Chapter Text
It starts off small, barely a blip on his radar. The sound of retching echoed off the walls of the bathroom, audible even through the door, and Bruce’s brows furrowed in worry. He had no clue how much time had passed, Bruce only able to stand there and debate with himself if he should knock, before John pushed the door open with an elbow, drying his wet hands with a paper towel.
He looked startled at the billionaire standing there, eyes wide, before he chuckled weakly. “Sorry, Bruce. Didn’t mean to keep it occupied that long! You should have knocked.”
Bruce looked him up and down, but he wasn’t able to see anything wrong, the pallor of the other man’s skin making it impossible to tell if he looked ill or not. “Are you feeling alright, John?”
John got an unreadable expression on his face, before it smooths into a smile, a giggle falling past his lips. “Aw, buddy! I just had a bit too much junk food earlier. You must know how it is! You start going with something, and you just can’t stop!”
Bruce crosses his arms, and John just smiles at him, tossing the paper onto the floor.
“You need to take better care of yourself.”
A look passes over him, a mix of anger and discomfort, his shoulders hunching. “I’m fine. I’m an adult Bruce. I can take care of myself.”
He holds up his hands, placatingly. “Of course, John. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t. Friends just… Friends worry about each other sometimes. Right?”
The annoyed expression melts off John’s face nearly instantly, replaced with a look like he was on top of the world, and then slight embarrassment, rubbing at his arm.
“Right! Yeah, of course. I’m sorry. Too. I need to work on not getting… so defensive .”
He pats John on the shoulder, and smiles slightly when John leans into it happily, all the tension gone out of him. “Harley said she had a job for us. A pick up. Are you able to come or should I just go ahead?”
John took hold of his hand and began dragging him toward the stairs outside. “Of course I’m coming! You can’t get rid of me that easily, Bruce!”
It’s a little over a week later when he starts to wonder if something is actually wrong. They’d barely walked a mile when John had to stop, leaning with his hands on his knees. He kept his head down, sucking in deep breaths, before groaning lowly.
He puts a hand on John’s back, rubbing soothingly, and he smiles up at him, expression strained. “Don’t mean to hold us up. I don’t think I’ve been getting enough exercise lately.”
Bruce holds back his thought that John hadn’t been any less active than he’s always been, and just smiles back at him. “It’s alright. We can go slower, I don’t mind. More time to spend together, yeah?”
John looks at him like he hung the moon in the sky, eyes shining slightly. “Yeah. You’re the best, Bruce. I could never hope for a better friend than you.”
He throws John’s arm over his shoulders, the shorter man stumbling slightly, but clinging to him with a small breathless sound. “What would I do without you, Bruce?”
Smiling at him, Bruce just chuckles, joking. “Die, probably.”
John is quiet, leaning his head against his shoulder, and as they begin to move, he pretends not to hear John mumble, his voice sounding a little choked.
“...Yeah. Probably.”
They were sitting at an outdoor table at one of the neighborhood burger shops, John watching him eat with his chin in his hands. A few days had gone, and John, luckily, appeared to be getting better. His leg is bouncing slightly beneath the table, and he stared longingly at Bruce's hands.
“Why didn’t you order anything, John? You know it’s on me.”
John just hummed, the movement of his leg stopping abruptly. “I’m not hungry.”
Bruce’s brow raises and he clears his throat to get John’s attention, the other man finally glancing up at his face. “You don’t seem like it. Are you sure?”
Quickly looking away from him, John shrugs. “I ate earlier.”
Putting down his hamburger, Bruce stares across the table at him, frowning. “John… Have you been feeling alright?”
“I’m fine. Why are you asking?” He looks back over at him, grinning. “Why, do you think I look pale?” He laughs, leaning forward more. He manages to cull his chuckling, just smiling, until it falls, eyes searching over his face.
Bruce waits for him to say anything else, but he doesn’t, seeming lost in his own mind.
“I just… You’ve been acting different, lately.”
John frowns back at that, hunkering down a bit. “Well. I don’t think I have been.” He snorts. “I think you’re just being paranoid. I don’t want a burger once and suddenly it’s like I’m a different person.”
Bruce schools his face, before glancing down at his food. “Well. If anything is ever going on, you tell me. Alright? I’ll help, John.”
He looks slightly morose at that, but quickly hides it, smiling again. “Of course, buddy. If anything goes on, I’ll tell you right away.” He marks an X across his chest with a finger, giggling. “Cross my heart.”
“Promise me.”
John starts at that. “What?”
“I want you to promise me that you’ll tell me if anything is ever wrong.”
