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“Superman!”
Damn. He braces against the wall, gasping for air. Knowing he only has seconds he launches a grappling hook into the air, stomach rolling as it lifts him onto the roof.
He steals himself against the roiling nausea that threatens to take over. A streak of blue and red flashes across the sky.
“I didn’t know what to do… so I called you…” the voice below falters.
Without a glance back he takes off, moving as quickly as he can along the rooftop. Reaching the other side he fires the grappling hook again, this time his stomach can’t take it and he retches upon hitting the ground.
There's barely anything left in his stomach after having thrown up in the previous alley. The fight had been too much in his current condition but he couldn’t just leave the young woman to be harmed.
Gathering what’s left of his strength he pushes upright, only two blocks and he’ll be safe. Just gotta make it there. He can’t tell if the shaking in his hands is because of the illness or because they are so cold.
Using the wall for support he heads down the alley, thankful for the darkness in Gotham that keeps the bright hurtful lights from his eyes. The disadvantage is that in this state he doesn’t see the bricks laying in his path. He barely throws his arms out to catch himself when he’s grabbed by strong arms.
“Easy there, Batman.” The intruder’s voice is as warm as his arms.
Set back upright he takes a step back but finds he’s against the wall, probably for the better. “Get out of my city.”
The sunny smile flattens slightly. “I’m only here because I was called.”
“Shoulda minded her own business” Batman mutters, more to himself than the man who's not supposed to be here. “I have everything under control, leave.” He hopes he looks more imposing than he feels.
“Really? It doesn’t look like it.” His eyes search over Batman but not in a pleasant way. “Have you been poisoned?”
Batman merely grunts before turning in the direction he was headed previously, watching more closely the ground ahead of him.
“I can help,” Superman keeps up beside him. “Please, let me.”
“It’s not your concern.” He can see the door to the building where his safehouse is. Now he just needs to lose the hero.
A hand sets gently on Batman’s shoulder, the warmth seeping through his armor. He leans into it unthinkingly. His body strained with the effort to remain upright.
“Something is wrong, your core temperature is higher than it should be and you’re shaking.” Concern laces through the words so sweetly. “Let me help you get better so we can beat whatever villian did this.”
He loses the battle with his will to not lean closer to the heat wafting off the other man, more heat pours into him as an arm circles around his shoulders. “No, it was my son.”
“You have a son?” Surprise and shock slipped with his words.
Deep breath, and another, he tells himself. Would be bad to throw up on Superman. “Not his fault, somethings going around the school.”
“Oh…oooh, you have the flu?”
Stupidly he goes to nod his head. The motion sets his stomach rolling again, he turns just in time to avoid heaving onto the bright red boots in front of him.
He’d expected to fall to the ground but instead is held upright. A soothing hand runs over his back. “Please just go….” He points weakly to the building ahead of them. “I have a place there, I’ll be fine.”
The hands holding him shift without releasing him. “I’ll see you inside then.”
Pressed tight into Superman’s side as they walk does little for his composure, the man is better than a heated blanket on this cold night. The electronic locks quickly give way letting them inside.
The place is small, with a kitchenette on one side and a couch on the other. He leans against the counter, using it to balance instead of clinging to Superman.
Quietly he observes as the other man takes in the room, no hint of judgement present on his face as he looks over the sparse furnishings. A wave of nausea hits him and he lurches for the bathroom. Steadied once again by strong hands and he leans over the toilet, throwing up the last of nothing. The half dry heaves hurt worse somehow.
Hard tile scraps against his legs as he leans back against the wall. With shaky hands he tugs his gauntlets off, releasing the clasps for his cape.
“Let me get you something to drink.” Superman steps back towards the sink.
“There should be Gatorade in the fridge.” Alfred keeps the place stocked for mid patrol breaks, usually just drinks and energy snacks. Thinking of his trusted butler makes him wish he were home, though he’ll never tell the man he was right about not going out tonight.
