Written for a prompt on the YJ Anon Meme here: . ?thread=1050077#t1050077
Just making sure that no-one accuses me of plagiarising my own story.

Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own Young Justice.

Slowly, carefully, he reached out a hand and pressed it to the cool surface. He didn't speak a word, kept his breathing as quiet as he could, as though the slightest wrong movement or sound might shatter it.

He knew what mirrors were of course; not knowing something like that for coming to the past would be ridiculous. He knew what he looked like too, people had told him; he was Caucasian, with brown hair and green eyes. Those were simple facts that he'd been told, and accepted to be true.

But this? This was something different entirely.

With equal speed and carefulness to placing his hand on the mirror, he pulled it away.

The boy in the mirror looked back at him; messy brown hair, and two clear, green eyes looking back at him.

He raised a hand, and the boy did the same. He dropped it, and the boy moved in equal time.

He felt something bubbling up inside of him; laughter and happiness and all those positive things that had been brutally snatched away in the future, almost lost to him forever.

Almost, but not entirely.

You weren't encouraged to think of yourself as a person in the future, to have a sense of self.

But here, standing right in front of him, was complete and utter proof that he was a person.

It was a simple thing to the people of this era, to know what you looked like, but to him it was something that caused joy immeasurable.

Here, in front of him, was the boy that everyone saw, the boy he'd never had a chance to see himself as. There were those eyes that his Dad had said were so much like his mother's, there was that hair that his Aunt Dawn often joked was untameable; right in front of him stood the boy that everyone knew as Bart Allen.

Laughter bubbled up his throat and out, not loud, not full of life like everyone else's, just a small, quiet shaking of his body and a barely audible giggle, a grin that almost measured up to the one Impulse wore on a daily basis stretched across his face, tears of pure, unadulterated joy started welling up in his eyes.

This was what he looked like.

This was him.

The words bounced around his head, echoing over and over and over.

This is me.

This is me.

This is me.

A knock on the bathroom door pulled him from his reverie.

"Bart, honey? Are you almost done in there?" came Joan's voice.

Eyes still locked on the face in the mirror, not wanting to be pulled from the depths of his own green eyes, he answered.

"Yeah, I'll...I'll be out in a minute," he called. His hesitation was miniscule, just a fraction of a second, something that would be caught only by a speedster.

"Okay, dinner's almost on the table," she replied, and then footsteps walking away.

Reluctantly, he pulled away from the mirror slightly. He took another look at the smiling face in the mirror, and watched as the smile slowly faded only to be replaced by an even bigger one that wasn't quite as genuine.

"Totally crash," he breathed, before turning for the door. He unlocked it, opened it, but just before stepping out he glanced back at the sheet of polished metal and glass and let the facade slip.

This is me.

Okay, that's that done. The next few chapters of Heroes Never Die should be up soon, sorry for taking so long on them!