Chapter Text
It was Friday night. And, like on many Friday nights, the family had decided to have a sleepover.
It wasn’t the full group, this time--Steph and Barbara were gone on a mission with Harley. Alfred was on a rare week of vacation. Leaving Bruce, Dick, Jason, Damian, Duke...
And Cass.
Cass had moved out from the manor a few years ago. But she was one of the most frequent fliers to come stay over--considering most of her civilian time out was as a professional ballerina and ballet teacher, which was not always an every-day event, she enjoyed being home.
Except...right now.
Right now, when Steph and Barbara weren't there, and her lower abdomen was aching with a familiar, dull throb.
"...and Damian, quit hitting your brother," Bruce was finishing scolding Tim and Damian, who'd gotten into a bit of a tiff.
"Tt. If Drake did not take the last cookie, I would not have hit him," Damian muttered from where he sat on the ground in front of the couch.
"How does that equate to violence!" Tim shouted in exasperation, flopping back on his arm chair.
"Honestly? Demon Spawn has a point. There was only one more batch in the freezer and Alf's gone another four days," Jason drawled, lazily slinging an arm over the back of the couch.
"I can bake!" Dick offered, which was met by a chorus of "no!"s.
"Maybe instead of brawling for the last cookie," Duke suggested. "You guys be normal for two seconds and do rock paper scissors?"
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. "Don't. The last time, Damian got actual rocks and scissors involved."
Damian huffed. "There was also paper. But paper is not as lethal."
Cass was trying to listen to the conversation. She was quiet--always was. She was a person to only speak when necessary, when her throat was feeling particularly okay; a result of David Cain’s “training”. But right now?
She was even more quiet than usual.
Curled up on one side of the couch, she had been gazing between each of them as they talked. An unconscious effort to participate, in her own usual way: observing. The family was used to that.
But she wasn't really processing any of it. Her face was even more carefully blank than usual.
Don't show pain. Don't show weakness. A habitual response.
If Steph and Barb were here? This would have been a non-issue.
But they weren't. And Cass's period had started. Cass had bad periods. Fatigue and emotions...cramps.
None of the male Bats really knew anything about it. She was private. Kept it between her and the other two girls of the Batfamily. (And Alfred, but that was expected.) And, being men, it wasn't something they really thought about often. Hell, it wouldn't be surprising to her if, as a whole, they'd sort of...forgotten about menstruation existing.
So, for right now, Cass kept silent. Breathed through the pain. Considered leaving, but that would draw more attention.
Instead, she subtly pulled her blanket up more, watching the conversation continue.
In all fairness, Cass really was doing a good job of staying silent.
But this was the Wayne family. All members were highly trained. All members could pick up on even the smallest of cues.
Even if Cass's facial expression was carefully neutral, Jason, sitting on the couch next to her, noticed that she was sitting strangely--curled up more than she usually would. He shifted in his seat, before, casually, he nudged Duke (sitting on the other side of him on the couch) with his knee and made a subtle glance towards Cass. A silent You seeing this?
Cass, at least, hadn't really noticed the subtle exchange between Jason and Duke. She was too busy focusing on not puking. The cramps were always the worst part. Radiating the entirety of her lower abdomen, her back, until she couldn't tell where the pain was coming from, just that it sucked.
Duke's gaze flickered in Cass's direction, and he instantly picked up on her subtle body language. The way she pulled her knees closer, how she seemed to be too casual His eyes narrowed in concern, and he nudged Jason back, a silent indication that he had noticed it too.
Bruce's attention shifted towards Cass after noticing his boys exchange--always fine turned to keeping an eye on every detail of his surroundings. His gaze flickered across her curled-up form, a hint of unease in his expression.
There was only a short internal deliberation before he stood slowly. He silently approached the couch, standing a few steps away from her, and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
Cass glanced up at the hand, and then Bruce. Her expression still didn't give much away, but that didn't stop the faint tremble that Bruce felt now that he was touching her.
