At least as far as I know, there aren't many DCEU JL sick fics or hurt/comfort or fluffs, so I guess I'll be one of the first to introduce it. I'll add on to the cute Diana/Barry and Bruce/Barry. However I do not condone self harm and, as hypocritical as I am, I know it's very serious and I hope this is not a trigger to anyone. It was not originally an idea but people on FF and AO3 seem to enjoy the edge/bond it gives characters, so I thought it'd be just another thing you'd enjoy. I hope you guys enjoy. If this gets some fans, I could definitely do a follow-up to this, or do more Darry drabbles (and I may possibly take requests, if I can do it in under 2000 words). I'm also interested in trying Bruce and Barry out, but, for what, I'm not sure yet.

Barry's eyes came open. His heartbeat was running through his head, making his stiff neck feel clamped to the pillow. Just barely on the pillow, with the corner of the pillow stuffed against his ear and half of it hanging off the bed with his arms. The only thing that could distract him was to imagine his curled up body being a character in an apocalyptic film, although it became increasingly harder to even remember he had a brain.

A large but graceful hand appeared by his head. The hand knew it would be sweet regards to try fixing the pillow for him. Barry could sense a vibrating, warm aura coming from the hand, or possibly it was his fire of a fever. He'd let his eyes drift shut, and when he'd flutter them open, the hand would become hesitant.

There was a voice, softer than anything he'd heard in many, many years. "Did I wake you?"

He muttered. It was impossible to form any words with his groggy tongue and drooling lips. His face tried dipping into the pillow to hide the mess of drool, and he swear he felt it move, but nothing. "D... Dsdiana..."

The voice of Diana hushed him. She must've seen his head twitching in attempt to move. Her hand scooped under his neck, as she verbally guided him through how she'd be lifting his head. Although it was expected, it was still unexpectedly alarming how warm his neck was. He was ready to hit 101 at any point.

Barry trembled. He wasn't sure how alright he'd been with another person being so close to his face, though he let it go, because it was Diana.

She gasped when she felt his blood pressure increase. As well as the fact that his trembles seemed bone-deep. Her hand immediately let go of his neck. "It's alright, Barry." Quieter and softer hums would be in order, because stirring up a panic attack was the last thing she needed.

His eyes were surrendering. It didn't help that Diana kept encouraging it. On the other hand, she knew well.

Barry would usually cringe from something scraping objects, especially scratching against cloth - which is why he'd try using a washer or dryer as least as possible. But he couldn't deny this back scratching thing. Her thick but soft nails were tickle-scratching his back through his jacket. It was a pressure and tenderness that lulled him out of his stiffness.

She was a little late to ask him, and she already knew the answer but asked out of courtesy. "Is this alright?"

He muttered. More drool was pouring from his mouth, this time out of soothing instead of the need to vomit. She started rubbing in firm circles, a perfect balance between kneading and not over-stimulating. It numbed out his pain and it made his fatigue feel more natural than draining.

Diana gave his butt a few encouraging pats. "We must get this jacket off of you. It's too hot."

Another mutter came from him. He couldn't believe it so well if he hadn't been so sick, but he actually didn't want her to stop.

A few more pats to his butt. "You will start to feel better." While she concocted a way to roll the other side of his body out of his jacket, she lightly grabbed the arm that slumped over the bed. She brushed his wrist, sliding her fingers into the sleeve cuff, waiting for his approval. When she got a mumble, she ran her fingernails up his sleeved forearm. "I'm going to take this off. I promise, I will be gentle." Diana hoped Barry would try to help her. She hoped he'd be prepared enough to have his arm suddenly exposed, besides for the grip at his wrist that could be too tight for him.

His "eh" was interrupted by a yawn. Followed by a painful belly grumble and a moan. It was a little demeaning, however he'd prefer that involuntary human function more than Speed Force coughing or sneezing all over Diana. Oh yeah, he remembered: Diana had asked him a question. And her hand was delved into his sleeve.

She spoke loud enough for him to hear her over his pounding head. He could tell she was getting more worried, and that she was ready to be more demanding; her drawl was more formal and her formal was more drawl. "You are sweating." And, as a passive apology, "I know you might want it on, but you are too hot. If you start to feel cold in a while-"

Things pieced together in Barry's mind. She was proposing they'd remove his third favorite jacket. More importantly, remove his arm from it's hideyhole. Majority of the time he'd be hesitant and spew a shitty excuse, and, now, he was more hesitant than he thought he could ever be. The throbbing of his head was getting worse again, draining energy from his arm in order to stay conscious.

