DC : Crisis of infinite hunger : Arc 1 - Epilogue 3

Epilogue 3: The Weight of the Bat

The common room of Titans Tower was a disaster of indulgence. It had once been a place of strategy meetings, training, and camaraderie. Now, it was a feeding ground. Grease-stained wrappers, empty cartons, and half-finished milkshakes covered the tables and couches as the Titans—once paragons of peak physicality—gorged themselves without a care.

Wally West, dressed in his stretched-out Flash costume, was sprawled across a recliner, red spandex digging into every roll and crevice of his growing frame. The material barely held together over his massive belly. He idly shoved handfuls of fries into his mouth, his formerly razor-sharp speedster reflexes now dedicated to getting food into his face as quickly as possible.

Donna, seated on the couch, was barely paying attention to the world around her as she demolished an entire pizza on her own, greasy fingers moving methodically between slices. Starfire floated midair, polishing off the last remnants of bucket of fried chicken, licking her fingers clean before reaching for a platter of ribs.

Garth and Roy, the latest victims of the spreading hunger, were making up for lost time. Roy’s gut pushed against his belt, his arms slightly softer but still thick as he gulped down soda between bites of a triple-stacked burger. Garth, the once-lean Atlantean, had developed a solid layer of fat over his previously chiseled physique, his body now thick with bulk as he worked through an absurd amount of fried seafood.

And then there was Raven.

Despite her usual dark, brooding demeanor, she was eating just as enthusiastically as the others, stuffing her face with a slice of cake while looking utterly annoyed. Her cloak was stretched over her shoulders, and her normally pale face was now smudged with bits of frosting.

Dick shifted on the couch, adjusting the massive weight of his own form as he licked barbecue sauce off his fingers. He felt the communicator buzz in his palm, and with a sigh, he answered.

A deep, unmistakable voice came through.

"Nightwing. I need you at the Cave. Now."

Dick swallowed. "Something serious, I’m guessing?"

"I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t.” Batman’s voice was sharp. "Meet me there."

Dick hesitated. The last time Bruce had seen him, he was "normal" the peak of physical fitness. Now? Now he was massive. His once-athletic form had been overtaken by sheer size. His gut pressed into his thighs, his moobs rested heavily atop his stomach, and his thighs—God, his thighs—had become immense, thick slabs of flesh that ground against each other with every movement. And his ass? His ass was on another level entirely. His suit, custom-reinforced, struggled to contain the sheer expanse of it, the once-flattering blue emblem stretched absurdly over the rolling mass of his back.

Bruce was in for a shock.

"Raven," Dick turned to the sorceress, "Think you could portal me to the Batcave?"

Raven groaned through a mouthful of cake. "Must you always ask me things when I’m in the middle of eating?"

"Well... You’re the only one who can do it."

Raven rolled her eyes, swallowing the last bite of cake with an exaggerated sigh. "Fine. But don’t expect me to stick around for whatever disaster this turns into."

She muttered an incantation, and a swirling portal of darkness opened beneath him. Before he could even thank her, the magic pulled him through, dropping him into the Batcave.

The Cave was cold and silent, save for the hum of the Batcomputer. Dick took a deep breath, shifting his weight before he waddled forward. Each step took more effort than it should have, his thick thighs brushing against each other, his hips swaying wider than they ever had before.

He reached the glowing screens, his eyes scanning the data.

Heroes filled the display—Barry, Hal, and others, all grotesquely overweight. The Flash, his suit strained to bursting as he scarfed down food. Hal Jordan, barely fitting in his construct chair, his belly rising and falling as he reclined in lazy indulgence.

Dick frowned. "This is what Bruce wants me to look into? Why does he care so much that Flash and Lantern got fat?"

Just then, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed in the cavern.

"Ah, Master Dick, you’re ear—"

The sound of silver clattering to the ground filled the space as Alfred’s tray of cookies hit the floor. The butler’s normally impeccable composure crumbled into sheer, unrestrained shock.

"My word, Master Dick!" Alfred’s voice trembled. "What on earth has happened to you?"

