Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Billy was officially having a really, really bad day.

To start, he didn't have breakfast bars left in his cupboard. In fact, he didn't have anything in any of the cupboards. This week had been so hectic for Captain Marvel - work with the League and Fawcett City back to back - that when Billy Batson returned to his less than stellar apartment he immediately crashed on his single floor mattress. No time to go out to the corner store and buy one of the dollar bulk boxes of granola bars. Heck, he didn't even have time to pick up small errands and jobs for money to buy food.

And that was his second frustration - he didn't have much money lately, either. Errands around town were limited this time of the year - raking leaves here or there, delivering food for trusted Ma & Pa delis that would let him, that was about it. Folks were busy preparing for the coming holidays and cold weather, which meant Billy was hard strapped for cash. He could go to one of the corners, sure, but most of them were claimed already and he really did not want to cause trouble.

Thirdly, it was cold out and holiday season was fast approaching. That meant he'd have to get winter clothes soon, go searching at thrift stores and donation boxes and shelters, but watch out for adults with good intentions that wanted to throw him back into the foster care system. His presence on the streets always became more noticeable during the fall and winter. In the summer he could easily blend in with everyone out on break, but now strangers look at him and he can see the gears turning, see them wondering why he isn't in school.

Sometimes he felt like going into hibernation. Find a warm, cozy corner of the city and sleep all the way through till spring. The only downside to that was Captain Marvel also disappearing. And Billy knew the city and the League needed the Captain too much for that to happen. Still, when the nights got particularly chilly and long and lonely, he thought about it. Imagined it in his dreams.

So yeah, maybe Billy was having a couple of bad days.

The only good thing going for him? It was pizza night at the Watchtower.

Having been so busy being Captain Marvel, Billy spent many of his meal times eating up at the tower. The only problem with that was when Captain turned into Billy again. None of the delicious food he ate stayed. Granted, neither did any of his wounds, but having skipped three days worth of eating felt just as terrible once he was his small, scrawny self. Thus, he decided that he'd do the smart move.

Take some food home.

No one notices, anyway. The Watchtower was always stock full of food, especially on pizza night. The trick, Billy had learned and the Captain had perfected, was acting like he belonged, like nothing was out of place. It usually worked, unless it was the old man at the convenience store that didn't like any children, or if it was Batman because he practically knew almost everything. The Captain had just left a few hours ago, having finally finished a mission, but he was also a regular face there and no one was surprised to see him gracing the halls again.

While Billy didn't think much of it, as Captain Marvel with the Wisdom of Solomon he suspected it was because the rest of the League didn't actually know much about him. He was around majority of the day at any given time, or out fighting bad guys, with seemingly no alternate civilian life. There were whispers, sure, there was always gossip about someone around here. His was just a bit on the fabricated side. Billy found them kind of funny, how wrong they were.

“Hey Cap!”

Heck.

With a box full of cold pizza and a fresh water bottle, Marvel turned to see the Green Lanterns. Hal Jordan was stuffing his mouth while John Stewart did his best not to show how disgusted he was.

“I thought you left earlier.” Hal continued around the food as Captain stood by them.

“I did, yeah,” he said hesitantly. It wasn't that he was nervous, he knew and trusted his teammates too much for that. But Billy was easy to embarrass and that emotion came through as he shifted on his feet. He'd never really been caught red handed before.

John raised an eyebrow and Captain knew what was coming. He never was very good at deceit.

“But?” Hal drew out, leaning forward like this was new juicy information.

Double heck!

“It's just that...I'll only be on call tomorrow and I forgot to take some leftovers, so…” his sentence trailed off as he rattled the box in his hand.

“Cold pizza, huh? Living that bachelor lifestyle real well, Cap,” Hal grinned.

“Uh. Sure?” Billy had no idea what that meant.

“Drop it, Hal,” John elbowed him in the side before shooting Marvel a small reassuring smile. “You've been busy lately. It'll be a good chance to go grocery shopping. Get healthy food.”

“Pizza is top tier food choice, c'mon! But if you have tomorrow off, might as well sleep and call in something fresh. I haven't had Fawcett slices, but you should lemme know how they are.”

“Umm. Thanks for the suggestions, but, uh.” Quick, Marvel, say something! “I don't really know how to cook, and I don't have a phone.”

Something besides the truth!

Great, now they're staring at him funny.

“Taking the bachelor life a bit far, aren't you?” Hal joked, but something in his tone told Billy he wasn't actually joking at all.

“No? I mean, I eat what I can when I can. Not being home in awhile means I haven't stock piled the cupboards with anything.”

“Stock piled? Good Lord, Captain, do you really not know how to cook anything? Soup? Chicken? Hell, even mac n’ cheese?” John looked a bit alarmed and Billy suspected this conversation had gotten away from him.

“Uhh…”

“Hah!” Hal crowed, throwing his head back. “And you said I was helpless.”

Hey now, he's not helpless!

“Where am I supposed to learn cooking in the first place?” Captain asked defensively. Where was he even supposed to do the cooking? He didn't exactly have a working kitchen and appliances.

Hal stopped laughing, his grin frozen in place. “C'mon man. Where else? Didn't your mama or someone ever teach you?”

Oh.

“Hal,” John warned, and Marvel knew he saw something in his face.

But he couldn't exactly say, Hey guys, I'm an orphan kid with dead parents and don't have a real kitchen to cook in anyway! I'm a Chosen Champion, not a Chosen Chef!

Wait, a minute…

“When would someone teach me that? I'm an avatar for the Gods’ powers.” Captain Marvel chuckled past the tightness of his throat. “They didn't really instill knowledge of recipes or give me a phone plan.”

“Oh…Uh, what about before...all that?” Hal asked, humor replaced by curiosity. John didn't even reprimand him, wanting to know the answer, too.

Billy guessed this was what he got for being the only one with his identity still a secret from literally everyone in the League.

“Before?” Captain parroted back, putting as much jest into his tone as possible. “I may be a mighty mortal, but I've never actually lived through a human adulthood, you know.” He finished with a tilted smile, like this was information that was just common knowledge, something they should have already known.

While Billy may suck at lying - half truths and deflections on the other hand had saved his butt many a time.

“Uh, no! We absolutely did not fucking know!” Hal shot forward, “So, what, they just like, made you into existence? Some kinda Greek God Frankenstein?”

“Frankenstein's monster.”

“I'm not a monster-”

“Whatever! You know what I mean!”

And he did. Kind of. He knew Hal was trying to learn more, confirm or deny previous suspicions, burn down or feed into the grapevine. And Billy also knew he may have given a big juicy bit of gossip that will definitely come back at him.

Marvel sighed. “I know what you mean, yeah. But…” he shrugged. The best course of action was silence at this point. Leave him without closure and see what new wild tale they'll come up with next.

“Wha-what does that even mean? You can't just shrug! What, were you a different species from another planet? A time traveler? A demi-god?”

“Drop it, man. He isn't giving anything else up.”

Marvel winked at them and smiled, forever gracious for John's patience. “I gotta get going. See you two later!”

“C'mon, Cap!” Hal called out as he walked away. “Give me something here! I got bets placed!”

While Billy was very curious on what exactly the bets were, he knew to keep walking. There was a box full of pizza calling his name and a day off to get himself in order. Despite his griping, he really was fortunate to have this, Shazam and the League. So, maybe this wasn't such a terrible day afterall.

Chapter Text

It's the holiday seasons!

That meant beautiful lights around the city, pretty snowfall, shops bursting with new items and shoppers, homes smelling like cooked turkey and baked goods! The whole works as everyone got into the festive mood!

At least, that's what it was always sold as, as far as Billy knew.

From his point of view it meant chilly days and even colder nights, the streets bursting with rude people always in a hurry, walking past anyone and everyone, none of the parks open, and working adults eyeing him with distrust. It was supposed to be a time of cheer and generosity, but to Billy that was for everyone else.

Okay, so maybe Billy was a little bitter about the whole thing. There were plenty of people that had shown him good will- the local diners that let him stay inside for warmth and gave him hot chocolate, Miss Candy and her friends who warn him where cops are, Mister Ferrara and Missus Johnson who paid him for doing errands. Kindness was everywhere around him. But...

He had just spent the last of his earnings from these past few weeks on a new winter coat and socks, and walking past toy stores with kids his age carrying bags full didn't really set him in a good mood. Don't get him wrong, he's not mad or angry at them, he's just a little jealous, a little sad.

Being Billy Batson wasn't that great right now.

Luckily for him, he doesn't always have to be. It's his second winter having the powers of Shazam, but this time around Billy is going to use them for more mundane, but just as helpful tasks. And in the meanwhile, he doesn't have to suffer the cold or hunger. A perfect plan!

Thus far he'd already grabbed a couple extra shifts at the Watchtower - some of the heroes desperate to get out of monitor duty to spend time for their own holiday tasks. After he said yes to the first three, word had spread that he was the guy to go to if they wanted their shift covered. He had gained about ten before Superman put a stop to it.

“Look, Marvel,” he said, after shooing someone away from the control station Captain Marvel was sitting at. Apparently he had also gotten word of things, because of course he did, he's Superman and he has that disappointed-but-concerned look about him. That same look a lot of counselors gave Billy after he was taken out of another foster home that ‘wasn't a good match’. Billy hates that look. “I get it, they want to spend time at home, but-”

“It's no problem, really!” Marvel said, not even ashamed of himself for interrupting, because it really wasn't a problem for him and Superman had to understand that.

Why keep people from their loved ones if they didn't have to be? Billy wasn't going anywhere, didn't have a family to spend holidays with, or a home to decorate, or meals to cook. So, what else would he do if not be Captain Marvel - who would be needed.

Superman exhaled that patient-but-exhausted sigh. “You don't have to take everyone's shift that asks-”

“I know that-”

“So if you feel pressured-”

“I don't feel-”

“-by some of the other members-”

Superman wasn't even trying to listen to him! Billy knew what he was about. He didn't need a babysitter, let alone a League leader babying him. “I don't feel pressured, really I don't, please. I know what I'm doing here.”

He sighed again. “And what about you, Marvel?” And jeez, what a loaded question that was! “You deserve time off, to be at home, to spend with your family.”

While Billy was very grateful for how kind and compassionate his teammates are, sometimes they persisted a bit too much on matters that were frankly none of their business. Was it a vibe he gave off? As both Billy and Marvel - something that said, Hey there, pay extra attention and ensure my safety! Like, come on! He's totally fine, why can't they see that?

“I appreciate what you're doing, truly,” Captain Marvel started, a hitch of irritation in his voice he couldn't quite contain. He took a deep breath and continued, “But, it is okay. I don't celebrate any of these holidays, anyway. I don't have anything planned with anyone except helping out at the soup kitchen in the morning and night. Between that and watch duty, there isn't anything for me to do, unless some jerk commits a crime on Thanksgiving or Christmas - which I really wouldn't put it past some of em. And if there is crime I'm ready to stop it. Or if there's an accident or five on the roads, cause lemme tell you folks really should be more careful out there.” Okay, now he was rambling. Shut up, Billy! “So, yeah, thanks for looking out for me, but it's okay.”

Superman stared at him throughout his speech, like he was trying to use his x-ray vision to look into Marvel's soul, straight into Billy. He couldn't do that, of course. But with how heated and searching his blue gaze bore into him, Billy sort of wondered if it was possible. Despite the charisma and trust Superman had about him, he could be right stern when he needed.

Superman sighed again, and wow this may be a new record. “Alright, but no more shifts. Being a hero is about balancing your responsibilities, not shoving them onto someone else. They need to learn that, got it?”

“Yes sir, got it!” He turned back to his station, he had another shift after this, before serving breakfast at Fawcett's Soup Kitchen.

Marvel understood what Superman was implementing, why he was being firm about this situation. Some part of Marvel suspected that he had gotten off rather lightly, too. Ever since his aborted conversation with the Lanterns, more tales from the rumor mill had been churned out. Apparently, Superman theorized Captain Marvel was part kryptonian, with how much their power capabilities overlapped. That one Billy had found hilarious and shocking, while Marvel suspected that was the reason Superman tended to be more lenient towards him.

Surprisingly, no one had come to ask him directly, though he supposed that was part of the fun of betting. That, and he doubted many folks actually believed in the existence of Gods - he could feel it when Wonder Woman told stories of her homeland and when the topic of his own origins were talked about. Perhaps the Gods were categorized as exceptionally powerful aliens or extraterrestrial beings? Either way, the lack of true belief in Gods and magic was like a blip on other's souls. Something Captain Marvel could intrinsically see, but Billy had no idea how to describe.

(Which begged the question, does Billy believe? Yes, he knows the Gods exist, and because of Marvel he knows many Gods exist, but does he believe in them?

Either way, they believe in you, Billy Batson.)

Maybe that fueled his need for secrecy. Billy did not trust in others and Marvel feared not being trusted in return.

He checked the clock, counted the long hours he had left in his shifts, and figured being introspective would not be a terrible way to pass the time...

Billy sort of regretted that decision some days later when he realized he was on the brink of an existential crisis.

Jeez, he isn't even twelve yet.

Thanksgiving had come and gone.

Captain Marvel served breakfast at the Soup Kitchen, had a camera crew or two take his pictures, and then went back again later in the evening. No cameras that time, but Billy figured they were all at home. That was usually how they went whenever he did volunteer work like this. He didn't understand the hype about it - he was a hero, he helped where he could. Hopefully it would bring in more donations and volunteers, though. That was always the silver lining of those broadcasts.

It was during another monitor duty that Superman approached him.

“I promise I have not taken anyone else's shift, no matter what Hal said.” Because the Green Lantern had been begging him to take his New Year's day shift and it was starting to get bothersome. What was the big deal anyway? It's just another holiday.

That garnered a chuckle as Superman sat beside him, “Good to know, but that's not why I'm here.” He placed a bag of several large tupperware containers on an empty space of the console.

“Uhh…” the Captain eyed the food, looking back up at the other's smiling face. “You're here...to eat...a midnight lunch?” Is that a thing? Do people do that? It is nearly one at night in Metropolis, so what else would Superman be doing here.

That strange, pained sort of smile crossed his face and Billy wondered what he said to cause it. “No, well, not really,” he pushed the bag of containers towards Marvel. “It's for you. Homemade stuffing, cooked turkey and ham, seasoned gravy and mashed potatoes, and my Ma's special from-scratch apple pie.”

“What?” Billy could literally not believe what was happening to him. Was he being given...a Thanksgiving meal?

“Well, what you said before sort of stuck with me and when I mentioned it at my family's Thanksgiving dinner…” he shrugged. Like this was absolutely no big deal, nothing out of the ordinary, just a regular thing Superman does. “My Ma would not let me leave until I took some for you, and she is not a woman to be trifled with.”

Billy couldn't help but feel like he was staring dumbly at Superman.

Superman's mother insisted on feeding him!

Was that how all moms were? Make enough food to feed Superman and Captain Marvel? Insist on her son taking food to his teammate? Give away homemade apple pie?

“Unless you don't want it?”

By the dropping of Superman's face, Billy realized he was taking too long and may have come across as rude. He snatched the bag of tupperware close to his chest before it could be taken away. “No! I mean, thanks! Really! Thank you! I just can't...I mean, I don't… Uh. Gosh.”

“It's no problem,” Superman said, humor in his tone despite the underlying current of concern that never left. “I'm sure you'll love it.”

“Yeah, of course I will! Please, tell your...give your mother my thanks.”

Silence spread between them before Superman began to take his leave. Marvel could feel words piling at the back of his throat, the need to say something, to give something in return, to show how grateful he was.

Feeling like a charity case never sat well for Billy, so he continued, “I….I don't have what one would consider a family in any way. It's been a long time since...well, I just can't remember anyone, it's been so long.” Because he definitely did not think of his uncle as familial and no matter how much he tried, the memories of his mother and father faded with every passing year. “So, this...means a lot to me. Thank you for sharing this, a piece of your holiday and family with me.”

Do NOT start crying, Billy Batson!

Superman stood there, a little stunned and a little misty eyed before nodding, “You are more than welcome.” He didn't move for a moment and Billy knew what was coming, “Can I ask you something...about where you're from?”

Superman hadn't asked him his identity since Captain Marvel first joined the League and refused to give his alternate persona. Billy knew he should, though. It had been over a year since he became a member, nearly two years since he gained the powers of Shazam. He should tell them who he is, he had no reason not to trust them, especially Superman. But…

Something tight and reflexive inside him recoiled away from the conversation. He couldn't tell if it was Billy's own fears or Marvel's trepidation or Solomon's wisdom whispering ‘No, they're not ready, you're not ready, not yet, not now.’

Captain Marvel swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, “I'm...from the Rock of Eternity. It is a place of...magic not in this reality. So, when I said I was an avatar for the Gods’ powers, I meant that.”

A flicker of doubt passed across Superman's face. There was always doubt when others heard this. Marvel looked him in the eye and put as much Truth as possible into his words, his voice. He wanted - needed - Superman to believe him.

“The Greek Gods' connection to this realm is through the Wizard Shazam and he was the one that chose a Champion of good and justice for this world. There are other Gods, too - Egyptian, Roman, Norse - and they had their Wizards and their Champions long ago, but they…” Something surfaced from the depths of his mind, flashes of memories and knowledge that were old, far older than Billy, but somehow still his own. When he spoke again, it didn't quite feel like he was himself. “But they were destroyed by another Champion that had been corrupted. He had been sealed away and stays there, but...he won't be contained forever. So, that is why I am here. Waiting. Helping. Doing good…” His voice cracked, and Billy found himself fully aware again, though he knew he never left. “I'm trying to be good, I really am. But sometimes….sometimes it's hard. Sometimes I wonder if they were right to choose me. Sometimes it...it just gets really lonely...being their Chosen Champion when nothing...nothing else about me matters.”

Oh Gods, Billy did not mean to word vomit all of that up onto Superman's lap. The guy got back from his holiday and gave him delicious homemade food and Billy did this to him! And now his eyes are getting all teary, oh jeez!

“Marvel…” was whispered so lightly, Billy never knew Superman's voice could be so gentle. “I… I cannot speak for your wizard or...gods, but you are a valued and respected member of the Justice League. You certainly matter to us, magic or not, ancient mission or not. You matter.”

The weight of Superman's hand on his shoulder felt warm and secure, safe and grounding, and Billy knew he could believe every word. “Thank you. Again. Jeez, how many times am I gonna say that, huh?” he forced a chuckle out as he wiped the wetness from his eyes.

“I should be the one saying that to you. Thank you, Marvel, for sharing this with me, for trusting me.”

As Superman finally left, Captain Marvel collapsed back into his seat. The weight on his chest felt lifted, if only by a fraction. He was glad to divulge even just this small part of himself to his teammate, to his own hero. But the twisting in his gut, the guilt of keeping his whole truth secret, still left him heavy. A part of him wanted to tell it, to finally get it out there. He had a chance to, so why couldn't he?

Maybe it's because he believed what he said. The League only knew him as Marvel, the Wizard only chose him out of desperation. Billy refused to let any of them down, but in the end, without the power of Shazam, without Captain Marvel - did Billy Batson even matter?

Those troubling thoughts lurked at the back of Billy's head as he finished his shift. It stayed there, even as he got distracted by the bright Christmas lights beginning to be strung up around Fawcett City, and as he sat on his floor mattress eating delicious homemade apple pie.

Chapter Text

Captain Marvel always tried his best to be nice and approachable, welcoming and warm. He was everybody's friend from the moment he met them.

It was one of those widely known truths amongst the League and Fawcett City. You needed a helping hand around the Watchtower? Captain Marvel was there. Saw someone struggling to move something heavy? Blink, and you'll see Captain Marvel suddenly carrying it. A long away mission out in space? Captain Marvel has already signed up. And he performed those tasks to the best of his ability with minimum complaining, a butt load of jokes, and always ensuring others around him were okay.

To some who have yet to actually meet the guy, it seemed a bit far fetched. Nobody could be that friendly, that nice, that charming and good. They would see him on the news with his wide, bright smile dazzling the reporters. They would hear wind of him saving the most unlikely of folks in the most unsuitable of areas, but never suffer social backlash. He was like a fairy tale hero others strived to be, but very few could achieve. And those naysayers did not last very long. Upon being in Captain Marvel's physical presence, hearing him speak, having his impossibly shining gaze look right at them - that always changed their tune.

Something about the superhero made them believe in him, made them want to believe in the good of the world. It was no wonder he had a rising number of fans and admirers.

Sometimes one of those admirers was a teammate.

And sometimes they let Captain Marvel know of their adoration.

Billy Batson, at the tender age of eleven years and seven months, did not expect this to happen. Nor did he know what to do about it.

The first time Billy had a ‘crush’ was when he still lived with his uncle. He couldn't say which grade of school it was, or even the name of his classmate, just that they both liked the color red and shared churros at lunch and they always raced each other down the block when walking home. The second crush Billy had was during his first foster home. They didn't get on well with the others and secluded into themselves, swapping comic books and cards until Freddy was actually adopted and Billy was whisked away to another home.

(In all actuality, when he pondered these memories as Marvel, he questioned if those were crushes at all. If maybe Billy was just desperate for friendship, for a connection. If maybe he was just very very lonely.)

After that he tried his best to stay away from the whole infatuation and friendship business. Foster home to foster home, Billy bounced too much and knew he couldn't make real connections, let alone offer his soft heart to anyone if he was just going to move again a few months later. And surviving on the streets - well, he can't rightly trust anyone out there, now can he?

So, when all of this was brought up again, he was Captain Marvel and eating in the Watchtower's cafeteria.

He only vaguely knew the hero sitting down across from him. She was a newcomer into the League and went by the alias Stargirl. Passing pleasantries and navigating her in the right direction in this large metal labyrinth of a base was all the communication they shared. Marvel did his best to be friendly and open, but lately he had noticed a shift in her behavior. Every time they crossed paths in the hall she made an extra effort in their small talk. If he didn't notice her right away she called out loud to him until he waved back. Monitor duty had yet to be implemented into her schedule, but she always brought up the prospect of Captain Marvel training her and their shifts being together. In one instance she even mentioned meeting outside the Watchtower to hang out.

Billy had a sneaking suspicion that she wanted to be Captain Marvel's friend. Like, an actual friend.

Could he do that? She knew Marvel, not Billy. But Marvel was Billy.

“So what are your plans for the winter holidays, hmm?” Stargirl asked, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder and leaning forward on the table. “Going anywhere fun? Spending it with anyone...special?”

Her blue gaze seemed to watch his every move and Billy suddenly felt like one of those rabbits he saw once on a nature documentary being hunted by a fox.

Marvel thought on his answer for a moment before carefully replying, “Not really, no. I do a lot of charity events around Fawcett and volunteer at the soup kitchen-”

“Oh, that is just so nice of you! Such a considerate man, huh. What else?”

She was leading this conversation somewhere?

“Then I have extra monitor duty shifts these coming weeks-”

“Really? I would be delighted to help out with those, maybe you can start my training. It would be so cool!”

Behind the mask, her eyes sparkled at the mention. Her hands darted out to his, though he quickly grabbed his glass of water and took a big gulp. For some reason he very much did not want her touching his hands.

Something was off.

“Uhh! I don't, I mean, I'm not in charge of scheduling or training or anything. And I'm not allowed to take on extra shifts, Superman told me himself, so it's not, uhhh, I mean, perhaps another time?”

Good going, Batson.

“I guess so,” she pouted, seeming extremely put out. A moment later she was smiling again and Billy dreaded what else she would say. “What about afterward? You can't spend, like, all of your time working, right? A good looking guy like you has gotta have fun at some point. Maybe, go out dancing? Ice skating? Movies? Meeting cute girls?”

With each suggestion Stargirl leaned further over the table. Her arms crossed in front of her and hair flowing down over her shoulder. She didn't at all look threatening or menacing, but Marvel couldn't help leaning away.

Oh.

Oh, shoot.

She liked him.

What was he supposed to say to that? How does someone get out of this? He didn't want to hurt her feelings or cause trouble for the League, but Billy also did not want Stargirl thinking he liked her back.

“No, sorry, I uhh…” He blurted out the first thing that came to mind, “I'm too old for any of that. Like, really really old. I'm uh,” Quick, go big! “twenty five ...hundred years old. I've never danced or, umm, ice skated...or any of that. With anyone. Sorry.” Okay, now go! Time to go! “I need to go now, lots of, uh, hero stuff to do. Yeah, down at Fawcett. Like, right now. Sorry.”

Captain Marvel left in such an embarrassed hurry he didn't bother watching Stargirl's stunned expression or the surprise that rippled amongst the fellow Leaguers eavesdropping in.

This was literally the worst thing that could happen to Billy, aside from his identity being revealed.

What he was he supposed to do with someone liking him? She didn't even like him, she liked Captain Marvel! How the heck was that supposed to work? She was at least twenty! That was twice as old as Billy, that was old!

How old did Marvel even look?

Oh boy. Billy really did not know what to do, but there was one person he knew he could ask.

Miss Candy had been his neighbor at the complex since he moved in, being the one who showed him the place after running into him nearly every night as she got out of work. She was pretty, with short pink hair that she often covered with various colorful wigs, and a walk that had everyone either moving out of her way or looking right at her. At about this late - or early - hour she would be walking home from work - an adult's only place, she once said - and when he saw her down the block, he ran up.

“Well hey there, little man,” she said with a smile stained purple. Her heels were in her hand as she walked in dirty sneakers, and a warm cap was pulled over her head, but Billy recognized her long dark coat and fluffy fake fur trim. “Bit past your bedtime, huh?”

