It's kind of hard to enjoy a road trip when you've broken everything you valued for the third time.
Dick Grayson
He's going home.
The thought hangs heavy in his mind, obscuring everything else. Even Trigon's defeat seems to pale in comparison. Everytime he thinks about the demon, there's a slight sick feeling in his stomach, and screams flash through his mind. The thought of seeing Bruce seems worse somehow, though. Every time his adoptive father's name crosses his mind, he hears the crunch of bones beneath his feet, and his stomach threatens to revolt.
He's gotten good at setting his thoughts aside, though, so he focuses on the road. It's something he'd done many times as Robin, and even more times after. Set the painful things aside, because you can get to those later. There'll always be more time for that, and less than 24 hours ago, all they needed to do was survive. But the time for survival is over now, and he has all the time in the world. He doesn't want that. He thinks back to the maps he glanced over in the gas station, trying to remember if there was a motel in the area.
Beside him, Rachel is sipping her coffee lightly, still looking outside. She hasn't spoken to him since their disastrous conversation about parents and barely even looked at him when he passed her the ridiculously sweet coffee. Through the rearview mirror, he can see Gar sitting stock still, clutching his styrofoam cup of tea as if its his last connection to the living world. Behind him, Jason is slumped against the side wall, his mouth slightly open. Dick's glad that at least one of them could sleep now. And Jason needs the rest. They all do.
He makes a split second decision, gently maneuvering the car into the exit. He hadn't gotten a good look at the service sign before he turned, but he was 70% sure that there was a motel, or a hotel somewhere in the area. Even at the speed he was driving, there would be no way they could make it to Gotham tonight. After all, he had driven nearly five hours in the wrong direction, and had barely made up one.
He glances at Jason again, asleep in the back seat. He could turn around now, and the others probably wouldn't tell the other kid. They'd be more than halfway to the tower before Jason realized, and by then, he'd have no choice but to stay with him.
But Jason was a Robin, and Bruce wouldn't have chosen him for nothing. Even if there was nothing else alike about the two of them, they definitely shared the same stubbornness. Even if they made it to San Francisco and locked him up, it wouldn't surprise anyone to see him in Gotham a day later. Driving there would just make sure that the younger boy didn't get hurt. And if Dick is being honest, he isn't in that much of a rush to get to the Tower either. He could start the new Titans there, train Rachel and Gar to be better than he was, but it still held so many memories of Jericho and Garth, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to face them.
Startled, he gives a surprised snort. He'd have to be the only person in the country that ruined his life on the West Coast and the East Coast. It wouldn't hurt to stay on course, but it would take all day tomorrow, even if they did get an early start. It would probably be better to stop for the night, rest up, and leave early.
The dim lights of an Econo-Lodge popped up in the distance, and he has to stop himself from breathing an audible sigh of relief. At this point, he's so out of it that he wouldn't even mind sleeping on the side of the road in the car, but the kids deserved to sleep in a bed tonight.
When he pulls into the parking lot, everyone seems to stir, just a little. Jason yawns, and then looks around frantically, his muscles tensing. Gar stretches like a cat, and then winces, giving Dick a sick feeling in his stomach, but he pushes past it and opens his door, letting the night air rush into the car.
"We're stopping for the night," he explains rather uselessly, but everyone still listens, so there's that, "I'll grab the bag with all our spare clothes, but everything else we can grab in the morning. We'll want to leave early, too."
Jason yawns, and when he speaks, his voice is still heavy with sleep. "We're not staying for the continental breakfast?"
"Not if you want to get to Gotham," Dick snaps, and then instantly regrets it as the other boy closes his mouth firmly shut. Dick knows he needs to sleep. He's on edge, rude, and kind of cold, to be honest, and he never wanted to hurt any of them, he had just wanted to help them, he swears.
So he shuts up and hefts a duffel bag from the trunk, filled with spare clothes and toothbrushes and a few weapons. He has his staff collapsed and split, each portion strapped to his calves, so if they get into a fight, he'll be able to take an opponent down in seconds. He's prepared.
The kids trail behind him as he enters the motel office, blinking exhaustedly at their surroundings. As the door swings shut behind them, the receptionist gives them a quick look, and then does a double take. Dick winces. He'd learned to try to not attract much attention, but what was done was done.
"Four singles, please," he gives the man a polite smile that's more than a little forced. The man quits gaping and checks the desktop in front of him. Rachel sidles up next to him, and for a moment, he thinks she was going to say something, but then she just takes another step forward, inspecting the jar of hard candies on the desk.
