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The hospital wing was as silent as the night that pressed against its windows. Figures occupied the three available beds, chests rose and fell in a smooth, silent rhythm, and monitors beeped and hummed against the otherwise oppressive quiet. Robin, who had been pacing the hallway for as long as he could stand it, was now propped up against the wall. His arms were folded tightly across his chest, his hands were curled into fists, and a muscle was jumping in his jaw. Normally, when he was this tense, he trained for hours on end. But tonight was not a normal night, and his feelings were more complicated than nervousness or anger. Guilt was tearing at his throat, guilt that he rarely considered. For Robin, the lives he saved outweighed the lives he ruined. Most of the time, it was enough to know that he was doing good in the world. Rarely did he consider the harm he did, the lives that he tore apart merely by virtue of his existence. With a sigh, he removed his mask and ran a hand over his eyes, which ached from tiredness. He had not slept, as the others were now doing. He had insisted on monitoring Beast Boy and Starfire when they had returned, supporting a still groggy Cyborg between them. All three were recovered, but Robin wanted to keep an eye on their DNA sequences all the same – it was the genetic material in some of their operons that had been attacked by the device. Certain mRNA had been disabled altogether, and though they were recovering quickly, Robin had still insisted on observing them overnight. All except Cyborg, who was more than capable of monitoring himself, and probably more qualified to do it than Robin. He had disappeared into his bedroom without a word, and Robin knew he would have to mend fences at some point.

His eyes, so disciplined until then, finally betrayed him as they strayed to Raven's still figure. She was hovering a foot above the bed, as usual, enveloped in a barely discernible glow. Robin was somewhat accustomed to her healing sessions; she sometimes levitated like this after a particularly strenuous fight, or even to heal a sprained ankle. Being somewhat accustomed, Robin knew that something was wrong. There were little things. Her hands, which rested at her sides, were trembling, fingertips moving like agitated winged things. Her eyelids were fluttering similarly, giving the impression that she was hovering somewhere just outside of sleep. For the thousandth time, Robin checked her monitors. Everything seemed normal. Her pulse was steady, her DNA had long since regulated, and her breathing was even, if shallow. Why then, was her face carved out of marble, as though she was not only awake but in pain?

Shaking his head, Robin placed one hand over the light switch on his way out of the room. If he stayed any longer, he would likely fall asleep somewhere on the floor, which would be the opposite of helpful.

The next morning was an odd one by everyone's standards. Raven, who had disappeared into her room sometime during the night, didn't make an appearance until after breakfast. Robin, who had apologized to Cyborg as soon as it was possible, was now turning over the broken pieces of the device that had done so much damage. He suspected he knew who it had been commissioned from, but there was a lot of hardware that had to be cross-referenced before he could be sure. Beast Boy was, as usual, fighting silently with Cyborg over the television remote and Starfire was doing push ups that involved standing on one hand and balancing her pet maggot, Silkie, on her feet. They all looked up when Raven entered the room, pausing just long enough to make their silent fight over who was going to speak first blindingly obvious. Raven looked at them appraisingly and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm fine."

Starfire, now balanced precariously on one hand, looked perturbed.

"But friend Raven, you were badly hurt and – "

"I'm fine," After a moment, she added, "Thank you."

Then she turned her back on them and put the kettle on. Robin turned back to the encrypted memory stick embedded in the heart of the mess of wires he was holding. Privately, he thought she was probably far from fine, but if he knew anything about Raven, it was when to leave her alone. She would come to him if she needed his help.

But she didn't. Two days passed, quiet ones, and Robin began to notice little things about her behavior that intensified his worry. She left the room when the television came on. She stayed at least a foot away from the rest of them, even in combat training. She avoided the gym. After a week, Robin began to exchange worried glances with Cyborg whenever she left the room abruptly or dropped whatever she was holding for no good reason. The following Monday, Robin made up his mind to talk to her, if only because he had lost a violent game of rock paper scissors in which Beast Boy had flatly refused to participate.

"You guys are crazy. No way am I knocking on her door."

And so it was Robin that stood apprehensively in front of the blank metal wall, behind which there was complete silence. He swallowed hard, lifted a hand, and knocked.

"Raven? There anything you want to talk about?"

There was no answer. Frowning, Robin turned away. That was odd. Raven spent all her free time in her room. If she wasn't there, then she was doing something she wanted nobody to know about. Not that they ever knew what she did in her room anyway. From his brief forays into the almost ostentatiously mysterious space, Robin knew that she spent a great deal of time immersed in the seemingly endless piles of books that were stacked rather precariously in their shelves. After he had checked the roof, the kitchen, and the hospital wing, he began to feel vaguely worried. Grasping at straws, he descended to the lower level of the tower, where the walls gleamed in metallic chrome and the sounds of machinery echoed back from Cyborg's garage. Running a hand through his hair, Robin took a left and scanned his fingerprint before entering the gym. He got a glimpse of the room; the usual austerity of the mats stacked in a corner, the scary looking machines that Beast Boy was so partial to using for his animal forms, the complex system of metal bars that latticed the ceiling where he himself practiced trapeze, and Raven. Her cape was thrown carelessly across a rack of dumbbells, her hair hung in damp knots around her face, and she looked like she was getting more of a beating than the bag she was attacking.

Cautiously, Robin cleared his throat, eyes focused on her bleeding knuckles. Her only response was a slight shake of her head, followed up by a punch that made him wince.

"You know that bag's meant for Cyborg, right?"

She paused for a moment, met his eyes, readjusted the bag, and hit it so hard that the air was suddenly riddled with series of sharp pops as her knuckles gave way.

"Okay, okay stop."

He didn't raise his voice, but he didn't have to. It was situations like this when Robin was grateful to be the leader of their little gang. Sometimes, his authority wasn't enough to stop this particular titan, but this time, she lowered her fists and pivoted to face him, breath coming in sharp gasps. She didn't try to stop him as he crossed the floor and reached for her hand, examining it as clinically as he was able.

"You broke your fingers."

She shrugged and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, leaving a smudge of blood on one cheekbone. Robin sighed.

"What's going on, Raven?"

He heard her mutter a few incomprehensible words, then had the slightly nauseating experience of watching someone's bones move back into place. Giving him a smile that was more of a grimace, Raven wiggled her fingers.

"Better."

Robin shook his head, a slight frown etched on his face as he tried to parse her expression.

"I'm serious. What – "

The alarm bell interrupted him and he broke of midsentence, shutting his eyes and shaking his head to clear it.

"We'll talk about this later. C'mon."

Hope you liked, and please let me know what I need to work on/fix/if I made a ton of stupid mistakes.