Bright light flashes making him close his eyes. “This is definitely the best when you’re sick”
“Do you even get sick?” He means it to sound sarcastic but there's no bite. It takes some effort but he gets his armor off, leaving just the undersuit and cowl on.
“Um no, but it’s what my mom said and she’s usually right.” A bottle is held out.
Interesting, Superman has a mother, who apparently gives good advice. Taking small sips he tries not to grimace, the taste of bile and blue drink is not a pleasant one. His stomach clenches at the liquid but he keeps it down.
Superman opens the cabinet over the sink and frowns at the contents, reaching for the one over the toilet instead. Pulling out a cloth and running it under the water before offering it to him. “Do you have another mask?”
“Mask?” He accepts the cloth with shaky hands.
The extended hands points to his cheek. “Your’s is dirty.”
“Oh, yes…” He pauses at the implication.
Before he can continue the other man steps backwards. “I’ll just give you a minute then.” The door closes with a creak.
Mentally he tussles with himself but reason wins out, if Superman could see through a door than he could have already seen through the fabric of the cowl. Plus the man asked if he had another mask instead of just telling him to remove the cowl so clearly he understands privacy. Removing the covering he wipes the grime off his face, the cooled cloth making him tremble. Grabbing the belt from the suit he pulls out a domino mask, not as much coverage but at this point he’s not sure it matters.
Pulling himself up takes some effort but it’s worth it to avoid the possibility of Superman deciding to pick him up. Slowly he opens the door to find the man in question laying blankets onto the couch.
“You didn’t have to do that.” Stepping into the room he remains close to the wall for support.
Bright blue glides towards him, wrapping an arm around to guide him to the couch. “It’s no trouble.”
More gently than if he’d been alone he’s settled on the couch, blankets tucked around him. A bowl and another bottle of Gatorade are laying beside it.
“If you need anything just call for me. I’ll hear you.” Warmth spills from the hero’s smile as it does all of his body.
It would be wrong to ask the man to crawl in beside him, even if only for the heat. “I won’t but thank you.” The phrase slips too easily from his fevered lips.
Shaking his head Superman rises. “Are you always so stubborn?”
“Yes.” He lies.
Already on the way to sleep he barely hears as the door to the safe house is closed. He definitely doesn’t hear Superman say “We’ll see about that.”
—
Light streams in from the windows as the curtains are disturbed. Slipping through them is a beautiful figure holding a bag. “Awake I see, how about some soup? Fresh from Kansas.”
From beneath the covers he grunts, shaking his head to clear it. “I should be able to eat”
“What were you thinking about?” The bed shifts slightly as new weight is added.
Rolling over he seeks the warmth of embrace, nuzzling into the other's chest. “Who says I’m thinking?”
Soft chuckles shake his head but the majority of his nausea has thankfully passed. “I know you Bruce, you’re always thinking.”
He hums thoughtfully, enjoying the hand rubbing circles on his back. “Just thinking about the last time I was sick.”
“Ah, you know, I thought you lived there? I was so concerned for you because you hardly had any food.” Warm fingers slip into his hair, gently massaging as they go.
Sighing at the contact he glances up at the shining eyes above him. “Is that why you kept meeting me on patrol and insisting on taking me to dinner?”
“Well that and I liked you.” Lips find his forehead.
“You thought you were going to knight in shining armor me, but look at you now, living in my mansion.” Grinning widely he runs his thumb over the smooth metal band on his left hand.
Deft fingers trail down his cheek and tip his face further up. “A lot changes in seven years.”
Their noses brush as Clark kisses his cheek.
Gotham is a city of few redeeming qualities. Most citizens are kind though, each having lived a hard life with little help. He does his best to make it better for them no matter what mask he wears. Maybe he got lucky or maybe the universe owed him one. He’ll never know but he’s thankful everyday for Gotham and her citizens that call to him for help, and call help for him when he’s too stubborn to do so.