The Usual Suspect

Working with people presents some conundrums. For one thing, I am drawn to each person's individual story, drawn to be involved in ways that will make doing my job more difficult.
Quite often, for instance, I have students with disabilities of various kinds in my class. Sometimes they do not want to deal with these disabilities officially, by getting help from the college disability office. They have the perverse desire to prove something to themselves and others, but cause problems and misery that way for themselves.
This semester, for example, in my tiny early morning class, I have a student I recognized as one of the above varieties as soon as he walked in the door the first time. He avoided looking me in the face and sat silent the entire time--in fact, he has been silent every time I have seen him in class, and he hasn't missed one yet.
Like a dog that turns three times before settling in for a nap, this student also has his very regular routines. He will circle the room. About 15 minutes before class starts, or even before, I see him wheeling his booksack back in forth, going down the hall and looking in the door, as though to see who is there. He will come in early, sit down, and leave again, returning only about 5-7 minutes late.
I often have students break up into groups to do exercises or discuss texts. He keeps his face averted during these times. Clearly, he cannot or will not engage in such interactions, but I am not sure what to do. In the past, I had a student with aspergers in my class, and no one, of course, told me of his problem or what I should do about it. I worked out some ways of dealing with it, and the student passed the class. In his case, the student groups worked to his advantage. I took them aside and told them to help him out, since it was summer, and there was no help for him at the disabled student's office anyway. Each student in the group helped him along with tasks like emailing his assignments to me, and discussed the assignment with him to help him out with things that were difficult for him, second nature for the rest of them. He was very bright, just tone deaf to things like motivation, emotion, etc., all essential for analysis of literary texts like that I was asking for.
This latest student, however, seems to be very different. While he clearly is listening, his eyes intent upon me and full of thought, and I know from experience that he can write clearly and directly, there are many things I ask for, including this frequent group work, typing papers, attention to email I send, and sometimes sending me assignments via email, that he cannot do. He has told me straight out he does not know how to type or to use a computer, and the DSPS (disabled students' office) tells me two other professors have urged him to go there without success. It has become clear that he is unwilling or unable to ask for assistance of any kind, even something so small as to ask for a pencil and paper to do the work others are doing in class. He will not come meet me on a day when he does not have my class; before class is too early to do anything like taking him to the DSPS office; immediately after class I have another class to teach, and he has classes all day after that. He also will not work with the students in his group.
My son, when I told him about this, as I often do, had the common sense solution: just let him fail. You care too much, he said. I hate to admit defeat, being just as perverse as any of my students. I will continue to think about this, to work out some sort of solution. Until then, maybe some of you can help.