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Chapter Text

If there was one thing that truly, completely, utterly pissed off Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s one and only Batman, it was magic. See, Bruce prided himself in his knowledge of almost everything accessible to mankind. Math, science, combat, you name it, and he would know something about it. However, on the other hand, magic was a total mystery to him.

It was illogical, defied the laws of, well, everything, and oftentimes just made him frustrated. Understanding it was complicated, and as much as he hated admitting it, it was outside his ability range.

So, as he finds himself now involved in a fight with what appears to be a witch , he honestly doesn’t really know what to do. Sure, he knows how to restrain her, counter any physical attacks, and he knows how to tell her to stand down. But the apparent spells she’s casting at him? Yeah, he’s got nothing. 

And it's not the matter of avoiding the spells- he’s got the whole dodging thing in the bag- but rather the fact that he doesn’t know what the spells actually do . 

The brawl continues, batarangs flying, mixed in with the crackle of dark blue bursts of power, and it eventually comes to an end with both a bone-crunching kick to her skull and a final spell making contact with his armored chest. 

For a mere second, Bruce finds himself hoping that his armor deflects the magic. But that wishful thinking is smothered quickly, as the blue sparks fizzle out on his form, a split moment of uncomfortable coldness running from the tips of his ears to the ends of his boot-clad toes. 

He shakes the nasty feeling off, shuddering slightly, and quickly restrains the witch. Nodding to himself, he pauses, considering what he should do next. Obviously, he reports the arrest to the Commissioner. But the whole now-probably-cursed-or-something-situation? Yeah…Bruce is…somewhat embarrassed. He’s Batman- getting hit by magic was not supposed to happen, at all. So, instead of doing the logical thing and calling in to a Justice League magic specialist to have it looked at, he heads home. 

At the time, Bruce was positive he had made the right decision. His reputation was on the line, after all. 

But now, as he wakes up from one of the most sleep-fulfilling nights ever, not a single nightmare or having to be medicated, he finds himself slightly regretting his previous choice. 

His mouth, to summarize, hurts like a bitch. Like, as if he had gargled rusty nails and then washed it down with a glass of acid as well, type of hurting like a bitch level pain. 

He groans, wincing as his throat throbs with the mere effort of exhaling air, and he pulls himself from his bed. Wobbly footsteps lead him to his closet, a robe quickly donned on his sweaty form, and he finds himself wandering down to the main floor kitchen.

The smell of eggs and other sizzling breakfast items hit his senses, and he bites back a wince of pain as he nods to his kids strewn about the room. “Good morning Master Bruce. What would you like for breakfast this morning?” Alfred murmurs from his position at the oven, and the moment Bruce opens his mouth to respond, an action of pure habit, he knows he’s in trouble. 

What barely resembled a few syllables escaped his mouth, much more so a pathetic croaking noise, and he snaps his jaw shut as heat blooms on his cheeks in embarrassment. The room suddenly dissolves into silence, and any hope of his condition remaining undiscovered is flushed down the drain. Tim, who is sitting closest to him on a bar stool, turns and raises an eyebrow. 

“The hell was that?” Jason asks, twirling a fork in his hand from his spot across the counter. 

Bruce pauses for a moment, trying to collect himself, and he quickly signs with his hands, “I think I’m getting a cold, my throat hurts bad.” Alfred frowns, brushing his hands off on his pink frilly apron he had got as a gag Christmas present. 

“Oh. Yikes. Sorry ‘bout that, B.” Dick winces, patting Bruce on the back as he snags a stray blueberry muffin on his way out of the kitchen. Tim seems to glance Bruce over, eyes heavy with dark circles, trying to take in any evident thing that could be out of place. Jason continues to munch on his breakfast, simply shrugging.

 Damian, on the other hand, takes the initiative to try and pry more information out of Bruce’s miserable form, instead of simply understanding that it was probably ‘just one of those days’. The boy pulls up a spare chair which Bruce promptly plops himself in, and he puts his small hands on his hips as he glares. “Father. You’re saying that you are…ill?” Bruce nodded, grimacing as Alfred placed a steaming bowl of oatmeal in front of him. 

To be honest, even just the mere concept of eating seems like a nightmare to Bruce right now. Yeah, the oatmeal was definitely going to stay in the bowl, thank you very much. 

Still, if he didn’t at least try to nibble on the food, the worry focused on him would probably double in strength. A shaking hand grips the spoon, and with a quick motion, he forces the paste into his mouth.

Agony . 

That’s all he feels. Just a burning, nerve-wracking burst of pain that seeps from the edges of his teeth to the back of his throat. He must have physically jolted back in surprise, the sound of his bowl clattering onto the floor forcing his brain to snap back to attention. 

 He coughs, the heaving breaths of air just making it worse, as his watering eyes squeeze shut.  Faintly in the background his ears pick up the sound of concerned shouting, a hand resting on a quivering shoulder, but he pays it no mind. Instead, his brain is focusing on the feeling of something popping loose in his mouth. 

Another cough leaves his lips, oatmeal-heavy spittle splattering onto the counter, the sudden taste of iron flooding his mouth.

He forced his eyes back open, body trembling from the pain and effort to simply breathe , but he freezes at the sight in front of him. 

The counter was a sticky, disgusting mess. Spilt oatmeal, bloody spittle, and laying in the middle of the waste? 

A single tooth, and what appeared to be a chunk of his tongue . 

“Oh. That’s not good.” He muttered, words slurring together as unconsciousness took a hold of him. 

Chapter Text

“Bruce?! Come on B, this isn’t funny!” A voice shouts in his ear, and suddenly he finds himself snapping back to reality. Hands are around his shoulders and ankles, and from the looks of it, despite his blurry vision, he’s being dragged to the Batcave. 

“Whasss-" he groaned, weakly struggling as he’s plopped onto a medical bed. “Master Bruce? You collapsed in the kitchen.” 

“‘urtss-” 

“Yes, I’m well aware, Sir, of your pain, however, we need to know what’s causing this.” Alfred, who’s only recognized in Bruce’s mind thanks to the prominent accent, hisses as he hastily hooks up numerous monitors to Bruce’s shaking body. “Hmm…’s magic...” He manages to gurgle out, before another stream of harsh coughs rack his figure. Faintly, he feels the sensation of another tooth popping loose, the hard and bloody enamel resting between his gums and his lip. 

Having finally finished setting up an IV and a heart monitor, Alfred tuts in dismay as he digs the tooth from Bruce's mouth. “Sir?”

“‘s magic, got…got hit by ‘pell.” He wheezed out, blood and spittle running down his chin as his heart monitor beeped. “Shit- is he serious?” A voice curses in the background, though he’s too delirious to figure out which of his boys it belongs to. “Last night’s patrol, he seemed to be in a hurry to go to bed…” A second voice chimed in. Another cough bursts forth, a weird tearing sensation forming in the back of his throat. 

He whines softly, tilting onto his side as nausea suddenly replaces any previous pain. “B? Hey, come on man, you gotta stay still-” The words fall deaf to his ears, as the contents of his stomach, along what he assumes to actually be his stomach, splatter onto the cave floor. 

Someone in the background shrieks, and what sounds like Dick, gags in sympathy. Alfred seems to snap into full serious mode, whipping around to turn to the remaining boys, who hadn’t fled at the disgusting sight before them. “Call Constantine. This is beyond my help.”
 

Through his twisting nausea and pain, along with his blurring vision, he faintly watches as one of them nods, sprinting to the Batcomputer. “Master Bruce, please, you need to stay awake-” Alfred pleads, blood-stained gloves gripping his face. 

“‘orry- can’t- gonna…gonna…” And then, for the second time in the span of an hour, the sweet release of nothingness took his mind. 

