Chapter Text
It starts with a bang and is followed by frantic, high pitched, cursing. “Batman?” a kid grumbles, voice pitched in a poor impression of Signal. “We’ve got a problem.”
“Status,” the next voice sounds like a baby, voice garbled. Batman only really understands the word due to how routine it is.
“Signal, enroute to help Nightwing.”
The baby makes a noise of protest then. Batman thinks he can hear fabric against the mic, struggling, potentially blindfolded. Who would blindfold a baby?
“I can see and hear you, N. Situation is safe,” the kid says.
“Red Hood, incapacitated,” another baby voice says, they sound much clearer than the other at least, probably older.
“Batgirl Two, enroute to Red Hood.” That sounds more like a toddler.
“Red Robin, also enroute to Red Hood.” Another toddler, their pronunciation is slightly worse than Batgirl’s, speech delay or just younger.
“Batgirl One, on lookout.” A child.
“Robin, on lookout.” Another kid. All of them at the same site, all of them incapacitated.
“Batman, enroute to location.” Batman slams down on the accelerator as he hits a clear street.
“Huntress, busy.” Gunfire sounds down the line before it closes.
“Batwoman, available.” An engine rumbles in the background, she’s on the move somewhere.
“Azrael, available.” Singing from a monastery warps slightly into the comm microphone.
“Batwing, available for emergencies.” The distant clink of glasses, the closer turning of taps, he’s in a restaurant bathroom.
“Oracle, assessing the situation. Batgirl Two, my eyes are your eyes. Batman, sending coordinates. Get there ASAP. Azrael, Batwoman, move to frequency 6.85.”
It takes five minutes to reach the location, Batmobile abandoned when parked up cars and free roaming cats make it quicker to just grapple the last mile. Seven children ranging in age from a few months old to about six stare up at him, suits wrapped around them awkwardly. “What’s the last thing you remember?” he asks Signal and Robin, hoping that they haven’t lost their memories in the past five minutes. They’re both roughly the same height and age, older than the rest, judging by the way Signal’s wobbling a loose tooth while Robin appears to have a complete set of milk teeth, Batman would guess Signal’s the eldest.
“Some imbecile caster decided to regress us all into these states,” Robin grumbles.
“Yeah,” Signal waves his hands around and then frowns, “I can’t use my powers to reverse the light right now or I’d just show you.”
“It will be visible on your mask footage,” Batman assures him. “We will review it once back at the Cave.”
“Red Hood fainted,” Red Robin reports nearby. He looks about two, wrapped in his cape with one hand pressing his mask over his eyes. The other is resting on the carotid artery of the smaller infant whose head is propped up by his leg.
“I’m fine,” Red Hood insists. Batman moves the cape covering them both to check limb colouration. The nails are a little bit bluer than he’d like but there’s definitely some oxygen transport.
“It reversed your heart surgery,” Batman comments, recalling the fact Red Hood had a ventral septal defect corrected when he was three. “Keep your blood pressure low.” He orders.
“Yeah, nothing to be stressed about right now,” Red Hood rolls his eyes, sarcasm looking ridiculous on the face of a baby.
Batman lifts and cradles him in one arm as he moves to assess the others. Both Batgirls are somewhere between toddler and small child but otherwise fine and coherent. Batgirl One, Black Bat, Batman does not like the codename sharing at the moment, holds onto a newborn who by process of elimination must be Nightwing. “Report,” he orders.
Batgirl Two, Spoiler, speaks then. “Same as the others, de-aged but no signs of injuries. Physical abilities are about as expected for our ages. All in all, this fucking sucks, Batman.”
“Language,” Batman warns. “I’ll take Nightwing,” he tells Black Bat, adjusting his grip on Red Hood so he can hold one in each hand. He has no idea how he’s going to transport all of them back but he’ll need to think of something. They’re all tiny and the night temperature’s starting to get to the smaller ones among them. They won’t tolerate too long out here.
Nightwing squirms in his arms, “Batman.”
“Hn?”
There’s almost babble then, mouth struggling to form whatever words he needs to say. “Titans.”
The Titans have just restarted back in Bludhaven. “We’ll notify them back at the Cave.”
