The Wolf at Night
A.N.: This came to me, one day, and I just couldn't say no to it. After watching the beginning of an episode of Being Human and hearing about how, in the show, werewolves experience organ failure while changing, I wrote this. Enjoy!
The night air was cool on their faces and sweet on their noses. At least, that's the way it was to Batgirl. As for Nightwing, she wasn't so sure.
They'd been out since before dusk, a parkour training thing that Batman had put them on. Dick had been okay then, but now that night was falling, he seemed anxious to get it over with, tapping his foot or finger between jumps to the next building.
He groaned lightly, rubbing his temples.
"Headache," he complained. She frowned as she noticed how pale he was.
"Do you think you can make it home okay?" she worried. He'd had a few seizures a couple weeks ago, to the point where even Batman had been hesitant to bring him for training a month later, his overprotectiveness made all the more valid by the fact that Dick had gone missing recently. Even now, he was only out under the condition that he and Barbara stay together.
He nodded, making an excuse that he didn't think it was another fit, but that he had to get home before his fever got worse, and hopped nimbly to the road, Batgirl watching him go.
And then he screamed and dropped, writhing, to the ground.
"Nightwing?" she gasped. "Dick!"
She followed his path onto the asphalt, bounding from her crouched landing to his bucking body and whimpering voice. His eyes were glazed as he looked straight ahead. His form twitched, shivering sickeningly in a half-fetal position as he lay on his side, hands halfway to clenching his chest.
"Dick?" She fretted. "Dick, talk to me." When he didn't answer, she made a "valiant" attempt to get his attention, but stopped short when it only made him scream again.
"Batman!" she all but screamed into the communicator. "Nightwing's sick!"
"What's happening?" Bruce replied, desperation tinting his usually authoritative tone.
"I-I don't know exactly; it's not like any of the seizures he was having. He's in a lot of pain; we need medical assistance, now. We're near the corner of…" She ran a few steps away to check the street signs, much to Dick's continued whining. "Parks Drive and Recreation Way."
"We'll be there in five. Let me know if anything happens."
Dick must've gotten really out of it, because he barely acknowledged her when she returned to his side, stepping behind so she'd be out of the way in case he started flailing. Already, it looked like the fit was getting worse; the shivering was interspersed with jolts of pain, making him buck forward, breathing harshly through gritted teeth.
His hair was soft between her fingers, slipping through them as she stroked the ebony strands and whispered meaningless comforts in his ear. It seemed like the petting was helping; at least he wasn't flinching like when she'd tried to hold his hand.
After the longest 5 minutes of her life, Batman and Robin finally showed up, the latter watching helplessly while Bruce ran diagnostics.
The man seemed at a loss for words; a good thing, too, because words were moot, at this point. Barbara was pretty sure she could never string a sentence together to describe the frantic, spiking lines on every screen. Dick's heart was beating at 240 and climbing. His temperature was at 115 Fahrenheit.
"Dick," Bruce charged on, grabbing hold of Nightwing's shoulder before he gasped at the contact.
"Talk to us," he insisted. "Try to tell us what's going on."
He tried - he really did - but the second he opened his mouth, he was emptying his stomach all over the street, followed up by another agonized howl and whimpering. That said, Barbara was a bit more concerned with a more frightening sound.
The bweep-bweep-bweep-bweep sound of the computer warning them that Nightwing was going into cardiac arrest.
The weird thing, she noticed, as Bruce was turning him onto his back for CPR, was that the rest of Dick apparently didn't notice his heart had stopped. He was still breathing - hyperventilating, actually - and whining. And, if she wasn't mistaken, she'd also heard him pant out a "No!" just before-
"AAAAAGH!" he screamed, again, rolling back onto his side and clutching his chest before settling on his back, again.
"What's wrong with him?" she demanded,
"I don't know," Bruce admitted. "It's no seizure. He's experiencing…Multisystem organ failure;" Dread dripped into his voice as the computer started beeping again, letting them know that his lungs, liver, and kidneys were shutting down. Nightwing started hopelessly gasping like a fish for air. "He should be dead, yet he's still alive and even present for all of it. He…" he leaned in to whisper to Batgirl. "He might not get through this. It's a miracle he's made it this long." Between them, Nightwing had started arching his back, teeth clenched so hard she worried they would crack.
Evidently, Robin had had an epiphany, because he suddenly dashed to his brother's side, catching himself before he touched him.
"Dick," he pleaded. "Dick, whatever's causing this, are you fighting it?"
