somniphobia

going to bed

And he could, he was fine. They’d stay here a day or so, two or three at the most, and Bruce would keep himself occupied watching the treeline and working on a way to understand their new enemies and locate a weakness. 

It would be over soon enough, and then he could go home and… and maybe try to find time for a nap. Maybe. He was sure he could spare a couple of hours at most before his next patrol.  

“I’m fine,” he said again, but it sounded weak, his strength fading. The exhaustion was finally catching up to him now that attention was being called to his less than ideal sleep schedule, weighing him down, every little movement making his chest ache. The pressure behind his eyes was building, his throat tight, and Bruce quickly bit back the helpless frustration.

 He was supposed to be able to handle this. How was he supposed to keep his team safe if he couldn’t even handle a little fatigue? 

But they were all still looking at him, unrelenting, and Bruce knew he wasn’t going to get off that easy. He took a steadying breath, blinking a few times to clear his tilting vision. “I can’t… I can’t risk it. You’re not used to this like I am, you all need to sleep. We don’t have time to argue like this.” 

“Nobody here is sleeping until you do,” Flash said, and Bruce’s heart sank. “If you’re staying up so are we.” 

“That’s not fair.” 

“And it’s not fair for you to stay up and do all the work,” Diana said. “You already drove us here, we wouldn’t have a safe place to go if it was not for you. You’ve done enough today. Please. Before you collapse.” 

Bruce wanted to argue, wanted to point out every little danger, everything that could possibly go wrong, everything that he needed to stay awake to prevent. He wanted to throw every worst case scenario in Wonder Woman’s face, the probability of them being attacked while Batman was asleep and unable to help, until she relented and let him get back to work. 

He wanted to fight, because the idea of letting himself be defenseless in a house full of people with danger looming in every corner, the next attack inevitable, made his vision hazy with a new wave of uncontrollable fear. 

But he was so tired. He couldn’t find it in himself to even open his mouth again, his entire body lethargic and slow. 

There was a hand on his shoulder, gently gripping the heavy material of his suit. Bruce flinched before he could stop himself, shoulders hunching under the other’s stares, blinking as he registered Superman now standing at his side, refusing to pull his hand away. Bruce found himself silently grateful for the steadying warmth. 

“Hey,” he said, achingly soft as he gestured to the door at the end of the hall. “Come into the bedroom with me for a second, okay?” 

“I’m not ordering you to do anything.” Clark’s grounding touch was somehow making Bruce feel more weightless, but he couldn’t bring himself to shove him away. “I’m asking you to come sit down with me.” 

He’d like to think that if he was more awake, if his head was clearer, he would have refused, twisted out of Superman’s hold and stalked out the door until everyone gave up and just left him alone. 

But he’d never been able to deny Clark Kent anything, had he? 

He grumbled a barely audible “Fine,” adamantly not looking at any of them as he pushed his way past Superman, making his way down the hall and into the small bedroom as quickly as he could. 

Clark was right behind him, gently shutting the bedroom door as Bruce hovered in the middle of the room, glowering at the double bed up against the wall like it had personally offended him, like it was laced with traps or poison.