“Batwoman is enroute with transport back to the Cave,” Oracle says down his ear. “Azrael will return with supplies.”
“Understood Oracle.”
Spoiler and Red Robin approach then, dragging oddly tied capes behind them. They both keep trying to lift them off the floor but the capes are unwieldy at their current size. “They’ll live,” Red Robin half-jokes to Spoiler as the fabric gets tangled in dust. “It might be easier to transport them in this.” He tells Batman, holding out what seems to be an improvised two seat baby sling. “It will make your hands available.”
“Hn,” Batman swaps the sling for Red Hood, passes Nightwing to Spoiler and puts the sling on over the cowl.
“Absolutely not,” Red Hood growls.
“You’ll live,” Batman settles him in one seat.
Nightwing just pulls a miserable expression as he’s settled in the other.
“Batwoman is outside the warehouse in a civilian vehicle,” Oracle tells him then.
“Bats, follow,” Batman orders all of the mobile kids after him, watching Red Robin stumble momentarily before lifting him too.
Batwoman leans against a minivan, the back already filled with car seats for various ages. She looks from him to the baby slings to Red Robin to the four toddlers behind him and laughs. “The Question’s going to love to hear about this.”
“Hn,” Batwoman is not the one who will have to deal with this until Zatanna can come and get the spell reversed. “Help me get them into the car.”
“Ugh,” she looks at them again, “You’re the one who decided to have so many kids.”
“I’m not even his kid,” Spoiler rolls her eyes, Black Bat giggling somewhat.
“Where did you source the equipment from?” Batman asks, ignoring the behaviour.
The blur of red appearing at his side is answer enough. “Oh my god he’s smaller than Wade,” Flash says, already reaching for Nightwing.
Nightwing raises a middle finger as he’s cradled to the man’s chest. Batman realises that if this situation lasts too long, he’s going to have to deal with a lot of Titans coming to pester his eldest.
“Aw, you’re so tiny,” Flash coos. “The baby stuff is from me, Superman and Arsenal, delivered by yours truly.” He does a tiny bow, carefully supporting Nightwing with one arm. Batman realises that this man actually has some experience with children, being a father of three.
“Thank you, Flash.”
“Does this mean I can be Nightwing while he’s like this?”
“Waa!” Nightwing snaps. The Flash just tickles him, laughing even if Nightwing isn’t particularly. Batman watches a tiny fist hit the Flash.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Flash says to Nightwing. “I’m genuine about wanting to help though.”
And Batman has no idea what he’s going to do until his protegees are all capable of patrolling again. As much as he hates to admit it, help would be useful right now. “If you are available to provide assistance, it would be appreciated,” he grits out. Speedsters are useful even if it feels like a shortcoming to be forced to ask for help. “However, to prevent confusion over Nightwing’s skill set, I think it would be best if you remained in your own colours.”
“He doesn’t think I can pull off the suit,” Flash stage whispers to Nightwing.
That prompts a laugh from Nightwing as he’s put into one of the two heavy-duty car seats. Red Hood is placed in the other.
“Oracle said they were all about a year apart,” Flash comments.
Batman nods slightly, he estimated about the same.
“Hood seems kind of small for that. I’d guess he was maybe four months?” Flash asks.
“Red Hood was always smaller than usual for his age.” Batman states.
“This is like… medically smaller.” Flash bites his lip uncomfortably, Batman quietly relieved that he still has the authority to intimidate any of the Titans, even when they’ve moved into the Justice League. “He looks like he’s not eating enough.”
“He is medically smaller. As such the reasons are confidential.” Batman tells him.
Red Hood gives a slightly relieved look at that.
“Of course,” Flash then moves onto sorting out the Batgirls while Batman turns to the argument between Robin and Signal over who gets to ride in the front. They’re both too small in reality however provided Batman drives carefully, the risk of crashes and airbags going off are exceptionally low at this time of night. “Signal’s older. He can ride in front.” He tells them both, Signal is also a metahuman and while not Kryptonian level, is a bit hardier than a base human.
“As Robin, do I not have seniority?”
Batman grunts, “Go sit next to the Batgirls.”
Robin glowers, huffs and then retreats into the back of the car.