"You think it's some sort of transformation?" Bruce inquired. He sounded somewhat doubtful, but Dick nodded, tears streaming from underneath his mask.
"Dick, fighting it is gonna kill you. Whatever it is, just let it happen." Dick looked like he was trying to reply; trouble was, pulmonary arrest made for a man of few words. The most he could do was mouth words and hope they could read his blue lips.
"'Don't'?" Tim thankfully understood. "Don't what? Don't look?" Dick nodded again, a shiver running through him while he clamped his mouth shut.
"We're not just gonna leave you!" Barbara exasperated. In reply, Dick jolted before curling into himself, waving a hand to tell them to 'get OUT of my FACE!'
Immediately - almost before that agonizing pang - Tim turned his back, covering his ears. Bruce followed suit, walking a few steps away, but, Barbara noticed, not before setting the removable med scanner in his glove near Dick, who either hadn't noticed it or didn't care.
Finally, his masked eyes met hers. She could see the desperation, the 'turn around so I don't die' on his face, and before she could really think about how bad of an idea it was, she was staring down the alley, Nightwing out of her sight, but never out of mind.
She heard a rustling behind her, and saw his mask and one of his boots scooting across the pavement.
Apparently, Nightwing had found his voice. If he had been in pain before, she marveled at the kind of suffering he must have been enduring, now. She really should have covered her ears, like Tim had. Not only could she hear his every scream and sob, she could also hear squishing organs and crunching bones.
Thankfully, she couldn't hear the computer beeping, letting her know that, at the very least, his heart had restarted. He wasn't dying anymore.
Although, you'd probably have trouble convincing him of the same.
He was screaming like she'd never heard him before. Screaming like he was being put through Hell, itself. Screaming like Zsasz or The Joker were gouging out his eyes.
And then he wasn't. She could still hear the bones and everything, but his voice had just...stopped.
Did she dare? He already took off his mask and shoes; she could only imagine what else he might've stripped off. Besides, she'd kind of promised to let him do this in private.
But, at the same time, maybe he was almost done? Or what if the sudden silence meant he'd stopped breathing again?
Swallowing her fear, she chanced a look over her shoulder.
Bad idea.
Stiff, black hairs were creeping over Dick's nude, blueish-skinned figure, now bent on hands and knees with his vertebra-pocked back contorted inhumanly high. His mouth opened like he was screaming, fangs stretching out from his porcelain teeth, but he didn't make a peep as one of his knees bent backwards with a disgusting crunch, followed by the other one, making her sick just to watch as he stood on hands and feet.
Another crunch, and he - it? - was clutching its throat, dog-like whimpering left in place of Nightwing's husky voice.
She couldn't - just couldn't - stand to see him like this. Couldn't even think about it. She wished for anything, anything to distract her from the horror happening behind her, not three feet away.
She found solace in the sky, in the stars, but only for a second. It was when she noticed the full, shimmering moon that she had her own epiphany, maybe the same one Tim had had.
Dick was changing - taking on decidedly wolf-like features, at that - under a full moon. And it had only started at nightfall. Did that mean? Could he be?
She shunted the idea aside. It was ridiculous.
But was it, though?
Finally, like a gift from the heavens, the whining and crunching stopped. Batgirl turned fully, taking in the scene as best she could.
Bruce and Tim had already turned around, and were surveying the situation just like she was. Off to the side, Nightwing's clothes had been scattered about, lying and wrinkling on the asphalt. The medical scanner seemed to be intact, at least, still blinking its light.
And then there was the wolf.
It just stood there, big and black with burning amber eyes, fangs and teeth bared as it backed towards her, hackles raised against Bruce and Tim.
She let out a squeak when it got a bit too close for comfort, and the wolf turned towards her, lowering its head in... shame? Fear? She couldn't tell.
Either way, it noticed Bruce's attempt to get close, and dashed past her, disappearing around the corner. They tried to follow, but it was out of sight. Gone.
His eyelids felt almost as heavy as his head, but Dick forced them open, anyway.
He was staring up at the wooden ceiling of his room in the mansion. He couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. On one hand, he was at least comfortable; the bed was a definite improvement over the grass and dirt he'd woken up on, last month. On the other hand, he distinctly remembered changing in an alley, so this meant he'd definitely been found out.
Oh, CRAP.
They saw. He'd tried to hold it off, but, like an idiot, he'd also tried to keep up with training and had gone until moon rise. And even though he'd tried to get away…
Man, he was so stupid. He had an entire month to prepare, figure something out, and what had done? Squandered it. Focused so hard on getting back to normal and sweeping it all under the rug that he hadn't even bothered to make sure he could get somewhere safe for the full moon.
