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cogs turning. machinery running. levers being flicked. robin could hear it all still vividly, too vividly.
just the mere thought of machinery made his heart pound and his hands go clammy. his stomach would twist, causing him to spit up whatever he had eaten prior. he often woke up in cold sweats as well, frozen in his cowardly terror.
there were no mechanical sounds or noisy clangs in his room— robin broke his alarm clock by throwing it against the wall when he first heard it ticking— yet robin could always hear it crystal clear in his mind, in his memories.
the cogs haunted robin nearly as much as slade himself did.
of course, his agitation didn’t go unnoticed; his team was much too observant to let his jitters pass their careful eyes. they tried prying, questioning what slade had done to him (while they knew very well what slade had done to them, they were still in the dark about a lot of what slade had done to robin. what he had said. how he had changed him.), to which robin wouldn’t respond.
“it’s not important,” robin told them. “we have bigger issues to worry about right now.”
and it was true: the titans had many other problems they needed to solve. robin’s feelings should be at the bottom of that priority list (or, in robin’s opinion, not even on the list; it just wasn’t important).
despite this, the titans continued to ask about his wellbeing.
“hey man, if you need to talk, we're always here for you.” cyborg had told him. he scratched the back of his head, choosing not to comment on robin’s tense posture and slight fidget.
“we’ll listen if you wanna talk about it.” raven said, expression neutral except the slight furrow of her eyebrows when she saw robin with his fourth cup of coffee.
“please, talk with us," starfire pleaded, "we’re your friends, robin.” worry was written all over her face. she held onto his arm from where she caught him pacing during the night.
“are you like… okay dude?” the hesitant voice of beast boy asked, frowning. his hand was warm on the shoulder robin shrugged off, giving his typical reassurances— they were practically a script he rehearsed a dozen times. he was fine, yes he was sure, and no he didn’t need to talk; he was completely fine.
his friends didn’t need to know about his nightmares.
his friends didn’t need to know he had bags under his eyes that kept getting darker beneath his mask.
his friends didn’t need to know simple buzzing and clicking noises from machinery made his throat close up and his body to tremble.
they just didn’t need to know. robin had gotten himself into this mess, and he was going to deal with it on his own; he didn’t need nor want to involve the others.
he’d get over it. he had to.
for now, however, robin laid in his bed with frantic panting and little quivers he couldn’t suppress. he might not be in slade’s control anymore, but it was nearly as if he hadn’t left— the cogs turned all the same.