Disclaimer: Don't own Teen Titans, don't own Meat Loaf. Don't WANT to own Meat Loaf, for that matter. The song is from the album Bat Out Of Hell, and its over 9 minutes in length. No flying animalia were harmed in the making of this fiction.
... Too badly.
This is also the first Obsessions not written as one, but came out to be a kindred spirit. So it's included. Count the differences!
Obsessions 3: Bat Out Of Hell
Then, like a sinner before the gates of Heaven I'll come crawling on back to you...
It was another summer night.
The bike began to purr to Robin's pleasure, and he positioned his helmet on carefully. "Hey little Johnny, what you rebelling against?" he fancied her asking him. He looked towards the street ahead, the light of the R-Cycle casting upon the dark pavement in front of him. He fancied himself looking to her and saying, "I don't know. What you got?"
Something was getting him restless. He had to feel the wind brushing past him. He revved the engine, and took off, riding off into the night. He didn't know where to turn, so he took the paths he knew so well so he could let his mind wander as the engine gave him a calming companion. He turned about the dangerous curbs with the greatest of ease, but his mind was elsewhere. His mind was thinking about someone else.
They had met that night, long after the others had gone to bed. Something had roused him from his sleep and when he came to the kitchen to fix himself something to drink, she had been there. And they talked. There was always an earnestness to their talks. Nothing hidden behind false emotions. Just the two of them, naked.
And it had gone that way, so close to her that he had forgotten his duties and she, in a fright, ran to the her room without a second word. He cursed his actions. Turning to bed, he found himself unable to stay still. Despite the lingering drowsiness, he had stirred himself awake. It was almost dawn, he wagered. There was a tinge of light on the horizon, but the skies were still as dark as his home.
Gotham. His home, despite having never settled roots anywhere. There was something there that tied him there. He didn't know why he told Slade that he had a father -- his father had long since been dead -- but there were times he knew, in his heart of hearts, that no matter what came between the two of them, the Batman was his father in every way but genetics.
He would do anything for him. Anything at all.
The night was hot, and the streets were warm to the touch. His break from school and his time with the Titans were just a summer camp to him. When the heat had passed, he would be back in loathsome Gotham, fighting to give it a chance to shine like Jump City. Fighting as hard as he could, so hard that he was afraid sometimes that he would weave right when he should have ducked left and find himself bleeding from the gut. Maybe that was behind his preoccupation with James Dean.
"Live Fast, Die Young." Robin grimaced, "Leave a good looking corpse."
He didn't want to go back to Gotham, not yet. He took a sudden turn, escaping barely the roads that led to home. He didn't know where to turn. So he didn't turn, he just kept going down this street, wondering where it would lead him vaguely. The street was unfamiliar in the dusty dark before dawn. The stars were cold and dark in the sky, as the faint light from the horizon reached to calm their raging heat.
He wouldn't have that. He was young, he was on his motorcycle, and he wouldn't stop for anyone. Not tonight, at least. His mind turned to her again, not sure what to think. She was surprised, frightened by the attention he was suddenly showing to her. He wasn't really sure how to express his emotions. If his guardian had failed in anything, it was teaching him how to control the impulses his body felt. So when his lips traced hers gently, he didn't know how to quell the sudden surge of hunger he felt.
Was she afraid of him now? He didn't know. But all he knew was that she had run from him then, and he couldn't face her without the gentle masks of nighttime keeping their faces secret from one another. He cursed again, a bump in the road shaking him from his thoughts. The road ended. The curb was coming up fast. His mind panicked. There was nothing for it but to turn on instinct, and instinct swerved, bringing the bike across the corner effortlessly.
He was shaken, and his mind kept repeating the mantra of "Oh God, Oh God!" He didn't want to die, no, not yet. No matter how fast he went, he wanted to live. He stopped the bike, hanging by the handle as his feet shook.
"God, no," Robin said, breathing heavily. "I don't want to die. Not yet." His mind spun wildly as he sat down on the grass for a brief moment. What was he to do? God help him, his mind screamed, I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't!
And he had almost died! What awaited him, so young and so brief a being, a fair and good prince, had his time come too soon? She infiltrated his thoughts. It was infernal, catching his every single thought with a new concern. If he left her there, would he be damned for his cowardice? Would anyone let him live it down?
But if he stayed. That scared him too, would he be cursed for being there. What if she scorned him for this. His thoughts ran quickly, so quick that not a word registered in his mind, only ideas and notions. It was with this wordless thought that he planned his next course of action. He walked around, shaking out the fear from him. In his line of work, he had to be prepared for all eventualities. He got on his bike, starting the engine with his unsteady hands, and kicked off again to the road. In the dark summer night, he let the warm wind guide him. The only thing he knew is that if he had to be damned, he wanted to be damned for her.
"What am I rebelling against?" Robin thought idly, as the next turn came up.
In all his life nothing else had been as pure and right as she had been. Not pure in the sense of white, but pure in the sense of untainted. There was something about her that he had never seen before in anyone else. Anywhere. It was the only thing that was pure in his life. Whatever she did, he knew there would be something pure.
The light of dawn now fully crept about the horizon, shining on the street as he ran towards it. What had stopped him, he wondered, as he turned towards the final stretch of street. The wind cut him deeply as the light cut his eye. Was it his tiredness? Was it his fear? Or was it the thought of her forever haunting his mind that brought him to this final stretch. Two paths, one to the tower, his friends and her, and the other, to Gotham, where his family lay. As he approached, he choked. He closed his eyes, thinking, and decided. He turned.
Then it happened. He was a second too late, and his speeding bike twisted and turned towards the light, and the rage of the fire caught his nose.
It scared him -- not the pain, but the lack therein. What was it that stopped him from making that turn. What had sabotaged his flight from his own personal Hell? Feeling like James Dean, all alone and cold in the wreck of his own crash. The sun gave him no comfort, as it rose triumphantly from the confines of the night. It reached for the zenith, greater in size than a million titans. It mocked him, showing him what he was given and taking away the feeling entirely.
He wanted to feel his legs. He desperately wanted to feel his legs.
In the distance, he could hear something tolling. Was it a church bell? Was it tolling for him? He struggled to move, but if he did, his body gave no indication. Even breathing was distant to him now. The only thing he felt was the still beating of his heart in his breast. It beat harder and harder against his chest, threatening to burst free.
He did not know what to do but let it take its flight.
Like a bat out of Hell.
Like a bat out of hell, I'll be gone before the morning comes...