#fishiewrites

part 3!

something something bruce offhandedly mentions being autistic and it's like a record scratches as his kids turn to him with expressions varying from "how the fuck did i not know" to "why the fuck did you not tell me." there's the beginnings of an argument because, well, it would've made communication a lot EASIER if they knew.

"Honestly," Bruce huffs, "I thought you all knew."

"How would we know without you telling us, Bruce? It's been over a decade. You didn't think it would be useful??"

"I thought it was one of those things most people just automatically knew, but I didn't. Every kid I grew up knew before I did."

Pause. What?

"You're telling me everyone knew Brucie 'Prince of Gotham' Wayne was autistic?"

"I wasn't Brucie back then," Bruce said flatly. "I was just a kid. And yes, everyone knew, before I did actually. Though, with how often they said it to my face, I should have figured it out sooner."

"...Called you autistic? They called you autistic to your- Bruce, did no one do anything??" Dick asked. He was very aware of the kind of bullying a newly-orphaned kid might receive, but it had never been anything like that.

"It was the 80s, they used the more outdated term. And they were right, so what was there to report?" Bruce shrugged. "I think everyone assumed I got hit in the head real hard during my travels, and it fixed me." Bruce made to push past his kids, but they refused to move.

"Bruce. You can't still... you know there's nothing to fix, right?" Tim asked hesitantly. It was hard to remember, sometimes, that his dad was a vulnerable kid once too.

Bruce turned to his son and gave a wry smile. "Of course I know that now." He'd learned to control his nervous rocking on his heels; he kept his hands and body still as he talked; he studied up on social cues and body language like he did economics or history.

He wasn't lying; he knew there was nothing to fix because there was nothing left to fix. What was left of him was too broken to even try, and it would have to remain one of his many failures.

This time, as Bruce moved again, he was let through to his bedroom.

dick has to put his head in his hands, after bruce tells him he wants to travel the world again, peacefully, when his job in gotham is done. tim is quick to reach for the ginger-ale for the nausea rolling in his gut as bruce is hopeful about going to med school, of saving people with gentle hands. jason finds himself in that alley after bruce describes his dream for the people of park row, not crime alley, park row. he doesn't leave for a long, long time. damian goes to spar but ends up just sitting at the mats, staring off into nothing, after bruce shyly mentions a beautiful woman he wants to settle down with. cass tries to go to sleep and forget the hope emanating from bruce, hope and conviction and (comparatively) none of the weary resolution or thick self-hatred that she and bruce knew all too well, when he speaks of the milestone that will let him know he can be stop, a soldier dreaming of a declaration of peace.

they didn't know batman was supposed to be temporary. they didn't know bruce started this with the intention of stopping, because they bruce they all knew would never stop. they didn't know he never intended to sign the rest of his life to this, this violent duty that stretched him thin between gotham and wayne charities and the justice league.

he pulls a fanon-tim drake, fucking around online to get groceries delivered and keeping busy with random skills and textbooks to distract himself from the bone-deep chill of loneliness or the flashbacks from thunder or the insomnia-inducing nightmares or the-

anyways.

he can almost convince himself he enjoys it, that he prefers this. he doesn’t have time for anyone, they’d just get in the way of his studies. sure, he doesn’t go to school, and he misses hearing people's voices outside of video lectures. but he’s always enjoyed learning, and he wants to be a doctor! the best there is, like his dad.

yeah. yeah! if he had anyone around, they’d just distract him from his mission. he prefers this.

and he’s doing fine, he thinks. at least, he’s doing the best he can.

it’s just- he’s in the future, right? and he’s still alone? there wasn’t anyone for him? still? he should be in his forties and the manor is still empty?

but there are signs of people having lived here. a family, even! he looks himself up and- oh!

he has kids! a family! he adopts five kids in the future! he has a family!!

but he’s been alone for months, now. the manor has been cold and empty the whole time he’s been there. where... are they? why haven't they come home?

oh. they probably left him too. alfred always does did say he’ll drive people away, being so miserable and gloomy all the time. they probably saw the broken thing inside him that seems so visible to everyone he meets, the thing that makes people laugh at him, the thing that makes him miss social cues. like he's not really a boy, but a novelty.

he wants to go back home. to the past. maybe it wasn’t so bad, with just alfred. he should’ve been more grateful. is this a test? if he’s better will he get to go back? he wants help, he wants a hug, he wants anyone.

he hates this. he hates cooking for himself and he hates tucking himself in bed and he hates dragging a step-stool around between the kitchen sink and the stove and the countertops because even on his tippy toes he can’t reach. he hates that every step echoes because the house is so empty and he hates that he had to wear a dozen layers because he’s cold and can’t figure out the thermostat and he hates that he cries every night while hugging himself because no one is there to do it for him. he hates that the happiest he feels is when he gets a Congratulations! email after finishing an online course.

he’s supposed to have a family now, and even his adult-self couldn't be good enough to keep them around, and he’s alone alone alone.

what was the point of this? what was the point of bringing him to see the future that awaits him? to see how worthless he is and will always be? how easy he is to leave? how awful it is to be around him??

he was stupid for hoping his future would be better.

what was the point surviving that night? of surviving every night after that? why even bother staying alive?? to be alone???

not for the first time, nor for the last, bruce goes to sleep praying he wont have to wake up.

pt2 will be something w the kids coming home! more angst dont worry <3

oh, he still cares. he still loves gotham, fights for her, bleeds for her, feels for her. but when it’s a question of anyone loving him? ha! that almost made him twitch his lips. he’s lost in his head with self hatred, unable to believe he could be loved.

he feels mechanic in his movements, but even roombas are loved. then again, they’re also useful. he just- well. he just rots in his own body.

