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"Father," came Damian's voice over the comms. "Grayson has been…"

When Damian didn't continue, Bruce's pulse spiked. "Is he okay?"

Damian made a noise. "Okay is a relative term."

Okay, Bruce thought. He isn't upset, so maybe this is a prank. Who was Damian with that Bruce could talk to?

"Tim," he said, switching to their private line. "What happened?"

Tim made a noise very similar to the one Damian had made. "I think it's better if we show you, B," he said somewhat sheepishly. 

Bruce resisted the urge to growl. "Is everyone alright? Did the lead turn out to be anything?"

Earlier that night, they'd heard over the police radio that there had been sightings of strange lights coming from the old munition factory, right at the edge of Gotham. So naturally, Tim, Dick, and Damian had gone to look into it. Bruce hadn't expected much from it - strange lights in Gotham at that hour were typically teenagers partying - but he knew that it was Gotham. There was always the chance that it was actually a secret henchman meeting.

Maybe he should send someone after them.

But no, Bruce told himself. He wouldn't do that - they would've told him if they needed backup, and nothing had indicated that it was anything bad. He'd wait until they got back to the Cave. 

"Sir?" Alfred said, coming to stand beside him. "Everything alright?" 

Bruce nodded, though his brow was crinkled as he stared at the screens. 

There was a barking sound coming from Batmobile. 

"Did you trade your brother for a dog?" was the first thing out of Bruce's mouth, before he'd even had a chance to process things. And then he narrowed his eyes, not seeing a third person exiting the car. "Where's Dick?"

Tim jerked his head to the husky that now stood in the middle of the Cave, looking around curiously.

Bruce felt grey hairs sprouting. "Tim," he said, Batman's growl coming out. "This had better not be a prank—"

Damian snorted. "Father," he said. "Would we ever joke about Richard being turned into a dog?"

Yes, Bruce thought with a glower, remembering a month ago, when Damian had wanted a pet parrot and brought one home out of nowhere, claiming it to be Jason. The façade had lasted a whole week, and Bruce still had nightmares filled with the shrill voice of the bird, demanding peanuts.

"If you don't trust us," Tim said casually, "you can always check his DNA."

With that, the two of them went to get changed, leaving Bruce with a husky, who was sniffing around the Cave as though it belonged there.

"Come here… Dick," Bruce said resignedly, and to the dog's credit – and further proving his case – he responded to the name eagerly. 

An hour later, it was as confirmed as it could be that the dog was Dick. Bruce raised his eyes heavenward as the contingency plan flickered through his brain. He would need to make so many calls, both to magic wielders and Dick's work, figure out a roster for watching Dick and for watching over his part of the city…

And then it occurred to him that Dick hadn’t eaten anything since before he'd left on patrol. He glanced down at the dog.

"You hungry?" he asked. When that elicited no new response, just the husky sticking out his tongue and wagging his tail, he tried, "Do you want food?"

At the word food, Dick's tail moved even faster, something Bruce hadn't thought possible, and he placed his head onto Bruce's leg, looking up at him with giant, giant, giant eyes. Bruce couldn’t resist scratching this dog form of his son behind the ears, watching as his eyes went half-lidded and his tail wagged even harder.

“Alright, alright,” he said, somewhat alarmed and hoping that quick food would be enough to prevent Dick from straining his tailbone.

Damian kept Titus’ food upstairs in a separate room, which they’d designated to be for his pets. Bruce brought a spare food bowl outside, knowing a thing or two about territorial animals. He placed it in the kitchen, and with a glance around to see if anyone was around, put it on the kitchen table.

Bruce had to give Dick credit – he was a rather graceful dog. Bruce had seen Titus tripping over absolutely nothing. The husky hopped up onto the table, and thrust his head into the food bowl, eating out of it with reckless abandon. Bruce winced as bits of wet food spattered the table, and then he realised that there was a trail of fur that was following them along.

He sighed, and went to figure out where the vacuum cleaner was.

“Why is Richard still a dog,” Damian demanded from the foot of Bruce’s bed.

Bruce let out a disgruntled noise, still not processing things beyond light, stomach grumble, and demanding child. “What?” he said, mouth full of cotton. Had he brushed his teeth last night?

