#the brainstorming w roz was like. realizations about our childhoods

[vermillioncrown]

ttbh snippet - the kids settle in (sorta)

more fuel for the fire 😎 the time being had is of ambiguous quality, but we're certainly here in collab w @rozaceous

they've been in canon-verse for a few days already, and the bats have updated their opinions on the mini-interlopers

After the dust settles, everyone seem to agree that it was eventually going to happen. None of them—not even Damian (who is indignant at the accusation)—ever aimed to make the kids cry. It’s understandable, however, that the events of the past few days have been overwhelming. For trained vigilantes used to worldending and multiversal threats, context helps but it’s still ten of them confined to one (admittedly large) manor and its surrounding property. For kids without any context or the wherewithal to understand it, being the equivalent of multiversal bookends means nothing to them.

The fact that they held their composure for this long is admirable. They are, overall, extremely easy kids to care for and well-behaved. Retrospectively, it was a trap in making them complacent.

Allie has the most detailed instructions attached. Food intolerances, strict preferences and diet, allotted time outside for being physical, time left alone to read and be quiet are simple enough needs to address once known. During outside time, she plays soccer with an oddly charming combination of vigor and systematization. When there’s too much activity around her, even during things she enjoyed doing, she’d retreat into quiet play until it’s back at a tolerable level. The giant set of crafting beads that Steph and Cass ran out to purchase on Day Two has been lovingly organized and curated during her shy periods. Korvin is the only one she lets into her space, then.

Korvin’s notes are extensive but disorganized and contradictory, as if multiple people threw everything they had at the dossier and didn’t bother cross-referencing each other. Food is straightforward—he eats everything on his plate, nothing more or less, always with a “Please” and “Thank you.” Suggestions on occupying him fall flat; Tim’s attempt to show off the 3D printers and computers was met with a wide-eyed stare and a shake of his head before he runs off after Allie. Hide-and-seek and Sardines worked for a bit until Alfred put his foot down because Korvin followed Dick onto the chandeliers. They don’t catch that some of the soaps in the manor were giving his skin blisters until they see him fidget non-stop under his oversized sweater sleeves.

Eventually, they leave the kids to their own devices; it seems to work better than hovering.

Steph’s the one that points out at their fretting, “Chill out guys, I think they have autism.”

“That’s—wow, Steph,” Tim looks taken aback and almost personally affronted. “That’s so rude. They’re just quiet kids.”

“Hm, kinda ableist of you, Tim,” Duke crosses his arms, frowning down at the now sputtering older vigilante. Cass catches his side glance exchange with Steph. It’s half-serious but entirely shit stirring.

“There is nothing wrong with them,” Damian throws in his two cents. “They are, in fact, more tolerable than most of my classmates despite their age.”

All of them—barring the kids, of course, and Alfred making sure they stay hydrated—are discussing the situation in the second floor parlor. The room overlooks the immediate garden area, and has a balcony they can all leap off safely. Allie and Korvin are chatting and giggling in the garden, inspecting flowers and bugs alike. On a closer look, Allie’s admiring the different flowers and Korvin is gently flicking worms back onto the dirt. A worm flies too close to Allie, who squeals, and Korvin profusely apologizes.

There’s a lot of exchanged glances that happen after Damian’s declaration. Tim looks reluctantly grateful at Damian, who purses his mouth petulantly.

“Woof, Dami,” is all Steph has in response. Duke has a pinched expression on his face and quickly looks away from everyone.

“Look, autism levels in the manor are off-the-charts,” Jason says blandly, disregarding Dick’s frantic motions to stop him. “Just look at that Bat filing system.”

“The ontology makes sense,” Tim can’t help but interject. His expression shows that he immediately regrets speaking.

Everyone looks at Dick, who finally gives up and gives in. “It makes sense but it’s also…” In lieu of finishing his statement, he wiggles his hand in the air.

Throughout the entire discussion, Bruce has been sitting in the corner of the parlor, giving careful glances outside with his peripheral vision. He’s the first to realize that Allie and Korvin always know when they’re being watched. And the few times they’ve been separated, he narrows it down to a slight difference: Korvin is hyperaware of his surroundings versus Allie being hypervigilant. They both get nervous when there are too many eyes on them, and Bruce was the first to point it out and be conscientious about it.

A sudden faraway shriek has everyone tense up and scan the area. They find nothing amiss despite the kids sprinting towards the nearest tree. Alfred calls out to them patiently but doesn’t seem alarmed.

“Oh, hah, it’s just a wasp,” Duke points out.

It’s too far away to see the perpetrator in question, but it apparently closes the distance to the kids and they shriek again, sprinting to another tree for sanctuary.

“Let’s stop with the whole ‘armchair diagnosis’, alright? It’s not helping anyone,” Dick returns to the topic for closure. He ignores the knowing look that Jason aims at his back.