I know it's been… forever… since I promised to update, and I'm sorry, so this time I won't promise such a speedy update. I don't know how soon one will come, but I figured that since the world's going to end (hopefully), I might as well get some stuff done. I wrote this up in FACS, Geometry, Art, Science and History. It won't be worth the time I wasn't working on it, that's a shoo-in, but at least I updated… right…?

Disclaimer: I don't own Young Justice or its relating characters, but I do own the Jake the Dog necklace and the Best Friends bracelet Hannah got me for Christmas! And everyone will be out of character because they are.

Six stone tabs lay to rest in a passable circle, the granite tops smoothed to chilling flats with the exception of where faithless and unconscious feet and fists had beaten and pounded in a hopeless desperation to fade away the illusion behind closed eyelids. Eight feet in length, three in height, the six children had to be hoisted up from under their armpits to actually get on the slabs that a mere week ago it seemed they were just backing up to and sliding on with a small hop (with the exception of Dick of course, but his agility always put him up there in the coolest fashion).

"Are you sure this will work?" Bruce cradled his ward in his arms, the sparkle in those navy eyes so innocent and happy.

As he blinked, he saw the dark blue gush with sudden tears and lips part in screams of pure betrayal as the small frame in his arms racked with the pain that only an orphan could comprehend. He would watch the love leave those freshly chiseled features and instead let the loneliness creep in and rob the ebony of the shy of his smile and the blush of his cheeks while that sparkle turned to ice. But then his eyes opened and nothing but that heart-wrenching beaming expression hopefully and happily shining onto the man's worn features could be seen.

"Your worry for the child clouds your vision more than your sunglasses do, Batman," J'onn chided in a deep and omniscient tone, tensing Bruce to his center and back out again.

He set the six year old down on a slab, lightly removing the pale grabby hands from the sides of his sunglasses and held them in his own more calloused hands for a while before hinting the ebony to lie on his back.

"Stay out of my head, Manhunter. That's the one place your ZETA… whatever… won't excuse your unannounced entry."

The Martian blinked in surprise, standing in the center of the stones as his head slowly swiveled to face the man.

"Did you just 'whatever' me?" he accused, surprise genuinely woven into his features.

Bruce tensed again, lips parting to deny it before he moved over to Dick's slab and lay down beside him, smiling down at the child before closing his own eyes. The six year old looked up at him curiously, turning on his side and putting an arm halfway around the muscled chest, nuzzling his nose against the hidden ribs until the tuxedoed man gave a laugh and urged him back, tensing again at a sharp throb in his head that robbed a gasp of pain from his lips.

"After you hook the kids up, start dissecting my brain, doc. I don't know what's going on, and I don't like to trust someone with reddened eyes who isn't offering me anything, but I'm suffering the biggest headache and I hurt too much to really care if you know what you're doing."

He sounded so young then, early twenties at the latest, fingers grasping over his eyes, almost infuriated to find his shades sealing over them as in a fit he quickly tossing them to the floor. They didn't crack, but they clattered enough to bring another groan past his lips.

"I have the biggest… ugh… am I hung-over?" he pressed his palms deep against his socket, the suction calming him down just a little. "Will… will you stop clicking?!"

"Clicking?" J'onn repeated, confused, walking to Bruce's side and looking down at the lengthy nimble fingers. "There isn't any-…"

But then he saw it. The corner of his eye. A flicker of light. An unwelcome shine. A repetitive tap. A quiet whir. He turned slowly. Long spindly legs. Eight separate clicks, almost all at once. Wandering arm sufficing as an eye. Red glow of a camera. Watching. Showing. Planning. Caught.

"Now what have we here?" he raised the creature up with his mind alone, a telepathic binding bending its legs in concave and making it give off a terrifying screech that brought out pained cries from the suddenly lawn-chairing [1] children.

With a glance though, they all fell flat with a quiet gasp, leaving the Martian and the machine staring eye-to-lens. A calm glance, steady and unmoving pierced scarlet meeting an echo glow, was all he gave it before his eyes jumped up in tint along the color wheel and the spider-like object gave its final breath. It was well used though, the thick blue smoke unfurling up into the Martian's features.

"What are you—?" he tried before his legs suddenly gave out and he sprawled onto the ground, fingers still gripping tight to the creature.

And then, as it gave a final twitch, the whole room became unconscious with nothing but the sunlight and lazy pupils darting beneath closed eyelids.

"Neetfif ot kcab tseW yllaW ega," a familiar voice stirred Bruce's mind with a thin straw, not enough to unsettle the foam, but enough to clear consciousness to the darkness.

The sound that followed was what snapped the man's eyes open as wide as they'd go, sitting him straight up only to cringe in agony at the headache. The splitting and breaking of bone, a crisp snap with each second, inhumane screams soaked with pain spilling from an auburn-haired boy's lips as his skin stretched and grew, tearing along the seams of where his bones pressed hard against it, tears pouring as Wally grew from seven to fifteen in a matter of seconds was what had Bruce fully awake without a drop of foam to his content. When the sounds settled and the room grew silent, the ginger fell from the examining table to his knees on the linoleum far below, sobbing roughly into the open air at the lingering pain.

The youngest in the room, a six year old with messy locks for hair and worry etched deep into his expression, ran to the auburn's side and tried to hug him, only managing to get halfway around him, stubbornly kissing the naked shoulder, completely and adorably oblivious to the lack of clothes he bore. Wally didn't lower his knees more than to his rib-cage's start, reaching out to pull the six year old to his naked flesh, sobbing weakly above the raven-haired boy's locks.

