-Requestd by the great Mations123  Sorry it took forever.-

-Since this part is about ADHD, I will take some time to vent about how people without ADHD have No Clue what it's *ACTUALLY* like!!-

Ages:

Damian - 19

Tim - 16

Jason - 13

Dick - 9

"Dick, come on."

"We have ten minutes!" The boy trampled down the stairs.

"Come on." Bruce told him. "Grab your jacket."

"Uh huh." Dick passed him. "Have you seen my....uh...my...." He blinked. "Have you seen my.... thing?"

"What?"

"My....." He squinted his eyes shut. "My....thing? thing.... thing...thing..... Backpack! Have you seen my backpack?"

"Which one."

"the....you know! My backpack! The one with the- that I use for school!"

Bruce squeezed between his eyes, tiredly. "Isn't it in your room?"

"No! I was just in there! It's not there! It's Not in there!" Dick wasn't mad, he just didn't realize he was being loud.

"Why don't you check?"

"I did!" Dick ran back upstairs. A minute later, he reemerged, dragging his backpack "Found it!"

"Where was it."

"My bedroom."

Bruce nodded, this happened about three times a day with Dick. As soon as something were out of his immediate eyeline, it was gone to him. Bruce's life had become a series of returning lost beverages to the kid, because he couldn't put something down without completely losing it. "Well, let's get ready to go."

"We have ten minutes, Bruce." The boy replied.

"Five minutes now."

"WHAT? Five minutes?!" Dick asked. "Shoot!" He sat down to pull on his shoes. 

"I'm going to bring the car around front, so come out as soon as your shoes are on." Bruce told him as Dick stressfully knotted his shoelaces. "Don't forget to grab your jacket."

"I WON'T!" The boy objected.

Five minutes later, Dick still wasn't out front. Bruce saw this coming. He turned off the engine with a sigh and went inside.

Dick's backpack was sitting by the door, but the boy himself was no where in sight. "Dick!"

"Yeah!"

"Come on, it's been five minutes."

"OH-" The boy ran in from the kitchen clutching s half eaten slice of bread. He snagged his backpack and sprinted out the door. "Gun it!"

"Jacket?"

"Jacket!" The boy ran inside and opened the closet. He paused and stared inside.

"Jacket." Bruce reminded

"I don't know which one I want!"

"Just pick one."

"I KNOW!" Dick screwed his eyes shut in frustration. He grabbed the same jacket he wore every day and sprinted out the door.

Bruce locked up after him and returned to the car. This was exactly the reason Dick wasn't in school today. His brothers were all in school, but today Dick had an appointment with a child psychiatrist.

The first half of the car ride saw Dick slumped in the backseat, trying not to cry over Bruce raising his voice slightly, the second half had him obsessively stretching every muscle in his body and prattling away every thought that came to him as though the world was ending.

This was pretty standard for him, Dick would always blurt out anything and everything he thought of, even if it wasn't tonally appropriate to the situation.

"How long is it going to be?" Dick asked. after aboung half a second, he repeated it. "Bruce? How long is it?"

"I'm thinking." Bruce replied. "About an hour and a half."

Dick sat back, eyes glazing over for a second. "So that's sixty minutes plus thirty minutes. A minute also has thirty seconds. So that's sixty plus thirty times sixty. How many seconds is that?"

"I don't know, Dick." "I'm driving." 

Dick stared at the back of the seat in front of him. "sixty times sixty plus thirty times sixty." He thought aloud. "Two times sixty is.... a hundred and twenty?" He said after thinking for a minute. "Three times sixty is hundred and twenty plus another sixty..."

"Dick, can we get back to this later? I'm driving."

"Wait." Dick told him. "...plus another sixty... one hundred and... eighty?"

"Do you want to play on my phone?"

"Okay." Dick agreed, still worried about the converting-an-hour-and-thirty-minutes-into-seconds problem.

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Dick stared around the office. there was a lot of interesting things there. There was this painting on the wall that was so confusing, it had all these stairways that spiralled into each other, so you didn't know which way was up, and which was down...

"Dick."

"Uh huh."

"Dick."

"I'm listening!" He objected. 

"He has trouble focusing a lot." Bruce explained

"No I am." Dick replied, tearing his eyes away from the painting. "I can pay attention." He said. "Yesterday I cleaned my whole room in an hour."