Billy knew that joke was coming and rolled his eyes. She always teased him like that, about being out late and not going to class, acting like he was a delinquent when they both knew differently. It was nice, having an adult accept him as is, not trying to baby him.

“Ha ha, hilarious every time,” he strolled beside her and decided to jump right in, get it over with. “How do you tell someone you don't like them back?”

“Call security and have em kicked out.”

Billy stared up at her. The serious expression on her face made him sigh in exasperation, “I'm not talking about those gross guys at your work. I mean, when someone nice says they like you but you don't like them, but you also don't want to hurt their feelings.”

Miss Candy began to grin, “Ohhh, someone crushin’ on my handsome young man?”

“Candy!” he whined. This was serious!

“Well,” she started, drawing the word out. “Ya need to tell em the truth. The sooner, the better.”

“I know that much. But...how do I do it nicely?”

“Sorry, kiddo. There ain't a real nice way to go about it. Ya don't gotta be cruel or nothing, but they're gonna be hurt no matter how nice you are. Rejection is kinda like that.”

Billy groaned in frustration and she ruffled his hair with a giggle.

“So, do I just…say no thank you?”

“Sure. Tell em you don't like em like that, and if they wanna be your friend instead, great. If they don't, drop em. And if they push ya, literally drop em. Like, on the curb.” At Billy's sigh, she continued, “I mean it. Their lil crush on you ain't your problem. You don't gotta be going along with nothing you don't want to. If they respect you, if they really do like you, they'll leave it. Got it?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

As they reached the apartment steps Candy gave his hair one last ruffle before they parted ways. Billy spent most of the morning thinking of what to say to Stargirl.

The next time Captain Marvel had monitor duty he took a short detour to the cafeteria in hope of finding Stargirl and getting the whole discussion out of the way. He did not want to wait and be thrown off guard again. Unfortunately, she was nowhere to be seen, but apparently Green Arrow wanted to talk to him. He sat together with Black Canary at a secluded corner and waved Marvel over.

“Hey, come on over here and take a seat, champ,” Arrow said, looking far too excited.

Canary, on the other hand, did not.

Marvel was very much suspicious. “Hi, you two. What's going on?”

“So, tell me, Captain-”

Canary dropped her face into her hand and groaned.

“It's fine, dear - so, Cap, I gotta know, how does a guy your age stay looking so young? Do your gods help out with that or something? Do you not age? I need to know your secret.”

Well that was unexpected. “Uhhh. It's...magic? Why, how old do I even look? Is it bad?”

“No, Marvel, it's not bad. Arrow is just being an asshole right now.”

“I'm wounded, my love,” he said dramatically. “It's just an innocent question. You look great, Captain. Not a day over twenty five, forget about twenty five hundred!”

“Thank...you?”

“So, being as graciously old as you are, Chosen Champion and all, you've never, say,” Green Arrow scooted himself over, closer to where Marvel sat, “gone ice skating?”

“Noooo?”

“You've never gone out dancing,” he continued, sliding even closer, “with anyone?”

The suspicious feeling from before turned into a mix of exasperation and dread. Marvel frowned at him, “No.”

“Really?” Arrow gasped in that overly dramatic way, “You haven't? That's a real shame, a right shame. Lemme tell you, if you ever have the desire to go dancing or to the movies or just sit for a good ol fashioned cuddle, I am here for you.” He finished by putting a hand on Marvel's and leaning further in beyond someone's comfort level.

Was Green Arrow being flirting or teasing? Because Marvel has been having a hard time differentiating between the two lately and this was not helping.

He decided to try out Miss Candy's advice.

“No thank you,” Marvel took Arrow's hand and placed it away from himself, very gently. “I appreciate your...interest, but…I don't get the whole human courting thing and, uh.” Oh jeez, Billy, stop while you're ahead. “Also, I wouldn't want to upset your wife.”

Black Canary choked on her drink before breaking out in laughter.

What was funny about that? Weren't they married?

Green Arrow sputtered aloud and tried to salvage himself. “We’re not-! I mean, I'm just-! This was a joke! I'm joking!”

“That wasn't a very funny joke, then.”

“He's got you there, hubby,” Canary snickered.

“Okay, okay!” Arrow surrendered, sliding himself back a few inches. “Look, Cap, I just heard a few things and I thought it'd be funny, but no you're right, not cool.”

He seemed sincere enough, Marvel figured. It was sometimes difficult to truly gauge heroes’ emotions when they wore masks. Something about Arrow's tone, something in his voice rang True to Marvel, though.

“Thank you. That means a lot. It's just...I'm not sure what goes on with people who flirt or date or anything, and it's a bit hard to read...uh, romantic intentions from friendly ones.”

“Don't have a couple thousand years worth of experience, huh?” Arrow asked, immediately followed by Canary kicking him under the table. “Hey! That's a legitimate question!”

“And it lacks tact,” she said.

The League believe he really was two thousand five hundred years old? They heard him say that? Oh, boy.

“Uh. Well, no?” Marvel started, pulling ideas as they came to mind and hoping Solomon's Wisdom gave him something. “I may be very, very old, but I uhhh, spent a lot of that time, um...resting! At the Rock of Eternity! Yeah. There's a whole magical...history, involving a Wizard and betrayal and losing everyone, but after all that I was hurt pretty badly and had to hibernate. Heal, you know. I only awoke from my...uh, magical...coma...a couple years ago.”

Billy Batson, you genius!

“Wow,” Arrow said, staring at him with surprise. “I knew the rumor going around involved you being a thousand year old magical avatar for some Greek Gods, but I didn't know…” Arrow awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, shooting a glance towards Canary who wasn't going to save him, but offered encouragement. “Look, Cap. Whatever is going around...You have your own story and burdens and for a guy who wears a mask to cover my identity, I haven't been respecting that. So, truly,” he placed a hand on Marvel's shoulder. “I'm sorry.”

Marvel couldn't help the big grin spreading across his face, nor the urge to hug the other hero. “Thank you! I'm not really bothered by the rumors, but it's nice to know I have...support.”

The warm arm thrown across his back was a surprise. And the words, “Of course you have my support, champ,” made Billy feel like it was him that Arrow was talking to. Not just Captain Marvel, but Billy Batson. “But I was also serious on that offer. If you want the experience Canary and I are not opposed to teaching-”

“Excuse me!” came a cry from across the room.

In the next moment Marvel felt an exceptionally strong grip around his waist and the added heat of another body.

“Uhh.”

“Why are you hugging Captain Marvel?” was Stargirl from over his shoulder.

He could see the determination set in Arrow's jaw as the arm pulled Marvel closer. “You're excused, kid. Cap can hug whoever he wants.”

“Kid?” she affronted, pulling the large man closer to her again. “Whatever, old man!”

“Uhh, guys-”

“Old man? He's way older than me!”

“And he looks way better than you, too! You're probably jealous-”

“Oh, please. He might be a pretty boy, but-”

“Ahah! So, you're trying to take him from me!”

“Guys, please-”

“Take him-! He's not yours!”

“Well, he's not yours either!”

“Please stop pulling me-”

“I never said-!”

“Then why are you hugging him-”

“Enough!”

The word echoed loudly across the room. Their argument and others conversations halted to a stop. Silence filled the cafeteria.

“Th-thank you, Canary,” Marvel said when the ringing in his ear subsided.

“My pleasure. You gotta learn to speak up for yourself, Captain,” she learned back in her seat, as though watching some grand drama.

Captain Marvel took that opportunity to gently, but firmly, push both heroes away from him. He didn't like using his strength against his teammates, but sometimes drastic times called for drastic measures.

“Listen, please,” he turned toward Stargirl, her daggered glare turned starry eyed as she looked from Green Arrow to the Captain. He took a deep breath, thought of what he'd been told, what Solomon's Wisdom could offer, and said with as much Truth and Comfort as possible, “I am very flattered by your affections, Stargirl...However, I cannot accept them. I do not feel the same way, but...I do hope we can continue to work well in the League together.”

While he knows he did not say much, Billy felt like he word vomited everything up. The resulting awkward silence around him, from the cafeteria and from Stargirl only made it that much more unbearable.

Way to go, Billy.

“Yeah, well, whatever,” Stargirl replied, pushing herself away from the table in a quick movement. “I get it, you're like, a two thousand year old demi-god and I'm one of the most hottest up and coming heroines. It'd never work.” Her voice wavered as she spoke, her hand brushing across her shining eyes in an attempt to casually hide her emotions.

Of course Marvel saw that.

“Stargirl, I'm sor-”

“Don't!” She interrupted with a wagging finger. “There's, like, really no reason for you to be sorry or pity me or anything. You were telling the truth, and I...get it. So, thanks, Captain. I'll...see you later.”

And she was gone.

“Oh, jeez,” Marvel buried his face into his hands and groaned. “I didn't want to make her cry!”

“That may have been inevitable,” Canary said, sympathy in her tone. “Still, you did the right thing.”

“But it sucks,” was muffled out from behind his hands.

Arrow chuckled. “Yeah, champ. Breaking hearts doesn't feel so good. But it had to be done.”

“Otherwise, you would have led her on, made her believe she had a chance when she didn't, and if that continued, then you would have just been living a lie.”

Oh, how ironic.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Marvel sighed, lifting his head up, though still feeling miserable. “Thanks you two.”

“Any time! And like I was saying, if you ever want the experience, call me- Ow! Dinah!” Arrow hissed out, rubbing his shin.

“Ignore him. If you're not interested in dating anyone, whether or not they're from the League, then don't. It's okay.”

“Who said anything about datin-Ow! Stop kicking me!”

“Then stop being an asshole.”

Marvel couldn't help but smile at their antics. He understood what she was saying. His life was complicated enough without adding a girlfriend or boyfriend to the mix. It would be weird anyway, being who he was. And not wanting to complicate everything - that was just fine for Billy.

Chapter Text

Holiday season was hitting its peak and with Captain Marvel's limit of extra shifts already set, it came as a surprise to some that he was not working that Christmas Eve. It wasn't his plan to not take those days, Marvel was fully ready to, however when Superman tells you to take a few days off - well, he can't really say no.

Unfortunately, when he was not busy keeping Fawcett City and Earth safe, he had to be plain ol’ Billy Batson.

Because Billy had to shovel snowy driveways and sidewalks in order to buy thicker socks. Billy could only look at toy stores and fun winter events from afar, since being too close meant he was marked as suspicious without a parent around. And Billy had to be a good boy and stop bullies from messing with younger kids, even though Billy himself did not stand a chance.

He can't be good if he used Captain Marvel to punish dumb teenagers.

Even though he really, really wanted to at least use the Speed of Mercury to get away.

Billy was not having much luck with that.

It had been four blocks ago that Billy pushed some mean jerk away from some kids playing with a new toy. They were the regular bullies that tormented any helpless civilian they saw with small acts of malice - knocking over people's food, stealing from a homeless man's cup, chasing younger kids to beat them up.

The usual.

Every time he looked behind him there they were, pushing folks with shopping bags out of the way as they bulldozed toward him like his red sweater was a focal point. He pulled out all the stops, too: zigzagging, cutting through alleys, going under tables or through shops or crowds. But they knew the area just as well, because the three teens were never far behind, leaving a path of destruction in their wake.

Billy felt a little guilty about that, but since he was currently running for his life, he would dwell on that later.

A sharp turn around the corner store had Billy suddenly sprawling on the ground. Cold ice seeped through his sweater and a smart pang bloomed at the back of his head as he blinked away starbursts to see the grey and cloudy sky above. There wasn't time to stare or to even wince at the pinch going up his tailbone as he pushed himself up. He would have plenty of time to lay on the ground in pain if those assholes caught him.

“Not so fast there, little scarlet,” came a low voice over him.

Billy only had time to glance up at the stranger - a man in a long dark coat, a newly splattered coffee stain dripping down the front of his black turtleneck sweater. Behind him, just around the corner and down the block, he could hear the ruckus of the teens gaining ground.

“I'm sorry, but I gotta go!” He whispered loudly, not wanting to be overheard, though he knew they were not close enough to hear. It was sort of a habit, when Billy wanted to not be seen - don't be heard.

“Hey now, hold on,” the man said, he wasn't shouting or sounding particularly angry, but his tone was firm and the grip he suddenly had on Billy's shoulder to keep him in place was even firmer. “You can't just run away from your problems here, kid.”

Billy knew he was talking about the split coffee, but, “In this case, mister, I think I can.” The hollering from the teens grew louder, like a war cry or barking dogs on the hunt. “And should! Please, I'll pay for it later, if I'm not dead!” Billy pleaded, trying to push the man's hand off of him with little success.

“That's not how you strike a deal, you know.”

Billy could hear them getting closer and he still couldn't move and this guy wanted Billy to, what? Promise him he'll pay for cleaning?

“I can't strike a deal if I'm dead, so plea-”

“Oh, don't be so dramatic, kid,” the man said, not at all concerned that he literally held Billy's life in his hand. “And keep quiet.”

The next few moments happened very quickly. One second Billy was standing on the sidewalk in broad daylight, the next he was hidden out of sight. Heavy wool from the man's coat encompassed Billy as he was pushed behind him. Pressed against the man's back very acutely reminded Billy how small for his age he was.

What was even happening his life? Would this work? Why was he helping him? What was that cold metal box on the guy's leg?

These thoughts escaped him when he heard noisy shouts just a few feet away. The wool and the man did a good job of muffling the sound, but that did not stop Billy from covering his own mouth and trying to keep as silent and still as possible. Hiding under the coat was a clever trick, but doubt questioned if the teens were so unaware that they wouldn't notice a kid literally right there. However, a few moments longer and all Billy could hear was his own stilted breathing and rushing heartbeat in his ears.

Soon enough, or maybe it was much longer, he was pulled back out and able to gasp fresh air. Blinking against the light and slightly dazed that he wasn't dead, Billy felt it necessary to voice his surprise.

“That actually worked.”

“Of course it worked, it was my idea,” the man said, and Billy realized he had yet to let him go.

“Uhh. Well, thank you?” Billy tried, unsure what else to say. He was safe, but for some reason this felt like he jumped right out of the pan and-

“Not so fast, kid. We were striking a deal, remember?”

-right into the fire.

“Look, mister. I'm sorry about the spill, really I am, but I don't actually have any money to clean it, or a washing machine. I mean, I don't have one myself, because I don't...own...things, but, uh.” C'mon, Batson, stop while you're ahead. “My uncle does. But, see, he is very serious about what I get to use, so, if you want I can point you towards, like, a really good cleaning place, and maybe-”

“Stop talking, kid.”

“Okay, got it.”

The man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You're not paying for cleaning, look at you, shortstack, you're wearing dollar bulk clothes, and don't try to sell me half baked stories.” He stared down at Billy with a focus so intense his tinted visor gave his eyes a blue shock that made them look that much more sinister.

With a few moments to spare, Billy really took in the man before him. He was dressed in all dark colors except the blue visor he wore that Billy suspected did not very much help against the sun. An equally dark hat was snug over the man's head, no visible hair peeking through. The smile on the man's face was crooked, a hint of teeth had alarm bells going off in Billy's head. Overall, it was like the guy was ready to rob a bank or something.

“I'm in need of a little information. You're a street rat, I can tell that much, so that means you know things,” his voice was low and smooth, almost familiar. “I helped you, now you help me.”

Where had Billy heard him before?

“Do we have a deal, little scarlet?”

Oh.

That wasn't a box on the man's leg, that was a freeze gun and this wasn't just any regular guy.

Oh no.

“Holy moly, you're Captain Cold.”

Okay, way to go, Batson. Can't even be saved by a good guy, huh.

There was a silent, tense moment as the man - Captain Cold - stared down at Billy, his grip tightening a fraction as his face went carefully blank.

It was a look Billy had seen many a time, when he tried to report how rotten his uncle was, when he told his fosters they weren't family, when he let slip his situation to adults. Their mouths would dip slightly at the edges, but not quite a frown, and their eyes would widen before becoming heavy lidded, like they were accepting a sudden surprise, and their eyebrows would crinkle at the center. All of this spelt trouble for Billy, lead to him immediately regret his actions.

Like right now - he was regretting saying anything at all.

“And why,” Cold finally spoke, each word calculated, “would you presume that?”

Billy swallowed the lump in his throat, felt it burn as a ball of dread in his belly despite his skin feeling terribly chilled.

“I...uh,” he glanced away from the unblinking gaze, at anything that looked helpful, that looked like an escape. “I just…you…Your gun!”

Cold narrowed his eyes. “My gun?”

“Yes?” That didn't sound convincing enough. “The one on your hip. That freezes things. It felt really cold when you pushed me under your coat.” Okay, that sounded better.

“You happen to know it's a freeze gun? Not just some, oh, let's say refrigerated lunch box.”

“No? You're acting awfully suspicious, too, you know.” Billy couldn't tell if Cold was actually trying to convince him, or if he was telling Billy to shut up about it. Either way, Billy has never really been cooperative when adults wanted him to be.

“What I find suspicious is that a kid has picked me out in minutes when I've been here for awhile with no problems.”

Oh, yeah. That is suspicious.

Billy couldn't exactly say he read The Flash's report files on all The Rogues when he was bored during monitor duty at the Justice League Watchtower. That would be doubly suspicious!

“I read a lot!” He said instead, though it sounded embarrassingly squeaky to his own ears. “Like, about criminals and stuff. You're… very talented...at uh...crime.”

The smirk returned at that. “Oh? Looking to get an early start at a career?”

“No! I don't do crime!” Except when he avoided social workers and started fights and distracted adults so other kids could get away. “Most of the time.”

The disbelieving look on Cold's face made Billy want to huff more rebuttals out, but before he could the man patted his shoulder in fake sympathy. Like Billy was some sort of criminal in the making. Him! The boy that turns into Captain Marvel and tries so hard to be good!

Gods, what is even his life?

“Of course not, kid. Now come on, I need insider information and-”

He began to lead them down the street, but one step and Billy realized that the only thing keeping him standing was the hand on his shoulder. Pain made itself known as sharp prickles went up his spine and down to his ankle. A stumbling foot would have lead him to falling flat on his face, if Cold hadn't kept ahold of him.

“And apparently you need a place to rest,” Captain Cold finished.

Billy groaned his frustrations aloud. There was no way he was going to make it home in one piece. Either his body was going to fall apart on him or he'll get caught, whether by the gross teens or by some well-meaning adults, he didn't know. Turning into Captain Marvel would help if there was anything that needed the superhero, but as it was - no good intentions, no Marvel. His only option was going with Cold and hoping the man would provide some means of protection until nightfall. At least by that point everybody would be home, enjoying their Christmas Eve and not paying mind to a kid on the streets.

“Fine, okay. Deal,” he sighed.

“Smart kid,” Cold said. “Now, wait here while I get my ride.”

“Your ride?”

“What, you want me carry you?”

Billy couldn't hold back the huff of indignation, even at Cold's knowing smirk. “No, I'm not a baby!”

“Sure, kid,” he said, already making his way down the street. He threw over his shoulder, “Just wait there and try not to run into anyone else.”

Being left on the corner, Billy once again questioned what his life had turned into. Here he was, standing around waiting for an infamous criminal to pick him up so he could take him to some secret criminal hideout and retrieve who knows what information out of him, probably to use for more crime. This was exactly the kind of crap Billy should be stopping - that Marvel should be stopping. Because Billy Batson wasn't a superhero and could stop Captain Cold from robbing a bank or extracting information if he wanted.

Well, maybe he could not give the information, whatever it was Cold thought he knew. Billy could keep his mouth shut, refuse to give him anything and when his ankle stopped throbbing, make a break for it.

But he helped you, said Billy's treacherous brain, He's helping you twice. And ugh, sometimes being good really sucked.

The chill of the winter wind reminded Billy that he needed to get a new coat, too. His old one, which may have had some holes in, but was still usable, had been ripped off when those teenage jerks grabbed at him. Better to lose the coat than lose the fight, or a couple of teeth. Billy rubbed his hands on his arms, grateful he had worn one of his red sweaters. Captain Cold had been perceptive on that account - this was from a dollar store bulk bag, but hey, they were cheap and he now has five warm sweaters to wear.

“Well, color me surprised, you're still here.” Cold called from the curb, sitting atop a motorcycle that he may or may not have stolen.

Billy hesitated before he hobbled his way over. “Where would I have gone? Can't get very far.”

He shrugged, “Yell for help, stranger danger, cops. Call your uncle. You had six minutes.” His gaze was a bit too searching, minute mark too exact, for the suggestions to be casual.

Regardless, shear attitude had Billy rolling his eyes. “Then we would both be in trouble.”

Cold didn't ask for a further explanation, and Billy wondered if he actually understood the trouble he could get in if brought to any authority figure, or worse, his uncle. Instead, Cold picked up the helmet in front of him and solidly placed in onto Billy's head. And while the boy was momentarily distracted Cold lifted him onto the seat.

“Is this safe?” Billy asked through the helmet, hoping the man behind him could hear.

“Better than you flying off the back,” Cold said before the roar of the motorcycle overtook them.

That was a good point, Billy does admit. He did not have any upper body strength and would very much enjoy not being a pancake on the road. He would also enjoy not going with a criminal to an unknown location, but this was just his life now.

From what he could remember of The Flash's files on The Rogues, they were troublesome, but not terribly evil. While Captain Cold had a lengthy trail of crime behind him, dating back years before anyone knew his name, he also seemed to be the moral backbone to the group. At least the enforcer of it, anyway. And Billy used the word moral very loosely. They still robbed, hurt people, and were generally bad guys but… they also helped when something otherworldly threatened the Earth, they never killed anyone or threatened to, they avoided places full of children and the sick. There was even a time Cold realized his antics had obstructed a delivery truck full of toys for children in shelters and then proceeded to help deliver them with The Flash.

So, yes, Captain Cold and his Rogues were criminals and yes, their rough backgrounds did not give them rights to being bad guys - but Billy did not believe they were unforgivable people.

The world was not black and white or good and evil. There was nuance and grey areas, situations Billy would have never known could be so complicated if he was not Captain Marvel. Wisdom from Solomon and the many Marvels before him showed Billy how tangled their world could be. Though, Billy liked to believe he kept himself in check, kept Captain Marvel as the good guy when things got tough.

If Billy Batson did nothing else with his life, at least he could do that.

By the time Cold had parked them in the garage of a decrepit apartment complex in a part of the neighborhood not far from Billy's own, the dread from earlier had eased. He was not sure what to expect, but he knew he wasn't in any more danger than he was running from those bullies. In fact, there was probably less of a chance of getting beat up.

“Now, this is how things will go, so listen,” Cold said as he popped off the helmet and set Billy down. “Don't touch anything. Not even if it's offered to you. Don't lie to me. I can tell the moment you start thinking it and can guarantee you I will know. Don't try to remember where we are because by the time you come around again we'll be long gone. Got it?” He stopped at door and before the kid could open his mouth, “Good. Take off your shoes when we get in.”

The inside of the infamous robber's hideout was not what Billy expected. Layout much the same as some at his own complex, the furnishings were anything but bare. Paint on the walls had obviously not been touched in years, the white so dirty it was more of a beige, but the hanging pictures were clearly very new - and very expensive. Large tables lined the living room, the contents scattered on them ranging from metal and mechanical to empty bottles to papers covered in words and drawings. A collision of different styles and controlled chaos greeted Billy the moment the door closed behind him. It was new and unfamiliar and he had no clue what he was getting into.

“We'll keep this simple and brie-”

“Hey!” came a higher pitched, feminine voice from down the hall, “Did you get the gloves I wante- Oh, well hello.” Stopped at the hallway entrance was a woman with wavy dark hair and a sharp profile, her expression quickly transitioning from surprise to smug.

Golden Glider, Billy's mind supplied.

“Leave it, Lis,” a note in Cold's voice had Glider glancing at him, a silent exchange occurring between brother and sister that ended with her smile widening.

“Come on now, don't be like that, Lenny,” she commented, making her way over with a bit of a sway to her walk. “I'm just saying hello.” Then she stopped in front of Billy, her hands on her thighs as she slightly bent herself forward.

“Uh, hi?” Billy did not know the proper etiquette for this kind of situation, but being nice never hurt. That, and her grin showed so many teeth he had to reassess that no, the Rogues were not cannibals that ate children.

“Stop it,” Cold said with a heavy hand on Billy's shoulder that surprisingly felt safe. “He's not a hostage.”

Her face went back to normal proportions as an eyebrow lifted up, “No?”

“No. We have a deal,” the pat on Billy's shoulder felt part confirmation, part condescending.

Glider's gaze went from staring Billy down to analyzing her brother, “Really? This little one?”

“You should know how easy it is for kids to soak up what's been dropped,” and there was weight in his words, Billy could feel it, the history he knew these two siblings shared, “How much they're overlooked.”

She huffed out a sigh and straightened back up with crossed arms. Her hazel eyes - the same as Cold's, able to easily absorb color around them - looked back at Billy, a crinkle between her eyebrows and a frown tugging at her red colored lips. Glider almost looked sad. “Well yeah, but c'mon Len, look at him, he's like...six.”

Billy was getting real tired of being talked about while he was literally right there. Despite his experiences and survival thus far, he would never admit to having self preservation. “Excuse you, I'm twelve!” Almost, in like, a couple months.

Glider blinked at him, disbelief in every line of her pretty face. “Really. Twelve?”

Even Cold raised an eyebrow.

Billy would admit that his lying skills had half a chance of working, moreso if he put his heart and head into it, though that seemed significantly less when he was against the Snart siblings. “Errr… well, eleven and some months…”

Her smile returned, looking less sinister than before. She made a sound of understanding, though Billy could not guess at what she knew. “Len, you big softy you.” In a play of sibling aggression that Billy was objectively familiar with from his time people watching, Glider threw a punch into Cold's arm. It was hard enough to resound in a thump and made him wince.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Cold said, his voice devoid of all emotion except annoyance as he rubbed his arm.

