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Bruce Wayne does not get sick. He’s Batman, he’s a strong man, he doesn’t get sick. But when he wakes up he knows something is wrong. Every time he breathes there is a whistle from his left nostril and there is a near constant pounding behind his eyes and at the back of his neck. His vision is blurry and each throb from the migraine makes him dizzy. He feels chilled but he can feel his bangs sticking to his forehead from sweat and his hands feel clammy. Everything just feels off, his body aches in ways it doesn’t usually and it takes a lot of effort just for him to even sit up.
He struggles his way to the bathroom, keeping a hand on the wall as he walks. Every step makes the ache in his body worse but he can’t just do nothing all day. People need him, he can’t just stop working because he’s feeling off. When he gets to the bathroom he’s almost shocked by his own face. He’s somehow paler than usual and his eyes are red and glassy, the bags under them are darker than normal as well. He glances towards the shower, considering taking one, before deciding against it when just turning his head makes him dizzy. He’ll work from his computer until he’s feeling better, then he’ll go out to patrol the streets.
Slowly he makes his way down to the living room and he’s going to walk into the kitchen but he’s stopped by Alfred who steps out of the kitchen. “Master Bruce-” The man’s eyes widen slightly when he sees him. “Are you feeling quite alright? You look unwell.”
“I’m fine,” He replies.
His voice sounds horrible, even to his own ears, it sounds scratchy and broken. “I’m not sure I believe you,” Alfred says, an unimpressed look on his face. “I’d recommend sitting down before you pass out. I will bring your breakfast and some tea to you.”
Bruce huffs. “I’m fine!”
Alfred just levels him with a look and he rolls his eyes, though the sensation makes him lightheaded and makes him lean into the wall more so he doesn’t lose his footing. He turns around and makes his way to the couch, although his steps are shaky when he has to let go of the wall and it does make him a bit worried. He can’t be sick, he never gets sick. It’s just not fair.
He settles onto the couch and closes his eyes, hoping to elevate some of the pounding in his head. He hates feeling sick. When he was really young, when his parents were still around, he remembers how his mom would always spend the day with him. She would make soup and spend the day in bed with him, reading to him or just rubbing his back. He can remember how it would make him feel better, even if he felt horrible. But he doesn’t get that anymore. When she died he stopped allowing himself those luxuries, he doesn’t need someone to take care of him. He’s a grown adult and he can care for himself. All he needs to do is work and continue on with his normal routine. However, he can’t deny how just resting on the couch has him feeling a bit more relaxed. Being able to relax into the cushions has sleep coming to him quickly in a way it usually never does. Usually he can’t sleep until he has worked himself to exhaustion but right now it’s coming much easier. Even the pounding against his eyes from his headache can’t stop the exhaustion from taking over his body.
Bruce sits up quickly when he hears something being sat down on the table in front of him, scaring him awake. Alfred looks at him with a small smile. “Did your nap help Master Bruce?” Bruce blinks slowly at the question, it hits his ears weird and his brain works slowly to understand the question. It's like his brain has been coated in molasses and the pounding headache doesn't help when he needs to focus on something. “I'll take that as a no,” Alfred replies. “Here.” Alfred holds a cup of tea out to him and he tries to smell it but his sinuses are so stuffed that the smell doesn’t actually hit him. Even as he takes a drink, no flavor hits his tongue and he can’t help but frown. “Everything alright?”
“Yes, fine,” He quickly answers, not wanting to let on to just how sick he seems to be.
He looks at the food placed in front of him and his frown grows when he sees the plain buttered toast. This isn’t what Alfred would normally make him. “I don’t think it is wise to give you a lot of food. We don’t know how your stomach will react.”
Bruce huffs and reaches out to take a slide of the toast. “I’m fine Alfred, I can handle regular food.”
“Hm…” Alfred hums, clearly not believing him. “Well we’ll see how you feel when you’re done eating that.” Bruce takes a bite of the toast and chews it as he glares at the butler. He tries to ignore the way the toast feels like sandpaper going down his throat, his already scratchy throat now feeling worse. “I’ll be locking up the Batcave as well. I feel it’s not wise for me to let you have access to that right now.”
