Animal

A.N.: the more I think about these stories, the more different they become. So I hereby make Control its own (very short) story. This chapter also goes out to Sairey13, who gave me some ideas for details in this story. I'm going to explore lycanthropy more as a debilitating, chronic disease, though. I hope you like it. Enjoy!

Dick flinched as his phone rang, despite the headphones over his ears.

He pulled of the headphones, feeling both freed of their confining squeeze on his head, and trapped by the barrage of noise that assaulted his ears – the reason he hadn't left his room all month, except for unappealing meals.

"Yeah?" His voice came out hoarse.

"Dick?" Barbara's voice replied. "Are you okay? I've been worried sick."

Guilt pooled into his stomach at her slightly frantic words. He'd been ignoring her calls and not even looking at her texts, which had to have numbered in the hundreds, by now.

"Sorry, Babs," he apologized. "Listen. I'm going to have to take some time off from the team. I'm making you leader."

"Dick, what's wrong?" she asked. "Tell me."

"I…" he considered his next words. "Received a diagnosis, recently."

"A bad one?" a moment's pause brought. Dick nodded.

"Yeah," he said when she didn't reply to the nod she couldn't see. "It's livable, but I just need some time to get used to it, y'know?"

"I understand," she replied. He noticed that her voice cracked despite her calm words. "Take all the time you need."

"Thanks, Babs."

With that, he tossed his phone back onto the nightstand and buried himself back underneath the covers. He allowed his mind to wander as his eyes rested.

Last night had apparently been one of those nights. He wasn't an idiot; he had learned within the first week that he was now more prone to sleepwalking and talking. Maybe it had something to do with being nocturnal; he didn't know.

Nocturnal or not, he chose to sleep during the night like he'd used to. Anything to be that much closer to human.

But that didn't stop the wolf within.

He swore sometimes he could feel it. Not just as a secret knowledge at the back of his mind; no, sometimes, it presented itself as a twisting, moving, biting mass in his gut. And at night, it found its way out.

Sometimes he'd wake up in bed, like normal; sometimes he'd find himself curled up on the floor somewhere; but a few details would always stay the same. His throat would be sore, and Bruce would be tired, look at him weird at breakfast, and never mention the howling that had kept him awake.

Chicken soup wafted up to his nose, meaning Alfred was already making lunch. In response to this, Dick reached over and sleepily grabbed the surgical mask that sat on his nightstand next to his headphones, before following it up with them.

Ten minutes later, a knock pounded in his ears through the headphones.

"Dick," a voice he wished was muffled sounded through the door. "Lunch."

A part of the wolf that had been impatiently sitting inside him pulled to leave, and maybe find something more appetizing than chicken soup.

Another part told him just to sleep through the entire day and get some food at night.

A more human impulse told him to get up, get dressed, and eat lunch like a normal person.

He groaned inwardly, but got up anyway, pulling off the mask and slipping a shirt over his head. He traded the mask for a pair of sunglasses.

The soup would have been good, he decided. It would have been good, had he been able to be in the room with the pot and not feel like he was being choked because of the smell.

"So," Bruce began. Dick set his spoon back in the bowl to let him know he was listening.

"Tonight's the full moon." He nodded. "What are you going to do?"

Dick frowned. This had been the last question he'd wanted asked. He'd been avoiding the subject since day one, but now the procrastination had caught up to him, leaving him with no good options.

"The cell in the Batcave," he answered. "Who knows? Maybe I won't change at all, down there."

"And if you do? You'll get hungry at some point."

He shrugged and said "Chuck a rabbit in there or something," before spooning up more of his soup.

Bruce looked taken aback. "A rabbit?" he asked, just to make sure he'd heard it right.

"If you can find something bigger, no one's stopping you," Dick added. Bruce chalked it up to the nearing full moon and let the macabre phrases slide. A few moments later, Dick realized himself and shook himself back to semi-awareness.

Dick returned to his room after lunch. Six blessedly quiet hours later, his phone rang again, this time with a text.

Moonrise in half an hour. Get down here now.

As he walked back downstairs, keeping his hands over his ears, the wolf twisted and begged to get out and hunt. Begged to be free.

He clenched his teeth and ignored it.

The cell in the Batcave was made of clear, tempered Plexiglas, a design flaw that the Dark Knight reluctantly admitted to. But it was strong enough to hold up the Bat-mech without breaking, so it worked well enough for this.

That didn't mean it smelled any less dank and moldy as the rest of the cave, though, and Dick rued the thought of spending the night in there.

Dick let himself into the darkened cage and lay on the cot inside. Bruce must have adjusted the volume of the speaker in it, because his ears didn't ring when it crackled to life.

"If at all possible, try to stay conscious and aware while you change. Tell me if and when it starts."

"Will do," he answered before rolling over and pulling the covers up to his chin.

Half an hour later, he found himself sweating under the blankets. He absentmindedly pulled his clothes off, settling beneath the covers again. It was only when pain struck his head like a stone that his mind finally registered the cause.

"Oh, crap," he muttered as he sat up. "Bruce! It's starting!"

"Stay calm," the speaker commanded. "Describe the pain to me."

"It's just- It's just hot, and… my head is killing – AH!"

He'd stood up, which was his second mistake. The first must've been not going outside to change in privacy. Because, just like last time, the full-body pain took over as soon as he moved. He barely even noticed when he dropped to his knees from the ache.

He screamed and cried like a month ago as he rolled onto his back; just now with an audience.

He caught a glimpse of his new reflection in the wall. It was, save for his yellow eyes, normal. That was only for the split second.

