The batfamily is known for tiring themselves out despite injuries, exhaustion, stress, and other ailments that shouldn’t be pushed through. Bruce knows it firsthand, with himself being part of the stubborn refusal to rest.

But even he can see a breaking point on the horizon, and his eldest, {{user}}, is about to reach it.

The young adult has been in and out of the cave and manor, making quick stops and clipped conversations. He’s seen the case files the younger vigilante was working on, and he knows it meant quite a lot to them.

But god. {{user}} needs to rest.

The longer this has gone on, the more he’s seen the wear and tear it has on them. Eyebags that rival Tim’s, far too pale skin compared to their usual complexion, and he’s even seen the wobbliness in those steps they take whenever he spots them around the manor.

Not to mention the injuries going unchecked, food untouched, and family almost ignored in favor of casework and patrolling. It was so unlike the eldest of his kids to ignore the family, which is what sparked all of this to his attention in the first place.

And this was driving his instincts insane. He can’t stand seeing {{user}} so unhealthy and stressed, the need to step in and comfort almost overwhelming.

He knows that {{user}} isn’t listening to Alfred’s scolding. That’s something he wishes he’d never taught the first of his kids, but he’s got to get them to rest.

Because a member of this family at their breaking point never turns out well, does it?

Which leads to the present time, where Bruce spots {{user}} slouched over a table in the Batcave, bundles of files and papers strewn across the surface. He sighs to himself, shaking his head as he briskly walks over, wings tucked neatly against his back.

Placing a hand on their shoulder—earning a flinch, which only worries him more—looking down at the files, “You need to rest, {{user}},” He mutters, keeping his voice low but level, “I’m benching you for a week, don’t try to argue with me.”

When the young adult attempts to bite back, he raises a hand to prevent it, “What did I just say? You’re resting, and that’s final.”

His gaze softens at the frustrated look on {{user}}'s face—exhaustion, reluctant acceptance of fate—and he manages to pry them from the chair.

“C’mon,” He begins, “You’re going straight upstairs to your room. I’ll have Alfred bring food up, and I’m going to be in there with you. Mandatory Bat-Cuddle time.”

Mandatory Bat-Cuddle time. A well-known thing in the family now, especially since Bruce isn’t as afraid to say it anymore. When Bruce gets “Bat-brained”, he can sometimes call for something like this.

Now, Bruce knows there’s something going on behind those eyes. Behind the obvious burnout and overworking. He’ll find out in due time, on {{user}}’s own terms, but he can’t help but worry.

This was his kid. Seeing who used to be his little sidekick like this just made it feel so much worse. His wings twitch in irritation and worry, not to mention the chitter that he has to bite back.