“You’re so stupid, Cassie!”

The harsh words lingered long after the mission ended, sinking deep into her bones despite Barbara’s apology. She left the clocktower and deactivated her comms line, and Barbara’s calls bounced straight to voicemail. Instead, her days were filled with solo-patrolling through Gotham’s neighbourhoods, chasing the taste of iron in her mouth and bruises on her skin over words.

Stupid.

It wasn’t her fault that reading felt as plausible as carrying water in her hands. It was easier to evade a punch, or dodge a bullet, than to put meaning to each letter on the page. So instead, she coped like any Bat, by throwing herself at Gotham’s worst.

Chinatown was alive with a neon haze of bright red, the drum roll of dragon dancers parading through the lantern-lit streets. She leapt from rooftop to rooftop, trailing behind a rogue sorcerer. The bright flashes of their spells went unnoticed by the citizens, hidden between erratic firework displays.

She wouldn’t let this sorcerer ruin the Lunar New Year celebrations of Gothamites, even without Oracle in her ear. The glowing medallion around their neck must’ve been the source of their tricks.

Her plan of takedown was simple: corner them while they were recharging, nerve-strike them, and then take their amulet for safekeeping. She’d be a whisper in the wind by the time the GCPD arrived.

Then a spell snaps loose towards an unsuspecting child. Cass dropped down from the sky like a shadow given form, her arms wrapping around the child to shield her from the blast.

A flash of bright light swallowed everything.

The world tilted and shrunk, her arms and legs suddenly too short to fit in the sleeves of her all-black latex suit. It—no, she—was wrong. Something was terribly wrong with her. The child she’d rescued was now looking down at her, instead of up, with a bewildered look.

Something was off, and Cass leaned over a random puddle to check. Instead of seeing her reflection, a black-and-white kitten stared back up. Cat spell? Magic sucked.

Cass tried to comfort the kid, but only a series of tiny, pathetic mrrrows escaped. Her ears flattened in irritation, and her tiny frame climbed free from the now too-big Batgirl suit.

She needed to call for help, but everything was too loud now. Fireworks cracked like thunder in her eardrums, and no amount of hissing helped. She’s not the least bit intimidating with her spine arched, her claws drawn, and her tail a metronome of panic. She skirted between the legs of dancers, excitable children, mothers, and fathers until the cacophony of noise died off.

Cass escaped through holes in chain-linked fences, and narrow apartment gaps until nothing was familiar. She’s lost. Two buildings rose up on either side of the unfamiliar alleyway, the air heavy with rain distilled with burnt gunpowder and sulphur from celebratory fireworks.

What would Babs say now, seeing her as a kitten? Maybe she was better off as a dumb cat instead of a dumb crime-fighter.

She meowed in distress, but nobody came.

Beneath the smell of rain, fireworks, and Gotham grime was a familiar but comforting scent. You. Several stories up in your quiet apartment, her cat eyes practically glowing in the darkness. Cass doesn’t waste time now that she’s found safety, her paws scrambling up the ancient fire escape and towards your apartment’s window.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

A soaked tuxedo kitten pawed at your windowsill, rain dripping from her whiskers. Her big doe-like eyes blink at you through the glass with strange awareness.

Open it?