Batwoman finishes putting Red Robin in the middle seat between Red Hood and Nightwing. “While I’d love to help with this, I have cases to solve,” she says to Batman quickly, grappling away before he can convince her to do anything else.
“Azrael is enroute to the Cave with baby formula, diapers, children’s pyjamas, two highchairs, one with some sort of baby insert, a four-child pushchair, two travel cots and a worrying number of children’s bibles,” Oracle says down the comm.
None of his kids are even Christian. “Huntress couldn’t-” Batman imagines her providing all the children with tiny crossbows instead and puts that thought away, bibles are harder to use lethally. “We are enroute to the Cave now.” He looks at the driver’s seat, all of the other seats are taken but the Flash still lingers around.
“I’ll meet you there,” The Flash disappears in a red streak.
Most of the kids are asleep by the time they arrive at the mini cave under the Brownstone. Bruce steps out of the car fist, taking off the cowl and starting the process of getting them out. Wally jumps in to help as Jean pulls in with a van filled with supplies.
They get the kids cleaned up and into matching pyjamas, the tops say “The Rapture Is Coming, Will You Be Saved?”, the pyjama bottoms are covered in crucifixes. “Where did you even find these?” Wally asks, looking at Jean bewildered.
Jean shrugs, seeming slightly bewildered by Azrael’s choices himself. “I don’t agree with teaching children to fear god the way Azrael does.”
“Azrael’s not just your code name?” Wally asks.
“It’s complicated,” Jean replies, the conversation dying out there.
Dick fusses then, “Food,” he attempts to say, hand smacking vaguely at his mouth to aid his point.
“Yeah, guess you have a tiny baby stomach at the moment,” Wally prods him. “I’ll sort you a bottle.”
Dick murmurs a string of curse words then before babbling a “Thanks.”
“You guys’ll fix this,” Wally reassures him before running off with Dick in his arms.
“I’m hungry too!” Steph announces.
“Meat!” Cass shouts, bouncing on her tiptoes slightly.
“I can build the furniture while you cook?” Azrael suggests.
Bruce nods, lifting Jason and Tim and encouraging the rest of them to follow.
Cass, Steph, Damian, Duke and Tim all climb onto the centre island as Bruce cooks. He grunts, “Don’t fall off there,” and then turns his attention back to the beginnings of a pasta sauce he’s making, Jason propped up in his car seat nearby. “Don’t fall asleep,” he warns him, horrible thoughts of SIDS running through his head even if Jason’s maybe past the high-risk age for that, he’s already seen him clinically dead twice, he doesn’t need a third time.
Jason glowers at him. “This just had to happen while I was in Gotham.”
“Would you prefer to have been left alone in this pitiful state?” Damian asks. His normally non-existent accent is coming back a bit.
“I do have friends,” Jason huffs.
“And Roy would bully you mercilessly about this.” Tim tells him. “From what I’ve heard about Artemis, she’d just leave you on the brownstone doorstep and run.” That is slightly meaner than Bruce would expect from Tim unprompted.
“Guys we’re forgetting about sword girlfriend who totally exists,” Steph jokes. Tim and Damian laugh hysterically at that.
“Shut the fuck up!” Jason shouts, sounding breathless immediately after.
“Please don’t aggravate Jason’s blood pressure.”
“He’s a delicate flower,” Tim snickers.
Jason pulls off one of his socks and throws it at him.
“Enough,” Bruce catches it mid-air and puts it back on him. “If you can move, go to the living room. Watch some TV.”
“Never thought I’d hear Batman tell me to go watch TV,” Duke says as he hops down, the others following aside from Tim who stares at the edge a little anxiously.
“Could you-”
Bruce helps him down even if Tim would normally have no qualms about jumping from a ledge of proportionate height.
He contacts Zatanna as he slices mushrooms. “Batman, hi,” she says, demonic screeching just picking up in the background. “Kind of in the middle of something.”
“I need you to come to Gotham, ASAP.” Batman growls.
“Is anyone going to die if I hold off for an hour, kind of in the middle of dealing with demons. You don’t happen to know any All-Blades wielders, do you?”
“I do not,” Batman replies. “There is no imminent threat to life, but all Robins are currently incapacitated.”
