Chapter Text
Bruce sat alone at the outdoor patio tables of Cafe Triste, impatiently tapping his finger on the clear glass table.
Where is he?
An hour passed since the time he was supposed to meet up with John. He took out his phone to message him.
B: Hey, where are you? We were supposed to be meeting up at 5:00, remember?
Ten minutes pass before he gets a response.
J: super sick.
cant go.
Damn.
B: Tell me sooner next time?
J: sorry was asleep in bed alllllll day
hurts to move
n type
ow
Harley didn't say anything about John when he stopped by before he came here. Did anyone else know? Did they care?
B: That’s OK. Have you eaten lunch already?
J: no
B: Have you eaten anything today?
J: tried to
B: So you haven't.
J: whatever comes in just comes right back out if yknow what i mean
out my mouth i mean
i puke it out
not coming out the other end
B: OK.
Bruce sighed. Someone had to get John something to eat. He wasn’t planning to do anything else that important other than some business meetings anyways. He remembered a couple of convenience stores between him the Pact's hideout. He felt it was only right to spend the rest of the day helping John recover. He couldn’t let John’s flu get in the way of infiltrating the pact. Even if it meant staying the whole night with him, just to be sure. He told himself that this was important—necessary even—for his mission.
He drove to the nearest drugstore, hoping that he could get in and out without drawing too much attention to himself. Luckily, the store was empty except for a cashier who looked beyond baked and two snickering kids towards the back. Whenever Bruce got sick, Alfred always made him a hot bowl of arroz caldo topped with chopped green onions and a side of homemade ginger ale.
...He couldn’t find anything close to that. Instant noodles, canned chicken noodle soup, and orange juice seemed close enough. He tried to ignore the giggling kids who failed to keep their comments about his outfit making him like a “divorced golfer” from reaching his ears. He left the store with a bulging plastic bag full of soups, snacks, and various bottled fruit juices and medicines. On his way out, he noticed a movie-renting station by the door. It reminded him of this one movie John mentioned wanting to see.
What the hell was it called? Magnetmine? Mangomime?
Approaching the kiosk, he browsed the cartoon selection and saw the familiar movie with the big-headed blue man on the cover.
Ah, “Megamind”, Right. God, I feel old.
The DVD case popped out from the dispenser. Bruce stashed it into his grocery bag before returning to his car.