“Richard,” Damian said slowly, “is a dog.”

“Yes,” Bruce said, confused. “He is. You were the one who brought him to me as a dog.”

Damian made an impatient noise. “You were supposed to fix him,” he said.

Bruce sighed. “It’s taking time,” he told his youngest. “But it isn’t hurting him, and we should be hearing back from my contacts tonight.”

Damian glowered at him, and turned on his heel. But before he was fully out of Bruce’s room, he added, “I was sent to call you to brunch.”

Breakfast – or rather, brunch – was a strange affair. Alfred had decided that since none of them wanted Dick to eat on the floor, they would all be eating outside on a picnic rug. Bruce privately thought that it was also to stem any ideas Damian looked as though he was getting about his pets eating on the dining table with them.

The midday sunlight was glaring as Bruce methodically chomped down on a sandwich, wishing the coffee he was holding would kick in sooner. Tim was lying flat on his back, one arm over his eyes. He’d eaten about three sandwiches and two apples, and was now working his way through a platter of grapes. Bruce was keeping one eye on his own food, and another on Tim’s grapes, which he was (somewhat foolishly) plucking from the platter entirely blindly.

Damian and Alfred were probably the only ones – the only human ones – who were entirely awake. Alfred had brought along a chair, claiming that his bones were getting far too creaky for him to be sitting on the ground for extended periods of time; he reclined there with a newspaper and cup of tea in hand, periodically looking up at the rest of the family.

Damian was the reason Tim hadn’t fallen asleep yet. He was playing fetch with Titus and Dick, tossing a frisbee and shouting endless encouragement. Bruce loved that Damian opened up when he was playing with his pets – and in this case, his brother – but he longed for Damian’s voice to deepen out of this shrillness. It was sending birds flying, quite literally.

Bruce watched as Dick and Titus battled over a frisbee, and then said, “Dick! Here.” He was starting to wake up somewhat – they needed to be doing tests on Dick, see how much of his ‘human’ brain was still present.

Dick turned to him, tongue lolling out of his mouth, and seemed to grin at Bruce. And then he completely ignored him and dove for the tennis ball Damian had just thrown for Titus.

Bruce frowned. Was Dick ignoring him intentionally, or was he just not used to Bruce’s voice?

“B, leave ‘im alone an’ quit thinking so loud,” Tim muttered, voice half concealed with his arm. “Last night, he listened to me all the way up till I told him he had to flush the toilet if he wanted to use it, an’ then he pretended he couldn’t understand me and went to take a sh—”

Alfred cleared his throat.

Tim squirmed. “Went to poop outside.”

Bruce frowned. “And you let him?”

Tim snorted. “Well, yeah,” he said. “No way am I cleaning up after Dick’s doggy litter. Do you know how much Titus poops out in a day?”

“This conversation has been using the word ‘poop’ too much for my liking,” Bruce murmured, relenting.

“Fine,” Tim said. “Do you know how much Titus yeets out every day?”

Bruce let out a long-suffering sigh. “Go back to ‘poop’.”

It was a different sort of calm, watching Damian play with the dogs. Titus was impulsive, bounding after the ball with no forward planning in sight. Damian aimed the tennis ball away from trees and shrubbery, but sometimes the wind would pick up the frisbee and send it flying.

Dick was a giant white cloud, running around all over the place. He was a little more aware than Titus – in that he had yet to run headfirst into a tree – but Bruce could see that he was giving in to his doggier instincts the more he played. Fear clenched at him, and he whistled shrilly.

All eyes turned to Bruce, but this time he wasn’t relenting. “Dick, come over here,” he said. “We need to do tests on you.”

Damian didn’t say anything, though he looked downwards, as though the reminder that his newfound pet was, in fact, his brother, had slipped his mind momentarily. Bruce would’ve felt bad, had he not been far more concerned over the mental state of his dog son.

Dick couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so buoyant. His worries had narrowed down to play, food, pets, and the happiness of those around him – namely, Damian and Tim. He’d woken up that morning with an incessant need to go and run after something, and so, with no real reason to not follow through with that that desire, he’d done it.

