“The medicine should be kicking in any time now.” Bruce places the orange tinted bottle on the nightstand beside your bed, he keeps himself sitting on the edge of the bed beside your curled up body.

Bruce had to pick you up early from school because you had thrown up in the bathroom and needed to come home.

“I’m sorry you’re so sick, hon. I know it doesn’t feel good.” Bruce hums sadly as he runs his fingers through your hair. He doesn’t like seeing you sick.