Young Justice Deaged

Bed Time

-I didn't really elaborate, but in my big boy galaxy brain, I imagine Dick's onesie looking like the classic Robin costume. Imagine the pixie boots if you'd like.-

Bruce was managing poorly. Dick was refusing to let go and if he was able to put the baby down, or pass him to anyone else, his foster son would cry and scream to be put back.

That's actually how they figured out that Dick still remembered a couple words. Well, one word: Daddy.

Of course, once Dick realized that he knew a word, and that it applied to his foster father, he was repeating it nonstop. Which the majority of the league found hilarious and adorable: watching the dark knight completely out of his element while the world's cutest one-year-old clutched him like a lifesaver and gleefully proclaimed that Bruce was, in fact, his father.

Unable to pass the boy off to anyone, Bruce awkwardly clutched the baby and went to the next room, shutting the door, to call Alfred for help.

Dick was overjoyed to see Alfred's face appear on screen, meanwhile Bruce tried desperately to explain this damn situation. Have you ever tried explaining to your elderly English butler that your foster son had been spontaneously turned into an infant while fighting crime? Thought not.

It took (Objectively) too long for Bruce to figure out how to diaper and dress Dick, even with his trusted superior giving him directions over the call. it felt like defusing a bomb while someone read you comedically vague instructions.

But when he finally had gotten the child changed into his new clothing, Bruce felt a sudden wave of emotion: Partially pride for what he'd accomplished, partially embarrassment for not knowing how to do it before, and partially a surge of parental bliss. Yes, this was his child, and look at it: adorable, content, perfect.

"Daddy!" Dick shouted once the call ended, wanting to be the focus of attention again.

"Exactly." Bruce said, picking him up.
HIS CHILD! and he couldn't be more pleased about it.

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Meanwhile, the others were discovering that what black Canary said about the kids being the concentrated versions of themselves was very true. If the teens were usually soda, like Fanta or Pepsi, they were now like the flavor syrups in the drink fountain: bitter, full of sugar and way stronger than was logically possible.

Once they'd all gotten changed (With M'gann shapeshifting an outfit matching Wally's), it was surprisingly hard to get them to eat. Sure, they would eat, but they spent most of their time at the table talking, or leaning over to argue with each other. Even Wally needed to be reminded to eat.

Next, the children's mentors (Who had dispersed when Bats not-so-subtly ran off to beg his butler for help) realized that they should probably clean them up a little. Yep, they were definitely going to need to get the kids more clothes. They were even messier than as caffeine-and-mental-illness riddled teenagers

"Come on." Oliver told his kid impatiently, trying to hold her still.

"No." Artemis fussed, trying to pull away as the damp washcloth was pressed against her cheek. "No! Stop!" She continued to whine as Ollie wiped the mac 'n' cheese residue from her face and moved on to the dust and dirt on her arms and knees.

"Hey, still." The girl's mentor told her. "Just one more minute." Artemis, who at the moment had no clue how the passage of time worked, found this most disagreeable.

Wally didn't as much object to being cleaned up, as he did being kept still. "Wally, let's have a deal." Barry asked. "Every ten seconds, you get to run around the room two times."