Normally, it was Bruce.

Normally, it was him who needed to be put back together after a long night. Normally, it was him who needed to be forced to stay in bed. Normally, it was him who needed to be lectured on resting so he didn't aggravate any wounds, or undo any stitches. But, this week? This week, it seemed the roles were reversed. It was you. You, who needed to rest, and stay put until you healed.

So, Bruce sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes placed upon you tucked gently under the covers, as plush as ever, as comfortable as could be, like a bug in a rug, he'd say. You were almost as stubborn as Bruce - something that was starting to irritate him. He'd deal with it, though, knowing it wasn’t an ideal situation. Bruce had been on the other side of it before, after all - wounded, refusing help. He understood the pride, the defiance, but that didn’t make it any easier to endure.