The evening air outside the Gotham City Library had begun to cool, and the sky above was slowly darkening into deep shades of blue and gray. Streetlights flickered on one by one, casting long shadows across the pavement.
Dean stood at the entrance, glancing up at the sky before turning toward Cassandra beside him.
"Gotham General Hospital is pretty far from here," he said calmly. "By the time we get there and come back, it'll be late. Are you sure you'll be okay?"
Cassandra didn't hesitate. She shook her head gently and raised her hands.
"I'm fine. I've been wandering for years. Sometimes I don't sleep for days. Day and night are the same to me."
Dean froze for a second.
There was no exaggeration in her expression.
She wasn't trying to sound strong.
She was just stating a fact.
"Uh… sorry," Dean said awkwardly. "I didn't mean to bring that up."
Cassandra simply shook her head again, then made another set of gestures, this time slower and more deliberate.
"You don't need to use sign language for me all the time."
Dean blinked.
She continued.
"I can understand what you're saying. I know you're doing it to make me feel comfortable… to make things easier for me."
Her hands paused briefly, then moved again.
"I appreciate it. But you don't have to do that. I'm already used to being different."
Dean stared at her quietly.
There was no bitterness in her expression.
No sadness.
Just acceptance.
Then she added one more line.
"Barbara used to talk to me like that too. But she doesn't anymore."
Dean nodded slowly.
That made sense.
At first, people tried to adapt for her sake.
But over time, real understanding didn't need that effort anymore.
Dean let out a small breath and scratched the back of his head.
"Alright," he said. "Then I'll just talk normally."
To be honest, speaking and signing at the same time had been strange for him anyway. It felt unnatural, like trying to think in two different languages at once.
But something Cassandra had said lingered in his mind.
"I can see what you're saying…"
Dean narrowed his eyes slightly.
Why "see"?
Not "hear"?
It was a small detail, but something about it felt… different.
Still, he didn't dwell on it.
Maybe it was just the way she expressed herself.
The two of them started walking down the street toward Gotham General Hospital.
The city was slowly transitioning into night.
And in Gotham—
Night meant danger.
Dean kept his eyes on the road, occasionally scanning the surroundings.
Normally, he wouldn't think twice about traveling like this.
But tonight was different.
Because he wasn't alone.
Cassandra walked beside him silently, her steps light and steady.
Dean planned to hail a taxi.
Walking all the way there would take too long—at least an hour one way. A round trip would be exhausting.
Usually, Dean would never waste money on something like that.
He had his own methods.
If he really wanted to move fast, he could just slip into a dark alley, change into his custom bat suit, and glide across Gotham's rooftops like a shadow.
After all, Batman wasn't around to complain.
And when wearing that suit, the city itself seemed to step aside.
Thugs avoided him.
Criminals disappeared into the shadows.
Even the most reckless troublemakers thought twice before approaching someone dressed like that.
In Gotham, fear was the best protection.
But tonight, with Cassandra beside him, that wasn't an option.
So they stuck to the main roads.
Or at least… they tried to.
Minutes passed.
Then more minutes.
But strangely—
Not a single taxi appeared.
Dean frowned.
"Did Gotham's taxi drivers all take a holiday today or something?" he muttered.
They had already walked quite a distance, yet the road remained empty.
Dean stopped for a moment, resting his chin on his hand as he thought.
At this rate, they would have to walk the entire way.
That wasn't ideal.
Maybe he should have Cassandra go back first—
"Cassandra, maybe you should just—"
Before he could finish, Cassandra suddenly moved.
Without warning—
She ran.
Straight toward a nearby alley.
Dean's eyes widened.
"Hey! That's dangerous!" he shouted, immediately rushing after her. "That's not a place you should go!"
He reached out and grabbed her shoulder—
And froze.
He couldn't stop her.
Dean's grip tightened instinctively.
But instead of pulling Cassandra back—
She pulled him forward.
Dean's expression changed instantly.
"What…?"
He tried again, putting more strength into his arm.
Nothing.
Cassandra didn't slow down.
In fact—
She sped up.
Dean felt his feet almost losing contact with the ground as he was dragged along.
His mind raced.
"How is she this strong?"
"And this fast?"
Even trained athletes wouldn't move like this.
Something was off.
Very off.
"Is she a metahuman?"
"Or something else entirely?"
Before he could figure it out, Cassandra suddenly stopped.
Completely.
Abruptly.
Dean nearly stumbled forward as the sudden halt broke his momentum.
They were now deep inside the alley.
Cassandra stood still, her gaze fixed ahead.
Dean followed her line of sight.
And what he saw…
Made his expression darken.
Not far away, a skinny boy wearing glasses was slumped against a wall.
His clothes were messy.
His face pale.
And surrounding him—
Three larger boys.
They looked about eighteen or nineteen, likely college students.
But their behavior…
Far from respectable.
The tallest among them stepped forward, placing his foot against the wall beside the boy's shoulder.
His face twisted into a mocking grin.
"Mikey," he said loudly, "you made a big mistake today."
He leaned closer.
"This alley?"
"It's our territory."
The two boys beside him immediately echoed in unison.
"Our territory!"
The leader smirked wider.
"We don't accept trash here."
"You're not welcome."
"You hear me?"
He jabbed a finger toward the boy.
"You're just worthless trash."
The other two laughed loudly.
"Trash! Trash!"
The sound echoed in the narrow alley.
The leader then bent down and began patting the boy's pockets roughly.
After a moment, he pulled out a few crumpled bills.
"Twenty-one dollars?"
He snorted.
"Pathetic."
Dean's eyelids twitched.
The corners of his mouth pulled slightly.
"What… am I even watching?" he muttered under his breath.
This was bullying.
Plain.
Ugly.
And stupid.
Beside him, Cassandra's expression changed.
For the first time since he had met her—
Disapproval appeared clearly on her face.
A quiet, but firm anger.
At that moment, the three bullies finally noticed them.
The leader turned his head, looking Dean and Cassandra up and down.
Then he smirked.
"Great," he said. "More trash."
He straightened up and pointed his chin arrogantly.
"Listen carefully," he said loudly.
"This is the Mask Gang's territory."
"If you want to pass through—"
He grinned.
"You pay."
The other two boys stepped forward, standing beside him.
Then, as if on cue—
All three of them pulled out masks.
A yellow skull.
A green skull.
A red skull.
Dean stared at them.
"…Seriously?"
The masks weren't even scary.
They looked ridiculous.
Worse—
Dean had already seen their faces clearly.
So what was the point of wearing them now?
For dramatic effect?
He didn't understand.
He really didn't.
But then—
The mood changed.
The three boys reached behind them.
And pulled out weapons.
Two baseball bats.
And one golf club.
Dean's eyes sharpened.
The air in the alley grew tense.
The laughter faded.
And in its place—
A confrontation began to take shape.
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