Diana placed his arm down and she turned away. She recollected the thermometer that she'd placed in her pocket when Bruce sent her to check on Barry. She could prove her point, if he wasn't going to listen.

Barry's body jolted at the sound of a beep. His eyes were the only thing he could control, but they were glued to the thermometer from the instant Diana showed it to him. She told him that she was going to be taking his temperature and something made her forget to ask if it was alright. He didn't notice, because every inch of energy was focused on the cleanliness of the stick that was about to go into his mouth. And the fact that a bluntly rounded object was about to prod under his tongue.

"Don't worry, Barry." She smiled at his innocence in the situation. "It's sterile, brand new." She started scratching his back again, so the warm breaths on her hand would slow down.

He swallowed, watching the tip of it until it disappeared under his nose. As Diana's nails rubbed up and down his back, his mind kept getting distracted from the feeling of the thermometer pushing through his lips. His OCD knew it wasn't sterile, and his anxiety knew that she knew about his fever, but it wasn't his choice at this point. She somehow maneuvered the tip under his limp tongue, and his drool acted as a suction to make sure it'd stay for the entire 102 degrees. He closed his eyes.

"Barry Allen, this jacket is coming off." And she definitely wasn't going to ask if it was alright at this point. She dropped the thermometer onto the nightstand, in the pile of cheeseburger wrappers and half-eaten bags of sour candy. "And your shoes."

Energy suddenly went to his legs. He shifted his foot off the bed for her to remove his shoe. His toes curled up tightly, clinging to the sweat in the worn out soles. And her getting to his other leg, which was bent into the bed, would buy even more time.

He felt his arm being lifted. The front of his jacket was being pulled up, and his elbow gently bent to loosen the sleeve. Being caked in sweat and degrees wasn't the ideal condition to claim he was c-c-cold. Maybe he should start peeing his pants...? It'd be obvious, and Diana wouldn't have him laying in urine for more than an attosecond.

Burrowing into the sleeve with her free hand, she started pushing his fragile, shaking arm toward his chest. Even with his ability to slow time, he still couldn't make this moment go by any less terrifyingly. His moans skipped like a record.

Diana went more gentle on his arm, though she deemed it best to move quicker so she could go back to scratching his back. "Shshshshsh..."

She leaned over him and gently swiped the jacket off, and folded it tightly between him and the bed. Immediately, she gave his thrusting back some deep kneading along his spine. "It's alright, honey."

He pressed the inside of his forearm into his chest. No, it wasn't.

"I'll turn you to your other side." And she felt he deserved for her to ask, "Is that alright?"

"...No."

A chuckle came from her, as she stood straight again. "I need to, in order to remove your jacket."

With how nicely she'd said it, he couldn't bear to argue her. "Nmm...Yeah."

Diana resituated his feet, then shifted him onto his back.

Barry forced the anxiety to leave his muscles. Relaxing would make him heavier. Though he knew it wouldn't really make a difference with a woman who's exterminated freakishly tall bug demons. He just let his arm slump onto his chest him, his wrist and beyond completely hidden. His eyes fluttering occasionally to check on Diana.

"Barry, please."

He sighed. He bent his legs to the other side, to make up for it.

She talked him through as she slowly turned him away from her. Talking to him in croons was soothing to him and it was keeping the pain at bay. Explaining to him that this side would actually be easier than the other - just to give him something to hear - before she expressed how he was cooperating so well.

His arm went stiff against his chest, though not too stiff so it wouldn't attract her attention. Just keeping his loose fist on Rick... Pickle Rick. Cronenberg Rick. Tiny Rick. He actually couldn't recall which shirt he had put on before suddenly passing out the morning before. But still, hand on Rick's face.

Diana worked the jacket off his other arm and folded it on the foot of the bed. It would be collected for laundry later; right now, he needed a break. She started rubbing circles on his lower back. Some scratches, gentler than the ones before she'd removed his jacket. His back was still, besides for light breathing. Seeing him almost lull to sleep was worth feeling as if her hand was an inch away from a fire. Although she's certainly been in worse situations, it was difficult for her to rub too hard against the bones of his back. The shirt and skin being the only cushion to his rapid metabolism. No matter how sure she was that she couldn't hurt him, something made paranoia ball up inside her.

She chuckled when another grumble rang in his belly. "We'll need to get you something to eat once you're settled into bed again."

The nausea was ready to vanish if it was food time. He hadn't eaten probably since the takeout pizza, which had fallen off this other side of the bed when he started falling unconscious. Grease-soaked box and stale cheese was still as delightful to his nose as always.

"Barry."

He popped his eyes open and cheeked her way with a non-chalant smile. "What?"

