The Bats displaying various types of autism and other neuro divergencies. Alfred bearing witness to it all over the years, assuming he'd gotten the brunt of it when Bruce was a child, only to realize the rules kept changing and therefore he had to keep adapting.
Bruce
Bruce, of course, has ocd. It was especially prevalent after his parents died, and he so desperately needed a constant in his life. He'd only eat one thing for months. I wanna say the last thing he ate before his parents died, but there's a chance that would be triggering. Maybe. Maybe not. He also hated when his food touched. Soft foods and solid food could not be on the same plate. Mashed potatoes and steak had to be separated or else they'd be contaminated. Grilled asparagus could share the plate with steak as long as there was no contact.
And his routine was nonnegotiable. He woke up at a certain time, ate at certain times, reading time, nap time (though he couldn't sleep, he'd just lay there because that's what he should be doing). If his schedule was broken he'd have a tantrum. I don't think that Bruce was a kicking and screaming kid. I think he would sit there in a silent protest as tears ran down his face. He wouldn't eat, he wouldn't sleep, nothing. Not until whatever was wrong was remedied. Alfred, despite the challenges, adjusted to this very quickly. Of course, Bruce always had ocd, it didn't show up over night, it just got more intense with a very traumatic experience. What was once chalked up to being a weird, picky, little boy, was now acknowledged as something that needed to be tended to.
Getting Bruce to say exactly what was offending him was a challenge, but it was important for children to learn communication skills. So Alfred would sit with Bruce for however long it took, comforting and asking specific questions that would get him answers.
"It's bedtime, Master Bruce. Don't you want to lie in your bed?" Alfred questioned. Young Bruce only shook his head and sniffled as tears brimmed his eyes. Deeply concerning that he did not wish to follow his schedule. "Tell me what you require sir, I shall fetch it for you." Bruce opened his mouth to speak before immediately closing it. He was going to cry. He did not want to cry.
Alfred looked around the young boys room. It was clean and organized so that wouldn't be the problem. The bed was made, only one corner untucked that showed where he was meant to lie. His designated sleep pal (stuffed animal) for the night was placed exactly where he belonged on the bed.
"Is the issue in here, Sir?" Alfred asked thoughtfully. Bruce shook his head. Progress. Now he just had to narrow down every other room Bruce had been in. "Could you show me what's the matter?"
Bruce thought for a moment before taking a deep breath, grabbing Alfred's hand, and leading him to the library that was completely dark and packed up. They did story time already? Did he not say "The End?" Maybe he mistakenly put the book in the wrong spot. No no. None of that. He looked at Bruce who was glaring at the fireplace. Of course. He didn't light the fire. He didn't know Bruce needed the fire because he never forgot to light it.
Alfred got to work, sparking it to life. "Should I read again, Young Master?" Alfred questioned as Bruce sat on the carpet like he always did during story time.
"No." Bruce finally spoke. "We did that already. We can't do story time twice."
"Ah of course. My mistake. I apologize for the upset."
"S'okay."
Bruce sat there for thirty minutes staring at the fire, around the amount of time it took for Alfred to read one of the designated story time books. Only then did he raise up, stretching his hands for Alfred to carry him to bed.
Dick
Dick was very similar to Bruce in the sense that food was a big thing for him. Texture made him crazy if it wasn't right. Foods that were hard were out of the question. He could never eat a fresh platter of veggies. No carrot or celery sticks, not even an unripened tomato. I also feel like he just fucking hated bitter foods. If it wasn't sweet or buttery he would wage war. Only certain veggies were acceptable and they had to be cooked in very specific ways. No cinnamon in his coco or tea. God forbid he was served anything that even resembled a leaf. You couldn't hide it from him either. He always knew. Alfred managed relatively well seeing as a picky child was far from foreign to him.
Dick was, and still is, a screamer and a crier. Textbook tantrums that make people who have never had children think Bruce is a bad parent, when in reality, his child just doesn't know how to regulate his emotions when mildly inconvenienced. As children are.
Bruce on his knees in the middle of the park, doing his best to help a screaming Dick calm down. "What happened, Bubba? Is it too hot? Are you hurt?" He rubbed his shoulders, eyes scanning for injury or sunburn. Dick attempts to choke out the problem, but he's too upset to get it out.
Alfred stood back as he attempted to assess Dick's body language when he noticed the prying eyes of an older man who sat playing chess by himself.
"Excuse me, sir." He called him out. "It would do you good to pay attention to your game. It appears you're losing to the air." The man looked away, shocked and embarrassed.