The other man’s expression breaks slightly, before he pushes himself to stand, hands flat on the table. “Why are you suddenly acting like you don’t trust me? I’m not-” He cuts himself off, clenching his jaw, before breathing out through his nose.
John takes a few deep breaths, containing himself, before muttering, “...Okay.”
“Okay?”
John doesn’t look at him, staying still and silent, before standing fully, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Okay. I promise I’ll tell you if anything bad happens.”
“John… That’s not what I said. Our definition of bad might be-”
“I don’t want to argue with you, Bruce!” His shout draws the attention of a few other patrons, and John looks around before ducking his head slightly, voice quieter. “...I’ll tell you. If I ever can’t handle anything, I will. I promise. I’m just… Feeling a bit off, today. It happens to everyone.”
He shifts slightly, before murmuring. “...But, you have to promise me not to pry. I’m a grown man, Bruce. I can handle myself. If I can’t, I’ll tell you.”
Unable to find a reason to disagree with that, despite something in his gut telling him none of it sat right, he could only nod. “...I promise.”
Smiling slightly, a strained twist of the lips, John holds out a pinky. “Swear on it?”
Bruce links their fingers together, and struggles desperately not to ask why John’s hand is shaking.
The next time he enters the hideout, Harley points a thumb at John’s claimed enclave, looking slightly murderous. “You. I don’t care what it takes, just get him out of there. He won’t listen to a damn word I say, and I’m not interested in fightin’ with him. He says he’s sick. Take care of it.”
Bruce tries not to scowl at the slamming of the door when she stalks away and ascends the stairs to her office. He moves cautiously over to John's cabin, looking over at it as his chest tightens with worry. He knocks on the door; when there is no response, he knocks again, this time John’s voice calling out a rough “Go away!”
“...John? It’s me. Harley said you don’t feel well.”
A small amount of shifting occurs before an interior light string turns on. Bruce hesitates, before cautiously opening the door and gazing inside when nothing else happens. In his makeshift bed, John is curled up on his side, facing the wall, with the covers drawn up to his chin.
He enters, moves the wheelchair from the corner to the bed, then softly sits down and places a hand on John's shoulder. John sighs a little and presses into the contact before changing to lie on his back, looking up at him with a sorry expression. His hair is a mess, and the bags under his eyes are huge, like he hadn’t slept in days.
“...I think there might be a bug. Going around.” His voice is scratchy, like it was difficult for him to speak, and he looks away, brows cinched.
Pressing a hand to John’s forehead, he frowns. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
John simply leans into his palm and smiles a little, as though some of his life had returned. “I’m sure I’ll be right as rain by tomorrow! Now that my best friend is here to take care of me.” He laughs, stretching out and staring up at him, grinning despite looking wrecked. “Heck, I already feel a million times better!”
Bruce smiles back at him slightly, unable to keep the worry off his face. “You think it’s a cold?”
John blinks at him, before just nodding a bit too quickly. “It’s probably a cold. Or the flu.”
After a few periods of silence, John begins tapping his fingers on the pallets underneath him. “...That lady was really pretty.”
He blinks, confused. “What?”
“On the news yesterday. There was a picture of you and her on that date. You really know how to pick them, huh, Bruce? I mean. Wow.”
Uncertain of where any of this came from, Bruce's brows furrow. “Right. Alicia.”
John nods, pulling his blankets back up slightly. “I swear every single one of them is some sort of model.”
Bruce only nods and smiles awkwardly. “Most are.”
John just stares up at the ceiling, seeming contemplative.
“Was… there something you wanted to ask, John?”
It’s quiet for a moment more, before he finally catches his gaze again. “You’re a hips man, aren’t you?”
Bruce flushes, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I don’t really know if this is an appropriate conversation. It’s a bit out of nowhere.”
He gets a snort in return. “Hey, friends talk about this sort of thing all the time! I think. Bane’s men do it. Once I heard them comparing-”
Cutting him off right there, Bruce quickly intervened. “Maybe it’s just not the best conversation to have while sick. I came in to help. Ask if you needed anything?”
John quieted again at that, clenching his blanket in his fists. “...I don’t need anything. I’ll be okay after I sleep it off.”
“Have you eaten today? I could pick up something up for you.”
He looks put off by that, shaking his head. “I don’t want anything.”
“John-”
“Really, it’s fine! I’m not hungry. You don’t have to do that for me, Bruce.”
Bruce frowns as his eyes skim over John's face, noticing a small gauntness in his cheeks that he hadn't noticed previously, having been attributing it to a trick of the light. He stands after a second, brushing John’s hair off his forehead. “...Okay, John. I’m going to grab some more blankets for you, alright? And a better pillow. So you can rest a bit easier.”
