Fic: Feed a Fever
Fandom: Timmverse
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Pairings: pre-slash Bruce and Clark
Disclaimer: I own nothing I’m just borrowing the boys for some nice pointless fluffy stuff.
Written for the 2009 World's Finest Gift Exchange. Prompt: Timmverse: During the events of the episode "Feeding Time" Superman is drained of his energy and later catching a cold. Being Clark has never had a cold before and feels miserable he asks Bruce for help.
Feed a Fever
The sneeze echoed down the hallway causing the few people still around to glare at the offender. Clark blushed in embarrassment mumbled a quick apology and dashed into his apartment. Leaning against the door he began looking around for the tissue box that until now had just been in his apartment for decoration. Finding said box he pulled out several tissues trying to clear up some the congestion as he collapsed on his couch feeling completely drained. He thought he had gotten over his cold, but apparently that was not the case. Or maybe he had caught something else after being stuck in a damp furnace room for several days. Or maybe-oh who cared really, the point was that his body ached, his head felt like it was encased in a giant block of cement, and he would have to be at work bright and early tomorrow morning because Superman had used up all of Clark Kent’s sick days.
He groaned in annoyance. First the fight with Parasite and now this, he really wished his powers would come back so it would go away. No wait he took that back for all he knew his powers would come back the cold would stay and he might blow a new hole in the wall ever time he sneezed. He shivered and wrapped his arms around his body in an effort to keep warm. As he lay on the couch feeling pathetic it occurred to him that he really had no idea how to fix this. What exactly was he supposed to do in this situation anyway? Whenever his parents got sick it was just something that they worked through and honestly he didn’t know how they did it, he felt horrible! Why would anyone want to work when they were like this?
If he was honest with himself he really didn’t want to do anything he wanted somebody to do something for him. He wanted, well, he just really wanted somebody there to talk to if nothing else. He could call Lois her apartment wasn’t that far away, knowing Lois though she would probably just tell him that she wasn’t his mother and hang up. Well what about Ma? No Ma and Pa would be in bed by now and there was nothing they could do from Kansas besides worry about him anyway. There was one person who would certainly be up though. He reached over and took the phone from its base on the end table. He will never do anything Clark thought and yet he began punching the numbers on the phone anyway. As it started ringing common sense kept trying to tell him that he probably wasn’t even home. Clark was half-way convinced not to bother when the ringing suddenly stopped and a gruff voice came on the line.
“What do you want?”
“Bruce?”
“Yes, Clark, we’ve established I’m here, now would you care to elaborate on where you’ve been.”
“Parasite’s prisoner over in Star Labs’ basement Jimmy helped me escape and Parasite is now in custody, but my powers haven’t really returned yet and I…just a second.”
He turned away from the phone and sneezed hard.
“Gesundheit.”
“Thank you.”
“How serious is your reaction to this Parasite that an infection has already managed to set in?”
“No, no this is not serious it’s just a cold.”
“If this is not serious why on earth did you call me?”
“I don’t know,” he said and suddenly felt so stupid for even picking up the phone.
“You don’t know. Well that’s just wonderful you vanish for almost week worry people half to death and then call sounding like you swallowed sandpaper. Anyone else would have a better answer but no not you you’re-”
“Bruce, do you like me?”
“What!?”
“Well you did pick up the phone and we have done things together since that whole Joker incident and I just thought that you could…um”
“Clark, are you delirious?”
“Maybe.” Was his ceiling supposed to be spinning like that?
“I’ll be right over.”
“No wait I just meant-” he was cut off as Bruce disconnected the call. Clark lay there in shock, what had he done? He had gotten Batman to come over. Batman! The man who would probably still work if his back was snapped in two was coming over to see Superman laid up with nothing more than a common cold and was no doubt going to berate him for hours on end for being an unprepared idiot. What had he been thinking? Letting the phone fall to the floor Clark closed his eyes, rubbing his fingers against his temples trying to halt the headache that was starting to form, and wondered why the universe seemed to hate him.
***
He must have fallen asleep at some point because when he opened his eyes again his apartment was darker and there was a person leaning over the back of his couch. Startled Clark quickly tried to back away, tripped over his coffee table, and fell on the floor.
“Apparently being sick makes you the klutz you act like,” Bruce said as he walked over held out his hand and helped Clark up.
“Do I want to know how you got in here?”
“No,” Bruce answered and placed a duffel bag on the coffee table.
“Bruce you really didn’t need to come, whatever you have in that bag is really not necessary.”