Billy did not believe him, and by the look on Glider's face, neither did she.

There was more silence as they exchanged another telepathic message - at least, that's how it had always seemed to Billy when siblings did that. Also, he knew telepaths existed, so one could never really be sure.

“Believe what you want, Lis. Either way, I have some information to extract,” he made his way over to the couches, gesturing Billy to follow.

“You're just asking questions, though, aren't you?” Billy remarked against the vaguely threatening sentence. He did not glance back at Glider's sudden cackle.

“And as long as you answer truthfully, it'll stay that way,” Cold said as he carefully sat on the edge of a chair cushion, his forearms rested on his knees and the seriousness in his tone, in his expression, reminded Billy that this was not exactly a fun situation for him to be in. “Now, sit.”

Billy stood where he was. “But you said not to touch anything. Even if it was offered.”

“Yes, and now I'm telling you to sit.”

“Uhh…” With some effort and using the couch as support, Billy hobbled his way forward.

“Seriously, Len?” And there was so much exasperation in Glider's voice.

Cold sighed as he pushed himself up and made his way towards Billy.

“Hey, no wait, I got this-!”

“Shut it, kid,” he said as he easily lifted Billy up from under his arms and deposited him directly onto the couch.

To Billy it was the epitome of embarrassing.

“Sure know how to pick ‘em!”

“Shut it, Lisa!” Cold called back, catching something Glider threw. He rearranged Billy to lean against the arm of the sofa, much to his squawk of indignation, and carefully placed a bag of frozen peas on his elevated ankle. When Cold was done he took his seat again and Billy did not know how to take the fact that the Snart siblings were helping with his sprained injury. “Now, first thing's first. Name.”

“You don't even have his name, Len?” Cold ignored his sister in favor of staring Billy down.

This was already becoming one of the weirdest situations Billy found himself in, but at least this part was familiar. An adult asks for your name, where you live, who you're with - give half truths. Give enough to satisfy and throw them off before making a break for it. “Billy,” he finally said, resolute.

“Billy…?”

“Yep, Billy.” Because he knew what Cold wanted and he wasn't dumb.

“I'm not going to toss you to the nearest social worker, kid.”

Billy did not believe him and made sure it showed.

“Oh, he's good,” Glider commented from the connected kitchen.

“Okay fine, Billy. Tell me about this town.”

What an odd request. Wasn't this man really good at his research and planning? “What...like, I dunno. It's Fawcett City?”

Cold rolled his eyes, “Yes, it is. Tell me about it, how often do you hear sirens going? What big events happen? What's the strange and unusual?”

Despite Cold's earlier claim to not touch anything and him knowing not to get too comfortable, Billy relaxed back into the couch as he mulled over the questions. “I guess if you had to describe it, we're like a mix of… Central City and Gotham? Or maybe Star City and Metropolis?”

“Meaning?”

“We're a nice town until we're not!” Billy said like it was the most obvious truth.

“Okay, what happens when it isn't nice?”

All of this seemed like easy stuff for someone like Cold to find out, but Billy continued, aware that something more may be asked. “We get a new super villain like every other week, though they don't tend to last.”

“Why not?”

“Captain Marvel takes care of it,” Billy shrugged, trying to appear uninterested, like this wasn't knowledge he intimately knew. “They show up, cause trouble, Marvel comes and stops them, usually talks them down and then they leave with the cops.”

“And…. that's it?”

How much could Billy say… “Sometimes they come back with even more ridiculous outfits. But usually they don't. The only ones Captain Marvel doesn't talk to are the really nasty aliens that come here to kill everyone.”

“Uh huh. But he shows up? Every time?”

“Pretty much! Unless he thinks the police can handle it or he's off...doing superhero things.”

Cold leaned back, his fingers steepled together as he thought. “And what do the villains want?”

Billy shrugged, “The usual - money, power, attention. But, in case you're wondering, there's not a lot to steal here. Our museum is just a bunch of old stuff and some Marvel exhibits, and we don't usually get fancy jewels or artifacts coming through. Like I said, we can look friendly but everyone who lives here knows we're more like Gotham than others think.”

“So, why the Big Red Cheese?”

Billy paused, “The...what?”

Cold reiterated, “The Big Red Cheese. Superhero in red and white, flies around, patrols Fawcett. Why is he here?”

Oh boy, what a weird place to be in, Batson. How was he even supposed to answer that? I'm here because I live here!

“Uh. I'm not sure? He just...showed up one day. Saved some folks from a car crash, destroyed an evil scientist's giant robots, and called it a day.” Gods, recalling his first day as Marvel sure felt weird.

“So some Superman esque hero shows up and everyone accepts it?”

“Yep!”

“And no arch nemesis has appeared?” He sounded like that was the normal thing to happen, but if Billy thought about it, he supposed that was pretty much what happened to a majority of his fellow heroes.

The difference was Billy didn't know when Marvel's nemesis would come out. The Wizard said he should be prepared for his powerful enemy, one that went against the other Champions long ago. But that warning was two years ago. Is he supposed to still be waiting?

“No,” Billy said carefully. “Unless you're volunteering?”

“Listen kid, I'm a cat burglar with ambition, brains, and a freeze gun. What about that says I fight supermen?” Cold sounded so indignant Billy had to hold back a giggle. “See, I'm right. Now, tell me. What can he do?”

“Hmm...he's...fast. Really really fast.”

“Got that much. I can handle fast.”

“He’s super strong, like, Superman level strong.”

Cold rolled his eyes, “Nothing new.”

How does a kid describe Marvel when he is Captain Marvel? He can turn into an incredible superhero but there he was sounding like his own fanboy. “He can summon lightning. Really big, thunderstorm kind of lightning.”

“So, he can fry us to ash,” Glider input as she leaned over the back of the couch right behind Billy. “Sounds fun.”

Billy tilted his head back and wrinkled his nose at the thought of frying anyone to ash. “Captain Marvel wouldn't do that.”

“What, he's never shocked anyone before?” She asked, booping Billy's nose with a painted nail. It was a bit silly and unexpected, so he let it slide.

“I mean, sure, but he's careful with it. He doesn't kill anyone.”

“Sound sure of yourself,” Glider smiled.

“I am!”

“Sounds like you admire him,” Cold said.

“Well...yeah?” Billy looked back at him, “Look, I know I'm just some street rat or whatever, but that doesn't matter! Everybody likes Marvel because he likes everybody. He helps everyone no matter how small, no matter when. He's there.”

Because he tried, he really did. Being good and useful and everything a hero should be - that's what Marvel strived for, what he couldn't do as plain ol Billy Batson. Sometimes he envied his fellow heroes having their own lives, civilian personas and families and hobbies they made time for, that they cherished. But other times Billy knew that he couldn't have any of that - not pesky parents asking him what he was doing, not routine education to interrupt his day, not friends to worry over getting hurt. No distractions. If Billy Batson had anything real, was an important part of anyone's life, then he couldn't be the great Captain Marvel.

And he knew which one was better for the world to have.

“What else can he do?” Cold asked, breaking Billy's thoughts and returning him to the present interrogation.

He realized Glider had gone back into the kitchen and Cold was lounging more in his seat. One would almost think this was a casual sitting. It was certainly starting to feel like one. “There's also the magical part, too.”

A moment of silence as Cold stared at him and blinked slowly. “Magical?”

“Yeah,” Billy said, not sure what the problem was. “He can fight magical things and not really get hurt by them.”

“He's not the same as Superman?” Cold clarified.

Oh, come on! “No!” Billy realized his enthusiasm and dialed it back, “I don't know! I don't think so. He does magic!”

“Who does magic?” came a gruff and low voice from the hallway, followed by, “Who's the kid?”

“Morning to you, too, Mick,” Cold called out.

Heatwave.

The man stood at the entry for a moment, rubbing a hand down his tired face, like he had just woken up though it was already nearing dark. He stared at Billy, scratched his stomach through his dirty used-to-be white shirt, and belched loudly. “Snart. Why is there a kid on my napping couch?”

“The communal area is-”

“Lenny picked up a stray!” Glider interrupted, a giant plate of pizza slices in her hand. She danced around Heatwave as he reached for one - and made a face of irritation when he failed - then set the plate down on the coffee table before sitting next to Billy. “He's giving us all the details on Fawcett's own local hero.”

Heatwave grunted and turned away into the kitchen, “I thought you researched that shit before we got here.”

“Yes,” Cold said slowly in a tone Billy had heard from many an adult, like he was explaining something simple, but with limited patience. “But I need an insider's perspective of things, Mick. I do my research thoroughly.”

“Thoroughly?” He snorted as he plopped himself down into the recliner seat, a bottle of beer in hand. “The fuck does this kid-”

“Mick!” The Snart siblings started in unison, even Billy was startled.

“Ignore him,” she said, handing a slice to Billy who really could not turn down free food, even if it was from Golden Glider. “He's a crab ass when he wakes up and hasn't had his first beer yet.”

“Sounds gross,” Billy said after swallowing a mouthful of cheese and pepperoni.

“Does this kid even know what alcohol is?” Heatwave asked with shades of doubt.

“Yes! I'm not a baby!”

“Yeah, Mick. He's almost twelve,” and Billy could hear the giggle in Glider's voice.

“Then he better not go through my cases. I know how many cans I have left.”

Billy made a disgusted noise at the mention of drinking beer. He tried it once, on a dare with another foster kid. The kid also tattled on him, so Billy got in trouble and had to see the counselor for extra sessions. It was terrible and annoying, but he got the kid back by hiding cigarettes from one of the teens in their bed. The two of them fought and while the house was distracted Billy made a break for it.

Simpler times, now that Billy thought about it.

“He's fine, leave him be,” Cold said.

“So what happened to him?” Heatwave asked, nodding his head towards Billy.

“He ran into me and slipped.”

Heatwave grinned. “What were ya running from? Cops? Store owner?”

A flush spread across his cheeks, “...Teenagers.”

Glider and Heatwave nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, they can be shits,” he said. “Why were they after you?”

Billy huffed, “Because they were being jerks so I stopped them. And the one fell to the ground. And got a bloody nose.”

The large man barked with laughter, “Hah! Reminds me of you, Snart. A half pint picking fights.”

Billy didn't know how to feel about being compared to Captain Cold, but by the matching grins of Heatwave and Glider, and the muttered “Shut it, Mick” from Cold himself, Billy figured it probably wasn't a bad thing. Afterall, the three villains around him were people with their own stories. He could see why The Flash showed compassion to a lot of them. Maybe he saw these things, too.

“I don't mean to pick fights!” Billy said, “But when I see these...assholes being nasty I just...I don't know, I gotta step in.”

“Not much of a criminal, huh, little scarlet?” Cold asked with humor in his smirk.

“God, you even gave him a nickname!” Glider threw her head back with a groan.

“Shut it, Lis.”

“Getting soft there, Snart,” Heatwave added.

“Mick-!”

“At least you picked up a good one.”

“Should teach him to at least throw a punch, though. Scrawny thing like him needs to use his small size to his advantage.”

“You two are the worst.”

Billy did not think in a million years he would be comfortable lounging back on a plush couch in the living room of The Rogues hideout, eating pizza and watching them banter like old friends, but there he was, plopped in the middle. They took him in, iced his sprained ankle, and fed him. All of that for information they could have very easily gotten on the internet, so maybe, just maybe, they did it because they really weren't as villainous as they tried to be.

A sense of safety flooded his heart as he laughed with them.

The rest of the evening passed by smoothly, The Rogues not even hiding the fact that they were doing a good deed. Glider - no, Lisa - painted his nails a shiny gold. Mick showed him where to hit on the lower body of those bigger than Billy, though some of the spots he already knew, and corrected how he threw his punches. And Leonard - “Len is fine, kid” - wrapped Billy's ankle with a surprisingly gentle touch. They all distracted him, and he knew that by now, with stories of heists and being in juvie and the trouble they got into, never once invasively asking him his own story or why he was alone on Christmas Eve, until he could no longer keep his eyes open.

Billy Batson fell asleep with a warm blanket thrown over him and one of them petting his hair back.

When Billy awoke the next morning, the sun barely creeping up in the sky, it took him a few moments to realize where he was. Slowly, he became more aware of his surroundings and how he got there. The apartment was quiet, the world outside still asleep aside from the chilly wind blowing by. Billy's ankle did not hurt as much as yesterday and his back had long since stopped aching. Everything felt warm and hazy, comfortable in the empty hours of dawn.

He could keep sleeping until the others awoke, but it was Christmas day and Captain Marvel had to be at the Soup Kitchen to help with meals before being on safety patrol. So Billy unraveled himself from the blankets and folded them neatly onto the couch. He thought of writing a thank you note for them, for everything that they did for him, but decided against it as he did not want to scribble on something important or rummage through their belongings. Carefully and quietly, Billy padded over to his shoes by the door and slipped them on.

“Leaving already, little scarlet?” Billy nearly jumped out of his skin at Len's soft question. And that must have shown, “Don't be surprised. I was up and figured you would pull something like this.”

Billy eyed the man who was fully awake and dressed for the day, a mug of hot liquid in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. He whispered, “I'm sorry, it's just…” - he overstayed his welcome, he didn't want to impose, he had to be Captain Marvel, these domestic comforts made his heart ache - “The soup kitchen is opening soon.”

“You don't need to explain yourself,” Len said as walked up.

“But I don't wanna-”

“What? Hurt my feelings?” He quietly chuckled, like Billy's concern for him was amusing.

Flustered, he retorted, “Don't be a jerk. I'm trying to thank you, you know.”

“Got that. You're welcome, kid,” and there was equal parts sass and sincerity. “Good to head back out?”

Billy checked himself over quickly, able to put weight on his ankle. “Yep! Good to go.”

“Almost.” He lifted the plastic bag towards Billy.

“What, no, really I couldn't-”

“Take the bag.”

And Billy did, a bit reluctantly because Len had already done so much for him, but with his demand firm and unyielding, there wasn't anything to do but accept it.

“Seemed like you needed a new one,” and Billy could hear the warmth carefully hidden away in Len's tone.

What he pulled out was a winter jacket. Dark and slightly puffy with large pockets on the outside and white fluff on the hood's trim; it was a spitting image of Captain Cold's parka and Billy couldn't help the smile that broke across his face.

“I don't. I mean. Wow.” Speechless, he put the jacket on and reveled in it engulfing him with cushiony warmth. A suspicious thought crossed his mind, “Where did you even get this? Nothing's opened yet.”

The smile on Len's face broke to show teeth, an expression all together too guilty but daring Billy to call him out. “Don't worry about it. Just don't let those assholes ruin this one, okay.”

A choked laugh escaped him as Billy swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat and blinked away the wetness forming in his eyes. He really did not want to start crying. “Thank you so much. I'll keep it safe.”

“How about you stay safe, alright?” Afraid to say any more, Billy nodded. “Good. Now get going before Lisa wakes up and demand you stay.”

With one last wobbly smile, he made his way out, a quiet “Merry Christmas, Billy,” following him the rest of the day.

It was a few days later that Captain Marvel was approached by The Flash.

For how long The Rogues had been settled in Fawcett City, as unobtrusive and civilian as they acted, the fact that it had taken The Flash this long to mention anything spoke volumes of either the hero's busy holiday schedule or his lack of concern over the morally ambiguous group.

“Wait wait wait wait a minute,” The Flash sputtered, taking a few seconds - which was very long for him! - to go over the revelation. “So you already knew? Why didn't you say anything?”

Captain Marvel merely shrugged. “You were busy, they weren't causing trouble, I had it under control. Honestly, they've been really nice.”

“Nice?” Flash repeated, dubious. “Snart?”

“Well, yeah,” he recounted what he had noted, both as Marvel and Billy. “They saved a local kid from bullies. There was an anonymous donation of toys and clothes to the local soup kitchen and family shelter, but the letter was written in a gold gel pen. And there's rumor going around that an artificial ice rink appeared at the park overnight.”

“You're kidding.” Marvel shook his head. “Oh my God! I can't wait to catch Snart when he comes out of holiday! I knew he had good in him, oh this is great!”

“You...sure are a funny one, Flash,” Marvel admitted, because really, what hero looked forward to meeting their villain? And to brag about how good they actually were?

“Hah! Says you, you big red cheese,” the speedster teased. “You're the one babysitting my Rogues like they're troublesome kids rather than infamous thieves.” His giant grin melted into a soft smile, and Marvel could feel the genuine gratitude and admiration. “Seriously though, Cap, I didn't expect you to...I don't know, look after them. I know some of the others don't always approve of my more… pacifist or friendly approaches, but...I mean, they are people, too. I stop their crimes, but some of them, they just need some guidance, or subtle pushes in the right direction, or to be reminded they can be good, and… well, I don't know, I'm rambling now.” He nervously laughed, but Marvel knew how much this meant to him.

Billy Batson believed in good, wanted to believe in the good of everyone, and tried to be good himself, so of course Captain Marvel would carry that torch.

“Someone's past does not define them indefinitely. They can always change, be better, be good, even in the small, unnoticeable moments.” Marvel said.

He recalled the Rogues and Billy's own paralleled histories, drawing them up and laying them down, tracing the outlines of outside influence and mistakes and decisions made in order to survive and those made because of simple empathy. Memories that were Marvel's - but not Billy's - showed the spectrum that humanity ranged on, their triumphs in kindness and cruelty, and how truly immeasurable each heart was in the passage of time.

The revelation felt like a blaze warming Billy's soul, and so distracted by the rush of images he barely noticed as Marvel placed a hand on Flash's shoulder and said, “We just need to be the heroes that encourage it, that allow for those opportunities to happen. Others may not approve of our choices, but ultimately we are the ones doing them, and we are acting under, not only the best intentions, but with courage and hope.” Billy knew the words coming out of his mouth, thought them as they passed, but he knew them in a strange, disconnected way. In this moment he had never felt more like the ancient Chosen Champion and less like Billy Batson in his whole life. “You are a great hero, Flash, and I am honored to work beside someone with just as great a heart. Don't doubt that about yourself.”

The Flash stood there for a moment, stunned into silence as he looked up at Captain Marvel… and he was every bit as awe inspiring and captivating as he was when regular civilians met him. But see, Flash had known this man for months, had fought beside him and seen his power. Right now, in this brief moment between the two of them, there was something completely otherworldly, shining and grand about Marvel that Flash couldn't deny or even fully recognize.

It was as if he were truly a Champion of Good, blessed by whatever gods or powers were out there that believed their mortal world needed him.

“Jeez, sure know how to make a guy feel special.” Flash’s humor did little to deflect the impact the words had on him. He leaned into Marvel's touch. It was heavy and warm, and reminded him of his father's years ago. “This completely got away from me, I gotta admit but ….still, thank you. Like, truly, thank you. I didn't even know I needed this pep talk, wow. I really appreciate this and just, everything. Thank you for understanding.”

When they parted ways Billy was left feeling oddly empty but too full all at once. He wondered if the words he spoke were his own made real with Solomon's Wisdom, or if there was more to being Shazam's Chosen Champion than he was told.

Chapter Text

With the holidays come and gone, the world seemed to have jump started back to regular business. Crime and attacks arose again and the League seemed as busy as ever. Captain Marvel had never really stopped, but he definitely felt the stress. The surge of activity around him meant he was once again more Marvel than he was Billy. When he did happen to be his small, human self he worked and ensured he avoided busy areas, as other children had gone back to school.

His moments of peace and quiet were few, but he tried to enjoy them. Most of the time Billy decided catching up on sleep was the best course of action. Captain Marvel did not need sleep, or even rest for most of his exertion, but young Billy Batson did. And he couldn't put it off forever. Through meticulous trial and error he found that his child body did not rest when he stayed as Marvel. In fact, it did not do anything at all. Just as Marvel's injuries and food intake did not transfer to Billy, neither did his endless energy. He was never conscious of what his real form was doing, or where it went, but something told him everything was safe and sound.

A timeless suspension in a spaceless dimension - that was what Marvel's well of knowledge supplied. The Rock of Eternity was probably, definitely involved.

When he did get snatches of sleep, it was a toss up between partially restful and extremely restless. Being a busy hero did not lend itself to a peaceful mind, if Billy were honest. He read somewhere that one's dreams were an outlet for the brain's information - making sense of everything seen and heard, all the troubles dealt with or worried about. Dreaming every time he closed his eyes, even for tiny naps, was most common for him. What he exactly dreamt of...that was where things got troubling.

Sometime he dreamt of his parents. That alone wasn't unusual, as he thought about them all the time in small moments of everyday life. He imagined them pushing him on the swingset, preparing big feasts, worrying about him every time he turned into Captain Marvel, but being so proud when they saw him in the news. These were common enough thoughts that he sort of forgot along the way, going from one busy situation to the next.

But his dreams reminded Billy of them, of his mother's dark hair and wide smile, of his father's loud laughter and blue eyes. When he tried to recall them awake, their details always got fuzzy, switched around, or just not right. Billy knew he was forgetting them. No matter how hard he tried, how long he stared at his family photograph - worn at the edges of being handled so much - he still felt them slipping away from him. His dreams felt like the one place he got to see them again, even if they were only impressions of what he thought he remembered.

Then, there were other dreams that were less domestic, less pleasant. They were of violent and bloody fights with opponents Billy has never seen, grand battles in far away lands that he never went to, but could recall in great detail for those first moments before wakefulness. Conversations with figures felt like deja vu, he could never place when they happened, who those people were. Perhaps it was because he was too stressed as Marvel and with hero duties, his brain processing all his fights and League business. Or maybe it was Marvel himself that took up that space. His legacy enveloping Billy in and showing just what history and responsibility was inherited, what he now carried on his shoulders.

Nowadays, however, Billy realized he had been having slightly different dreams…

He awoke one morning, still blanketed by hazy sleep and wanting to stay in his dream where his mother was bustling in the kitchen, as if preparing breakfast before he got up for school. But the impossibility of it crashed down on him and there was a brief moment of disappointment. No food was waiting for him, no normal school life, nobody to wish him a good morning. Just an empty room and the distress that his mother's details were becoming more and more faded.

He didn't even see her warm smiling face.

The next night Billy tucked himself into bed earlier than usual, eager to have another dream, another look at his parents. Something inside him had to make sure he still remembered them.

When the late hour had come, the night at its peak, Billy inhaled a sudden shock of cool air as he sluggishly blinked against the quasi-dark. The cusp of the dream was on the tip of his brain, so clear and exhilarating for just one moment, but fading away fast.

His father had been reading him a bedtime story, and he can't recall if that was a thing that happened when he was smaller, but he desperately wanted it now. It had been awhile since he yearned this badly, for his father to joke and laugh, to hear his gentle and low voice, for them to share ice cream cups in the middle of night. Billy wanted his dad to be with him but instead he was alone.

So very alone that he tried to listen to the emptiness around him for the echo of his dream, for the sounds of breathing. So alone that he strained his eyes until they blurred with tears, until he saw through them and to the shadow of an outline in the dark, until he imagined someone sitting in the chair.

“Dad?” Billy called, because he knew nothing would change, but also knew words had power and he had access to magic, so maybe, just maybe...

As he laid there in bed, staring at the empty chair, Billy wondered if the pressure of stress was finally making him crack.

And Billy would have believed that had it not happen again the next night.

He dreamed of his mother waking him up by opening the window.

And the next night his father closing the kitchen cupboards.

And the next - his mother putting utensils down at the table, a quiet clacking rousing him from sleep.

Every time he tried to remember the dream, what his parents looked like and were doing, but every time he came up blank.

By the sixth night Billy wondered something important.

What if he wasn't dreaming?

The question struck him as he tried to settle into bed. It had been awhile since he got to come home every night, but the new year was finally quieting down, finally giving him a break to rest. And tonight Billy could not fall asleep.

His clock radio blinked bright blue numbers, it was almost midnight. The wind outside howled against the glass window and wall of the complex. Upstairs he could hear old Miss Johnson watching her late night shows. There was a small dog of the O'Riley family's that barked when it wanted to go out. Someone was pounding on a wall somewhere. Normal sounds around here, really. All of them bringing him right back into himself.

What if he wasn't dreaming?

As the question bounced around his head, Billy saw the lights in his room shift. The blue numbers blinked at him over and over, twelve o'clock flashing on repeat.

The power must have gone out, he thought with annoyance as he sat up.

However, a movement in his peripheral drew his attention instead - a shadow in the far corner of the room. With every blink of light the outline became more and more defined, more separate from the room’s regular darkness.

Billy knew he was not dreaming this time.

He stayed as still as he could, tried to quiet his breath, and strained his eyes to keep watching. When the thing, person, whatever, moved forward closer, Billy felt goosebumps rise on his skin. A static was in the air, like before a lightning storm or right after he transformed from Captain Marvel. Except this charge wasn't familiar, it wasn't nice. It made his heart beat fast in his chest and every breath stuttered in and out at every step the person took, and it made him despair to open his mouth to speak, to make any noise at all. Even as it continued moving closer, right toward him.

Billy was scared. He was frozen with fear, and very aware how small he really was without Shazam to call upon.

A sudden noise right outside his door, someone stumbling across the hall, drew his attention. He blinked and looked back at the corner, only to see nothing. His head swiveled around, now able to move, but still saw nothing. For a moment Billy sat there unclenching his fists from the blanket and breathing in deep to control his pounding heart.

It took a few more minutes before Billy realized the clock had stopped blinking, the time was one minute after midnight.

Billy Batson did not sleep that night.