The whole interaction made Dick laugh, calming him down a little. He sat on his butt, pouting and huffing. "My feet. It hurts. My feet." He stared at his shoes that he could not possibly untie with his small fingers.
Bruce quickly untied the shoes, revealing a small rock in the left one. "Oh, my baby. Was this it?" He held up the small pebble. "I'm so sorry this happened. Are you okay?" Dick nodded, but still reached out to be carried. Bruce happily complied.
Dick also hates when his feet touch the floor. No matter how polished Wayne Manor was, Dick swore up and down that he could feel the dirt accumulating on his feet. He had to have socks. Not slippers. Socks.
Dick was brutally honest. But that wasn't autism or anything else. He just did not like anyone. His kindness was exclusive to Bruce, Alfred, and Clark. Though his clinginess could probably be attributed to the trauma of losing his parents at such a young age. Alfred knew too well that such things required extra love. Bruce didn't question it either. If Dick demanded that he skipped school in favor of accompanying him to work, then it would be so. As long as he caught up with the work sheet Alfred picked up for him.
Jason
Jason was when Alfred first realized that there were levels to this. Jason didn't cry, or pout, or refuse to function if things didn't work the way he wanted them to. No. Jason had to grow up literally fighting for his life. He could not, and would not complain when his clothes had tags that made him want to curl into a ball and cry. And thus Alfred discovers the nonverbal child. Jason was so happy to be at Wayne Manor. So openly grateful to have a roof over his head and people who cared for and looked after him. It was rare to ever see the boy not laughing and giggling about this or that. So it immediately struck Alfred as odd when he'd suddenly go eerily quiet. After paying a bit more attention for the next few weeks, and a little bit of research, Alfred understood what was going on. Bruce really knew how to find Kin most similar to him.
Like I said, Jason hated tags. Heavy clothes were also a big no. Or anything that would cling to his skin in the weirdest ways. This applied to blankets and sheets too. The only bed in the entire manor without silk sheets. Alfred learned that by finding him on the floor every morning for a week. At first he assumed it was a fish out of water thing, but a sleepy Jason once confessed that the sheets made him uncomfy. This was remedied immediately. Alfred tried a few different materials to make sure they found the perfect one. Cotton, tried and true, was ultimately the winner.
I wanna say he had a routine thing too, but not nearly as strict as Bruce's was. He mostly just needed to be read to before bed. Alfred did it for him one night, and little Jason who had never experienced such comfort immediately latched on to it. Social gatherings were also a no no. He'd lived his life mostly alone, and suddenly being surrounded by people who would not stop talking? Nope! Bruce noticed one night as little Jason clung to him with that eery silence Alfred had mentioned, and immediately excused them from them from the party. He held Jason the entire way home, apologizing for making him so anxious. Jason would've argued and told Bruce to go back and enjoy himself were he not too upset to speak.
"I'm sorry I ruined your party." Jason mumbled quietly as Bruce tucked him in for bed.
"You didn't ruin anything, Jay." Bruce reassured, making sure the blankets weren't too stuffy.
"But you had to leave because of me. I'll do better next time." Jason huffed, determined to be better.
"Jason," Bruce started gravely serious. "You never have to go to a party again if you don't want to. You never have to do anything you don't want to do. I'd rather you make me leave in the middle of socializing than make you endure something completely unnecessary."
"But-"
"No buts. We're partners, Bubba. It's essential that we communicate, yes?" Bruce phrased it in a way that would hopefully appease Jason's Need to be responsible.
It seemed to work as Jason nodded his head with resolve. "Okay!"
Bruce smiled a little lopsided. They would work on that. And the self-sacrificing. "Besides," Bruce hummed, pressing a kiss to Jason's cheek. "I also hate parties." He whispered.
"Then why do you go?" Jason gasped, scandalized.
"Only to remind the world that Bruce Wayne isn't dead."
Tim
Tim is like textbook tism and adhd. Hyper fixations galore. A wide range of nerdy artsy shit, to video games and comic books. Alfred considered himself lucky to only be dealing with a chatty baby who just wanted someone to listen, he was getting much too old for tantrums and silent treatments.
"That is very interesting, Master Tim." Alfred would hum, pouring Tim a cup of tea with honey and cinnamon before Tim immediately changes the topic to facts about different types of teas.
The only time Tim wasn't talking, is when he was learning. Buried deep into a book of any kind, watching documentaries on obscure things like the process of making candles. Sat in the garden watching ants go in and out of their hill for hours. It was his 'Tism time,' or 'Timmy's tism time' as Dick had so affectionately dubbed it, intentionally ignoring the evidence that he was also textbook autistic. He hadn't been diagnosed so it couldn't be held up in court.
