Yowza. Five years old. I've wanted to get back in the swing of things [for real this time!], so the first step was: Get rid of all the trash (done!) and… Fix all the mistakes that I'm sure exist, to the best of my ability and attempt to move forward with the desiccated and neglected fruits of high school-college labor.

After knocking, and waiting, knocking, and waiting, Robin poked his head into BeastBoy's door. It was a lot cleaner than it had been – the youngest teammate had matured greatly over the last year. He hoped that hanging around teens older than him didn't bother him too much, and force that maturity. Robin knew too much about growing up early.

Robin could hear the shower running. That's why BB hadn't answered on the first knock. The Boy Wonder stepped inside, looking around. A lava lamp on the desk bubbled slowly, another on the dresser, and another on a vanity that Robin had been totally unaware the changeling had. Other than a pair of boxers peeking out from under the bed, and a few scattered graphic novels, the floor was clean. Robin stepped inside, feeling slightly shocked at how very obviously little he knew about the younger man.

There was a bookshelf! A Bookshelf! In BEASTBOY'S room!

Curious, he slipped towards it, and bent down to examine the contents. There were three shelves. On the first, he saw his teammates' favorite movies. He remembered the green boy asking to watch some of them on Movie Night. Lethal Weapon, Rush Hour [all of them, actually], Eye of the Dragon, 50 First Dates, The Terminator series, and City of Angels? Robin shook his head. He never pegged BeastBoy as a romance dud. Maybe it was really – Nicholas Cage and Meg Ryan? Nah, nah, must have porno or something in it, the black-haired boy thought.

The second shelf was nil but graphic novels, some that Robin even knew – Trigun, Cowboy Bebop, Naruto, InuYasha – and others that he hadn't even heard of – Sukisho, Angel's Feather, Gravitation…

The third shelf was actual books. Short ones, but they were books – Robin noted that there were 7 Cirque du Freak books, Twilight, Dracula, two Dean Koontz novels, and..

"What's this..?" Robin muttered, reaching for a black, untitled book with a worn spine. He pulled it out, and looked at the cover. In childish handwriting, it read, "PRIVAET GARS JURNL DONT READ espeshilly mom and dad"

Robin smiled absently. The journal was cute. Some of the letters were even backwards. He opened it, tentatively.

The first page read: "this notbook blongs to garfield logan do not read anemor if you ar not him"

The Boy Wonder blatantly ignored the warning. He flipped through a few pages, quickly. The first pages were written in crayon, and mostly were pictures and 'mom is mean but dad is nice' and vice-versa. Then there were pages with dried tears, where the pages were warped that were about his green skin and missing his parents. The handwriting got neater and smaller, and Robin flipped until it was a simple jot of all capital letters. Preparing to read a recent entry, he heard the water stop. Quickly, but gently, he returned the journal to its home.

Stealthily, he moved to the dresser, and watched the lava lamp. This one was purple. Under it, BeastBoy had written, "I la-la-looove Raven!" in Sharpie.

The door from BeastBoy's bathroom opened. The young man crackled his shoulders as he walked out, a towel around his waist. As he noticed Robin, he yelped, and ran into the bathroom before his teammate even had an opportunity to turn around.

"Dude! What are you doin' in here!?" he shouted, muffled by the door.

"Uh...We're going to the mall... Well, the girls are. I figured you, me, 'n' Cy could ditch 'em for the arcade. You in, man?"

There was a pause. It wasn't long, but it was out of character, and did not go unnoticed.

"Yeah, man! Just go on out to the living room! I left my clothes out there, in my room, so, ah, leave, and I'll be right there!"

'He sounds awfully nervous,' Robing thought. "Aight, man, see you in five, got it?"

"Yeah."

Robin left.

BeastBoy sighed, relieved as he heard the door close. Vacantly, he wondered what Robin had been doing in his room, anyhow. He hoped his leader didn't find anything questionable, that's for sure. Frowning, he reopened the door, and peeked out. Nothing. No one.

Grabbing a long-sleeve athletic shirt made from jersey material and a pair of jeans that had recently gotten too big, he figured he'd gotten into the bathroom quickly enough that Robin hadn't noted his imperfections. He went back into the bathroom, just in case someone popped in. The mirror had unfogged. He didn't want to look at himself.

But he did.

His eyes were tired. Over the past year, his head had caught up with his growing, as did his body. Instead of 5 inches shorter than Robin, he was now only 3 inches shorter. His eyes didn't look as big, and his skin was softer. His chest was slightly bigger, and thin, lean, strong little muscles poked out of his wiry, taut frame. \

His skin was green, and the darkening green under his eyes was becoming more apparent. He'd been thinking too hard lately. About this imperfection of his. He had a mole on his shoulder he didn't like, another at a 45 degree angle and three inches from his bellybutton. His stomach looked too big. His arms looked too small. His ears were too pointy. His teeth too sharp. His skin too green. He was too short. His hair wasn't soft enough. It was too long. His eyebrows were uneven. He turned his back to the mirror, disgusted.

He pulled on a pair of boxers, then his jeans. He needed a belt – he'd lost some weight recently, and these wouldn't stay up. He looked at his arms. Even his blood was imperfect, he'd noticed, in the sessions he'd begun. Ritualistically, he bled out his own imperfect mind. Through his soft, inner arms and inner thighs. It made him feel so perfect, if only for a moment, to seize a quick rush of pain, and see the blood mix with water, and disappear into the drain. Then, he would realize that it was different blood – his was different than everyone's. Thicker. Darker. Revolting.

So he would do it again, to drain the imperfection from his system.

He pulled on the shirt. It rode up a bit on his arms, and he knew it would. All of them did. That was a lesson in being careful he had learned early on. Too low, and you'll just stand out even more. He smeared on a healthy layer of green makeup he'd attained from a friend, and evened the tone under his eyes to his cheeks.

Once he was confident that he looked somewhat normal, for a green midget, anyways, he put on his happy face and ran downstairs.

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Well, hopefully it's an improvement. I'm going chapter by chapter, then I guess I'll have to look at it as a whole afterwards to make sure it actually makes sense, heh. Anyhow, thanks for reading.