Work Text:
Maybe
by Kari Anna
Dick sat down heavily, feeling the bed's springs give way in a way that indicated the furniture was long past its prime.
It felt like the end of everything, even though he was sure it was the beginning of... hell, something. He wasn't sure what.
His gut churned, and he couldn't tell if it was dread or the musty, mildewy smell in the air. If the health department ever checked this place out, it'd be fucked ten ways from Sunday. As it was, it was the cheapest place in Gotham.
Gotham.
What the fuck had he been thinking, coming back here?
As soon as he'd begun to wonder about that, Dick felt a rebelliously certain purpose for coming.
But not if he thought about it. If he thought about it, he realized what being here meant, what he was giving up. If he thought about it, he realized he was giving up being-- well, having the illusion of being his own man. The last four years would be down the tubes. He'd be back in that same situation he'd run away from.
It'll be different. But now that he thought of it, it really fucking wouldn't. There would be more of... whatever they had, but the same issues would be hashed out, the same old fights would be replayed. Just in new ways. Maybe with new things triggering them. Maybe they'd be more frequent.
Maybes were going to kill him.
Dick stilled his leg, silently cursing restless leg syndrome. He stood and grabbed his coat. He couldn't sit here in this hotel room and let the maybes send him running back to Bludhaven. No amount of running was going to put Bruce behind him.
He grabbed the invitation off the bed and jammed it in his back pocket, pulling his coat on one-handed. Maybe he should just take Bruce up on the invite.
end