"Four singles?" the receptionist frowns at his computer and glances back at them, looking them up and down. Dick can't even imagine how strange they must seem. A green-haired boy with bruises all over his face, a blue haired girl with a jewel embedded in her forehead, a spiky-haired boy who was asleep on his feet, and him. He wonders if the man could see the blood on his hands, the trail they had left behind.
It didn't help that he didn't have the best track record with receptionists.
"I'm afraid we don't have any singles left," the man says, looking at him not unapologetically, "Lots of people flew in to go to the River Bend film festival and they've taken up most of our rooms."
He pointed to a brochure rack featuring the festival, and Dick files that information away. River Bend. They were in Indiana. Twelve hours from Gotham.
"Right," Dick replies awkwardly, "That's what we're here for too. Got a bit held up on the road." He tries to sell it with a smile. The receptionist seems unconvinced, but he nods anyway.
"We do have two doubles, if you and your…" he pauses for a moment, looking a bit lost, "your children are willing to share. What name should I book them under?"
"Grayson," he says, sighing, and hands over the cash he had pulled from the atm at the gas station. They weren't on the run from anything, but he'd decided to leave a minimal credit card trail, anyway. Old habits die hard.
The situation is hardly ideal, with Gar jumping at every move he made, Rachel avoiding his gaze, and Jason looking shellshocked, but they'd just have to make do. He can't blame any of them, though. He feels the same way, but he has to remember. Nothing is chasing them. They are safe.
You're never safe, Robin, a familiar voice whispers in his ear, but he's too used to it to turn around. He already knows he'd only see open air.
The doubles will have to do for now. The man hands two hotel keys to him with a frown, and opens up a drawer, slowly and deliberately.
Dick tenses, and leans forward slightly, adopting a wider stance. Jason has joined Rachel at the candy jar, and they are rooting through it, taking far more than was polite. Gar hangs back, eyes darting from the door to the desk. Thankfully, though, the receptionist says nothing, and just hands him his change
"We hope you enjoy your stay. Breakfast starts at five, ice is in the machine in the laundry room." He eases back in his seat and pulls out his phone, "Please let me know if you need anything else." He gives one final glare towards the candy jar, then retreats to the little room in the back.
Rachel pops a grape candy into her mouth, and hands an apple one to Gar, who takes it, but doesn't unwrap it. They turn back and look at him after a moment.
"Aren't we going to the rooms?" Rachel asks, breaking the silence.
Dick lets out a breath, shaking himself out of the trance that seems to have come over him.
"Yeah, yeah," he looks down at the keys, "We got lucky, it's two rooms next to each other. We're going to pair off."
"I'll room with Gar," Rachel says quickly, "He probably wouldn't be able to sleep well around either of you."
Dick knows she's not trying to be intentionally cruel, but he looks away at that, guilt making it hard to swallow. Surprisingly, it is Jason who speaks up.
"That's probably not the best idea, Rachel," he says, his tone surprisingly devoid of all sarcasm and snark, "I know we're not planning on being attacked, but we should have at least one fighter in each room."
Rachel scoffs, and the air in the room seems to drop a few degrees. If Dick's not seeing things, the gem in her forehead is glowing slightly. "I'm a fighter. None of you could do anything against Trigon, and I'm the one that killed him!"
"Keep your voice down!" Dick hisses, glancing nervously at the back room. He doesn't know if the receptionist is listening in, and all of a sudden, panic sets in. Trigon's gone, but he had followers. Rachel's mom couldn't have been the only person taken in. There could be a mass of people, closing in on them right now, and they'd be powerless to stop it, because they're too busy licking their own wounds, and fighting amongst each other. Because Trigon broke him too much to be able to keep the other together.
Gar starts to speak, but Dick cuts him off, glaring at each of the kids in turn. They all seem to shrink a bit.
"Rachel, you're with me. Gar-" he tosses the key to the green-haired boy, "-you're with Jason. No arguments."
They all stare at him for a second, then move as if on autopilot, and Dick is worried, really worried, that he's broken something really valuable, something even the Wayne fortune can't afford. He's already broken himself, over and over again.
He can't break them, too.
Their rooms are all on the ground floor, thank goodness, because he doesn't honestly think he's up to walking up a flight of stairs. Rachel takes the room closest to the end, closing the door behind her without another word, so the boys file into the room next to it.
He watches from the door as Jason drops onto the bed nearest to the door and waves a hand in Dick's vague direction. A ghost of a smile crosses Gar's face, and he nods to Dick.