An injury from patrol? Sickness? Poison? Bruce's mind jumped between the possibilities.
(Because none of them really thought about what was actually wrong.)
Bruce’s voice softened, barely above a murmur. Just for her. "Cassandra. You're in pain."
It wasn’t a question.
The room quieted almost instantly, the other boys picking up on the shift in tone like trained soldiers (which they were). Even Damian paused mid-glare at Tim, head tilting toward them with slight concern.
Jason leaned forward slightly from his sprawled position on the couch and asked bluntly, "Alright, who do I need to stab? Did one of Penguin’s goons get you yesterday?"
Dick shot him a look before turning back to Cass with an expression that was all Nightwing-brand warmth and worry. "Do you need medbay? Painkillers? We can call Leslie if it's serious."
Tim frowned thoughtfully at her posture before something clicked in his brain and he stiffened slightly. He coughed into his fist awkwardly when Duke elbowed him sharply in the ribs (having also figured it out).
Bruce squeezed Cass’s shoulder gently again, scanning her face for any sign of what she needed but still not connecting the dots because none of them ever thought about this.
(It would be funny if it weren't so frustrating.)
And Cass had just patiently sat through their chattering. Breathing slow and steady, in and out, though the dull ache.
It was awkward for her. The only man she'd ever approached about this before was Alfred, and of course he wasn't here at the moment. But, they were her family. Her father and brothers. She could trust them.
…Maybe.
She glanced between them, varying levels of concern, confusion, and realization from Tim and Duke, who both were doing that awkward stare only brothers could achieve. Finally, she shook her head. "No Medbay. I took painkillers. I am fine."
Jason scoffed at her protest, crossing his arms. "Yeah, sure you're fine—because people who are 'fine' curl up like they’ve been gut-punched by Bane."
Dick shot him another glare but then turned back to Cass with a gentler expression. "You don't have to tough it out if you're hurting, Cass."
Damian, who had remained quiet through all this, finally spoke up from the floor. His usual scowl was in place, but his tone uncharacteristically hesitant. "...Is this...that kind of pain?"
The room went dead silent for approximately three seconds before every single male brain in the vicinity collectively rebooted. Tim coughed into his fist again; Duke suddenly found the ceiling fascinating.
Jason blinked once before muttering under his breath: "Oh. Yeah, no stabbing required then."
Dick opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish. "...Should we...make tea?" (He was grasping.)
Bruce just stood there looking vaguely traumatized by the realization that yes, periods exist and also he had no clue how to handle this without Alfred or one of the girls here as a buffer.
Cass shrunk in on herself. Drew her knees a bit tighter against her chest, before giving a shaky nod. "I am fine," came the shaky voice again. She didn't look fine. Now, amongst the tension from pain, was also the tension from embarrassment.
Every single member of the family noticed her change in demeanor.
Dick moved to sit on the arm of the couch next to her, gently placing a hand on her knee. "Cass..."
Bruce, finally coming to grips with the knowledge of what was happening, knelt down in front of her, carefully studying her. He was silently assessing how bad the pain actually was, his gaze never leaving her for a single second.
Jason leaned forward, dropping the act, and bluntly asked, "How much on a scale of one to ten?"
Cass looked awkward under the gazes. She drew the blanket up more, like she was a bit uncomfortable being perceived at the moment. She pursed her lips. A habit of hers when she was genuinely considering an answer to a question. And then, despite her otherwise stoic demeanor, came the response:
"Nine."
The atmosphere in the room practically electrified in worry.
Dick's normally cheerful face was tight with concern. Tim looked like he was seconds away from whipping out his laptop. Jason's usual smirk was gone, replaced by a hard stare as he muttered a low "Damn". Even Bruce was still looking more worried than usual.
But it was Damian—ever blunt—who spoke first, voice uncharacteristically soft. "That is...bad."