He came back to himself with the lingering sensation of using the zeta-tubes, the firm hands of who he assumed to be Dick holding him over his shoulder. “CONSTANTINE!” Dick yells, racing to the Watch Tower common room, prompting Bruce to groan at the sudden onslaught of noise. “I know, B, I know.” He whispered, as Bruce’s brain fuzzed out again for a bit.

“What the- shit! What the hell happened to him?!” John gasped, suddenly by Dick’s side, helping carry the dead-weight that was Bruce. “He’s said it was a spell- we don’t- we can’t-” 

“Easy, easy- let's get him to medbay-”

“Woah! What happened to him ?” A new voice shrieked, multiple other voices tuning in, and Bruce felt himself be hefted onto what he assumed to be a medbay bed. 

Loud footsteps echoed through the room, a bustle of activity surrounding him as scanners, a new IV and numerous other unknown things were hooked up to him. “Symptoms?” Another new voice snapped. 

“Originially was a sore throat, thought it was a cold. Then he tried to eat, and broke into some sort of coughing episode- his teeth are starting to fall out- and he’s- he’s vomiting up things that should definitely be staying inside him-” 

“Like?”

“Al- er- Agent A said it looked like bits of the digestive system-” 

And if Bruce wasn’t so busy simply just trying to stay awake , his heart would have dropped to his feet at that. However, his barely conscious brain did take note of the tone of the people surrounding him. Worry. Fear. Anxiety. The works. 

Which meant whatever was happening to him was not good. 

But then again, he had somewhat already gathered that, considering he felt like utter garbage. A weak groan left his lips, and whatever was left in his body churned in a mix of burning-hot pain and nausea. Another cough racked his weary body, unknown substances trickling down his chin. 

“Crap- Nightwing, we need to get him out of the cowl-”

“No- no, please, just figure out whats going on-”

“HOLD ON!” Constantine shouted, silencing the noise in the room, besides Bruce’s wheezing. “Wing, you said it was a spell?” 

A beat of silence.

A spike in his heart monitor. 

Another gurgling noise wheezed out. 

“Y-yeah. He was involved in a fight with a new witch who was causing small robberies, and he said he was hit-” 

“Shit! Shit, alright. Bat’s? I know you’re like, half-dead right now, but I’m gonna need you to explain what the spell looked like, alright mate?” The mass of people crowding around his bed finally turned back to look properly at him. 

Judging by the noises of sympathy and disgust, he assumed he must have looked pretty bad. Yikes. Squinting through blurry-with-tears-vision, he tilted his head, which he suddenly noticed was donned in a cowl. Oh. I’m in costume? When did that happen?

  “‘s blue…blue..ngh- was cold.” He choked out, a gag replacing any lingering chances of speaking. “Crap- Barry, the vomit bag-” another new voice hissed. 

And vomit he did, a mix of back molars and what felt like intestines hurled into the medical bag. “Blue, uh, cold- OH BOLLOCKS- a transformation spell!” John gasped, startling Bruce from his retching. “Transformation?” Dick asked worriedly, a gloved hand rubbing up and down soothingly against Bruce’s shoulder. 

“I think Bat’s here was struck by a physical transformation spell- and by the looks of it, a rather fast acting one. I can slow down the process, but-” 

Another horribly awkward beat of silence. 

“I can’t stop it- spells like these, once the symptoms kick in all you can do is slow it down. And theres no telling what it’s turning him into , and-” 

“Jus…just do it-” He gurgled out, slumping against the stiff medbay sheets as any lingering energy left him. “Manhunter? Greenbean? Yeah, you might wanna sedate him now-” John said, and despite Bruce’s whines of protest, again, he felt himself drift off. 

“Sorry Dad, it’s for your own good. Just get better, okay?” Dick whispered. 

Chapter Text

Admittedly, when Bruce came to, he actually felt a lot better.

Blinking crust from heavy-with-exhaustion eyes, he stared at the blank, white ceiling of the medbay, his brain a slurry of confusion.

Then, suddenly everything that had happened in the past 24 hit him like a tidal wave. He choked on the harsh intake of air he had suddenly sucked in from shock, hands shooting to feel over his face. My teeth- my tounge- but- how-

Fingers hesitantly felt around in his mouth, and he found his previous worry and confusion slowly shifting into horror. He knew for a fact that his teeth had fallen out, yet now…they were back.

And a whole lot sharper.

Past molars and teeth meant for chomping and chewing were replaced with needle sharp, pointed teeth. His canines were now at least a good half-inch longer, enamel pricking his finger as it trailed his gums.

What used to be a flat human tongue had been shifted into something longer, more prehensile and tapered at the end.

Whatever was going on with his mouth, was most definitely not human. And, as much as he hated to admit it, it freaked Bruce out.

He swallowed dryly, throat aching subtly with the motion, and he found himself twitching uncomfortably with the grumble of his stomach.

He was hungry, and really, really needed to get out of this dreaded hospital room.

Hissing as the motion of lifting himself from the bed pulled on aching muscles, he bit back a wince at the temperature shock of the cold floor on his bare feet.

He took a few steps, hands rubbing on the sides of his cowl hesitantly, and he went off to the common room. It was time he got some answers, now that his whole “almost keeling over in the batcave” situation was over with.

Meeting the many stares of his teammates sitting around the common room, he found himself suddenly regretting his choice to check in instead of just heading home. “Spooky! You’re alive!” Hal gasped, floating up from his designated couch spot.

The green clad hero squawked as a slap from Oliver met the back of his head, though that was drowned out by the noise of his other teammates greeting Bruce. He hummed, the noise vibrating in his throat more than usual, and he set his tired eyes firmly on Constantine’s figure, which was elbow deep in ancient-looking books sprawled in a corner of the room.

The blond man looked up, sucked in a wince, and stood with the pop of his knees. Barry, spinning in a swivel chair, snorted in amusement at the man’s misery. “Bats.”

“…Constantine. What’s…what’s going on?”

“Nightwing brought you in because you were under the influence of what I figured out to be a bloody transformation spell. I guess the team as a whole decided to wait to make sure you were okay. Fuckin’ cute of them, if you ask me.”

Bruce found himself leveling the man an unamused glare.

“Don’t look at me like that! I’m stuck here against my will! ‘parently I’m the only one in this damn tower who knows about this stuff, so I have to help.”

Ignoring the man’s irritating rambles, he decided to cut straight to the point. “The spell. Explain.”

“It’s changing your biology into something inhuman. Not natural, like most magic, and it’s uncontrollable. Most transformative spells are, and there’s no off switch nor a way to reverse it. They’re shitty.” He ran a hand through his unruly hair, bleary eyes glancing down to his numerous books.

“I…managed to slow it down- estimated time for it to complete is a month, longest. Normally this is where I’d pat you on the back and just say good fuckin’ luck, but I guess the least I can do now is try and find what exactly you’re turning into.”

Ignoring the way his heart dropped to his feet in dread, he nodded. “…thanks.”

“Er- no problem, mate. Just..avoid any future conflicts with spell-eager witches, yeah?” Words running dry, Bruce simply found himself nodding again.

“Well then!” Clark clapped, gathering the team's attention, blue eyes lingering on Bruce for a moment, worry evident on his face. “On that note, I think it’s time to address the plan we started making.”

Bruce hummed another weird-sounding note, this one of his confusion, and he sat himself down on an empty sofa. “We…er- most of us agreed that until the spell has finished its effects, that you, uhm, stay in the watch tower.”

Bruce found his head snapping up, immediately frowning. “No. Gotham needs me. I can’t-“

“Batman-“ Diana murmured, cutting him off. “We know you want to go home, and act like everything is okay and normal but-“

“Dude, just yesterday, you were hurling up what looked like your intestines.” Barry hissed, looking Bruce up and down as if he was suddenly going to start spontaneously losing organs again.

Which he would not, thank you very much.

…or, at least he hoped he wouldn’t.

