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Bruce Wayne has decided that being sick is the worst condition on Planet Earth.
You would think that experiencing the most insane people in the world and their antics would dissuade him from that opinion, but such a claim would be wrong.
See, you can punch your way out of the Joker or the Scarecrow. But there’s no punching your way out of a cold.
Bruce shivered at his desk, defiantly ignoring Alfred as he stood just in his periphery.
“Master Wayne, I do believe it would be best for you to rest for the night. The criminal from last night is already in the asylum. Surely this can wait until the morning,” he said.
Bruce scoffed, which quickly turned into a coughing fit that Alfred simply shook his head at. He pointedly ignored that one.
“I told you, Alfred, I’m fine. Just give me five more minutes,” he said, keeping his eyes on the computer screen.
Alfred muttered something to himself but the pressure in Bruce’s ears made it unclear to him what was said. He chose to ignore it, focusing on the words on the screen that became blurrier as he stared longer.
A black fuzziness around the edge of his vision grew bigger and bigger. His head pounded so loud he could hear it like a drum.
If I just stay awake for ten more minutes, then I won’t have to… I won’t have to…
His thoughts drifted off into nothingness as he slipped into that darkness.
-~-
Bruce woke up coughing. The mucus in his chest made it sound uglier than it felt. A tissue pressed against his lips before he could push it away and he coughed up some of the mess holding residence in his lungs.
He opened his heavy eyelids to a blurry figure in front of him. He whimpered and blinked hard, trying to focus. Once the fuzziness fell away, he was met with Clark’s face, laden with concern but a bit of amusement under the surface.
“I thought somebody promised me not to do something like this again, hm?” Clark quipped, throwing away the disgusting tissue in his hands.
“I just… just didn’t want to…” Bruce trailed off, his thoughts scrambling before even making sense in his own head.
“Alright, fever brain. Back to bed with you,” Clark replied, pushing on Bruce’s chest.
He whimpered again (a whisper of a thought against doing so vanished as soon as it appeared) and tugged on Clark’s hand, pulling him down with him.
Bruce could’ve sworn he heard “So clingy” before drifting off, but he was too exhausted to care.