A Scattering of Shards

Cyborg is hunched over his newest project, some tool in his hand as he joins wires to a circuit board. He'd explained what it was a few minutes ago, but the words went straight over your head until he'd switched to simple English; spare parts. It was hard to make another set of arms if you'd lost both of them, he'd reasoned, so every now and then he'd stock up and make some more. As far as creating things went, arms could get pretty complicated, so you'd kept distractions to a minimum.

Which, inevitably, means that you stay away from his tools and perch on one of his chairs, instead. The thing's almost a bench to you; it was built to stand Cyborg's weight and width, after all, and you are dwarfed by it. Your legs are folded over each other, and you're fidgeting again. Cyborg was a patient person, though - doesn't snap at you knowing what he does. This is only a brief reprieve from the day's events, and perhaps he's a little too distracted to call you out on it.

You're almost completely immersed in his workings, watching his hands tinker on something with precise and quick movements. Your brain can't fully comprehend it, but you see everything . The gears moving and being slotted into place, wires soldering, the joints in Cyborg's mechanical hands moving with accuracy no human could hope to match. How does he know which pieces specifically to join up? They all look the same to you.

Neither of you has slept in twenty three hours, but Cyborg's face is focused and the worry and tension has, for the time being, left his face. You still feel it stirring in him like black sludge, but it isn't a feeling that can be erased. Not until he knows Beast Boy is alright.

You observe as he methodically attaches the next piece, calculating the exact dimensions required for the next part. Highly efficient, like his machines, like his security systems. Like him. Somewhere in the last hour, a repetitive twitching has started in your hands, and even now, it occasionally ticks away. You're still watching his hands move, and you almost feel in tune with him.

The silence is broken by the occasional flicker or clink of noise. You're not bored, as per se, but you feel Beast Boy's absence too well, knowing why it is. He's currently dozing in the Medical Bay, last you checked,  with two broken ribs and various other injuries. The entire team had been in a state on returning from the mission, but Beast Boy had arguably had the roughest deal. He's doing better, now that you and Raven had taken turns at stabilising him and healing what you could, but you'd all need rest before either of you could call on your energies again. Especially Beast Boy, whose life had been on the line hours before.

You, however, could not sleep. Your mind was working overtime and there was an unpleasant and uncomfortable flutter nestling in your stomach. Please let him be okay, please let him be okay. You bounce your right leg a bit in worry, and your mind mulls it all over, trying to process things.

Cyborg hadn't wanted to leave Beast Boy's side at all, visibly agitated even as he replaced his left arm (again) or inserted the IV line. Robin had strict orders. He and Starfire would be on first watches whilst everyone else had some rest. Raven wasn't too happy with it either, but after dozing off on the way home, there was no chance she'd be able to get away with staying behind without a heated argument. Or four.

This had been the only way to compromise, in the end. Starfire had taken Raven to bed, and on leaving the med bay, you and Cyborg had shared a look. He'd asked you if you wanted to hang out, the unspoken worry for your green friend hanging thick in the air. You had agreed, so this is where you'd been for the past five hours, nodding on and off in various positions and the occasional snippet of conversation. The sun has yet to rise, you'd gather from the hour on Cyborg's wrist when you ask him. Four in the morning. There's no sun icon on his wrist clock, so you suppose the tower's sensors haven't detected the sun rising over the horizon, either.

There's a sticker note on both of your bedroom doors saying where you are (that you managed to con Cyborg into writing, so your secret stays safe), and though Robin hasn't joined you at all, you're half expecting to see a terse 'Ten laps around the tower. No powers.' in the morning for outright ignoring his words. Half of you thinks he won't, though. He understands, you think, because you've all been in this boat so many times before. In this line of work, it's going to happen a lot more.

But it shows he cares, at any rate, just that he keeps his composure even when the rest of you are barely holding on. The role of a leader. On the flip side, Starfire had more or less lost her temper in a rare show of her true warrior spirit when Beast Boy had fallen. He'd taken a nasty blow to the head, being knocked from one form to another. His enemy hadn't stopped attacking, hell bent on beating him to death, and Starfire had noticed the dishonourable act before you had.

Gods, if you had, he'd be in more pieces than the huge jigsaw Raven had hidden in her room.

The one that Raven was probably dismantling with her powers right now. You make a mental note to check on her later when she's cooled down a little, lest you similarly end up in thousands of pieces.

You watch Cyborg for a little while longer, head resting against the back of the chair as you see how much he's progressed - he's finished the hand now, and it's starting to take shape - before you say anything else.

"What would you have done?" You ask, crossing your arms. One of the tips of your ears brushes against the back of the seat, and it twitches away from the sudden cold.

"What do you mean?" He asks back without missing a beat. The tension is still in his frame, and he's reminded of reality in the same way one would sink into a too-hot bath when Revenant sees him straighten up.

The distraction in his voice is evident - he's still occupied by his project, voice lower than usual, but perhaps less so than earlier.

"Like, if you'd been there first, when he was..."

You trail off, making a gesture with your hand. You don't really know how to describe 'getting his ass kicked' without sounding like you didn't care, so you settle for silence. Without even looking at you, Cyborg seems to already know this.

"Rev," He sighs, "It's complicated. I'd want to beat the tar out of the guy, too."

The mental image is nicer than seeing your teammates blood on the floor. Maybe Cyborg's Sonic Cannon could have knocked the guy through the wall. Or multiple walls. Maybe he'd feel Cyborg's fist of justice and realise how well and truly out of line he had been.

Maybe the guy shouldn't have been there at all, and for one grim second you're reminded of the grim reality of murder.

"Why not?" You ask, after a pause to reconsider cutting the villain in half.

"Because we're heroes, man. It's that simple... and that illegal."

It turns out, later on, that Beast Boy is okay. You sneak him some food when nobody else is looking and get rewarded with a "Good going, Grandma," for your efforts.

You could be offended, but you're not. You'd rather be a grandma than grieving for one of your best friends, any day.

So instead, you give him a noogie as you heal the wound on his head.