Disclaimer: I don't own the Teen Titans.
Author's note: I guess it was a bit of a cliffhanger. I apologize for not writing anything for three months. It was just getting good, I gather. Well, here goes.
His vision was blurred. Strange – it turned the red flecks on the tile into streaks, and the room, the metal fixtures and white tile and the mirror, melted into oblivion. That wasn't supposed to happen. If they found him with the tears now in his eyes staining his cheeks – no one cries – she didn't –
It wasn't supposed to hurt. It was supposed to stop the hurt.
Robin turned over. He'd slept in his clothes. That happened a lot now, and he hadn't quite gotten used to the heavy, sticky feeling. He plucked at the skintight fabric.
"Shower," he muttered. He glanced at the bedside clock: six-fifteen. He sat up; his foot knocked an empty paper cup. He stood, crushing it mindlessly. He grabbed the red towel from the bedpost, rooted through a small but growing laundry pile for a bar of soap and shuffled to the hallway.
He used a fist to mash clumsily at a sleep-caked eye, then tapped at the bathroom door. No answer, of course. It was early still. He pushed it –
"Only three of us left," said Cyborg. The numbness had returned. "Three-fifths. Sixty percent of the Titans."
"Oh, you can add." Robin tossed the sheet of notebook paper on the table. Cyborg sat up, reached for the crumpled leaf. He smoothed it carefully on his knee. The letters dominated the page in uncontrolled block forms: SEEK.
"Subtract, more like," he said.
Robin, Cyborg and Starfire sat in the common room. The orange sun slanted in through the plate glass, casting the room in a late-afternoon glow. Beast Boy had long since been – addressed.
"What can we do?" asked Starfire. "Please" – she spoke quietly – "I do not wish to lose any more friends."
"We're here, Star," said Cyborg. "We're not going anywhere."
Robin stared at the table, as he had for several of the past hours.
"He couldn't handle it," he said finally. "Beast Boy couldn't take the stress."
"We're all stressed," put in Cyborg.
"But he cracked." Robin's tone was controlled. "This business will stress anyone. The only way to succeed is to take more punishment than the other guy."
"But this sort of thing –"
"He failed."
Cyborg's mouth opened. Starfire touched her forehead.
"Beast Boy failed," Robin continued. "He tried to deal with it, but he couldn't shut it out, and now we're down two members. Do you think Slade'll give us time to get over our loss? Now's the time to dig in."
Cyborg leaned forward.
"Enough," he said quietly.
"Now, more than ever, we have to –"
"Enough!"
Cyborg was on his feet. The yell seemed to echo through the quiet hallways of Titans Tower.
"Cyborg," Robin began.
"Don't do it, Robin. Don't turn this into a pep talk. Don't tell me what my job is, don't tell me how to succeed, and most of all, don't tell me about B.B.'s failures." The half-robot fell back into his seat. "I don't need it right now. Right now" – his voice started to rise again – "my best friend is in a metal box in a sub-sub-basement in a hospital. You tell me, Robin, how you're helping. Tell me what you're doing right now that's making me feel better." The human eye was rimmed in red.
Robin stood up.
"Stupid me," he said. "Cyborg wants to feel better." He strode towards his room. "Everyone wants to feel better."