Bruce was awakened the next morning by a slight shift in his mattress. It's too early, kiddo. "You should be in bed," he said, low.

"…I'm in a bed," Dick countered, pausing in his one-armed crawl across the blankets.

The billionaire sighed. "Come here." Cracking his eyelids, he watched him cover the last couple feet. A warm body pressed into his side, dark hair fanning across his shoulder as his boy curled against him. Resting a hand on his forehead, Bruce frowned. "Has Alfred seen you this morning?"

"Nuh-uh."

Which means you haven't had any painkillers today. "Do you want a pill?" he asked. "Is that why you came in here, because it was closer than going all the way downstairs?"

"Yes," was nodded against him. His wound was throbbing and sore, but the pursuit of relief for his physical pain wasn't all that had driven him into the master suite. His last dream, from which he'd started into consciousness miraculously scream-free, still lurked at the edges of his thoughts. Mind-controlled Batman storming around Gotham, breaking things. Killing…killing people… He shuddered, and felt the fingers that had moved up into his hair still.

"…Bad dream, too, huh?" came gently as he recalled his conversation with Flash the night before.

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"Okay." He dropped a soft kiss on his head and pulled away, tossing a comforter over the child before he left the bed. "I'll be right back. Stay there."

"Mmkay…"

Fucking hell, he cursed, keeping his feet from stomping down the stairs only because he wasn't in the mood for one of the butler's 'was that truly necessary?' looks so early in the day. The hole in his shoulder couldn't be enough, could it? No, of course not, now he's having nightmares, too. Not that he didn't have those before, but something makes me think this was a new one. It usually is, when he won't tell me about it. "Alfred?" he queried at the bottom of the steps.

"In the kitchen, sir," came from the second door down the hall. Bruce followed the voice and turned in to find the butler preparing two bed trays. "I thought you might both be more comfortable taking breakfast in your rooms." He cast a glance at his elder charge, clad only in the boxers he'd been sleeping in, and raised an eyebrow. "Is there something you require, Master Wayne?"

"Dick's awake. He crawled in bed with me a few minutes ago."

"I have his morning pill right here with his food," the Englishman indicated the capsule before he placed a lid over the plate. "…Does he seem terribly uncomfortable?" he asked. "I can bring an extra is you think he needs it. I've cut the dose a little to compensate for his lower-than-average weight."

Bruce shook his head. "I can't tell what's bothering him more, his shoulder or the nightmare he had. He won't tell me about it," he added before Alfred could ask.

"A new one, then?"

"That's my guess."

"Well, sir…" he started, then trailed off.

"Well, what?"

"…I'm afraid there's no general advice I can give you that I haven't already. Although it might help him somewhat if you told him the results of your visit to Mount Justice yesterday evening."

"…I hate to get his hopes up before we know." He'd been about to transport back to the cave the night before when Flash had appeared and told him that J'onn had finished testing. The Martian had waited until after he'd injected both heroes to inform them that they wouldn't know whether or not the cure was a success for another couple of days, drawing a groan from Flash and a deep scowl from Batman.

"Even if the solution doesn't work, sir, informing him of the fact that something's at least been tried may grant him a night or two of more pleasant dreams."

"Yeah," Bruce sighed. "Here, let me take one of those."

"It's not necessary, Master Wayne."

"I'm going back there anyway, Alfred," he rolled his eyes, grabbing the closer tray. They marched up the stairs and into the bedroom, the billionaire setting his load down on a dresser as soon as they entered. "Hey, kiddo?" he ventured. The curled lump in the middle of the bed that he could only assume was his son didn't move as he sat down beside him and pulled the blankets back, searching. "Hey," he repeated softly when he finally uncovered his face, marred only by a deep pout. "What's up?"

The child extracted himself from the bundled covers and curled in his lap, shivering, before he answered. "…Don't feel good," he whispered.

"No, I'll bet you don't," he crooned, feeling the heat pouring off of him. Wow, your temperature must have started shooting up the second I left. I thought you felt warm a little bit ago, but it was nothing like this. "Alfred."

"Fever, sir?"

"Nasty one."

"I was afraid that might occur," he said as he approached. "Master Dick? May I look at your shoulder, please?"

"Hurts."

"Yes, I know. That's why I need to look at it. All right?" The boy gave a small sob, but nodded. He undid the bandage quickly, grimacing when he saw the angry color of the wound, and exchanged a glance with his elder charge. "I'll bring up some antibiotics. We should have had him on them from the start," he shook his head. Poor child, sick like this on Christmas Eve.

"J'onn didn't expect complications…"

"Still, sir, such things are difficult to predict, especially in one so young." He rose and handed Bruce a glass of water before heading for the door. "Do try and get him to drink something while I'm gone."

"…Okay, chum," he encouraged. "I know you don't feel good, but I need you to have some of this water. It's important."

"'M not thirsty…"

"Have some anyway."

"Tired…"

"I'll tell you what," he decided to deal, "if you can drink half of this water now, and then take the pills Alfred's bringing for you, you can go to sleep and I promise we won't bother you for a little while. How's that sound?"

He was just beginning to fear that the child had passed out when a reply came. "Don't wanna," he cried.

"Hush," Bruce begged. "Hush. C'mon, Dicky, you can manage a little water. I know you can. You did so well the other night; this should be nothing. Just a couple of sips, huh? Be my brave, strong boy and drink just a little something?"

Two words echoed in his fever-riddled brain. Brave. Strong. Exactly what he wanted the man holding him to think of him as, and he would, so long as he would just drink something… He opened his eyes and looked cautiously at the glass being offered to him, sniffling. Bruce wants me to have it. Wants me to be…brave and strong. What'll he think if I don't try? Swallowing drily, he extended one trembling hand towards the container.