Tim was also a blunt child, and teenager... And adult. He never really cared to develop social awareness. But alfred was plenty used to that. Dick was a terribly blunt child. At least Tim was running on pure, unfiltered rambling, rather than a genuine hatred of anyone who came near his father. Not that Alfred or Bruce would correct either of them around guests. Alfred was usually caught suppressing a laugh while Bruce looked at the offended as if daring them to say something about one of his babies. Someone at Wayne Corp once said Tim needed to learn basic manners. That he was much too chatty, too honest. Children should never be so compelled to speak their minds constantly. Tim went silent. Tim never went silent. Obviously that person was fired, but it wasn't in the calm, composed way Bruce Wayne usually handled his employees. No. This person got ran through the mud in front of the entire office. Called everything but a child of god. They left the building in tears.
"I'm so sorry, Timmy. Please know that people like that are ignorant and that their children hate them." Bruce immediately turned around to comfort Tim who had watched the interaction in mild shock. He decided that Bruce Wayne was much more terrifying than The Batman could ever be, and counted himself lucky that he was his son, and not his employee.
Tim also hates hugs. Hand holding is nice because it reminds him that he's no longer blindly taking care of himself. He tolerates kisses because Dick made him tolerate kisses. It lowkey became a competition amongst the Bats. Who was Tim most comfortable with touching him. Dick swore up and down that it was him because he was the only one who gave him kisses. Jason knew that it was not him, and he was okay with that. The most he ever got from Tim was a high five or a shove... Or a punch. Damien thinks Dick is wrong, but he wasn't exactly the one to claim a title for physical affection. Although, Tim did seem to initiate it most with him. Was it because he was younger? Bruce knew it was him but said nothing. Hand holding, hugs, cuddles, even the occasional forehead kiss. Bruce had it all
Damian
Damian was very responsible. Every animal was fed at specific times, it did not matter if he had to feed 20 different animals at several different times during the day, he ensured they ate. He only entrusted Alfred to share this responsibility as he'd never missed one of his own meals. He was a worthy caretaker. He once asked Bruce to feed a few of his outside friends to ensure that they all got fed while he was away for a school trip, and Bruce did feed them... Too much. Or too little. Or a few minutes ahead of or behind schedule. How Damian knew, was beyond Bruce, but he accepted his incompetence with dignity.
Damian. Obviously the kid has a thing with animals. Doesn't relate to other kids bc he spent many years without being around a single one. So he has the animals. They are not pets, they are family. If anyone addresses them like pets, they are scowled at and then scolded. Damian will then walk away holding said animal in his arms no matter how big it is (never speak to me or my son again). 10 y/o Damian huffing at Jason who just baby talked Ace, and carrying the dog that's as big as him away on wobbly legs. Alfred didn't know they came in this flavor. He was the complete opposite of Tim who talked to anyone and everyone. All of the kids had been chatty to some extent. But Damian only spoke when necessary. That included making demands, hurling very intentional insults, and telling his baba how his day was.
But the animals heard it all day. Random facts, stories he read, tales of his missions. Anything and everything. There was always an animal with him, and the animal had to be addressed if he was addressed. "Master Damian, your lunch is ready." Alfred would inform, Damian, pausing to see which friend accompanied him at this time. "Does Master Tiny require a meal as well?" He nodded towards the rather fat short-tailed python hanging off of the rather small boy's shoulders. "No, Tiny has had her meal already." Damian nodded, satisfied with Tiny's acknowledgement.
"I'm just not cut out for this responsibility, Bubba." Bruce sighed.
"It's okay baba, I should've known you have far too much going on to be competent at this. I will not be making this mistake again." Damian nodded, more disappointed in himself than Bruce.
Truly, he was Bruce 2.0 when it came to routine. It could've been an assassin thing, or just the autism. Either way, Alfred was accustomed to it. In away, he was like a culmination of all the children combined. Dick's demandingness, Jason's need to be seen as self sufficient, and Tim's seemingly endless knowledge.
Most parents might complain when their children fail to grow out of things that are perceived as inconvenient, but Alfred was far too happy that his boys were still his boys after so long. Rather than ridiculing them for their oddities, Alfred simply helped them learn to help themselves. So when the day came where they had to take care of themselves, they'd be equipped to handle it. Bruce's ocd depends on where he's at mentally, but he learned methods to quell his anxiety, making his episodes less severe. Dick learned how to cook so that he would never be subjected to icky textures or bitter flavors. Jason strictly owned breathable, cotton fabrics. Tim did eventually learn social cues, he just did not care, and continued to be himself understanding that there would be the occasional consequence. Damian learned that relying on others wasn't the end of the world, specifically his brothers, who were far from perfect, but would die for him all the same. And that was honorable.