“Kcab ot lleh htiw uoy,” Zatanna casts, the sound of a portal opening catching on the comm line. “I’ll get there as soon as I can but it’s probably going to be early morning.”
“Thank you,” Batman says, the call disconnecting.
“When will Zee be here?” Jason asks.
“Early morning.”
“It is early morning.” Jason huffs, pointing at the clock that reads three am.
“I imagine she means around dawn,” Bruce replies.
“Fuck me,” Jason rolls his eyes.
They’re quiet for a while after that, the arguing from the living room and the thud of the knife against the chopping board the only noises in the kitchen. Bruce hasn’t really spoken to Jason since the zombie incident. He’s been meaning to but he doesn’t know how. He never knows how to speak to his kids, but the others, or at least Dick, Tim and Cass, get the message most of the time. Jason used to. But that was before the League of Assassins, before Talia, before Bruce slit his throat, horrible accident as it was. He doesn’t think they’ve made a connection since the Cheer case and Bruce cannot, ethically, voice those visions to him. Jason needs help he doesn’t want. He needs therapy, he needs someone who can stop him from making the same mistakes over and over again, he needs to put down the weapons and stop fighting until he’s in control of himself, if he can even get to that point. Bruce wants to be there for him, wants to help him every step of the way on his journey to recovery. But he also needs to keep his city safe from volatile assassins and their zombie armies. He cannot let people die just because his son is traumatised, cannot let Jason claw back a sensation of control of his own life by playing as judge, jury and executioner. It would be gross abuse of his power to turn a blind eye to Jason’s behaviour and Jason never seems quite able to understand that that doesn’t change the fact he loves him, that Bruce can love unconditionally and still put his duty as a hero first, that for the sake of Gotham, for the sake of the world, he has to.
A crying baby brings Bruce out of his brooding. He looks to Dick in Wally’s arms, Wally trying his best to soothe him. “He just started crying and I’m not sure what’s wrong,” Wally says softly. “Thought he’d be more comfortable without Azrael about.”
Bruce grunts an acknowledgement. Dick isn’t a fan of crying in front of an audience, is probably a little mortified with even Jason here. Wally keeps glancing to him too. “Take him into his room, third door on the left.”
Wally nods, zipping out of the room.
“Weird,” Jason frowns. “Never heard him cry like that.”
The only time Bruce has heard Dick cry so loudly was on the night his parents died. This situation isn’t good by any means but it’s not something that would elicit this extreme distress from Dick.
“Maybe he’s just being a baby,” Jason comments, chewing his own foot for whatever reason.
“Don’t do that,” Bruce tells him. “And Dick’s generally got a very calm head on him. It’s… out of character for him to be this upset over something like this.”
“You don’t get it,” Jason’s chewing his hand now instead, “I mean, he’s literally being a baby. Baby brain’s probably not good with big feelings and he can’t exactly go yell at someone over something petty.”
That… makes sense. “But then why is it only affecting him?”
The younger, now older, kids shout about something in the living room. “I don’t think it is,” Jason says. “Maybe it’s affecting him quicker because it’s the biggest change in ages? I mean Steph and Tim were really mean.”
Bruce doesn’t think he’s ever heard Jason use that phrasing before. But he’s also not exactly acting like a one-year-old. He just seems tired with a slight fixation on chewing his own limbs. The limb chewing is definitely unusual now Bruce thinks about it. “Zatanna will be here soon,” he tells him.
“Yeah,” Jason shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Can I get out of here?”
Bruce nods and pulls him out. “Do you want to join the others?” he asks.
Jason shakes his head, hands clinging to Bruce’s shirt. He whimpers. “I don’t feel well.”
“Think you can get some sleep?” Bruce asks.
Jason whines again but nods.
Bruce checks his pulse as Jason starts to doze. For a moment he panics before remembering how fast babies heart rates normally are. It’s still a little too fast but he’s not currently cyanotic and there’s no fluid retention in his extremities. He’s not in heart failure yet. And in a few hours, he’ll be back to his usual self.
