"Hey Cyborg! Whatcha' doing?"
Cyborg almost swore. Beast Boy had a nose for mischief (especially if the mischief involved Raven), and not two minutes — two minutes — into his repairs on the heroine's door, and Beast Boy had closed in for the kill.
"I'm fixing the door to Raven's room. I never got around to repairing it properly from when we knocked it off its rails the first time." Not to mention damage from earthquakes, Sladebots, giant laser beams, and the Apocalypse. Really, it was a wonder that any of the original parts from Titans Tower were still working after nearly three years of punishment.
"Can I help?" the green-furred teenager asked, poking his head into Cyborg's field of vision.
"Like you did with your closet door?"
"That just means I've got experience with doors!"
"Combat experience, from the way you I saw you fightin' with it."
Beast Boy didn't respond, having moved on to poking around Raven's room.
"Hey, remember what happened last time you messed with Raven's stuff," he warned.
"Hey, that was the first time," the changeling protested. "Last time, I just spied on her, no problem," he dismissed.
Cyborg didn't look up from his work, so the stern look he gave was lost on the troublesome door. "Not helping your case, BB," he said.
"But I'm not touching anything!"
This time he did look up, half-expecting Beast Boy to have his finger hovering half an inch away from something, like some immature child feuding with their sibling in the back seat. To his credit, he was standing in the middle of her room, hands stuffed into armpits, in defiance of his touchy-grabby impulses.
Cyborg snorted. That just meant that when Beast Boy finally did touch something, his hands would stink.
Having determined that it was beyond repair, the half-man, half-machine stood up and pulled the door out of its frame, hydraulic limbs having no problems wrenching out the two-inch-thick steel slab. He set the door aside briefly to rip its rails out, too, before picking it back up and turning to leave (the replacement parts he needed were in the basement). He also picked up Beast Boy.
"What — hey! I —!"
"No way am I leaving you alone in Raven's room. You'd probably break something. Or booby trap it so Raven gets a bucket of flour or something dropped on her."
"Hey, I'd never do that! Even if it was really funny!" Beast Boy squirmed in Cyborg's iron grip.
"Quit while you're behind, BB."
The pair had arrived at the basement entrance, and Cyborg had to put Beast Boy down to open the door.
"Hey, I think I feel the Gamestation calling me!" the changeling said, speeding off in a blur of green hair and purple-and-black jumpsuit before his friend could rope him into carrying supplies.
Cyborg hoped that Beast Boy was sensible enough not to have gone back to Raven's room. Unfortunately, he knew that he was wrong, because "sensible" and "Beast Boy" rarely belonged in the same sentence (and any sentence they did share had "not" in it).
He technically wasn't touching anything. He was standing in the middle of her room, hands shoved in his pits again, partly to restrain himself and partly because Raven's room always felt cold to him. Then, he spied her magic mirror.
"I really shouldn't," he thought, but he had already zipped over to the dresser-thingie. One of these days, his impulsiveness was going to bite him in the butt.
("It's not a 'dresser-thingie'. It's a _ _ _ _," Raven-in-his-head corrected him. Of course, he didn't know the right word himself, so head-Raven's blank answer was unhelpful, to say the least.)
He held up the hand-mirror. At first, he felt a little nostalgic, remembering how fun it had been in Raven's head, and how happy he was to have actually gotten to spend time with her. Then a bunch of other thoughts started piling on.
It really was a fine mirror. Thing. It was pretty, in a Goth-y sort of way. Beast Boy fussed with it to get a better feel for its heft and shape.
"Ooh, I can totally rig it, so when Raven reaches for it, she gets showered with flour! That'd be awesome!" he thought, already envisioning the arrangement of string and weights he'd need to set up such a trap. It's not like it'd hurt her — the girl needed some pizzazz in her life, and he could always claim it was Cyborg.
But… That'd also be kind of mean. He remembered the time he hurt Starfire with his oil-balloon slingshot. Even if it had been meant for Cyborg, it hadn't been very nice. And friends shouldn't be mean to friends.
He wondered how the mirror worked, and if he could use it to enter his own mind.
It would serve her right if — He squashed that thought before it could finish.
Wasn't he getting ahead of himself? How on earth was he going to use something that he didn't understand? Really, there was no reason to not just put the mirror down and walk away. Maybe he could ask her about it later.
That would certainly impress her — being all mature about it, and stuff. Show her that he could change, as a person.
One last, awful idea crossed his mind. He felt his insides writhe. What if the reason she spent so much time in her room was him?
Beast Boy quickly brushed that last thought aside, because it made him really uncomfortable, and seized upon what seemed like the smartest idea: he was going to enter his own mind.
He focused on the mirror, concentrating with all his might, until it felt like he'd get a headache. And... nothing. He tried again. And this time he dropped the mirror in a panic as he heard footsteps approaching.
Raven stood in the doorway with Cyborg, who held the mystery parts he needed to fix her door.
"What are you doing in my room?" she asked, eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Not touching anything!" he insisted, much too quickly. She glared at him, and he fled the room.
She walked over to the vanity, took the mirror, and turned to Cyborg. She stood there awkwardly, looking uncomfortable in her own room.
He could guess why. Glancing at the mirror in her hand, he said, "There're a ton of guest rooms, if you want some privacy."
She blinked at him. "Thanks."
"Sure thing. I'll message your communicator when I'm done."
"I'd… appreciate that." And she was gone.
It was a sign of how much she trusted him that their conversation had taken place at all.
She locked the door in the closest guest quarters, and focused on her mirror. And realized something was horribly wrong when she saw green, instead of black, as she was drawn into the mirror.
My intent with this story is to provide a counterpoint to the several stories out there that revolve around Beast Boy's "mindscape."
The glorious thing about "journey through a person's mind" stories is that it's one of the few times you can be as overtly symbolic or needlessly abstract as you want. You can do anything you want—anything. Or, you can just do what everybody else does, and rehash the episode "Nevermore" but with Beast Boy's and Raven's roles switched. Way to reach for the stars, fanfiction writers.
(I'd be remiss if I didn't cite the stories in Teen Titans fandom which do avoid cliches with mindscapes: "One Which Makes The Heart Run Over", by GuardianSaiyoko; and "Measure of a Titan" chapters 27-28, by General Havoc. Both of those stories are really, really good, and I highly recommend them.)
That picture of the Tyrannosaurus and a dog up top? Not mine. But, via Creative Commons, I can use it with attribution: "T Rex," by Julian Frost, 2009, released under Creative Commons 2.0 (CC BY 2.0).