(*＾3＾)/～♡
An: I'm venting. I experience at least half of these things but I was much too smart to be diagnosed despite my very early signs. Like I was literally taken for testing because I was hyper active, but the energy bursts weren't actually one of my habits, so when I was able to control it they said "nah." I wonder if you can tell which ones I have from how I wrote this 😭 Note that my entire family is undiagnosed so I think I'm pretty accustomed to most of these.
Also. Sorry that there's no Cass, Steph, or Duke. I don't know a lot about them so I don't really know what to write. Hopefully I'll get to the content with more of them soon. I'm sure that they are all also very neuro divergent.
In my defense, I'm very used to my family being unable to sit completely still, or constantly repeating random, random things we've heard on the Internet. So I sometimes forget what it is 😭
From what I do know about Steph and Cass, I find these to be accurate.
Cass
Cass is like fem bruce if I'm correct, and that really checks out for a Bruce who didn't have to learn how to be a socialite by the time he was 6. Especially considering her background??? Yeah no that baby don't talk.
But that's okay. She doesn't have to. She can communicate in whatever way she's most comfortable with. Not the first bat kid to struggle with verbal communication. She does get lessons to help out anxieties and general communication skills for the sake of making her life a little easier on the outside. But she like never talks at the manor, or around the family in general. Sign language maybe? Alfred would learn with no complaints. Little Damian seemed to slip into Arabic when he was tired. And Tim learned Russian just because, and he had not heard the end of it. So what's one more? Probably also just a weird lil Bat specific way to communicate as well. Don't know what as I don't know any completely nonverbal kids, or adults for that matter.
Rbf plus the nonverbal. Most likely an autism accent when she does speak. She does have emotion her voice just doesn't do the thing 😭 Sheesh I know the streets are mean to her. Fortunately, she is meaner. Not that she has to be with her six??? Siblings??? And her incredibly protective father. I see someone looking at her the wrong way and suddenly a line of Bats appears in front of her with various weapons, starting with Damian, ending with Bruce. I hope this is accurate for the Cass fans!
Steph
Stephanie! Once again I do see this! Very loud little baby with no clue how loud she is. Surprisingly louder than Dick ever was. She can't help it though she just gets so excited! She's running around the manor, jumping, arms waving in the air because it is chicken nugget night. Reasonable if you ask me. Everyone knew exactly what this was as Dick was definitely a stimmer. They just realized late because these are bat kids, boy and girl wonders, of course they can't sit still. More subtle stims probably include things like clapping and stomping her feet (I see it so clearly). Stress stims? Probably. Maybe she needs something to squeeze on. That is when she's not outside knocking heads. She continues all of this as she gets older. She strikes me as shameless? Of course, as it was with everyone, if anyone dared say a thing about 'controlling her,' Bruce would rain hellfire.
And she's also a very chatty baby like Tim. Is them being super close fanon or canon? Either way, I think it's cute. First thing in the morning, and right before bed, she talks Cassandra's ears off. Cass likes the mindless chatter when she gets overstimulated (reminds her that she's not alone anymore). Throughout the day she's going back and forth with Tim about god knows what. These conversations ultimately go nowhere, but everyone is happy and fuzzy at the end so who cares! Thoughts?
Dick (again)
Also in my defense, I think Dick would have the most obvious stims out of everyone I wrote for, and I think he mostly does it on patrol or while he's practicing gymnastics. When he gets really excited, you know? Alternatively, he probably stims a fuck ton around Clark. Lil baby Dick Grayson (and adult Grayson) is always so geeked around Thee Superman that he cannot, and will not help it. I see the baby jumping up and down with his arms in the air to imitate Superman. He'll do it for like ten minutes straight until his legs finally get tired. Clark is confused at first. All Bruce says is "He likes you," and that's enough for Big Blue. Teenager and older is much less obvious as he is a lot more self conscious, but the rapid, tiny, fist pump he does says it all. As well as the general inability to sit down. Clark notices and smiles, happy to know Baby Blue still looked up to him.
Also, rapid fire!
Tim stims verbally only. So many video game quotes. He's also biter! I drew it! It's real! His favorite form of physical affection!
Bruce used to stim but stopped like forever ago because of discipline training. Though... He's been known to abruptly give kisses when really happy. The same way his mama used to kiss him when she was happy.
Jason doesn't stim really. Also a discipline training thing probably. Or because sudden movements in his neighborhood could've gotten him shot at.