He wondered if maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, if maybe that thing was the same what he had been seeing all along, if he hadn't been seeing his parents at all.

The next morning, completely tired and worn out, Billy figured it would be best as the rejuvenated Marvel to scout the area around his home.

Detecting magic should theoretically be something he could do, but usually if it was around he could just sense it - like the smell of freshly baked pie or the feel of cold winter air. There should be no effort needed. So this proved a challenge, because how was he supposed to do that?

Either way, hours later his investigation came up with nothing.

There was nothing around his apartment, even as the sky became dark, even as he carefully hovered by his window - nothing. No residue or pulse of magical energy, no sense of anything strange having been there.

But Billy knew what he saw.

And he could not stay as Marvel forever, flying around the same building looking for something he couldn't even begin to explain. As night fully settled past midnight, Billy was himself again, sitting back in a diner booth and nowhere closer to figuring out what the hell was going on.

“Still here?” Marco the waiter asked, refilling Billy's water glass. “Don'tchu gotta be headin’ out soon?”

This was one of the few places Billy could rest when he needed to. Somewhere the workers knew him and wouldn't call anyone or kick him out. Late at night, before the rush of drunks, they would sometimes slip him some food. Marco was always nice, even though he wasn't quite out of his teen years yet. He took care of his siblings, had been doing so since he was in high school. Billy liked talking superheroes and sports games with him, and he never spoke to Billy like he was a dumb kid.

Sometimes Billy imagined what it would be like to have an older brother, and Marco was always it.

“Well, yeah, but,” Billy shrugged with a rueful smile, “No curfew for me.”

“Pfft. Says you. Last I heard little punks still got snatched up by services.”

Marco knew Billy's situation. Heck, before he was Marvel, Billy played with Marco's younger siblings on the weekends. But he also knew how tough it was out there, how sometimes one had to care for themselves.

“Good thing I'm not a little punk, huh?” Billy quickly put on his best innocent face and Marco barked out in laughter.

“Yeah right, you're the most troublesome punk I've ever met,” Marco poked Billy's forehead and before he could retaliate the older boy stepped away.

“What? No I'm-” his gaze followed Marco toward the counter top until a shift in the corner of his eye caught his attention. The diner lights above the far corner of the room flickered. “-not.”

“No? I'm pretty sure you're the one that came in here not that long ago with a black eye from, ya know, picking fights and-” Marco's voice faded away as Billy stared longer at the corner booth.

When the flickering lights finally cut out Billy held his breath. A chill traveled up his arms and down his spine, but the air felt heavy and thick. The darkened booth held nothing, even as he strained his vision, not blinking to make sure. It was a regular seat, just like always.

He forced out an exhale. Everything was fine.

He blinked. Everything was not fine.

Two shadows were standing there. No distinct characteristics were visible, no body size or clothing or hair. They were only vaguely human shaped, and as they stood there, Billy realized he did not see any signs of faces. There was nothing.

He told himself to look away, to blink, to move out of the seat and leave. But as they shifted forward, smooth and graceful, nearly gliding, Billy once again found himself frozen with fear. They were moving steadily around the bend of the counter as the lights continued to flicker and die above them.

“Jeez, I really gotta get Jules over to fix the lights,” Marco's voice snapped Billy away from the two forms, drawing him back out.

“Wha?” He blinked a few times, looking towards Marco as he walked out of the kitchen. The figures were gone and lights returned to merely flickering. His breath released as the cold grip on him vanished. “I uh, I mean, yeah. They're sure, looking broken.”

“You good, lil dude?” Marco asked. He looked between the other side of the diner and Billy. “Got all pale there, like you saw a ghost or something.”

Oh, Billy thought, pushing himself out of his seat, “I'm good! Everything's fine! Have a good night!”

“Alright, but be careful out there!” was called after him as the door closed.

Like you saw a ghost.

Billy wasn't sure if this was correct, or even within the same ballpark of what was actually happening, but it was all he had to go on.

His feet hit the concrete with wild abandon, each step closer to a safe spot where he could transform into Marvel. This time it wasn't out of fear - it was for a purpose, an intention to seek help to further good. At least, that's how he saw it. If he wanted help with this situation there was one person he knew to talk to. The issue was Billy didn't know how to get into contact with this person, but the solution to that was he knew someone else who could. He just needed to get his communicator, which he only had whilst Captain Marvel.

(“Why must I attach this mortal device to the Champion form?” Shazam had asked him skeptically when Billy first implored about it.

“Because Billy Batson can't have a Justice League communicator on him since it's definitely a tracker, too” He explained, having put as much thought as he could before he went to the Rock of Eternity, knowing how he would have to persuade the Wizard. “And I can't leave it anywhere for someone else to find. But if it isn't magically attached to Marvel himself then it will get electrically burnt every time I transform.” When Shazam still seemed dubious Billy pulled out his trump card. “This communicator is a trusted device from The League, a great organization of heroes that want and need Captain Marvel. They will use this to summon him where he is needed most, and it's the fastest way to communicate. Marvel needs this, not Billy, and the League can't find out we're the same. Please, Shazam, it's for the greater good.”

The next thing Billy knew Marvel had a new accessory. Coincidentally, he also discovered that wherever he went when he was going to transform, the magical electrical pulses Marvel activated short fused a lot of cameras in his vicinity. It was a nice extra security for keeping his identity secret, and told him that the Wizard really did listen to him sometimes.)

As the park on the skirts of inner Fawcett came into view his speed gained ground. There wouldn't be anyone there at this time of night, and there were fewer cameras to get destroyed. Relief flooded through him as he reached the main playground. Just passed that was a hilltop, the perfect spot to transform.

A noise to his side drew his attention, and Billy should know better by now, really he should. Strange silhouettes suddenly appeared out of the once familiar playsets, mutating them into something different, something unrecognizable. A couple stood by the swing set as it idly swung back and forth. Another loomed over the top of the main slide station. The squeaking of the roundabout spun behind him.

The playground was no longer empty. Billy was not alone anymore. He felt his feet begin to stumble and freeze.

They detached from the shadows.

Move! Move! Move!

Adrenaline surging, Billy swirled around to back track only to find several more behind him. All of them faceless, dark but transparent, and lacking of anything remotely human.

Like ghosts.

Unable to go the route he came, but certainly not staying where he was, Billy booked it towards the hill. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him. There was no other sound but the lazy movements of playset, but he knew they were right behind him. The cold sweat on his neck and the distinct feeling of being followed pushed him forward. He couldn't pause to look back again.

Would they eat him? Suck the soul out of his body?

He didn't want to find out.

That thought escaped Billy when his feet flew from under him and his head painfully thwacked against the ground. The familiar slip of ice chilled his limbs as he went sprawling across the artificial ice rink. When the aching starbursts faded and his vision cleared, Billy figured now would probably be the best time to transform.

He would have to apologize later to Captain Cold for destroying the ice.

“Shazam!”

Eyes closed, Marvel took a moment to breathe deep, his body weightless in the sky as cool wind brushed against him. He was safe. Looking down below, he expected to find a horde of faceless monsters, maybe a sea of darkness like a black hole. But there were no odd shadows, no threatening figures or ghosts haunting the playground.

No one was there.

Did they disappear when Marvel showed up? Go to terrorize another citizen? But no one else could see them, no one else seemed bothered when they were around.

Communicator in hand, Marvel made the call.

“Marvel? Is something wrong?” quickly answered a smooth, feminine voice.

He realized how this may be construed and a quick glance around showed no reappearance of the figures just yet, “Hey Zatanna! No, no! Well, I mean, yes? Sorry to call so late and on short notice, but uh…”

A relieved sigh blew against the device. “Okay, so not an emergency?”

“Not quite. More like a...consultation?”

There was a voice further away from Zatanna and her reply to them followed when she turned from the communicator. “Look,” she started, back to Marvel, “I have to go on stage tonight. What can you tell me right now? We can discuss it further later.”

“Oh! Uh, well, I think I have a ghost problem, but it...is a bit complicated. This is more of an...under the radar situation? I do need help, though.”

“You know, I'm not really a ghost hunter, right?”

“I know! I know! What I need is a contact number, maybe.”

“A contact number.” Her flat tone told Marvel that she knew exactly where this was going.

“For…. Mister Constantine?”

The sigh that escaped Zatanna spoke volumes of what she thought of this situation and of one John Constantine.

“If you don't want to-!” Marvel began, because the last thing he wanted to do was inconvenience or upset his co-Leaguer. Especially one as magically powerful and nice as Zatanna Zatara.

“No, no. It's okay, Marvel, really. I just… did not expect this. But, if you're sure you need John…?”

Marvel couldn't say he was overly familiar with the man best known for being a con artist, dabbling in dark magic, and smoking like a chimney. In fact, Marvel couldn't say he was overly familiar with any of the magic users associated with the League.

Doctor Fate came and went at his own leisure, never staying to converse or socialize as he had grander tasks to fulfill. Zatanna herself was more a magical consult for the League than a full timer, her own entertainment career taking priority. From what Marvel knew she also assisted with others against supernatural or magical opponents. Aside from those two and Constantine, though… there wasn't much of anyone else. Besides himself, of course.

But Constantine was the only one who could help with this, hopefully without the rest of the Justice League knowing.

Still watching the ground below, no sign of those shadows, Marvel knew what Billy saw. “Yeah, I'm sure.”

“Okay, okay.” She made a thoughtful noise, “How quick do you need him?”

“Uh. Tonight? Tomorrow night would work, too. I don't really have like, teleportation… spells or anything, but I can travel fast-”

“John won't like being carried and whisked off, I can tell you that now. He'll probably want to meet on neutral ground, first.”

“I won't hurt him,” Marvel said defensively.

“You and I know that, but John is a bit cautious with supers, no offense.”

He mulled on that for a moment, “But I'm a magical super?”

Zatanna's laughter rang like bell chimes, “Being magical only makes you more suspicious. Honestly, you're a bit on the higher tier spectrum as far as magic users go. So he is definitely going to be on guard.”

Marvel did not know what to gain from that, except he probably stuck out in the magical community now that word had gotten around about his source of power. “Huh,” he said.

“Look, I have an idea of getting you both here to talk things out-”

“Awesome!”

“But. I'll need your permission to bring you over, and possibly even a boost.”

“Uh,” Marvel had no idea what she meant. “Sure? Permission granted. What do I gotta do?”

“Just hang tight and keep your communicator on. When you feel the pull, feed into it, accept it.”

He wasn't certain what this entailed, but he knew he could trust Zatanna. Plus, it wasn't everyday he got to see her magic. “Got it!”

The next thirty-four minutes were very excruciating.

Marvel hovered around the park, never dipping below ten feet, but scouting the area just in case. No strange silhouettes or ghosts were seen, of course. Still, he couldn't shake the memories of them haunting him in his own home, hunting him in public. If he couldn't solve this as Marvel, then he'd have to do it as Billy. But first, he needed outside help. And he really hoped Constantine would say yes.

A tugging sensation on his cape disturbed his thoughts at that point. When he turned, all he saw was a flicker in the air, like heat waves or an airy distortion in a small circular patch. On closer examination, however, those lines held sparks of blue, mesmerizing in their glow.

Another tug. This time, obviously from the magical portal.

And it was a magical portal. At least, that's the realization he came upon, sudden and true. A fact Marvel just knew.

Well, Zatanna said to accept it, right?

He reached a hand out, released a soft exhale and felt a tingle leave his fingertips as they slipped through the shining cracks in reality. The shining blue took on glittering swirls of gold, dispersing from his touch. He pushed through, grasped onto what felt like a hand, and-

“Ta-da!”

Blinking the spots from his eyes, Marvel witnessed a crowd staring at him with silent amazement. They were all inside a small but lavished venue, and bright spotlights right above him brought his attention to the fact that he arrived on a stage. During what must obviously be a show.

“What the hell, Zee!”

Marvel looked over. There beside him stood Zatanna Zatara in her full magician's garb, and John Constantine in a rather wrinkled button down shirt and his trademark brown jacket.

“Wow,” Marvel finally said.

The crowd began to applaud.

“Now, there's nothing in this box, would you agree?” Zatanna asked, looking out into the audience to quiet them down. “But I'm still down an assistant, so let's see where she went. Third time's a charm!”

She reached behind Marvel, and he noticed the tall empty box he may or may not have stepped out of. With a hefty pull, Zatanna dragged the box on its wheels to roll across the stage-

“Zee, wait-!”

And engulf Constantine whole. He must have fallen inside, but when Zatanna continued the momentum of the box's charge, Marvel saw there was no one there.

“Wow, that's neat!”

Marvel was also promptly thrown inside the magical box.

When he felt the displacement wear off, Marvel glanced around as Constantine pushed himself up off the floor and muttered swears. The room they were in now looked like a dressing room - a vanity against the wall with a mirror and accessories and makeup on the desk, costume pieces hung on a rack on one side of the room along with a full length mirror, and on the vanity were polaroids of people, some with Zatanna.

“Wow, that was cool,” he said aloud.

Constantine made a noise of displeasure. “Showy, is what that was,” he said with an unlit cigarette between his teeth. “But we can't expect any less from the great Zatanna.”

Marvel watched in poorly hidden amazement as Constantine snapped his fingers and a small flame popped up. Sure, he's witnessed Klarion's level of destructive power and Zatanna's reality bending kind, but even the smallest of tricks still fascinated him.

Maybe it was because they did real magic?

Well, that wasn't quite the word he wanted. Captain Marvel did real magic, too, but it came to the Champion naturally. The Gods’ powers flowed through him and he harnessed it as easily as flying and breathing. Yet, it still wasn't the same as when the others performed their magic. They worked hard to get where they were.

What did Billy do?

His feelings about the matter just left him fumbled and uncomfortable, a hint of inadequacy and the impression that he did not belong.

“What?” Constantine asked after so many seconds of silence. “If you wanna bum a cig, then you're gonna have to pay me. This shit is expensive.”

“No, thank you,” he grimaced. “I don't think Miss Zatanna will appreciate you smoking in here, though.”

“Oh!” Constantine stuffed as much mockery into the short word as possible, “Well, I know Miss Zatanna will absolutely appreciate it.” He took a long enough inhale that Marvel vaguely wondered how he could still be standing. “It's the least she can do for dragging me out here on whatever bloody League trouble this is.”

“Uhhh, what makes you think it's Justice League related?”

Constantine gave Marvel a long, assessing look as he blew smoke out, blue gaze sharp as it cut through. Then, finally he squinted his eyes and took another, smaller inhale. “Innit? Why would the lot of us be here together, then? Hmm?”

This felt like the makings of a trap, Marvel knew, but he couldn't hide the truth much longer and would have to give his request sooner than later.

“Perhaps the whole League doesn't need your help, but…” he took a deep breath and steadied himself, “I do, Mister Constantine.”

Constantine immediately groaned aloud and threw his head back, “Goddamnit!”

“Please, I know this is a bit unorthodox, but-”

“You got Zatanna to kidnap me here! Yeah, I'd say this is a bit unorthodox!”

“She agreed to, but I really do need your help-”

“What? Couldn't convince your old boys in spandex and capes?”

“This is kind of potentially a ghost problem.”

“But not my problem!” With a swift flourish away, Constantine headed toward the door. However, he did not make it a few feet away before he stopped cold. His body froze, shoulders tensed and Marvel nearly reached for Constantine before he muttered to himself and swirled back around, dramatically throwing himself into the vanity seat. As if the last few moments never happened, Constantine pulled in a deep breath and said, “Let's hear your...ghost problem, then.”

Okay, that was weird…

“Uh...Are you sure?”

“Don't make me regret this, mate, I said spill it.”

Well, Batson, don't screw this up.

“The reason I say it may be ghosts is because I have not...actually seen ghosts before.” Marvel admitted and then tried to put words to what Billy had seen, to what he remembered of them. “They seem to manifest from the shadows, not there one moment but there the next, or right at the corner of your sight. The lights and electronic devices flicker when they appear, too. Or that might be hallucinations. There isn't any distinct features on them, no face or clothes or body type. Just… dark and nearly transparent, humanoid forms.”

Constantine sat there, a look of thought on his face as he stared Marvel down. As if he was seriously considering this. “Do they approach anyone? Cause a disturbance?”

“Well, the thing is not everyone can see them...”

“Right,” he drawled out.

“But they… follow around, try to get close. Strike fear in who they are pursuing to freeze them in place. I'm not certain what they want when they catch someone, though.”

Constantine scoffed, but narrowed his eyes, “I'm sure it's not bad enough to take you down, the godly powerhouse that you are.”

Ah, so word had gotten around.

“I'm not concerned about me, exactly.” Marvel ignored the slight jab of inquiry at his source of power. Knowledge was a dangerous thing to magicians.

“Thought you said others couldn't see them?”

Better say it now. “And neither can I.”

Constantine raised an eyebrow and shifted in his seat, interest definitely piqued. “Oh?”

Marvel put as much distance, but objective compassion as he could into his words, “I was approached by a civilian who had witnessed this phenomenon all week. These figures started in his room, one of them casually roaming around at midnight. Then, they tried to approach him. However, they always disappeared before anything happened. Recently they manifested out in the open, but nobody noticed or saw them. Even I could not.”

“And you know this is the truth… how, exactly?”

A flash of irritation sparked through Captain Marvel. Not that Constantine doubted his story, because that was expected, but that he doubted Marvel's capabilities. With his shoulders back and head held high, the Champion let slip an intent, a magical pulse to his words that ensured someone as well ingrained in the arts as Constantine would understand. “Because I command the Truth when I need it.”

Immediately Constantine grimaced and took a deep inhale of his cigarette, rubbing the heel of his palm against his ear as if to unclog it. “Fuckin’ hell, alright! No need to go all bloody Champion on me. Damn!”

Marvel deflated and looked rather sheepish, he didn't mean to hurt the guy. “Sorry, sorry. Uh, but yes...he is telling me the truth about this. Which is why I really do need your help.”

Frustrated by the situation at hand, but still strangely unresistant, Constantine righted himself up, “And what exactly is in this for me?”

“Besides doing the right thing?” Zatanna said from the doorway as she walked through.

“Ha ha, that's a clever one, love,” Constantine snarked right back, tossing a hand towel that she used to dab the light layer of sweat from her forehead. “My poor rotten soul needed the laugh.”

“It could also do for some good acts. That would really clean you up.”

Marvel looked between the two of them as they bickered, but behind that a sense of fondness dwelled. Despite the light tone in their words, Marvel felt an uneasiness within himself. He never liked others bringing themselves down.

“Your soul isn't rotten, Mister Constantine,” and boy did that startle the man. But it was true. Marvel may not be privy to all of his magically inclined powers, but sometimes they come to him if he just sets his mind to it. He looked at John Constantine, really looked, and could see it - a light broken into fragments, some dimmer than others, some not shining at all, some flaring with different shades, and all of them shifting, but the light shone nonetheless. “Broken and hurting, and a little mixed up, but not rotten.”

Silence filled the room as Zatanna and Constantine both openly stared at Captain Marvel, one with awe and the other with a guarded grimace.

Finally, Constantine sighed, “It's always the bloody good ones, ain't it?” And with that he took one final inhale of his cigarette before snubbing it out. “Alright then, so you got a couple of discorporated spirits floating about and hassling the one bloke who can see them. As troubling as that may be for the poor sucker, it could be worse. They're not causing any more harm than a mime street performer following you around, or those damned door to door salesmen-”

“John!”

“Please, Mister-”

“But I'll do it, sure.” The magician revelled in their surprised looks, a satisfied smirk on his face. “On the condition you drop the whole Mister schtick, got it?”

Giddy and relieved, “Yes! Absolutely! Got it!”

“And this is a paid gig, right?”

“Uhh…” Well, shoot.

“Yes, you'll be paid,” Zatanna cut in.

“Oh, Miss Zatanna, I don't-”

“It's fine, Captain,” she assured him, patting his arm as she made her way to her full length mirror. “You're one of the few Leaguers I know that has refused to accept any income for being a hero. And you definitely added a bit of a flare for my show tonight, so please, accept this as my thank you.”

“But you've already helped me so much.”

“Like I said, I gained something from this.” She tapped the mirror, whispered ot ttecwaF ytiC and it gave a soft glow, the same blue and gold shine that her and his combined magic had. “And I also got to drag John around.”

“Hey, now-”

“Oh shush, and get going. I have a stage to get back to.”

Not wasting a moment more, Marvel made his way over, leaving a heartfelt thanks behind him as he went through the portal and found himself back where he had been.

The park was still and empty, night time wrapping the area in a chilly quiet. A quick shout of Shazam! replaced the heroic figure of Captain Marvel with the small form of Billy Batson in his new parka. He had briefly contemplated who to be while accompanying Constantine on the case, deciding that being Billy allowed him to see the figures, and may even shed light on why he could in the first place.

“-a clever one, I can't deny that,” said Constantine mid sentence as he stepped through the portal, which instantly closed behind him. “Alright then, where do we start, Cap-” He blinked down at Billy before looking around, but upon finding no one else, “Did you happen to see where a big chap in red, white, and gold went?”

“If you mean Captain Marvel, then yeah, but he's not here.” Billy answered like it was a particularly easy answer if the man thought about it.

“Gathered that, thanks. Great, he up and left me here to deal with his shit myself?”

“No, I'm here to help you instead,” Billy said as he stood as tall as he could, not backing down from the sharp blue gaze Constantine gave him.

“Is that so?” He didn't sound shocked or surprised, only wary as he gave the child an assessing look, like he could see right through him. “And, what's your name?”

“Billy.”

Constantine's brows furrowed, a complicated expression between curious and guarded crossing his face. “Alright, Billy, why would a powerful, upstanding hero like Marvel send a tiny toddler to help, hm?”

A flare of heat sparked through Billy, indignant at the jab. He knew the warning signs, the red flags that sprang up when something was coming, his instincts prickling - but he trudged on anyway, with all the bravado he hoped to convey. “I'm twelve!”

“Oh, sure you are, but you're not enhanced by godly magic, now are you. So which way did he go?”

“He's not coming back till this is over. Look, I'm the one that's helping-”

“No you're not-”

“I can handle myself-”

“That's not the bloody point!” And so much anger poured out of him in that instant, his entire body wired and taut.

Billy couldn't help the step back, his own body reacting to an emotionally upset adult. He knew Constantine would not hurt him, could not hurt him if push came to shove, but the flash of fear he felt was still there, if only for a second. It must have shown because the resulting silence was stifling and heavy, and Constantine backed down, aware of how threatening one could be to any child.

When he realized this, Billy stepped forward again, voice just as loud and stubborn. “No. The point is you're here because I need you here. He can't see the ghosts! But you can! He can't help me, but you can! And he trusts you to!” Surprise stole Constantine's words as he stared at Billy, mouth agape and eyes pained at the notion of anybody trusting him with a child. “Look, Marvel isn't far, if we're in danger then he'll be here. But...I can't have a big fancy superhero following me around and showing up at my home, okay? People will see.”

Constantine dragged a hand down his face, looked up at the night sky like the stars could save him from this, and groaned. When he looked back down at Billy, he seemed to force himself to relax. “What, I thought all you little buggers wanted your peers to know you're friends with superheroes, get all the other kiddies jealous and flocking.”

“I want to know why ghosts are following me,” and Billy really wanted to not be talked down to, like he was some simple, naive child. “And I do not want the attention Captain Marvel will bring. So, are you going to help me or not?”

Constantine's jaw twitched as he grinded his teeth, his gaze moved wildly from Billy to the park around them, either tracking quick thoughts, an escape route, or other ghosts Billy couldn't see. Finally, the man threw his hands up, “Fine! Fine, but when I see that bloke again I'm cursing him halfway to hell for this.”

Billy scoffed, “Yeah right, now c'mon. I don't see them around here, but they show up eventually.” He turned away to head out of the park.

“Oh, right, of course,” Constantine snarked, not moving an inch. Billy stopped and looked back at him, annoyance clear on his face. “We're going to wander around like a couple of delinquent prats?”

“Well, you got any better ideas?”

“I'm the professional here, aren't I?” Billy opened his mouth. “Don't answer that. I am. That's why I'm the one stuck here, and that means if you're sticking around then you listen to me, got that? We do this my way.”

Billy crossed his arms, trying - and failing - not to pout. Jeez, no wonder Zatanna was hesitant. “Fine. What do we do, then, mister professional?”

With an air of smug satisfaction, “Good. First - introductions, because I'm not some ill mannered brat.”

Billy rolled his eyes. “I'm Billy.”

“I know,” Constantine grinned, wolfish and teasing. “The name’s John.”

Shooting a smile just as sharp and impish, “I know, Mister Constantine.”

It was Constantine's turn to roll his eyes. “Now then, let's get going,” he paused a moment, closing his eyes as if meditating or listening to the chilly wind. When he opened his eyes, he blinked a few times, shook himself steady before digging out a cigarette, and decisively started moving, “This way.”

He lead them out of the park and down the street, a familiar route Billy knew by heart and was hoping to avoid. Constantine’s shoulders were hunched against the cold, though he didn't make the effort to tie his coat closed. Billy was slightly relieved his short height kept the trail of cigarette smoke above his head. The older man did not hesitate or veer off course, his feet sure and confident in his long stride. They passed the late-night bar and the twenty-four hour diner (Marco, thankfully too busy to see Billy walking with some strange man late at night), different alleyways that darkened to pitch black, and empty streets lined with shops that would be busy come morning. Shadows shifted and flickered in the corner of Billy's sight, but every time he looked nothing was there, and he didn't dare stop to stare as Constantine did not slow down or even hint at something following them.

At this point, Billy would not be surprised if his own paranoia was playing tricks on him.