"There we go," he kept a hold on it as he sipped, then suddenly slurped at the liquid as if he'd never tasted anything so delicious in his life. "See, I knew you could do it." He had to pull it away when the fluid level had dropped several inches, not wanting him to take in so much on an empty stomach that it made him sick. "Feel better now?"

"More?"

"In a little bit." Setting the glass on the nightstand, he stood, Dick still in his arms, and carried him into the bathroom. One-handed, the billionaire snagged a washcloth and soaked it in the coldest water the tap could put out, wringing it before beginning to run it up and down the narrow, overheated back and neck. The boy moaned at the first touch of coolness, sinking even further against his guardian as he was transported back to bed. Through the haze he heard Alfred come back in, but it didn't matter. So long as the nice wet cloth kept touching him, whisking away the heat, he didn't care.

"I've brought a fever reducer as well," the butler announced as joined them. Bruce just nodded, not slowing his ministrations until he heard the thermometer the other man had stuck in his son's ear beep. "103. It could be much worse."

"It could be a hell of a lot better, too."

"With any luck, sir, the pills will help."

"Yeah…Dick? Open your eyes for a minute, chum, you've got to take some medicine."

"Nooo…"

Bruce sighed. "It's like he's in and out," he shared. "I got him to drink a fair bit of water while you were gone, but now he's being difficult again."

Being difficult. Don't be difficult, make it easier for them… "…Bruce?"

"Hey, there," he said gently. "Ready to take your medicine?"

His eyes hurt from restrained tears. No, he whined in his head. I just wanna close my eyes… "I won't be…difficult," he murmured instead, staring up at him.

Oh, baby, I didn't mean for you to hear that. I shouldn't have said it when you were right here. Hell, I shouldn't have said it. "You're not difficult, you're sick," he amended. "Here, look, here's your pain pill. You can have more water with it, even." The refilled glass appeared, and Bruce smiled as it was reached for.

"Okay." He allowed the capsule to be pushed between his lips, then took several large gulps, continuing until the water was taken from him.

"Slow down," came gentle advice. "If you get sick and throw it up you'll have to take another one. This one's a little bigger, but you need it, too," he held up the antibiotic, which was nearly half again bigger than the analgesic he'd just managed. I don't even know how that's going to fit down your throat, he winced, but Alfred wouldn't have brought it up if we had anything smaller that would still do the job. "Can you swallow this one, do you think?" Big, watery blue eyes stared up at him as if he were insane for even suggesting it. "Please? Just try?"

He opened his mouth obediently, felt the pill hit his tongue, and made a face. Then the cup reappeared, and he took as much of its contents as he could. Halfway down, the antibiotic stuck, and he coughed hard, panicking.

"Swallow again, kiddo. C'mon, keep it down." His arms tightened around him as he tried to hack up the medicine trapped in his throat. After a minute the spell eased, Dick slumping back against his chest with a groan. "You did so good," he whispered down into his hair. "That's my good boy."

"No more," he pleaded desperately.

"No more will be necessary for right now, young sir," Alfred informed him. "But I do need to give you this fever reducer. It's a liquid," he added. "Cherry flavored."

"…I like cherries."

"Then this should be quite a bit easier than your other medicine. Open up, please." After hoisting one eyelid to see that it really was liquid he was about to be given, Dick cooperated, downing the admittedly not-too-bad syrup without complaint. "Very good."

"You've got to feel better soon, okay?" Bruce told him. "It's Christmas Eve, and you won't have any fun opening all your presents tomorrow morning if you're sick." Please don't be sick tomorrow. Your first Christmas with us can't be spent in bed. I want it to be special for you… "You want to hear a secret before you go to sleep?"

"Uh huh…" He'd already been gliding off, but he could hold up a second to hear a secret from the man holding him. Bruce's secrets are always the best, he thought dreamily.

"J'onn figured out a cure for the mind control. Now we've just got to wait for it to work." He purposefully left out the fact that they weren't sure it was going to work; he was trying to ease the child's mind, not leave him with something new to worry over.

"Yay…" The cheer was barely above a whisper, but it was plainly glad. Feeling the tenseness in the small body he was cradling ease, Bruce tipped his head back and found a tiny smile on his face. Okay, kiddo, if you haven't beaten this fever by tomorrow morning, I'll drag it out of you and beat it myself, he thought fiercely as he laid him down on the mattress. Covering him, he sighed, brushed his hair back from his damp forehead, and then turned and accepted his breakfast tray from Alfred.

"Will you be staying up here for a little while, Master Wayne?"

"Yeah. I can't leave him like this. Besides, it's Christmas Eve; the whole point is that we spend it together." Even if he is unconscious.

"Shall I bring you something to read?"

A thought struck him. "Actually…you could bring me A Christmas Carol. I think he left it out in Gobblehead's shed."

The butler's lips quirked upwards. "A lovely idea, sir. Will you be reading aloud?"

"Yes. We'll start up where he and Gobblehead left off."

"…You weren't anticipating that the turkey join you, I hope, Master Wayne?" he almost winced at the idea of having the bird in the house. Regardless of the creature's unusual intelligence and the favor it had done all of them a few short weeks before, it was still a turkey, and Alfred could just imagine the mess he'd be scrubbing out of the rugs were it to be invited inside.

"No," the billionaire laughed, seeing his face. "But I was kind of hoping that you would."

"I would be delighted, of course, sir," he nodded. A real Christmas Eve, he wondered happily as he left to procure the volume. Spent in close quarters with one's family, happily partaking in some element of the season together…such a lovely change, and in such a short time. Mind control, infections, and bullies aside, this does seem likely to be a very joyful holiday. I never would have dreamt a single child was capable of so much…

Author's Note: This story was originally supposed to be finished by Christmas, but you see how well that worked out. Just a few more chapters to go now!