The sun was beginning to set just as the Titans had returned home, and though the evening was peaceful, an odd feeling of uneasiness plagued the tower. Today was no different than the rest, Cyborg pondered, so why did the mood feel so strange? Between fighting a few petty villains throughout the day, Beast Boy had still cracked bad jokes, Raven still didn't laugh, and Starfire still remained in confusion of the punchlines. Cyborg himself had joined in with the merrymaking earlier, telling a few jokes of his own here and there. Everything had been normal. It was not until now, in the last fading rays of the sun, that he felt the general mood shift. It was not until now, too, that he realized the problem: Robin.
The boy wonder, a serious teen in character but not opposed to occasional mischief, had hardly said a word all day. The silence echoed louder now, amongst the worried thoughts of the robot boy, as he tried to figure a conclusion. Had the Titans done anything to upset their leader? They couldn't have; everybody knew not to cross certain boundaries, even when joking. Was there any significance about the day's date? Cyborg checked his computerized calendar; it remained unmarked. He stood and checked the group's calendar, the pages pinned to the fridge by silly, colorful magnets (most likely Beast Boy's doing), but it too held no results. Coming to no conclusion, Cyborg internally sighed as he realized that, to get an answer, he must ask the person in question.
As Cyborg walked to his team mate's room, he couldn't help but to feel a bit anxious. If whatever had silenced Robin was important, Cyborg did not want to let the boy wonder know he had forgotten. Cyborg was his own man, not usually concerned with the approval of others, but gaining the approval of his team, especially of his leader, was of utmost importance to him. What if he had forgotten to mark something important on his calendar, and Robin was expressing his disappointment through the cold shoulder? The theory made a bit of sense, but even if it was remotely true, why, then, was the team calendar unmarked as well? It was unlikely that Robin would tell the entire team to remember something without at least one person writing it down. Cyborg groaned in confusion, deciding it was best to confront Robin and take whatever verbal abuse was in store so long as he got an answer, and raised a hand to knock on the door.
He stopped his hand when a small noise from inside the room stirred his curiosity. After a moment, though he knew it wasn't exactly right, he lightly pressed his ear to the door, listening in silence for a moment. The noise in question sounded like... hushed sobbing, little gasps for air followed by quiet whimpers of pain. Cyborg pulled away, worried; Robin almost never cried , let alone sobbed. If he was crying, whatever was bothering him must have been very important. A wave of guilt washed over Cyborg as the teen worried he might have been responsible in some way. Still, he knocked on the door. "Robin?" he called gently, "it's me, Cyborg. Are you alright?"
The noises stopped, replaced by the startled shuffling of movement towards the door. A quiet "hold on" was spoken before the electronic door slid open, revealing Robin, who, in Cyborg's mind, looked so much different than he usually did. The young man, his leader, a strong willed and brave fighter, now appeared small and fragile. His head hung slightly and his voice shook with a barely audible tremor as he asked his friend, "what do you need?"
Cyborg's eyes immediately filled with empathy; it was obvious to him now that his leader HAD been crying. He knew Robin wouldn't want to be seen in this state by the rest of the team and put a gentle hand on Robin's hunched shoulder to guide him back into the room, not speaking until he heard the click of the closed door behind them. "Hey, man," he started softly, "what's wrong?"
Robin turned his head away and crossed his arms, defensively protecting himself from the shame he felt by being so visibly weak in front of a fellow team member. "Nothing's wrong," came the short reply, followed quickly by a nervous shift of his body weight from one foot to the other. Cyborg narrowed his eyes slightly at this response.
"Come on, Robin. You haven't been yourself all day, what's up?" No reply. "Did we do something to upset you?" Robin shook his head, all the while still avoiding Cyborg's questioning eyes. "Was it Slade?" Another shake of the head and a mumbled "no". Cyborg's thoughts were slightly tinged with frustration as he glanced around the room, the area of which was all too dark, both in light and in atmosphere. "Look, Robin, I can't help you if you're not going to-" he cut off the rest of his sentence as he spotted something on Robin's bed, amongst the crumpled sheets.
A picture frame.
Cyborg slowly walked to the bed and picked up the frame, bringing it closer to his face as to see in the darkness. Inside the frame was an old photo, worn by time around the edges with tiny rips and crumples, the image of a couple holding a small child forever captured by what was undoubtedly a very old camera. Cyborg noted the background of the photo, filled with carnival tents and circus contraptions. He knew enough about Robin's past to gather that the photo must have depicted a memory of the boy's childhood, the happy child simply being a much younger Robin. "Are these your parents?" Cyborg asked quietly, more to himself than to Robin. What could be so upsetting about this picture? Was this memory not a happy one? He gently pulled the image from its case despite Robin's half-hearted "don't," and examined the back, finding a date, most likely the date on which the photo was taken, scrawled out in sloppy handwriting. Going on his earlier hunch, Cyborg checked his calendar; the days were the same. Still, he wondered, what was the significance? He flipped the photo back to the image side; the joyful couple still remained, forever holding a delighted baby Robin between themselves, depicting an image so sweet it could have been on a hallmark card. Cyborg studied the image once more, and as he finally put two and two together, a cold blanket of realization draped itself over his mind.
Today was the anniversary of the death of Robin's parents.
Silently Cyborg slipped the photo back into its frame and set the precious artifact back to its resting place on the bed. 'The anniversary of their death...' Cyborg felt anger towards himself among other jumbled emotions, 'the anniversary of their death, and we spent the day cracking jokes.' Guilt flooded his sensors once more. He knew Robin had never actually told anyone about their death and didn't expect anybody to mourn for them, but the team had done their research many moons ago; as it turns out, though, the mind is quick to block out what it cannot grasp. Cyborg, his thoughts muddled with a whirlwind of emotions, had to take a deep breath before turning around.
"Robin, I..." his voice faded to silence as he watched Robin slump to the floor, the young man's face buried in his hands as to hide his sorrow, his body shaking from the bottled emotions. Cyborg got down to Robin's level and frowned. He wondered how hard it must have been for his leader to hide such emotional turmoil throughout the day. Cyborg knew his leader was strong, but he knew also that there are some things strength cannot hide forever. The robotic man gently lifted Robin's chin and gave a weak smile. "Hey, it's okay to let it out, buddy. I won't think you lesser for it."
Behind the mask, Robin's eyes searched Cyborg's face for a moment, perhaps wondering if there was any sincerity in the words. After a few seconds, though, Robin was apparently satisfied with his friend's honesty. He collapsed, emotionally exhausted, onto Cyborg's chest, clinging so desperately to his friend, as if he worried he may lose someone else on this bitter anniversary. After a brief moment of surprise, Cyborg protectively wrapped his arms around his leader, feeling each heave of Robin's chest and sadly listening to every heartbroken cry of grief.
"I'm sorry, Robin" he mumbled, knowing his sympathy could do nothing to ease the pain, "I'm so sorry."