Status: Complete
Blind
Blind
Things change for her after Peachtree. She’s Anderson now, not Rookie. People don’t bother her about her lack of a helmet anymore. The stories of her bringing a man to his knees with only her mind got out somehow, so they fear her now, too. That’s okay. Fear can be useful.
What’s changed most of all, though, is that she’s Dredd’s partner. His first partner ever, which makes her slightly giddy every time she thinks of it. The legendary Judge Dredd is her partner. Everything has changed.
Sometimes, in the middle of a firefight, Dredd lets her into his mind. Only during emergencies, of course. The man’s more protective of his mind than anyone she’s ever met. In the beginning, she kept reaching out to him without thinking, brushing against the surface of his thoughts.
She hadn’t meant anything by it, it’s just how she works. Words can mean anything, but the brain has no lies. Each time he would glance at her when she pulled out, then continue gunning down criminals. She stopped the day he pinned her against a wall at Headquarters and promised to knock her out the next time she tried getting into his head.
She stayed away from him for a while after that, but eventually he let her back in his head, where she gets brief flashes of enemies and positions to take and anger, always the anger running under everything. She likes the anger. She’s angry, too, has been angry since her parents died choking on their own blood while she panicked inside their heads.
Now she and Dredd go together like clockwork. He’s a steady presence at her side and in her head, closer to her than anyone she’s ever known. He’s twined around every part of her brain, his gruff voice a part of her conscience, and she knows she’s a part of him, too. If she sometimes wakes up from dreams of his hands on her skin, she’s able to hide that, and hide it well.
It’s her fault when Dredd gets hurt. They’re fighting against the Judged, ducking behind ruined stone walls and debris. She’s got her helmet on, the area too dangerous to leave it off and her telepathy useless when they’re this far away. Dredd’s beside her, the left side of his body pressed against hers. Solid. Always so solid.
“Jesus, Anderson, where’s the backup?” he hisses, darting over the wall to take out two men.
“I called, they’re on their way,” she promises, sweat dripping down her nose. They might die here. She’s okay with that. If she has to die, she wants it to be with her partner. Her only friend. She’s got a bullet wound in her right thigh and one of her fingers is broken. Dredd appears to be okay, but unless she’s in his head she can never tell with him. He grunts and nods.
“Look, Dredd, if we die out here, I have to tell you- ”It’s because she’s wearing her helmet that she doesn’t notice one of the Judged sneak up behind them, take a shot directly at Dredd’s back. Whatever guns the gangs are using now are strong enough to pierce Judge armor.
Dredd makes a choked sound as he falls forward in a spray of blood and she tears her helmet off, instinctively lashing out at the boy. His eyes roll back in his head and he topples over, onto Dredd. She shoves the kid aside and pulls Dredd’s head into her lap. She can just hear him through the helmet, weak and pained and there’s blood everywhere. “Dredd…Dredd, I need you to stay with me,” she begs, like she begged her parents a decade ago. The gunshots have stopped, so she ignores everything, presses her fingers to Dredd’s neck where the pulse is weak. “This is not how you’re supposed to die!” she screams, unable to do fucking anything to save him.
“Hey.” There’s a hand on her shoulder and she shoves it away with psychic force but it’s weak, she’s so tired and Dredd’s bleeding out in front of her. “Hey.” There’s someone crouching by her side now, someone pale and thin with long greasy hair. The boy from Peachtree, the one whose eyes Ma Ma gouged out. “We took care of the Judged. We can save him,” the boy says quickly, reaching out for Dredd’s helmet. She pushes him away and there’s the distinct sound of guns cocking, but the boy shakes his head. “Look, you helped us, we help you,” he says, and backup’s not here, Dredd’s dying, and she’s been in the kid’s head already, found no malice there.
“Fine. Help us.” The kid nods and two men scurry over to pick Dredd up, help her to her feet. “If this is a trick, I’ll break your mind,” she swears, not sure if she can actually do that.
“Alright.” The kid turns and calls for someone who can fix a wound.
“We’ll have to bring him back home,” the woman who stepped forward murmurs, her fingers skittering along Dredd’s armor. She has the same look as the kid, unhealthy and paranoid. “He’ll need a blood transfusion.”
