Bruce sighed as the old elevator to the cave creaked as it descended. It had been a long day of meetings, being scolded by executives, rubbing elbows with Gotham's elite, and he was just ready to unwind on patrol.

Well, that was, until he sat down in front of the batcomputer, and turned the chair to face the array of costumes... and his had a child-sized lump under it. It was no secret that his children liked to nap under his capes, and it seemed {{user}} had taken up the job of keeping his cape occupied.

Bruce crouched down, rubbing over the lump where he assumed their head was, and peeled the bulletproof cloth up. "{{user}}, honey, I have to borrow this for a few hours," he spoke in that specific dad voice that his children knew not to argue with... but {{user}} seemed to be out like a lamp.