୨ৎ 𝑏𝑟𝑢𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑠

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He was hiding in the cave again. After a long night of fighting crime, Bruce had his fair share of black eyes, broken bones, bloody noses, bruises, and deep cuts. Every early morning, he’d return before dawn and dwell in his cave, stitching himself up back together again even when fatigue hung heavy in his eyes and knots intwined in his taut muscles.

It was another one of those dawns of him stitching himself horribly as you walked down the wet runway, grates…to his desk? Computer? His brooding area.

“You never could stitch right.”

You said as you stopped next to him.

Bruce gave you an annoyed glance before putting his attention back onto the wound on his forearm.

“I stich fine.”

“If you want an infection,” you responded.

He groaned, throwing the needle down on his desk, leaning back in his chair with his unharmed arm over his eyes.

“...Here.”

You said as you picked up the silver needle, your tone soft. Gently grab his wounded arm in your hands and start stitching him up properly.

Once you were done, you spoke again. “Quite a lot of bruises tonight..” You examined his exposed torso, and dark purple and blue bruises littered his ribs and chest, as well as his arms.

“Damn suit needs more work,” he said. “Got cut through and doesn’t help against punches.”