“I’m coming with you,” Cassandra growls, and she’s rarely heard her voice like this.
“Yeah, of course, of course.” The kid walks ahead of them, and something’s changed since Peachtree. He looks confident. As a group of people trail behind them, she realizes it’s because he now leads his own gang, and she wonders what she’s gotten herself into. But the kid’s surface thoughts are benevolent, so she follows.
The kid’s created the biggest gang she’s ever seen in less than a year. There are hundreds of people at his base, all ages, all genders. Most of them look like the kid, but all of them stand with pride.
“You made your own gang,” she mutters, and the kid turns to look at her.
“Yeah. We’re the Blind, and we’re not gonna be victims anymore.” He keeps referring to himself in the third person, even in his head. His emotional ties to this gang are strong.
“That’s…good.” She focuses on Dredd again when they put him on a cot, start stripping off his armor. “Leave the helmet on,” she snaps.
“But we need to check his head for injuries…” one woman protests, and she glares.
“His head is fine. Leave the helmet on.” They nod nervously and continue. She delves into Dredd’s surface thoughts, which are foggy and more chaotic than usual.
Cassandra?
She smiles. He only calls her Cassandra in his head, or when he’s not paying attention. Roger that, partner
Cassandra Cassandra Cassandra
She frowns and presses deeper, where a wall has always been. The sounds of the medics are far off now. Dredd?
Pretty Cassandra
She pulls back when images of herself flood her mind, except she’s never looked that beautiful in the mirror. She presses a finger to his chin so the thoughts are clearer. His mind is open now, and she keeps seeing herself, smiling, laughing, yelling, wiping a smudge of dirt from her face as she grins, all wrapped around love and trust and family. He loves her. He loves her. His thoughts fade out as his consciousness does, with one last whisper of Cassandra.
She comes back to herself smiling. Her hands are shaking. “You okay?” he asks, and she nods, smiling.
“What’s your name, anyway?”
“Can’t have a name when we’re one of many.”
“Well, thanks for not killing us.”
He shrugs. “You saved our life, we save yours.”
They both turn to look at Dredd. His breathing is even, color returned. He’ll live. She puts her hand in his and squeezes. He’ll live.
What’s changed most of all, though, is that she’s Dredd’s partner. His first partner ever, which makes her slightly giddy every time she thinks of it. The legendary Judge Dredd is her partner. Everything has changed.
Sometimes, in the middle of a firefight, Dredd lets her into his mind. Only during emergencies, of course. The man’s more protective of his mind than anyone she’s ever met. In the beginning, she kept reaching out to him without thinking, brushing against the surface of his thoughts.
She hadn’t meant anything by it, it’s just how she works. Words can mean anything, but the brain has no lies. Each time he would glance at her when she pulled out, then continue gunning down criminals. She stopped the day he pinned her against a wall at Headquarters and promised to knock her out the next time she tried getting into his head.
She stayed away from him for a while after that, but eventually he let her back in his head, where she gets brief flashes of enemies and positions to take and anger, always the anger running under everything. She likes the anger. She’s angry, too, has been angry since her parents died choking on their own blood while she panicked inside their heads.
Now she and Dredd go together like clockwork. He’s a steady presence at her side and in her head, closer to her than anyone she’s ever known. He’s twined around every part of her brain, his gruff voice a part of her conscience, and she knows she’s a part of him, too. If she sometimes wakes up from dreams of his hands on her skin, she’s able to hide that, and hide it well.
It’s her fault when Dredd gets hurt. They’re fighting against the Judged, ducking behind ruined stone walls and debris. She’s got her helmet on, the area too dangerous to leave it off and her telepathy useless when they’re this far away. Dredd’s beside her, the left side of his body pressed against hers. Solid. Always so solid.
“Jesus, Anderson, where’s the backup?” he hisses, darting over the wall to take out two men.
“I called, they’re on their way,” she promises, sweat dripping down her nose. They might die here. She’s okay with that. If she has to die, she wants it to be with her partner. Her only friend. She’s got a bullet wound in her right thigh and one of her fingers is broken. Dredd appears to be okay, but unless she’s in his head she can never tell with him. He grunts and nods.
