DC : Crisis of infinite hunger : Chapter 18 (Patreon)

Arc 2 : Chapter 4 : Under the Hood

Jason Todd was leaning his entire weight against the Wayne Manor front door while aggressively pressing the doorbell repeatedly.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Three enormous Big Belly Burger delivery bags sat beside his boots, their paper sides darkening with grease.

Jason stared down at them.

The smell alone was enough to make his stomach tighten. Something about it pulled at him, like an itch in the back of his brain.

He crouched slightly, fingers hovering near the top of one of the bags.

Just one fry—

Footsteps approached across the gravel driveway.

“Wow,” Barbara Gordon said dryly as she walked up with Tim Drake beside her. “What did you do to piss Bruce off this time?”

Jason straightened immediately.

“Ha ha, hilarious,” he said. “Why would that even—”

Tim glanced at the doorbell.

“You’re pressing it like it owes you money.”

Jason gestured at the door.

“I’ve been standing out here for fifteen minutes.”

Barbara folded her arms.

“And Bruce made you wait outside?”

Jason leaned back against the door again.

“No,” he said. “That’s the weird part.”

Tim looked down at the massive bags.

“What’s with all the Big Belly Burger?”

Jason shrugged.

“No idea. It was here when I got here.”

Tim crouched slightly, examining the logos.

“Damn this is… a lot of food.”

Jason bent down again and tugged the top of one bag open just a fraction.

Inside were burgers stacked in cardboard trays, milkshakes, huge containers of fries—

Jason’s stomach growled.

Barbara noticed.

“Jason.”

“Hey I’m just looking.”

Before he could reach in further—

The door opened.

Jason fell flat on his back.

Barbara burst out laughing.

Standing in the doorway was Alfred Pennyworth.

He looked exhausted.

His sleeves were rolled up, his shirt damp with sweat, and a flour-covered apron hung around his waist like he had been cooking nonstop for hours.

Yet he still smiled warmly.

“Oh dear. My apologies, Master Jason.”

Alfred offered a hand and helped him up.

Jason brushed himself off.

“No worries Alf,” he said. “But what took so long?”

Alfred blinked like he had suddenly remembered something important.

“Ah.”

He turned and gestured inside.

“Yes, follow me.”

He looked to Tim and Barbara.

“Master Drake, Miss Gordon… would you mind bringing those bags with you?”

Tim picked up two.

Barbara grabbed the third.

Jason followed Alfred inside looking back at Tim and Barb as if they picked up on the strangeness.

They moved down the long manor hallway toward the kitchen.

Halfway there Jason stopped.

“Man,” he said, sniffing the air slightly. “What is that smell?”

Barbara lifted her head.

“…Mmmm yeah, that smells amazing.”

They reached the kitchen doorway.

Inside, the counters were completely covered.

Cookie trays.

Mixing bowls.

Stacks of dough.

More trays cooling on racks.

Jason blinked.

“Jesus, Alfred.”

Barbara stepped closer.

“What are you making?”

Alfred looked oddly skittish for a moment.

“Oh, nothing important.”

He adjusted the apron slightly.

“Just preparing some of my… so-called famous cookies.”

Jason walked closer.

“For who and what army?”

Alfred hesitated just a moment too long.

“Master Grayson.”

Barbara stopped.

“ Wait Dick’s here?”

Alfred nodded.

“Yes, Miss Gordon.”

He turned back to the oven quickly.

“He has been here with Master Bruce for some time now.”

Jason grabbed a cookie cooling on a tray.

“Damn.”

He bit into it.

“That’s amazing.”

Alfred didn’t even look at him.

“My cookies seem to be his favorite lately.”

Barbara tilted her head.

“That’s strange.”

Tim nodded.

“Yeah.”

Alfred gestured down the hallway.

“But please don’t wait on me. They still have some time to bake.”

He pointed to the bags in their hands.

“Master Bruce asked that those be taken down to the Batcave. He will be returning from patrol shortly.”

Jason grabbed another cookie.

“Say less.”

The three of them headed toward the grandfather clock.

Barbara glanced at the others.

“That’s weird though.”

Tim tilted his head.

“What is?”

“Dick being here for this long and not telling any of us.”

She frowned slightly.

“I haven’t heard from him in months.”

Jason shrugged.

“Maybe he got badly injured on a mission with Bruce?”

Tim fiddled with the arms of the grandfather clock until it popped open leading to the cave.

“You’re not helping Jason.”

They then descended the long staircase into the Batcave.

Jason slyly pulled a fry from one of the bags Barbara was holding and popped it into his mouth.

