Author's Note: Videos for characters canon and original, can be found on my Youtube channel via the link on my profile.

Fight or Flight

Then it's one foot then the other as you step along the road

Steppin' on the road, how much weight, how much weight?

And it's how long and how far and how many times

Oh, before it's too late?

When Robby rolled into what was locally known as Shit Creek, he thought the epithet was fitting, pretty much summing up the sorry pass his life had suddenly come to. Shit Creek was the nickname for the homeless encampment edging Panorama City, Robby instinctively returning to his roots. This was where he had first learned the art of running a sting, having been forced to fend for himself whenever his mother had went AWOL with yet another waster, but this time round, the stakes were higher.

He parked the 1993 Dodge Grand Caravan, a Passenger SE Minivan he'd stolen from LaRusso Auto the night before, and cut the engine. Slumping back in his seat, he placed his palms atop the dashboard, his hands shaking despite himself. His knuckles were badly bruised from the fight, Miguel's blood still engrained under his fingernails, having not had a chance to clean himself up. The sight made him curl his hands into fists, a reflex gesture that only served to remind him of what he had done.

After his headlong flight from the school, he'd ditched his phone and distinctive light blue hoodie, before tying back his long hair and hitting up LaRusso Auto for a getaway car. But here he'd hesitated, not wanting to steal from Samantha's family, but in the end, must had won out over morality, knowing he wouldn't get far without a car. With the gate codes, he'd accessed the trade-in lot and chosen a vehicle of the lowest value, something shitty that would be easily overlooked at first glance, so that the theft wouldn't be found out until he was far away. Maybe one day, when this nightmare was over, he would come back and settle up for what he had stolen.

Jaw tightening, Robby straightened up in his seat, forcing himself to face an uncertain future. As a drop-out with a juvenile record, the authorities would just throw the book at him. It didn't matter it was an accident, that he had never meant to pitch Miguel over the railing. He had tried to stop the fight between Tory and Samantha, even after the bombshell Tory had dropped about Samantha's betrayal, but when Miguel had went for him, all common sense had been cast aside.

He had always come second to Miguel, not just at the karate tournament, but with his father and now Samantha, the other boy taking his place in their affections. Miguel had more than known this. Like this move? I learned it from your dad. She doesn't love you. She loves me. Then Miguel had gotten him on the ground, before twisting his arm behind his back, on the brink of breaking it, Robby trying to ready himself for what came next, anticipating the agony.

Then Miguel had suddenly let go of him, inexplicably apologising, making Robby see red. All that anger and envy had overwhelmed him, and he'd lashed out, kicking Miguel in the chest, sending him over the side of the railing. Robby, what did you do? He bowed his head, still seeing the shock in Samantha's eyes, looking as if she had never seen him before, a stranger standing in his place. And what had he done? He didn't even know if Miguel was dead or alive. All he'd been concerned about was saving his own sorry skin.

Robby raised his head, only to freeze, catching sight of his battered face in the rear-view mirror. Was this who he really was? He tentatively touched his cut lip, his hand now strangely steady. Maybe it was. Somebody not worth saving. Somebody who was beyond redemption. That the life he had been living with the LaRussos had just been a lie. He had been pretending to be somebody he wasn't; a leopard who couldn't change. Robby Keene just wasn't a good person. He was a waste of time and he would never be able to come back from this.

Never.