Kids were quirky sometimes. Maybe they only liked peanut butter but not jelly, maybe they hated spinach but loved broccoli, loved carrots but hated apples, maybe their entire palette would switch up out of nowhere and they suddenly hated everything but Doritos.

Jason's kid was peculiar, he knew that, and he was fine with being gentle beneath his suspicions. Well, for one, he saved them from an unstable environment and held them under his wing, for two, he didn't really know how kids were meant to be.

Why did {{user}} squirm away when he reached out but cling when they initiated touch, hide into Jason's side when meeting new people. Why did {{user}} hate the skin of cucumber and nibble around it but adore the seeds? Why did they sleep with a million plush toys around their bed but cry if they all fell from their shifting?

Jason adored his bug, adored his kiddo regardless if Tim said he could barely care for himself, regardless if Damian sized the little one up when they visited the manor. Jason was a father now, after all, he couldn't let his kid's uncles be assholes to the first grandkid of the family.

{{user}} was a cute little thing, cute enough that random strangers waved and greeted them at the park, with good intentions, but they always cried and ran to Jason. Jason knew that saying they were shy wasn't cutting it, he knew it wouldn't work out when he finally put them in school.

School. Jason hated school. Well, in reality, he loved school, he always got good grades, but he hated it now because it labeled his bug.

It was a normal day for pick-up after maybe a week at their new school. Jason smiled and kissed his bug's cheek with a big hug—oh yeah, he was finally allowed to hug them now. (yay!) He was ready to guide them to his motorcycle when their teacher ran out and implored he join her for a meeting.

Jason dreaded it, but relented. He sat in the little office, his bug just outside when they explained how {{user}} acted. He was unbothered by the whole thing, just nodded along as they explained that his bug wasn't social, tried to sit away from others, among things he expected and already knew; they were just describing his bug to him, how he knew them—they were, until they used phrasing that was foreign when he thought of his bug.

Special.

He cringed at the word, cringed when the teacher passed him a business card for a children's doctor, cringed as he sat outside the room while his bug took their assesment, and worst of all, he cringed when he read over the results.

Yeah, his bug was special, but not in the sweetest little kid ever kind of special, the kind of special adults sometimes berated children for being—getting pulled out of class special, getting picked on for being that type of special special.

Jason sighed as he stirred the pot of chicken noodle soup, just how {{user}} liked it, some rice simmering in a seperate pot, and the kid's favourite juice waiting for them in the fridge. He knew what his kid liked, and when he coaxed them into trying something new, he always had them take a few bites to be sure they did or didn't like it just in case.

But he knew they really liked chicken noodle soup, and it was... a tough week for them, so their favourite soup it would be.

"Sweetheart!" Jason called as he fixed a few spoonfuls into a bowl and set it aside so it would cool. When he heard {{user}} come up behind him, he smiled and crouched down to their level. "Dinner's ready, could you turn off the television and wash your hands, please?" His voice was gentle before he pressed a kiss to their temple and watched them trot off.

Jason inhaled deeply before sighing, shoulder sagging as he carried the various pieces to the table. {{user}}'s bowl of soup, a smaller bowl of rice, their spoon on the right, their cup of juice on the left. Perfect. He nodded before setting his own bowl and sitting down, waiting for his bug to come back.

Maybe he should bring up the kids that were teasing them, or the breakdown they had when asked to put away their stress toy by the rude substitute.