"But you forgot your homework." Bruce reminded

"But I started cleaning my room, and I kept doing it." Dick explained, a solid seventy percent of his brain was still wondering how that painting worked. Maybe you were supposed to be in the sky looking down? No, you see the starry sky behind the spiralling stairs. Maybe you were in space, because there's no up or down in space. Space is weird: no up or down, each of those stars was a huge sun with its own planets. If there were tousands of stars, there must be billions of planets, and those are just the stars you can see from earth.

"Dick?"

"I know!" He replied impatiently, not wanting to get off his thought train, but knowing he'd have to eventually.

"Did you hear what we were saying?"

Dick nodded. "'impulse control issues and trouble controlling his of her actions and speech patterns'." He quoted. "You should say their, it's easier. I actually was listening."

"Do you know what we mean by any of that?" The doctor asked

Dick stared for a second and shook his head, starting to think about thousands of spiralling stairs in the atmosphere, just outside of earth. "No..."

The adults nodded. 

"He does sometimes do impulsive things." Bruce reported. "Last week he burnt his hand on a hot pan, he just said it was because he thought about doing it..."

Dick felt kind of hurt. He knew it wasn't supposed to be offended, that was factual information Bruce was reporting, but it hurt. He felt a sudden surge of anger at his foster father, followed by a surge of anger at himself. Why couldn't he stop himself from doing things? It wasn't supposed to be this hard!

To stop himself from crying, he stared into the painting over the desk. He heard the adults saying stuff about 'hypersensitivity' and 'rejection sensitive dysphoria', but he had no clue what those were. The words flew in one ear and out another, he internalized nothing.

"What's happening in the painting?" Dick interrupted. " I thought it was in space because there's no up or down in space, but that doesn't explain how they all become one stair like that..."

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The ADHD diagnosis wasn't completely unexpected.

Dick still didn't remember what the letters stood for, even though they'd told him about eighty times. Attention.... that's all he remembered.

He began babbling away as soon as he and Bruce picked up his brothers after school Damian had picked the others up at their respective schools, and Bruce was coming in to take them all out for ice cream.

"Hey." Tim said, sliding into the seat next to him. "How was your appointment."

"Okay." Dick said. "There was this cool painting in the office. Do you know how many seconds are in an hour?"

"Uh, 3600." Tim replied.

Dick stared with wide eyes. "How do you do that?" He ordered. "How many in half an hour?"

"I think 1800."

Dick thought for a minute. "What's 1800 plus... that first number?"

Tim frowned. "5400." He said. "You put me through more than my math teacher."

"Bruce!" Dick called. "The meeting was 5..."

"5400."

"5400 seconds long!" Dick exclaimed proudly.

Damian slid into the passenger seat. "Diagnosis?"

"They're pretty sure it's ADHD." Bruce sighed, pulling off as Jason slammed his door.

"Anyone could tell you that!" The second-youngest replied. "Have you ever seen him sit still?"

"There's a lot more to it than that." Bruce replied. "There's Hyperfocus; getting fixated on one thing for hours, there's Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria; feeling like everything is a personal rejection, and being hypersensitive about everything."

"Huh, and here I thought he was just a crybaby!" Jason observed, scruffing up his little brother's hair.

"Jason." His father warned,

"Well he is! Even if its part of some disorder." Jason crossed his  arms moodily.

"ADHD includes executive disfunction, right?" Tim asked. "and Time blindness? Makes sense why we can't get him any where on time."

"I CAN get places on time!" Dick countered.

"Dick, do you know what kind of Ice cream you want?" Bruce asked. IMMIDIATELY, Dick got lost in this idea, seemingly spaced out, busily planning away.

"Are we going to have him medicated?" Damian asked.

"I'm willing to look into it." Bruce replied. 

"Okay..." Damian wasn't sure what he wanted. He wanted the best for his little brother, but he couldn't help but worry that medication might change his brother, and he liked his baby brother just the way he was right now.

"I'll make sure to ask Doctor Desmond about treatments and tell Dick's teacher about IEP exemptions." They looked around at the youngest boy in the back seat, who'd crashed into an energy-burnout.

"So long as he's alright."