“Why are we going this way?” Billy asked as he quickly walked to keep up. He knew where they were going, but why this man, who had never been here before, decided to take this route was concerning.

“When you get to be as old and experienced as me, you learn a thing or two about listening to the universe,” Constantine said. It wasn't really an answer. Then again, that was usually how most magic users were. Billy threw him a dubious look, and Constantine raised his hands in mock surrender, an exhale of smoke off putting his statement, “Honest. Magical scout's honor.”

Despite knowing this man was his best option for solving this problem, Billy felt a thread of regret all the same. “And the universe is telling you, what? Go over there?”

“Right on the mark. Sharp kid, you are.”

Billy decided to ignore that one. “Is the universe telling you about the ghosts following us?” A few more movements in the dark had briefly caught his attention, and Billy was suspecting that maybe he wasn't losing his mind after all.

“No, but I knew that already. They're not subtle, but they are keeping their distance from us.”

“They never did before.”

“Hmm, well, what's different from before?”

Billy thought on that for a moment. “I was alone.”

Constantine nodded, a hint of a smile around his cigarette as he asked, “Even when others were around?”

“I mean, no? But, no one else could see them, so yeah, sort of, I guess.”

“There you have it, then!”

“What? They're staying away because you're here?”

“I got my own ghosts following me. They suck at conversation, but they are rather decent at keeping strays at bay.”

Billy looked around, the corners of shadows still moved, that was becoming more apparent, but otherwise there was nothing. “I don't see anything.”

“Well, they don't like coming out often, don't make friends easily, but also you're a novice.”

“A what?”

They came to a stop and Billy realized they were in front of his apartment complex.

“Sorry to be the one to break it to you, but you're a newbie now.” Constantine threw his arms out, a gesture of grandeur, but obviously lacking its flare - he was not a decedent man and this was not a fancy neighborhood. “Welcome to the club of clairvoyance!”

Billy put as much unimpressed annoyance as he could into his expression. “No, this is my home.”

Constantine sighed and dropped his arms. “Well, at least that explains something, then.” He made his way over, muttering to himself as a confused Billy ran right behind him. “Was wondering why it would be this way, but this isn't much of an answer, is it.”

“Why would this be an answer? It's just an apartment.”

Stopping in front of the building once more, Constantine made a thoughtful noise, “Tell me, you're the only one who sees them, right? No one else here does?”

“Yeah,” Billy said, answering the obvious.

“Not your neighbors or your friends or your...parents?” Constantine glanced down and Billy felt his insides sour.

He didn't look away, “No.”

“Look, kid, if you want my help you're going to have to be clear with me here, alright. So lay it out nice and simple.”

A defensive wave seized Billy all at once, his mouth full of snark and anger. But as Constantine stared down at him - blue eyes still so bright but dulled, tired bruises under them and mouth slacking into a frown - the tension in Billy's shoulders washed away, the bitter words swallowed. Something uncomfortably like defeat squirmed in his chest as he broke eye contact. Constantine was right, Billy had to stop messing around.

“I wasn't lying, but I didn't tell you...or Captain Marvel everything. He didn't see the ghosts around here or in the city, but I never let him inside. I think he knows, and no offense, but it's probably why he chose you and not anyone else,” Billy looked back at Constantine before waving him to follow into the apartment. “I live by myself. Out of the system and here, where everyone is struggling with something.”

They made their way over a broken stair step, littered bottles glimmered under the flickering lights above, unknown stains on the floor and paint chipped walls having been there for as long as Billy. A shouting argument between a couple could be heard down the hall, a crying baby and muffled music intertwining from different complexes as well. This place was never quiet.

“At first I thought I was dreaming. Seeing my parents in the room or something. But the more they showed up, the weirder things got, and I knew.” This almost hurt to say, he sighed, “It couldn't be them. Midnight is when they usually show, but tonight was the first time I saw them outside. I ran and found Captain Marvel and begged him to help, to find help.” Billy brought them to his door and fished out a bobby pin from his pocket, picking the lock to reveal his one room. Constantine didn't comment besides an acknowledging hum as the door opened: a mattress pushed against the opposite wall by the lone window, a small table and one chair to their left in the kitchen area, and two doors to their right leading to a closet and bathroom. Billy invited Constantine in. “They don't show when he's around, so if I want answers he can't be here. I really don't want any of the superheroes here.”

Constantine walked over to the table, most center of the room, and analyzed everything around him. “I'd be insulted, but you're not wrong. He's a smart bloke, I'll give him that. But none of this tells me why you're starting to see them now. Messed with any occult lately? Chant in the mirror, play with a ouija board, draw some summoning circles, or what have you?”

“No, I'm not an idiot,” Billy said as he closed the door and flipped the switch on for light. “The only magic I've ever been around is Captain Marvel.”

“Hm. Really?” Constantine snapped his fingers as he made his way to the bathroom, and the light went out, dowsing them back in darkness except for the dull streetlamps right out the window. “That doesn't give me much. So, why here? Why you?” He asked, though as he seemed to actually need to use the toilet, the door shut behind him.

What a weirdo.

But he also had a point - why now? Billy couldn't remember being able to see supernatural entities before...well, before being Captain Marvel. However, now it was only in that magical form that he could at all. Not as plain ol Billy Batson. Except, Billy apparently can see them, some of them, at least. And this one in particular Marvel couldn't - and that on its own was alarming. Maybe it was residual magic from the Wizard? Maybe the more he became Marvel, the more some of that essence leaked over? Maybe they ran and hid from Marvel, afraid of him but wanting to kill Billy? Or maybe Billy was just-

A movement in his peripheral, and all thoughts screeched to a halt.

Suddenly a shape, unmistakably humanoid, stood out from the far corner. Billy froze at the sight of it, afraid to blink as goosebumps prickled his arms and neck and his breath shuttered out of him. The thing stayed where it was, didn't move any closer, but it was undeniably there. Constantine made noises in the bathroom, talking, but he sounded so far away, muffled under Billy's heartbeat pounding in his ears. Despite having encountered them before, the strong feeling of being a prey caught in a predator’s trap never diminished, only reminded Billy just how small and powerless he truly was, reminded him that monsters lurked around every corner and they never go away.

When it became too much, Billy finally blinked. He chanced a glance at the closed door and tried to speak, to call for Constantine, but when he looked back at the corner, unwillingly to turn away from it for more than a moment, no sound except a choking croak escaped him. The thing had grown, elongated itself up the wall and continued until the corner's natural shadow was enveloped into its body. It spilled out, inching along in a steady glide, larger and larger. Billy followed it up until its head hit the ceiling - it kept going. Neck bent at an unnatural angle to loom over the entire room, and its sides kept stretching, even as it came to the window, merely covering the glass with its silhouette. The light from outside dimmed more and more, darkness encroaching. From his peripheral Billy could see the warped profile of hands reaching toward him on the floor, but he could not move.

He was stuck.

Unable to twitch a muscle or speak a word, to call for Shazam's aid and be strong enough to stop this. Unlike at the park, this thing - not a ghost, Billy was sure ghosts did not do this - seemed more powerful, more haunting, more terrifying.

Billy was stuck and so very afraid.

Achilles’ courage would help so much right now, he thought.

Shazam!

Nothing but a frightened squeak came out of his mouth.

Shazam! Shazam!

It's dark tendril-like hands reached out towards his feet.

Shazam!

Billy squeezed his eyes shut, held his breath-

Anybody! Please!

“Alright, you overbearing umbrella shade, stay right where you are,” Constantine yelled as the bathroom door banged open.

Billy peeked out, slowly opening his eyes upon realizing he was not being devoured or torn apart limb from limb. Instead, the magician took stance against the creature, his hand alight with a flame as he slowly stepped out of the bathroom and placed himself firmly between Billy and the beast.

“There will be no Hansel and Gretel reenactment tonight, got that? Now, why don't you put yourself back to proper dimensions so we can have a civilized chat?” Surprisingly, the silhouette obeyed, shrinking down and pulling itself inward to a nearly passable human size. “That's right, good form.” Constantine encouraged whilst casually popping a cigarette into his mouth with the hand not holding a magical fireball. Billy would be bothered about the man smoking in his home, except he was also currently saving Billy's life, so he got a free pass this time. “So, can you tell me where you came from? A witch's mirror? Astral projection gone wrong? Summoned here to sacrifice and feast?”

The shadow creature's only reaction was gliding forward away from the wall to stand on its own before them at an impressive height. It tilted what presumably was its head at Constantine's words. Billy wasn't sure if it understood what was being said or if it just had no way to speak back. A moment later it steadily rose an arm like appendage, pointing it right at them - or perhaps, right at Billy.

“See, I just said you're not getting at him, are you even listening? Or are you telling me he's what you're after? God, I hate chara- Ah, fucking hell!”

Constantine jumped back, pushing Billy with him as the thing's arm shot out and grabbed onto the fire. Fingers grew around the flame, holding it like it was an actual ball, like it had physical matter. Its arm pulled back and its sightless gaze seemed to look down at the animate flames. That only lasted for a few seconds, though, because then the creature opened a void where a mouth should be - no teeth, just darker density - and shoved the fire inside.

“Uh. Did. Did that thing just eat your magical fireball?” Billy whispered out, relieved that his voice had returned, but nonetheless spooked by whatever the hell was in his home.

“I think it'd be best if we saw ourselves out,” Constantine said, voice also pitched low and soft.

They managed a small shuffle towards the door before the thing jerked its head up. Constantine muttered a shit as its arm shot forward again. This time the magician jumped aside, pushing Billy towards the door as the arm hit air.

Not waiting another moment, Billy grabbed onto Constantine and flung the door open, rushing them out. He didn't know where they were going to go or what they would do. What he did know was that they did not want to be caught.

“Jesus, that thing is fast,” Constantine said, leading the pace with his longer legs.

Billy chanced to look back and saw the silhouetted figure standing in the hallway, the lights above flickering out as it appeared closer and closer. “Yeah, I know!” Taking a hard right, he pushed open the stairwell door and flew down. “What are we going to do about it?”

“I thought talking would help,” Constantine said.

“It can't talk!”

“Figured that, thanks! That's why I chose magic.”

“It ate your magic!”

A glance back, the stair lights started to go out, floor by floor, darkness following them down.

“Yes, I know that!” Constantine yelled as they bulldozed through the last door. He kicked open the front door, but before Billy could move to follow out, he was yoinked passed it and down the remaining stairs leading to the basement.

There was a sharp prick as Constantine pulled a hair from his head, pivoting quickly as he muttered into his closed fist and blew it open. Something like glitter and dust puffed out toward the exposed outer screen door. When they reached the basement, Constantine shut the heavy metal door behind them and wiped his palm down the old, chipped paint. The same magic sparkled briefly as the spell finalized. And Billy knew it had to be a magical spell of some sort.

“Didn't we just say that thing ate magic?” Billy whispered as the glitter faded and all light vanished from the area. “I thought you were a professional.”

“I am a professional,” Constantine said, stepping away with guarded relief when there was no sign of something on the other side. “And that trick might buy us enough time to get out through the back.”

Billy rubbed at his arms, immediately feeling the cool basement temperature through his light sweater and to his sweat covered skin. “Really? Coulda fooled me.”

The concrete floor was damp from the washing machines, and he knew cardboard boxes filled with old miscellaneous crap lined one brick wall. Billy didn't venture down there often, as he tried not to waste coins on laundry. Sometimes he was able to sneak a load up to the Watchtower, when few people were around. And he didn't have enough stuff that warranted storage space, so really, this was just another creepy part of the complex he steered clear of.

“Okay, so I'm more of a dabbler in dark arts than a master. It's all semantics, really.”

Billy tried to shoot him a glare, but in the pitch black he didn't notice. “Do you even know what you're doing? Or are you making it up as you go?”

“A little of column A, a little of column B.” He tried to sound nonchalant, but Billy could tell he was just as on edge. “Either way we're both stuck here, and I'm your best bet of getting out.” Constantine cautiously lead them further in when the light switch failed to work.

“Then what the hell is that thing? Because I'm sure it's not a goddamn ghost.”

“Language. But you're right on mark with that one. See, very few creatures of the night exist out there that actually consume magical energy like that thing did, and only one has an amorphous form that can petrify its prey, or use sedative and hallucinogenic measures,” Constantine explained, and despite the frustration, Billy really did admire the knowledge he had. “From what I remember they're called Feyr. Pesky buggers that are created from the vacuum pocket of great big magical explosions. And that can be taken a number of ways, a massive rune spell or the creation of a magical beast being the main suspects. Except any wizard or mage worth their salt knows to counteract the drawback so it's never made in the first place.”

“So, what, this fear thing was made… on purpose?” Billy asked, following the man's voice through the dark.

Constantine shrugged. Or, at least that's what it sounded like. “Possibly. Maybe even from a naturally magical event. But once created, Feyr can only survive by consuming magic - specifically from its original source. That's their instinct until they've grown sentient enough and that's what makes them rather dangerous.”

“A magic eating monster that wants nothing but to eat its magical creator? What about that is dangerous?” The sarcasm pulled a stifled laugh from Constantine and despite their circumstances Billy counted that as a win. “But why is it here, in Fawcett City? We've never had a big magical explos-”

“Haven't you?” Constantine stopped walking and Billy nearly bumped into him. A new edge sharpened at the end of his voice, something curious, doubtful, and had Billy taking a preemptive step back. “You've said yourself the only magical being in this city is-”

“Marvel did not make that...that fear thing,” the ferocity in his tone surprised him, the defensive anger he felt because otherwise he'd have to accept that something wrong had come out of Marvel existing. And Billy couldn't do that. “He can't even see it!”

“And how true is that, exactly, hm? How can you truly know? Not just passing gossip or dumb belief, huh?” His voice was closer and Billy knew Constantine had turned around, was facing him now. “How do you know that bloke came from here? How do you know he's magic? Why is he here, of all places?”

Billy stumbled back, his fire doused, “No! I...I don't…” Each question was a nail on the head, had Billy's brain scrambling for answers, excuses, anything to get this man to stop pursuing, to stop looking at him.

“Why is a creature that hasn't roamed this Earth in centuries suddenly here now, in the same city as one of the most magically powerful superheroes? Why are you, of all people that's been around that man, affected? Know the answer to any of that?” Constantine took another step, “Why is it that the universe brought me to you, Billy?”

The empty space of the dark, dark basement around them allowed Billy to only hear his own rapid heartbeat, breath stuck in his throat, afraid because he did not know what to say.

“I...it's just…”

His head was screaming at him: that he regretted bringing Constantine here, that he should not have been himself, that this man was just as dangerous as the monster chasing them - chasing him, wanting to consume him. The distant specks of light from the exit door on the other side of the basement called to him. If he could make it outside, reach the backyard, jump the fence to the alley and book it, he could summon Captain Marvel.

And from there? Well, he could move, have a shadow monster after him his whole life - he didn't even need to stay as Billy Batson if it came to that.

Billy shuttered out a breath, then inhaled the stale smell of nicotine and mold, and ran.

“Shit!” was hissed out and he felt Constantine's hand swipe against his sweater. “Billy, wait!”

He didn't know what exactly the magician suspected, but Billy knew he couldn't stick around and find it, couldn't wait for the creature to show up again.

But really, Billy should know better by now.

Several steps were all he got before he stopped dead. A chill ran up his spine. Something soft like dust or fog swept around his ankles. Billy couldn't move and he immediately knew what was happening. Dread mixed with his previous turmoil gripped him tight, only a strangled noise squeezed out of him. His arms flailed for a moment to catch balance before they found his knees so he would not fall forward. The same cotton candy like material wrapped around his wrists.

His panic grew.

“Get it off,” Billy breathed out, voice pitching high with every failed attempt to free himself. “Get it off! John, I can't move, get it off! John!” No matter how much Billy pulled and struggled, it held strong.

“I'm here, Billy. Listen to me, I'm here,” John reaffirmed somewhere beside him, but too far to know exactly where.

A moment later and a small flicker of light appeared, a matchstick between John's fingers. Billy watched as it's small flame casted shadows across the man's face, his eyes wide and brows furrowed as he frowned deeply at the scene before him. The warm glow dwindled when John dropped it, and as Billy glanced down he briefly caught sight of a veil-thin, black and formless mass spreading up his legs.

A choked sob bubbled up from his chest, shallow breaths and not enough air getting through. Wetness swam in his eyes, even though it was once again too dark for him to see anything. Billy still knew what was there.

“C'mon now, none of that, it's gonna be okay. Billy listen to me, you're going to be okay,” John spoke quickly, and Billy didn't know who the platitudes were really for. “We need Marvel, so I'm gonna go-”

“No!” Billy jerked towards where he last saw John, trying to follow his voice, to follow him. Billy did not want to be left alone. As he tugged harder and harder to get free, he felt heavier and heavier. He was getting so tired, and so cold. “Please, no, John. Please don't-”

“We need him, Billy. You need him. He has to accept the Feyr, bond with it. That's the only way to stop this-”

“But he can't-! I can't-!” He had no words to explain how messed up this situation was. “Another way, there's gotta be another way, John please.” Marvel couldn't accept it. Billy was stuck there under several floors of an apartment complex. He couldn't call upon Captain Marvel, not without completely destroying everything above him. And Billy would never do that, especially not for his own safety. “John?”

“I'm sorry, but you need him.” There was the sound of wet footsteps, “I'll be right back!”

“John, no!” Billy cried out, terrified. He doubled his efforts, heartbeat tripling and tears falling. “John! No, come back! Please, John-!”

The back door opened, “Marvel get your bloody ass down here!” And John Constantine was gone.

Billy gave one last desperate scream, “John!” before silence surrounded him. The chill and quiet seeped into his bones as the Feyr stayed wrapped around him like a sheet, draining his energy every passing second.

What if it didn't stop? What if it kept eating and eating? Would it open its gaping mouth and consume his body, too? Or would it keep sucking the life out of him until he fell over, dead? Would he turn into dust? Would there be anything left?

“Shaz-” Billy clamped his mouth shut, biting his tongue. He couldn't do it. No matter how scared he was, how much he needed to call upon the Wizard, Billy couldn't do it.

Would the Wizard even allow it? Let Billy become Captain Marvel to save himself, even at the expense of others’ lives? What was the weight of intentions compared to the overall consequences?

Billy did not want to find out.

The collapse of his body was inevitable. It became too much to keep himself up. And he didn't know how much time had passed - it couldn't have been more than a few minutes, but dying seemed like a slow process. He laid on the damp ground, the cushion of the Feyr not enough to keep him dry. But he couldn't find the energy to try to move, he was just so tired.

Out of all the ways he imagined he would die, he never thought it would be as Billy Batson.

And as he shivered against the cold, something small pulsed through him. A thought, a notion that came from nowhere.

Home.

Billy blinked, the exhaustion heavy in his eyes.

What?

Home.

With a bit of effort Billy realized that it was a voice, and it wasn't his own.

Home?

Home.

What, I don't…

Home!

I know! I know! What does-

Home! Home! Home!

A thought, his own this time, though it sounded vaguely like John, struck him - Accept the Feyr, bond with it. Billy closed his eyes and concentrated.

Home.

Home!

Yeah, okay, yeah. Welcome home, friend.

Friend?

Friend.

Friend! Friend! Friend!

He could feel the soft fog of the Feyr all around him now, a blanket that was starting to feel more weighted, more warm. It was probably a bad idea, but Billy never wanted to fall asleep more than at that moment.

Sleep!

“-curse his ass right to hell, I swear! Billy!”

Friend! Sleep!

“Billy, wake up! C'mon, kid, I couldn't find- just hold on.”

Something even more warm wrapped around him and suddenly Billy's world tilted.

Home! Sleep!

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Billy. I should've stayed, I thought- He should be here! It's gonna be okay, I got you, it's gone. You're gonna be okay, I swear, Billy, I'm not going to lose you-”

Friend?

A tickle brushed like smoke against his skin, like desperation and agony leaking through him from someone else.

Oh, it's John.

Friend?

“C'mon, Billy, you've got the fight in you, so wake up!”

“Mmyeah, John friend…”

John friend!

“Oh, thank fucking Christ!”

“Language,” Billy mumbled, and he realized that yes, he could speak, if only a little bit. Though opening his eyes was definitely too much to ask.

“I thought you were gone, Jesus, kid. We need to get somewhere safe before that thing ret-”

“Friend.”

“What?”

“Not thing,” Billy burrowed further into the solid heat of John's form. When he's awake he'll be embarrassed about being carried like a baby. Later. “Friend. We bonded.”

The silence was long enough that Billy figured now would be a good time to fall asleep.

That meant he definitely missed the full length expletives John Constantine gave as he carried Billy back up to his apartment. But when Billy blinked awake the next day, he quickly found that John apparently stayed the night, and did not get as good, if any, sleep.

“What the hell happened down there?” Was the first thing that John greeted Billy with when the boy awoke.

Billy blinked the remains of dreamless sleep away, pushed himself to sit up, and realized he had been tucked into his bed. John sat at the lone table, a pile of spent cigarettes and white take out containers beside him and his shirt more wrinkled than it had been.

“Uh. I don't-”

“No bullshit, Billy,” and John's voice sounded more gravel toned than a back alley road, his sharp blue eyes tired and intolerant of any bullshit Billy was about to say.

Avoiding eye contact, Billy fiddled with the worn seams of his blanket before quickly finding something new in his possession that he knew he didn't have before. “Where did this come from?” He asked in lieu of answering John's question, picking up the small, stuffed tiger from beside him.

John sighed, knowing full well Billy wasn't going to say anything until he was good and ready. “You had it with you when I...came back to the basement. Clutched onto it the whole way up here and through the rest of the night. It's…”

“It's the Feyr. Isn't it?”

“Yeah...yeah, it is.”

It took a few moments for Billy to examine it. The toy was a spitting copy of the Tawny the Tiger he had as a toddler. He vaguely remembered carrying it around with him everywhere, how it dragged behind him, and how his parents cleaned and patched it up. It was his favorite comfort item he held onto when his parents traveled for work - when the nights got too dark and days got too lonely. The last time he held his Tawny Tiger was the morning of his parents’ death. Billy had given it to them as he laid sick in bed, unable to join on their latest adventure. He told them that Tawny would go in his stead, that they would tell Billy all about their trip when they got back. His mom and dad sent him pictures - all the candid and scenic and selfie shots, with them and Tawny.

They said they would be back soon.

Their plane never made it home.

Billy hugged the stuffed tiger close to his chest and was pleasantly surprised by how snug it fit in his arms, its floppy limbs just as soft and cushioned as its body. He pressed his nose into it and breathed - freshly laundered cotton.

“I had one of these when I was younger,” Billy finally said, breaking the thick silence, but grateful John had allowed it. “Before… everything. But why does it look like this?”

“Feyr don't have a real form. Requires too much energy, but when they bond with their...creator, they take shape of whatever holds significance. Granted the size is reasonable.”

“We're bonded,” Billy affirmed what John knew. He looked up and met the man's gaze. There was no hiding the truth with this. “It said it was home and I accepted it. But, what do I do, what does even mean?”

John stared steadfast, his hand twitching on the table like he wanted to light another cigarette or very much shake the truth out of Billy. “That means that the Feyr is yours, has always been yours. It survives off your...magical core, will do your bidding, channel your energy into whatever your want. After it's had a little nap. Much like a witch's familiar.”

He tensed, dread pooling in his gut despite knowing what was coming, or maybe because he knew. “I'm not a witch.”

“No. No, you're something stronger than that, aren't you?”

Fighting against the urge to look away, Billy clutched onto Tawny and nodded.

John swallowed hard and looked away first. Swears hissed out sounded like goddamn universe as his hands shook his blonde hair to wild disarray. “How?”

And what was he supposed to say to that? What kind of palatable truth could he give John? The story so boring, but whimsical - he was kind to a stranger that turned out to be an ancient wizard searching for a champion of good, that Billy had to convince him everyone was capable of good and that world was not black and white, that the wizard took a chance on him.

“I was chosen.”

“Oh, c'mon! Don't take me as a fool and give me that load of-”

“It's the truth!” He didn't have the magical pull that Captain Marvel did, but Billy put as much sincerity into his words as he could. “Remember- I command the truth when I need to.”

Like a snap of electricity struck him, John's movements jerked to a stop at the flash of deja vu. After the moment passed he relaxed back into the seat and finally placed another cigarette to his lips. “Okay, okay fine. Alright, you're telling the truth. Pretty obvious now that I think about it, huh.” Billy had a sense that wasn't a real question and let him ramble as he took the first inhale, nerves firing off as the realization came crashing down on him. “Word gets out one of the Ancient Wizards woke up from his nap, next thing we know there's a magical superhero flying about that no one knows shit about. And then! Then, gossip goes around - calling yourself the Chosen Champion! Do you know the kind of frenzy you put the world through? The magical world, I mean. Because we haven't heard of a Champion in fucking centuries! Literally since the fall of ancient civilizations! Yet here you are, flying around and saving the world and you're just some, some-”

“Kid?”

“Yes! You're a kid! That apathetic pile of bones and dust just decides hey, the next physical representative between the Greek Gods and this world? Definitely needs to be this kid!” Billy opened his mouth to retort, but was effectively cut off. “Oh, that's not an insult on you. I'm saying the whole system's shit and anyone in the position to be called the powers that be doesn't actually care for their pawns so long as the job gets done.”

Bill thought on that for a second. He let his fingers pet Tawny's soft fabric and vaguely wondered if the resting Feyr enjoyed physical affection. “It's not...The Wizard isn't bad. Yeah, I know I'm just some orphan that the world can forget about, he doesn't have to care, but...But I'm the one he chose, I have these powers and I choose to do good with them. There's no changing that, I don't want to change that.”