But what if he’s not. What if Zatanna can’t fix this. Bruce has full faith in her abilities, but blind faith is how he’ll get blindsided. If they’re stuck like this, then it’s going to have massive ramifications for the entire hero community, team leadership changes and shifts in skill sets. While no team is entirely reliant on any individual, he can’t think of a team where the absence of a Bat won’t be felt. But that’s a worse case scenario, he tells himself. Zatanna’s going to come and she’s going to fix this and the only consequence will be some hurt egos.
He turns off the heat, settles Jason back in his car seat as he goes through the motions of dishing portions. “Food,” he shouts, a crowd of children arriving from the living room, now bickering loudly. They’re all covered in marker ink and Bruce realises why they’d been quiet for so long. They’d found some way to entertain their selves and probably destroyed most of the furniture in the living room.
Jason whimpers awake at the noise and Bruce realises none of them quite have the situational awareness to not shout around sleeping babies.
Bruce grunts at them, helping most of them onto the seats at the counter. Wally runs in with two highchairs which he puts Jason and Tim in, handing them a plate each. There’s not enough seats for Bruce or Wally to sit, so he leans against the counter, Wally standing over the stove as he dishes himself an exceptionally large portion of pasta. Bruce had handed him a mixing bowl for said purpose. “Azrael left after he made the highchairs by the way,” Wally tells him.
“Noted,” Bruce can understand the sentiment. He notices Dick is now in a reclined infant chair next to him, how Linda copes with Wally changing things around their house this rapidly, Bruce will never know.
Dick gives Bruce a desperately concerned look. “What’s wrong, chum?” Bruce asks.
Dick opens his mouth to speak but nothing coherent comes out.
A plate smashes then, most of them tense, Steph yelps and Jason whimpers, a loss of composure. “Bye icky noodles,” Tim waves at the broken shards of porcelain and noodles on the floor. Tim’s always had sensory issues when it came to food, potential ARFID but not enough of a problem in adulthood for him to bother seeking diagnosis. It would however make sense that it was worse when he was younger. His impulse control has also definitely gone. Tim seems to realise this too, staring at the plate a moment longer, buffering. “Shit. I don’t know why-”
“Do you want plain spaghetti?” Bruce offers.
Tim pauses for a moment then nods, “I- I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know why- I’ll help you clean up afterwards.”
Steph then drops a handful of spaghetti on the floor.
“Why did you do that?” Bruce asks.
“The floor needs dinner too.”
Cass copies her.
“The floor,” Bruce taps his foot against the tiles, “Is made primarily of calcium carbonate and does not need to eat.”
“The floor’s made of bone?” Duke asks.
Bruce frowns, he’s sure Duke has a better knowledge of science than that. “You could argue that it’s made of shells, likely several hundred-million-year-old shells, but I wouldn’t consider them bone.”
“But you said it was made out of calcium and bones are made out of calcium…”
“Wait is milk made out of bones?” Steph asks suddenly, “Is that why it’s white, is it all the bone bits?”
Everyone in this room, aside from Wally, has the knowledge to easily get a doctorate in Biochemistry, or they at least did. They should know what milk and bone are made out of. “Milk isn’t made of bone and while bones are mineralised with calcium phosphate, they’re primarily made of collagen.”
“What language are you all speaking in?” Damian asks in Arabic.
“English,” Bruce replies, switching into Arabic himself, “Can you not understand it?”
“I would have understood you if you were speaking English.”
“Damian, how old were you when you learnt English?” Bruce glances to see that no one else is following the conversation, even though Tim, Jason and Dick are all fluent in Arabic too.
“Seven. As you know, I learnt Arabic first and then Urdu, Korean, Mandarin, English.”
“In that order?” Bruce asks in Urdu.
Damian nods.
“Do you understand me when I speak Korean?” Bruce tests.
“Yes.”
“And do you understand me in Mandarin?”
“Yes, but it is… difficult.”
Bruce nods. “Let me know if you need anything translated.” He tells him, switching back to Arabic. “Try to decode the meanings of conversations through environmental context.”
“Yes father,” Damian seems relieved to at least have a task.
If Damian can’t speak English because he hadn’t learnt it by five- “Cass,” Bruce tries to no response. He taps her shoulder and she looks to him. “Can you understand me?” He speaks and signs.
She stares at him for a long moment and then takes his hand like she’s trying to reassure him. She’s only reading body language.