He’d used the dog flap that they’d installed for Titus’ nightly needs, and gone for a jog around the Manor grounds, revelling in the freshness of the morning air, the stillness around him. Dick had gone to check in on Batcow, but she’d shied away so hard that he’d immediately backed off.

He may have also trampled Alfred’s cabbages, but he could always blame that on his dog side if he were ever accused of anything.

And then there was the pure joy of waking up someone by licking their face. He’d started off with Damian, because he knew that Damian was a morning person, and probably used to this from Titus. (In fact, Titus had looked rather miffed at being replaced, but Dick figured that he was only here temporarily and therefore had the right.)

Damian had jumped a little at a different face and body waking him up, but he’d quickly warmed up to Dick, even going so far as to bury his face into Dick’s thick fur. Dick could’ve sworn his tail was going to fall off when Damian had hugged him.

Alfred had told him to wake Tim up when he and Damian had gone down to breakfast, so he’d obediently ran up the stairs to where Tim was sleeping, and realised that the door was closed. So he’d howled in front of the door until Damian had come up and opened it for him, and then he’d gone in to jump onto the bed.

Tim’s reaction had been… less exciting. He’d opened one eye, glared at Dick, and promptly fallen asleep again. He’d also complained about Dick’s breath and his saliva being ‘gross’, and Dick hadn’t really known what to make of that, so he’d licked Tim again to convince him otherwise.

That had had the desired effect, and about fifteen minutes later, Tim was crawling out of bed, muttering under his breath. Dick had wagged his tail in wait of a scritch, and been awarded with many.

Bruce had, however, well and truly rained on Dick’s parade, right in the middle of an intense game of chase. Now, Dick stood as still as he could – which wasn’t very still – and tried to listen to Bruce as he told Dick to blink at certain times, lift his paw if he agreed to certain things, nod his head…

Dick could hear Damian’s voice echoing through the Cave as they did this, and his ears pricked towards the familiar sound, trying to make out words. He was clearly speaking to Batcow, and with a guilty start, Dick realised that he’d never told anyone that he’d spooked her that morning.

And then he shook it off – he couldn’t tell anyone, so it wasn’t his responsibility. With that, he turned doleful eyes towards Bruce, and made them go as wide as they could, butting Bruce’s knee with his nose a few times.

Bruce grimaced. “I know what you’re trying to do,” he said. “But I need to go over a few more things. I don’t want to be blindsided by anything because of whatever spell you were hit with.”

Was Bruce trying to guilt Dick? Dick let out a low whine, trying to convey to Bruce that he felt fine – better than fine, in fact; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so good. He wanted to take in this simpler, easier existence, to revel in how light he was and how free he felt to do absolutely anything.

“Dick,” Bruce said. “Nightwing.”

Dick had had enough. He turned off his ears and scampered away, heading over to Batcow’s enclosure. The whole rest of the day lay before him; he could do absolutely anything like this. Dick envisioned it: he’d been smelling Alfred making turkey, which still made him salivate when he thought about it; then, there was the afternoon walk Damian took Titus every day, and he could already picture all the birds he was going to run after. And last night, he’d had to sleep in his own bed, but tonight, he was pretty sure he could weasel his way into either Damian or Tim’s…

Maybe Dick’s priorities were off, but he didn’t really see what was wrong with it. Yes, there were some issues with this form. He missed his voice. He missed working hands and fingers and not having to take a dump out in the garden. But… there was something about being a dog that made Dick’s problems seemingly disappear.

It was certainly easier to ask for physical affection in this form – people were more than happy to stroke his thick fur, rub his belly, scratch behind his ears… hug him. He could hop up onto the couch, and though Alfred would tut at the fur he was leaving behind on the seats, no one complained to a giant husky draping itself over them.

It was nice, to just be. Dick had never thought of himself as presenting a façade, because it was something that he knew everyone did, but there was something about being a dog, and not having human features, that just made life easier. And it made him feel guilty, because he had a good life, a fulfilling life, filled to the brim with people he cared about who he knew cared about him in return, so what did it say about Dick if he was also satisfied with this existence?