John sighed, long and haggard, like he knew exactly what it meant, shouldering large responsibilities, having powerful beings sink their hands into your life. “I know, I know. We play the hand we're dealt.” The look of defeat was suddenly shed like a coat, “Granted sleight of hand isn't possible, but lemme tell you, it almost always is. Well, at least your supernatural problem is solved.”

Glad the heavy atmosphere was dissipating, but even more appreciative of someone understanding, Billy wondered, “Does this mean I'm going to have more supernatural problems?”

“Hmm, possibly. You're attuned to it all now, so you'll notice more around you. But that doesn't necessarily mean it's your problem.” Billy gave John a very meaningful look. “Yeah, yeah, point taken, you bleeding heart of gold. I am serious, though. You can't go about making every little problem yours to solve. There is a lot out there, on all planes of reality, you don't understand yet.”

An idea struck Billy, a thought he was almost ashamed to voice because of the notion of being a hindrance, but in his defense, it seemed like a good idea. “You're right, there is a lot I don't understand, but maybe...with a little help…?”

“Oh,” John started, shaking his head back and forth and waving his hand like he could dispel the suggestion in midair. “Oh no, no no no no no! Bad idea. Terrible. You're supposed to be smarter than this.”

“I am smart!” Billy sensed the wiggle room he had to try to persuade the older magician, and matched his toothy grin. “But it's like you said, I'm a notice-”

“Novice.”

“Exactly! As plain ol Billy, I've never had any...magical powers or senses or whatever. And as Marvel it all comes to him easy. So, I'm basically starting from scratch here! But you've been doing this for years, which means you could maybe, I don't know, help me get used to this?”

John groaned aloud, and Billy felt vaguely guilty for stressing the man out so much in such a short time span. “Look, I get where you're coming from, I really do. But there are a whole host of issues for why that is a really bad idea, especially if you value your life. No, don't shrug at me! Jeez, that Wizard sure knows how to pick ‘em. Okay, how about this,” John took a moment to sort his thoughts, enjoying his cigarette that Billy didn't have the heart to put a stop to. “Whatever is going on with your particular brand of magic, I can't say I'll be very helpful. I'm a tenacious asshole who dabbled and got a taste of the laughing magician title. You inherited a grand ancient blessing from Greek gods, but...if you need me, I'll try my damn best to be here.”

Billy mulled over the words, tried not to feel disappointed at the rejection, and instead focused on the possibility of John coming back in the future, on learning magic tricks as himself. It was a thrilling possibility.

“I don't even know how to call you,” Billy said. “I don't have a phone and I'm pretty sure you don't either.”

“You are right on the nose with that,” John made a thoughtful noise. “I suppose I could scrounge up a two-way mirror set… Have Zee give you the sister mirror when I'm done.”

“You will?” Despite knowing better, Billy couldn't help the excitement slipping through.

Finishing off his cigarette, John stood with a crack to his back as he stretched. He looked down at Billy, still wrapped in his blanket and hugging his Tawny-shaped familiar, staring back at John with a sort of hope the man never thought he'd ever get, ever be deserving of. “Yeah, yeah I will.” As he threw on his coat an afterthought occurred to him, something he didn't even consider needed confirming, but knew it would put the kid at ease. “I'll even keep this whole double life nonsense between us, since I'm a nice bloke.”

The relief shedding from Billy's shoulders was palpable. “Thank you,” he said as John opened the door. “I know I wasn't-”

“Keep your apologies, Billy,” John said from the doorway. “I'm glad I got to help you. Keep an eye on your...Tawny, got it? It will grow with you, learn from you, and protect you. Can you handle that?” Billy nodded. “Good. We'll keep in touch. Cheers!”

Moments after the door closed he wondered how John would get home, if the dramatic exit was worth the floundering he had to do to call Zatanna. That question escaped him in the coming days as he steadily adjusted to the presence of another being within him, asking him one worded questions through all hours of the day, teaching it language and that not everything was a threat, its voice seemingly coming from his Tawny tiger.

Having a familiar was going to take some getting used it, but on the bright side, he didn't feel as alone as before.

Captain Marvel got that one particular answer days later when a package was left for him at the Watchtower from one Zatanna Zatara. It was messily wrapped in brown paper and tape, suggesting John Constantine had done that job, but a neat card attached read in Zatanna's handwriting:

Captain,
A present from John. The mirror he supposedly promised. Whatever you did to gain the approval and direct connection with him - please, be careful.
~ Z

The message had Marvel laughing, considering the last few weeks. Because really, he lived a strange life and it was only getting stranger.

Chapter Text

The melting of the last reminders of winter was a bittersweet time.

Once beautiful and playful stretches of snow became dirty piles pushed into unwanted corners. From there, it was only a matter of sun filled days for those to deplete, for the temperature to steadily rise, and wind chills to no longer nip at noses. Rain came in bursts. It washed the ground and tempted the green to return again. Natural lightning storms sparked across the sky, a sight Marvel always admired from down below or within the clouds.

Spring was fast approaching and Billy was more than ready for it.

Theoretically. Emotionally. Hell, maybe even spiritually.

But physically?

Physically, Billy Batson was sick of being tired, and tired of being sick.

Maybe it was one too many cold showers, or not enough vitamins and nutrients, or maybe it was because his immune system was shot to hell. He didn't know and couldn't afford a doctor to find out. No matter the cause, Billy was still trapped within the confines of illness.

He was also trapped within the persona of Captain Marvel.

Not literally, of course. One word and he would very easily be sickly Billy Batson again. However, he did not want to be Billy right now.

With every passing hour, day, night Billy felt more and more awful. To the point where he could not stay standing for more than a couple of minutes without feeling overheated and weak, which usually led to feeling sore and nauseous. He had not eaten in over a day, but when he tried to make himself eat something it all just came right back up and he was left feeling even more terrible than before.

It was a vicious cycle of hunger pangs, nausea, and hot pains. Billy hated it.

What if he was too out of his mind to call upon Shazam? What if his intentions were deemed not worthy enough? What if people were getting hurt while he was too busy puking his guts out?

He could not risk it. That's why over a week had passed since he last transformed. Now, Billy knew that staying as Marvel wouldn't make him better, but it certainly gave him time. There had to be some sort of healing spell or potion he could use. Billy had already tried consulting John Constantine, but the man admitted he didn't dabble much in healing magic.

“Sorry, kid,” John had said distracted, yet sympathetic.

The mirror seemed to be propped up on a table or shelf, as Billy was able to see John kneeling in the middle of a large open room, possibly a personal library. It looked like he was writing something on the floor. His white shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and various curves and lines already surrounded him.

“Can't say I know many healing spells. There are the basics, fixing up shallow cuts and the like, and then there's the last ditch efforts, like shoving a bit of your own life energy into someone, or trying to drag their soul back from the Pit.” John's stream of words continued as he focused on the task at hand and Billy idly wondered what he was drawing. “Though, that one is more if you've already buggered things up, which, lemme tell you now, do not let things get that far. I'm serious, kid. I'd really rather not go sneaking through hell to bring your arse back, got it?” At the last sentence John finally looked up. His tone was playful, but the expression in his blue eyes shone so sincerely.

John would knock on hell's door for Billy.

“Don't worry, John,” Billy said, trying for a mixture of tease and comfort in his own smile despite his skin gross with cold sweat and his throat all gravel. “I've been to the Underworld before and got out just fine.”

That little truth bomb did a number on John - the rapid succession of emotions that played across his face was surely a performance art. “Different spiritual realms aside, that better be a bad joke, Billy.”

“No, really! Ms Persephone took me once - and well, okay, it was more like a kidnapping, but Mister Hades stopped me from eating any of the fruit and made her let me go. He also let me meet Cerberus, which was really cool! And I did promise to hang out with them again as long as she doesn't force me to stay. And it's not as bad as I'm making it sound, promise!” Billy explained with a gust of breath that ended in a horrible coughing fit.

John blinked at him a few times before groaning. “I don't have all day to unpack the lot of that, but just...be smart about that, alright.”

Sure he wasn't going to hack out a lung, Billy sighed and rolled his eyes, bringing them back to the true conversation, “So, no healing magic?”

“Sorry. I'd suggest asking Zee, but I can't say her repertoire has anything helpful, either. Have you tried asking that Wizard of yours?”

It was Billy's turn to groan, and he did so with gusto as he flopped himself back onto his bed. The thing was, he thought about that, too. Surely after all these years, the great Wizard Shazam would have something like healing magic up his sleeve, or would know how Captain Marvel could access it. Except, the more Billy thought about it, the more he realized how pointless it would be. The Wizard never just gave Billy the answers, never handed him solutions to his problems. Billy was lucky if he got anything clearer than a vague riddle. And last time he checked, nothing came to Marvel's mind about any healing magic.

“I'm gonna take that as a negative, then.”

“I just...I'm still learning all about Marvel's powers, and I can't go begging for answers every time something comes up. I gotta solve this on my own. I can beat this, I know it.”

“You've got the flu, Billy. This isn't a grand ancient puzzle some wanker handed you, it's your health.”

“I know, but…I have a duty to fulfill, and unless I'm actively dying...” Billy had let his sentence trail off with a shrug.

He knew John's thoughts and opinions about higher powered beings like The Wizard, how John was distrustful and disgruntled with them. It was a hot topic only touched upon once. Billy could not help but defend his Wizard from John's accusatory words. He was the Chosen Champion after all. And with all that Shazam had given him, how could Billy bad mouth him? John said something about biting the hand that feeds, but dropped the subject with surprisingly little complaining.

“No one over there can take you to some shady backdoor clinic?” John thankfully asked instead.

Billy had thought about that, too. If he asked any of the trusted adults in the apartment complex, they'd only worry over him and keep him contained, keep him from being Marvel. But he couldn't even buy medicine on his own because most of it required him to be over eighteen with an ID.

Sometimes, being a homeless kid really, really sucked.

“No, I'm kinda stuck here,” Billy sighed again, feeling terribly exhausted from just this conversation.

“Anything at your fancy Watchtower you could swipe?”

“Everything in the medbay is monitored and counted. And I don't wanna steal from the Justice League.”

John made a noise that clearly stated what he thought about Billy's good morals. “Well, I'd volunteer to steal for you, but pretty sure I'm banned from your club house and I'm in the middle of an investigation of sorts here. I do got some resources on hand and can have Chas help me take a look. See if there's some old potion you can brew. In the meantime, why don't you try meditating?”

“Like...yoga?”

“No. Like, sit there as Marvel and...think. Search within for any hidden knowledge you've yet to unlock or something. If you can't ask that pile of skin and bones, might as well find the answers yourself.”

That turned out to not actually be such a bad idea. Which is why Captain Marvel, for a week straight, kept himself in the training room aboard the Watchtower.

His first day's effort started by requesting whoever was on watch duty to alert him if anything dire needed him in Fawcett City while he meditated. At the other hero's significant look, Marvel merely laughed away their confusion. They didn't need to know his reasons. He then scoped out an area with minimum distractions and tried various positions to contort his body. In the end, he sort of goofed off before checking one of the computers to research what meditation really was.

The second day's efforts were spent trying once again to figure out how to actually meditate. All of Billy's previous knowledge consisted of sitting in one spot with his eyes closed for a very long time, and presumably thinking really hard. But the research he did gave little more, if sometimes absurd, insight on what to do and what his goal was. By the end of that day, he finally found a comfortable enough position - sitting cross legged and floating several feet in the air. At least then his butt would not go numb.

By the third day, Marvel figured he could ask Tawny if they knew anything. But when the creature responded with ‘no heal, only protect and eat’ he knew he was on his own. In it for the long haul, Marvel took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tried to dig for some inner mind searching.

He thought about how pain free being Captain Marvel was compared to Billy right now. The simple act of breathing did not erupt into hacking fits, did not leave his throat raw and sore. His body felt as healthy and indestructible as ever, no aching joints or stuffy nose or clammy skin that was uncomfortably warm. There were no rolling cramps in his stomach, threatening to upchuck what little food he managed to eat. Overall, being Marvel felt amazing. No side effects of a fragile and weak body so susceptible to illness. No human needs of food or sleep or temperature control. Always ready and able to swoop in and save the day.

The Gods really did create the perfect vessel for their power.

No wonder he didn't know any healing spells. Marvel did not need them. Only something with tremendous power could do enough damage to hurt him, and that has occurred very few times. Marvel could still feel pain, yet it was so different from when Billy experienced it.

When Marvel had a rather nasty acidic encounter on his arm from an alien creature, it hurt a lot. The acid spit from the monster's mouth burned wherever it touched, and smelled like rotten eggs. Throughout the fight, however, Marvel did not spare a moment to acknowledge the painful burning. He couldn't. The creature had to be neutralized and that singular focus made him dismiss his injury as if his skin was not blistering red and peeling away. It was a feat he knew would not be possible were he regular Billy Batson. Billy would probably have started screaming and crying.

After the battle was won and he returned to being his eleven year old self, he could still smell the horrific odor and feel a phantom prickling sensation wrapping his arm. It was as if his mind could not forget that the injury happened, like his body was trying to play catch up on a situation it technically never experienced. Billy was not aware of what became of Marvel's form when not in use, just as Marvel does not truly know what happens with Billy. So, when he transformed once again as Marvel, he was pleased to see himself fully healed.

Perhaps that was why he did not know any healing spells? Marvel recovered on his own, his body magically stitching itself back together.

But even as these possibilities were reasonable, something in Marvel denied it. There was more to learn about himself and his powers, he just knew it.

Hours had passed, though he did not know how many. After that first memory came another and then another - struggles he had overcome, fights he had both won and lost. There had been his encounters with Doctor Sivana and his robots right in Fawcett City, there was an old monster from the deep oceans that he helped Aquaman subdue, an invading army from space that was stopped with the Green Lanterns, magical duels with Klarion over some ancient relics.

All of the obstacles he faced as Captain Marvel, as he learned to be Captain Marvel.

Huh, maybe this was what meditation was about.

There had been only one interruption that day, Hal retrieved him for a minor emergency at Fawcett City. As Marvel thanked his colleague for the alert, he realized that he had been in the training room for nearly twenty hours. On his way back to the Watchtower for day four, Marvel briefly considered taking a break, but dismissed that thought completely. He was close to something, some memory or breakthrough, he knew it.

Upon his return, Green Lantern finally asked what he was doing.

“Meditating,” Marvel stated, feeling calmer than he had in days.

“Uh...huh. And you’re, uhh, going back at it?”

“Yes.”

“Don't you wanna take a break? Get some lunch, shoot some trash into the bins, help me pull a prank on Flash?” Hal’s suggestions would usually be more tempting, but today they seemed… pointless. A waste of time.

“No, thank you. Please alert me if any other emergency calls.” And with that Marvel returned to his spot, unaware of the bafflement he left behind.

Day five was only recognized because Black Canary had approached him, an underlying concern in her voice he vaguely noted as she delivered a message from Zatanna Zatara which in turn was from John Constantine: Take A Break, Check Your Mirror. An appreciated but ultimately unneeded suggestion.

He was meditating, how much more relaxing could one get?

That was when Marvel also realized that his memories had been expanding, that they went way further back than Billy's lifetime. This whole meditation business was actually working. He had no time for others to be concerned about him, and he certainly did not want them to worry over him. He could take care of himself, and there were millions of civilians on Earth to look after. Canary left shortly after his brief affirmation that yes, he was fine.

Delving into these new - but old, definitely very old - memories was like walking through a dream he could not control. Marvel watched as his own fists cracked into creatures he had only seen in mythology books, large monsters with multiple heads and wings, with rows of sharp teeth and giant claws. He watched as he strolled through streets unlike any in Fawcett City, all stone and clay, not a car or technological device in sight, and he talked with people dressed in clothes right from his old school history lessons.They spoke in languages he could not recognize, but somehow still understood, he even conversed with them in the same tongue. Unable to control his own movement, Marvel tried valiantly to catch reflections of himself - glimpses of blinding white and shining red so alike his present uniform, yet so unfamiliar.

These were previous Champions’ memories. He felt the comforting warmth of his lightning dance across his hands and he knew.

Marvel blinked and found himself amongst a new scene, power crackling around him and the adrenaline of battle pounding in his heart. Smoke billowed in pillars passed him and towards a darkening sky, all stemming from the ground down below. Structures were crumbled. Screaming filled his ears. Destruction of an unknown, but achingly familiar, town surrounded him. And the energy he was harnessing, on a completely different level than what he was capable of in present day, was overwhelming and awesome.

Did he do all of this?

The lightning on his skin settled and dissipated in moments, yet Marvel remained floating above, even as thunder rumbled in the clouds. Despite the cacophony of noise, he had a suspicion that everything was eerily quiet and still. That something - no, someone - was missing.

One moment Marvel was searching for a sign of whatever was out there, and the next he was hurtling down to Earth at breakneck speeds. He only stopped because of the several meter deep crater he made in the ground as he crash landed. After a few moments of blinking dust and dirt from his eyes, and struggling to push himself up, Marvel quickly became aware of how drained and bruised he was. Looking down at himself revealed the plethora of bleeding wounds peeking out from his absolutely ruined uniform.

What was he even fighting?

As Marvel tilted his head back and up to the ominous sky full of natural lightning and threat of downpour, a sense of dreadful finality flooded through him. He had used an extremely powerful attack, his energy was now devastatingly low, and still, his opponent prevailed. His time was running out.

Up above, floating aloft despite the rising winds, a man clad in tattered black stared down at him. Disgust and disappointment lined his sharp features, but those were not the reasons Marvel felt his heart break at the sight of the man. Something was wrong here. Something about this entire scene was wrong. Like a spooked horse heading for disaster. Like the calm in the center of a tornado that is not done wreaking havoc. Like when a child learns the grim news that his parents will never come home again.

This was not how things were supposed to go. This was never supposed to happen. They should not be fighting, Marvel knew this, and yet...

Sadness. Betrayal. Hopelessness. Exhaustion.

That is what Marvel felt. Even as the man above him gathered lightning - divine lightning - in his hands, and even as his cold gaze became filled with anger, Marvel did not once feel fear. He had done what he could, had fulfilled his duties. There was nothing left. He could not move, could no longer continue the fight, that much was clear to him.

It was over. For good.

And yet even as he accepted his fate, as he stared final death in the face, something else caught his attention.

In the corner of his hazy and bloody vision, Marvel gazed upon the destruction around him. The ringing in his ears and loud thunder clapping above could not quite drown out the screams of suffering that called to him. People were in pain. His people. The very lives he was assigned to protect. But there they were, crushed under the damage he caused, their bodies broken and bleeding and crying. Even when he was gone, they would continue to hurt.

His duty was not yet done.

He had to save them.

If there was nothing else he could do in this fight, he could at least do this.

Marvel closed his eyes, concentrated on where he was needed most…

“Captain Marvel?”

...felt for the desperate pleas…

“Captain?”

...ignored the impending strike from his enemy…

“Marvel!”

...reached out to his people, grasped into their souls, and…

“Marvel!”

...let go...

“Captain, wake up!”

Marvel opened his eyes, a renewed rush of adrenaline surging him backward as he became aware of himself again. The dull ache of landing on the floor was jarring compared to the awful pain he had been in mere moments before.

But those were not present moments - they were memories.

He had been remembering past events. But now, as though grasping onto the final coattails of a dream, the memories were slipping from him. Yet he still felt panicked, still felt the sting of betrayal squeezing his heart.

Who was that man? Why were they fighting?

“Marvel?”

Even as he stared at the beautiful woman before him, it took several seconds for Marvel to realize she was speaking and that she was addressing him.

“Hm?” Tongue heavy in his mouth, he only gave a noise of confirmation.

“Are you well?”

Marvel wondered why she would be asking after his health. Of course he was well. He was the Champion of the Gods, he had no other option but to be well. Taking a moment to assess the woman, he realized something very important…

“You are Princess Diana of Themyscira.”

Why was she here? Or was he on the Amazon’s island? Did the Gods send him there? Did Shazam?

The warrior princess paused as she stared back at him, and she must not quite like what she saw because caution was in every word and her movements slowed to make herself appear as less threatening as possible, as if he were some easily spooked animal. “Yes, I am. And you are Captain Marvel.”

He nodded his head. “I am.”

“Do you know where you are?” She asked carefully.

At her question, Marvel finally took in his surroundings. They were in a well equipped room - a training room, of course. He had come here with a purpose. “The Watchtower.” Her smile, small but encouraging, prompted him further. “I was...dreaming...no, remembering.”

But what was it? And why?

The distress on his face must have been obvious. “It must be a very difficult memory,” she said.

Marvel wondered if perhaps he had forgotten it for a reason. He was also trying to remember it for reason, a specific reason, too, but… “Princess-”

“Diana. You may call me Diana. We are friends, after all.”

Oh. Right.

They worked together. They were part of the Justice League.

“Diana,” he tried, though it felt unusual to say. “I...must admit, I cannot recall a lot right now. I was meditating for…”

“You have been here for seven days,” she offered along with her hand. When he grasped it, her considerable strength gently steadied him onto his feet. “We were getting worried, and honestly, I still am.”

Marvel glanced down at himself, half expecting the same battle wounds from his memory to be there, for his uniform to be bloody and in shreds. “I promise, I am well-”

“What language are we speaking?”

Startled at the sudden change, Marvel thought for a moment. Something was very odd about that sentence. “Please repeat that.”

Though her expression showed amusement, the concern shone clear in her eyes. “What language are we speaking?”

That was different. Those words were definitely different. But he could still understand them - just like the people from his memory. “Is that...That is not English.”

“No, it was not,” she said, this time in English. “It is Ancient Greek.”

Oh.

Oh.

Marvel blinked at her in astonishment. If they were speaking Ancient Greek, then that means…

“I can speak it,” he whispered, bewildered at the absolute truth of it, because duh, of course he can, and at the sudden sadness swelling in his chest. “I forgot, but now I remember, I used to live- But then everyone- And I... I remember them,” flashes of faces came back to him, towns thriving and full of life, “All of them, and they were screaming, but I couldn't…” Homes were destroyed, families ripped apart, civilizations changed, “Diana, I couldn't save-”

A soft hush breezed through the cries of ghosts awakening from within him, quieting them down. When Marvel followed it, there was Diana, his own anguish mirrored in her gaze. Gently, her hand brushed through his hair, tilting his head up to look at her. The rough pad of her thumb firmly wiped away the tears he didn't realize were running down his face.

“Marvel, my friend, my brother,” she spoke in that old, familiar language again and Marvel could not help but yearn for the comfort it brought. “I have heard so many stories about you, ever since I was young. The Chosen Champion of Zeus and his pantheon, sent to protect, to defend, to save the world of man. And you did. I know you did. You saved so many lives until your last breath.”

He couldn't quite process the onslaught of information. The Amazons heard tales of The Champions? He lived in Ancient Greece? He…

Until his last breath.

“But, I'm alive. I didn't…” But he did, didn't he? That final strike of divine lightning, his will to give his remaining life energy to the innocents that needed him. “But, I'm right here,” and his voice sounded so young, so unlike Captain Marvel, but so much like…

Oh, right.

He's also Billy Batson, too.

How could he forget that?

“You disappeared from the world. All of The Champions did,” Diana said, somber as she revealed the truths she knew, the truths she had kept close despite the time they have known each other.

“We did?” He recalled the man in shining black amongst the storming clouds.

“The story of The Champions’ Betrayal, your final battle, was told for years. We all believed that great feud was the last of you, but now…” She paused, staring at him like he was something wondrous. “I was amazed when I first realized who you were, I could not believe it. But that lightning - Zeus’ lightning - cannot be mistaken for anything less.”

She knew about the Champions, had been told tales about him - about his past. But, he was not the previous Marvel. He couldn't be, not even close.

“I'm not who I was before,” he admitted, feeling a chasm deep within echo the words from both Billy and Marvel, and hating how the truth cut him to his very core.

“No, you are not. You are yourself. You do not need to be who you once were, and that is alright.”

“Even if the...old me was better?”

“I only know of the stories, but I know you right now. You are full of goodwill and the bravery to act on it. You inspire your own stories to be told by those who have witnessed your heroism, both big and small. And I am sorry I did not tell you this before. Had I known you were missing memories, I could have been helpful-”

“It's okay, really!” Marvel assured quickly, overwhelmed so much that the facets of Billy returned to himself. How could such kind words describe plain ol Billy? “I'm only trying to be a good person. With or without old memories. No matter who I was before...I'll prove myself worthy of being the Champion as I am now. And I'll remember sooner or later, on my own.”

“Oh, dearest brother,” Diana sighed in Ancient Greek, full of fond exasperation. And Billy finally recognized that comfort he felt as the same as when he hears the Spanish language and wants so badly to be with his mother again. It feels like home. “You do not have to do this alone. You are already plenty worthy.”

Equal parts doubtful and relieved at her words, Marvel anxiously fiddled with his metal bracers. He kept being told these reassurances, yet he still found it hard to believe. What made him worthy of any of this? Of this power? Of these friends? Of Diana's help?

“What do you mean by brother?” Marvel commented on instead, unsubtle with changing topics. But it had been the second time she called him that in the old, shared language.

“We are children of Zeus, aren't we?”

“Yes? In… some ways, I suppose. Honestly, it's all really confusing, but…” Wonder Woman? His sister? His family? Too much, that was too much! “Oh Gods, I'm getting all teary eyed again. Haha, wow, sorry! It's just uhh, it's been awhile since I've had someone to call family.”

Gods, even Marvel was overwhelmed by the emotions spilling out. This entire day was a roller coaster and he hadn't even left this room.