“Jason.”

“What?”

“It’s not yours.”

Jason shrugged.

“It is now.”

Tim glanced back toward the manor stairs.

“It is weird though,” he said. “All this food. Alfred baking nonstop. Bruce ordering bulk fast food.”

Barbara nodded.

“Is Bruce expecting—”

Tim stopped walking.

“What the hell is that?”

Down in the center of the cave, hunched over the Batcomputer desk, was a massive shape.

Black.

Huge.

Barely moving.

Jason and Barbara saw it now too.

Barbara called cautiously.

“…Bruce?”

Tim added quietly.

“Dick?”

The shape shifted.

Slowly.

Very slowly.

It turned.

The movement caused the entire mass to wobble and jiggle slightly.

As they walked closer it became clearer.

And clearer.

And clearer.

None other than Dick Grayson turned around.

Holding fistfuls of cookies in each hand.

His entire body wobbled as he tried to stabilize himself.

“Oh,” he said casually.

“Hey guys.”

Barbara froze.

Tim blinked.

Jason stared.

Dick stood there with cookies in both hands, chewing slowly as the three of them gawked at him.

For a long moment nobody said anything.

Then Jason bent over laughing.

“Holy—Grayson, what the hell happened to you?”

Dick shifted his weight, which immediately set off a chain reaction across his body. His belly bounced heavily against his thighs, his hips rolled, and behind him the enormous mass of his backside wobbled in slow, heavy waves before settling again.

Barbara couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“…Dick?”

Her voice came out quieter than she intended.

Dick shrugged, still chewing.

“Hey Babs.”

The simple greeting made her stare harder.

Up close there was no denying it anymore. Dick had grown huge.

His face had filled out so much that the edges of his mask pressed into soft cheeks. His jawline had nearly disappeared under new weight. His neck looked thicker, blending into the heavy slope of his upper chest.

Below that, his chest had softened into two large rounded moobs that pressed against the stretched Nightwing emblem. Beneath them hung his enormous belly, a huge pear-shaped mass that sagged heavily downward, most of the weight pulling toward the lower half. It curved outward before settling thickly against his thighs, the lower fold shifting whenever he moved.

And those thighs…

Barbara had never seen legs that large on anyone. Thick columns of flesh that forced his stance wide, rubbing together even when he tried to keep space between them.

But the most unbelievable part of him was still behind him.

Dick’s hips had blown outward into immense curves, reshaping his entire silhouette into something strangely feminine. And his ass—once athletic and compact—had become a ridiculous monument of soft mass. Two gigantic mounds pushed out behind him so far that they looked like they belonged on someone twice his size.

The seams of his suit had split open along the back where the fabric simply couldn’t contain the growth anymore.

Barbara actually whispered it before she realized she had spoken.

“…Dick, is that really you?”

Dick grinned slightly and lifted the cookies in his hands.

“Last I checked.”

Jason circled him slowly, shaking his head.

“Man,” Jason said, “You dissappear for months and now you've become a walking parade float.”

Tim folded his arms, studying both Dick and the mountain of food wrappers scattered around the Batcomputer desk.

“Well,” Tim said calmly, “this explains Alfred’s baking marathon.”

Dick perked up slightly at that.

“Oh—he’s making more of these?” Dick asked, holding up a cookie. “Good. I hope he’s not too long. I’m running out.”

Jason laughed.

“Pretty sure you don’t need any more.”

Barbara elbowed him immediately.

“Jason.”

“Hey, I’m just saying.”

Jason was still walking around Dick, inspecting him from every angle like he was trying to understand the physics involved.

Then he stopped behind him.

“…wow.”

Dick rolled his eyes.

“What.”

Jason leaned closer.

“Your ass man, its got its own zipcode.”

Barbara groaned.

“Jason don’t—”

Too late.

Jason wound back his hand and slapped one of dicks enormous ass cheeks.

THWACK.

The sound echoed through the cave.

Dick’s rear rippled violently from the impact, thick waves of movement traveling across the huge curves before slowly settling again. The sudden jolt knocked Dick slightly off balance and he had to shift his trunk like legs to steady himself.

“JASON!”

Barbara snapped.

Dick planted his feet wide, breathing heavier now as the last of the ripples faded through his hips.

“Dude,” he said, annoyed, “what is your problem?”

Jason was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes.

“It’s like jello!”

He then casually grabbed a cookie from the tray while he was talking and popped it into his mouth.

Barbara pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Unbelievable.”

