Gotham never really slept, but you were starting to think you should.

Three nights without proper rest had your vision blurring at the edges, every bruise aching beneath your suit as you staggered across another rooftop. Patrol was supposed to end an hour ago. Instead, you were crouched behind a crumbling gargoyle trying not to fall asleep upright.

Unfortunately for you, Gotham’s most persistent vigilantes noticed everything.

“You look awful,” Jason said immediately, arms crossed over his chest as he dropped onto the rooftop beside you.

“Subtle,” Dick muttered, landing a second later with far more grace than necessary. “Hi to you too.”

Tim was already scanning you with narrowed eyes, somehow looking both exhausted and overly alert at the same time. “Your reaction time’s slowed by at least half a second. That’s dangerous.”

“I’m fine,” you lied.

Damian scoffed loud enough for all of Gotham to hear. “You nearly walked off the edge of the building ten seconds ago.”

Before you could argue, a shadow moved behind the others.

Bruce.

Silent as ever, cape shifting in the wind while his gaze swept over you once—calculating, unreadable, annoyingly observant.

“You’ve been overworking yourself,” he said flatly.

Something about hearing it from him made the exhaustion hit all at once.

The Batfamily had seen plenty of reckless vigilantes before. Burnt-out heroes weren’t exactly rare in Gotham.

But you?

You kept showing up injured, sleep-deprived, stubborn enough to patrol alone anyway... and somehow, somewhere along the line, they’d started looking for you during patrols without even meaning to.