problem spanking every last person in this cave today."

"You are such a control freak!" Dick said at the same time as Tim protested, "I didn't do anything!"

"My cave, my rules," Bruce told them.

"That is so unfair," Tim said. "It's one thing when Damian gets me into trouble, but I expect it from the Demon Spawn –"

"I told you not to call him that."

- "and Jason playing tricks just to piss you off but I'm not letting Cas get us in trouble. I draw the line here. Right here, Bruce. My line in your cave. We're not taking it, are we, Dick? Dick?"

Dick had shifted and he scooped me in his arms. "She's shaking a little. I'm going to take her to sit by the heaters. We should all calm down before Damian gets back with Alfred."

I thought about pushing out of his arms, but he was warm and I was cold. He took me to the heaters and sat with me on his lap, keeping his arms around me like a protective older brother.

Tim, without Dick to back him up, muttered some excuse and went to run on another floor.

"Sorry he hurt you," Dick said to me.

It's not his fault, I signed. I wasn't sure if Dick knew how to read my signals, but he just nodded.

Bruce came over, his face tired and worn. "We need to talk about where you're going to live. I want you to tell me where you want to live and then I'll –"

"Here," I said suddenly.

Both men stared at me in surprise.

I swallowed hard. "I . . . wan . . . to . . . l-l-l –"

"I got it," Bruce interrupted. "But Cas, that's not a good idea. You attacked me and I can't –"

"You punished her for that," Dick cut him off. "You can't go around spanking people and then holding their crimes over their head. Let her stay. The house is big enough."

"It's not a good idea. You all are in a very difficult time and I don't think it's appropriate –"

"We're superheroes. We left appropriate behind us years ago. I don't come stay that often and Jason has his own apartment, too. It's mainly you and Alfred, Tim and Damian."

"Jason spends a lot of nights here."

"Oh, please," Dick brushed the hair off my forehead in a protective movement, "the manor has a dozen bedrooms at least. You send her away and it'll be Jason all over again with the revenge and the traps and the consorting with villains. You want her on Joker's side? Or Bane's?"

"Of course not, but . . ." Bruce looked down at me. "if she stays, she has to promise that what happened today will never happen again. If it does, I'm ending Black Bat for good."

"Jeez, over a little scrapping?" Dick shook his head. "You're too much, man."

I looked up at Bruce. He put out his hand, and I thought hard about the man I had attacked and tried to maim. He wouldn't tell Dick what had actually occurred, preferring to take Dick's scorn and let his adopted son continue to think well of me.

I was an animal. I could be a rabid dog, thirsty for blood. I deserved pain and torture, not kindness. I was my own special kind of monster, hidden behind my small body and demur appearance.

I put my hand in Bruce's and nodded.

He pulled me to stand. "Let's go upstairs. We'll find you a room and some real clothes."

"I'll take her," Dick stood.

"No, you'll go track down Croc's latest movements," Bruce pointed to the computer area. "He's on the rampage again and I need him dealt with before Damian launches a full scale attack to kill him once and for all."

Dick opened his mouth to argue, but Bruce steered me towards the elevators, commenting as we moved, "I can see you, Tim. Raise your speed or you're on Jason patrol for a week."

"Aw, man," Tim jabbed the buttons of the treadmill. "I never catch a break. If someone would back me up –" he glared at Dick who smirked in reply.

We were in the elevator, just the two of us, when Bruce turned me to face him. "I'm serious about what I said. If they find out what you did, they will band together against you. I don't mind their squabbling and their siding with each other, but the moment I'm in danger, they will join together to destroy you. Whatever happened, you do not tell them how you attacked me or that you tried to blind me. Am I understood?"

He had realized what I had tried to do? I should have known I couldn't hide it from him. "Undertan," I managed.

I expected him to ride up the rest of the way in silence, but he put a hand on the top of my head and ruffled my hair for a second.

"I'm going to help you get better. I promise, Cas. It's too late for me, but –"

The doors opened, and we went into the hall.

Jason was coming in the front door, slouching and bored, but upon seeing us, he froze. "What? Why is she in Tim's robe?"

"Ask the others," Bruce headed me towards the stairs. "And you better not be reaching for those cigarettes. You don't get to pretend-smoke in the house."

"Pretend?" Jason snarled. "Nothing pretend about it. Who said that? Was it Replacement? I'm going to beat that kid bloody. Was it Demon Spawn?"

"Don't call him that," Bruce said over the banister.

"Who?" Jason was under the stairs, trying to watch us from below. "Tim or Damian? I can't stand either of them, but I really can't stand Dick. He hid all my new guns and I've been all over Gotham –"

"No guns!" Bruce called down before he herded me down the hall.

"You are such a pansy," Jason shouted up at us. "Oh, 'boo-hoo, my parents were shot to death.' I came back from the grave, man. I've seen the darkness. I should have killed you and ruled Gotham as its king."

So I wasn't the only one with that fantasy.

Bruce led me into a bedroom and the shut the door, muting Jason's taunts. "That boy is asking for it . . . again," he shook his head. "You children and your personalities. This can be your room. When Steph stays over, she's down the hall. Oracle, too. You wear clothes when you are not changing or showering. My room's next to yours, Damian's next to mine. Tim and Dick are in the other wings. Jason's there, too, when he stays. Alfred's in the other wing with them. You are not allowed in their wing. Damian won't bother you if you don't bother him."

I liked Bruce's son. He was quiet in his own way, dangerous like me and never asked me to talk.

"I'll give you a list of the rules later," Bruce said. "We all eat together unless someone is too injured to come to the table. You can get snacks, but we have meals in the dining room. Alfred's rules. I'll need to tell him you're here –"

"No, need," the butler stood in the doorway. "I have already taken the liberty of ordering up some clothes and will set another place at the table. Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss Cain."

Bruce hesitated, but Alfred stepped back to clear a way out the door. "We'll leave the young lady to acquaint herself with her new quarters." Alfred looked at Bruce. "Master Damian has gone to the cave to practice flips with Master Grayson, Miss Gordon called to see if Miss Cain were here, and Master Todd is currently stealing your red Porsche."

The sound of a revving engine roared outside.

"Damn it, Jason!" Bruce stormed out of the room. "When I get my hands on you –"

Alfred gave me a proper smile. "So sorry for the language. The master does get a bit riled up at the antics here. Perhaps a daughter living here will calm things down a bit."

Voices were shouting outside over the revving of the car engine.

Alfred nodded politely and went out, shutting the door.

And that was how I moved into the manor.