“We want to keep you here for both observation, and for your safety as well as for others.” J’onn said softly, from his spot in the room, a box of choco cookies in his hands.

Biting back another complaint, Bruce sighed and dropped his head in defeat. Staying to be monitored in a secure location was logical, and he really did want to get to the bottom of this new situation.

“Fine. I’ll stay.” He grumbled.

Multiple people surrounding him let out happy noises, a giant million-watt smile forming on Clark’s face.

“By the way, how are you feeling?” Diana asked, her head tilted as she looked him over.

“…I’m fine.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna need more than that Spooky.” Hal snorted.

“Hn. Everything lost has regrown. Though, my features have definitely changed.”

“Oh?” Questioned J’onn. Mentally screaming, Bruce felt himself finally cave. These were his teammates, and if he was going to be stuck with them for a month, he should at least try to be on better terms with them.

Unfortunately, that meant he needed to be more open and honest with them. Yuck.

“…my teeth are sharper, and my tongue has changed structure.” He ended his sentence by opening his mouth, fangs glinting dangerously in the common room lighting.

“Oh shit, man, those look wicked.” Barry gasped, jaw dropped in shock as he sped over to look closer at Bruce’s mouth. Though the speedster, along with everyone else in the room's attention was pulled away from his odd teeth by the loud gurgle Bruce’s stomach made.

Flushing in embarrassment, knowing for sure the red was visible along the collar of his plain black shirt and under his cowl, he glared back at the ground as if it had insulted him.

“Food! Aw man, you probably haven’t eaten anything in forever!” Hal hissed, and Bruce nodded. “It’s okay. I’ll find something.”

And so he left the group, feeling both out of place and incredibly awkward, the stares of his teammates burning into his back.

Being alone in the watch tower kitchen didn’t feel any better than sitting in the crowded common room.

And he felt even worse when he thoroughly dug through the kitchen cupboards and fridge and found absolutely nothing appetizing.

Chapter Text

Bruce knew for a fact that he was hungry. Starving, even. 

But still, even after digging through the numerous cupboards and the giant watch tower fridge, nothing stood out to him at all. 

Granola bars? Nah.

Fruit? Nope. 

J’onn’s cookies? No way. 

He even found himself making a disgusted face at the container of leftover burgers in the back of the fridge, despite the growling of his stomach almost getting louder . He groaned, slumping into the fridge as he continued to stare in despair at the numerous edible, yet for some reason unappealing items stacked within it. 

“B?” Clark asked, his head peeking into the kitchen from the doorway leading into the common room. “Everything okay?” 

Bruce frowned, turning to face the hovering hero. “Hn. I’m fine.” 

“You…you sure? I know you’re still recovering and everything, but-” 

“Clark. I’m fine .” Forcing himself to appear fine, he snagged a bowl of fresh strawberries from the side door of the fridge, most likely brought over by Barry. “...alright. You wanna come back to the common room? We want to discuss the living situation here with you.” 

He hummed, one hand gripping the container of berries, and reluctantly followed the overly cheerful hero back to the room. The expecting eyes of his teammates met him once again, and his frown furrowed even further as he sat himself on the farthest chair from the group. 

Glaring down at his still slightly blood-stained grey sweatpants, he pried open the container of berries, refusing to meet anyone's eyes. “So…uhm. Right...” Clark fumbled, before Diana sighed and took over. 

“Batman, as per your refusal of releasing any personal information, we’re not quite sure how to contact your family or gather any supplies for you while you stay here.” A hand halfway up to his mouth, holding a strawberry, he froze. His eyes widened behind his cowl, his body locking up in surprise. 

SHIT- the kids! Mentally panicking, he quickly stood up, strawberries discarded to the side. How did I forget?!

  “Spooky?” Hal asked, halfway rising from his spot on the common room couch, eyeing Bruce as he fumbled to turn on the comm in his cowl. “...thank you for reminding me that I should have checked in with my…associates.” He grumbled, briskly walking out of the room as his comm finally connected to the Batcave. 

“Hey, you gonna eat these?” Barry’s shout faded into the background, ignored, as Bruce slumped against an empty hallway wall. “Batman?” Alfred's voice hesitantly answered, and any previous tension in Bruce’s shoulders vanished. “A. Sorry for the lack of contact…things got…out of hand.”

“An understatement, I must say, sir. I’m guessing you are feeling better, though?” 

Bruce hummed, a hand reaching up to hesitantly feel the sharp teeth pricking at his lip. “Been better. I believe we have the situation sorted out now though.”

“Oh?” 

“I’ve…been compromised. Cursed. According to Constantine, there's no cure. I- I’m quarantined until we can guarantee I'm not a risk.” There was an awkward beat of silence, before a sigh was heard from the comm. “I’m sorry to hear that, master Bruce.” 

“Code names, A-”

“Oh hush now, I have every right to be open with you right now.” Alfred snapped. 

“...right.”

“Are you well, though? Do you need anything? I can send master Dick up to the watch tower-” 

“Uhm…I’m most likely going to be staying in my assigned room-”

“And you have little to nothing actually in there, am I correct, sir?” Bruce sighed in defeat. “...yes.” 

“Very well then. I’ll send up a nice warm meal, some changes of clothes, and other potential necessities. And master Bruce?” 

“Yeah?”

“Do take care of yourself. Change has always been difficult for you. I can’t even begin to fathom what you’re going through right now, but please, do not hesitate to ask for help.” And the call disconnected. 

He slumped further to the ground in the middle of the hallway, his stomach still growling, shaking hands reaching up and under his cowl, a finger smearing the trail of a single tear running down his cheek. 

Alfred was right.

Bruce was never good with change. 

Chapter Text

He must have fallen asleep at some point, while sitting on the hallway floor, as he found himself shaken awake in the hands of Diana. “Batman? Hello? Batman?” He grunted, hissing as a quick jolt of pain flared through his head, as he blinked wearily up at Diana’s imposing figure. “Hgg..’m awake-”

“Good! Nightwing is here, and he’s asking to see you-”

And that sure woke Bruce up. He jolted, shakily standing, Diana’s hand resting on his shoulder as he slowly trudged over to the zeta-tubes. And there, standing in all his obnoxious blue and black spandex glory, was his son. “B!” He shouted, leaping forward, limbs locking around him like a giant koala. “You’re okay!” He cheered, before he whispered in Bruce's ear “Al updated me on the situation. I’m sorry…” 

Bruce hummed, once again noting the odd way his vocal cords vibrated, before hesitantly returning the embrace. “Don’t apologize. It’s going to be okay.” Dick nodded, biting his already bloody-from-worry lip, slowly returning to stand on the floor again. 

“...Right. I, uh, brought you some stuff.” He briefly gestured to a well-used dufflebag, plopped on the floor by Diana’s feet. “Me and Ja- er, Hood already debated, and I’ll be patrolling for you while you’re on leave.” Bruce nodded, pausing to fight back a wince as another flash of heat burned through his skull, leaving his face flushed and damp with sweat. 

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Dick asked, and despite his eyes being hidden behind his mask, Bruce could tell he was staring worriedly. “‘s just some lingering transformation aches, I’m sure. How- How is everyone else taking the news?” He asked, quickly trying to change the subject. 

Frowning, but still accepting the topic change, Dick shrugged. “You had us worried sick, B. Watching you get hurt like that- it- it really scared us…” Faintly in the background Bruce heard Diana leave, getting the hint that their conversation was shifting into something private, and Bruce mentally thanked her. “Sorry Chum, I’m so sorry-” 

“No- I just- it was-” Dick huffed, shifting to glare at the ground, his lip trembling. “You got hurt, and we couldn't help- and now you’re changing and-” His words trailed off, as Bruce tugged him into another hug. Shaking fingers ran through wavy black hair, his nails scratching comfortingly against Dick’s scalp as he whispered quiet nothings in his ear. 

