Daylight

A.N.: You give someone 6 reviews in the first 24 hours, and they just have to update, don't they? Enjoy!

Dick sighed as the sound of something resting on his nightstand pulled him from his dream. His foggy mind cleared as he looked up and noticed Barbara, of all people, standing over him, hand hovering by a plate.

"I… remembered you said you were hungry...and you didn't eat anything, so…" she stammered, refusing to meet his eyes. He could feel the uneasiness rolling off her, undoubtedly thinking he'd just blow up, again.

"Thanks," he murmured, sitting up and cracking his neck.

"I'm, uh…" He cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm sorry for snapping earlier. You're right: it isn't fair of me to be like that."

"I forgive you," she said, shaking her head 'no,' again. "You still have to apologize to Tim, though." He nodded, wondering if Tim would be as forgiving as Barbara was.

"Did Bruce talk to you?" she asked out of the blue, making eye contact for only a fleeting second, before seeming to steel herself and maintain it.

His brow furrowed. "Bruce?" Barbara nodded.

"He came up and asked for you. I figured he wanted to talk, y'know? Reconcile." He scoffed at this.

"He came, sure, but it wasn't to reconcile."

"What happened?" Sympathy laced her voice as she sat on a chair next to him, making it at least an octave higher than normal. He shrugged, yawning and flexing his tongue for a reason he couldn't describe.

"He yelled at me; said I should have told you and that I'd put the city in danger." He laid down again and folded his hands behind his head, trying to push the argument out of mind. "In hindsight, I probably should have told you guys. Would've been less of shock."

"You had your reasons," she immediately replied. "You weren't - aren't - obligated to tell anyone unless you want to."

"Thanks," he said, smiling softly.

His stomach growled when, upon his next inhale, the scent of bacon, eggs, and sausage made his mouth water. He sat up again, biting civilly into a piece of bacon before moaning in delight and shoving it and next two into his mouth at once.

Barbara watched amusedly for a moment before resuming conversation.

"What do you remember from last night? I mean, there's got to be something." He shrugged, simultaneously shaking his head.

"Don't even remember changing all the way," he replied with his mouth full. He swallowed and continued. "I blacked out partway through. Next thing I can remember is waking up, here."

"Did you try to remember after the first time?"

"Oh, yeah." His words were garbled; he had his mouth full, again. "Not much else to do while I was in the hospital, but I didn't get anywhere." Barbara hummed in thought.

"Maybe you should take a walk around the woods you woke up," she supposed. "We should see if you marked out territory, there."

"Why would I care about territory?" he asked when he came up for air. She shrugged, ignoring how he started stuffing his face again..

"I just think it'd be useful to have a specific place to change. Unless people typically camp in those woods, it'd be perfect for you." Dick grunted, mouth too full of sausages to reply. He swallowed part of it before speaking again.

"People do camp there, though. Not as deep in as I was, but it's still a little too close for comfort. Besides, I really don't care about it."

"Well," said Barbara, standing and stretching her arms as high as she could. "If you find out another wolf is on your turf, and you throw a fit, don't say you weren't warned."

"Probably won't even know if I'm on my own turf or not," he quipped, shoving fried eggs into his mouth. Barbara didn't reply - other than to bid him goodbye as she left the room - so he continued stuffing his face.


"Hey, Tim," he said, approaching the teen's desk. Tim glanced up from his computer before redirecting his eyes.

"Hey," was all he said. The air crackled with uncertainty.

"Listen," Dick blurted, sitting on the bed and facing perpendicular to Tim. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. It wasn't right of me."

"I have a theory for why you had seizures before your first change," Tim replied, still refusing eye contact. Dick was taken aback, for a moment.

"Lay it on me, then," he said, shrugging.

"The transformation put you through an..." he paused, searching for the right word. "Ungodly amount of punishment, right? And, even you wouldn't be able to survive organ failure, under normal circumstances. But, you did survive. Hell, you didn't even lose consciousness when your heart stopped! That indicates something happened inside you that would allow you to survive that. Probably some changes in the brain."

"So you think those changes caused the seizures?"

"Maybe. The thing is, any hospital and probably any newspaper would know if there was a phenomenon consisting of a week of chronic seizures and then multisystem organ failure. But there's nothing in the news or hospital records, so the seizures were unique to you. Without evidence, I'd hazard a guess that it's because you were bitten so late in the moon cycle. If werewolves only bit each other on full moons, you'd have a month to let your body prepare to handle the organ failures. Since you only had a week to change, the chemical imbalances coupled with irregular activity in the brain as your body frantically tried to protect you. I'd also guess that you were sick after the first change - but not now - because you weren't quite done preparing. Not only did you have to finish changing, you also had to recover."

Dick nodded slowly. "Makes sense," he admitted. "I'd be up for a PET scan, if it'll help. Thanks." Tim was silent, still focused on the screen, and Dick's small smile fell. He left without a goodbye.


Dick sighed as he stared up at the ceiling from his bed.

Three weeks had passed.

Three weeks had passed, and things at large had gone to the dogs.

Barbara had gotten more and more skittish around him, flinching every time he got too close and going pale when he spoke. He could understand why she'd be cautious around him for a few days - of course, he could - but getting worse over three weeks?

Three weeks was another thing altogether.

And then there was Tim.

His little brother had warmed up a bit, after a couple days, but the dynamic had taken on a whole new layer that he wasn't entirely pleased with.

Almost every day for weeks, he'd been subjected to blood tests, brain scans, tissue samples, asked to describe how the moon made him feel ("nothing, really. Just like the last six times you asked."), told to describe his senses ("I told you, I don't have increased senses. I notice sounds and smells more, but they're not actually stronger."), and was pretty much turned into a science fair project.

And while he was happy to let Tim help him figure out his new condition, the tests didn't actually do much to help. Evidence was found, but aside from the fact that it had caused some chemical imbalances in his brain, they didn't have much to go on. Every other test had come back negative; every hypothesis unsupported.

So, even dealing with Tim kind of sucked, but both he and Barbara paled in comparison to Bruce.

Bruce had only gotten more aggressive since the change. He could feel the hatred roll off the man whenever they were in a room together. And, even though it had never been stated, Dick knew that Bruce now had him on lockdown, so even going back to his apartment wasn't an option.

After that argument in his room, Bruce had returned and told him - hissed, more like - that he didn't want him patrolling with the rest of them, and preferably not patrolling at all. Dick had only glared, but he hadn't been on patrol since then, so he supposed Bruce had won that round.

Aside from that, they hadn't spoken, which was fine with him.

Still sucked, though. He wished he could talk to someone about this. Normally, he'd go to Bruce, but obviously that bridge was burnt down. Barbara would normally be plan B, but he wasn't sure he could take any more of her staring wide-eyed at him, face as white as a ghost. And, as previously stated, he could tell he and Tim were no longer brothers, just the scientist and his pet project.

Alfred had been nice, he supposed. The man had treated him pretty normally the past few weeks, but it didn't help much. The Butler wasn't really the kind of person he could talk to. If he tried to express how isolated and generally confused he felt, the man would only reply with some sort of sage-yet-cryptic, fortune cookie-like advice. Less than helpful.

So, he was alone. No one to talk to. No one to hash things out with, emotionally. No one to help him deal with the pile of crap that had fallen on his shoulders once he was bitten.

He sniffed, sitting up and observing the night sky through his window.

He was alone. Drowning in fear and stifled by the walls.

But he didn't have to be.

He stood and stretched, joints popping into place. He knew what he would do.

A.N.: Please review and tell me what you think. Thank you for your time, and GOD BLESS!