Bruce had an odd habit of poking his head in after long patrols and he always felt better when he saw the little boy curled up in bed with a small stuffed elephant. It made him breathe a little easier and sleep came a little faster. There was no real reason he could find for it but once it started, he found it hard to stop especially when there was nothing wrong with it. He doubted Dick even knew since he was always fast asleep by the early hours of the morning anyway so there was no harm in seeing him sleeping easy.

So, as he did after patrol, Bruce quietly opened Dick's door and poked his head in. As always, Dick was in bed cuddled up with his stuffed elephant but this time was absent of a peaceful expression. His little face was scrunched up with discomfort and the light from the hallway highlighted a sheen of sweat gathering on his forehead. The sheets were twisted around his feet as though he'd lost a fight with them and his tiny hands had balled them up in his fists. He'd gone a great deal paler too.

Bruce's mind cast back to the last time he saw his ward. They were at dinner and the acrobat asked if he could go to bed early after eating only a few bites of his meal. He looked tired and Bruce didn't know if this was a strategic lie so he could go compose himself. He remembered the times he'd say he was too tired when in reality he'd been hit with a wave of grief he couldn't rebound from. The last thing he wanted to do was push for Dick to finish his food when he was feeling a little fragile so he let him go. 

Carefully, Bruce crossed the room and put a hand against the boy's forehead. He cringed at both the feeling of sweat and the burning heat radiating from his skin. He pulled his hand back and walked straight to the bathroom. He sanitized his hands and took a look in the medicine cabinet only to find it bare. It made sense. Nobody would put a bunch of painkillers in the medicine cabinet of a grieving displaced child but it could at least have a thermometer. He'd have to find one but he didn't want to leave Dick on his own for too long when he was that warm. How long had he been that warm? It was far too warm, wasn't it? Without a thermometer, he didn't know and he didn't like not knowing things.

He whipped out his phone and frantically googled how he could get an accurate reading without a thermometer. The first result said to touch the chest and back since a forehead reading wasn't the best. That risked waking Dick up but he'd take a cranky nine-year-old over a dead one. He pocketed his phone and snuck back into the bedroom, sitting on the bedside. He hesitated for a moment. Dick wasn't his child. He was his ward which he considered his child but that didn't mean Dick considered him a father. What if he woke up mid-exam and panicked because some guy was checking his chest and back? What if he was just a little warm from the thick duvet? What if he was sick and then panicked which only made him sicker?

Perhaps the universe was taking pity on Bruce because as he wrestled with his internal debate, Dick started waking up with an uncomfortable groan. He blinked a few times, his eyes watery and glazed over clearly from a fever, and when his eyes settled on his guardian he didn't think twice about reaching out and doing grabby hands asking to be held. He had no questions about why Bruce was there. He was just thankful he was. Bruce quickly moved him into his lap and checked his chest and back. Both of which were covered in cold sweat and hot to the touch. Dick was definitely sick. 

"I feel icky," the boy complained sleepily. His voice sounded wrecked not just from sleeping but from a possible infection. Bronchitis, a regular cold, laryngitis or dehydration. Too many possibilities Bruce wasn't sure of. Tracking through the past few days revealed nothing of note that would cause a serious illness. Dick had been fine until dinner that night. The days before he only went to and from school. It was flu season so it could only be flu which would be over within a few days but this looked too serious for regular flu. "B?"

"Yeah?"

"I feel icky," he reiterated with an expecting look. Bruce didn't know what he expected. He couldn't cure him immediately and he wasn't well-versed on helping sick children. He felt useless which he found was a feeling he often felt when it came to his guardianship. It didn't feel fair to constantly rely on a small child for help in their own raising so against his instincts, he didn't ask for direction and went through this logically as if he came across a sick civillain as Batman. Temperature check, ask how they feel. Temperature was already high and Dick felt icky but that wasn't nearly as descriptive as he required. 

"What hurts?" he asked.

"Throat, tummy n head," Dick replied easily. 

"Too sick for me to gather supplies?" The acrobat thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. 

"Not that sick. Just icky gross sick," he explained. Bruce nodded jerkily and moved him back into bed, casually walking out of the room before jogging down the hallway to collect what he needed. 

Admittedly, Bruce may have gone overboard but as he still didn't know exactly what this was, he decided it was better to be safe than sorry. Google gave him plenty of ideas so the internet was at fault too. He ended up grabbing:

A thermometer

A bottle of water

Ibruphen and paracetamol 

A book

An extra blanket

A sleeve of crackers from the pantry he snacked on when he couldn't be bothered with food

Saline nose drops

A flannel for if he needed a cold compress to bring his fever down

A very tired Alfred who had practically been dragged out of bed

"I'm sure it's nothing of concern," Alfred soothed.

"He's too warm and I know nothing about his medical history if he even has one," he replied. 

It was surprisingly easy to foster Dick and he put most of that down to how the state treated its wards. One gone meant a little less trouble for them and less paperwork. The most trouble he had was directing the social worker away from potential clues about him being Batman. Not that they cared all that much since they were the same one that placed him in a juvenile detention centre instead of an orphanage. Did he have any vaccinations? Of the ones he did have, if he did, were they for everything or were some skipped due to the circus moving? What if his parents didn't believe in them in the first place?

"It's flu season. It's entirely plausible that it's only the flu."

"But flus have different strains. He might not have encountered this one before," he insisted. Alfred hummed and opened the door to the bedroom finding the bed decidedly empty. Before he could ask where the child had gone, retching came from the bathroom. They both cringed at the noise and approached the bathroom door.

"Dick, are you alright in there?" Alfred asked.

"I think I threw up my stomach," the younger replied.

"Can we come in?"

"Not without a strong stomach," he answered. The butler smiled to himself at the remark and opened the door. Dick leaned his head against the toilet seat, something Bruce was silently concerned about because of the number of germs stored there, and had lost all the colour in his cheeks. He looked exhausted and tinier than usual. Whilst Bruce stood still, Alfred dove into action. He took the water bottle and passed it to the acrobat before wetting the flannel underneath the tap and pressing it on his forehead. 

"Were you sick during dinner?" Bruce asked. Not mad or authoritative but somewhere between urgent and concerned. 

"A little. Just felt icky." Google didn't have much for what icky was a symptom of. 

"Let's check your temperature lad and we'll go from there, okay?" Alfred stated. He took the thermometer off Bruce and put it underneath Dick's tongue until it beeped. When it did, he took it out and checked it. He hummed to himself. "Nothing to worry about. It's likely the flu. Do you think you'll be sick again?"

"Think if I do it'll just be water," Dick responded glumly. 

"Then how about you get back to bed?" The boy nodded and stood up on trembling legs, not moving immediately once he was back on his feet. "Dizzy?"

"A bit." Bruce was already picking him up before he could think twice about it and carrying him to bed. It just felt natural in a way he didn't know was natural to him. He carefully put him in bed and pulled the sheets up half way since he still felt quite warm and wouldn't appreciate the extra layers. "Can you stay?"

"Both of us?" Bruce asked.

"Just you. No offence Alfie."

"No offence taken, I'm happy to return to my bed. Goodnight you two," he said, making a quick exit.

"I brought a book. Google says reading can help sick children sleep."

"Did you use Google when getting supplies?" He nodded. "At least you didn't use WebMD."

"Why?"

"You'd think I had the plague."

"I'm not ruling it out."