OCCA! Occa, I need you to shoot me again (autistic Bruce trying to give advice to his kids or have a genuine conversation, but is told he's being an arsehole when he's just trying to help)
You said it was this au you wanted in the replies, so
Tim launches a book at Jason's head, which goes wide, but neither escalate further.
"We've not been that bad," Clark defends. "Making it about ableism when he was the one that decided to spend that time away from us."
"He's barely around anymore." Damian crosses his arms. "Why are we penalised for his choice to leave?"
"Wrong." Cass tips her chin up. "He tried." The weak attempts at shifting the blame away from themselves fall apart, and silence reigns until she speaks again, anger suffusing her voice. "I... I stopped because I don't get it." She taps her head. "I struggle. You don't care. You didn't stop listening. He stopped trying."
"Does he really think we hate his autism?" Dick asks. His eyes lock onto Cass, something desperate in their depths. "He doesn't, right?"
"You hate what it does. Who it makes him. You're lucky he's smart. He knows you love him, at least. But do you?"
His jaw flexes. "Most of him."
"Not enough." She shrugs. "It isn't a feature, it is him. His brain is made differently, works differently. He shouldn't have to go to aliens to feel normal. He shouldn't be made to feel abnormal by aliens."
Clark disappears in a blur.
Cass doesn't react. "You must learn. I learn, I try, what do you do?" She stands, dusts off her thighs. "I don't want to do your thinking for you. You want to make things right, you fail until you get it right, like Bruce does. Not. My. Job."
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