And then they'd seen him, watched him change before their eyes. Watched him fall apart and be stitched back together like some demented Frankenstein's monster.
Though, to be fair, they hadn't really watched. The more visible changes were the last to come, and they'd all turned around by then.
Still, this was something never wanted to drag them into. It was bad enough the first time, and then it'd been in private. He'd never thought it would happen with them watching so soon.
A page turned on his right, startling him. He rolled over, his sore everything forcing him to take his time, and idly noted Barbara's near-silent "Oh, thank God."
"Good morning," she chimed, trying and failing to be nonchalant. She set The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood back on his nightstand.
"Morning," he groaned, stretching his left arm towards her before letting it hang limply off the bed, not missing the fact that she shrunk away when his hand got too close. She didn't say anything for a second - which suited him fine, seeing as he was already exhausted - but then she must've decided that it wasn't awkward enough.
"Sleep well?" she added from her new position, her back to him as she admired the trophies and trinkets on his dresser.
He groaned, slowly shaking his head. "Pulled an all-nighter, I think."
As if that sentence alone had flipped a switch, the air became so heavy he was surprised he could still breathe. Neither wanted to be the one to bring it up.
"So you…" Barbara swallowed, looking over her shoulder. "You really remember everything from last night?"
He shrugged, wincing when his aching muscles protested. "No, but I can gather."
"Are you a…" she blurted before she caught herself. He stared at her as she turned her back on him again, refusing to even look at him.
"Am I a what?" he sighed. Might as well stop beating around the bush.
"A werewolf," she whispered, eyes finally meeting his, big and afraid, probably of pushing the wrong button. He nodded, face a solemn mask.
"Are you scared?"
"No," she replied, nodding her head 'yes.' "You don't scare me." He nodded slowly, and then groaned as he rolled onto his back, again, lip curling against the pain.
"What hurts?" Barbara demanded, pity in her voice.
"Everything."
"Was last night your first time?"
"Second," he answered, sitting up, stretching, and frantically pulling the blanket back over his lap. Barbara smirked, but thankfully pulled open his chest of drawers and got him some clothes.
"I'll be right outside," she added, swaggering out a moment later.
His every movement felt like his muscles were ripping off the bone, but he got up, anyway. And if he were honest, he was glad of the opportunity to move around; it helped stretch out his stiff joints, at least.
Those same joints popped and cracked painfully as he stood, making his way towards a hot shower.
As promised, Barbara was waiting right outside the door for him. As he emerged, clad in a t-shirt and sweatpants, clean, and feeling worlds better, she walked with him to the kitchen.
"How's everyone else holding up? I know I must've put you through Hell, last night. Which reminds me, actually: how'd I get back here? I doubt if I'd have come on my own."
"Uh, you ran off, once you'd changed. Bruce had us running around all night, trying to find you; he thought you'd hurt someone."
"Did I?" Barbara shook her head, and Dick breathed a sigh of relief.
"No one that we know of was hurt, thank God, but we were still worried. I finally found you around dawn, passed out and - Um - Au Naturel, let's say. As for the first question, we've been kinda sweeping it under the rug. That said, Bruce seems kind of ticked, so you might want to tread carefully." Dick nodded, pressing his lips together at the very idea of Barbara seeing him in birthday suit.
"Are you even hungry?" Barbara spouted. Dick turned to her with a raised eyebrow.
"I'm starving, why?"
"It's just...I'm pretty sure you ate this massive buck, last night, so I figured you wouldn't have a big appetite." Richard allowed a small laugh.
"I'm pretty sure the transformation alone was enough to make me hungry, not to mention whatever else I did. How big was the buck?"
"12 points!" she laughed, waving her arms about her head like antlers. "I had half a mind to keep it for you!"
It felt good to laugh, thought Dick. At least with Babs, he didn't have to be serious about this. He could actually joke.
But that mood fizzled and died the moment he entered the kitchen, his light heart replaced with discomfort and fear.
Tim was sitting at the table, fork hovering over his eggs and toast as he stared with wide eyes at his brother. Bruce either hadn't noticed his arrival or was completely ignoring him as he poured milk into his coffee.
"Good morning," he greeted. He'd been hoping for some sort of reaction, just to get it out of the way, but the closest thing he got was Tim's small and time-delayed, "Morning," as he returned to breakfast.