Cass shrugged a little, taking a slow breath. Her hands were still trembling just a little as she spoke again, the only real sign that she was hurting. "This is normal. It’s always like this."
The word normal had all the male members of the family sharing looks of I am severely out of my depth here.
"Wait, you…you mean you hurt like this, every month?" Tim asked, voice tinged with disbelief.
Cass tipped her head side to side. "Every four to six. PCOS makes it irregular.”
Bruce blinked. "Polycystic...ovarian syndrome." His brain had officially switched into Bat-mode—because if this was a chronic medical issue, that meant it needed solutions. He immediately looked ready to start researching treatment plans, which would probably involve a list of specialists by morning.
Jason just stared at her blankly before slowly sliding off the couch onto the floor like his legs had given out from sheer shock. "Cass, what the actual hell—that’s not fine."
Dick made a wounded noise in the back of his throat and gently squeezed her shoulder. "Cassandra, you should’ve told us sooner!" (He sounded personally offended that she'd been suffering alone.)
Tim had already pulled out his phone and was typing furiously—probably looking up symptoms and treatments. He simultaneously sent Steph an SOS text: "EMERGENCY FEMALE ASSISTANCE NEED ADVICE" with no context whatsoever.
Damian stood abruptly, jaw set with rare determination—clearly about to march off somewhere, likely planning on returning with either tea or vengeance (or both). Duke sighed heavily from where he sat before rubbing at his temples like he could physically feel secondhand stress from all of them losing their minds at once.
Cass looked quite sheepish, her stoic expression falling into a furrowed brow and slightly squinted eyes. "I already see Dr. Thompkins. Periods are just bad." Then she side eyed Tim a moment. "Do not bother Steph."
Bruce let out a short breath, visibly relaxing a bit at the assurance that Cass was already seeing a doctor. "Good. That's—"
He was cut off by Jason's scoff. "See, that's the thing you should've started with, instead of trying the 'I'm fine' bullshit."
Tim, still furiously texting, shot Cass a sidelong glance. "Too late. Steph is already responding with about four hundred question marks."
Cass frowned awkwardly, curling up more and glancing away. Shutting down a little. Refusing communication. Set off pretty easily, at the moment. Usually it was very hard to make Cass upset.
For the Bat-boys, that expression—her shutting down—was the equivalent of a waving red flag. It was a clear sign that, right now, what was needed were gentle words and soothing actions. Not more questions.
Dick, ever perceptive, picked up on her cues almost instantly. He gently squeezed her shoulder again, his voice soft. "Hey, listen...we're not upset, okay? We just…we care about you. That's all we're trying to get at."
Cass stared down at the floor tiredly, nodding at Dick some, but otherwise still not responding.
And that was when Damian walked in with a mug of tea--
And spotted an even more upset looking Cass in the short time of his absence.
Damian froze in the doorway, one hand gripping the steaming mug so tightly that it was a miracle the ceramic didn’t crack. His eyes flicked between Cass and the rest of his brothers with a sharp glare. It was a silent demand: Who did this?
Then he grumbled, before walking over and carefully setting the tea down on the side table near Cass. "Here," he muttered stiffly, crossing his arms. "Ginger and honey." (Alfred's usual go-to for stomach issues. Damian figured it might work.) "You should drink it before it gets cold."
And, finally, Cass lifted her gaze. She managed a weak smile at Damian, mumbling a thanks and reaching to squeeze his hand. She took the tea to sip at, awkwardly avoiding gazes still. Her knees had eased down a fraction. Less curled up. Probably between intense cramping; according to Bruce's starter research, it was typical for it to come in waves.
There was a collective exhale of relief from the room.
Dick, never one to let a moment stay quiet for too long, grinned and ruffled Damian’s hair—much to the youngest Wayne's immediate outrage (though he didn't actually shove him away this time). "Aw, Dami. That was sweet."
