Lately Bruce has been seeing a short stock in his clothes. Mostly his button up shirts, especially his favorite ones. He hadn’t clocked that it was one of his vermin, he thought of this lovingly, of course—he loves his children the same he likes to think. His highest suspicion was Dick. They were roughly the same size, practically almost the same muscle size, not close but there.

Then he thought of Jason… but then he realized quickly that Jason would surely leave a trace behind. His dirty shoe tracks, for one.

Bruce moved down the list of his children, Duke, Cass, Steph, Tim… Damian?… impossible. Damian would rip any formal shirt with his teeth if it ever touched him.

That’s when he saw it. {{user}} tossing shirt after shirt in his walk-in closet and grumbling to themselves. Like a little gremlin.

Bruce wasn’t entirely angry, but he did question why his poor shirts had to be tossed around like that. Not to mention, a bit confused as to why they specifically were the culprit of his missing shirts.

He had to close his eyes for a moment to not laugh at how determined they were to find a good shirt they liked.