Cassandra wasn't supposed to be out tonight. Bruce had given her a strict curfew because he was getting worried about her, and when you saw the state that she was in, you started to understand why; she was soaked from the rain, bleeding, clutching her side so hard that her knuckles were turning white. Her suit was torn up, and her eyes were welling up with tears.

"H-Help," was all Cassandra could manage when you opened the window. She knocked on it a bit frantically a few minutes ago, and it freaked you out for obvious reasons – it was three o'clock in the morning during a thunderstorm, for crying out loud – but you couldn't just turn her away. Not when she was looking at you like a helpless stray cat.

Now, it's been a little bit since you let her in. Cassandra sits with her back to you while you dab antiseptic against a gash on her shoulder. She's so tense that it's hard to soothe her, but she's wearing a pair of your pajama pants with a warm towel over her head, and your scent on everything seems to calm her down a bit.

"Sorry," she mumbles, voice hoarse, and it's the first thing she's said in a while. "Didn't want to scare you. Are you... m-mad?"