It wasn't often Red Hood acted notably off. It'd been a near two months when Cassandra decided enough was enough. It was beginning to concern Bruce, despite his attempts to hide it, and if Dick knew he would also be worried. If Timothy knew he'd be concerned for the other reason, the one which correlated to bodily harm and death tolls.
Cassandra was concerned on both accounts. In her snooping sessions, she declared that something had definitely happened to Red Hood. Except Cassandra couldn't pinpoint what. She wasn't familiar with not-knowing and Cassandra didn't like it.
Cassandra could certify that beneath that Red Hood, Jason was downtrodden and weary-eyed, his confident front more fragile than it'd been prior. His fearlessness in actions had skyrocketed, a death wish without full acknowledgement. She knew all about death wishes, and Cassandra had expected better from a man who'd already died too soon.
So, Cassandra was worried. It'd been a sudden change and Cassandra couldn't locate the source, and she would've waited, as Bruce intended to do. But there was something in the line of Jason's shoulders that preached of a time limit, how they tightened and panicked, quicker and quicker with each passing night.
If her brother was in trouble, Cassandra wanted to help. It wasn't like Jason would come to them until it was too late, if he came at all.
It's what led to Cassandra trailing after Jason after the seventh night he'd refused to dodge. All she really had to do was follow the blood, he'd received a slash to the stomach and barely patted at it before he'd wandered off. He hadn't even attempted to bandage the wound.
At this point Cassandra was more irritated than concerned. She even called Stephanie to postpone their dinner date of bad television and takeout, which they never did because they barely had the time for it in the first place. Cassandra had to calm Timmy who'd heard from Stephanie that everything was alright and there wasn't an emergency.
Cassandra was an excellent liar. Over the phone. When she wasn't exceptionally aware of all her bodies tells, which really wished to elate their bodily tells.
It was just…Cassandra believed that if something was officially wrong with Jason, he'd be less inclined to shut her out if he thought she'd come alone. From what she'd gathered he felt uncomfortable under prolonged kind attention, especially from multiple sources and from those he cared about.
Cassandra found Jason tipped over the stairs of his current safe house. It was a really barren house with peeling wallpaper and cracks in the speckled walls, the stairs stone and cold which rusted behind the spilled blood.
Jason propped his handgun at Cassandra.
For a moment longer, Cassandra just observed. There was the vivid slash, drip-drip-dripping blood and smeared on the wall, perspiration on his tanned forehead and the white lock limp in his wet hair. It was Jason's eyes that were worse though. He looked devastated.
"Jason," Cassandra nodded.
He didn't lower the handgun, more toppled it, and sucked in a shallow breath, tilted his head away like she wouldn't feel the tears behind his lids. Cassandra creeped closer and rummaged for her bio-degradable bandages. "It's the sis, isn't it? What the hell do you want? I haven't even killed anyone real bad this week," he croaked.
It was just devastation. There was grief.
Cassandra lifted his bloodied arm and bloodied shirt none-too-gently, and slapped on the bandage. Jason hissed. "Deserve it," Cassandra declared, "No protection. You're trying to die." Her accusation was met with a cut-off snort. Cassandra checked Jason's abdomen for the extent of the damage, "Why?" she asked, quieter.
In the little space on the stairwell Jason definitely couldn't hide his bodily tells. He didn't even try, which spoke more to how badly whatever had happened had shaken him. His head knocked on the staircase behind him, "You don't care," he said.
"I do," Cassandra insisted. Then jabbed Jason in the side, where Cassandra knew it hurt. His breath hitched and Cassandra utilized the monument to drag Jason's arm around her shoulder, partially dragging him up the stairs to the bedrooms above.
Cassandra took liberty in ignoring all the curses out of Jason's mouth in that moment. By the time Cassandra had plopped him onto a bedspread, collected a bowl of warm water and a towel from the adjourned bathroom Jason was on his back, lids closed and snores soft.
Cassandra kicked his outstretched foot.
"I hate you," Jason murmured. Cassandra just smiled, perched on the edge of the bed, and lifted Jason's shirt to see what other damage he'd done. Jason sighed and blinked awake, "This is a waste." Cassandra didn't understand that.
"Don't think so," Cassandra insisted.
Jason leveled up a little, "Uh, yeah it is."
"No, it is not," Cassandra declared. Pressed a little harder into the shallow slash.