Bruce immediately shakes his head, putting down the food. “You can’t do that! I’m not sick, I’m fine!”
He pushes himself up so that he can go to the cave but a wave of nausea hits him and the pounding in his head momentarily makes his vision go white. “Please sit down, I’m not sure you should be walking!” Alfred quickly argues, reaching out to make him sit down. When he’s sat down he brings a hand up to rub at his eyes, willing himself better. The nausea slowly passes and he lets out a soft breath. “I advise you to keep sitting. You feel warm to the touch, you must have a fever as well.”
He doesn’t get the chance to argue before Alfred is leaving, surely already on his way to lock up the Batcave. It’s not fair, so what if he’s the smallest bit sick? Surely he can still work. He takes a few more drinks of his tea as he pouts to himself, even if he can’t taste the tea the warm sensation does help his throat a little bit. He decides against eating any more toast, not wanting to deal with the sensation on his throat again. As he sits there he can’t ignore the aching all over his body. His muscles all feel heavy and his joints all creak, it's as if he’s pulled every single muscle in his body in the span of a single night's sleep. The pounding in his head doesn’t help, each pound against his skull makes his entire body throb in pain and he scowls as he tries to will it all away. He needs something to distract himself and he looks around slowly, looking for something, anything, to keep his mind off of the pain that shoots through his body with each passing moment.
His eyes land on the tablet he has hooked up to the Batcomputer and he wastes no time in reaching over to grab it. If Alfred is going to lock him out then he’d at least work from the couch. He slowly sips at his tea as he logs in to the interface, forcing his brain to focus on the words on the screen instead of the way his body is screaming at him. Doing some work will make him feel better and he’ll be doing something productive, he’ll just sneak into the cave later on during the night.
When the tea is finished he sets the mug on the table and opens up a case he’s been working on for a while, opening up his notes and all of the information that he has on it side by side. He starts to read through the notes, trying to jog his memory on what he was thinking at the time, but as he reads the words on the screen almost seem to not be actual words. They blur together and it’s almost like their shaking instead of sitting on the screen like he knows they are. He scowls and blinks a few times, which just makes his vision blurry.
“Alright Master Bruce-” Alfred walks into the room and stops. “Why do you have that?”
“I’m working,” He answers, looking up at the blurry Alfred in front of him.
“Master Bruce you are not well,” Alfred huffs, walking over to take the tablet.
“I’m fine, I can work all I want. I’m a grown man!”
Alfred levels him with a glare that makes him shrink back a bit. “You are sick and you need to rest. I advice you to-”
“Bruce?”
Bruce whips his head around, which is a bad idea as it makes his vision swim even worse and makes him nauseous again, to look at the sound of the voice. When his vision finally goes back to just slightly blurry he can see Clark standing next to the couch, a worried look on his face. “Clark? What are you doing here? Don’t you have work today?”
Bruce assumes it’s the sound of his voice that makes Clark cringe slightly, the worry on his face growing. “Well your heartbeat sounded different and then I heard you and Alfred and I got worried. You sound horrible, are you feeling okay?”
He scowls at the Kryptonian. “You were listening to my heartbeat?”
“Just to make sure you’re okay! I only do it from time to time to check in on you. But it sounds faster than normal and I wanted to make sure you aren’t injured,” Clark explains, looking a bit sheepish.
“I’m fine-”
Alfred cuts him off. “Master Bruce is sick, please get him to rest.”
He glares at Alfred. “Sick? I didn’t even know you could get sick… You’re never sick,” Clark mutters to himself before looking at Bruce. “You really should rest, it’s the only way to get better.”
Alfred turns and walks away and Bruce huffs softly, leaning back onto the couch and bringing the tablet back up so he can try reading again. “I’m fine, it’s nothing.”
Clark doesn’t seem convinced and he moves to sit next to him on the couch. “Sweetheart you really don’t look well and your voice sounds raw, is your throat hurting?”