“Obviously it is because if you knew how to deal with something like this you wouldn’t have called me now sit down.”
Clark complied and sat down Bruce and pulled a thermometer out of the bag and pressed it into Clark’s ear.
“What should your normal temperature be?” he asked a moment later as it beeped.
“38 Celsius I think why?”
“Because this reads 40 so you get to go to bed.”
Not wanting to argue Clark went into his bedroom and pulled on a pair of flannel pyjamas as he listened to the sounds of Bruce rummaging around in his kitchen.
Clark settled down in the bed as Bruce came in holding a sandwich for himself, a thermos, and held a tall glass of juice in front of him.
“Drink.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re supposed to drink fluids when you’re sick so bottoms up.”
“Why do I get the feeling you don’t do this when you’re sick?”
“I don’t get sick,” was the answer Clark got as Bruce twisted off the thermos cap and poured something into the it.
“What is that?”
“Chicken soup the only way to fight a cold. Which I was not aware you could actually catch.”
“Neither was I.”
“There is a good side to this though. Since the drain brought on by the former Rudy Jones is temporary and your powers upgrade your immune system beyond that of us mere mortals you being you will probably only be like this for three days at best.”
“Oh, wonderful,” Clark said sarcastically as he coughed and took the cup.
“Don’t get crabby and shoot the messenger, Clark, you’re the one who called me remember?”
“I know and I’m sorry I’m just not use to being like this.”
“I can see that. You’ve probably long since forgotten how it worked when you were young and powerless.”
“Not even then.”
Bruce’s eyes widened for a moment before returning to their normal guarded look. “You’re telling me you’ve never had a cold before, ever?”
“No.”
“Well that explains a lot. I should take a picture of this as a first.”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” Clark said imagining what a mess he must look like, but not having the energy or desire to get out of the bed and look in the mirror. He had to admit that at least the soup was good. When he had drunk and eaten everything to Bruce’s satisfaction he rolled over away from Bruce, who insisted on staying and monitoring him, trying to get comfortable and eventually fell asleep.
***
It was hot. He was hot. It was like he was on Apokolips and the fire pits were making his body sweat and burn. He tried to call out for help but his throat was too dry. Suddenly he felt cool water running down his face and there was someone whispering in his ear that everything would be all right as long as they were here and that nothing bad would happen they would make sure of it. Then everything went blissfully black.
He woke up with a start to the familiar darkness of his apartment, feeling decidedly less hot he looked around and saw Bruce asleep in a chair by the bed and he was certain that everything he had just heard had been nothing more than a bad dream.
***
When Clark woke up again it was morning and he turned his head at the sound of Bruce, not only still in his apartment, but also on the phone talking in an accent that Clark didn’t think he was capable of.
“Thank you for being so understanding, Mr. White, goodbye.”
“What are you doing?”
“Getting you more recovery time. Your boss thinks you are away on a family emergency and won’t be back until next week. Now don’t say I never do anything nice for you.”
Bruce walked across the room and pulled the curtains open and let the sunlight stream into the bedroom. Clark cringed, turned away from the bright rays, and buried his head under a pillow.
Bruce chuckled. “Another first, Superman hating sunlight.”
Clark poked his head out from under the pillow.
“You are getting far too much enjoyment out of my misery.”
Bruce came over and sat down on the bed beside Clark.
“And you are too tense,” Bruce said and began moving his hands across Clark’s back trying to loosing up several tense muscles.
Clark simply sat there in shock wondering why Bruce was being so helpful it wasn’t like the gruff loner Batman he had come to know.
“Why are you doing all this for me?”
“You indirectly asked me to. Besides the sooner you get better the sooner Superman gets back to work I’ve seen what a mess your city gets itself into without you around this last week. I am merely doing what any good colleague should do for another.”
“Breaking into their apartment and eating their food?” Clark tried to joke.
Bruce sighed. “Clark, you are really spoiling the mood.”
“What mood?”
“Never mind just shut up and enjoy this.”
“All right you’re the care-giver.”
As the movement of Bruce’s hands across his back slowly lulled him back to sleep it occurred to Clark that he was coming across as very ungrateful. After all Bruce didn’t have to do any of this.
“Thank you for all your help, Bruce, I really, really appreciate it.”
Bruce remained silent and continued moving his hands along Clark’s shoulders. He waited as Clark’s breathing became deep and steady and when he was sure he was asleep he answered, “my pleasure really.”
The End
Note: I’d like to take ‘Someone please buy Clark a clue’ for five hundred Alex!
