Found this lurking in my PC. Inspired slightly by Franz Kafka's "Metamorphosis". You may recognize some lines to be from there.
Timeline: Anytime after Batman Begins.
Disclaimer: Me no own Batman and any of the "Metamorphosis" lines.
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Metamorphosis
When Bruce Wayne woke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a puddle of black goo. He was lying spread out all across the bed, pooling among the sheets. He wasn't quite sure if he was lying on his back or front but he was aware that parts of him –it felt like his left hand, but he found that he was unable to turn and see– were slowly dripping onto the floor.
"What has happened to me?" he thought. It wasn't a dream, he was sure of it. After all this was his room, exactly the way it was supposed to be, large, spacious, and mostly empty. Everything was in place, with the exception of his work kit which he remembered leaving on the dressing table. Alfred must have put it away sometime during the night or early morning.
Bruce's eyes then focused on window and the gloomy weather beyond it – he could hear the raindrops hit the glass with little taps– and felt thoroughly miserable. "Go back to sleep, maybe I'll be back to normal when I wake up" he thought, momentarily closing his eyes (He wasn't quite sure if he had eyes, in this gooey melty state he was in, but he knew that if he willed the part of his body that felt like his eyes to move, it would go dark. He wondered if it was possible to get to a mirror so that he could have a good look at his reflection.)
But he soon found that it was impossible because the taptap of the raindrops were annoying him and the feel of what felt like his left arm dripping onto the carpet –and possibly staining it– was unnerving.
He decided that if he could get down into the Batcave, he could figure out what was wrong with him and possibly fix it. And maybe Alfred could help him. But he wasn't quite sure how to get out of bed.
He knew that whatever he had been turned into, he had quite a mass. This was because the mattress sank a little underneath him, which made it hard for him to flow in any direction. He did realize that his consistency was somewhat semi-solid, because he was quite sure that no part of him had been absorbed by the sheets or the mattress.
Bruce spent a moment wondering how he would get all parts of him out of bed. His entire goo-body felt very… detachable, as though bits and pieces of him could flow away any moment. The steady dripdrip of his left arm worried him. He wondered vaguely if he could attach? reabsorb? it back to the rest of his body.
With some concentration, he found that he could will his body into movement, though it was only the part that felt like his head. But he found to his relief that wherever his 'head' moved, the rest of his body followed, though he had to move slowly to make sure it could catch up. He didn't want to leave bits of himself all over the house.
He managed to flop himself on to the bedside table, and watched as the rest of him slowly slithered after. The alarm clock beside him read ten twenty seven. As if stimulated by the glowing green numbers, his entire body gave a shudder. He froze, worried that he was about to fall apart. Three seconds passed and another tremor shook him. Another three seconds passed before he realized that it was his stomach (or whatever it had turned into) growling.
Even more aware of the pressing need to get downstairs, he slopped down onto the carpet and waited for a moment to reconnect himself to his arm. He found, much to his relief, that it did reattach itself, though now it felt like it was growing out of chest, wherever his chest was. No matter. Once he had eaten something he would be able to think better and then he could figure a way out of this mess he was in.
He oozed across the carpet, constantly looking back to see if he had left any parts of him behind. He was also worried that he might leave stains in the off-white carpet, which had just been recently shampooed.
To his annoyance, Bruce found that the state in which he was in had affected his eyesight. It was constantly veiled with a grey and either he only had one eye or they had both fused together. A throbbing headache was also beginning to make itself noticeable by threatening to detach his goo-head-part from his goo-body.
As he trickled down the stairs, he wondered if this was how Clayface felt. And what was for breakfast. And if Alfred had any aspirins and if it was possible for him to take them in this strange state that he was in.
It was some relief to feel that his left hand was slowly making its way back to its usual spot by his shoulder. It was slowly beginning to hurt just as much as his head though, and he vaguely recalled it getting pinned under something heavy the night before.
Once he reached the bottom of the stairs, he paused a moment to catch his breath, and to allow the rest of him to catch up. He felt slightly nauseas. He shuddered with hunger again but found that his appetite had disappeared.
He could hear Alfred whistling in the kitchen. Hardening his resolve, he slowly slithered towards the direction of the sound.
***
"Uuhhh… Aaaalfrrrreeeed..."
The butler turned around, surprised that his employer was up so 'early'. Bruce was usually only out of bed at around noon.
"Good morni– Good Lord."
Alfred almost dropped the teapot. The sight of Bruce Wayne slumping buck naked, unshaved, unwashed and generally unkempt against the kitchen door would be enough to give anyone a… pause.
"Whaaaddd…?"
"Erm, just a moment, sir." A bathrobe was certainly in order right now. The cleaning lady was due to arrive any time soon, and it certainly wouldn't do to have Master Bruce in such an embarrassing situation. Some strong coffee and some ointment for that nasty bruise on Bruce's shoulder were high on the butler's list of priorities too.
It took a while for Alfred to get his ward to put on the dressing gown; Master Bruce had seemingly fallen asleep (or collapsed) on the floor and making him get up and stuff his arms down the sleeves of the robe proved much more challenging than he had expected it too be.
Finally when Bruce was mostly decent and sitting at the table, Alfred busied himself with brewing some coffee and taking care of the bruised arm. However, what was supposed to be a simple act was once again complicated by Master Bruce's tendency to slump sideways and almost fall out off his seat, and by his attempts to get to the "Cofffeeeee…" each time he wasn't almost sliding of the chair.
Alfred was seriously considering tying his employer to the chair when the man suddenly sighed and slumped facedown onto the table. Worried for a moment, the manservant checked for a pulse. The one he found was steady and strong, so he finished administering aid to the arm with some relief.
The coffee did seem to revive Master Bruce a bit, though it took a while for Alfred to understand that the moans and groans his ward was making actually meant "Aaassssspreeeen" and "Whaadderrr…".
A little while later Bruce was starring at the droplets of water left in the glass as though seriously contemplating drowning himself in them.
"Alllfffreeed," he moaned, slumping forward again and almost knocking the glass off the table. "I f-f-fffeel like shit."
Alfred looked at his employer who, in his black silk dressing gown, looked like a pile of black goo oozing across the table.
"With all due respect sir, you d–"
"I w-wonderrrr… how Clayfff… how Clayface keepsss himssself togedderrr…"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Coffffeeeee…"
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Thanks for reading.
Have a nice day!
