Cass dreams sometimes.
She dreams of burying Steph again. She dreams of a broken and bloody form, carried tightly in her arms as she races towards safety, towards Leslie, with Steph's life slipping away and nothing she can do about it.
She wakes up, and she buries her face in Steph's long, beautiful hair, that smells like apples and tries to hide the fact from Steph, who would just blame herself for Cass's fears.
Cass understands, most days, why Steph left. Why Steph couldn't trust anyone—coincidences and misjudgments and micro-aggressions and bad decisions spiraling and combining with everything else, but it still hurts that Steph hadn't trusted her enough with this. With the light in her eyes when Cass says her real name, the way she smiles when she looks in the mirror now. The laugh that bubbles up every time Cass brushes her fingers along Steph's scarred side.
Cass dreams of opening the door, that fateful day, but instead of Steph, smiling and alive, it's the dead version of Steph from the autopsy photos—dull eyes, scarred and bloodied, with an autopsy scar like Jason's peeping out from beneath her clothes, from beneath the beautiful blouses that she likes to wear.
She wakes up and she rolls over, clutching at Steph's sleeping form if she's there, or running to call her if she isn't. Steph always answers—no matter how late, or how little sleep she's had, she answers. Sleep blurs her words, turning her cheerful "Hello," to a soft, "'lo?" And Cass breathes easier, and apologizes, and they both go back to sleep. Steph never asks for an explanation, never questions these calls.
She dreams of being exhausted and beaten, sleeping on Babs' couch, listening to the crackling noise of the radio, and hearing the horrible, awful words.
"We evacuated. But… Barbara… Art crashed in the helicopter. He's dead."
The words seem to drown her, the terrible, awful words, words that she can't tell are lies because Leslie is hiding behind the distance and the radio, and she wakes up with tears streaming down her face and the sheets clutched tightly in her fists. She leaves Steph sleeping when that dream happens, and runs to the gym and beats punching bags until her knuckles are bloody and sand is pouring out into the floor.
She dreams of other things too—her mother, the Lazarus Pit, her victim, her father—but those are different. Cass might hug Steph tightly after one of those nightmares, but it isn't a need, and she might go the gym to blow off steam, but there isn't a burning desire to get away, to run as fast as she can and never stop.
Steph dreams too, screaming nightmares and tossing nightmares and nightmares that cause her to cling to Cass and nightmares that make Steph slip out in the night to go for a run. Steph can't stand treadmills, she needs to feel as if she's moving away, and Cass tries not to panic whenever she sees Steph's shoes missing from their normal spot, because she knows Steph can look after herself, that she's stronger than ever, but the fact that she's gone is still awful, and Cass can't help but wonder, sometimes, if Steph will come back.
She does, she always does. She comes back, sweaty and gross and laughing, full of stories about what she has seen or done, and sometimes she has coffee or donuts or bagels, or whatever other food she's found that tickled her fancy at that time.
Cass tries the different things Steph brings back to drink, and finds that she likes earl grey tea and that she adores chocolate donuts. Steph likes plain bagels with veggie cream cheese and mint tea and Frappuccinos.
They eat at the kitchen table, reading newspapers and playing with their phones, talking about patrol and about their families and Steph's studies and Cass's ASL classes.
They move in together slowly, drawers slowly filling with clothes and weapons and costumes materializing in the Cave.
One day Jason and Tim show up, and help them move a piano, a beautiful grand piano made out of honey oak that Cass and Alfred had found in the depths of the Manor and had restored as a birthday present for Steph, they move it into Cass's place, and just like that, Steph starts to change her addresses on official forms, and Babs starts to only call one of them when she needs both of them, and they both start calling the place "home".
Steph's clothes fill the closet, bright colors and soft fabrics and impractical heels and beautiful jewelry. Cass steals them sometimes, even though they don't fit, and Steph always laughs when she sees Cass wearing her clothes, which makes it worth it, even though they're always too large. Steph retaliates by stealing her earrings, even though Cass only has a single hole in each ear while Steph has four in her right ear and three in her left.
The nightmares continue, and, slowly, softly, afraid that they will scare the other, they begin to talk about them.
Steph talks about Black Mask, about wrong pronouns and wrong bodies and about hatred and loneliness and a walled off cave and ignored messages. Cass talks about Lazarus Pits and graves, about her hands covered with blood and betrayal. They wrap themselves around each other, trying to fix what seems to be broken beyond repair, and sometimes, Cass thinks, that it might actually be working.
Sometimes, Cass dreams.
She dreams of Steph's laugh, deep and musical and wonderful. She dreams of waking up beside her, limbs tangled and bedroom a mess, weapons scattered over the counters and thrown into the corners, of earl grey so hot that it burns her mouth and donuts so sweet that her eyes water. She dreams of early morning runs and sparring matches in the pit, of the glint of gold in Steph's ears and the warmth of her body pressed up against hers.
And she wakes up and she buries her face in Steph's long golden hair and presses kisses against her neck and Steph holds her close and doesn't let go or leave.
And Cass thinks that's all that she really needs.