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Pairings: pre-slash Bruce and Clark
Disclaimer: I own nothing I’m just borrowing the boys for some nice pointless fluffy stuff.
Written for the 2009 World's Finest Gift Exchange. Prompt: Timmverse: During the events of the episode "Feeding Time" Superman is drained of his energy and later catching a cold. Being Clark has never had a cold before and feels miserable he asks Bruce for help.
Feed a Fever
The sneeze echoed down the hallway causing the few people still around to glare at the offender. Clark blushed in embarrassment mumbled a quick apology and dashed into his apartment. Leaning against the door he began looking around for the tissue box that until now had just been in his apartment for decoration. Finding said box he pulled out several tissues trying to clear up some the congestion as he collapsed on his couch feeling completely drained. He thought he had gotten over his cold, but apparently that was not the case. Or maybe he had caught something else after being stuck in a damp furnace room for several days. Or maybe-oh who cared really, the point was that his body ached, his head felt like it was encased in a giant block of cement, and he would have to be at work bright and early tomorrow morning because Superman had used up all of Clark Kent’s sick days.
He groaned in annoyance. First the fight with Parasite and now this, he really wished his powers would come back so it would go away. No wait he took that back for all he knew his powers would come back the cold would stay and he might blow a new hole in the wall ever time he sneezed. He shivered and wrapped his arms around his body in an effort to keep warm. As he lay on the couch feeling pathetic it occurred to him that he really had no idea how to fix this. What exactly was he supposed to do in this situation anyway? Whenever his parents got sick it was just something that they worked through and honestly he didn’t know how they did it, he felt horrible! Why would anyone want to work when they were like this?
If he was honest with himself he really didn’t want to do anything he wanted somebody to do something for him. He wanted, well, he just really wanted somebody there to talk to if nothing else. He could call Lois her apartment wasn’t that far away, knowing Lois though she would probably just tell him that she wasn’t his mother and hang up. Well what about Ma? No Ma and Pa would be in bed by now and there was nothing they could do from Kansas besides worry about him anyway. There was one person who would certainly be up though. He reached over and took the phone from its base on the end table. He will never do anything Clark thought and yet he began punching the numbers on the phone anyway. As it started ringing common sense kept trying to tell him that he probably wasn’t even home. Clark was half-way convinced not to bother when the ringing suddenly stopped and a gruff voice came on the line.
“What do you want?”
“Bruce?”
“Yes, Clark, we’ve established I’m here, now would you care to elaborate on where you’ve been.”
“Parasite’s prisoner over in Star Labs’ basement Jimmy helped me escape and Parasite is now in custody, but my powers haven’t really returned yet and I…just a second.”
He turned away from the phone and sneezed hard.
“Gesundheit.”
“Thank you.”
“How serious is your reaction to this Parasite that an infection has already managed to set in?”
“No, no this is not serious it’s just a cold.”
“If this is not serious why on earth did you call me?”
“I don’t know,” he said and suddenly felt so stupid for even picking up the phone.
“You don’t know. Well that’s just wonderful you vanish for almost week worry people half to death and then call sounding like you swallowed sandpaper. Anyone else would have a better answer but no not you you’re-”
“Bruce, do you like me?”
“What!?”
“Well you did pick up the phone and we have done things together since that whole Joker incident and I just thought that you could…um”
“Clark, are you delirious?”
“Maybe.” Was his ceiling supposed to be spinning like that?
“I’ll be right over.”
“No wait I just meant-” he was cut off as Bruce disconnected the call. Clark lay there in shock, what had he done? He had gotten Batman to come over. Batman! The man who would probably still work if his back was snapped in two was coming over to see Superman laid up with nothing more than a common cold and was no doubt going to berate him for hours on end for being an unprepared idiot. What had he been thinking? Letting the phone fall to the floor Clark closed his eyes, rubbing his fingers against his temples trying to halt the headache that was starting to form, and wondered why the universe seemed to hate him.
***
He must have fallen asleep at some point because when he opened his eyes again his apartment was darker and there was a person leaning over the back of his couch. Startled Clark quickly tried to back away, tripped over his coffee table, and fell on the floor.
“Apparently being sick makes you the klutz you act like,” Bruce said as he walked over held out his hand and helped Clark up.
“Do I want to know how you got in here?”
“No,” Bruce answered and placed a duffel bag on the coffee table.
“Bruce you really didn’t need to come, whatever you have in that bag is really not necessary.”