“What? Like I said, it's not like he needs anymore.” Jason laughed

Dick shook his head and went right back to eating, grabbing two more cookies and stuffing them into his mouth at once.

Jason was still laughing when he grabbed another cookie off Dick’s tray and tossed it into his mouth.

He crunched down, still grinning, still half-turned toward Barbara as if he was about to throw out another joke.

Then the joke stalled.

Not visibly enough for anyone else to really catch it, but something in his expression faltered. Just for a second. His grin loosened. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as the warmth hit him.

It started in his mouth.

The cookie was absurdly good. Not just good. Rich. Perfect. The kind of thing that made every other version of the same food feel like an insult. The sweetness hit first, then the butter, then the soft melt of chocolate. But what really caught him off guard was the feeling that followed it down.

A low heat unfurled through his chest and belly, subtle at first, then strangely heavy. It settled deep in his middle like something waking up.

Jason swallowed.

For a second, he just stood there, one hand still hovering over the tray.

No one noticed Jason go quiet.

“…Huh,” he muttered under his breath.

The warmth deepened.

His stomach gave a sudden, tight little pull, not quite a cramp, not quite hunger, but something close enough to make him frown. It felt oddly hollow and full at the same time, like his body had skipped straight past wanting food and moved on to demanding it.

He glanced down at the tray again.

Dick, still red-faced and annoyed, was already reclaiming it for himself, grabbing more cookies in both hands and cramming them into his mouth with shameless urgency.

And without even really deciding to, he grabbed another cookie.

This one he ate faster.

He barely tasted the first bite before he was taking the second. His jaw worked quickly, greedily. The heat in his gut sharpened into real hunger now, sudden and primitive. He wanted another one before he was even finished swallowing the last.

“Man,” he muttered, half to Dick, half to himself, “I see why Alfred said you love these.”

Dick didn’t answer.

He was too busy stuffing his face with another handful, shoulders hunched slightly forward, as if his whole oversized body had narrowed to one purpose: keep eating.

Jason grabbed a third cookie.

Then a fourth.

The warmth inside him spread lower, heavier. His stomach felt tighter now, the fabric of his shirt and jacket sitting differently against his middle. It wasn’t dramatic yet, not enough to make anyone stare, but it was there. The flatness he usually carried through his torso had begun to soften. A slight outward push. The first suggestion of roundness gathering beneath his jacket.

His thighs, too.

When he shifted his stance, he noticed the denim drag a bit more than it had a minute ago. Not enough to stop him. Not enough to worry him.

Just… there.

Then the roar of an engine rolled through the cave.

Tim turned first, sharp and immediate.

Barbara followed.

Dick barely looked up from the tray.

Jason only glanced halfway over before his eyes dropped back to the cookies in his hand.

The Batmobile was coming in.

Fine. Bruce was back.

Whatever.

Jason took another bite.

But Tim and Barbara were already walking toward the vehicle as it rolled to a stop.

Something about the way it moved felt wrong.

Too slow.

Too careful.

The canopy lifted.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

Because Bruce Wayne was wedged inside the cockpit.

Not sitting.

Not squeezed.

Wedged.

The Batmobile’s seat had always been tight by design, molded precisely around Bruce’s usual build. It was meant to hold him steady during high-speed maneuvers.

Now it looked like the car had tried to swallow him and failed.

Bruce’s body filled the entire cockpit.

His torso had thickened dramatically since either of them had last seen him. The once perfectly fitted batsuit was stretched tight across a much heavier chest and stomach, the material pulled taut over a massive belly that pushed forward and down into the steering column.

The wheel itself was barely visible.

Most of it had vanished beneath Bruce’s gut.

It rested there like a heavy shelf of fat pressing into the dashboard, the suit creased where the mass of it folded against the cockpit edge.

His hips were worse.

They had spread wide enough that they seemed locked inside the seat, the armored frame of the cockpit digging into his sides as if the car itself was trying to resist the expansion.

His thighs were packed together beneath the console, thick enough that there was almost no space between them.

Barbara stared.

“…Bruce.”

The word came out somewhere between disbelief and concern.

Bruce glanced up at them, jaw tight beneath the cowl.

“If you two are done observing—”

“How did you even drive back like this?” Barbara interrupted.

She stepped closer, eyes moving quickly over the cockpit, trying to understand what she was seeing.

There was no space for Bruce to move.

None.

Tim answered before Bruce could.

“Autopilot.”

Barbara blinked.

Then looked back at Bruce.

“…You couldn’t even reach the wheel.”

Bruce’s scowl deepened.

“That’s not relevant.”