In the back of Bruce’s mind, he felt a strong surge of deja vu at the motion of comforting his child, just like he had done oh-so-many times before. “Let's head to my room, you can help me unpack all this, yeah?” 

And Dick nodded, sniffling as he unraveled from Bruce’s embrace. 

“This is completely unnecessary,” Bruce growled, holding the solid black domino mask up to the lights of his watch tower room. “No it's not! Come on, B, you’ve been wearing that mask for at least a good forty-eight hours-”

“But-”

“ Dad , I mean it. I’m not needed for a while, so I’m gonna help you settle in. First you’re going to shower, then let your hair breathe for a bit, and then explain to me better what the whole curse thing is, alright?” Bruce exhaled heavily, slumping in defeat. 

“Alright?” Dick hissed, pulling out a fresh bundle of clothes to shove into Bruce’s hands. “Okay! Okay, I’ll shower-”

“Good. I’ll be waiting out here- I’ll reheat the soup Al made. Holler if you fall or something, yeah?” Giving a short laugh, he nodded and shut the bathroom door. 

Admittedly, showering had felt good. The grease was stripped from his hair, and the fresh change of clothes felt nice on his clammy skin. Forcing himself into a domino mask, on the other hand, was a whole other challenge. 

Never, had he ever thought that he would have to walk around the Justice League watch tower, without his whole cowl on. It was…anxiety causing, to think about how they would react to seeing more of his face than usual.

Groaning, he rubbed his temples as his consistent-so-far headache seemed to ramp up a notch. The black mask was plastered over blood-shot and rather glassy looking eyes, and he wandered back into his room.

Dick, sprawled out on his bed, took one look at him before letting out a laugh.

“...what.” 

“N-nothing, just, it’s kinda weird to see you without the whole bat getup, you know-” 

Bruce huffed, grabbing his still-steaming bowl of soup from the tiny nightstand, the lid popped open in one quick motion as he sat next to his son on the bed. And in an instant, he was once again reminded of his…food situation. “Onion, your favorite for when you feel shitty-” Dick grinned, before his smile was wiped off his face as he took note of Bruce's hunched over figure. 

“What's wrong? Not warm enough?” 

“No, no, its-” He gulped, slightly nauseated, before raising the spoon to his mouth. Chew and swallow, that's it, no need to make a scene- Hot stew settled on his tongue, and immediately he found himself unable to continue hiding his grimace. “...fine- its- ah-” A cough forced its way past his lips, hot soup shooting from his mouth and his nose, hacking wheezes escaping him as he made a mess of his lap and his bedding. 

“Woah! B?! What's wrong?!” Dick gasped, already dreading another episode of gory illness as he shot up from his spot on the bed. Teary eyes looked up at his son, and like an already fragile glass being overfilled, he found himself at his breaking point. 

“It’s- I can't- I’m- I’m so hungry - and my teeth- and- and-” He hiccupped, his entire body trembling with effort and hot embarrassment as he sobbed. “Hey, hey, talk to me- is the food not good? Do you need me to get anything?” Dick pried the already half-spilt bowl of soup from his hands, setting it aside as he quickly snagged a towel from the bathroom. Soft cotton mopped up the mess on his face and the bed, Dick’s worried eyes peering into Bruce's own. 

Mentally, he wondered when his son had taken his own and Bruces’s masks off, but that wasn’t in his priorities right now. He was mostly focused on the fact that he was starving , but nothing sat good with him, and he was just so sore and tired . 

“Deep breaths, there we go, come on B, talk to me…” 

He hiccupped, his nose and eyes burning, before the words seemed to spill from him in an explosion. 

And like the amazing son Dick was, he simply sat, and listened. 

Chapter Text

“Damn.” 

“Seriously? I just explained quite thoroughly that I’m cursed for life , to turn into something , and all you say at the end of it is damn ?” Bruce squawked, his jaw dropped in shock as he glared at his son.

“Hey! I’ll have you know I’m a great therapist! I just…er- this is a bit out of my league!”

“Dick, you’re a cop. Not a therapist. Of course this is out of your league.”

“I know, but I'd still be a great therapist, right?!” Bruce simply stared, still sniffling from his surprise crying session, and Dick slumped in defeat. “...man. Magic really sucks .” 

“Yeah.” 

“So…you’re like, turning into some weird mystery creature, so now you have to stay here to make sure you don't go all werewolf or something?” Bruce floundered, borderline laughing at his son’s crude summary. “Y-yeah, I guess-”

“Hmm..any ideas so far of what you could be turning into?” 

“Not a clue.”

“Yeah, figured. Critters are more of Damian's thing…we could call him?” 

“NO!” Bruce startled, immediately regretting his sharp motion to face his son’s eyes again, as his headache ramped up a notch. “Okay, okay! Geeze- why are you so nervous to see anyone else in the fam? Afraid they’re gonna judge your new chompers?” 

When Bruce didn’t respond, Dick sighed. “B, trust me, this is by far one of the least bizarre things we’ve had to deal with. So what if you’re not as human? You’re still our dad…” Bruce hummed, a shaking hand reaching up to wearily rub at his eyes, which were admittedly starting to itch. 

“What’s wrong? Getting a headache too?” Dick murmured, getting up to stretch his legs. Already preparing himself to lie, Bruce mentally slapped himself. No. No more lies . What was happening to him was out of his control, and he needed to be honest to receive help. That didn’t just include his team, but his family too. 

“...kind of? Eyes are burning …”

“Alright then!” Dick clapped his hands, starting towards the door of his room, and Bruce found himself flinching at both the noise and the bright light of his room being flicked on again. “You’ve gone without food for way too long, can’t keep anything down, and now you’re dealing with eye problems. Is the Martian here in the tower?” 

“Yes-”

“Great! Let's get you checked out-”

“What?! No, I was just in the infirmary! I can’t go back-” His words trailed off at the fierce glare radiating from his son. “...infirmary it is.” And Dick, the utter problem child he was, grinned. 

“Easy, easy. What, staying in the tower for longer than an hour messing with your balance too?” Dick asked, gripping Bruce’s shoulder as he wobbled in the middle of a random watchtower hallway. “...sorry…vision’s off-”

“Okay, yeah, I’m gonna need a better explanation than that, B.” Dick hissed as Bruce took another hesitant step, his foot completely off center. “Cut me some slack-” Bruce growled. “Feels like I have vertigo, everything’s blurry too-” He stumbled again, his legs sliding like a newborn faun as another sharp burst of pain exploded behind his watering eyes. 

It was times like these, where Bruce really wished he didn’t have to wear a mask constantly. The lenses and faux-leather material of the domino mask prevented his eyes from airing out, and the tears that built up couldn't properly escape his waterline. It both burned, ached, itched, and made him want to gouge his eyes out. 

The loud footsteps of someone else joining the struggling duo in the hallway managed to draw Bruce’s attention. “Oh, hey Nightwin- B-batman?! Is that you ?!” Said new person gasped, and Bruce found himself slowly focusing his blurry vision on them. 

A giant, assumedly floating, blob of red and blue. Great. “Nice to see you too, Clark .” Bruce grumbled, almost falling to the ground as his left foot slipped on the stupid tower tile floors. “Woah, I got you. What’s going on? Is it the… curse ?” The alien whispered the last part, as if it was some sort of secret. Which it was not , because being The Batman meant if something happened to him word spread like wildfire. 

He found himself gritting his teeth, lips curled to flash his brand-new and much sharper chompers, the nickname courtesy to Dick, and he could practically hear Clark flinch. He shrugged the large man’s stupidly warm hand off his shoulder, and he took a few wobbly steps away from him and Dick. 

