Summary: Bartholomew Bro has reasons for acting the way he does. Here’s a look at them.

WC: 2,280

Trigger Warnings: ableism, childhood abuse, domestic abuse and dissociation




Bro is 2 in his earliest memory. He’s walking somewhere with his parents, having a nice time, he thinks. He remembers having a cute little outfit on. He also remembers the small little booties that clapped on the floor every time he would jump from one square on the floor to the next.

But the memory is fuzzy. Like looking at it slightly blurred. It’s also from an aerial point of view. He can see himself and his parents behind him. They’re holding bags and chatting, but he can’t hear what they’re saying.

Still, he remembers that day being pretty good.

The next memory Bro has, he’s about 5 and in a lion’s outfit, crying and crying and crying in a closet somewhere. He’s in an unfamiliar house at a Halloween party filled with people only his Pop knew. It was beyond overstimulating, even if he didn’t know that’s why he was crying at the time.

All he could think was loud, loud, loud.

That’s the only part Bro can remember, though. He doesn’t remember arriving or things getting too loud or anything. Just suddenly rocking back and forth in this closet. He doesn’t know if he was found or if he had eventually crawled out himself.

He doesn’t know anything about the rest of that year of his life, either.

Or the next.

…Or the next.

From there, memories are all in fragments. Some of them play out like a first person movie, while others look like they’re being filmed from above. The first person point of view must follow the action directly. The cameras above can move as they wish.

It was… weird. Some memories lasted literal seconds, the others hours. But the ones that lasted longer were almost entirely static. More often than not, Bro was called out in class for zoning out, but he was simply trying to recall something. He’d just gotten lost along the way. And now he was stuck in a static filled memory. Honestly.

But his stutter didn’t allow him to get even half of that out before the teacher would shout, No excuses! and continue on with the lesson after a scolding.

Speaking of his stutter, Bro can feel a humorless smile creep onto his face.

“You alright?” Alex asks inside. “I know that smile means you just thought of something bad.”

Oh, right. Here, in the present, Bro is laying on his bed, memory surfing. Just because, of course.

“‘M fine,” Bro says aloud. It didn’t make a difference, after all. His dad was gone, and it’s not like talking inside would get rid of his stutter. “Just… just th-inkin’.”

“You know I can tell what you actually mean when you say that, right?” Bro gets the strong impression of Alex slightly bent over, hands on their hips, one eyebrow raised. He chuckles at them.

“Uhuh,” is all he says.

Back to the past.

Bro was bullied for a lot of things in his early life.

First and foremost, of course, was the stutter. Bro was pretty sure he was just born with it, and speech therapy did nothing to help. So, Bro would stutter his way through life, different from the rest.

Kids don’t always like it when you’re different from them, though.

Snapshots of getting teased, laughed at, pushed and pulled… it’s all Bro can get. In fact, the only thing he remembers in full clarity is getting saved from that one kid by Brandon.

Brandon had stuck by his side then, and Bro could recall a good amount of what they’d done. Of course, there was always the rare occasion Brandon would go, “Remember that? Wasn’t that so much fun?” And all Bro could do was nod. Because he did remember, but anything he felt towards it was gone.

He didn’t know why a lot of his memories would be like that for a long time. It was distressing to say the least.

But, that was only the stutter. Then there was his name. Bartholomew is not exactly the most common name one could pick for their child, after all. So, when certain kids couldn’t pronounce it, or would flat out mispronounce it on purpose, Bro would shrink in on himself. He doesn’t know when the problem escalated to the point that people would point and giggle and whisper his name, but it did.

“Da-d,” he had begged one night after crying his heart out, “C-can I ch-ange m-my n-ame?”

And, of course, the answer was no. But his dad must’ve seen how torn up he was about it, so he offered a different solution.

“Do you like your last name?” he had asked, pulling Bro up on his lap. Bro nodded. Of course he did, it was short and quick and to the point. And he could actually introduce himself properly, what with it being one syllable. “Do you want me to tell your teachers to call you that, then?”

“Y-you ca-n do th-at?” Bro had sniffed. And his dad nodded with a smile.

“First thing tomorrow, okay, bud?”

Bro breathed heavily as he nodded, hugging his dad. “Th-th-th…”

“Of course, Bro.”

Maxine huffs in the present. “I still think it was stupid of those kids to make fun of your name.” He smiles. “It’s cool! It’s unique! It’s—”

“A m-mouthful,” Bro cuts off.

“Well…” Maxine sighs. “I guess…

Anyway, there was also the fact he needed noise canceling headphones ever since 1st grade. Everything was so loud all the time, and he finally got to a doctor that would suggest him the headphones. Things were a bit better for the noise then, but it seemed everything Bro did had a downside.

Kids started making fun of his headphones of all things. All he would do is have them on and suddenly he was the class clown or something. Sure, he couldn’t hear the laughing as well anymore, but he still heard it. Even with Brandon’s back up in middle school, kids would still point and giggle.

It upset him greatly.

“Ignore them,” Bro would remember Patty saying, even if he didn’t know it was her at the time. “They’re just going to hell, anyways.”

Patty,” Alex would scold.

“What?” Patty would defend. “It’s true!”

For the life of him, Bro couldn’t tune out those voices.

“But’cha got us now, don’tcha?” Maxine smiles. “Like, you know we’re here and stuff. You got us!”

“I-I’ve got y-ou,” Bro nods, feeling a bit happier. Maxine’s effect knew no bounds.

It doesn’t last long.

Memory surfing is as tumultuous as real surfing. Waves can come at any time and crush you. They can drown you. They can make sure you’re no longer a part of this world.

Flashes of moments come to Bro’s mind.