If their abilities are starting to line up with their age, there’s a very real chance that Jason and Dick, and potentially Tim and Steph are about to lose the ability to speak too. “How old were each of you when you learnt to speak?” he asks the others.
“Ten months, started off with full sentences.” Tim answers, he’s safe.
“Eight months with single words, eleven months with sentences,” Jason says, hopefully okay.
“Twelve months, started off with full sentences but only talked to my mum until twenty months,” Steph says, at roughly thirty-six months, Bruce isn’t too concerned about her.
“I… really don’t remember,” Duke admitted. “I was a lot earlier than my cousins at any rate.” Bruce hadn’t been too worried about Duke in the first place, assuming he would have known already if he’d had a significant speech delay, but the confirmation that he’ll be fine is reassuring.
None of them are going to lose their ability to speak regardless.
“Okay, my kids did not develop normally but this is so weird to hear.” Wally comments.
“Considering that most of them were working at a PhD level in multiple subjects by thirteen, this is about what I expected,” Bruce tells him. He then realises that Dick didn’t respond at all to the question. “Dick?” he asks.
Dick opens his eyes with a quiet cooing noise. Bruce really needs to get him into one of the two travel cots that Wally brought with him.
“How old were you when you started speaking, chum?” he asks. Dick looks deeply freaked out, immediately starting to cry. “Language comprehension’s gone.” Bruce observes.
“Hey, you’re okay,” Wally soothes, lifting Dick out of the seat and cradling him. Right, Bruce probably should have thought to comfort him rather than observing. “How long until Zatanna gets here?”
“She’ll be here when she can get here,” Bruce relays, repeating the news to Damian. “She’s in combat at the moment and this situation isn’t life threatening.”
Damian huffs. “Well find another magician, I refuse to remain in this state any longer, father.”
Cass reaches out to Damian then.
“Do not pity me, Cain!” Damian snaps back, Cass retreating again.
“Hey, don’t be a dick to Cass!” Steph leaps down from her chair, tensing up to fight Damian.
“I don’t care what drivel you’re saying, Brown,” Damian stands now too.
“Robin, stop,” Bruce growls in the Batman voice, all of them aside from Dick going immediately still and quiet. “Damian, do not antagonise your siblings. And Steph, don’t escalate the situation.”
“Yes father,” Damian says, chastised, making Bruce feel a little guilty.
“You’re not my dad,” Steph huffs.
“That’s probably a good thing,” Duke jokes and then looks immediately remorseful as Steph starts to cry. This in turn makes Tim, Jason and Dick start crying too.
This is why Bruce has never adopted a child under the age of nine. “Everyone, deep breaths.”
That just makes them all cry more and now Cass is breathing quicker. Duke and Damian both flee the situation which is at least a sensible decision.
Steph is the one who’s genuinely upset, he presumes the others are just upset because of the noise. He kneels down to her level and she hugs him. “I wish you were my dad.” She says into his shoulder. “My dad’s a pathetic asshole and I hate him, but I also still love him and this sucks so much.”
“I know,” He hugs her. “But he’s in Blackgate, he’s not going to hurt you anymore.”
She sniffles and then Cass pulls her into a hug.
Bruce pats her shoulder once and then looks at the others. Tim’s sniffly, Dick and Jason are both fussing lightly. Bruce also now notices that Jason’s not managed much of his food. “Jay, you need to eat something,” he tells him.
Jason shakes his head, “Eating’s tiring.”
Sometimes Bruce has no idea how Jason survived long enough to steal the tyres from the Batmobile. “Let me help.” He grabs the fork, cuts the noodles smaller with the side of it and then feeds Jason as the others slowly migrate back to their own food.
Wally stays until all the kids are asleep in the living room, most of them on a couple of blow up mattresses with an assortment of bedding, Jason and Dick in a travel cot. “I really should check in at home. But if this isn’t resolved, I can come back later. Might have to bring the twins and Wade though, Linda’s back at work but they’ve got the day off school.”
Bruce grunts, “Thank you.”
“No problem.” Wally looks at Dick for a long moment, the worry clear on his face, “Let me know what Zatanna says.”
“Of course,” Bruce agrees, watching the blur of red disappear.