Dick, oblivious to the concern, sniffed the air. "Aw, man, those smelled amazing. Any chance you can make some more? Maybe a double batch?"

Alfred blinked, looking utterly horrified. But, ever the professional, he simply straightened. "Right away, Master Dick."

Minutes later, Alfred returned with the double batch Dick had requested. "Your cookies, Master Dick. Be careful—they’re quite hot."

Dick grabbed one of the trays immediately, his thick fingers wrapping around a cookie as he shoved it into his mouth "You’re the best, Al."

Alfred set the second tray down on the Batcomputer’s desk before briskly leaving the Cave.

He had no intention of being there when Bruce saw this.

The roar of the Batmobile filled the Cave.

Dick, already several cookies in, barely looked up.

"Dick," Batman’s voice cut through the air. "I need your help investigating—"

"Hey, Bruce." Dick waved, crumbs falling from his fingers. "Alfred made cookies. You want some?"

Batman strode forward, his attention on the computer—until he saw Dick in full.

He stopped.

His expression hardened, his sharp mind processing what he was seeing—but failing to comprehend it.

Nightwing—his former protégé, his heir—was enormous. His body was a thick mass of flesh, his once-athletic form buried under rolls of fat. His chest, which had once been a sculpted physique of peak human condition, had softened into pronounced moobs, resting atop a belly that jutted outward. His thighs and hips were outright ridiculous, stretching his suit to its limits, making movement a visible effort.

For the first time in a long time, Batman was speechless.

"How could you let this happen?" His voice was sharp, cutting.

Dick blinked. "Let what happen?"

Bruce’s eyes darkened. His lips pressed into a tight line.

"Don’t play dumb with me." Bruce’s tone turned cold. "I trained you. You were disciplined. You had control over yourself. And now look at you." He gestured at Dick’s massive frame. "You’ve lost every ounce of discipline I ever taught you."

Bruce paced, his cape billowing behind him. "Do you know what this means? You're compromised. Your mobility, your agility—gone. You can't fight like this, Dick! What happens when Gotham needs you? When the Titans need you? What happens when someone gets hurt because you were too busy stuffing your face?"

Dick frowned, munching on another cookie. "Jeez, Bruce, dramatic much?"

Bruce wasn't finished. "Do you think this is a joke? Do you think this is some harmless indulgence? We are supposed to be better than this. You were supposed to be better than this. And instead, you’re waddling around like—"

He prodded Dick’s belly sharply.

The soft flesh jiggled beneath his fingers.

Something unseen shifted.

Bruce exhaled sharply, blinking. His body felt… strange. A dull warmth spread from his fingertips to his stomach. His posture, always rigid, softened slightly.

Unbeknownst to him, his muscles were already beginning to relax, the infection taking root.

"I needed your help investigating why so many heroes have been affected by this."He turned back to the Batcomputer. "Now I have to add you to my files."

Dick huffed. "Great. That’s just what I always wanted."

Bruce tried to focus on the screen, but something gnawed at him.

His stomach.

He rubbed it absently. He was never hungry—not like this. His metabolism had always been precise, his eating regimented. But now? Now he felt… empty.

Then he saw it.

The plate of cookies that had been left on the Batcomputer.

His willpower was legendary. But tonight… tonight, something was different.

Bruce hesitated. Looked over at Dick, who was still busy stuffing his face.

He reached out. Took one.

Took another.

By the time he realized what he was doing, the plate was empty.

His suit felt tight. The lines of his physique weren’t as sharp. His abs, once like carved stone, felt softer, like they were sinking into something. His belt dug into his waist ever so slightly.

He scowled, but there was an unmistakable tension in his jaw.

Dick, now waddling toward the kitchen, called over his shoulder. " Well if you dont need me anymore, I’m gonna go grab some more food."

Bruce, still staring at the files, muttered, "Dick… wait."

Dick turned, arching an eyebrow.

"Can you… ask Alfred to make more?"

Dick smirked. "Oh, so now you want my help?"

"Just do it."

"Hey, Alfred!" Dick called out. "Another double batch! Wait maybe triple!"

Bruce sat back, exhaling.

His hunger was growing.

And so was he.