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It was a cold and drizzly February night in Gotham. The Dark Knight was watching over his city. He was brooding.
He was also sniffling.
Then he sneezed.
The results, with the cowl and all, were rather depressing.
A tissue materialized next to him. It was attached to an annoyingly healthy hand. "Bless you," said a cheery voice. An irritatingly healthy cheery voice.
"Clark. Go away."
Clark hovered in the air next to the grim and runny-nosed Bat, crossing his legs. "I'm sorry, Bruce, but I can hear every sneeze, every sniffle. It's driving me crazy."
"You've never been sick a day in your life, Clark. You have no ability to empathize, so don't pretend you do." Batman rubbed at his nose with his cape and made a wet, unhappy sound.
"I've had Kryptonite poisoning, does that count?"
"No," Batman said flatly.
Superman sighed. "If you won't let me induce you to go home, how about this?" Suddenly Bruce felt his armor warm up, not alarmingly, just enough that wisps of condensation rose from it into the cold, damp night. It felt rather like being in a personal sauna.
It felt wonderful.
Bruce sighed and felt his shoulders relax. Then he sneezed again.
A bowl of chicken soup appeared next to him. "From Alfred."
Batman looked from the soup to Superman's beaming face. "Batman doesn't drink chicken soup while on patrol." Clark's face fell. "But...Bruce could probably have some soup with a friend."
Superman pulled out an extra spoon. "I was hoping you'd say that."
It was good chicken soup.