The belt. The belt again. The belt for the 7th time. The belt for the 32nd time.

Hiding when Pop would start to yell.

Trying and failing to run away from a punishment.

Standing there being yelled at. And again. And again.

Things cut in and out like flicking through TV channels. Spiced together at varying speeds. Varying views. So many were from the air. Less but still a fair amount, from right beside or behind where Bro was actually standing. Only a very small amount were from the first person perspective.

Those are the ones that actually hurt.

There’s a dull feeling in Bro’s chest at the others, but nothing like the immense pain he feels when in his own shoes. It was like being there all over again, leading him to panic every time. Every single time.

“Bro,” Alex says carefully. “Bro, calm down.”

He’d always end up like this.

“Bro-Bro?” Maxine pouts. “C’mon, c’mon. You’re not there anymore, you know that.”

Yet all Bro can hear is shouting. None of the words make sense, but his Pop is screaming his top off. Bro thinks he’s crying. He can’t tell.

It’s all so overwhelming.

But it doesn’t stop there.

Intricate flashbacks make themselves known. From being manhandled, to the fight before the divorce. The time he and his Dad were at the mall and police had to carry his Pop off. How bottles would smash onto the floor every time Bro came into his Pop’s room and startled him awake. The way he would pay for it soon after.

Go get the damn belt,” echoes terribly in Bro’s mind. He doesn’t remember getting it, but one moment he has nothing, and the next his hands are trembling with the thing. The buckle jingles a bit.

Fear drowns him as the only thing Bro can do is see darkness. The crying that he knows is coming from his throat is muffled. There’s static everywhere.

There’s static everywhere.

The moment Alex begins pushing forward, Bro can feel it. He immediately starts calming a bit, beginning to breathe.

“Th-anks,” he thinks.

“Anytime,” Alex nods with the body.

Bro stops memory surfing for the day.

+++

Apparently Bro is about 3 when he gets screened. He remembers none of it, though. Just the fact that he’s diagnosed is something that would slip his mind if not for his accommodations.

Like the headphones and the fact he’s allowed to wear what he wants, so long as it’s undistracting. He’s also able to get up and walk out of class should he need to calm down, too. No questions asked.

Except kids love questions.

Whys and how comes are the most prevalent questions he gets. Why do you wear those headphones? How come you get to leave when you want? Why do you always wear such long shirts? How come the teacher is always nice to you?

And every time Bro, having no other answer, would stutter out, “I h-ave au-tism.” It was the truth, after all. What more could they want?

As it turns out, Bro learns lying may be good in some cases.

Memories of him being bullied are few and far between, but he knows it happened more than he actually recalls. Everyone inside tells him not to dwell on it, so he tries his best, but sometimes it’s not so easy.

Sometimes it’s really hard, in fact.

Bro is sitting with Brandon one day, last year of elementary, peacefully existing together at lunch. Bro is slumped against the other, breathing calm and eyes closed. He liked sitting with Brandon like this. It was nice, peaceful. It felt good.

Nothing good ever seemed to last long for Bro, though.

Someone from somewhere shouts something at the two of them. Something awful.

The world splits in two, Bro sitting right next to himself. Brandon hops up immediately, shouting something back. Whoever it was in the first place laughs at him, and then Brandon begins to go after them. A scream fills the air, but Bro can’t even begin to pay attention to it.

Calm down, something in the back of his head says. This doesn’t matter. Brandon will take care of it.

Brandon will take care of it… Brandon will take care of it… Bro repeats this again and again in his head until he can feel himself slowly come back. His two selves merge and he blinks into awareness.

Brandon huffs as he returns to the table right after. “I chased ‘em away,” he informs. “Don’t think they’ll be calling us any names again anytime soon.”

“Th-th-anks,” Bro says, looking down at his hands. He opens and closes them slowly.

“Don’t worry about it, dude,” Brandon says in as soothing as a manner as one can say, “We’re good.”

“W-we’re good,” Bro repeats.

The rest of the day is a blur.

+++

The divorce was… tumultuous, to say the least.

Bro was in court at some point. He doesn’t remember it at all.

“It’s for the best,” Patty would say. “Trust me.”

He does remember his Pop and his Dad shouting. Pop wanted custody. Dad was swearing, saying he’d never have it.

Lots of things broke around that time. He was 9, he thinks.

Before the papers could be drawn up, his Pop would often get him from school and tell him awful, terrible things about his Dad. He could only remember the feelings behind it, not what was actually said. He guesses he must’ve locked that away somewhere, but he remembers feeling sick clearly.

None of it was true, of course. But hearing that your Dad, who you knew to be an amazing person, did things that would make a criminal blush? Well, it was far from pleasant.

He had several memories of Pop trying again and again to coach him before pen could be put to paper. “If they ask this, you say that,” type of stuff.

There’s a secret that he didn’t know though: Bro couldn’t stand him by now. Everything he’d done up to this point was awful.

His Dad had pulled him aside before one of those court days and said, “Just tell the truth.”

It’s unsurprising which piece of advice Bro takes.

The divorce is finalized within the week.

The restraining order was right after.

+++

Bro is in art class one day, watching Sue make a painting.

He compliments it, causing them to jump about a foot into the air. Bro apologies, stating that the picture reminds him of himself. Alex, Patty and Maxine all nod. It really did feel like a bunch of folks yelling in a loud room sometimes. They just all happened to share the same body.

“The voices plague you too?” Sue asks suddenly.

Bro looks to the side. “...Something like that,” Alex responds for him.

“Can we talk? After school?” Sue says, eyes large.

Bro smiles. “I th-ink that w-would be good f-or the b-both of us.”







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