Damian doesn't stim. Could be a discipline thing but I think he just doesn't. If he does, he mostly masks out of embarrassment. He does not care that his siblings are unabashedly themselves, it's unbecoming of an heir. But I think unnecessary movement is not his m.o.
Duke, though i don't know you well, I know you stim! Also sensitive hearing! He wears headphones to keep from overstimulation. His suit is noise insulated. I know these things because the voices told me 🙂↕️ (TALK TO ME DUKE FANS! I MOSTLY GET MY INFO FROM HEADCANONS AND COMIC REENACTMENTS)
Okay, I must reblog again because these additions are just *chef's kiss*! UGH!
I could totally see nonverbal Cass stimming by endlessly tapping out messages in morse code. It's super subtle, sometimes just two fingers tapping the side of her leg, maybe blinking behind her mask, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth behind closed lips. Damian is usually the only one who catches it.
Steph chews a LOT of gum. Like a pack a week. Blows lots of bubbles, but has to be careful who she pops them around. Duke and Bruce hate it.
And Duke! I am also not so familiar with the Signal, but noise sensitivity seems spot on for him. Not about stimming, but I get the feeling his bluntness might present in a rather endearing way, like he often interrupts people just to give them a really specific compliment. "Mr. Warren was totally cruel to give us that pop qui--" "Your voice sounds like a See's Candies vanilla Lollipop."
Speaking of which, Duke has multiple forms of synesthesia, mainly auditory-tactile. Both he and Tim (and myself) have all the ones with number/letter/date associations, and they get into heated debates over how the number 8 can't be teal and female presenting because it's on the upper right side of the space-and-time pyramid, and it's dating the word Orange, who is very clearly gay. Steph is fascinated by these discussions and prides herself on remembering the boys' respective associations so she can sign their birthday cards with each letter written in its corresponding color. In fact, she probably has personification synesthesia; every one of her shirts has a name and personality.
Back to stims... Tim grinds his teeth while studying. Not aggressively, just sort of working his jaw back and forth like a cow. Big time pen-clicker.
Jason used to grind his teeth, and hard, but it gave him headaches so now he chews ice instead. He also makes mental lists describing his surroundings while on patrol, repeating the phrases over and over in his head like a mantra that keeps him grounded: "Fire escape, oil stain, broken ladder rung, two windows..." (am i projecting? maybe...)
Bruce does that as well, but with names and dates or details relating to a case.
When Dick is overstimulated, he starts walking on his hands. Just flips over and trots around the manor while upside down. The blood rush helps calm him down, and he doesn't need to move his body as much to feel satisfied.
Damian doesn't realize it--and if he did, he'd defend it profusely--but his stimming is perfect diction and pronunciation. Every single syllable must be crisp (especially consonants), and if someone pronounces something the Wrong Way, he may need to leave and go take a shower to feel clean.
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The Bats displaying various types of autism and other neuro divergencies. Alfred bearing witness to it all over the years, assuming he'd gotten the brunt of it when Bruce was a child, only to realize the rules kept changing and therefore he had to keep adapting.
Bruce
Bruce, of course, has ocd. It was especially prevalent after his parents died, and he so desperately needed a constant in his life. He'd only eat one thing for months. I wanna say the last thing he ate before his parents died, but there's a chance that would be triggering. Maybe. Maybe not. He also hated when his food touched. Soft foods and solid food could not be on the same plate. Mashed potatoes and steak had to be separated or else they'd be contaminated. Grilled asparagus could share the plate with steak as long as there was no contact.
And his routine was nonnegotiable. He woke up at a certain time, ate at certain times, reading time, nap time (though he couldn't sleep, he'd just lay there because that's what he should be doing). If his schedule was broken he'd have a tantrum. I don't think that Bruce was a kicking and screaming kid. I think he would sit there in a silent protest as tears ran down his face. He wouldn't eat, he wouldn't sleep, nothing. Not until whatever was wrong was remedied. Alfred, despite the challenges, adjusted to this very quickly. Of course, Bruce always had ocd, it didn't show up over night, it just got more intense with a very traumatic experience. What was once chalked up to being a weird, picky, little boy, was now acknowledged as something that needed to be tended to.
Getting Bruce to say exactly what was offending him was a challenge, but it was important for children to learn communication skills. So Alfred would sit with Bruce for however long it took, comforting and asking specific questions that would get him answers.
"It's bedtime, Master Bruce. Don't you want to lie in your bed?" Alfred questioned. Young Bruce only shook his head and sniffled as tears brimmed his eyes. Deeply concerning that he did not wish to follow his schedule. "Tell me what you require sir, I shall fetch it for you." Bruce opened his mouth to speak before immediately closing it. He was going to cry. He did not want to cry.