Tim crouched slightly beside the car, his analytical mind already picking apart the situation.

“You’re wedged under the steering column,” he said matter-of-factly. “Your hips are wider than the seat frame.”

Bruce said nothing.

Barbara folded her arms slowly.

“Bruce.”

“What.”

“How long have you been like this?”

Bruce’s answer came instantly.

“I’m fine.”

Tim glanced up at him again.

“You’re stuck in the Batmobile.”

“It’s a design flaw.”

Barbara blinked.

“…The Batmobile is not the problem here.”

Across the cave Jason called out without even turning around.

“Go get Alfred to bring some butter down!”

Barbara closed her eyes briefly.

“Jason cut it out.”

He laughed at his own joke and reached for another cookie.

And this time, when his hand moved, he felt the difference.

His belly had started to swell.

It wasn’t enough yet to look absurd, not with Bruce wedged in a Batmobile and Dick Grayson standing ten feet away shaped like a carnival attraction, but Jason could feel it pressing outward now, his shirt sitting tighter across the middle. His thighs had thickened too, enough that they spread a little wider against the chair when he sat back down. He shifted once, unconsciously adjusting for the new pressure, and then simply kept eating.

The hunger was getting worse.

No, not worse.

Stronger.

Cleaner.

His whole body seemed to have one very simple opinion now: keep going.

So he did.

He shoved another cookie into his mouth.

Then reached for one more.

Dick’s hand met his.

Both of them stopped.

For a second the two of them just looked at each other, Jason’s hand on the tray, Dick’s fingers curled around the same cookie.

Dick spoke first.

“Grab it…”

His voice was low, blunt, and deeply offended.

Jason smirked, halfway ready to snark back.

Then Dick shifted his weight.

That was all it took.

His huge hips rolled. The monstrous spread of his backside shifted behind him in one thick, slow wave, making the torn seat of his suit strain and wobble around the impossible mass of it.

Dick’s eyes narrowed.

“…and I will sit on you.”

Jason’s smile vanished.

His gaze slid, involuntarily, to the sheer scale of Dick’s ass.

The thing looked less like a body part and more like a weapon of mass destruction.

He gulped.

“You know what,” Jason said, immediately pulling his hand back, “all yours, bro.”

Dick gave a short, satisfied chuckle and snatched the cookie for himself.

“That’s what I thought.”

Back in the cockpit Bruce was already trying to free himself, shifting his weight forward.

The movement was… difficult.

His belly compressed against the steering column as he leaned forward, the mass of it pushing against the dashboard before slowly settling back again. The tight confines of the cockpit left him almost no room to maneuver.

He grunted once, frustrated.

Tim stood up again.

“Okay,” he said calmly. “You’re not getting out of there alone.”

Bruce gave him a look.

“I don’t need help.”

Barbara raised an eyebrow.

“You’re wedged in your own car.”

Bruce exhaled through his nose.

Tim gestured toward Barbara.

“I’ll grab one arm,” he said. “Barbara takes the other.”

Barbara nodded and set the Big Belly Burger bags on the cave floor beside the Batmobile.

She leaned closer to Bruce now, examining the cramped space.

“…You really weren’t kidding about the design flaw,” she muttered.

Bruce glared.

Tim positioned himself beside the cockpit.

“On three.”

Bruce braced his arms against the frame.

“One.”

Barbara grabbed Bruce’s right arm.

The moment she touched him she felt it.

A faint warmth.

Like touching someone who had been standing near a heater.

She barely noticed it.

“Two.”

Tim tightened his grip on Bruce’s left arm.

The same warmth spread through his hands and wrists.

Strange.

But easy to ignore.

“Three.”

They pulled.

Bruce shifted upward maybe an inch.

Then stopped.

His belly compressed against the cockpit edge before settling again, the heavy mass shifting slightly against the steering column.

Barbara frowned.

“…He’s wedged at the hips.”

Tim nodded.

“Again.”

Neither of them noticed what was happening to their own bodies.

Barbara felt the suit tighten first.

Not painfully.

Just… snug.

Her hips pressed slightly harder against the inside of the fabric when she adjusted her stance. The material across her stomach hugged closer than it had a moment ago, outlining a softness that hadn’t been there before.

She ignored it.

Tim felt something similar.

His belt dug faintly into his midsection as he leaned back for leverage. His normally flat stomach pushed just slightly against the inside of his armor as he strained.

Still nothing dramatic.

Just enough to feel.

“Again,” Tim said.

They pulled harder.

Bruce twisted his torso sideways, trying to angle himself out of the cockpit.