John looks disappointed at him leaving, and ready to argue, before he just nods, going limp on his bed. “...Okay, Bruce.”
Carefully closing the door behind him as he leaves, Bruce leaned against it, rubbing at his temples to fight off a headache. There was something going on, but without John telling him, he was just left in the dark. Mind flicking back to John laying in the mix of threadbare blankets, he pushed himself off the door to head to the store, trying to mentally narrow down any sort of illness that could be causing all of this as he drove.
It was a frighteningly long list, and he had to stop himself from going down every single one.
He picked up a plush green blanket, and then another for good measure, along with a large pillow. He paused after, before sighing, moving into the grocery section to get what he was really after. He honestly had no clue what John liked to eat, the man seeming to get something new to try every time they went out. Just to be safe on his stomach, he grabbed a can of chicken noodle soup, remembering it being made for him as a boy when he was under the weather.
As soon as he was back, he made sure to heat it slightly on one of the hot plates plugged in around the hideout. Grabbing a plastic spoon and picking up the bag with the bedding in it, he headed back into John’s room, knocking before pushing the door open. John’s face lit up, before he noticed the can, expression twisting.
“I told you I wasn’t hungry.”
“John-”
“I don't want it.”
Setting the can on the dresser without arguing further, he pulled out the blankets, snapping the tabs off and stretching them out over the man on the pallets, his attention automatically on how soft they were. “Oh, wow. I didn’t even know they made these out of stuff like this!”
Bruce just smiled, pulling out the pillow and removing the plastic before handing it over. Instead of putting it under his head, John just held it to his chest, rolling to wrap around it on his side, snuggling into it. “...You really didn’t have to do this. I thought you were going to grab some old ones, or something.” He muttered. “Although, you were gone an awful long time for that...”
Sitting back in the chair, Bruce watched as John got into a comfortable position, before putting a hand over his. John’s hand spasmed, flicking his eyes up to meet his in slight shock.
He started slowly, trying to keep his tone placid, not wanting to start a fight. “...John. You need to eat something. I know your stomach hurts, but it will help.” John opened his mouth, and Bruce quickly spoke over him.
“Please. For me?”
John’s face cracked at that, hands fisting into the pillow harshly. He visibly debated with himself, expression flickering rapidly, before he just went placid, all the fight seeming to have drained out of him. His voice was quiet as he answered, sounding tired.
“...Okay, Bruce. For you.”
He helped him sit up, John swinging his legs over the makeshift bed before pulling one of the blankets over his lap, the other getting settled over his shoulders. Handing the can of soup over, John stared down into it like it was a container of mud, expression torn. Glancing back up at Bruce, as if making sure whether he was being watched or not, he slowly started to eat, shoulders slumped like he was being punished.
Unable to help it, Bruce’s eyes followed the spoon into his mouth, face flushing slightly without knowing why. He’d never paid particular attention to John’s mouth before, but he noted how rosy his lips were compared to the rest of his skin, before looking away, embarrassed.
He barely got half the can down before stopping, looking back up at Bruce with a pleading look on his face. “I’m full.”
Bruce just nodded, accepting that. “That’s alright, John. Thank you for getting down even a bit of it.” He shifted slightly, feeling awkward. “...I care about you.”
John stared at him, expression an odd mix of longing and sorrow.
“...I have to go to the bathroom.”
Blinking, Bruce coughed, unsure why he was being told. “Do... Do you need help?”
John ducked his head, shoulders pulled nearly to his ears, obviously embarrassed, voice barely a squeak. “No!”
Unable to help it, Bruce laughed, putting a hand over his face. “Of course. Sorry.”
John stood shakily, waving off Bruce’s effort to help him up, keeping one of the blankets wrapped around his shoulders, held together with a fist. “I’ll... be right back. You can stay there.”
Bruce stared after him before covering the soup can with the peeling lid in an effort to store it for later, just in case. Then he waited, unsure of what to do. He was about to get up and check on him, because it seemed to be taking much longer than it should, before John gently shuffled through the door. His eyes were red and his hair was wet, like he’d soaked himself in the sink, and his face was drawn until he noticed Bruce looking at him, smiling wide. “I feel better! You sure were right, Bruce. I probably just needed something in me.”
Smiling back, he motioned to his hair. “Were you trying to cool off?”
John snorted, sitting back down. “No, Bruce. I fell in.” He laughed after, it sounding caught in his throat, and then just looked at him, frighteningly adoring, before running a hand over his eyes, rubbing at them.