“Obviously it is because if you knew how to deal with something like this you wouldn’t have called me now sit down.”
Clark complied and sat down Bruce and pulled a thermometer out of the bag and pressed it into Clark’s ear.
“What should your normal temperature be?” he asked a moment later as it beeped.
“38 Celsius I think why?”
“Because this reads 40 so you get to go to bed.”
Not wanting to argue Clark went into his bedroom and pulled on a pair of flannel pyjamas as he listened to the sounds of Bruce rummaging around in his kitchen.
Clark settled down in the bed as Bruce came in holding a sandwich for himself, a thermos, and held a tall glass of juice in front of him.
“Drink.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re supposed to drink fluids when you’re sick so bottoms up.”
“Why do I get the feeling you don’t do this when you’re sick?”
“I don’t get sick,” was the answer Clark got as Bruce twisted off the thermos cap and poured something into the it.
“What is that?”
“Chicken soup the only way to fight a cold. Which I was not aware you could actually catch.”
“Neither was I.”
“There is a good side to this though. Since the drain brought on by the former Rudy Jones is temporary and your powers upgrade your immune system beyond that of us mere mortals you being you will probably only be like this for three days at best.”
“Oh, wonderful,” Clark said sarcastically as he coughed and took the cup.
“Don’t get crabby and shoot the messenger, Clark, you’re the one who called me remember?”
“I know and I’m sorry I’m just not use to being like this.”
“I can see that. You’ve probably long since forgotten how it worked when you were young and powerless.”
“Not even then.”
Bruce’s eyes widened for a moment before returning to their normal guarded look. “You’re telling me you’ve never had a cold before, ever?”
“No.”
“Well that explains a lot. I should take a picture of this as a first.”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” Clark said imagining what a mess he must look like, but not having the energy or desire to get out of the bed and look in the mirror. He had to admit that at least the soup was good. When he had drunk and eaten everything to Bruce’s satisfaction he rolled over away from Bruce, who insisted on staying and monitoring him, trying to get comfortable and eventually fell asleep.
***
It was hot. He was hot. It was like he was on Apokolips and the fire pits were making his body sweat and burn. He tried to call out for help but his throat was too dry. Suddenly he felt cool water running down his face and there was someone whispering in his ear that everything would be all right as long as they were here and that nothing bad would happen they would make sure of it. Then everything went blissfully black.
He woke up with a start to the familiar darkness of his apartment, feeling decidedly less hot he looked around and saw Bruce asleep in a chair by the bed and he was certain that everything he had just heard had been nothing more than a bad dream.
***
When Clark woke up again it was morning and he turned his head at the sound of Bruce, not only still in his apartment, but also on the phone talking in an accent that Clark didn’t think he was capable of.
“Thank you for being so understanding, Mr. White, goodbye.”
“What are you doing?”
“Getting you more recovery time. Your boss thinks you are away on a family emergency and won’t be back until next week. Now don’t say I never do anything nice for you.”
Bruce walked across the room and pulled the curtains open and let the sunlight stream into the bedroom. Clark cringed, turned away from the bright rays, and buried his head under a pillow.
Bruce chuckled. “Another first, Superman hating sunlight.”
Clark poked his head out from under the pillow.
“You are getting far too much enjoyment out of my misery.”
Bruce came over and sat down on the bed beside Clark.
“And you are too tense,” Bruce said and began moving his hands across Clark’s back trying to loosing up several tense muscles.
Clark simply sat there in shock wondering why Bruce was being so helpful it wasn’t like the gruff loner Batman he had come to know.
“Why are you doing all this for me?”
“You indirectly asked me to. Besides the sooner you get better the sooner Superman gets back to work I’ve seen what a mess your city gets itself into without you around this last week. I am merely doing what any good colleague should do for another.”
“Breaking into their apartment and eating their food?” Clark tried to joke.
Bruce sighed. “Clark, you are really spoiling the mood.”
“What mood?”
“Never mind just shut up and enjoy this.”
“All right you’re the care-giver.”
As the movement of Bruce’s hands across his back slowly lulled him back to sleep it occurred to Clark that he was coming across as very ungrateful. After all Bruce didn’t have to do any of this.
“Thank you for all your help, Bruce, I really, really appreciate it.”
Bruce remained silent and continued moving his hands along Clark’s shoulders. He waited as Clark’s breathing became deep and steady and when he was sure he was asleep he answered, “my pleasure really.”
The End
Note: I’d like to take ‘Someone please buy Clark a clue’ for five hundred Alex!