Jason snorted. "Wow. Demon Brat actually does have a heart under all that stabby energy." Damian scowled at all of them but didn't deny any of it. He just folded his arms tighter like if he glared hard enough, maybe they'd stop embarrassing him for being not terrible.
Bruce, still in research mode but refocusing now that Cass was at least marginally more comfortable, gave Damian an approving nod before turning back to her. "...Is there anything else you need?"
Tim was still typing on his phone—likely now deep into some kind of medical journal rabbit hole because he could never leave well enough alone. Duke had taken over making popcorn in an attempt to keep things from getting awkward again.
Cass shifted a bit, shaking her head stiffly and continuing to sip the tea.
They returned to the movie for now. Cass seemed more comfortable not being the center of attention. Bruce had gotten her a hot water bottle.
Eventually, Cass carefully stood, her usual grace only very faintly stilted as she headed towards the bathroom.
The moment she was out of earshot, the entire room collectively turned to Bruce—who looked like he had just been handed a mission dossier titled How To Actually Parent A Teenage Girl (Please Help).
Jason broke the silence first with a sigh. "Okay. So what’s the plan?"
Dick nodded solemnly, arms crossed. "We can’t just let her suffer through this alone every time."
Tim raised a hand sheepishly from where he was still scrolling on his phone. “I have compiled an extensive list of remedies and comfort measures—”
Damian cut him off with an irritated tt. “Do not treat it as a case.” He paused before adding stiffly, “…But we should at least know what helps when it happens.”
Bruce exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples for a brief second before straightening up into full Batman-mode decision-making stance (even though they were all in pajamas). "Agreed." He glanced toward the hallway where Cass had disappeared before continuing lowly. "...Research thoroughly tonight—from medical advice to pain management strategies—and by tomorrow, we'll implement them discretely." He shot Jason and Dick warning looks. "Discretely."
Jason smirked but held up his hands in surrender; Dick gave one of those charming but utterly fake innocent smiles that meant he was absolutely going to make this everyone's problem in some overly dramatic way by lunchtime tomorrow.
And then Duke spoke up from where he'd been quietly observing them all with mild amusement. "Time to be less useless men?"
(OPERATION: BAT-PERIOD ASSISTANCE PLAN **title pending):
The Wayne family emergency protocol for menstrual crisis support had officially begun.
Cass eventually returned, and sat nonethewiser to the conversation that had just happened.
After the movie ended, it was time for bed. It was a sleepover night in true fashion: they had fold up mattresses (the very comfy, expensive kinds) laid up. No patrol tonight; Bruce had asked for some of the others to take over.
Duke had taken the couch (not much of a cuddler). Damian and Dick laid on one side. Jason and Tim on the other. Bruce and Cass in the middle. (Because even if it was a period, Bats tended to surround their most vulnerable members).
Cass had curled up facing away from Bruce, rather than cuddling like she normally did on nights like this. She was curled into the fetal position, her arms crossed near her sternum as she kept her breathing even. Bruce hesitated as he watched her. Then, with the precision of a man who had raised five sons but was still terrified of misstepping here, he reached out and gently tugged the blanket up higher over her shoulders. A silent gesture: I’m here if you need me.
Jason, sprawled on his mattress nearby, pretended not to watch but subtly pushed an extra pillow in Cass’s direction without looking up from his phone. Duke was snoring quietly from the couch, already, but one hand was loosely resting on the bottom of the mattress Cass was on--like he was subconsciously keeping an eye on movement. Tim had somehow fallen asleep mid-research, laptop still open beside him showing an article titled "Best Heat Therapy Options for Dysmenorrhea." Dick gave Cass one last concerned glance before flicking off the lights—but not before mouthing at her from across the room. Wake me if you need anything. Damian, surprisingly enough, didn't say a word. Just shifted closer to her side of their shared space like a tiny, protective gargoyle.
(They weren’t perfect at this yet, but they were trying.)
And so Cass, after silent goodnights and attempts at reassuring glances...