Momentarily, at least, he reasoned with himself. He’d probably feel much more trapped if he found out that it was permanent. But something in him knew, deep down, that it wasn’t, and that made all the difference.

Dick was content to lay across as many family members as he could reach while they watched a movie, and dose during it. He couldn’t even stay maudlin for long – there was something about being surrounded by people and being constantly showered with physical affection, and having all his daily requirements met, that made it impossible to stay down for long.

Of course, the time came when Tim left the Manor to go to Titan’s Tower – he’d really only been staying at the Manor overnight because of Dick and his condition. Damian had school, and then there was the fact that he had his monthly sleepover with Jon scheduled for that weekend, and Dick refused to let him cancel for his sake. Bruce was due out of the country for Batman Inc. work, and Dick refused to let him cancel that, too.

In the end, Dick was shuttled off with Damian to Clark’s place. It wouldn’t’ve been as big a deal if they’d been in Smallville over the weekend, but Ma Kent was visiting friends, and something had come up with work that required both Lois and Clark in the city, and so they were all staying in their apartment, which was feeling just the teeniest bit cramped with two adults, two pre-teens, and an energetic dog, all in its two-and-a-half-bedroom glory.

Dick couldn’t complain, though – he’d long since considered Clark one of his closest friends and confidants, and he and Lois both had strong, strong fingers that were perfect for scratching. He was going a little stir-crazy, but Damian and Jon took him out regularly for runs, and it was only for another day or so.

And then Damian decided to sneak out as Robin with Jon.

Dick could hear them trying to be quiet as they put on their costumes, failing miserably. The only reason, he thought in amusement, that even Lois hadn’t picked up on it was because the two of them were crashing after putting in way too many hours researching an article.

Dick pretended to be asleep as Jon silently flew Damian out of the apartment, and then followed out the window, the same way they’d exited.

The first issue: the window was not made for dogs to be climbing out of. Hell, it was barely made for people to be climbing out of, but the Dick who’d had opposing thumbs at least had practise with it. Now, the only real way for Dick to get out without alerting Clark and Lois was through the fire escape.

Getting the latch open was relatively easy with his claws. Getting the window open was not. He could tell that Clark was stirring by the time he got his head under the window, shivering in anticipation. Outside, he could hear the car horns and sounds of nightlife, and an undertone of insects in the distance. He’d missed this, missed being out at night doing what he did best.

The moment he had that thought, a wave of what felt like liquid joy washed over him and his tail began to wag. He could smell Jon and Damian lingering in the wind, and his only thought was to run after them and play.

Dick might’ve questioned it at some point, but he was too wrapped up in opposing goals of watch over Damian and play with Damian, which had remarkably similar processes. Dick’s claws were loud on the stairs as he ran down them, only partly heeding the warning tone in his head that told him that Clark definitely knew he was out and about.

Damian was going to never play with him again if he gave him and Jon away. The thought was sobering enough that it made Dick more careful, when other warnings hadn’t.

Once Dick got onto the ground, it was difficult to figure out which way they’d gone. He couldn’t exactly stick to rooftops, like he would’ve normally – there was no way he could make some of those jumps without a grapple hook, even with the powerful hind legs of his husky form. He tried to remember what way Clark normally patrolled, and went from there.

At first it was fun. He’d missed the freedom of being able to go absolutely anywhere, running as fast as he could. He bolted down alleyways, through streets and the little patches of greenery that the city tried to maintain. There was even a squirrel that he chased, though it disappeared high enough into the foliage that Dick quickly gave up chase.

And then he realised that he was most likely lost. Or rather, he’d lost any and all signs of Damian and Jon that he’d been following, in trying to outrun that bright red sports car that refused to admit that Dick was faster and more agile and all round better.

Without his permission, Dick’s head tilted upwards, and he let out a mournful howl, right into the heavens. The moment he’d done so, Dick clamped his jaws shut in panic. Why was he howling? That would do nothing but bring unwanted attention onto himself. And on that note, why the fuck was he wandering around Metropolis racing cars and diving into bushes, without even a collar on him? That was the best way to be brought to either an animal shelter or the pound.

