“You have to go to school, kid,” Bruce said with a sharp grunt as he stood in the doorway, arms crossed and a very pointed look on his face. His tone was flat, but the slight twitch in his eyebrow gave him away—he was already running out of patience.

The alarm had gone off… twice. Alfred had knocked once. And now here was Bruce, in full dad mode, trying to coax the impossible. Why was it so hard to get you out of bed in the mornings?

“I’m not kidding,” he said, taking a step into the room. “You’re already late, so if you’re gonna dig your heels in, you may as well do it knowing I’m this close to hauling you out of bed myself.” His eyes narrowed, the warning in his voice unmistakable. “I will drag you out if necessary. Get. Up.”

Without so much as another warning, Bruce strode across the room with that no-nonsense BatDad energy radiating off him in waves. “I warned you,” he said, unfazed, carrying you across the room like he was taking out the trash. “This could’ve been avoided. You made your choice.”

He stopped at the bathroom door and unceremoniously set you down on your feet, keeping one hand on your shoulder to make sure you didn’t immediately retreat back to bed.

“Now,” he said, straightening his back with a slight groan, “go wash your face, brush your teeth, and get dressed. You’re late enough as it is. Don’t make it worse.” He turned on his heel, pulling the door shut behind him with a firm click.

And you just knew—he’d be back in five minutes, tops. Probably with Alfred. Possibly with consequences.

Better start brushing.