“I’m fine . I just need another checkup-” He started to explain, before his words were cut off with a rather undignified yelp, his hands flying up to press against his eyes as he passed a window in the hallway. “B!” Dick gasped, Clark flying next to his son as they scrambled to figure out what was upsetting him. “S-sorry, just- ngh- the lights-” He winced, hands still pressing firmly against his burning eyes. There was a beat of concerning silence, before Clark suddenly gasped out, “Ohhh- I think I know what’s going on now!” 

“You going to explain, boy scout, or do I need to force an answer out of you?!” Bruce snapped, suddenly finding himself feeling unusually aggressive, his hands finally leaving his face to reveal thick streams of fluid running from under the seam of his mask. “It’s like when I got my laser and x-ray vision! Your eyes are evolving, and the process really hurts-”

“Yep-” Bruce gasped, curling in on himself at another burst of pain. “I think the pain thing is already a known fact-” 

“So now what?” Dick asked, rubbing a hand on Bruce’s shoulder hesitantly to try to calm him down. “Well, you guys were making your way to the med bay, right?” Dick nodded, and Bruce would have too, if he wasn’t too fixated on the feeling of something other than tears running down his cheeks. It was thicker, and smelled like iron, and he wondered if it was staining his face red. Blood , he mentally noted. Smells also like spinal fluid- hm. It appears my corneas are melting. Lovely.  

“Here, I’ll carry him- let's get this checked out before it gets worse-” 

“Clark so help me-” Bruce started to say, hating with his very core the idea of being flown to the med bay, before he felt firm arms pick him up in a bridal carry. 

“...this is…humiliating.” He muttered, burying his face in his hands again as the bright light of the sun started peaking around another hallway corner. 

“Nah, don’t take it too seriously. I’m just doing my part to make sure you’re okay.” The Kryptonian smiled, the warmth of his body seeping quickly into Bruce’s black hoodie and grey sweats. 

It wasn’t until he was being laid out on the examination table again that he released, oh, I forgot my socks. So that's why the floor felt so cold. His brain muddled with pain again, he must have ended up muttering it out, as the loud, rumbling-windchime-laugh of Clark echoed through the room. 

And if he wasn’t so busy fighting against Martian Manhunter trying to pry his mask off to check his eyes, he would have smiled at managing to amuse his friend. 

“Supes? Why don’t we step out for a bit, yeah? Let’s give B some privacy-” Dick whispered, and with the hushed-click of a door sliding shut, Bruce steeled himself for the upcoming examination. 

But he couldn’t help but wonder, if the curse had already changed his teeth, and was now affecting his eyes, what else would it take? 

Chapter Text

If Bruce had thought the pain and irritation in his eyes was bad before, then now it felt like hell on Earth. 

Burning, itching, seeping, aching. 

Bruce prided himself in his pain tolerance. He’s survived more injuries on himself than he could count, and no matter what, he always pushed through. Heck, just two days ago he managed to live through the grueling experience of both expelling and reforming a whole new digestive system. Sure, he spent most of the situation unconscious, but still. Though, admittedly, there was one thing in particular that really drove him mad. 

Eye injuries. 

Eyes are sensitive. Receptive to light, easy to damage and scratch, and took forever to heal. 

When Clark had caught him in the hallway, simply saying that eye transformations “really hurt”, the Kryptonian wasn’t lying. 

Hence, why he was now thrashing around on the medical bed, a hot compress over oozing eyes, trying his best not to be overly vocal because of the pain. The room had been submerged in total darkness, roughly after hour one where even just the slightest flash of light made him feel like death warmed over. J’onn was there originally too, after prying off Bruce’s domino mask and running diagnostics, before he was forced out of the room. When Bruce was in pain, he found himself being very, very convincing. 

He liked to suffer alone, thank you very much. 

Sure…maybe if one of his kids or Alfred was here, he wouldn’t have minded it…but he dreaded the idea of them seeing him like this. A groaning, wreathing mess of sweaty limbs and bleeding eyes and just overall misery . 

He choked off another gasp of pain, hands gripping the rails of his bed as he curled in on himself. It was so much worse being awake through the transformation process. He could feel everything . 

Sharp fangs pricked at bleeding lips, another glob of internal eye material sliding down his cheek. Before, he could see at least blurry shapes and colors. Now, he could see nothing. 

Not a single shadow, or movement, simply nothing. And it wasn’t just because his room was pitch black.

No, it was because his sight was gone . 

He knew that it would get to a point where his eyes would probably regrow, as horrific as it sounded. His teeth and all his internal organs had returned, after all. 

But still. This would be his first time experiencing it while his brain could properly form a thought through the nerve-wracking pain, and he was far from prepared. 

A knock on the door sounded, and he felt himself flinch from the first outside noise he’s heard in hours.  “...Batman?” A hesitant voice sounded, and wearily, he found himself registering it coming from Barry. “I- uh- I know you don’t want visitors or anything- but if you need anything or-”   

The speedster found himself being cut off as Bruce caved in, a low groan sounding from the back of his throat. Hell, it hurt-  

“O-oh- geeze-” There was a muttering of worried curses coming from behind the door, mixed with the sound of a rapidly tapping foot. “Nightwing left- he- uh, went back to Gotham- said there was an emergency- but if you want to talk- I know you still haven’t eaten anything and-” 

“B-Barry-”  He gritted out, blindly turning to the door, another jolt of pain shooting through his head. “ Go away- ” He finally hissed, words slurring with exhaustion, agony and what almost sounded like a touch of feralness. There was a rather pathetic sounding squeak from the door, and Barry quickly said “Yep, yep, leaving now-” 

Bruce felt himself slump back in his bed again, shaking hands adjusting the sticky gauze over his eyes.  Sleep started creeping up again on him, exhaustion, pain and persistent hunger weighing heavy. 

Maybe…maybe if he just took a quick nap...

Unlike the other times Bruce woke up here, this time was by far the most relaxing. There was no sudden jolting, or gasping from a nightmare. Instead, consciousness came to him steadily, his mind still rebooting from the rather deep sleep he’d fallen into. 

He blinked, crusted-shut eyes slowly started to regain a somewhat blurry image of the medbay room he was staying in. Wait…his eyes? 

He snapped up from the bed, his head whipping around as he realized he could, in fact, see perfectly fine. Mentally, he ran a checklist, making sure he was back in one piece. 

Pain? Nope. Any blood or missing bodily parts? No. New physical changes? …Maybe?

That, he wasn’t so sure of yet. Though, considering his eyes were the last thing to mutate from the curse, he assumed he’d have to look in a mirror to figure out what exactly changed. 

He slid from the bed, wobbly legs padding on the cold floor, and he soon found himself wandering from the medbay after securing a new domino mask on his face. Most likely courtesy of Dick, he pondered, a hesitant smile creeping on his face for a mere second as he thought of his son. A hand traced the wall as if he was relying on it to guide him, a habit more than anything, and he sighed in relief as he tossed himself onto the common room main couch. 

The couch was the room's main centerpiece, an overly large hunk of plush, and more often than not it was occupied by Barry, Hal, Oliver or Arthur when they visited. Now though, it sat abandoned, cushions void of any zealous loudmouths. 

Which meant it was all for himself. Perfect . 

He groaned, sinking deeper into the fabric, a hand continuing to rub lingering residue from his eyes. His gaze drifted to the large windows of the room, freshly minted eyes taking in the stars. 

Purples, blues, greens, flecked with spots of light so bright it made his eyes water. It was beautiful as always…but..it almost seemed too colorful. Bruce wouldn’t say he was exactly someone who understood colors, art or beauty, but now, as he frowned and stared harder at the space outside the window, he came to a realization. 

He could see more . 

Colors were brighter. Details were more defined. Stars and lights were sharper. 

His eyes had changed, and because of that, his sight was better by a far margin. 

He hummed softly to himself in surprise, his now more animalistic vocal cords vibrating in its strange, new tune. The humming ramped up a notch, as if he was hoping to drown out the constant growling of his stomach. 