Bruce glances away from the tablet to look at Clark. He’s not used to people being around him when he’s sick, about people caring. He knows Alfred cares, the man shows it by giving him tea and making him food that he’ll be able to stomach, but it's not the same compared to how Clark cares for him. Clark is looking at him like hearing that he’s not feeling well is the worst news in the world and it makes his stomach churn. He’s fine. He doesn’t need this concern.
“It’s fine, I just want to work on this.”
Clark’s eyebrows knit together in worry. “Are you sure? Maybe we should take a nap instead?” Bruce shakes his head, turning back to the tablet. He’s about to continue reading through the notes when he’s suddenly locked out of the tablet. He scowls as he tries to log back in, this has never happened before. Did someone hack his Batcomputer? When he gets an error message in reply to the log in he jumps up. However, jumping up so fast leads to the world going black for a moment, everything disappearing and reappearing in what feels like only a second. But he figures it’s been longer than that because Clark is holding him, almost like he caught him. “Can you hear me Bruce?”
“‘M fine,” He mumbles, though Clark doesn’t look convinced. “Someone hacked my computer-”
“No one hacked your computer Master Bruce. I locked you out. You need to take a rest and staring at that tablet isn’t doing so,” Alfred says.
Bruce isn’t sure when he entered the room again. “Bruce, you need to rest. You’re obviously not in the right head space and you’re not doing well.”
“I’m fine,” He growls, trying to push himself up and out of Clark’s arms.
Clark sighs softly. “Okay, that’s it.”
Before he can argue Clark stands up, still holding Bruce in his arms. “Are you taking him to his room? I have a suggestion.” Clark quickly turns to look at Alfred. “I’ll follow you up and help you.”
Bruce frowns, he doesn’t trust this for a second. “Let me down, I can walk.”
“I don’t think you can,” Clark argues. “Just trust me, I can take care of you.”
Bruce huffs, knowing that no matter what he says Clark won’t listen. Unlike other people that he’s been with, Clark will go out of his way to care for him. If Clark thinks that something is wrong then he’ll work to fix it or go out of his way to make Bruce feel better. It’s almost weird, it’s something that no one has ever really done for him before. It always makes him feel awkward, he’s unsure how to reciprocate or how to properly thank Clark for being like this with him. He loves Clark a lot but it feels like he's never able to show it like the Kryptonian is.
Clark carries him to the bedroom and Alfred quickly spreads his blanket out flat on the bed. “Lay him right here,” Alfred says, patting the middle of the bed.
Bruce scowls. “Wait-”
Clark doesn’t listen though, instead he lays him down. “Hold his arms while I wrap this around him.”
“Hey! No-” He’s cut off by Clark doing as he’s told and holding his arms against his body. It takes Alfred mere seconds to practically swaddle him with the blanket. It keeps his arms pinned comfortably to his body and the blanket does feel nice since he was feeling quite cold earlier. He blinks up at the two and he knows he’s pouting but he can’t help it. Alfred hasn’t done this to him since he was a kid and it’s a bit embarrassing, even if it is comforting. “This is not fair.”
Clark smiles at him. “But you look so cute, c’mon,” He coos, moving Bruce so his head is on the pillows.
He huffs, hating the way the warmth has him feeling drowsy. He just took a nap, he shouldn’t be tired, yet as he lays here in the warmth of the blanket it feels like he drifts out of consciousness almost frighteningly fast.
— — — — —
It’s honestly fascinating how quickly Bruce relaxes once the blanket is completely wrapped around him, he seems instantly soothed as he relaxes into the bed. It takes only a few moments for his breathing to slow and for him to fall asleep and that in itself is worrying because Bruce usually never sleeps. His worry must be written on his face because Alfred suddenly speaks up. “Don’t worry, he’s been sleeping on and off all day. I slipped some cold medicine into his tea earlier, so hopefully it helps.” Clark lets out a soft hum in reply, continuing to watch the rise and fall of Bruce’s chest. “Do you get sick Master Clark?”
