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skeltnwrites · 2 years

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"Rest" - Autistic!Bruce Wayne x Reader

Summary: You find Bruce during a shutdown and do what you can to help him through it.

Word Count: 1.8k

TW: reader being scared of the dark and a little anxious, helping someone through a shutdown

A/N: As an autistic person, I noticed the signs in Bruce pretty quickly but @liztism‘s post about Bruce being autistic really encouraged me to write something about his autism specifically. This is just my headcanon so you are free to disagree but I will not tolerate ableism or any hate regarding this on my blog!! If you would like to learn more about autism I can link some of my favorite autistic creators and other resources or feel free to message me about my experiences!

It was nearing midnight when you returned home. The hallways of Wayne tower were silent apart from sporadic bursts of thunder. You stowed your dripping umbrella in its caddy beside the door and kicked off your shoes.

You didn’t enjoy coming home so late, as the aging building creaked in ways that sent a chill up your spine. Alfred had certainly gone to bed and the chances of Bruce being home were slim. Once the sun dipped below the horizon, he hopped on his motorcycle to tend to the same path throughout Gotham. He committed to this routine, taking only a handful of days off. Some days he didn’t crawl into bed until sunrise. On others, the world became too noisy and chaotic after a couple of hours.

You hoped he might have come home to rest earlier today. Many times when he did, he opted to hang out in the cave. Usually to tinker with his car, research something, or jot his memories down in his journal. During these hours, if you weren’t already asleep, it was typical for you to advise him to take a nap, drink some water, or shower. He appreciated the reminder as he often neglected these necessities unintentionally.

Deciding to check if it had been a brief night for Batman, you trekked over to the elevator. It wobbled in its descent into the basement. With a familiar ding, the doors squeaked open, revealing a pitch-black expanse. An army of goosebumps invaded your skin; A reasonable response to the rush of icy air and the eerie unknown beyond the lit chamber you stood in. Bruce preferred the cold, but the last time the air conditioning had worked so hard was during a heatwave the summer prior. You trap the elevator door with your palm, fishing your phone from your pocket.

It was bizarre for the work lamps to be off in his den. When he left, regardless of what time he intended to be back, they always stayed on. You had repeatedly suggested he powered everything down when he went or at least install automatic lights but nothing ever changed. It’s plausible he had a sudden change of heart but you assumed his priorities were beyond that of his electricity bill.

You waved your phone’s flashlight into the seemingly infinite darkness. It was radiant enough to reveal muted silhouettes of the furniture. Not enough to clue you in on your partner’s whereabouts.

“Bruce!” You whisper-yelled, scanning for any sign of movement or a sound that wasn’t the distant chirping of bats.

The thought that someone had broke in crossed your mind, there was the secluded entrance that Bruce utilized. You reconciled with a more positive option, maybe the power had gone out.

Inhaling a deep breath, you released your hold on the elevator door. It squealed shut, encouraging you to step forward. You just had to locate his main work-station which housed the nearest lamp. Skewered shadows danced across the floor as you aimed your light. It was uncomfortably silent now that the bats had recognized you and settled. You scurried in the direction of his desk, observing your surroundings with caution. Nearly stumbling over a pile of tools, you pinpoint his cluttered nook.

You twist the knob on the lamp until a band of light materializes. Craning its metal neck to envelop more of the room, you examine your surroundings. Immediately you notice both his car and motorcycle are parked in their spots. To your knowledge, Bruce had never departed the tower as Batman on foot. It was too risky.

Your eyes dart around the room, searching for any sign of Bruce. His desk is lined neatly with materials. Everything had a place. His journal in the center, a pen on top. Computer monitors, a radio, and other technology situated around the perimeter. You inspect past the surface, at the neighboring tables and machinery. Training your flashlight on each component, you circle the room. Stacks of car parts, gadgets you weren’t sure how to operate, and a plethora of storage containers, but no Bruce.

Sighing, you consider if he’d already traveled upstairs to your shared bedroom. You spin on your heel, prepared to flick off the light and dash to the elevator. You couldn’t bear to be alone in there any longer. But then near the gate, you identify a dark heap of limbs wedged against a locker.

“Bruce?”

The pile remains motionless as you approach. It’s undoubtedly Bruce. You recognize the unruly mop attached to his head. It’s pillowed on his knees and is sporting his favorite pair of bulky, noise-canceling headphones. His body was awkwardly curled in on itself, knees tucked into his chest and arms cocooning his shins. Despite his six-foot stature, he appeared tiny.

