Superhero
Vantrika
Disclaimer. I leave it at that.
Clack clack clack. Tak clack tack tak. Tak tak-tak-tak tak tak-tak tak.
What is a superhero?
"They're super people that fly around and save people!"
"They're dudes that wear Spandex and underwear outside their clothes, but always seem to get the hot under-dressed chick anyway."
"They're muscular and supernatural creatures of fiction created by various companies intending to exploit childhood dreams and/or innocence and typically portrayed in comic books and television shows."
Superheroes. Modern myths. Creatures of fiction. Guys that wear underwear outside their clothes. Whatever you want to call them, the fact is that they're amazing. Strong, brave, ideal. The very image of what we all secretly want to be. Sans spandex. Perfection in and of itself.
Perfection.
Aren't perfect people supposed to be…well, perfect? Optimistic, strong, open, trustworthy? Out there doing good, no ulterior motive, no questions asked. Helping people without fail. All that is pure and good is embodied by superheroes—they have no flaws, they are, in every way, perfect. It's hard to fit into the classification of superhero.
Which is maybe why the Teen Titans never saw themselves as Superheroes.
Starfire could barely even grasp the concept—"Does not everyone fight villains on your planet?"—apart from the fact that yes, there were 'guards' of a sort on Tamaran.
Beast Boy had always just laughed at the concept—"Dude, I'm just in it for the major butt-whoop"—and turned into a little kitten. "See me save the world! Mew!"
Cyborg always shrugged the thought off—"Superhero? Not really. Just over-protective over-involved citizen"—before looking sadly at his cybernetic arm.
Raven had never even considered the concept—"I am Devil-spawn, in the literal meaning of the word. I am evidence of what happens when evil develops a conscience"—being so wrapped up in her meditation and insistence of control.
Robin was different. Robin wanted to be a Superhero. He'd always dreamed of being the good guy, the father of the city. Big Brother, always there to beat up the town bully. But he never felt he was. Batman…now Batman was a superhero. He was just an aspiring rookie. For now.
If you think about it, nobody's a superhero. Even Superman had his Kryptonite.
But Superman never hid from the people he saved. He just wore underwear outside his clothes.
"Uh…Robin?"
He turned around quickly, pulling up the criminal database. "Yeah?"
"What the heck is that?"
He thought for a second. "Just an essay…I'm supposed to write an article for the newspaper about how to be a hero."
"I see."
Robin felt eyes boring into him. "How much of it did you read?" he asked nervously.
"Enough," was the reply. A pause. "Has anyone ever told you that you fixate?"
"What?"
"First generic crime, then Slade, and now Superman."
"What!"
"You mention his outfit three times, I believe. Are you really that interested in his underwear? Do muscular men in spandex really fascinate you that much?"
Robin blushed furiously. "I'm just pointing it out!" he protested. "Sorry, but I'm more interested in girls who fly around in spandex…"
"Right," said Raven. "Of course you are."
Don't ask. It just happened.
I have no clue what it's about, why it came to be, how it came to be…
Just review. It's too late to say "read and review," because at this point you have (presumably) already read it…presumably.