Alfred looked around the young boys room. It was clean and organized so that wouldn't be the problem. The bed was made, only one corner untucked that showed where he was meant to lie. His designated sleep pal (stuffed animal) for the night was placed exactly where he belonged on the bed.
"Is the issue in here, Sir?" Alfred asked thoughtfully. Bruce shook his head. Progress. Now he just had to narrow down every other room Bruce had been in. "Could you show me what's the matter?"
Bruce thought for a moment before taking a deep breath, grabbing Alfred's hand, and leading him to the library that was completely dark and packed up. They did story time already? Did he not say "The End?" Maybe he mistakenly put the book in the wrong spot. No no. None of that. He looked at Bruce who was glaring at the fireplace. Of course. He didn't light the fire. He didn't know Bruce needed the fire because he never forgot to light it.
Alfred got to work, sparking it to life. "Should I read again, Young Master?" Alfred questioned as Bruce sat on the carpet like he always did during story time.
"No." Bruce finally spoke. "We did that already. We can't do story time twice."
"Ah of course. My mistake. I apologize for the upset."
"S'okay."
Bruce sat there for thirty minutes staring at the fire, around the amount of time it took for Alfred to read one of the designated story time books. Only then did he raise up, stretching his hands for Alfred to carry him to bed.
Dick
Dick was very similar to Bruce in the sense that food was a big thing for him. Texture made him crazy if it wasn't right. Foods that were hard were out of the question. He could never eat a fresh platter of veggies. No carrot or celery sticks, not even an unripened tomato. I also feel like he just fucking hated bitter foods. If it wasn't sweet or buttery he would wage war. Only certain veggies were acceptable and they had to be cooked in very specific ways. No cinnamon in his coco or tea. God forbid he was served anything that even resembled a leaf. You couldn't hide it from him either. He always knew. Alfred managed relatively well seeing as a picky child was far from foreign to him.
Dick was, and still is, a screamer and a crier. Textbook tantrums that make people who have never had children think Bruce is a bad parent, when in reality, his child just doesn't know how to regulate his emotions when mildly inconvenienced. As children are.
Bruce on his knees in the middle of the park, doing his best to help a screaming Dick calm down. "What happened, Bubba? Is it too hot? Are you hurt?" He rubbed his shoulders, eyes scanning for injury or sunburn. Dick attempts to choke out the problem, but he's too upset to get it out.
Alfred stood back as he attempted to assess Dick's body language when he noticed the prying eyes of an older man who sat playing chess by himself.
"Excuse me, sir." He called him out. "It would do you good to pay attention to your game. It appears you're losing to the air." The man looked away, shocked and embarrassed.
The whole interaction made Dick laugh, calming him down a little. He sat on his butt, pouting and huffing. "My feet. It hurts. My feet." He stared at his shoes that he could not possibly untie with his small fingers.
Bruce quickly untied the shoes, revealing a small rock in the left one. "Oh, my baby. Was this it?" He held up the small pebble. "I'm so sorry this happened. Are you okay?" Dick nodded, but still reached out to be carried. Bruce happily complied.
Dick also hates when his feet touch the floor. No matter how polished Wayne Manor was, Dick swore up and down that he could feel the dirt accumulating on his feet. He had to have socks. Not slippers. Socks.
Dick was brutally honest. But that wasn't autism or anything else. He just did not like anyone. His kindness was exclusive to Bruce, Alfred, and Clark. Though his clinginess could probably be attributed to the trauma of losing his parents at such a young age. Alfred knew too well that such things required extra love. Bruce didn't question it either. If Dick demanded that he skipped school in favor of accompanying him to work, then it would be so. As long as he caught up with the work sheet Alfred picked up for him.
Jason
Jason was when Alfred first realized that there were levels to this. Jason didn't cry, or pout, or refuse to function if things didn't work the way he wanted them to. No. Jason had to grow up literally fighting for his life. He could not, and would not complain when his clothes had tags that made him want to curl into a ball and cry. And thus Alfred discovers the nonverbal child. Jason was so happy to be at Wayne Manor. So openly grateful to have a roof over his head and people who cared for and looked after him. It was rare to ever see the boy not laughing and giggling about this or that. So it immediately struck Alfred as odd when he'd suddenly go eerily quiet. After paying a bit more attention for the next few weeks, and a little bit of research, Alfred understood what was going on. Bruce really knew how to find Kin most similar to him.
