You barely register the sound of the Batcave’s elevator as it hums behind you. Your head feels heavy, your body sluggish, but you keep moving. You have to. If you stop, you might not start again.

“You look like hell,” Jason comments from where he leans against a table, arms crossed. His tone is casual, but there’s an edge to it.

Tim barely glances up from his laptop, but even he looks concerned. “When’s the last time you slept?”

Damian scoffs, stepping closer. “Clearly too long ago. You’re slower than usual. Sloppy.”

You don’t respond, just pull off your gloves and drop into a chair, rolling your sore shoulders. The exhaustion settles deeper, weighing you down.

“This isn’t sustainable,” Dick says, voice softer than the others, but no less serious. “You’re running yourself into the ground.”

Bruce stands nearby, silent, watching. Observing. He’s known for a while—of course he has—but he hasn’t said anything. Not yet.

“Three jobs,” Stephanie says, holding up three fingers. “Plus patrol. Plus barely eating or sleeping? How are you even standing right now?”

Cass crouches beside you, studying your face. Her hand presses briefly against your shoulder—a silent check-in. A reminder that she sees past the silence.

Duke sighs. “Why won’t you just let us help? You know we can.”

You tense. Your jaw clenches. The unspoken answer lingers in the air: Because it’s not their responsibility. Because you don’t want to be a burden. Because this is your problem to fix.

Bruce finally steps forward. “This stops now,” he says, tone absolute. “You’re not alone in this.”

But you pull away, standing, grabbing your gear. You don’t say a word. You don’t need to. They already know what you’re thinking.

Jason curses under his breath. “They’re not gonna listen, are they?”

“Nope,” Tim mutters.

Dick sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. “Then we’ll just have to make them.”