He could feel Tim's eyes on him as he walked past the table, taking out a mug. Bruce had yet to acknowledge him, which might have been a good thing, actually. The air was still icy and suffocating, despite Bruce having left his side to put the milk away.
That air went from ice to explosive when the elder SLAMMED the refrigerator door, making Dick jump, turn, and finally meet eyes with the man.
Bruce said nothing, just glared daggers at his son with a curled lip. He approached, fire in his eyes, bashing into the younger's shoulder as he grabbed his coffee before leaving the room like a hurricane.
For a moment, all he could do was stare after the man, shock and hurt dripping down into his stomach. His eyes trailed to Barbara, who was giving him a sad and sympathetic look, and then to Tim, looking just as stunned as he felt.
Dick sighed, trying to push the scene from his mind, and returned to his coffee, pouring it despite his lost appetite.
He flopped into a chair caddy corner from Tim, running a hand through his hair. Babs took the chair on Dick's left, at the end.
"He'll come around," she said, gaining Dick's attention. She had that look again, which somehow only made him feel worse.
"It's not the coming around I'm worried about; it's how long he'll hold this grudge," he replied, wrapping his hands around the mug, never drinking from it.
"I don't think it'll take too long," Tim interjected. "He'll figure out he's being a jerk, sooner than later, probably. Don't let it get to you; for that act alone, you're better than he is, werewolf or not." He got the sense Tim had regretted those last words, but he found that they'd actually done him some good.
"Thanks guys," he replied, a small smile on his lips.
"So, uh, did you know that...what happened last night would happen?" Tim stuttered.
"Depends on what you mean," Dick replied, shrugging. "I pretty much knew I was going to change, but I didn't think it would happen with you guys around, no offense."
"None taken, but I meant about the organ failures. Did you know about that beforehand? Was last night your first time changing?"
"Ah. Last night was my second time, and no, I didn't know everything would just conk out, like that. I don't really know much about the whole deal, to be honest."
"What was your first change like?" Tim pressed. Barbara's serene face fell a fraction, probably assuming that that had been a bad line of questioning. To an extent, he figured, she was right. But it wasn't like he was keeping it a secret from them anymore, was it?
"A lot scarier," he admitted. "I'd only been bitten, like, the week before, so I really didn't know what was happening. Thought I was high, actually," he explained, a wry grin on his face. "Or overdosing. Blacked out, and when I came to, I was in the woods at the edge of Bludhaven."
An understanding nod was shared by the three siblings, But Tim just had to keep running his mouth.
"Who bit you? Was it a wolf? A person?"
Dick shrugged, getting more and more uncomfortable with all of these questions.
"I don't really know, to be honest. I was chasing a gang member, and he ran into the zoo, where I lost him. And then, when I was leaving, I was attacked from behind, bitten on the back of the shoulder. Couldn't really tell what the bite looked like, let along the person."
"Was the bite what caused the seizures?"
"I think so. I don't know why, but I'm pretty sure there's a connection."
"But it didn't get infected?"
"Well, obviously, it was infected," snapped Dick, wishing Tim would just shut up. "But not, like, pus oozing and all that. I was sick after changing, though."
"Sick how?" The camel's back gave a sickening crunch as the last straw finally broke it.
"What do you mean 'sick how?' Weak, ill, vomiting, couldn't walk for days, had to go to the hospital, that's 'sick how'!" he finally exploded, standing up and pushing his chair back.
For a moment, all they could do was stare at him as he fumed, but he forced himself to reel in his anger.
"I'm going back to bed," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose against the oncoming headache. With that, he fled the room, his coffee sitting on the table where he left it.
The headache had definitely come, now, only getting worse with Batgirl's approaching footsteps.
"Hey," she said, slowing from a jog to a walk to keep up with him. "I'm sorry about them. Like I said, none of us really know how to react. And all in all, you have to admit it was better than it could have been."
"That's hardly an excuse," he growled, refusing to drag his eyes up from the floor he was glaring at.
"It's not an excuse," she said. "Just an explanation."
"A poor one," he added. "And I can understand wanting to know more - I can even understand being angry - but there is a line!"
"A line we can't uncross, now," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Look, I know all this'll get under your skin, but you don't have to keep taking it out on-"
At long last, they'd reached his room, giving him the opportunity to cut the conversation off and slam his door in her face. From the other side, he could hear her small, disappointed "us" before she walked away, undoubtedly crestfallen.
He pulled his shirt off, not caring to put it in a hamper, nor caring about Barbara's hurt feelings.
He caught his reflection in the mirror, and turned to study his back, reminded of what he'd told Tim.