Jason's teeth gritted and huffed, "You're more of a sadistic bastard than the old man, aren't you?" Cassandra lips twitched. Whatever was on his mind would come out. It always did, eventually, Cassandra just didn't want it to be so explosive this time. "It's not like this'll change anything. 'Oh, sister dearest bandaged my wounds I won't kill anymore reptiles that need to be put down'," Jason mocked.
"You talk a lot," Cassandra noted.
He flinchingly laughed, "Never heard that before. Seriously, you won't get anything you want out of this. It'll just be harder for you to kick my ass to the Commissioner. I definitely won't have that problem," Jason smirked. That was a lie.
Cassandra set down the bloodied towel. He wouldn't be any cleaner, not if he didn't help himself. "I'll handle it," Cassandra deadpanned and Jason smirked, "I want to know, what happened? Last month, something happened, what did?"
Carefully Cassandra wrung out the towel, dabbing it at his forehead. He hadn't been eating well either, he'd bypassed his favorite chilidog stand a near countless amount of times that week. Cassandra didn't stalk, she'd just been…worried. He was her brother, despite how he repelled nearly everything to do with their family.
His face twisted, nose flared and that devastation rebounded. He didn't even attempt to call it nothing, no, whatever happened was too important for that. Jason shook his head, "I'll get over it," he shrugged, like it was nada.
It wasn't nada. His frequent belittlement of personal emotions led to them only resurfacing once they'd festered into explosive pits. Cassandra didn't like it. How to tell Jason that? Words, usually, but Cassandra wasn't altogether good at that.
Instead Cassandra pinched Jason's underarm, hard.
"Ow, you're so fucking violent!"
Cassandra arched a brow. Oh, she was the violent one?
A millisecond later Jason burst out into laughter, cutting himself off before he required stitches. "I hate you so much," Jason sighed and lied. Cassandra's lips twitched, dragging blankets from the foot of the bed to just under the wound. He rubbed at it, a bruise beneath his eye throbbed as he contemplated.
"You're a bad liar," Cassandra noted. His lips twitched at that, like it was a compliment. It wouldn't be long until Jason finally told her what had happened. It'd be better if he didn't feel pressured though, so Cassandra took back the bowl and towel, emptied them into the sink and rung out the towel.
The mirror was crusted and cracked, but was still clear enough to see Jason rubbing his eyelids in the bedroom. Whatever had happened, it'd hit him hard. He shouldn't have been alone all this time, he shouldn't be alone on a regular basis. It was his choice but he also felt compelled to keep it, as if he backed out of it, everything he'd ever stood for would dissolve with it.
Cassandra smoothed hair back, she'd followed Jason in civilian wear. Not only to deflect suspicion from the rest of them, but to showcase that she didn't expect Jason to hurt her. That this wasn't official business, instead personal.
Once she'd flopped onto the bed and Jason grunted his disapproval, Cassandra handed him an energy bar. He swatted at it before he realized what it was, "You think of everything, Rain Man," Jason drawled. He still took it and nearly swallowed it whole.
Pretty certain Jason dumped crumbs in her hair, Cassandra elbowed his ribs. "Tell me," Cassandra insisted. His bed wasn't comfortable, it was hard and smelt faintly of ash, dust and mold.
It was quiet for a long moment as Jason scrunched the bar wrapper, absently picking crumbs out her hair. Cassandra knew it helped that she couldn't possibly see him do it, leveled with his ribs as she was. Cassandra couldn't read his form from this position but he must miss it. Being close to someone, in a familial manner. Being irritated but comforted of their constant presence.
Whenever she left home she missed it.
When Jason did speak, it was barely a whisper, "My boyfriend died…" he mumbled. Cassandra tilted her head to see his face, barely caught his jaw stubble and pale cheek, before he turned his head. "I knew he was sick, I just – there isn't," Jason cutoff.
A long time ago Bruce told her Jason was a crier, whether it be in anger and frustration or comfort and wonder. That information wasn't just correct for minute trails. "You don't have anyone to fight," Cassandra surmised. No one to bargain with. No one to be rage out. No revenge to plot.
There wasn't anything Jason could do.
"Yeah," he choked and burrowed into his hand, chest jostled in silent heaves, "Fuck."