"O-Owie," he gasped out, the acrobat's little boo-boo kisses doing nothing but making him hurt more, the same seven-year old voice working his delicate vocal chords.

Zatara frowned more in disappointment than guilt, fingering the brim of his top hat in thought.

"I can alter their physical age, it seems, but their minds will be a lot harder to retrieve," he muttered under his breath, glancing from the huddled form to his daughter who had been dutifully standing off to the side, taking notes on a transparent blue clipboard. "Zatanna, after you help Kid Flash relocate his clothes—"

"Mih sserd," she smirked with a wave of her fingers upon mention, smiling softly as the plaid jacket and jeans in her mind covered the ghastly white flesh.

"I want you to try your hand with the Robin boy," he smiled with pride at her, violently prying the small being from Wally's chest and handing him over.

Zatanna walked over, her heels clicking along the floor, bending down and looking at the small boy before reaching her hands out for him. When he just stared at her, she took it upon herself to cradle him lightly in her arms, smiling in awe down at him, but he chose only to shriek and direct grabby hands desperately towards the teen that the older magician was quietly enchanting, each set of words drawings out fearful whimpers.

"I think you're hurting him," Bruce groaned, a rough throbbing to his temples, starting to stand up when he found he couldn't, a white strap secured over his slacks, the scarlet of his tie catching his peripheral as it stroked the strap.

He struggled against the binding, grinding his teeth in frustration as it stayed in place, tracing it beneath the metal table he was on, but he couldn't feel a buckle or release switch.

"Your concern is unnecessary, Wayne. Lay back down and I'll be with you before long," Zatara just waved a hand at him before returning it to the trembling auburn's temple and resuming his murmuring.

If the emerald gaze wasn't bright before, the night sky turned away in jealousy with a frustrated flush to its cheeks and arms folded grudgingly over its chest as a pure neon light shone out onto the magician's face, not even the slightest worry in the bemused expression.

"The pupils are at a normal dilation," he noted, peeking closer in with a murmur that enlarged the eye in a huge circular arrangement, kind of like an invisible magnifying glass. "Cerebral is functioning at a level appropriate for a fifteen year old with his stamina… stem still vibrating firmly… might need to run him through the Martian and MRI… but it seems the toxins effected just his thoughts, mere a hallucination, but that doesn't quite explain their aging back unless it was the Martian girl… they did say her capacity surpassed that of Manhunter, held the team mentally hostage in the simulation..."

Wally shivered fearfully, blinking another tear set down staining cheeks with a tight trembling of the fists grasping at his newly wrapped sleeves.

"Am I gonna die?" he choked out, just the slightest flicker of hope visible against the neon in the magnified eye.

Zatara took that hope into his arms, nurtured and raised it, loved it until they became a happy family upon which he took it by the throat in its sleep and snapped its life out into the crisp nighttime air.

"More than likely," he bluntly stated, drawing a protestant cry form Bruce's lips, his eyes mentally Gibbs-slapping [2] the hat straight from the man's head, while broken and loud sobs split both Dick and Wally's frames.

"No!" the smallest ebony in the room wailed, a sharp kick to his 'captor's' stomach doubling Zatanna over and dropping Dick to his shoes.

She held her aching stomach firmly, biting her lip, amazed at how strong that kick had been, grimacing as she straightened carefully. Even for the six year old size he bore, Dick bolted with enough strength to push Zatara away with a strange tackle-like move, quickly pulling on Wally's arm with a groan at his weight in an attempt to get him away from the danger.

"Have a little faith, 'tara!" Dick growled, managing to get the speedster to his worn Converse in a voice that made him sound twice his appearance and then some, "You seriously need to get whelmed. Not traught at all! Artemis wasn't and you see where that almost got us! I could be kicking it out in Atlantis!"

The eldest hero grinned happily with an adjustment of his hat, clapping his gloved hands together quietly to show his approval on the situation, sending chills down the smaller boy's spine.

"So fear really does bring you back… the adrenaline might contribute… or maybe the testosterone brought it out, could always test that one too… simulation of course, if Mr. Wayne wakes up, I'd be in a bit of trouble… unless we start using shots …" he began to near feverishly talk beneath his breath, narrowing the navy eyes.

"We don't have time for this, Magic Man! They're going to be here any day now with a more permanent concoction for the League! We were just the test dummies! We have to evacuate, get to the Watchtower!" as Dick continued on, his voice began to drastically lessen in depth, as if he was going through reverse puberty at a speed fast enough to make the best of the speedsters hang up his boots for a week.

"Who? Robin!" the man rushed to ask, but it was too late.

The confusion fell harder than the entire cast of Macbeth at curtain call, the tiny pale hands desperately grasping at the thick black locks.

"I… I don't…" he was suddenly six again in mind, transfixed by the patterns on Wally's jacket with a quiet giggle.

"Neetriht ot kcab nosyarG kciD ega!" the desperate cry came out, widening those blue eyes in the same manner as the tone.

And then the room was drowned out in screams.

[1] "Lawn-chairing is when your face just rams into your knees," –Sam Scholz

[2] A Gibbs-slap, derived from NCIS, is when one takes the flat of their hand, generally the index through middle finger and slaps the space between the nape of the neck and the man mass of the head, a visual of 'knocking sense' into someone.

So next chapter is officially when I get to torture the kids because Zatara just confirmed fear's effect. I have a few headcanons concerning Dick and his fears and I know Kaldur and Megan's, but I'm a bit stumped on the others. Mind giving a torturer some help on some tactics? Come on, children, gimme a hand!

-F.J. III