Dick shook himself thoroughly, and tried to bring forward his human brain. He could either find Damian and follow him for the rest of his and Jon’s patrol, or he could go back to Clark and Lois’ apartment and try to sneak back inside, though it was certainly going to be harder this time round.

That settled it – he couldn’t just go back in. The questions it’d raise, too, would be humiliating, even though Dick at this current moment didn’t really feel humiliation (or any negative emotion, if he were honest) for longer than a split second.

Dick started off again, remembering to stick to the shadows and glancing upwards from time to time, in the hopes of spotting the bright inner lining of Robin’s cape, or Jon’s bright costume.

The streets felt far darker now that he’d lost the joy of galloping around with no inhibitions. He could feel stares lingering on his stark white coat, and flinched away whenever someone tried to get too close. His dinner had been not too long ago, but the exertion of the night had made him hungry all over again, and now he salivated thinking of sinking his teeth into whatever food he passed by as he walked along lines of restaurants and closed vendors.

“Are you lost, boy?” someone crooned. Dick only saw a hand reaching out towards him, and every Disney movie he’d ever watched with animals being taken away and having to go on an epic journey to find their families again flashed through his mind.

He was running before he even processed it, feet taking him down the streets that he’d once known like the back of his hand, but now was twisted in a different spin of colours and smells. He bypassed all the arms and legs that made up strange crowds, staying off the streets lest he got hit by a car.

Dick didn’t know where to go from here. He stood before a dark alleyway, panting. The only thing he could really do…

Dick glanced upwards. There was probably some easy way up to the rooftop. If he got up there, he’d be able to see the whole city, or at least close enough. He’d be away from the people on the ground, though, and that was good enough for Dick.

Metropolis’ stray animal population wasn’t quite as bad as other cities Dick had been in, but it wasn’t exactly better. He passed by plenty of bright eyes staring at him and his mostly pristine white coat, his well-fed body and the look of softness he probably had about him. It was an entirely different feeling to be around other dogs in dark alleyways. Dick’s skin itched.

At long last, after circling the block a handful of times, Dick finally spotted a way to get up onto the fire escape. He climbed atop a low wall, careful to avoid the rows of flowerpots that were balanced on it. Some part of him – the doggish part, he hoped – wanted to burrow his snout into them and really sniff the plants out, maybe chew on a few, but Dick steadfastly refused to be the reason someone came outside in the morning to find their garden in ruins.

He felt like himself again, trying to be as quiet as he could and jump up onto the first platform. From there, it was an easy climb up the four flights of stairs. Dick did his best to keep his claws quiet, but it was impossible to be entirely successful. He just hoped that the inhabitants of this apartment weren’t light sleepers.

Breathing in the air on the rooftop felt like his first in the longest time, but that didn’t hold in the anxiety that ate away at Dick the longer he looked at the open skies that were bare of any trace of Jon or Damian. He knew that it was dumb to worry – Damian was experienced and had been on patrols with Jon before. Was it the husky in him that felt like this?

Before he could stop himself, Dick tilted his head back and let out a mournful howl. One cry rose to more, filling the night with haunting cries. Dogs on the street answered him with their own, and Dick responded in kind, letting out his fear with his voice.

He missed talking. This doggy existence was fun, and part of him, the part of him that was tired and liked how happy he constantly was as a dog, wanted nothing more than to stay in this skin. It was effortless being a husky, and it seemed like it made everyone around him happy too, when he lavished them with affection.

But the rest of him longed for his own flesh. He missed his body, missed the way it felt to be out here on a night like this, grapple hook in hand and mask on his face. He’d always been acutely aware of every little thing that made up his physical form, and now, to have lost that… it probably should’ve been a far larger shock to the system than he’d felt.

The more he thought about it, the longer the list got. Food that wasn’t for dogs, texting, looking around the world and seeing things the way he always had before he’d been given dog vision, that independence that he loved so much…

Another mournful howl slipped out of Dick’s lips, but it was cut short halfway through. Dick shivered violently as the cold night air pierced right through to his bones. He instinctively curled inwards, hands coming to rub at his upper arms.

Arms? Dick jumped with a start at the foreign touch, looking down at himself. He was in boxers and the undershirt he wore while he was Nightwing. He was no longer a dog.

