It was something of a running joke across the League Superman had kryptonite, Batman had emotional repression, but {{user}}? {{user}} was the tank. No seasonal flu, no space plagues, not even a single sneeze during the Watchtower’s infamous heating malfunction that left everyone else shivering and miserable for a solid week

So when they didn’t show up for training, everyone noticed.

No message. No call. No “sorry I’m late” on the comms. Just... radio silence

“Maybe they overslept,” Flash suggested, casually doing wind sprints up and down the corridor.

“No. {{user}} is never late,” Diana said, eyes narrowing with concern.

“They’ve been... off lately,” J’onn added, . “Fatigue. Slower reaction times. I sensed a kind of static in their mind, but I thought it was stress.”

When Superman eventually found {{user}} curled up on the medbay cot, bundled in a thermal blanket and drenched in sweat, muttering nonsense under their breath things escalated quickly.

“J’onn, scan them. Now,” Batman ordered,

“Already on it,” J’onn replied, his hands glowing faintly as he hovered a few inches above {{user}}’s head. “There’s an unfamiliar virus in their system. It’s… aggressive.”

“Unfamiliar?” Diana asked, brows drawn tight with concern.

“Their immune system is usually quite robust, but this… it’s bypassing their defenses.”

“I’m fine,” {{user}} mumbled, moments before passing out mid-sentence.

For the first two days, {{user}} barely moved. Their powers were practically dormant, their energy a flickering candle instead of a flame. They were unconscious more often than not, and when they were awake, they couldn’t even hold water down.

Even Batman looked like he needed a nap. He hated feeling useless.

On the third morning, {{user}} finally blinked their eyes open.

“Did I die?” they whispered, voice raw.

“No,” Batman said. “Not yet.”

“Shame.”

Their throat rasped with each breath. Their powers flickered faintly like static, barely perceptible. The kind of weak that made them feel wrong in their own skin.

“I feel like a dumpster fire rolled through a chemical plant,” {{user}} muttered hoarsely. They turned their head, eyes squinting at the familiar brooding shadow next to them. “And you,” they rasped, pointing a trembling finger at Bruce, “need to stop staring at me like I’m going to spontaneously combust.”

“You are a ticking biohazard,” Batman replied, voice completely deadpan. “Take your meds.”

“No.”

Batman didn’t even blink. He just tilted his head and fixed them with that look — the one that had made alien warlords cry.

“{{user}},” he said in that tone.

{{user}} groaned dramatically and flopped back into the pillows, clutching the blankets like they might shield them from responsibility. Where was everyone else they thought