“Cry as much as you need,” Diana teased, yet still sounded sincere. “I have seen many of my sisters do so, and am grateful to call someone as kind hearted as you, my brother.”

She wanted to be his sister! Well, Marvel's sister, but still - his family!

Marvel could not stop the blush of red across his cheeks, or the embarrassed, wide grin. “Thank you...Diana. For checking on me and being nice and awesome and… and all of this.”

“Please know I am here when you need me. Especially if you wish to hear more about your history, perhaps one will unlock another memory.”

The sincerity in her voice sent a thrill to Marvel's heart. Wonder Woman wanted to hang out, she wanted tell him stories, she wanted to be family.

“Oh, I know!” Marvel exclaimed as he recalled why he was here in the first place. It had certainly been a very long week, and he actually looked forward to being regular Billy Batson again. Perhaps staying as Captain Marvel for this long, and submerging himself into the hidden depths of the Champion's mind, was not his best idea. He had to take this slow, take precautions. Maybe talk to Constantine about this. “The reason I started meditating in the first place was to remember any healing magic I used to know.”

“Healing magic?”

“Yeah! Like, potion recipes or making my hands glow energy and stuff.” Marvel realized he was not being very eloquent, but he hoped she understood.

“You wish to learn medicinal skills? Whatever for? Not to discourage you, but we have quite the advanced medical staff and equipment on board.”

But that's the problem.

“Yeeaaah, but…”

“But?”

Oh jeez, she already had the sister voice! And was using a secret language against him!

Well, no getting out of this one. “Okay, so I'm very good at punching and throwing lightning and everything and that's, like, fine, I love it! But when the fight is over or if someone is hurt… I'm useless! And I know I can do this. I just...forgot. But see, back home I know a bunch of folks, I know my people, and see some of us, I mean, them, can't just go to the hospital when they get hurt. And I'm not fighting a monster every day and there's only so many couches that need to be moved, so I thought, hey, what if I helped the sick and hurt, right? And I'm rambling now, so please understand me.”

Marvel was very grateful that he didn't technically need oxygen, though he still reflexively gasped for a breath.

Thankfully, Diana seemed to actually follow his long winded ramble and think it over. “I see.”

“You….do?”

“Of course. You wish to expand your skill set to further help others.” She got it! “And also to further prove your worth not only to the Gods, but to yourself.” Okay, maybe she got it too much. “Do not look surprised. I have been around for a long time, and have studied a wide range of subjects. Psychology is an interesting and diverse one.”

“So...I'm easy to read?”

“Sometimes. I admit, before today I had difficulty seeing passed your veneer of near magical charm.” Oh wow, she was good. “However, I think I am starting to know the real you, Marvel.”

Okay, now Billy just feels guilty.

“Personal insecurities aside, thank you very much,” he started, with sarcastic gratitude. “I really do want to learn this. Or rather, relearn. I mean, I've done it before, using my own energy to heal others…”

“Those were dire circumstances, were they not? I don't mean to offend, but healing is not quite in the Champion's repertoire from the Gods.”

She had a point. Marvel groaned aloud. “There's gotta be something!”

It had been a week of sifting through Marvel's memories, and that one fatal instance was all Billy could find. There may be more, but how much longer would he have to look? He couldn't stay here, like this, forever. But Billy was running out of time.

“Would you be opposed to my assistance now, dear brother?” And the sass in Diana's endearment for him truly felt like a sister's care. They were already hitting it off well!

“Okay, okay. I get it!” Marvel conceded. “I need your help.” Diana did that certain head tilt of hers, with a stern look on her face that had him adding, “Please.”

With a satisfied smirk, she gestured him to follow her out of the training room. “My studies on Themyscira were not only limited to the ways of Amazonian warriors. In fact, it took a rather long time to convince my mother to teach me any fighting at all. Before and especially during my training, I was taught many medicinal skills. A large part of my education was herb identification and the varied methods on how to prepare and utilize them.”

Marvel listened with thinly veiled amazement. “You know Amazon witchcraft?”

Diana laughed, loud and free. “Oh Gods, no. Herbal medicine has a rich history across many lands. It is the root of the advanced techniques we have today. And perhaps with your own magical touch, it will provide a useful base for what you seek.”

“You mean, like...potions?”

“Perhaps,” she humored him.

They arrived at the dormitories aboard the Watchtower - a section filled with rooms for those that needed their own personal space. Billy had thought about having one for himself, but quickly discarded that notion. Only Marvel would have access to it, and he doesn't need to sleep. Plus, Billy wouldn't be able to keep any of his personal items there in fear that they- and consequently, his identity - would be discovered.

Still, he was surprised that Wonder Woman had one. From what he knew, she not only had her home island, but she also preferred to often stay at her Greek estate.

“You have questions,” she said, seeing through him once again.

“Yeah, well, no. It's not any of my business, but I'm just surprised is all. That you have a room here.” He tried not to pry into the other Leaguers’ personal lives or intentions too much, knowing how valued privacy was.

“I find it useful to store equipment, weapons, and uniforms,” she said as they stopped before her door.

One finger print scan later and Marvel was invited into a private space he suspected very few had the privilege of. He was not quite sure what he expected of Diana's room, but it certainly fit her. From the warm, light colors of the walls, to the extravagantly soft seeming sheets upon a very large bed, and to the bookshelves filled floor to ceiling - it felt like a home neatly condensed. Like everything there had a purpose, even if it was for simple leisure.

Billy immediately thought of how safe he would feel taking a nap here, welcomed and guarded by the warrior princess herself from the hectic life outside.

Maybe, one day. If he asked really nicely.

“I admit, I also enjoy the comfort of calling it my own,” Diana said, her wistful tone bringing Marvel back from distraction. “We must enjoy the small pleasures in life, no matter what hardships try to darken our skies. Find a warm patch of sun, claim it lovingly, protect it fiercely, and share it willingly.”

Something in her voice drew Marvel in to look at her, to really look at the wisdom shining in her eyes, and the sincerity in her smile, and the long buried sadness underneath it all.

What memories haunted his friend so? What ghosts lingered in her heart? Afterall, she was much, much older than she appeared - she must have decades worth of experiences he could hardly imagine.

Marvel was starting to understand her mutual enthusiasm at having him as family, the kinship they shared beyond their Godly origins.

With a quick glance around the room, Marvel noted a few odd items he wouldn't have suspected before: books ranging from the World Wars to recipes for ice cream, a worn black fur coat draped over a seat, maps of the oceans framed on the wall - all small glimpses into larger stories, into a hidden part of Diana's history.

“Thank you,” Marvel whispered, though it felt inadequate for all the gratitude welling up. “Thank you for showing me this, for trusting me.”

Diana placed a warm hand on his shoulder and squeezed, coincidently he felt his own throat seize. “You have shared so much with me, I must return the gesture. I want you to know you are safe here.”

Is this what having a family again was like? It had been so long, Billy almost forgot the comfort that warmed him from the inside, the safety and security in knowing someone was there for him, the...the love he felt.

“Okay, okay,” Marvel sniffled, quickly wiping his eyes. “Please don't make me cry again.”

Diana's laugh brought a smile to his face. “Alright, I will spare you this once,” she said as if her own eyes were not wet. “Now, come. Sit. We can search through the herbal encyclopedia and start with an easy remedy for you to make.” She easily plucked a large, leather bound book from a shelf, obviously very old, but well kept.

“Is there something in there for, like...the flu, maybe?” Marvel suggested, hoping he wasn't completely showing his hand.

A thoughtful expression came to Diana as she placed the book, a few jars, and several other items on the table before him, “A few, to ease the symptoms, mostly. I suppose the winter months were not kind to everyone.”

Marvel thought of Billy's sore throat, runny nose, and slight fever. “No. No they were not.”

“These are not difficult recipes to follow, though I can't say the end product will taste very good,” she mused as she flipped through the aged pages and glanced at the neat, handwritten words. “There are some common ingredients among them, so you can start by grounding the garlic cloves with the mortar and pestle.”

Marvel stared at the items before him - a variety of herbs in jars, a cutting board and knives, and a stone bowl with matching, rounded stick. He hesitantly pulled the last two toward him and picked the jar of garlic. “Uh. Is this the morter and pessel?”

At Marvel's uncertain tone and the awkward way he held the pestle, Diana sighed. “Perhaps we should start with the basics.”

By the time their first lesson concluded, Marvel had learned the most common herbs and how to ground them, realized that while he could understand Ancient Greek that did not mean he could read it (yet!), and had two jars full of potent liquid.

That night was the first in over a week that not only did Billy sleep, he slept well. No coughing fits startled him awake, no nose full of snot in the morning, no pounding headache, and no hot, clammy skin making him feel like death warmed over. Sure, he had quite a few days worth of bed rest ahead of him, but at least he could actually rest. He didn't even feel bad about sneaking Watchtower food with him for the long haul.

A couple days later, when Billy felt able to stay awake for more than a few hours, he finally checked his magical mirror. There were nearly a dozen messages from Constantine - all ranging from short ‘call me back’ to long, anxious rants as Chas tried to wrestle the mirror from him before his words got too explicit. After the last message was watched, Billy made the call and was surprised by how quickly it was answered.

“About bloody time!” John looked more a hazard mess than usual. Billy noted as much. “Well, why do you think that is, hm? Got an angry ghost I gotta settle, Chas naggin’ at my ear, and oh! A goddamn ten year old off losing himself in the mind of an ancient reincarnated vessel because I fucking told him to!”

“Uh...I'm sorry?” Billy had no idea what to say to that, could not even correct John getting his age wrong. It almost sounded like John was worried. He mostly just sounded upset.

Letting out a long sigh and rubbing at his temples, John took a drag of a cigarette from somewhere. “No, no. Sorry, I'm sorry. I don't deal well with...with all this bleeding heart nonsense. Especially when it's…” A deep frown dug itself into the man's face as he took a long look into the mirror. Billy wasn't sure if he was staring at him, or at someone beyond him. Finally, John said, “Just, tell me you're alright, yeah? You look better.”

Deeming this conversation stable enough to wade through, “Yeah! I took your advice and meditated a bit-”

“I know,” John bit out.

Billy continued as if he didn't, “And it was really useful! So don't feel guilty about that! It worked. I found some old memories, and by old, I mean really old. Like, ancient. And I sorta lived through those until the last memory came up, and I uh, I guess I died. Or well, Marvel died.” He remembered the burn of lightning lashing at his open wounds and subconsciously rubbed at his chest. “But I did learn some things.”

“Jesus, kid. I told you to take a break.”

“I know! I got that, but...I don't know, I wasn't quite myself, I think. I mean, I was Marvel, like I usually am, but I was also...more. More Marvel and less...me. If that makes senses?”

John sighed, but that professional glint came back to his eyes, once again interested in the problem before him. “You were syncing with the other Marvels. Their identities tried meshing with yours, but ended up overlapping, more like it.”

“That makes sense, but like, that wasn't even the longest I've ever stayed as Marvel before, though.”

“May be, but it's the first time you've actively tried to submerge yourself into him. You've unlocked that door now.”

Billy thought on that, “Does that mean it'll happen again?”

John shrugged and took in another drag, but Billy could see the worry lines by his frown. He didn't even make a smartass quip.

Oh, boy. This was not good.

Billy couldn't not be Captain Marvel. Even the threat of losing himself wouldn't deter Billy. He had to do it.

He just… had to be more careful.

“Anyway, I found that while Marvel may not know any real healing spells, he can use a bit of his energy to give to someone else. I don't know how to do that yet, exactly. But...it's sorta nice to know I could.”

“Don't go making yourself a martyr at the nearest opportunity. You got a long life ahead of you,” John said with a pointed look.

Out of everyone Billy knows, he’s surprised that Constantine was the one navigating him away from self destruction. Billy doesn't really see it as that, but John said all martyrs have that streak in them.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Billy mumbled in exasperation. “So instead of that route, Diana helped me with herbal remedies!”

“Diana?”

“Uh, warrior princess of Themyscira? Wonder Woman?”

“Wonder Woman...taught you old medicine?”

“I was surprised, too! But she's really smart and talented and knows how to do a lot, since she's lived a long time and-”

“Sounds like you've got a schoolyard crush,” John smirked behind his cigarette.

“No!” Billy blanched, “That's gross! She's my sister, you weirdo.” At John's confused look, “We talked for a bit after I came out of the...trance, I guess. She told me about the stories she knew about Marvel, and we sorta...hung out. It was nice. And since her and Marvel are kinda from the same origins…”

“Better be careful with that, then,” John's warning cutting through Billy's wistfulness. “She’ll figure your truth out if you talk too much, and we both know she's got the means to make you talk.”

Billy frowned at the image of Diana forcibly using the Lasso of Truth on him. “She wouldn't do that. We're friends, more than that, we're family.”

“Billy-”

“But she wouldn't! Real friends and family wouldn't hurt each other on purpose. And look, I know, what people are capable of - my Uncle is a greedy jerk, but he's not family. Not like Freddy, or Tawny, or you, or Diana. Real family.”

The look on John's face seemed to age him by decades, and Billy had a distinct feeling he had said something incredibly wrong, but he didn't understand what. He was only telling the truth.

“Just...be careful.” John sighed through smoke, snubbing his light out. “Being that close only means you won't see the knife coming,” were the ominous words John left him with before he disconnected.

Once again, Billy became sharply aware of something just out of mind's reach, a hole in the ground that he couldn't see he was walking right toward, but John clearly could.

What did he mean by that? Won't see the knife coming?

There was a word, a feeling, on the cusp of his awareness.

Billy rubbed at his chest, where Marvel's old wounds once were. And he tried to remember why they also made his heart ache. Why John's words reminded him of them.

The man in black.

Billy couldn't recall what he looked like, and even now, the details of that memory were fuzzy. But it was storming, and Marvel was hurt, and that man… he looked so angry, so cold.

And Marvel felt sadness deep within him, and something more, something sharp and twisting, something only felt when hurt by someone he trusts…

A knife to the back.

Betrayal.

He was betrayed, Marvel was betrayed by someone important, someone close, someone he worked with and fought with. Someone like a…

A friend.

But something more than even that. Someone like Diana.

His family.

His… brother.

Oh.

Billy clenched the mirror against his chest, trying to calm his jack rabbit heart's panic. He made to grab the mug of warm elixir, hoping to calm himself down, but stopped cold.

Diana.

She wasn't like that man that...that killed Marvel. Diana was his friend, his sister. And she wouldn't hurt him, wouldn't use that rope to trap him and make him confess things he didn't want to, wouldn't use her sword to cut him down to pieces.

Would she?

But he was lying to her, wasn't he. Marvel isn't who he was before, isn't the same, and Billy isn't Marvel.

Except he is. They share each other. They are…

Too much. This was definitely too much.

Forgoing the rest of his drink, Billy carefully set the mirror down and wrapped himself tightly within the blanket. As he curled up on the mattress, sleep threatening to shut his thoughts off, he wondered what was worse…

The betrayal of family, or never knowing a family's love?

Chapter Text

There was a shrill, high pitched ringing and it was the most annoying thing he had ever heard.

That was the first thing Billy became aware of. And he desperately wanted it to stop. His eyes weren't even open yet, but there was a bright shine coming through his eyelids to accompany the noise that was so deafening. It was all quite obnoxious.

Second, he was so very, very tired. His head and chest ached a lot. Like Marvel had taken a punch right from Superman, and then got hit with a laser beam. It nearly hurt to breathe or even move to sit up. He wanted to lay there and stay asleep. The darkness was far more inviting and far less painful.

Third, and this was the thing that definitely woke him up, was that he was Billy. Not Marvel, not some tall, muscular demigod. He was his child self, the powerless scrawny eleven year old far too small for his age.

Well, twelve now, actually.

And oh yeah, today was his birthday.

Groaning the rest of the way to consciousness, Billy blearily took in his surroundings. There was metal all around him, floor to ceiling, some spots charred black by some scorching damage. Despite that evidence, it was cold, and something about the air was different, almost thinner and harder to breathe, especially with the specific electrical charge he always felt post Shazam-ing. A large cylindrical structure beside him glowed bright gold, working even though the room around it was wrecked. It was the only source of light and warmth in the room, like an oversized battery or lantern.

Like an energy core.

Like something found on an alien ship.

“Oh shit.”

This was quite possibly, the worst birthday ever.

-

This was going to be the best birthday ever!

Billy had been preparing for this day for weeks, buzzing with excitement every time he thought about it. He had been in correspondence with Freddy the entire time - letters written back and forth, Fawcett City to Philadelphia, where his best friend now lived with his new foster family. A part of Billy was always selfishly happy when Freddy's fosters and adoptions fell through, because that meant they had more time together, that they wouldn't be split apart. But this family, the Vasquez's, Freddy actually liked. They understood him, the system, being foster kids. He was happy there. And while Billy absolutely hated the distance put between them, was devastated when Freddy told him the news last year, he was happy for his best friend, too.

Plus, they had managed fine with snail mail and the occasional phone call. Billy's neighbor, Candy, was kind enough to let him use her address for mail, and Marco at the diner let him use the phone.

It could be straining and lonely, especially when Billy desperately wanted to see his friend, to chat with him in the middle of the night, or share a funny joke or something stupid that happened that day. He missed the casual reassurance that someone was always there. He missed his best friend.

But Billy also knew the dangers of having a best friend. With a majority of his time spent as Captain Marvel, he couldn't expect Freddy to wait for Billy to be around, and he certainly couldn't show up as the Champion. Billy would never forgive himself if something happened to his friend because of him.

Which was why it's so bittersweet that they were now long distance.

But, it's also a good thing he had super speed.

The plan was to Shazam up, do some light patrolling in Fawcett, and then fly over towards the suburbs of Philly, hide at some bus stop where he could transform and make his way out. It wouldn't be a long visit, just the day at the Philadelphia Zoo, so he couldn't be found out by the others at the foster home or they'd wonder how he'd travel so far in such short notice. He only made the trip once before and it went off without a hitch, but he had stayed several days and was dropped back off at the bus station. Freddy's foster parents, Victor and Rosa Vasquez, were quite persistent in their constant worrying over him - how he was doing in Fawcett, him traveling so far by himself, how his imaginary foster home and school life were going. Freddy and him had to come up with a convincing enough cover story for Billy so child services wouldn't be called and either throw Billy back to his Uncle or into the system.

And so far it was working, probably. Or they weren't calling him out on it. Billy knew he couldn't keep it up forever, but well, he never really planned ahead with his civilian life.

Except for this.

Billy had woken up early, not able to sleep a wink as he packed and repacked his bag. The morning sun was barely peeking up in the sky as he went over his route and schedule again. He'd ensure the morning commute traffic went smoothly, then head toward Philly and hopefully arrive at the station by eight. From there he'd walk-

Noisy!

Billy paused his thoughts at the interruption and curiously looked down at Tawny. Nothing about its soft, plush face changed, but he definitely heard the displeasure in its voice.

“Uhh. Sorry?”

Noisy! Noisy ringing!

A moment later Billy felt the familiar buzz of an alert coming through to his Justice League communicator.

“Oh, come on! It's my day off!”

It wasn't really, but Captain Marvel didn't have monitor duty and last he checked no imminent threats were hurtling towards Earth. Then again, those situations were always a surprise. It sure would be something if they got a heads up on world domination and evil schemes - he could plan ahead, take a nap, maybe even figure out dinner. But that wasn't how superhero life worked, so Billy slipped on his sneakers, forewent changing out of his pajamas, and the moment he reached the back alley, Captain Marvel was summoned with communicator in hand.

“Marvel,” that was Batman, which was a bit odd since he usually monitored and patrolled at night. Something must be up. “You've got a mission. Report to the Watchtower as soon as possible.”

A long suffering groan was barely cut off short, but he couldn't help the question, “How soon? I mean, how...urgent is it?”

Gods, Billy, that was so dumb.

The moment of silence before Batman answered was strong enough for Marvel to imagine the man's scowl from under the cowl. “Code yellow. Or do you have more urgent issues to take care of?”

Billy thought about his birthday plans and quietly sighed in defeat. “No, sir. No, I'll be right up.”

There was a noise of confirmation. “You will be meeting with Cyborg. Batman out.”

At the disconnection, Marvel grumbled about Mister Serious with a Serious Urgent Mission and No, Marvel, birthdays are not Urgent and Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bat cave.

Marvel forlornly thought about the zoo and Freddy, before reminding himself that he had a responsibility to uphold. There will be other days he could celebrate, other birthdays. He'd have to talk to Freddy later, explain why he didn't call to cancel, but right now he had a job to do.

That job, as Marvel learned once he got to the Watchtower and was briefed by Cyborg, with Batman nowhere in sight, involved scavenging an alien ship set adrift in space. It had no clear course and no communications were online, seemingly floating about in the black that just so happened to be vaguely near Earth. And there was also the fact that from what Cyborg could gather it was most likely remnants from the Parademon horde they destroyed nearly a year ago, that it was a larger scale spacecraft that may hold vital information on finding who was really in control of them, maybe even where they came from.

Marvel could see why Batman said it was urgent. But something just did not add up…

“Uhh, this sounds important and all, and totally up your alley, but… why me?” Marvel glanced up from the schematics on the computer to bare witness of Cyborg's withering stare.

“I know I'm good at their technology, but that doesn't mean I don't need back up,” and woah, there someone was definitely defensive.

Careful with his words, and trying to be as noncontroversial as possible, “I am not questioning that or your capabilities. It's just that I'm not the one savvy with technology of any species! Like, my magic is the opposite of helpful. Wouldn't J'onn or Batman, or heck, even a Green Lantern, be more useful?”

Marvel had quickly learned early on that electrical devices, Human made or otherwise, did not interact well with his brand of lightning based magic. It was why he was the leading cause of broken computers in the Watchtower and why his monitor duty shifts always coincided with J'onn or Cyborg being on board. From what Constantine had told him, a lot of magic did not mingle well with technology.

While his cybernetic eye remained glowing red, his human, brown one couldn't hold back the well of emotions Cyborg tried so hard to contain. With a quick shift of his stance, he glanced away from Marvel to the computer display. As he spoke, voice lower, it was just as filled with frustration, “They're not available for this mission, and Batman personally assigned you.”

Him? Batman specifically wanted him to go? “Does he want me to zap it all to fritz?”

Cyborg did not seem as bewildered as Marvel, “Yeah, actually, I may need you to zap the Parademon tech if it comes to that.”

Marvel paused, openly staring at his teammate as he distractedly looked anywhere else except the demigod beside him.

Something was wrong with that sentence, Marvel could feel it, like static clinging to his skin or the smell of a lightning storm approaching from the horizon. There was an underlying intention in Cyborg's statement, something like resignation, like a warning, and Marvel did not like it.

“When do we leave?” Maybe if he talks some more, he'll learn more.

The truth of it was Marvel did not really know Cyborg that well. There were quite a few of the newer Leaguers he didn't know yet, as the superhero group had been expanding the last few months, but the newest addition also did not seem to be very social. What Marvel did know was from the meeting where he and the others voted on initiating Victor Stone in from the Teen Titans. Everyone voted for the transfer, with some additional training in place.

The debriefing notes stated that the young man had shown great advancement in his technical and strategic skills, that he was a phenomenal team player, and despite his age was more than ready to be a full time hero. He also knew Cyborg was a heavy hitter even before he gained better control from his time with the Titans, as was shown in his debut battle against the Parademons that attempted to invade Earth nearly a year ago. Marvel was unsure if his cybernetics were accidental or intentional, as that time was very high strung and tense for everyone, but he could tell early on Victor did not like his life saving prosthetics, that it was not his choice to have them.

The small amount of information Billy knew, was that Victor Stone was a Detroit college football all star, highly praised and clearly destined to make it to the big leagues.

He made it into the big leagues, alright - but definitely not football, and most likely not what he had planned for his career or future.

Billy knew a thing or two about surprises like that. But he could not fathom hating his given powers, detesting his new form. All things considered, he was relieved that Victor chose to remain with them, to be a superhero. Although he couldn't say he knew how Victor felt.

Could Marvel call him that? Or did he only go by Cyborg? Would calling him Victor be overstepping it? They weren't really considered friends or anything.

“Sooo,” Marvel started as they were twenty minutes in on their travel towards the stray ship via Justice League's own spacecraft. “Liking your time with the League so far?”

Not the greatest icebreaker, sure, but he needs to start somewhere!

Cyborg didn't even look away from his console screen, “My adjustment has been going well.”

Okay. That wasn't really an answer.

“Excited for a mission in space?”

“This is not my first mission and the Watchtower is in space.”

Cyborg’s curt replies made it clear he did not seem privy to continue the conversation, but if there was one thing to describe Marvel, it'd be persistently friendly.

Or obnoxious. That, too.

Still keeping up a cheerfully needling tone, “That's not a no!”

“What's there to be excited about?” And suddenly the badly concealed anxiety that had been present since the debriefing was quickly overcome by kindling frustration, but Marvel couldn't quite pin down the exact source of either. Oh sure, not everyone enjoyed small talk, but there was something more at play here, something bigger. “We're investigating a drifting ship that may have enemy combatants on board or a self destruct system activated or dangerous malfunction happening. We need to be ready for anything.”

“Including a really cool space fight?” Marvel grinned despite the ominous words of his teammate. “Sounds fun.”

He must have gotten through to something, because Cyborg finally turned to him, exasperation in every line, “Are you always this childish on missions?”

Finally! A reaction!

“Hey now, I'm just optimistic and livening up the mood wont hurt any.”

Just as quickly, the young man returned to his console, pushing some buttons a bit more forcefully. “Well stop it, I don't need your optimism, I need to ensure a successful mission where we both make it out alive.”