And then, because Bruce really can’t have anything, his peace was disturbed by a blinding flashbang of the room's lights being turned on. 

To be completely honest, he had no idea that the lights weren’t even on in the first place. Mentally he retraced his steps, and found himself astounded by his new ability to see without light. 

I…have night vision? 

Though, that discovery was pushed aside by his rather embarrassing floundering, as his hands rushed up to protect his light-sensitive eyes. On instinct, he found his lips curling back in a snarl, sharp teeth flashing dangerously. 

There was a surprised gasp, and after a minute of adjusting, he managed to look at his offender. Hal stood awkwardly in the doorway, dressed in a rather ugly set of pajamas, his hand still posed on the light switch. “B-Bats?! What are you- I thought- geeze , man, you scared the crap outta me!” He placed a hand over what Bruce assumed to be his pounding heart, and Bruce’s snarl slowly lowered into more of a frown. 

He grunted, turning back to the window, hands tugging on the stitching of the couch as his teammate meandered over to a reclining chair. “...why are you..?” He questioned quietly, his sentence cut off as his rough-from-pain voice choked out. 

“Oh. Yeah, I’m on monitor duty tonight. Plus someone’s needed to make sure you don’t keel over in the middle of the night or something.” 

Bruce’s frown drooped even further. “The..pajamas?” Hal flushed, a hand reaching up to run through messy spikes of brown hair. “Hey- don’t judge me! It's more comfy this way..” 

“Hn.” 

There was an awkward silence, Bruce's eyes continuing to take in the space outside his window. “How…How are you feeling? Did anything else change? I heard from Barry and Clark that you’ve been dealing with eye pain now-” 

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, sure.” Hal snarked, sighing as he curled further into his chair. “You know, for a guy who’s whole biology is changing at the speed of magic, you seem weirdly put together.” 

Another beat of silence. Bruce hummed, his tongue tracing the edges of his new teeth. Eyes drifted over wisps of teal and pink, noting the position of the moon and the stars surrounding it. His stomach growled again. Distantly he realized that he’s been without food for at least three- maybe four or five days, and he was surprised he wasn’t starving to death yet. The craving for unknown, inedible food seemed to grow all the more stronger. 

He forced his attention to the man sitting across from him, monkey pajamas and all. He sighed. “That’s not true.” 

Hal glanced at him again. 

“I’m not put together. It’s odd. Scary. Unpredictable. I’m worried. I just…don’t like to show weakness.”  

“...Oh.”

“I just developed night vision. My internal organs have changed. My diet is still a mystery, and I’ve been gone without food for way too long. There’s nothing I can do.”  

He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to look away from the brunette. “...Spooky..” Hal murmured, his jaw dropped in a small “O” shape. 

“Aw, man, that's…”  

“I don’t need your sympathy, Hal.”

“Okay, okay! Geeze man, I just- let me know if there's anything I, er- we can do to help, alright?” Bruce nodded, previous stress from the unexpected interaction finally fading. His shoulders slumped inwards, and he stretched himself out further on his claimed couch. 

A minute or so later, he growled out “... what, ” feeling Hal’s eyes on his slumped form. “...sorry, sorry- it’s just so weird seeing you without your costume-” He squeaked, eyes trying to take in Bruce’s muscular figure, donned in black sweats, a white t-shirt, and his simple black domino mask. “Just do your job, Hal.” He grunted, dragging himself from the couch, leaving the befuddled man and the common room behind. 

His stomach growled again, and he sighed, the door of his room clicking shut. 

Chapter Text

It has been approximately seven days since his interaction with the witch. And the curse was still running rampant. 

Bruce was beginning to lose weight. His ribs showed through his shirt, his normally snug-fitting pants hanging just a little bit looser on his hips.  

 If he didn’t figure out soon what he could actually eat, there’d be much worse consequences than just losing a few pounds. Heck, he was already begging to feel the symptoms of malnutrition, a constant ache and weariness, his brain halfway unconsciousness, thoughts muddled and fuzzy. 

Today was supposed to be another Founders League meeting day, and as much as he wanted to stay informed with his teammates, he was absolutely dreading the idea of them seeing him like this. He groaned, a hand itching behind his ear, the other pulling some more appropriate clothes from his dresser. 

So far, he’s just been wearing comfortable clothes, but he wanted to look at least a little bit presentable if he was going to meet his team out of uniform. He eyed the Green Lantern shirt Dick had shoved in the drawer and couldn’t help but smile. Leave it to his son to mess with the items Alfred had packed for him. 

Yeah, he was definitely not going to be wearing that. 

Instead, he dressed himself in one of his favorite turtleneck sweaters, a dark grey one, with some decent black dress pants. He wandered over to the attached little bathroom, stopping by the mirror to brush his still-razor-sharp teeth and to comb his hair. 

Calloused fingers parted dark strands, and he found himself pausing. There, nestled right at his windows peak, were blond roots. Those…those weren’t there yesterday… 

Great. Just great. 

Sure, it was better than grey, but still. Blond, of all hair colors? He mentally racked through his family tree, trying to remember if there was any chance it was just genetics. 

Yeah, no. The Wayne’s had black hair since forever. Whatever this was, it was probably related to the spell. Fantastic. 

He sighed for what felt like the millionth time and finished brushing his hair up into a slightly slicked back look- close enough to look similar to his usual “Brucie” do, but still comfortable and separate from his identity. 

Taking another quick glance at his face, he frowned, his gaze lingering on the eyes of his reflection. Bruce was known for his grey-blue eyes, stormy, evidence of a hard life constantly forced back behind a mask. Now though, like his midnight-black hair shifting into warm, honey blond, his eyes had changed too. 

It was as if his pupils had expanded way past their normal range, the blue of his iris swallowed up in the dark color as well. Sans the thin sliver of eye-white wrapped around it, his eye was almost entirely black. It looked…eerie. Inhuman, uncanny and oh-so-wrong. 

He shuddered, and he quickly spun away from the mirror. 

The black domino mask found its way onto his face again, and after slipping on a pair of comfortable white tennis shoes, he wandered his way over to the meeting room. 

The moment he stepped into the room, the area was reduced to complete silence. Not even a peep of noise, the wide eyes of his teammates meeting his white-lense-covered ones, though behind the mask he was squinting at the bright lights of the room. “Batman!” Clark gasped, flying from his seat to swoop Bruce into a hug. He felt heat grow on the back of his neck, and after grumbling for a second, he forced the Kryptonian to let go. 

“How are you feeling, man?” Barry asked, speeding over to check Bruce over, practically vibrating from where he stood. No, scratch that, he definitely was vibrating. Bruce frowned, uncomfortable with the sudden attention focused on him. He was really getting sick of all the questions. Honestly, he was fine. 

He simply grunted, and slid into his designated chair, wincing as his aching muscles twinged. His stomach let out another low growl, and he slumped even further into his seat. 

“Er…right then, well, we’ve pretty much already covered most of our bi-weekly information, and you were still sleeping, so, uh-” Clark rambled. “I figured we could use this time to check in with you?” He said hesitantly, and Bruce’s mood, as if it weren’t already shit, plummeted. 

“As I’ve said, numerous times now, I am fine.” He hissed, white lenses squinting as his brow furrowed. And, because it seemed like nothing could ever go his way, he watched in confusion as his teammates seemed to freeze on the spot. “...What?” He asked, his frown shifting into a look of bewilderment. 

“Dude- you just, like, hissed at us!” Barry gasped, his cowl long forgotten, probably placed somewhere in the meeting room haphazardly, his eyes wide in shock. “No I didn’t.” He quickly snapped back, immediately trying to deny anything and everything. 