He started at his fingers, at the long, scarred, uneven digits that he’d looked at for almost three decades, and felt a small amount of peace settling into his bones. That old greyness had sunken right back into him, the husky taking away its constant serotonin boosts with its furry form, and he knew that come morning, it would suck, but for now… it felt like returning after a long voyage.

Dick’s bones hurt; in fact, his whole body ached, and this freezing wind was doing absolutely nothing to help. He stared down at the street below, distantly marvelling at how good it felt to see the world with the human colour spectrum, and tried to get up the energy to head back to Clark and Lois’ apartment.

There was a flapping noise, and Dick whirled around.

Jon and Damian stood there, staring at him. The moment they made eye contact, Damian ran forward.

“Richard?”

Dick had barely stood up before Damian was crashing into him, wrapping him up in a tight hug. If there was one thing Dick knew how to do instinctively, it was to hug back; he squeezed Damian’s shoulders and one hand automatically went to the back of Damian’s head, stroking through his thick hair.

Hugs as a husky had been great, but being able to feel the other person like this… it couldn’t compare.

“Jon heard you,” Damian said, voice muffled against Dick’s torso. “We thought you were in trouble.”

Dick squeezed him tighter. He’d thought that… well, it was a little ignorant of him, wasn’t it, to have thought that he wouldn’t be missed since he was ‘technically’ still present, just in a different body. He hadn’t realised the toll this whole thing had taken on Damian, because the kid, though he’d gotten better at showing physical affection, would never have hugged him quite so desperately under normal circumstances.

“Just doggy instinct,” he reassured him, and then, remembering Jon, turned to smile at him as well.

Jon was standing a few metres away, awkwardly playing with his cape. He floated in the air a little when Dick made eye contact with him, and stepped closer.

“Do you want us to take you home now?” he said.

Dick hesitated. “What time is it?” He didn’t want to go back to a sleepless night, alone in the apartment until Clark and Lois woke up.

“We’ve mostly finished patrolling the city,” Damian told him, stepping back so he was next to Jon.

Dick looked towards the skyline, though there were whole walls of skyscrapers that blocked his view of where the sun was supposed to rise. “If you guys are sure,” he said with what he hoped was a normal shrug. “I know Metropolis well enough to get back on my own.”

Damian made an impatient click with his tongue, but before he could say anything, Jon said, “No, it’s okay! We were just about heading back anyway.”

That was how Dick found himself hanging from Jon’s arm as they over Metropolis, Damian swinging from rooftop to rooftop just below them. Dick probably would’ve enjoyed it a whole lot more, had he not been constantly stressed about being carried – and flown – by a child who was about half his size, and probably less than half his weight, and also trying not to shiver out of Jon’s grip.

It was a relief when they finally landed on the rooftop of the apartment. Jon and Damian slipped away into the shadows, just in case someone was watching, while Dick climbed in through the little maintenance door. He was glad the kids had gone off and left him alone – his limbs were shaking as he descended down the staircase, and he had to use the wall and handrail for support.

When he finally got to the door of the apartment, Clark opened it before he could knock.

Dick sighed. “How long?” he asked.

Clark gave him a bemused look. “Dick, I think you woke up the neighbours with how loud you were getting out.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Dick grumbled. “I thought I was pretty sneaky.”

Clark only let out a small laugh, covering Dick’s shoulders with a dressing gown as they stepped inside. Dick felt his muscles relax as the warmth of the living room enveloped him.

“Sit,” Clark said. “I’ll wake the boys up.”

“They’ve been awake all night,” Dick protested.

“Whatever do you mean,” Clark said blithely. “They’ve been in their beds all night, and sleeping in is a waste of a good day.”

Dick snorted, burrowing deeper into the dressing gown and listening with a small smile as Clark knocked loudly on Jon’s door. Moments later, two grumpy pre-teens came out, both with matching sleepy scowls. They joined Dick on the couch, and Jon turned on morning cartoons as Clark joined them, handing Dick a warm mug of coffee.

As Dick sat there, surrounded by warmth, he barely remembered why he’d been so happy as a husky.