Tried to get to sleep.
As she heard her brothers fall into slumber one by one, she herself was focused on her breathing.
The pain was radiating. Spreading across her abdomen, pelvis, into her lower back and hips.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
The nausea was bad. A quiet swallow.
She closed her eyes halfway. This was always miserable. She'd trained herself to just deal with this, before Bruce had found her, adopted her. Used to suffering in silence at the hand of David Cain, who had never even spared a grain of sympathy for something like "woman problems".
Bruce, of course, wasn’t actually asleep.
He waited until the others were out before he shifted closer to Cass. "Cassandra." His voice was barely above a whisper.
When she turned to look at him, she saw his expression caught somewhere between worried father and man who has just realized he might need to call Leslie at 2 AM for backup. "I can get you something stronger than tea." A pause. "Or...if it's nausea, Alfred keeps peppermint oil in the kitchen." (He had absolutely been eavesdropping on Tim’s frantic research earlier.)
After hovering to make sure she consented to being touched, he reached out and very gently rested his hand against her forehead as if checking for fever (because even though he knew this wasn't that kind of illness, he was still grasping for any way to help).
The gesture was awkward but achingly sincere: Bruce Wayne did not know how to handle periods, but by god he would try.
And Cass was appreciative, watching him with that usually blank expression softening just a bit. She didn't answer. But, in lieu of response, she reached up to grab Bruce's hand…
And placed it on her belly. Scooted the heating pad out of the way a bit.
A silent request. An olive branch for a man who desperately needed to take action and help somehow.
Rubs?
Bruce furrowed his brow—processing the request—before his expression shifted into something close to determined. Okay. He could do this. He adjusted the heating pad carefully, then settled his hand against her abdomen with all the precision of someone handling a bomb defusal (which, frankly, he’d probably find easier right now). His palm was warm—years of combat had made his hands rough, but the motion itself was gentle. Slow circles. A steady pressure like he was trying to coax the pain out.
There was a beat before he spoke, voice soft and quiet in their peaceful surroundings. "...Alfred does this for you sometimes?" (A guess; just confirming protocol.)
Cass relaxed minutely. The cramps were still there. But the rubbing was less about pain relief and more about comfort: like Bruce's hand was a physical support while her guts felt like they were falling out. She shook her head, letting her eyes close slowly. "Steph," she mumbled.
The tension in her body did seem to be slowly easing. Some of that mask fell, leading to the visible expression of taut pain behind her poker face.
In all honesty, Bruce didn't know why it hadn't instantly occurred to him that, as one of Cass's only other (female) best friends, Steph probably did know the intricacies of period comfort.
He would have to remember to thank her tomorrow for being better at this than he was.
For now, he just continued moving his hand with slow, measured circles. Trying not to press too hard in case Cass felt nauseous, but still maintaining enough pressure to hopefully soothe the ache in her muscles.
"...Does it help?" he whispered.
Cass nodded quietly. "Comforting." She was starting to melt more. Her breathing was evening out, and her body slowly relaxed.
She was falling to sleep.
Bruce smiled gently as Cass finally drifted off. He kept up the motions for a few more minutes, just to be sure she was really asleep before easing his hand away and carefully adjusting the blanket over her again. Then he settled back onto the mattress, casting one last glance around at the rest of his (mostly) sleeping children.
Jason had somehow ended up with an arm thrown over Tim’s face like an unconscious wrestling move; Duke was snoring lightly on the couch; Dick and Damian were curled near each other in a way that suggested they'd started out arguing about personal space but had eventually conceded to shared warmth.
Bruce exhaled slowly, rubbing at his eyes before reaching for his phone to send a quick text.
Bruce: To Stephanie, Thank you.
(She would either understand immediately or wake up tomorrow deeply confused.)
Satisfied, he set it aside, then finally let himself close his eyes.
The Bats’ first Period Support Protocol was officially deemed...a work in progress. But successful enough for now.