"Show me it."

His eyes got even wider, rolling around. "Uhrm..."

"Yes. Show it to me."

Barry was thankful to be facing the other way. He could avoid the worried wrath splayed on her face whilst he avoided looking at her. "I-I don't know what you're - talking - about," with the last few words heightening in a dumb tone.

"You may not know what I'm talking about, but I do. And I'd like to see it."

Rapid breathing was the only thing he remembered how to do in that moment. He felt her hand on his upper back, slightly brushing the shoulder blade of the arm he was hiding.

"Barry. Barry, you're alright.

"I promise, you're alright. I need you to let me see."

He dug his forearm between the bed and his other arm. Shaking back and forth weakly, his head dipped downward towards the arm. No doubt, she'd already seen what there was to see. Somehow she'd caught a glance, if he'd drifted to sleep, or with her fucking supervision or something.

"I'm going to turn you to your back." She refixed the pillow behind his head. Her palms brushed the sheet flat and free of crumbs behind him. Fingers combed through the back of his raven black hair, trying to split the oily clumps apart to make it even. Within seconds, she had him rolled onto his back.

He moaned, watching her kneel down and slowly reach for his arm, which was mere inches away. After he heard her say, "Don't make me," his face was as red as it was hot. He threw his arm out for her, turning his face the other way. Cringing was the only way to keep him from sulking or breaking from anxiety.

"Thank you, Barry." It was very genuine. Though shock had her silenced from there.

Up close view made it even scarier. Besides the fact that these wounds were on his arm. One of her own had been destroyed, one cut at a time. A shallow but long, quick cut was hidden under bloody gauze, which was anally caked in layers of tape. Slices, some scabbed and some peeled, trailed down his arm. Some of the slices and scars sat upon others, which were slanted, or imperfect in some way. One layer had been repeated at least five times near his elbow, and the fight to create a perfect line had left dips in his skin as big as bacon bits. His wrist was covered in dips, where there had once been nicks worse than dog bites. Below the nicks, a laceration was being overrun by pus. The laceration only seemed to get deeper for each second she looked at it. The corners had made fair attempts to scab up, but they were turning yellow and cracking open again. Barry knew what she was looking at, and his arm started trembling to get away in fear of her touching it and irritating the excruciating hole in his arm.

With a squeeze of his wrist, she demanded, "Who's done this to you?"

His head shifted her way, just enough for her to see the twinkle of innocence leave his eye.

"Oh, Barry..."

The drop in her voice made his face go back to his other shoulder.

"No... Barry..." Even the unarguably most powerful woman on earth was still as such great loss for words. "Honey, this is very infected."

"I-I know."

She couldn't stand watching his face become paler than normal. "I need to call Bruce."

His arm trembled more until it broke free from her hand. "No, you can't." He prayed she wouldn't bring anyone else into it. Especially Bruce. Bruce could never see him in this light. Barry looked up to him, had been empowered by him every single day of his life - Bruce knew that, and took his own comfort into it. It was impossible to visualize any scene where Barry would be able to look his idol in the eyes, with the man knowing about how he'd been destroying himself. Eyes were definitely the strongest feature - they enclosed the oppressed state of Bruce and the oppression that Batman was easily able to give and, most importantly, the decades of disappointment that Barry would die before adding to. And, just as impossible to fathom, how Barry had been hiding it for so long, how dismantled all of his trust would become, how guilty the others would be for not doing something and being stupid.

He swore he saw it in Diana's face when he glanced over.

Diana had gotten up and walked to the other side of the room to make a phone call, but she returned down next to him. "Hey. Look at me." It was softer and calmer now, but still a demand. She reached for his farther cheek and slowly guided his head to face her. It was getting even hotter from the stress, and whiter than the streaks of his lightning.

His eyes interlocked with hers. He was completely defeated, physically and now mentally. This was the only option.

"Relax. I understand. I promise I understand. Right now, we just need to fight this infection. You need to relax. I am going to call Bruce, he and I will handle it."

She'd noticed the brown of his eyes being encompassed by black pupils and the light grinding of his teeth whenever she mentioned Bruce.

"Barry, I apologize, but Bruce needs to know. I know that he would rather discover this, than discover you taken out by something we could have helped." She got to her feet to proceed with the call.

She was right. It was a difficult thing, but it could be unbearably worse.

The pounding in his head was coming on strong again. He still listened with eyes of a hawk for ears. Maybe he'd be able to construct what was coming from the other end of the phone. He didn't know what time it was, so he could bank on Alfred answering the phone or Bruce taking a "work" call.