“Look, Dredd, if we die out here, I have to tell you- ”It’s because she’s wearing her helmet that she doesn’t notice one of the Judged sneak up behind them, take a shot directly at Dredd’s back. Whatever guns the gangs are using now are strong enough to pierce Judge armor.
Dredd makes a choked sound as he falls forward in a spray of blood and she tears her helmet off, instinctively lashing out at the boy. His eyes roll back in his head and he topples over, onto Dredd. She shoves the kid aside and pulls Dredd’s head into her lap. She can just hear him through the helmet, weak and pained and there’s blood everywhere. “Dredd…Dredd, I need you to stay with me,” she begs, like she begged her parents a decade ago. The gunshots have stopped, so she ignores everything, presses her fingers to Dredd’s neck where the pulse is weak. “This is not how you’re supposed to die!” she screams, unable to do fucking anything to save him.
“Hey.” There’s a hand on her shoulder and she shoves it away with psychic force but it’s weak, she’s so tired and Dredd’s bleeding out in front of her. “Hey.” There’s someone crouching by her side now, someone pale and thin with long greasy hair. The boy from Peachtree, the one whose eyes Ma Ma gouged out. “We took care of the Judged. We can save him,” the boy says quickly, reaching out for Dredd’s helmet. She pushes him away and there’s the distinct sound of guns cocking, but the boy shakes his head. “Look, you helped us, we help you,” he says, and backup’s not here, Dredd’s dying, and she’s been in the kid’s head already, found no malice there.
“Fine. Help us.” The kid nods and two men scurry over to pick Dredd up, help her to her feet. “If this is a trick, I’ll break your mind,” she swears, not sure if she can actually do that.
“Alright.” The kid turns and calls for someone who can fix a wound.
“We’ll have to bring him back home,” the woman who stepped forward murmurs, her fingers skittering along Dredd’s armor. She has the same look as the kid, unhealthy and paranoid. “He’ll need a blood transfusion.”
“I’m coming with you,” Cassandra growls, and she’s rarely heard her voice like this.
“Yeah, of course, of course.” The kid walks ahead of them, and something’s changed since Peachtree. He looks confident. As a group of people trail behind them, she realizes it’s because he now leads his own gang, and she wonders what she’s gotten herself into. But the kid’s surface thoughts are benevolent, so she follows.
The kid’s created the biggest gang she’s ever seen in less than a year. There are hundreds of people at his base, all ages, all genders. Most of them look like the kid, but all of them stand with pride.
“You made your own gang,” she mutters, and the kid turns to look at her.
“Yeah. We’re the Blind, and we’re not gonna be victims anymore.” He keeps referring to himself in the third person, even in his head. His emotional ties to this gang are strong.
“That’s…good.” She focuses on Dredd again when they put him on a cot, start stripping off his armor. “Leave the helmet on,” she snaps.
“But we need to check his head for injuries…” one woman protests, and she glares.
“His head is fine. Leave the helmet on.” They nod nervously and continue. She delves into Dredd’s surface thoughts, which are foggy and more chaotic than usual.
Cassandra?
She smiles. He only calls her Cassandra in his head, or when he’s not paying attention. Roger that, partner
Cassandra Cassandra Cassandra
She frowns and presses deeper, where a wall has always been. The sounds of the medics are far off now. Dredd?
Pretty Cassandra
She pulls back when images of herself flood her mind, except she’s never looked that beautiful in the mirror. She presses a finger to his chin so the thoughts are clearer. His mind is open now, and she keeps seeing herself, smiling, laughing, yelling, wiping a smudge of dirt from her face as she grins, all wrapped around love and trust and family. He loves her. He loves her. His thoughts fade out as his consciousness does, with one last whisper of Cassandra.
She comes back to herself smiling. Her hands are shaking. “You okay?” he asks, and she nods, smiling.
“What’s your name, anyway?”
“Can’t have a name when we’re one of many.”
“Well, thanks for not killing us.”
He shrugs. “You saved our life, we save yours.”
They both turn to look at Dredd. His breathing is even, color returned. He’ll live. She puts her hand in his and squeezes. He’ll live.