Like I said, Jason hated tags. Heavy clothes were also a big no. Or anything that would cling to his skin in the weirdest ways. This applied to blankets and sheets too. The only bed in the entire manor without silk sheets. Alfred learned that by finding him on the floor every morning for a week. At first he assumed it was a fish out of water thing, but a sleepy Jason once confessed that the sheets made him uncomfy. This was remedied immediately. Alfred tried a few different materials to make sure they found the perfect one. Cotton, tried and true, was ultimately the winner.
I wanna say he had a routine thing too, but not nearly as strict as Bruce's was. He mostly just needed to be read to before bed. Alfred did it for him one night, and little Jason who had never experienced such comfort immediately latched on to it. Social gatherings were also a no no. He'd lived his life mostly alone, and suddenly being surrounded by people who would not stop talking? Nope! Bruce noticed one night as little Jason clung to him with that eery silence Alfred had mentioned, and immediately excused them from them from the party. He held Jason the entire way home, apologizing for making him so anxious. Jason would've argued and told Bruce to go back and enjoy himself were he not too upset to speak.
"I'm sorry I ruined your party." Jason mumbled quietly as Bruce tucked him in for bed.
"You didn't ruin anything, Jay." Bruce reassured, making sure the blankets weren't too stuffy.
"But you had to leave because of me. I'll do better next time." Jason huffed, determined to be better.
"Jason," Bruce started gravely serious. "You never have to go to a party again if you don't want to. You never have to do anything you don't want to do. I'd rather you make me leave in the middle of socializing than make you endure something completely unnecessary."
"But-"
"No buts. We're partners, Bubba. It's essential that we communicate, yes?" Bruce phrased it in a way that would hopefully appease Jason's Need to be responsible.
It seemed to work as Jason nodded his head with resolve. "Okay!"
Bruce smiled a little lopsided. They would work on that. And the self-sacrificing. "Besides," Bruce hummed, pressing a kiss to Jason's cheek. "I also hate parties." He whispered.
"Then why do you go?" Jason gasped, scandalized.
"Only to remind the world that Bruce Wayne isn't dead."
Tim
Tim is like textbook tism and adhd. Hyper fixations galore. A wide range of nerdy artsy shit, to video games and comic books. Alfred considered himself lucky to only be dealing with a chatty baby who just wanted someone to listen, he was getting much too old for tantrums and silent treatments.
"That is very interesting, Master Tim." Alfred would hum, pouring Tim a cup of tea with honey and cinnamon before Tim immediately changes the topic to facts about different types of teas.
The only time Tim wasn't talking, is when he was learning. Buried deep into a book of any kind, watching documentaries on obscure things like the process of making candles. Sat in the garden watching ants go in and out of their hill for hours. It was his 'Tism time,' or 'Timmy's tism time' as Dick had so affectionately dubbed it, intentionally ignoring the evidence that he was also textbook autistic. He hadn't been diagnosed so it couldn't be held up in court.
Tim was also a blunt child, and teenager... And adult. He never really cared to develop social awareness. But alfred was plenty used to that. Dick was a terribly blunt child. At least Tim was running on pure, unfiltered rambling, rather than a genuine hatred of anyone who came near his father. Not that Alfred or Bruce would correct either of them around guests. Alfred was usually caught suppressing a laugh while Bruce looked at the offended as if daring them to say something about one of his babies. Someone at Wayne Corp once said Tim needed to learn basic manners. That he was much too chatty, too honest. Children should never be so compelled to speak their minds constantly. Tim went silent. Tim never went silent. Obviously that person was fired, but it wasn't in the calm, composed way Bruce Wayne usually handled his employees. No. This person got ran through the mud in front of the entire office. Called everything but a child of god. They left the building in tears.
"I'm so sorry, Timmy. Please know that people like that are ignorant and that their children hate them." Bruce immediately turned around to comfort Tim who had watched the interaction in mild shock. He decided that Bruce Wayne was much more terrifying than The Batman could ever be, and counted himself lucky that he was his son, and not his employee.
Tim also hates hugs. Hand holding is nice because it reminds him that he's no longer blindly taking care of himself. He tolerates kisses because Dick made him tolerate kisses. It lowkey became a competition amongst the Bats. Who was Tim most comfortable with touching him. Dick swore up and down that it was him because he was the only one who gave him kisses. Jason knew that it was not him, and he was okay with that. The most he ever got from Tim was a high five or a shove... Or a punch. Damien thinks Dick is wrong, but he wasn't exactly the one to claim a title for physical affection. Although, Tim did seem to initiate it most with him. Was it because he was younger? Bruce knew it was him but said nothing. Hand holding, hugs, cuddles, even the occasional forehead kiss. Bruce had it all
Damian
Damian was very responsible. Every animal was fed at specific times, it did not matter if he had to feed 20 different animals at several different times during the day, he ensured they ate. He only entrusted Alfred to share this responsibility as he'd never missed one of his own meals. He was a worthy caretaker. He once asked Bruce to feed a few of his outside friends to ensure that they all got fed while he was away for a school trip, and Bruce did feed them... Too much. Or too little. Or a few minutes ahead of or behind schedule. How Damian knew, was beyond Bruce, but he accepted his incompetence with dignity.
