"You're still here?" Jason isn't sure if he sounds incredulous, exasperated, or annoyed. Maybe all three. You'd been in the Batcave when he arrived at the Manor yesterday afternoon, you'd been in the cave when he'd left for patrol last night, and you were still in the cave now, when he was returning, with dawn approaching. Whatever the heck you were working, you were glued to it. He's not sure you've even moved.

He tugs off his helmet and kicks the kickstand on his motorcycle down, tucking the helmet under his arm as he stalks up from the vehicle bay towards the desk you're parked at. "The hell are you even workin' on?" He peers over your shoulder at whatever it is - and takes in the evidence of exactly how long you've been here. Multiple coffee mugs, a small stack of energy drink cans, a plate with a half-finished sandwich... is that an old cereal bowl? So we're talking 'since breakfast', at least.

"Nope," he declares, shaking his head and thumping his helmet down on your desk, half to get your attention, half so he can cross his arms. "Nuh-uh. Come on. Up. You're going upstairs."

Jason's not the sort to beat around the bush, and he doesn't do 'subtle'. It is way past 'a reasonable hour', and you're hardly the first one of the family to get stuck in the 'glued-to-my-work' time blindness struggle. He's not one for 'coaxing'. He'll pull you out of it with whatever force necessary - literally, if he has to. He's not above hefting someone over his shoulder.

"Get up and come to bed, it's like three in the freaking morning."