Jason cradled in on himself, turned his back to Cassandra, and she scooted a little higher. "I'll stay, until you want me gone, okay?" Cassandra asked, soft and quiet. She wondered if he'd allowed himself to really mourn the loss. Cassandra didn't know who this mystery boyfriend had been, but he'd obviously been important to Jason.
So, he had been important to Cassandra.
"He must have been special," Cassandra prompted. Jason huffed and sniffled, tears evident as he wiped at his unseen face.
He shook his head, "Nah. He was…normal, brilliant, would've flipped if he'd known what I really did. It wouldn't have fucking worked anyway, but I still – " Jason devolved into hushed Spanish then, which Cassandra didn't understand. His form Cassandra did understand.
"You're not at fault," Cassandra insisted, "He was sick. You made him feel better, didn't you?" It was known how blind Jason often was to himself but if this boyfriend's death had hit him so hard, he must've illuminated Jason to himself just a little.
His incredulous huff broke into a sob. "I don't know," he shrugged and sniffled, "He was fine until, he wasn't." Jason's jaw clenched, tried to work through it but this needed to be felt.
In care, she rubbed Jason's shoulder, "…can you tell me about him?" Cassandra asked, soft. He didn't for a long while and then he started to talk, huffing a little and sniffling often as he placed their interactions into a time stream.
In response, she hummed and slid down, awaited Jason to lay on his back and the tremors had halted. Never did Jason divulge the name, a last home for private thoughts, but he explained the rest.
From how they'd met; Jason had tripped on his boyfriend-to-be's wheelchair, and how they'd somehow found themselves fighting above coffee, tea and ice-creamed waffles, three hours after the initial incident, with a lunch date planned the day after.
Explained it all, as late as that final hour when Jason arrived at the Gotham National Hospital, a book crooked under an arm to find he'd been an hour too late to read it.
It was well into dark as Jason trailed off, fisted dryness from his face, uncertain if he should hide the overly vulnerable twitch in his mouth. He worried he'd given too much of himself, worried what it meant and if the numbness that'd begun to settle was just.
His freckles stark beneath rubbed rawness of his sockets and cheeks. It almost felt wrong to break the quiet but Jason definitely needed to get out of his head, "…you should get a dog…" Cassandra said.
Jason and his boyfriend had thought about it. Just a few weeks before results had returned positive and his boyfriend was admitted. Cassandra had expected more than half of Jason's face to object, "…what?" he croaked.
"He would have wanted you to get a dog," Cassandra said. From Jason, it felt like she'd known this boyfriend. Obviously, it wasn't her place to speak for him but Jason rarely admitted to positives unless in bitterness or resentment. Cassandra would have to guide this.
Jason's teeth gritted. Too exhausted to be enraged but attempting it from habit, "…he would have wanted to live," Jason rebutted. Cassandra didn't doubt that.
Cassandra swiveled to face Jason's scowled pout, "…he would have wanted you to live too," she offered. Jason couldn't object to that. Her lids fell shut, a hollow ache in her chest at what'd been lost and what this'd cost to those left behind.
His knobby knuckles nudged Cassandra's cheek and the bed creaked as he repositioned, "…get off my bed…" Jason half-heartedly mumbled. Cassandra objected and shook her head, burrowed and frowned deeper into her hand. Nearly into slumber Jason warned, "Cass…"
Cassandra rebutted, "I'm tired and I want to be here." Punctuated by a yawn, Cassandra blinked to find Jason already swallowing back his scowl. Cassandra was right, as she usually was, when Jason grunted and lifted the blanket over both of them. Her smug smile was absently smothered, "…just a short nap," Cassandra whined and promised.
"Better be…" he yawned and lied. Maneuvered and jostled the bed until he was comfortable, and Cassandra huffed. He leveled up and smothered a hard kiss into her cheek, a sort of thankful, 'I dare you to shove me off' – which Cassandra really wouldn't do – before he settled back down. "I don't hate you," Jason grumbled.
Cassandra buried a full-fledged grin, "I love you too," she whispered.
Jason's rumbled objection was swallowed in blankets, lids already shut as he curled in tighter and drifted off. It was music to her ears, a comforted lullaby.
Even if Jason brandished a lethal weapon tomorrow, Cassandra would always be there for Jason. He was her brother and whether he admitted it or not, Cassandra was his sister. To take care of one other was what they did.