“...I’m going to take a nap, Bruce. I’m really tired all of a sudden.”
Putting a hand on John’s shoulder, he leaned forward, making sure he was being looked in the eyes before speaking. “Okay, John. Text me if you need anything, alright? I’ll be right over.”
John stared back into him for a long moment, looking like he wasn’t breathing. He leaned towards him slightly, inching their faces closer together, his eyes shining with some indescribable emotion, before he just chuckled nervously, pulling away and moving to lay back on his side, facing the wall again.
Standing up, his heart beating fast, he watched John pull the blankets over himself and click the lights off without saying anything else. He curled up tighter, into a ball, and Bruce couldn’t find any reason to let himself stay any longer, not taking his eyes off him until the door was shut.
The following week, John did appear to be improving. He seemed to be thrilled to be on every peculiar assignment they had to deal with as he conversed and made jokes as usual. He continued giving Bruce curious looks as if to make sure he was still there, but that wasn't unusual for him, so Bruce ignored it and was instead happy to see him acting more like himself.
At least, until it all came crashing down.
John was supposed to meet Bruce in front of the alley next to the Stacked Deck, but he wasn't there when Bruce drew up in his car.
His fists were clinched on the steering wheel as he patiently waited, telling himself again, and again that he needed to trust John to do what he said he would. Eventually, he was helpless against the overwhelming sense that something was dreadfully wrong, his instincts sounding like a siren.
He got out of the car and looked in the bar, and up and down the alley just in case, but he couldn't find him anywhere. When asked if he had seen the man, the bartender said that he hadn't. Bruce's heart tightened a little. Nearly running out of the building, he slid back into the drivers seat and made his way to the hideout, only just stopping himself from breaking the law and speeding past every red light on the drive there.
The entire place was empty, everyone seeming to be off on their own, and he allowed himself to run up to the illuminated hacienda, banging quickly on the door. He tried to open the door, but there was something in the way. There was no response. He scrambled through one of the side windows in a state of complete fear, then knelt down in front of the man lying against the door. “John!”
There was no response, and he tilted John’s head up, trying to push down the terror at the situation. He patted John’s cheek slightly, trying to wake him, but he didn’t stir, other than his eyes fluttering slightly under their lids. He brushed John’s hair back to get a better look at his face, his eyes and lips flushed oddly pink, and he finally seemed to come to, eyes opening slightly, unfocused. “John? John, can you hear me?”
The other man struggled to look at him, his eyes rapidly flicking away before returning to his face. “...Bruce?”
Noting a slur to his voice, he carefully pulled John into his arms, his body disturbingly pliant, trying not to jostle him too much. “I’m right here.”
John squinted up at him, as if trying to process, before just smiling slightly. “Oh. Hey.”
“John, what happened? What’s wrong with you? You have to tell me.”
He frowned at that, trying to pull away slightly. “ ‘M fine.”
Heart cracking, he finally yelled, shaking him slightly. “No, you’re not!”
Flinching, John stared at him, starting to tremble slightly and trying to push him away, seeming slightly more aware of himself. “Get off!”
“John, this is scaring me. I have to bring you to the hospital, I can’t just sit back if you’re going to be passing out like this!”
“No!” He started trying to struggle in earnest now, but his movements were sluggish and weak, barely able to get any purchase on anything, before letting out a shuttering breath, going limp again, all the energy drained out of him.
Bruce grit his teeth, shifting John into his arms more, before standing with him, the man worryingly light. John’s head tilted into his shoulder, sounding like he was seconds away from crying. “Don’t… I don’t want to.” He whimpered, grabbing onto the front of his jacket. “...Please don’t make me.”
Pushing the door open with a foot, he stepped through, and John let out a broken sounding sob, trying to bargain with him. “I don’t have money for the hospital.”
“I do. We’re going.”
John brought a hand to his face, covering it. “I just need to sleep.”
He started up the steps, and John plead with him, tucking himself closer. “I know what’s wrong! I know what’s wrong, Bruce, we don’t need to go!”
He just kept up the steps, carefully shifting John to open the door to the hideout, slipping through and heading to his car, the man in his arms unable to fight it.
“I don’t trust you, John.”
The slighter man seemed to crack at that, choking back a low wail. Quickly, faster than he thought he’d be able, John’s elbow shoved into his chest, knocking his arms loose. He scrambled away, kicking a leg out and catching him in the shin, before leaning with his back against the alley wall.
Bruce stared after him, holding his leg, and John looked silently back, struggling for breath. “What did I do wrong?”