"We're good." His voice is tired, but there's a vein of confidence behind it. Dick nods, tosses some toiletries on the little desk along with some clothes, and leaves a few throwing stars on Jason's side of the night stand.
"I'll come check up on you in the morning," Dick promises, then shuts the door behind him.
The duffel bag is lighter now, and the wind has picked up a bit, shifting it around in his grasp. For the first time in a long time, he's alone. It feels like the world is holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, but there's a lump in his throat he can't seem to swallow past. It should be easy, to walk into his room, collapse on the bed, and sleep till morning, but all of a sudden, he can't. He just can't.
He drops the duffel on the ground and slides down the wall so he's sitting right next to it, he knows he's breathing too fast, knows this is some sort of a panic attack, a delayed reaction from the fight earlier that day. He knows what Bruce would say if he was here, but for moment, he allows himself to accept it.
He did this, all of it. Trigon would have never grown so strong if he hadn't been so weak. He had failed all of them, and hurt all of them. And the worst part? He honestly still doesn't think he could have found a way around it. Every time around, he would have killed Bruce, he would have become a monster, and the world would have ended.
He feels like he should do something about that, cry, scream,or even fix himself. Instead, all that comes out is a pathetic whimper and he drops his head in his hands. He doesn't have the energy to do this. Outside, a light rain has begun to fall, just beyond the awning that he is sitting under. He has the strangest urge to just - stop. He'd had this whole grand plan about taking Rachel and Gar to San Francisco, giving them a home, training them to be better than him.
But why would they ever want to have a home with someone who'd tried to kill them? With someone so much weaker than anybody, in body and spirit? He couldn't provide for the two of them with the last of his personal funds, and the mere thought of Bruce made his stomach churn, so asking for money was out of the question.
If he was being honest with himself, the best thing he could do was leave them all here. He could leave the keys in the duffel outside the room, it wasn't like anyone would steal it. Jason would take them to Gotham, and maybe Bruce would take them in, or help them. He could disappear, make it to another country, live his own life. He could leave everything he had broken and not look back.
It wouldn't be the first time that had happened.
They would be better off without them.
The door next to him slams open just as he stands up, and Rachel steps out into the rain, giving him a questioning look. He tries not to look too guilty.
"Are you okay?" she asks with such sincerity in her voice that Dick wants to tell her everything. She's clearly still mad at him, but she looks more concerned than angry right now. He would have guessed that she was reading his mind, but the gem in her forehead remained dark, and her eyes were still a clear blue-green.
He nods and finds his voice. "I just wanted to drop this in the car. Go ahead and go to sleep, I'll be back in a minute."
She stares at him for a second, eyes narrowing, then swallows, and gives him a hug. Dick's arms wrap around her automatically, and for a second he feels so old. Rachel fits easily in her arms, and she's shivering a bit, but she holds on for dear life, so he does, too.
After a moment, she pulls away, giving him a small smile. "You'll be right back?" she confirms.
Dick nods, his throat too dry to speak. He waits until Rachel closes the door behind her before he turns around and heads towards the car. He's in two minds now, but even as he nears the car, he doesn't know what he'll do. When he reaches into his pocket for his keys though, his fingers brush against crinkly plastic, and he knows what he's going to do.
He pulls what he had felt out of his pocket and inspects it; it's a strawberry candy, freshly poached from the motel clerk.
His keys aren't in his pocket, and he has the sense to feel shame coating the pit of his stomach, caused by the fact that he hadn't noticed, but worse, that Rachel had expected it. His hair is plastered to his forehead, wet with rainwater, but he just shoulders the duffel again and heads back to the room. He stands in the doorway for a moment, and raises an eyebrow at Rachel, who has already settled beneath the covers of the bed closest to the door. She points her chin in the direction of the side table on her side, where the keys lie, glinting innocently under the dusty light.
"I wasn't going to leave," he lies.
Rachel nods. "I know you didn't want to." Her eyes follow him as he pulls off his shoes and collapses on the other bed, wincing as an old spring pokes him in the back. The water from his hair drips onto his pillow, and his clothes are a bit gross, to be honest, but sleep is pulling his eyelids down like they're sandbags, and he's asleep before Rachel turns off the light.
Trapped in his own mind.
Sorry for disappearing for a bit, the next chapter will be Dick's perspective as well. The story'll probably have 3 or maybe 4 more chapters. Who knows? :)
If you enjoyed this, please comment or favorite! Thanks so much for reading. ~S