hiiii baby Dickie is my weakness he’s the cutest little thing ever 🥹 can you imagine Dickie is unwell and refuses to take his medicine unless Zitka takes it first?? 🥺
For a single, agonizing second, Bruce pressed his forehead against the duvet cover of the bed he was kneeling next to, a soft groan being absorbed by the mattress. He’d been fighting this particular battle for nearly half an hour now, a war of attrition that needed to come to a close, for both their sakes.
Steeling his nerves with a deep breath, he sat straighter, forcing himself to be calm. He stared into the hazy, bleary eyes of his eight-year-old son, Dick. The boy looked like hell warmed over, a pale imitation of his vibrant self. His beautiful, sun-kissed tan had vanished, replaced by an ashen pallor. The normally brilliant blue of his eyes was dull, clouded with fever, and a fine sheen of sweat coated his skin, making the dark curls cling to his temples. But, even in such a state, Dick was, naturally, the most stubborn child to ever have existed.
“Chum, please,” Bruce groaned, lifting up the small plastic cup once more, the cloying smell of artificial cherry filling his nostrils. It was a scent he was beginning to loathe. “You won’t feel better unless you take your medicine. It’s cherry. You love cherry.” He was trying to sound reasonable, but the desperation tinging his voice was unmistakable.
The little boy only sniffled, a wet, unhappy sound that could have been from disdain or his stuffy nose. He clutched his precious stuffed elephant, Zitka, to his chest, cradling her tightly against the soft blue fabric of his Superman-crested pyjamas. “Nuh-uh,” He mumbled, the word mumbled by the plushie as he pressed his stuffy nose against one of Zitka’s floppy ears.
Nuh-Uh. That was the fourth time he’d said that, and nothing else. If he heard it once more, Bruce was sure he’d combust right then and there.
“Nuh-uh?” He echoed, letting out a soft exhale through his nose. Reaching forward with his free hand, he gently brushed back a few of Dick’s damp locks, tucking them behind his ear. His skin was hot to the touch. “You loved it three days ago when we went to the boardwalk. You know, when you ate your weight in cherry sno-cones.”
Dick leaned into his touch, scooting over on the bed, just a little bit, to be closer to his dad. Bruce couldn’t deny that his heart warmed at the sight.
“So, c’mon, chum, level with me here.” He said, all but begging. He was getting desperate, at this point, to convince the little boy that fever-reducer was something that was good for him. It was getting to the point where he was willing to resort to non-Alfred-approved tactics. “How much will it cost to get you to eat this? A thousand dollars?” He asked, holding the plastic cup up and wiggling it for emphasis.
A small, watery smile tugged at Dick’s chapped lips. Bruce couldn’t help but feel like that was a victory. “Two thousand?” He pressed, a grin of his own starting to form. When Dick shook his head, letting out a little giggle that turned into a cough, Bruce felt a surge of triumph. “Alright, you’ve twisted my arm. Ten thousand. Final offer.” He hummed, pushing it forward towards him.
But still, Dick only tucked his head behind Zitka, letting out a little sniffle as he did.
The sound of his son’s distress was breaking his heart. All he wanted to do was fix it, to make the boy’s pain disappear. With a soft sigh, Bruce deflated wearily. “Come on, what’s the matter, sweetheart?” He asked, as those bleary blue eyes landed on him once again, shimmering with tears. “You can tell me anything. You know that.”
Dick’s small fingers curled into the soft grey pelt of his plush. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft and hoarse. “Zitka’s sick too.” He mumbled.
Bruce blinked, gaze shifting to the stuffed toy. “Zitka?” He asked, brow furrowing.
Dick nodded slowly. “A-Alfie said…” He sniffled, lower lip trembling. “...said that germs move from person to person,” He mumbled, frowning as he burrowed his face into his plush. “So if I’m sick, then I got her sick too!” He finished, the words falling into a soft, heartbroken whine.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Bruce sighed, trying his very hardest to keep from smiling. It was difficult, when Dick’s argument was so endearing. “I’m sure Zitka’s going to be fin-” Dick cut him off before he could finish speaking.
“S-She’s sick!” He whined, tears welling up in his eyes, spilling down his flushed cheeks. “A-And… A-And… y-you haven’t given her medicine yet!”
Bruce froze. He glanced between the medicine in the cup, the toy, and his very ill, very distraught son. “Oh, Dickie,” He said slowly, trying to figure out exactly what to say, in a way that wouldn’t send Dick into a full-blown meltdown. “Well… you see… Zitka’s got her own medicine to take,” He explained, as carefully as possible. “Alfred’s been getting it ready for her. Downstairs. In the kitchen.”
Dick frowned softly, pulling her away from his tear-covered face to look at her properly. “H-He is?” He mumbled, using the back of one sleeve to wipe his cheeks in a way that made Bruce’s heart ache.
“Of course he is,” Bruce soothed, reaching forward to wipe a stray tear with his thumb. “Why do you think he isn’t here to help take care of you?” He murmured smoothly, giving the little boy a soft smile. Dick’s lips pursed as he thought of an argument. But, unable to come up with one, he nodded slowly.
“She’ll get medicine, too?” He asked cautiously, his gaze flicking between Bruce's face and the cup as he finally lowered Zitka onto the bed, careful to tuck her in just so, mirroring the way Bruce always tucked him in.
“I swear, Dickie, I’ll make sure Zitka gets the best medicine possible,” Bruce vowed, holding up the cup of medicine. “Right after you take yours.”
Dick stared for a moment longer, searching for some kind of trick. Unable to find one, he reached out with a trembling hand, downing the sweet, cherry liquid in one go. The moment he did, Bruce couldn’t help but sigh in relief. He leaned forward, plucking the empty cup from Dick’s hands, and pressing a soft, adoring kiss to his burning forehead.
“There we go, chum. That’s my brave boy,” He murmured. “Now, why don’t you get some rest, hm? Both of you will be better before you know it.” He promised, as he adjusted the blanket to tuck the little boy in tighter, making sure Zitka was securely nestled beside him.
With a slow, heavy nod, Dick sank down into the pillows, eyes already drifting shut. “Love you, tati,” He murmured, voice soft.
Bruce’s heart melted. He smoothed those beautiful dark curls back one last time.
“And I love you too, Dickie. More than anything.”
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