His belly shifted heavily with the motion, the thick curve of it sliding across the steering column before settling again.

“Almost,” Barbara said.

They pulled one more time.

Bruce’s hips finally cleared the seat.

With a sudden lurch he popped free from the cockpit entirely, stumbling forward out of the Batmobile.

Tim and Barbara caught him instinctively.

Bruce straightened quickly.

He tugged his cape back into place and squared his shoulders like nothing had happened.

“…Thank you.”

Barbara stared at him.

Tim stepped back.

Bruce steadied himself beside the Batmobile, one hand briefly braced against the canopy while he adjusted the line of his cape and tried to pretend the last few minutes hadn’t happened.

Tim and Barbara stepped back to give him space.

Bruce followed their gaze downward.

Three enormous paper bags sat beside the Batmobile’s wheel.

Bright red and yellow logos.

Big Belly Burger.

Bruce nodded once.

“I see Alfred got you to bring down my order.”

The moment he said it, the smell drifted up.

It had been faint before, buried under everything else in the cave. Now that Bruce had drawn attention to it, it seemed stronger somehow. The warm, greasy scent of burgers and fries leaked from the top of the bags where they’d loosened during the walk down.

Barbara felt it hit her first.

Her stomach tightened sharply.

The warmth that had started spreading through her earlier suddenly sharpened into something clearer—hunger. Not just casual hunger either, but a deep, distracting pull low in her belly that made the food sitting three feet away feel like the most important thing in the room.

She swallowed.

Tim shifted beside her at almost the same moment.

His stomach gave a small, audible growl.

Neither of them spoke for a second.

Barbara glanced sideways.

Tim was staring directly at the bags.

Not casually.

Focused.

Hungry.

He seemed to catch himself and looked up quickly, and for a brief second their eyes met.

Barbara noticed something she hadn’t expected.

Tim looked… different.

Not dramatically so, but the lines of his suit sat differently around his middle than she remembered. The usually flat line of his stomach pushed faintly against the material of his uniform now, and the belt around his waist looked just slightly tighter than it should have been.

It took her a second to realize she was staring.

Tim noticed something too.

Barbara’s suit hugged her waist a little more than usual, the smooth line of her torso interrupted by the faintest outward curve at her stomach and hips. Nothing dramatic—nothing anyone else would immediately point out—but it was enough that Tim blinked once in quiet surprise.

They both looked away at the same time.

Bruce hadn’t noticed any of it.

He was already crouching slightly toward the bags.

Tim cleared his throat.

“…I don’t suppose,” he said carefully, “you’re planning to share those.”

Barbara nodded quickly, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah. Helping you out worked up a bit of an appetite.”

Bruce paused.

He looked at the bags.

Then at them.

First Catwoman had stolen his food.

Now apparently the Batcave was hungry too.

He exhaled slowly through his nose.

“…Fine.”

Barbara didn’t wait for him to reconsider.

She crouched beside the nearest bag almost immediately, fingers sliding under the grease-softened paper as she pulled it open. The warmth trapped inside rolled out toward her face, and her stomach tightened again in response.

“Wow,” she muttered quietly.

Inside were stacks of wrapped burgers, cartons of fries, and a pair of thick milkshakes pressed against the side of the bag to keep them upright.

Tim crouched beside her, already peering inside another bag.

“Bruce,” he said absently, “this is enough food for a football team.”

Barbara dug past a layer of napkins and pulled out a carton of fries. The heat seeped into her fingers through the cardboard. Without even thinking about it, she lifted one and took a bite.

The salt hit her tongue and her shoulders relaxed almost immediately.

Tim had already opened another wrapper beside her.

Neither of them commented on it.

Across the cave, Jason was slouched in the Batcomputer chair now, one leg spread slightly wider than usual, his hand moving back and forth between the tray and his mouth as cookies disappeared one after another.

Dick stood beside him like a towering, wobbling monument.

The tray that had been full minutes ago was nearly empty now.

Dick grabbed three cookies at once, cramming them into his mouth while Jason reached around him for another handful. The movement made Dick’s enormous belly sway forward and the massive weight of his hips and backside wobble heavily behind him before settling again.

Bruce watched them for a moment and frowned.

Something about the scene felt like it should bother him.

Not the food itself.

The pace of it.

The hunger.

The way everyone had moved toward it without hesitation.

He looked back down at one of the open bags beside him.

Burgers stacked neatly inside.

Steam curling faintly from the wrappers.

He straightened slightly, one hand slowly reaching down.

After all…

It had been a long night.