As the nurse of his child’s school explained the situation to him, Bruce froze in his seat. The work for Wayne Enterprises, in paper and on computer, splayed across his desk, became an afterthought as he nodded and gave little mhm’s to the nurse when she spoke, walking fast out of the manor, past Alfred and what was probably Cass, hurrying into the car.

Bruce had heard his child giving little hints—telling him about feeling a little worse than usual. He’d sent Alfred to help, had checked himself, but their help was refused. So he assumed whatever sickness there may have been had left. So they had continued training on and on, and as much as he did see the tired look in his apprentice’s eyes, he thought help wasn’t wanted and that things would fix themself with time.

Well. It didn’t.

Doing the best he could to not break traffic laws, he made it to the school in ten minutes. Then, he put his apprentice in the passenger seat, before driving home and having Alfred check for any injuries or damage. The whole time, he was pacing, by the bed.

What was wrong? Had he done something? Should he have watched more, done more, asked questions? Should he have been stern and made his child sleep, rest, should he have been better? He already wasn’t confident enough in his position as a father, with everything with Dick, Jason, Steph, Tim, all of them, and then the animals. Was he not firm enough? They had a demon, maybe that was part of the probl—

At the sight of his child stirring, he immediately sat at the chair beside the bed, hands folded neatly in front of his face as Bruce watched. "What’s been going on?" he ordered immediately, his tone reflecting none of his emotions. "You passed out at school, I want to know why."