The small scabs that remained pulled his skin as he stretched the shoulder where the bite had been. Scars remained where the other scabs had finally fallen away, the raised lines mingling with the rest of his scars.
He mused, not for the first time, on the odd shape of the wound. It was far too narrow to be human, and too wide to be a dog. The teeth were inhuman, but also not deep enough in the fangs to be canine.
He sighed, tearing his eyes away from the mirror as he shrugged off his sweatpants and flopped onto the bed, the cold covers cooling his warm skin.
He crawled back under the covers, wryly noting that he still hadn't eaten anything, and yet doing nothing to fix it. Sleep found him almost instantly.
The door slid open to the batcave, a tall, thin man gliding down the stairs with grace, despite his age.
"I believe you owe Master Dick an apology," Alfred said crossly.
"I don't owe him anything," Bruce replied, dark fury in his voice. The elder was reminded of the Bat's teen years; he was so angry. So defiant. So self-doubting and scared. And now, Richard was the same; he could see it in his eyes.
"He could've hurt someone, last night," Bruce continued. "He could have hurt one of us. If he'd told us in advance, all of us would have been more than willing to help him, but because he didn't-"
"Has it occurred to you, Master Bruce, that this reaction is the very reason he may not have made his situation known, in the first place?" Bruce glared at him, a tactic that he knew would never work.
"So it did not occur to you that Master Dick may have been afraid of this response to a state over which he has no control," the man plowed on. "Did not occur to you that he may still be very new to his own condition, and did not occur that, now that his fears have been realized, you have struck a blow from which he may never fully recover. That you may have even made him less inclined to learn more, since even the people he loves most have cast him out."
"If he loved us, he should've trus-"
"Trusted you? Did he not trust you when he allowed himself to change in your presence? Did he not show his feelings when he trusted you to care for him in a time of true need? And how did you return the sentiment? With a knife in his back."
"He's the traitor here, not me!" Bruce was on his feet now, yelling in Alfred's face.
"He believed you would continue to love him and show support in the face of fear and pain. But, rather than continue to be his father, you've pushed him away like a diseased thing! Is that not a betrayal?"
Bruce drew in a breath to yell again, but as the butler finished his speech, the fight left him and he sighed in defeat. Alfred would have smirked, if he hadn't been so infuriated.
"You will go up to him and apologize," he threatened. "Or, so help me, you will be cleaning this mansion yourself."
He stalked back up the stairs, But Bruce hung back for a moment, still unwilling to apologize.
Finally, he swallowed his pride and made his way up to the kitchen. Hopefully, Dick would still be there.
But, when he got to the kitchen, all he found was Barbara and Tim, the former looking sullen, the latter annoyed as he scrolled through his phone.
"Where's Dick?" he asked, gaining their attentions.
"He went to bed; I think he's still pretty tired," Barbara answered. He nodded, noting her almost robotic tone. She always spoke like that when they'd had a fight.
"Did he say anything about what happened? If it had happened before?"
"He said it was his second time," Tim replied, returning to his phone. "And that he'd gotten sick, the first time. Guessing that's why he went missing: he said he was in the hospital."
Bruce left without a goodbye, rage writhing in his stomach like a coiled snake, again.
Alfred had suggested that Dick was still new to being a werewolf. That he may have been just as surprised as they all were. He'd been wrong.
Dick knew. He'd known for at least a month and had done nothing and told no one, without a care in the world for how it might affect the people that loved him. Counted on him.
He marched through the halls, a scowl on his face as he headed for Dick's room.
(A.N.: Warning: swearing incoming)
It was the air that woke Dick: an air of anger and hatred, smelling of dank caves, blood, and sweat.
"Why didn't you tell us?" Bruce's voice growled from beside him. Nightwing, in response, rolled over to turn his back on his "father."
"Dick," he roared, standing and shaking him by the shoulder. "Dick, you owe us an answer!"
"I DON'T OWE YOU SHIT!" he screamed, twisting his body to sit and grabbing the hand off his arm.
"I didn't need to tell you shit. I still don't need to tell you shit. And now, you're not gonna get shit. Now get out!" He let go, Bruce taking a step back.
"You could've put the entire city in danger-"
"GET OUT!" He reached over to his nightstand and grabbed a clay dish, throwing it at the man and scattering loose change over the floor.
Batman glared for another second before turning and slamming the door behind him.
Dick rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow so no one would hear him crying.
A.N.: Let me know if you'd like to read another chapter, and I might just write one. Until then, thank you for your time, and GOD BLESS!