“How odd…” J’onn murmured, getting up from his chair to hover over Bruce. “That’s not a normal note a human vocal cord can create, correct?” He questioned, turning to face the rest of the team still in their seats. Most of the group shrugged, and Bruce resisted the urge to facepalm.  “I mean, I don’t think so? I’m a pretty normal human, and I’ve never heard anything like that before.”  Hal said, a hand subconsciously reaching down to feel his own throat. Barry nodded as well. “Yeah- I’m a meta now or whatever, but even I can’t make that noise.” 

There was a beat, and Bruce found himself glaring firmly at the meeting room table in front of him, refusing to make eye contact. 

“To be honest, it almost sounds like when Hawkgirl feels particularly emotional- her voice gets more…animalistic.” Diana murmured, a hand under her chin as she thought. Bruce felt his eyebrows raise even higher. “You think I could be transforming into an animal?” 

“It could be possible…” Clark said, overly bright blue eyes glancing over Bruce’s hunched in figure. He felt himself flush and was once again grateful for the domino mask covering his face. “Wait, wait, run through all the changes-” Barry said, quickly pulling out an iPad from somewhere, fingers hovering over a notes app. 

Bruce hummed, before finally caving. “Sharped teeth, elongated tongue, stronger eyesight and night vision, and, erm, I suppose my changed vocal cords.” 

“Night vision is the most recent?” Diana asked, tilting her head. He nodded, opening his mouth to respond, but he found his words suddenly cut off as the meeting room door slammed open. 

“I’m here, I’m here!” John Constantine gasped, leaning forward to rest his hands on his knees, panting as if he had just ran a marathon. “Sorry for the hold up, some guy decided to try and recreate the ten fuckin' plagues from the Bible-” He stumbled over to the remaining chair surrounding the table, as J’onn floated back down to his own seat, and he wheezed. 

“That sounds…interesting?” Hal asked, evidently confused.  

“No, no its bloody not, I swear I can still feel bugs crawling over me-”

“EW! Dude, you brought bugs here?!” Barry shrieked…and…

…and the conversation was fading from Bruce’s ears. 

He felt his pupils dilate, eyes locking onto the moth tangled in John's hair, and any remaining conscious thought was forcefully shoved into the back of his mind. It was as if a switch was flipped. Instincts he didn’t even know he had took over, and he was so hungry. 

A squeaky, high pitched note bubbled up from his throat, and the surrounding noise and movement from the people around him paused. “...B?” Clark asked, wary. The rest of the team shifted in response as well, trained eyes catching onto the switched behavioral cues. 

This wasn’t Batman.  

At least, if it was still Batman, his brain certainly wasn’t in the driver's seat anymore. 

Bruce-he-it watched, attention completely focused on the fluttering bug, eyes never leaving Constantine's form. He-it felt its lip curl, fangs glinting, muscles pulled tight, ready to pounce. 

It was supposed to have wings. It was meant to fly, why couldn’t it fly? But it was hungry, and food was what mattered most right now. Food. It needed food. 

And with a sharp, sudden and overly loud chirp, it launched. 

Chapter Text

“Wha-HOLY-” Constantine shrieked, the added weight of it on top of him causing his chair to flip over, the two colliding hard against the ground. 

And thus, the meeting room dissolved into chaos. The blond magician found himself screaming and flailing, admittedly in a rather childlike way. “AGH- FUCK, GET HIM OFF ME!” He screeched, and that finally snapped the bewildered heroes into action. Clark swooped in, wrapping thick arms around its heaving chest, and it-they-he found itself shocked as it-he met the wall with a thunk, the wind knocked from its lungs. 

And…and...

Wait...where- what was he doing again? 

Bruce floundered, arms thrashing as he abruptly came back to himself, coughing. Watering, confused eyes struggled to take in his surroundings, and he struggled to think through still-lagging thoughts. 

“Batman? Are you okay?”  

“Is he okay?! He bloody launched at me!” 

“I-” He choked out, before suddenly pausing, his tongue sticking out to run along his lip. Powdery, earthy, and after running a more thorough examination of his teeth, he recognized an odd, slightly metallic taste as well. “What happened? Did I just…Did I eat something? Why does-” 

Constantine paused from his ranting, his face suddenly taking on a rather pale, almost green hue. “Oh shit! Did spooky just eat a bug?!” Hal gasped, his shocked face also quickly morphing into something closer to disgust. 

“It was in John’s hair…” Clark blurted out. “Golly, B, I just saw you- You ate it-” 

It felt like Bruce’s heart had dropped to his feet. Cold shock, uncomfortableness, and yet, for almost a moment, it felt like at least the edge of his hunger had been dulled. He swallowed audibly, only to pause, a look of horror dawning on his face. A shaking hand dug to the back of his teeth, and after a quick second, he found himself holding a slightly-drool-covered wing. 

He balked, eyes practically bulging. Well. I…I genuinely don’t know what to say or think anymore. This is it. I’m finally going to snap. “Hey, come on dude, calm down- stare any harder at it and it’s going to start burning-” Barry said, zipping over to grip Bruce on the shoulder as he wobbly stood back up from the ground. 

Bruce found himself glancing warily around the room, still gulping nervously, trying to rid the…unfortunately appealing taste from his mouth. Diana, who was posed in her chair, still shaken up from the chaos, nodded. Clark was hovering over Bruce nervously. Barry was by his side, his firm hand a comforting weight. Hal and Constantine were on the other side of the room, one seething, the other disturbed.  And…J’onn was still in his original seat as well, a box of Choccos sitting in front of him. “So, I suppose this means Batman is now an insectivore, as well?" He murmured, munching on a cookie, and all Bruce could do was groan. 

Bugs, of all things?!

“Okay, I can see how this is like an animal thing,” Hal started, “But, why in the world did you go all feral?!” 

John nodded, a hand running through extremely messy hair. “Perhaps this spell comes with instincts too?” Diana said, brow furrowed as she thought it over. “Take Beast Boy for example. We don’t work with the Titans very much, but I remember from his file it said he had to deal with ‘lingering instincts’ after a transformation. Maybe it's the same for you?” Bruce hummed, faintly noting how his stomach was still growling. 

I guess a single moth isn’t exactly satisfying…

“It makes sense…” Clark said, settling back down in his chair, Hal and Barry following his lead. “Yeah, I mean, just a few minutes ago he was hissing too. Instincts kinda check out.” Barry mumbled, a foot tapping quickly under the table. Still, internally, Bruce was definitely panicking. 

He had lost control. As in, he literally couldn’t remember anything that happened in the past minute. It was…horrifying. Bruce prided himself in his mind. He was the "world's greatest detective”, a genius with astounding mental control. And now…now he lost himself over a single bug?

“So the spell is…impacting my mind as well. What now?” He said hesitantly. He knew for a fact that the other Justice League members saw through his facade. Sure, he spoke with a firm, unwavering voice, but they all knew he was internally freaking out. 

Batman was scared. 

“Well…” John said, finally cleaning up himself. “Like I said, the spell you were hit with is irreversible, as far as I know. Transformation curses fueled by pure negative emotion are fuckin’ powerful. But…maybe with training? If others with such potent instincts can calm down, then I don’t see why the hell you can’t either.” 

Bruce steeled his nerves. Right. Training was something he could do. “So, adding this to the pile of changes, anyone got ideas of what he could be turning into?” Hal said. 

The team paused. “Yeah, I’ve got nothing.” Constantine muttered. The group deflated, sighing, and Bruce found himself getting ready to leave the meeting. He wanted out of here as soon as possible. He’s had enough chaos and emotions for one day, that's for sure. That…and he had some bugs he needed to order. He was still starving. 

“On…on another note, Batman…if you’re here, who’s watching Gotham?” Clark said. Bruce grunted, frowning, a hand reaching to scratch at his ear again. “The others have it covered.” The group physically startled. “Wait, others? I thought you worked alone?” Barry questioned, eyes flicking over Bruce again. 