This gets Clark’s attention and he turns to look at Alfred who is looking at him with a soft smile. “Well, not in the way that humans do. I get sick from kryptonite in my system and it can simulate a sickness that is similar to human colds sometimes.”
“And when you get sick, do you go to others?”
Clark nods quickly. “I go to the Superman robots if I need to but usually I’ll just go to Ma and Pa. I feel better knowing they’re there and can take care of me if I need it.”
“Yes, that is a perfectly human feeling. I feel everyone wants that, even if they won’t outwardly admit it. Master Bruce is the same way,” Alfred explains. “When he was young and his parents died he felt he had to learn to handle everything on his own and when he got sick for the first time after it happened he still continued to think that. This burrito blanket was used because it’s tight and warm, it’s reminiscent of a hug. He loves you a lot and I know you love him, maybe you’ll be able to help in a way that I can’t.”
Clark doesn’t get to respond as Alfred is already turning to leave, giving him one final smile before shutting the bedroom door behind him. He stares at the door in shock. The information isn’t completely shocking, he knows that Bruce prefers to handle everything himself because of his parents death, but he didn’t know that Bruce felt that way but wouldn’t ask for it. Maybe he should have paid more attention but since he knows now he’ll definitely be going out of his way to give Bruce the support he needs.
He makes his way over to the bed and carefully slots himself beside Bruce so that the man is leaning against him. While he’s not sure if Bruce can feel it, he also rubs his back, wanting to give some extra comfort to him. Even if Bruce won’t tell him he wants support like this, Clark is going to go out of his way to give it to him. It’s his job as Bruce’s boyfriend and really he should have been doing it before but he thought Bruce might not like physical touch all that much.
Clark isn’t sure how long he lays there, just listening to the sound of Bruce’s heart and the sound of his shallow breathing, but eventually he hears a hitch. a soft whisper of 'mom', and then a hiccup. He quickly looks down and his heart breaks when he sees Bruce awake and tears running down his face. “Oh Baby, what happened? What’s wrong?” Bruce shakes his head and Clark notices that the man is trying to use his arms so he undoes the blanket and carefully helps Bruce sit up. “Sweetheart you have to tell me, I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”
Bruce sobs and Clark’s chest feels tight. “I don’t know,” He mumbles, shaking his head. “Somethin’s wrong.”
“Does something hurt?” Clark asks carefully, using his x-ray vision to make sure nothing is seriously wrong within Bruce’s body.
“Everything,” Bruce sobs.
Clark coos softly, pulling Bruce against his chest and rubbing his back. “It’s okay Sweetheart, I’m right here,” He mumbles, kissing the top of the man’s head.
He’s never seen Bruce like this and it really hurts his heart. It’s obvious Bruce is in pain, this sickness is also really taking a toll on him and it seems like he’s not quite sure how to handle it. But that’s okay. Clark is here and he’ll be here for as long as Bruce needs. He starts to rub Bruce’s back again, letting him just sob into his shoulder. “It hurts,” He sniffles. “I hate this.”
“I know… It really sucks that you’re sick. But I’m here and I’m going to be here the whole time. Just let it all out.”
Bruce’s grip tightens on his shirt and he buries his face into Clark’s neck. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for. I love you and it’s my job as your boyfriend to take care of you when you need it.” It takes a little while for Bruce to stop crying, his sobbing reduced to just sniffles. When it does he slowly pulls Bruce back so he can look at his face, cooing softly when he sees the man’s puffy and glassy eyes, his already sick looking self looking even sadder now. “I love you so much. If you need something or if you’re feeling bad, I want to know. Okay?”
Bruce nods. “Okay.” Clark pulls him back into a hug, slowly laying them down. It’s silent for a minute, Bruce’s breathing finally evening out from his crying. “Clark?”
“Hm?”
“I don’t feel good.”
Clark chuckles softly. “I know Sweetheart. How about you take another nap, when you wake up we can get you some soup and some medicine, okay?”
“Okay…”
He leaves another kiss on the top of Bruce’s head, listening to the man’s breathing even out as he once again falls asleep.