ılı||ılı ❛ 𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚁𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚍 ˒﹚)
↳ "be still, don't move."
[ … ] THE WORDS ARE CALMLY UTTERED, A GENTLE WARNING NOT TO AGGRAVATE HIS INJURIES ANY FURTHER AS THE KRYPTONIAN KEEPS HIS HANDS RIGHT WHERE THEY ARE. They remain just over his shoulders, lightly ensuring the stubborn Bat can’t try to stand or hop from the cot he remains seated on. Wise words. Wise for anyone other than Bruce. He has too much to do, a deep-rooted restlessness that hadn’t stopped growing between both lives since his parents had first met their end. He can’t rest. Not yet. Not when his current investigation remains stuck at a dead end, no new leads found even after all his looking before he’d stupidly gotten taken out of commission from taking a too brash risk during a late night scuffle.
Things, as usual, were often heavily time sensitive…
Unlike Superman, he couldn’t dart between cities within mere seconds, couldn’t do all he’d needed in one single trip across town in the blink of an eye. He sure as hell wasn’t bulletproof or immune to being harmed should he falter in his guard. There once was a small flare of envy for the differences shared, but it’d been long since squashed down. As lovely as having all those powers would be, he knows better than most that it’s a heavy burden to bear most days. He handled a majority of the more important, hard to accomplish missions. He had a higher level of responsibility, too many people looking up to him to really, truly rest.
He figured the other would understand his pride when it came to pushing himself, for doing his job how best he knew it. Even with a wound, it was nothing a quick patch up job in his car wouldn’t fix, at least long enough for his patrol to end where he could better give it the necessary attention it needed. Instead? No. Before he can even finish fighting off the thug that managed to land a lucky shot in, he finds himself protectively hauled off, wind launched from his lungs for a moment at the startling shock of the sudden grappling. No sooner a handful of minutes later &&. Here they two were, waiting for Alfred to return with the appropriate medical equipment from the medbay.
With grit teeth, he manages to stifle back down an agitated hiss, the pain flaring as he tenses his side from stubbornly trying to remain half-sat upright.
But @saintfromkrypton as always, remains gentle, ever patient with his understanding even if he does huff out a knowing sigh after another moment of struggling, putting a bit more pressure down until Bruce does eventually cave &&. lie back with a grunt. Hand raising, gloved fingers wrap around the Kryptonian’s wrist, giving a testing pull. But he’s unphased, peering down at the Gothamite with a faint upturn of his browns in the ghost of something quietly pleading.
“They aren’t life-threatening. Let me go — now.”
