035-Emergency
For as long as he could remember, Beast Boy always hated hospitals. They reeked of antiseptic and death. Whenever he passed one, he walked just a bit faster, and whenever he had to step foot in one he didn't stop feeling like his insides were about to burst until he left.
While the actual place was bad, waiting in one was the worst. The chairs were hard and uncomfortable, the magazines were outdated, and seeing one battered person after another walk in just brought your moral lower than rock bottom.
He's pretty familiar with the equipment they use. Why wouldn't he be; after so many trips to the med wing he's learned enough of what they are and what they do.
Everyone on the team reacts differently when they have to go to one, when they're just too far away to get back to the Tower, when even after they've been taken there it doesn't help.
Robin paces. His arms crossed across his chest, his just keep going back and forth, sometimes he'll mumble, other times he'll just lash out, but Robin has more self control then that.
His best friend is an entirely different matter. Cyborg would sit still for a little bit, then get up, and then sit again. He'll start talking about what happened at some point. Then the voice will get louder and louder. At that point, the others will have gone for a bit, leaving him to vent.
Starfire cries; arms wrapped around her midsection, she won't really stop until whoever they're waiting for is ok. Robin is usually the one who comforts her, but when he can't be there-which is rare-Raven might step up.
Raven's face is stony. She doesn't really talk in these situations, but if she does, it's usually to yell at one of us. Her target usually stops, because her temper is scary on good days and no one really wants to be on the receiving end of that.
But after the wait is over, they change. Robin stops pacing and the tension in his shoulders fades away. Cyborg stops yelling and calms down. Starfire stops crying and almost immediately gives the person a bone crushing hug. And Raven will lose the edge in her voice, just long enough for the person in the hospital bed to see that she really does care.