Holding a hand up placatingly, he murmured. “John. I know something is going on with you. I have for weeks. I’ve tried to be there for you, but you won’t tell me anything. I know you haven’t technically lied to me, but you’re withholding information.”
John stared back at him, seeming offended. “Withholding information? Listen to yourself Bruce! What are you, a detective?”
Bruce startled slightly, eyes wide.
“You don’t have to know every little thing about me! I can keep some things to myself! We’re friends, not partners!”
He deflated slightly, suddenly no longer seeming angry.
Just exhausted.
His head dipped forward slightly, before he quickly straightened it, his voice quiet.
“How could you like me that much?”
John’s eyes rolled back, and he slumped to the ground, Bruce rushing to catch him before he could hit the concrete.
Getting John into the car was terrifyingly easier than it was before, sliding him into the passenger’s seat and clicking the buckle into place, before taking his own place behind the wheel.
Standing at the end of the bed was terrifying, the air cloying around him.
“No, that can’t be right.”
His thoughts bounced to the past month, every little piece wanting to slot together, but not quite understanding.
“John wouldn’t do that sort of thing to himself. Why would he want to?”
Waiting for John to wake up felt like the longest twenty minutes of his life. He had no clue why he was terrified John would never wake up again, despite the very low probability. The bright lights gave his pale skin a deathly pallor, like you could almost see right through it, and eventually he couldn’t hold himself back from putting his hand to John’s face, rubbing a thumb over his cheek.
His skin was surprisingly soft, and he nearly gasped when John’s breath tickled his wrist, before he stilled, staring in shock as John’s eyes fluttered open, before quickly shutting again.
It was quiet, John just silently pressing into his hand, before he opened his eyes again, looking up at him tiredly.
“I told you I didn’t want you to bring me here.”
Bruce just stared at him, until he couldn't handle it anymore, quickly pulling John into a hug, hissing in his ear. “Do you know how scared I was?”
John’s breath left him, before he carefully wrapped his arms around him, nearly clinging. He shook his head, murmuring.
“...No.”
Bruce shut his eyes, holding tighter, before carefully pushing him away, holding him by the shoulders.
“I was terrified, John. Do you know how many illnesses you could have that cause this sort of thing?”
John raised a brow, before muttering. “...No? But thank you for telling me.”
He just gripped his shoulders tighter, staring him in the eye. “John. I need you to tell me the truth.” He paused, deeply contemplating if he should accuse John of something that might not be true, knowing how he felt about being told that sort of thing.
Slowly, he continued, trying to sound as neutral as possible. “Do you have some sort of eating disorder.”
He knew that couldn't have come out more badly, and John stared up at him with a blank look of confusion, fisting his hands in his shirt. “...What?”
“The doctor said that…”
John looked away, staring into nothing as he thought. “...Not on any of my files.”
Bruce could only stare at him, before slowly letting go, sitting back in his chair.
“...What do you mean by that?”
The other man just shrugged, refusing to look at him, head turned down. “Well, they don't really know what was wrong with me, but they had a list of a few possible suspects. And that wasn’t on it.”
Bruce sat up straighter. His voice was firm, looking him down.
“John.”
John’s teeth just grit, clenching the shirt in his hands tighter. “I don’t have a problem, Bruce.” He seemed to want to continue, but fumbled internally for words, before just hunching.
“That implies I couldn’t stop.”
Bruce stared at him silently, before slouching. “...Okay.”
“...Okay?”
Bruce nodded. “Then stop.”
John stared back at him, before shrugging and nodding. “Okay." He tacked on. "I want to go home.”
He rose his brows. “You’ll be staying with me, in the manor.”
John’s head whipped to face him, looking at him incredulously. “What are you talking about? Not that I wouldn’t love to see your house, I mean, it would be crazy not to want to see your house. But that’s a bit beside the point, here.”
“John. I want you to listen to me carefully.” He took hold of one of his hands, John’s fingers flexing slightly in his own, muscles stuttering as if unused to the contact. “I want to make sure you’re okay. I want to be able to believe every word you say. I don’t want to not trust you, John. Not because I think you’re a liar, but because I care about you and want to know for sure whether you're alright or not.”
John just stared at him, before he sighed, bowing his head slightly. “You've really got a way with words, don’t you, Wayne?” He looked back up, staring him in the eye, blank faced. “I’ll let you do what you want with me.”
He smirked, then, raising a brow. “But. You get the hospital bill, and you explain to Harley why I’m not there right now, and why I’m going to be staying with you in your house.”
Honestly, John brought up a pretty good point. What was he going to tell Harley?
What was he going to tell Alfred.