“No.”

“No?! That’s all you have to say? Come on, man, give us at least a little bit of info on yourself!” Barry squawked, slumping in defeat in his chair, his foot still rapidly tapping against the floor. 

“Uh- speaking of stuff about you- Spooky, it is seriously weird to be seeing you without the costume.” Hal blurted out, his head tilting up and down as if he was looking Bruce over. The rest of the team gave confirmations and nods as well, and if Bruce wasn’t in such a sour, uncomfortable mood, he would have maybe smirked a bit. 

“I mean, you have hair!” 

At that, Bruce felt himself raise an amused eyebrow. “Yes. I do, in fact, have hair.” Diana snorted a laugh, and J’onn and Clark both sported grins. Constantine simply looked done with the world. “Oh gosh, Oliver is going to be so mad, we had a bet going-” Barry laughed. 

“You what-” 

“And he swore you were a redhead-”

“I pictured him being blond-” 

“Guys, we’ve all seen B with a five-o’clock shadow, he obviously has dark hair-”  Clark said, his head whipping around to keep track of everyone speaking up at once. It almost felt like the chaotic, negative emotions beforehand were smothered again, replaced with a more casual and fun energy.  It was…nice, to be more laidback with the team despite such problematic circumstances. 

Bruce found himself holding back a laugh. 

“Okay, sure, sure, but I’m still a firm believer that he has blue eyes!” 

“That could be possible-” 

“Batman seems more like a man with brown eyes-” Diana stated, a wide smile growing on her face. Constantine stood up from the table, turned around, and after summoning a portal promptly disappeared. No one noticed except for Bruce. He didn’t bother mentioning it. 

“Blue eyes.” He blurted out, heat growing on his neck as the group's attention was quickly drawn back to him. He felt himself flush, cursing the domino mask in place of his cowl. Again. “You…what?” Clark asked. 

“I had blue eyes. The…spell changed them to solid black, but before then my eyes were blue.” There was a beat of silence, before people stood up, some shouting, others laughing. “I told you!” Barry crowed, abruptly pointing a finger at Hal. “Hal, you owe me twenty-five bucks now! Pay up, Green Bean!”   

Hal also stood up from his chair, and raised his hands in the air in frustration. “WHAT?! No way! That’s BS! I never agreed to anything-”

“He’s lying.” J’onn muttered, ever the one to make the situation worse. 

The room's energy reached a peak, and Bruce couldn’t help but laugh. A loud, hearty-laugh that echoed throughout the room, and he found himself sticking a finger behind his mask to wipe away tears. 

“Oh no, we broke him-” 

“Barry, what the heck! This is all your fault!” 

“HEY-”

“Batman? Are you…okay?” Diana said, eyes lit with humor. 

He found himself still chuckling, a massive grin replacing any previous frown or neutral expression. “Yeah,” he said, shoulders still heaving with effort, “I’m okay.” 

“...I still can’t believe he ate a moth, of all things-” Hal muttered, staring at Bruce in horror, unable to comprehend Batman, of all people, laughing. 

“Hal?” Bruce questioned, his laughing petering off. 

“Yeah?” 

“Monitor duty for a week straight.”

“Dude.” 

Chapter Text

Lying awake in his bed, limbs sprawled out to ease the subtle ache in his bones, he found himself typing away in a google search bar on his computer. 

Bugs high in protein…

Best feeder insects…

Nutritional value of flying insects…

Are moths safe to eat…

He groaned, a hand pinching the bridge of his nose. He found his gaze catching on a reptile store link, squinting from the blue light that assaulted his sensitive eyes. Another growl from his stomach sounded, and he felt his will collapse. 

All sorts of insects were put in the cart, ordered, and set to deliver to Wayne manor. He paused, frowning, and after snapping his computer shut, decided that maybe it was best to let Alfred know what to expect on their doorstep.

Getting an angry call about a cricket infestation was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now.  He grunted, pulling himself up into a better sitting position, and snagged his yet-to-be-used phone from his nightstand. 

He hasn’t contacted his family in days. Part of him winced, feeling incredibly guilty, while the other half preened at the idea of acting like everything was okay. But no, he promised to keep them up to date with his situation, and he needed to step up by following said promise.  He blinked against the blinding light of his phone and audibly let out a wheeze at the astounding number of notifications he had. 

A quick swipe and they were all cleared, and his thumb quickly navigated to the family group chat. The sheer number of times he was tagged in it was enough to get him to start reading and replying.

B’s Gremlins GC:

Cine-Banned: Day idk anymore of B being gone…it’s like we can still hear his voice… 🥀

Alfred: For the last time, Miss Stephanie, Bruce is not dead. 

InsertDickJokeHere: How in the world did he text italics?? 

SleepWho: Hell if I know

LightBright: Okay but seriously has anyone heard anything from Bruce?

Ankelbiter: No.

Ankelbiter: Who changed my name again. I just want to talk. 

InsertDickJokeHere: I checked in with him last

InsertDickJokeHere: When I was dropping off his stuff

InsertDickJokeHere: The spell was affecting his vision, he was transferred back to the medbay, and I ended up going home bc Ivy got mad

SleepWho: Oh yeah- forgot about that

SleepWho: Why was she pissed again?

InsertDickJokeHere: Truck crashed into her garden and spilt a bunch of chemicals and stuff

SleepWho: yep that’ll do it 💀

SleepWho: What hold up how did I miss this?

Alfred: I do believe this occurred during your designated nap time, Master Tim. 

Cine-Banned: nap time 😭

SleepWho: 🖕

Ankelbiter: @Oldman Father I demand you respond. It has been over a week. 

Cass: not going to answer

Alfred: It is 10:30 at night. Perhaps he’s asleep.  

InsertDickJokeHere: B? Sleeping that early? Yea right 😭

Oldman: Sorry for not responding sooner. Things got a bit hectic. 

SleepWho: Oh hi

InsertDickJokeHere: B!!!! HI! 

Alfred: Master Bruce, you should be sleeping. 

Oldman: I know. Just figured I should check my messages after so long. 

Oldman: Who changed my name? I’m not that old. 

Cine-Banned: Jason

Oldman: Oh.

Anklebiter: Are you well, Father? 

Oldman: I’m fine. 

Cass: Lie

Oldman: …The curse may be getting worse. 

Oldman: However, I assure you all that everything is under control. I’m processing through it, and in due time I’ll return home. 

Oldman: A side note- Alfred, there’ll be a package delivered to the manor most likely by tomorrow at noon. If you could find a way to safely bring that to me without opening it I’d appreciate it. 

SleepWho: Oh? 

InsertDickJokeHere: Yeah someone is definitely going to end up opening it

Anklebiter: You mean you? 

InsertDickJokeHere: NOT TRUE

Alfred: I’ll make sure it’s brought to you. However, I’m speaking on the behalf of everyone when I ask, are visits going to be possible soon? 

Cine-Banned: I second this!!! We wanna see you B! 

Anklebiter: Hanging out with all those Justice League plebeians must be driving father mad. Our presence would be relieving. 

SleepWho: Awww you wanna see him 

Anklebiter: 🖕

InsertDickJokehere: DAMIAN! 

Cass: denial is useless

Oldman: I just checked in over the comms, I have been cleared for visits as long as another JL member is present. There was an accident earlier that resulted in some physical violence, and I want to prevent it from happening again as much as possible. 

SleepWho: oh yikes- what the hell did you do?

Alfred: Whatever happened is not important at the moment. We’ll be at the tower by tomorrow morning. 

Oldman: We??  

Five users went offline…

Bruce groaned, tossing his phone onto his nightstand, already dreading tomorrow morning. He shifted under the covers of his bed, wincing at the sharp jolts of pain that flared up with the movement, and slowly sleep took over. 

Another day of misery completed.