He was still clad in his kevlar suit but missing the cowl. He’d shared with you previously that he enjoyed the pressure of the armor. It provided a comforting sensation that reminded him of a hug. Not to mention the boost of confidence he gained with his disguise. It held the ability to merge with the shadows, to relinquish any assumptions that were tied to his name. Often he was reluctant to part from the familiar material after a night out and only after the promise of a weighted blanket would he shower and change.

You squat, inches from his frame. With a delicate poke to his arm, you murmur, “Bruce?”

A gasp surfaced from his throat as his head shot up immediately. Alert eyes met yours.

“Hey, it’s just me.” You cup his knee in reassurance.

He visibly relaxes when his mind catches up. His shoulders droop and his eyes flicker to the light behind you, then to the patch of concrete, you’re crouched on.

“Can you hear me?” You gesture to the device hugging his ears.

He nods, continuing to gaze at the floor.

Bruce was quiet generally but in moments such as these, it proved beneficial to him to cease speaking altogether. If it was available, he’d choose to gesture with his hands, type out a text, or scribble a message on a scrap of paper. He��d explained how feeling so claustrophobic in his own body and being engulfed in such strong emotions could steal the tongue from his mouth. Communicating becomes a million times more difficult than it already was.

“Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer. In hindsight, it wasn’t the most helpful question to ask.

While it wasn’t exactly common that Bruce would squeeze himself into a dark corner of his home, this wasn’t the first time you’d witnessed it. You’d learned over the course of your relationship it meant that Bruce needed some time to process his feelings and destress. You hypothesized he may have become overstimulated while out fighting crime. Navigating Gotham tended to be an overwhelming experience for Bruce so he’d often ask you to accompany him to new places. Not to mention the significant amount of sensory input that accompanied what he did.

“Do you need some space?”

He shook his head, glancing up at you. He opened his mouth and closed it, struggling to formulate the words he intended to say. You waited patiently for his response.

“Stay. Please,” he mumbled after a moment.

You hummed, adopting a more comfortable position across from the man. Your cheek met the cool metal surface of the locker as you inspected Bruce.

Unless he’d recently purchased a water-proof makeup palette, you concluded he couldn't have been patrolling long, if at all, based on the way his face paint remained composed. It lacked the sweat streaks and smudges that resulted from a long shift.

His hair strayed from his scalp in a mountain of chaotic strands. You resisted the urge to comb them down in fear he’d recoil from your touch. While he usually relished your random kisses and reassuring pats and tight squeezes, physical touch could just become so overwhelming for him sometimes. He didn’t mean any harm when he had pushed them away during circumstances like this.

“Do you want to get cleaned up? I can turn the lights off and turn the air down upstairs first,” you spoke, conscious of the volume of your voice.

He shook his head with a breathy exhale and let his eyes flutter shut. He craned his neck back over the tops of his knees to cushion his forehead.

“Can I get you anything else,” you paused, unsure if you should keep talking, “Water, weighted blanket–”

He shook his head before you could tack on any more suggestions.

You nodded but he didn’t see. You studied the way his body expanded and condensed with each breath. He appeared to be so calm and unbothered, but you weren’t naive enough to believe that. You were cognizant of the whirlwind of emotions happening in his brain and his body. You wished you could ease the chaos, to experience it for him so he didn’t have to.

He had confided in you about his feelings of guilt regarding these times when he couldn’t afford a trip around Gotham. He was hard on himself in that sense, never feeling like what he was doing for his city was enough. It made you sad to consider, knowing only a small scope of the lives he’s saved. All you could do was attest to your observations from the Batcave. To remind him how many nights he’d come home battered and beaten for complete strangers. To prove to him that what he was doing was beyond enough and that he was permitted to take breaks.

You offered a final suggestion, “You can lay on my lap if you want?”

You hadn’t expected him to answer but after some consideration, he unlocked his eyes and lazily crawled over to you. He rearranged the muffs of his headphones so they didn’t interfere as he stationed his head on your thighs. To your surprise, he found your palm, giving it a firm squeeze, and securing it around his waist.

He’d become significantly more comfortable with you, you realized. There was a time when he wasn’t so inviting. Fear-fueled emotions caused him to push you away on multiple occasions. But you developed your trust, gained an understanding for each other, and created a way to communicate that works for you both.

He tapped a repetitive pattern onto the bones in your knuckles. You savored the feeling of his skin connecting to yours. You mirrored his eyelids, granting them to close. The weight on your lap provided a sensation of solace. A peace that was not always guaranteed when you were dating Batman. But knowing you and Bruce were safe and home was enough consolation to allow you to rest for the night.

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#the batman #batman #bruce wayne #the batman 2022 #battinson #robert pattinson #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #robert pattinson x reader #fanfiction #actually autistic #autism #asd #autistic bruce wayne

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