A part of him had wanted to black out, last time. Now, as he laid there and writhed in pain from his transforming body, he realized why.

His throat constricted as his will tugged to keep talking. What should have come out as words, instead sounded like a cross between a bark and a howl. He let out another howl as his knees snapped in the opposite direction and his ribs pushed forward, squishing his stomach and jettisoning its contents.

The rancid smell only repeated the action. He whimpered.

The world became a dark circle in his vision, and he knew there was no use holding it off. He closed his eyes and let the wolf, howling and smiling, take over his mind.

Five and a half hours, that wolf had been scratching at the glass walls of the cage with claws like razors. Bruce squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out its growls and yelps, the latter only sounding when pieces of Plexiglas caught in its paw or when its claws scraped the surface and caused a horrible screech.

It occurred to him that the wolf – Whatever it was, in there, it was not Dick – was probably starving, and that, like Dick had said before, giving it a rabbit or something bigger would satisfy it, for now. But how to go about that?

The easiest way, of course, would be to go out; kill some poor, defenseless creature, for which Diana would probably give him a lecture; and give it to the wolf. But there were a few problems with that.

The first was that he didn't kill, not even animals. The second was the fact of actually getting it in the cell without it ripping his head off. And the third was the uncertainty that prey that was already dead would actually sate the thing.

He threw another glance at the animal and sighed. Getting up from his chair, he gave up on trying to find a better way and went for the easiest one.

"Alfred," he called. "I'm going out. I'll be back in ten."

Sure enough, ten minutes later he had secured a large, fat rabbit and was on his way back to the cage, preparing his ears to be assaulted with…

Silence. The scraping and howling that had resounded in the cave was gone.

A sense of foreboding in his stomach, he finished his walk into the main area and looked towards the clear cell.

There was still vomit in the cage, but no wolf. In the side of it was a huge, gaping hole with shards scattered about. It looked like all that scraping wasn't just for show.

"Alfred?" he called again. "Alfred?!" The end of a growl accompanied the second call, and he looked down to face the creature.

It was hungry, that was for sure. Bruce swayed the rabbit in front of it and its eyes tracked it for every inch.

Batman stooped slowly to the ground and tossed the dead animal halfway between them. The wolf simply stared for a second, before making to take the offered food.

There was just one problem. As soon as it stepped forward, it whimpered again and took a step back. It made sense, he supposed, considering the mess of glass where he'd undoubtedly landed.

Slowly, and always with eyes locked onto the wolf's, he stepped forward and gingerly picked up the rabbit, throwing it closer a moment later.

It only took a second for it to lie down and start tearing at the corpse. It only took ten for it to finish and start growling again. Still hungry. Still dangerous.

Still family.

But still a predator.

For a reason Bruce couldn't identify, he heart squeezed, even as he pulled a small dart from his belt.

The wolf crouched, and lunged.

Too little.

Too late.

Bruce had side-stepped the attack, dodging the wolf by inches and near-blindly firing the dart at the animal. It fell flat on its face, the sedatives on the dart were so strong.

The man clenched his fists as his heart squeezed again. He took a few steps forward, picked up the wolf, and carried him over to a hospital bed.

The sedatives would last until moonset. He just needed sleep.

A sharp pain pulled Dick from his sleep. He didn't even bother opening his eyes; they were already hurting from whatever light was in the room.

Each breath brought a strong smell of disinfectant, tea, cookies, and washing detergent, which punched him in the gut each and every time.

"Alfred?" he coughed.

"Yes, I'm here, Master Dick." The boy grit his teeth against his ringing ears. His foot stung for a second time, making the boy try to pull it away from whatever was hurting it, only to have it roughly pulled back.

"What happened?" he said. "What did I do, last night?

"You escaped your cell, and nearly tore your hands and feet to ribbons doing it. You ate, as well. How are you feeling?"

"Hungry. And tired. Where's Bruce?"

"In bed. Now hush and go to sleep." He pulled out another shard of glass.

"I didn't…"

"No, Master Dick, you didn't hurt him. Or me, for that matter."

Dick cracked one eye open and glanced down.

He was lying on his side in a hospital bed, with a blanket draped over him from his chest to above his ankles. Alfred was at the end of the bed with his left foot in his hand and a pair of tweezers in the other, trying to pull all the glass out. He could vaguely feel bandages on his other foot and both hands, and a cold washcloth on his forehead.

He squirmed for a moment before settling down again, grateful to just keep his eyes closed and relax.

As soon as Alfred finished wrapping his foot, he left him on the bed. Dick reached over to the table beside him, where he found a fresh outfit and got dressed, glad that he at least had some privacy when he woke up. As he ditched the washcloth, he noticed that Alfred had also been kind enough to grab his headphones and hospital mask.

There was already a plate of breakfast at his bedroom door; unusual since he typically went to the kitchen to eat. It seemed Alfred was pretty keen on him getting some sleep.

He poked at the gelatinous ball on the plate, surrounded by a small amount of a tan powder and a dark syrup.

The dish amounted to water, but at least it didn't smell too strongly.

He looked out the window to the green grass and gardens below him, and the tree line beyond that. It wasn't the wolf that wanted to leave, this time; it seemed that letting it out last night had given it enough freedom. Now, it was him that was starved for the fresh, open air.

'Bruce is asleep,' a little voice in head told him. 'And Alfred is in the kitchen. You can leave them. You can run. You can breathe.'

The room melted away as he wrestled with himself.

He didn't get to make up his mind, because a car hurtled past him, missing him by inches and laying on its horn.

A.N.: I wasn't entirely sure how to end this, so this is the end of the chapter. Thank you for your time, and GOD BLESS!