Damian. Obviously the kid has a thing with animals. Doesn't relate to other kids bc he spent many years without being around a single one. So he has the animals. They are not pets, they are family. If anyone addresses them like pets, they are scowled at and then scolded. Damian will then walk away holding said animal in his arms no matter how big it is (never speak to me or my son again). 10 y/o Damian huffing at Jason who just baby talked Ace, and carrying the dog that's as big as him away on wobbly legs. Alfred didn't know they came in this flavor. He was the complete opposite of Tim who talked to anyone and everyone. All of the kids had been chatty to some extent. But Damian only spoke when necessary. That included making demands, hurling very intentional insults, and telling his baba how his day was.
But the animals heard it all day. Random facts, stories he read, tales of his missions. Anything and everything. There was always an animal with him, and the animal had to be addressed if he was addressed. "Master Damian, your lunch is ready." Alfred would inform, Damian, pausing to see which friend accompanied him at this time. "Does Master Tiny require a meal as well?" He nodded towards the rather fat short-tailed python hanging off of the rather small boy's shoulders. "No, Tiny has had her meal already." Damian nodded, satisfied with Tiny's acknowledgement.
"I'm just not cut out for this responsibility, Bubba." Bruce sighed.
"It's okay baba, I should've known you have far too much going on to be competent at this. I will not be making this mistake again." Damian nodded, more disappointed in himself than Bruce.
Truly, he was Bruce 2.0 when it came to routine. It could've been an assassin thing, or just the autism. Either way, Alfred was accustomed to it. In away, he was like a culmination of all the children combined. Dick's demandingness, Jason's need to be seen as self sufficient, and Tim's seemingly endless knowledge.
Most parents might complain when their children fail to grow out of things that are perceived as inconvenient, but Alfred was far too happy that his boys were still his boys after so long. Rather than ridiculing them for their oddities, Alfred simply helped them learn to help themselves. So when the day came where they had to take care of themselves, they'd be equipped to handle it. Bruce's ocd depends on where he's at mentally, but he learned methods to quell his anxiety, making his episodes less severe. Dick learned how to cook so that he would never be subjected to icky textures or bitter flavors. Jason strictly owned breathable, cotton fabrics. Tim did eventually learn social cues, he just did not care, and continued to be himself understanding that there would be the occasional consequence. Damian learned that relying on others wasn't the end of the world, specifically his brothers, who were far from perfect, but would die for him all the same. And that was honorable.
(*＾3＾)/～♡
An: I'm venting. I experience at least half of these things but I was much too smart to be diagnosed despite my very early signs. Like I was literally taken for testing because I was hyper active, but the energy bursts weren't actually one of my habits, so when I was able to control it they said "nah." I wonder if you can tell which ones I have from how I wrote this 😭 Note that my entire family is undiagnosed so I think I'm pretty accustomed to most of these.
Also. Sorry that there's no Cass, Steph, or Duke. I don't know a lot about them so I don't really know what to write. Hopefully I'll get to the content with more of them soon. I'm sure that they are all also very neuro divergent.
Girl literally WHAT are you crying for. (Spoilers for S4 E22 of Gilmore Girls)
Like oh fucking boo-hoo I slept with a married man entirely of my own volition, unforced and uninfluenced, and oh poor little me being told by my mother that doing so was wrong. What reason could she possibly have to feel sorry for herself? Jesus Christ.
And so so so good on Lorelai for clocking her shit and immediately telling her that it was wrong, I'm so glad that even though she very obviously loves Rory she tells her when she's fucked up because god knows that girl needs a reality check.
I interpret it like this: Rory cries because she is grieving herself. She is supposed to be this perfect, special, innocent golden girl, and by the end of season four, has proven one way or another that this is not the case. She’s been spiraling towards her downfall, and in a desperate attempt to reclaim her past perfection, she goes back to Dean. He was the “perfect boyfriend” according to her mother, and represents all the goodness Rory has learned to associate with herself, because that’s what’s expected of her. She was trying to be good, she wants to be good, but as soon as Lorelai forces her to acknowledge that what she did was wrong, Rory breaks. She hears the voice of the girl whose marriage she just invaded, and she has to accept that she isn’t who she thought she was. She isn’t “good” anymore.