he doesn’t understand their attempts at bonding; they don’t need to put all this effort into pretending. he knows already, that their affection and worry is fake. they don’t need to try talking to him, especially not when he’s so awful at it. they don’t need to wrap themselves around him when he knows he’s disgusting to touch.

they’re being weird, and bruce is patiently waiting them out until the other shoe drops. if they feel less guilty by pretending to like him, then that’s fine by him. they’ll give up soon enough, like they always do. at least he’s not choking on his own hope that maybe this time it will last. at least this time, he knows he’s just temporary.

bruce isn’t going to understand this fully. he was being his genuine self and, through the well of hurt, he’s going to realize that his thoughts are not appreciated and it’s his authentic self that alienates his family. he will not know how to reconcile who he is with who his own family wants him to be; all he will see is that they are separate people.

he’s going to feel like that dumb fucking kid again, the one at the playground who doesn’t know how to connect with the other kids. he’s going to feel, again, like there’s just something he isn’t getting. there’s always something he doesn’t get, when it comes to the people in his life, and he’s always only going to be that dumb fucking kid and he hates it. he thought he built a family who got it, got him, but now he’s just a dumb fucking adult and nothings changed.

he’s going to pull back instead of reaching out, he’s going to swallow the words he SWORE they wanted him to share in the first place. he’s going to be so, so lost because there is no person who understands what he’s trying to communicate, no person who sees past his words into the intent in his mind. he really, truly doesn’t know how to be understood. he tried speaking his mind more and that didn’t work so now he’s back to talking less and his family seems more upset than before. he doesn’t know, he can’t know, he won’t ever know.

maybe it starts manifesting physically. maybe there’s rot in his heart and a blackness infecting his veins, spreading further with each pulse. it's an infection of his mind that took root in his heart. his body is struggling with the cognitive dissonance of being alive while feeling so, so dead, so it's forcing itself to match.

maybe he takes off his shirt one night and sees necrosis over his heart and thinks oh, this is what i am. this body is just catching up to the dead boy it should’ve been when i was 8.

and maybe he ignores it for awhile. as he moves, his healthy skin pulls and tugs and tears at the dead parts of his body. it bleeds and oozes pus but it's dead dead dead like he is. he is dead and walking but he's finally slowing down until he can just lay in the cold dirt where he belongs. it’s agonizing but nothing less the he deserves, putting his family through the struggle of loving him.

it’s killing him and all he can think is ‘oh god, let it, let it’

he hides himself away, not just to save his family from himself, but because the rot is pervasive. he reeks of death and misery, an internal wound swallowing him so wholly that he becomes it in his entirety.

and maybe one day he crashes, and he's in the medbay and his body is on display. and his family is looking at him, angry and hurt and scared.

and maybe there's only one explanation bruce can give, through a veil of apathy and acceptance.

i’ve always been just this

At his entrance, Clark waved at Dick, who walked over with a light grin.

"So, you're why Bruce ran off in the middle of patrol?"

Clark gave a sheepish smile.

"Lex has been experimenting with lab-grown kryptonite. I had to call in Diana and Bruce; they're upstairs right now."

Dick cocked his head. "Isn't the post-kryptonite protocol to go to the Watchtower?"

"I prefer being here after a rough mission, honestly. I'm sure you feel the same..?"

Snorting, Dick responded. "I don't know many people who prefer being in Gotham after a rough day, no. Though, the city does grow on you. Like black mold."

That made Clark laugh, and Alfred tut from where he was still cleaning the surgical tools.

"Not that," Clark clarified amusedly. "I meant, don't you want to be around your brothers and sisters after a bad day too?"

Dick paused. He'd known, everybody knew, that Clark, Bruce, and Diana were far closer than most in the League. They were each other's first call; hell, Dick and his siblings had grown up with their Auntie Di and Uncle Clark.

Still, Dick had thought that was a... family friend situation.

There was a loud clang from behind Dick, and both Clark and Dick turned to Alfred. His back was towards them both, so Clark asked, "Alfred...? You okay?"

"I apologize for the startle, Master Clark. It seems my old age is catching up to me, and in my clumsiness I dropped the scalpel set." He turned to them briefly, eyes suspiciously red and soft, lips helplessly twitched upwards. He held the bowl of rubbing alcohol and scalpels. "I shall return momentarily."

Clark smiled at Alfred's retreating back, and smiled wider at Bruce and Diana's incoming voices.

"-one month, Bruce. They'll be together by the end of the month," came Diana's lilting voice.

"They still don't know they even like each other," Bruce argued back.

"Not everyone needs half a dozen years to accept their feelings after realizing it," Diana teased back.

The duo stopped by Clark's cot, Diana ruffling Dick's hair and Bruce laying an arm on his shoulder before dropping it.

"Are you betting on Booster Gold and Blue Beetle again?"

"I'd bet the batplane on it taking longer than a month."

Diana turned her head sharply to Bruce, an eager grin and a hungry look in her eyes. "You swear it?"

Bruce narrowed his eyes in a challenge. "I swear it."

Dick watched the interaction with glee, even as he analyzed it through the lens of siblinghood and not friendship. They... really do bicker like siblings, huh?

"I'm going to wash up, do you need anything from the manor?" Dick asked Clark, who had been watching Bruce and Diana with fond eyes.

"I'm good," he said, not looking away from the duo. "I've got what I need."

Dick thought of the bone-deep loyalty he had to his brothers and sister. He thought about how he'd easily drop everything, the Titans, Bludhaven, his friends, to be there when they call. The instinctual need to protect, a surprise each time he felt it with a new sibling. The trust in his siblings to have his back if he needed them; that, no matter what nasty words or harsh blows they dealt each other, if Dick was in a dark place, they would be the first to reach a hand down.