Is that what he's worried about? Messing up and failing?

“We'll be fine-”

“Being fine isn't enough!” A loud thud accompanied his exclamation, his metal fist still as it rested on the chair's arm. Cyborg wasn't looking at the computer screen anymore, or even Marvel. His stare was fixed on his clenched fist, and in that moment, Marvel understood.

The anxiety, the no nonsense, and the strict focus on only the mission - Cyborg was nervous. Not necessarily about the mission itself, though that was certainly a part of it, but about himself, his own past failings and future towering obstacles. He still had doubts about his place in the League.

Or did others have doubts in him?

“It'll be okay,” Marvel said, balancing comfort and confidence in his tone. “You're a very skilled member of the team, and I don't doubt your success with this or anything else that comes your way. Have some faith, dude.”

His words must have plucked something within, since Cyborg steadily unclenched his hand and stared back at the screen before him. His lone eyebrow furrowed in concentration, and Marvel wondered what other thoughts were plaguing his colleague. After a few more moments of silence, Cyborg finally looked at him, a hint of a smirk tugging at the edges of his mouth. “Did you really just say dude?”

And hey, would you look at that - some sincere connection!

Unwilling to let this go, Marvel gave a toothy grin, playful and devious, yet still so similarly charismatic as any other smile on the demigod's face. “What? Would you rather me say, sport or kid?”

A snort escaped from Cyborg as he rolled his eye. “Please don't go all Great Gatsby on me. And you're not that older- well, you don't look any older than I do. Or act like it.”

“Hey! I may be older than anyone else on the League, but I still like cool things.”

Cyborg breathed, “Sure, old man,” as if Marvel couldn't hear him.

For the rest of the ride they debated which game systems were best. Billy could only recall the ones at the Vasquez's and the demos in stores, but the innocent topic definitely got Victor interested. When the subject shifted to books, and Marvel admitted he did not understand the earlier reference, Victor really took off. It seemed he enjoyed a variety of interests, and Marvel was determined learn them all.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Marvel wondered if his disarming charisma was magic, if it was a bit manipulative, or if sincere kindness was just so rare for some people that they couldn't help but be drawn in. Maybe it was really Billy they felt safe around, maybe it was a combination.

When they finally reached the ship, a quick scan of life forms or any Parademon activity proved it to be abandoned. Marvel saw the instant relief lift from Cyborg's shoulders. Docking was difficult, as the ships were incompatible and no main power to the other ship meant no working doors. They had to improvise. Their ship would be mere feet across from the other, and with careful precision and strength, they would need to force the doors open and closed.

Simple, in theory.

"You need an oxygen mask?" Cyborg asked as he held an earpiece communicator out for Marvel. Though they didn't plan on getting separated, better safe than sorry.

"Nope, got Atlas' stamina," Marvel replied. It had actually been an interesting experiment when he first got his powers - seeing how far up he could fly before having to go back down to Earth. What he had found was that not only could he go past Earth's atmosphere and continue on into space, but also the lack of oxygen did not deter him at all. So aside from eating and sleeping, breathing was another optional function for the demigod vessel.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Cyborg said as he shut the containment door closed and prepared them for the vacuum of space. "But as long as you can fly over there without dying, alright."

The door opened.

Marvel was sucked right out with a scream.

"Captain!" Cyborg restrained himself from jumping out and grabbing onto his colleague, though as he held himself steady at the open door, he saw the caped hero rolling in one spot, laughing his guts out. "That is not funny, man!"

"Oh, c'mon!" Marvel said into his earpiece as he floated across to the other door. "It was a little funny."

Instead of replying, Cyborg pushed himself out toward the other ship and pressed his hand against the metal, concentrating his efforts there. Marvel wasn't exactly sure how the whole biomechanical thing worked, but in a matter of seconds the door opened for them.

Once inside the alien ship's own containment room and with the door closed did Cyborg comment off handedly, "You scream like a little kid."

"I do not!" Marvel retorted in over exaggerated affront.

"You so do, man. And next time, I'm leaving your ass be." Right as he said those words, a tension came upon Victor's shoulders, a still quiet that Billy easily recognized as the realization of Oh shit, I should not have said that.

Well, that won't do.

Marvel grinned, an at ease chuckle let loose as he bumped shoulders. "Fair enough, I'll keep my pranks to a minimum, then."

And just like that, Cyborg relaxed. He didn't pick up the casual banter again, though Marvel figured it would be one step at a time for any budding friendship.

(Oh, boy. Was that what he wanted? Sure, Marvel got along with other Leaguers, wanted Victor to feel welcomed, and sure, he was opening his heart a little to a select few, but pursuing a real friendship? With someone as cool as Victor? Can he do that?)

Cyborg raised his arm up to see a hologram map of the ship appear and got right back to the mission. “We're going to head towards the central control station, and I'm going to retrieve as much information as I can. Despite back up power operating, limited functions are in use."

"Okay, so, what is working?"

"Well, surprisingly, oxygen. It's pretty low, though. As well as the artificial gravity. None of the doors are in operation, but it seems like the majority of power is keeping the control station running. Besides that, scans show no life, but still, we best be careful.”

Marvel cracked his knuckles as he stepped forward and started to pry the inner doors open, “I got you, don't worry. I'm ready for any-”

The inside of the Parademon ship looked like a screenshot of a horror game.

The first corridor greeted them with a few back up lights that flickered on and off from above, metal paneling from the walls seemed to have been shredded off, exposing the ship’s veins of wires. Absolute silence welcomed them aboard.

“-thing. Wow, okay." Marvel cautiously stepped through, eyeing the corridor as if waiting for an ambush. "You getting any, like, Dead Space vibes? Because this looks very Dead Spacey to me.”

After a moment's hesitation, because he totally understood that reference, Cyborg stepped forward around him. “There is far less blood and no monsters coming out to eat us yet, so I think we're good.” Despite his words, Marvel could hear the uptick of wariness, noticed how he spoke just above a hush. “Don't tell me you're afraid of abandoned ships now, Captain.”

With Achilles’ courage swelling within him and tampering down the red flags of panic Billy was signaling, Marvel followed out. “Me? Scared? No way. Either there are monsters and I'll kick their butts, or they're monster ghosts and I'll still kick their butts.”

“I really hope monster ghosts aren't an actual thing,” Cyborg commented as they stepped through the hall. His red eye glowed bright as he surveyed the area, and with no signs of danger he took the lead. "I don't think I'd be able to see them."

“Uh, well,” Marvel glanced behind them for the billionth time, despite knowing they were safe and alone, he couldn't shake the paranoia that creeped along the edges where Billy ended and Marvel began. Maybe it was both of them. It was hard to differentiate sometimes. Still, he kept his voice low. “I can't guarantee you there aren't.”

Victor must also be wary of the unknown, because despite having the entire map and readings in his own system, he still scanned every foot they passed. “That's not reassuring at all, man.”

They continued down the hall until they came upon their first turn, which Cyborg swiftly directed them. Marvel glanced back the opposite direction and saw nothing but darkness behind them. He muttered reassurances to himself ("alright, cool cool, we got this" under his breath as Tawny's voice whispered to him Will Protect, which actually helped a lot) and his colleague ignored him. With none of the doors able to open on their own, some that they passed were stuck part way, revealing side rooms that were just as wrecked as the hallways. The walk was silent as the ship was still around them.

"Any clue why it's all like this?" Marvel asked. Another section of metal paneling was torn off. "I mean, I know we kicked their butts and all, but I don't remember doing damage this far up."

"I have some theories," Cyborg answered, a touch hesitant, as if unsure of his words or Marvel's reaction to them. "We mostly destroyed the horde of Parademons that invaded Earth, but it was the damage to Steppenwolf that really hit hard. Once he was down they viewed him as too weak to lead and turned on him..."

And oh yeah, that happened.

Marvel recalled the swarm of Parademons that descended onto the fallen warlord, tearing him apart with their claws and teeth. Having been terribly hurt by the Justice League already, Steppenwolf could do nothing but scream. It was the first time Marvel had seen anything like that. The villain wasn't human, not even close, but he was humanoid enough. Before the hungry pile became too overwhelming, Marvel heard the snapping of bone and armor under the gross sounds of mouths feasting on meat. Nothing was left after a portal had opened up and sucked them all through. Their screeching and growling faded into the vacuum of space.

Billy had avoided diners and other public food places for over a week because of that. The sound of people chewing and drinking had made him sick to his stomach. And he still flinches at when he hears too many people eating in cafeterias.

"Yeah, I remember that," Marvel said with no outward signs of Billy's turmoil.

"Those that initially stayed behind either returned to where they came from or if they couldn't..." There was a pause as Cyborg glanced at another hole in the wall. "They turned on one another."

With that disturbing thought in mind, Marvel couldn't help but wonder, "Okay, so if that happened on this ship, then where are the… you know, bodies?"

When Cyborg answered him, a chill settled down his spine. "They're made from organic technology, just like this ship."

Oh.

Oh.

Marvel frowned at the notion that the ship ate its crew, more than a little creeped out. But with a moment's hesitation, he stood still and closed his eyes, reaching out to any soul stranded on this desolate ship, trying to find them within its walls. When he opened his eyes once more he saw light. Specifically, he saw Victor's light, his soul shining bright blue, even from the metal prosthetics. But it wasn't truly metal, was it? Organic technology. Yet as Marvel glanced around them he saw no spark of life from the ship itself. There was nothing.

"Something wrong?"

Marvel looked back at his colleague, "No, I'm just checking."

"Checking what?"

"For life. Since the ship is organic or whatever, but I don't see anything. No life, no soul. Nothing."

"Hold on, you can see souls?"

"...Yes?"

"That's a physical thing you can see?"

"Well, yeah, though life force is more accurate. But it's kinda more complicated than that."

"Because it's magic." And the way Cyborg said it, like it was a ridiculous statement overall, had Billy ruffled on the inside.

"It's more than that. I mean, yeah, there's magic involved, but that's just one part of the whole. There's life all around us, in space and on Earth, and in between the planes of existence humans don't even know about." Marvel could tell his words made Cyborg uncomfortable, but he wasn't sure what specific truth struck wrong.

Instead of addressing any of it, Cyborg said, "Is that why your eyes are all...glowing?"

Marvel let it slide and pondered, "My eyes glow?"

"Yeah, they're glowing right now, all gold and white."

"Oh, cool!" He did not know that happened, but Billy was so pleased. "I mean, like, I gotta put in effort to make it work, and there are different colors, but also everything around the lights sorta fades out. But wow, how awesome do I look?"

Cyborg stared at him for a moment, several emotions flying across his face again. "You uh...look kind of terrifying, to be honest."

"Oh," Marvel powered down and blinked away the spots of color until everything was normal again. "Sorry, dude. I just wanted to check and-"

"I know, I know, it's not a problem," Cyborg waved off his apologies, but that something from before, from their earlier conversation lingered on the edge again.

"But…?"

"You saw nothing, right? Absolutely nothing?" He asked that like he was disappointed, like he wanted Marvel to tell him something different. Which was weird because it had seemed like the discussion of life energy was a bad topic.

"There's nothing here, no. Whatever this ship is, it's not a living thing itself."

"That's not what I…" Cyborg sighed and turned away, leading them forward. "Nevermind. Let's keep going."

There it was again. Another moment passed where Marvel missed something, words unsaid but were right there for him to hear, to decipher. He could not quite tell if he was losing his touch on being able to figure people out, or if Victor was just particularly closed off. Undertones of nervous jolts prickled at his senses, and he knew, Billy intrinsically knew, Victor was holding something back, something he wanted to say but didn't, was too scared to.

Sometimes Billy forgot that others viewed Marvel as an adult, an official Justice League superhero who has been on the scene for two years. Someone they looked up to for guidance, for wisdom, for help. Well, okay, Billy didn't forget what Marvel meant for other people, only that he was Marvel. Even though The Champion had a plethora of experiences worth of advice to offer, Billy had his own history, and connecting with lost children was one of them.

And while Victor would absolutely oppose to being called a child, the puzzle still remained: What would Billy do?

"You know, it took me nearly a month to get used to the whole energy vision thing," Marvel said, no idea where he was going with it, but letting Billy's words ramble. "Like, when I first started I was blinded every time, until I figured out it was better to start small. I looked at cats and dogs and even at trees until I was able to tune them out. Then I only looked at a few people at a time until I tried looking at superbeings and magic, and holy moly, was that a ride. Like, when I look at Superman, he's like the blazing sun, but when I look at Batman, he's like a cool moon. There's also the weird ones, like Doctor Fate, even though he's a deep gold, there are sparks of white in him because of Zatara. And when I first looked at you," Marvel finally said, noting the tension that lined Cyborg's entire frame as he hung on every word. And now Billy knew what he wanted to say, what his colleague needed. "You were a light blue, like the sky, and even now, you shine just as bright. And I can't say I knew who you were before everything, and really I can't exactly say I know who you are now, but what I do know is that you have so much life inside of you, so much inner strength and potential…"

In the middle of the desolate hallway, Cyborg stood staring at his metal hands as the intricate detailings between each piece glowed a soft red. Marvel began to put the puzzle together. He placed a brief, gentle hand on his shoulder, "You're doing great, Victor."

The silence that followed was not as stifling or uncomfortable as Marvel would have assumed. He didn't dare say anything more or keep them moving. As Cyborg's expression steadily crumbled, emotion bled through and his mouth open and closed several times. Marvel waited him out.

"What if…What if I mess up? What if I lose-" he started to say, but cut himself off, looking terribly uncomfortable as he clenched his hand.

What if I lose myself?

There it was. The crux of the problem, what all of this was really about, why Cyborg had been anxious since the start, why Batman specifically recruited Marvel for this mission. Because they were afraid Victor would lose himself to the Parademon and Mother Box technology. Because Marvel's powers from the Greek Gods were a sure means of damage control against Cyborg if it came to that.

Did they have so little faith in their fellow Leaguer? Did Victor doubt himself so much?

Well, Billy understood that kind of doubt, now more than ever.

He never thought about the consequences of being Captain Marvel. The side effects of becoming someone else, of gaining memories of other people, weren't exactly explained to him. On some level, he knew. When he wanted to feel invincible and forget about the troubles of Billy Batson, he knew. But that wasn't the same as truly knowing. But now, having nearly completely lost himself once before, he understood. At least, a little bit.

That didn't mean he wanted his teammate to feel that way.

"I can't tell you whether you will or not. Trust me, I know the feeling," Marvel said, maneuvering his way to stand in front of Victor and get his full attention. "But what I can tell you, what I promise you, is that no matter what, I will be there for you, for whatever you need. And if you need the reminder of how bright your light shines, dude," Marvel didn't resist the playful poke to where Victor's heart would be, the gesture that spoke volumes. "I'll be there."

The smile that broke across Victor's face was the best thing Marvel had seen all day. "Jeez, man, I don't get you at all," he said, voice trying for a nonchalant redirection and falling flat. "One minute you're like a child who can't keep quiet, and the next you're an ancient demigod bestowing wisdom on me. I didn't actually believe Lantern and Flash when they told me about you."

"Well, they do like to talk. But, it's like I said, I understand your worries."

"See, that! That is exactly what I mean, everything you say makes no sense." Victor started them down the corridor again, and despite the distraction of conversation, Marvel could see the tension falling off Victor's shoulders. "What does that even mean, man? You're literally thousands of years old, what do you have to worry about? Is it cause you're like, part human part god?"

Well, he's not entirely wrong. "Sure? I guess that's one way to put it."

Victor shot him a dubious look. "But not exactly?" At Marvel's closed lip smile and shrug, "This is why people talk about you, you know."

Marvel grinned, mischievous and unrepentant, "Yeah, I know."

A thoughtful look crossed Victor's face as they made a turn and continued on, "Not to be rude or anything, but...does anyone know…?"

Seeing where he was getting at, Marvel shrugged again, but glanced away in an effort not to show anything from his own expression. Though, he's sure he looked guilty anyway. "Not really."

"Really? No one? I don't mean to pry but, I was pretty sure at least Batman knew."

And Gods, wouldn't that be a nightmare. "Yeah, most people have bets on that. Half of em have bets on Diana knowing, but that's probably gone up this past month." He loses track of what the betting pools and rumor mills are turning out, but he's pretty sure the extra time spent with his sister had garnered interest.

Do the others even know about that, though? Not unless they know Ancient Greek, seeing as that's how Diana and him have mostly communicated in casual downtime. No one has bothered approaching them about it, but Marvel has his suspicions that Batman asked her - about their new connection and about Marvel's identity - and the answer didn't please him. She hasn't pursued anything about Marvel's human identity after he confessed he was not ready to reveal that part of himself, and she even quelled his worries about the legitimacy of their bonding. Though, Billy did feel bad misleading her into believing that he hasn't been in human form in thousands of years and continuously stayed as the Champion.

Maybe that's why Batman has been more off putting towards him lately? He doesn't trust supers or magic, especially ones as variable as Marvel.

"So you know about all that, huh?" Victor asked, bringing Marvel back out of his thoughts. "I just found out this month, should've known even superheroes aren't immune."

"Oh yeah, Hal and Flash aren't that quiet about it, especially when they argue in the mess hall. And they keep trying to get answers from me."

"And you're okay with that? With other people gambling with knowledge on you?" And Victor's tone held such concern for him, Marvel sent a reassuring smile back.

"I mean...I don't know, it's not hurting anyone, and I guess I find it kind of amusing, to be honest."

"Because they're all wrong?"

At the answering grin and wink, Victor laughed.

When he thinks about it, however, Marvel was sure that he would definitely find it way less funny if any of the rumors were closer to the truth, if half of them weren't actually started by himself.

He keeps that thought tucked away to worry about at a later date, for now enjoying the companionable silence that settled between them. The creepy atmosphere of the ship seemed less haunting than before, even with every empty, damaged corridor and room that they passed. With Cyborg by his side and trusting him, he felt secure.

When they finally reached the last door, the control station on the other side, he blames that secure feeling for what he says next: "Today's actually my birthday."

Cyborg double takes back to him as the door opened up. "I'm sorry, what?"

Faking a nonchalant expression as Billy started freaking out on the inside, Marvel casually strode through. "I had some plans for today, but got called on the mission, so…" He looked back towards Cyborg and saw him still standing at the doorway, gaping, gears turning in his head. "Don't get me wrong, though, this has actually been a really cool mission."

"Okay okay, rewind. Did you just say it's your birthday?" Cyborg sounded so incredulous as he followed in, "As in the celebratory day which you were born? Today?"

Was it that weird that someone like Marvel had a birthday? He had to have been born at some point! "Yesss? Isn't that how that works?"

"I'm trying to imagine what a demigod does for his...what, two thousand and first?"

Oh, well, he supposes that is a touch on the older side, huh. Still, he was looked at as strange, anyway. Might as well go with it! "I was planning on a trip to…the safari."

"In South Africa? That safari?"

Is that where it was? Honestly, Billy couldn't remember the last time he looked at a world map for fun, and after this, it might be a good thing to study for future reference.

"Sure!" Marvel agreed with an abundance of enthusiasm. "Maybe even see some tigers."

"So, you're also going to...what, India…?"

Wow, the Wisdom of Solomon was not good for trivia like this.

Marvel grinned. "Wouldn't be a difficult trip."

Cyborg stared at him like he had grown another head, like he forgot that Marvel could easily fly across the world. "This...is a bit much for me man." He blinked the confusion off his face and moved toward the computer system. Whether he was aware of his casual confidence that he knew which station to go to, Marvel did not know. Maybe it was obvious to someone with tactical or computer skills, maybe it was the Mother Box knowledge. Either way, Marvel was reluctant to question him on it. "I have no idea what to say to that. So, instead, I'm going to extract this data and we'll talk about that later."

Something about Cyborg's complete disbelief, his teasing and friendly demeanor, had Billy momentarily forgetting, or at least pretending. Today wasn't really his birthday, it was Marvel's. It was just another day for the ancient Champion, a day he spent in space and making a new friend. It was a good day for him. It didn't matter if he was Billy or not today. He was doing his duty, being a good hero.

How many kids could say they got to be a real superhero for their birthday?

"Got some bad news here, Cap."

Those words broke his thought process and immediately had Marvel on edge as he looked over Cyborg's shoulder. "What's going on?"

"I can't get in. Every command I give is denied, The whole system is locked down, can't access it from the outside."

"From the outside?"

"I could get through manually by plugging into the system directly."

"That doesn't sound very safe." It sounded very unsafe and extremely suspicious.

"Definitely not. Once I'm connected I'll be immersed, and that means I won't be aware of anything else, of what's going on out here…" He paused, but Marvel knew the other shoe had to drop the moment they stepped on the ship. "There's a high chance I'll trigger the defense protocols. When they activate…" Cyborg looked up at him, as if asking permission, asking if Marvel will be alright.

"I'll cover you." It wasn't the confirmation he wanted, but just the same, they were both taking risks. "Are you sure about this?" Will you be safe?

"It's what I have to do," Cyborg said with utter determination as he calibrated something in his forearm. He crouched down on the floor, a position that protected his front and head from anything that may ambush them, a connection wire from his wrist exposed and ready. He glanced back up, and Marvel saw the trepidation in his gaze, the buried fear. But still, Victor said, "Trust me."

And by the Gods, Marvel did.

He positioned himself in front of his teammate, fists ready. "Have fun," were the words that slipped out, falling terribly short from humor.

"I should be telling you that." And Cyborg understood.

He plugged in.

For an agonizing moment nothing happened, just like the first silent corridor they stepped through. Then, the lights went out, submerging them in darkness.

Shit.

Marvel widened his stance, steadied his breathing and listened.

The first noise he heard would have been missed if he wasn't concentrating, a slight bump muffled somewhere in the dark. Moments later was another, drawn out and scraping, as if moving through the walls. Then more were heard from several directions, those muffled movements nearing. It wasn't until he heard the growling that Marvel thought to himself, Of course we didn't find the bodies. When he was sure they were close enough, sparks of electricity danced around him, the Champion's power ready for the fight.

A clang of falling metal, then a screech soared toward him from behind. Instinct sharpened by memories of battle had Marvel swirling around and throwing a lightning enhanced punch. As it arched forward and hit its target, the light was enough to reveal more Parademons - or at least, the mangled remains of them - growling down at him from the ceiling. Before they could drop, Marvel took flight. His fist met his next target with ease, the armor plating bending and cracking, squelching heard underneath. Hissing became wet before stuttering out completely, all in a matter of seconds.

Marvel turned and hit the next one. And the next one. And the next.

They began to come out in numbers, clawing their way from the ceiling or walls, but Marvel only truly got a good look when the emergency lights came on. The flood of flashing lights had the Parademons movements look like something straight out of a stop motion movie, their bodies something of horror. Marvel remembered them covered in armor, their goggles on and teeth bared, their wings in constant motion. But right then, they looked more grotesque than ever. Missing limbs and wings were what he noticed with every creature he took down. Each hit left them broken or burnt.

When he glanced down at the few finally breaking through the door, he didn't realize he planted himself between them and Cyborg until he was punching them away. His duty was to protect his teammate. Marvel couldn't forget that. Especially not when more of them seemed to set their sights on Cyborg as he continued to seek out that vital information they didn't want him to find. Marvel was not sure if he was succeeding in his search, but nothing was changing, so that was probably good.

As he was battling off the swarm coming through the door, some of them grossly spliced together with two heads and multiple arms, Marvel didn't notice the one falling on top of him until a sharp bite sank into his shoulder. Without hesitation, Marvel released a lethal jolt and ripped it off of him. The limp figure was thrown, knocking down others. No chance at recovery, another screech hurdled toward him from behind as he was occupied with the ones coming from the door.

Well, what's another set of wounds to the Champion, anyway?

The impending attack never came, however, as the screech was cut short after a ferocious roar echoed out in its place. Chancing a quick glance while he had a moment, Marvel witnessed the large and imposing form of an animal tear the Parademon apart. When it raised its head, mouth covered in alien viscera, it looked back at him with glowing, golden eyes.

Instantly, Marvel knew.

"Tawny," he said aloud, because of course! It was his familiar, it fed off his energy, and as Marvel he had a lot of energy to give. He quickly took in the Feyr's new form - a tiger, with dark stripes nearly hidden on it's already shadowed self. But it was also gigantic, even compared to Captain Marvel's own towering stature. "Wow. Thanks, buddy."

Will protect. It said to him telepathically. Will attack.

Marvel quickly pivoted and punched another group of Parademons down with a bolt. He called over his shoulder, giddy and relieved to have his familiar fighting by his side, "We gotta protect Cyborg here."

Protect.

Marvel watched as the ones he had punched down got back up. He readied himself for the next batch, Tawny crouched beside him for attack. "There we go, buddy."

Time slipped by him as he fought monster after monster, the steady stream of them never ending. It was a some point he had noticed the body count around them never rising, no pile seemingly getting larger. The new Parademons had also been larger than the first set, more of them spliced together, some of the hybrids even burnt or wounded.

They're not living, Marvel remembered, they were mere puppets to the ship's defense protocols. They're just weapons. Very zombie like, monstrous weapons.

C'mon Victor, give me a sign here.

As if aware of Marvel's worry over his comatose state, a static filled message garbled through the Champion's earpiece.

"Ca...Cap...can yo...me!"

Ensuring Cyborg's body was still prone and not in any outward danger, he responded, "I'm here. Is everything okay? Cyborg!"

"I can't...overri...need...boo…"

"I can't hear you, dude," Marvel fended off another attack before dropping himself down beside Cyborg, wondering if he could do anything to help. Tawny soared above them to land protectively in front.

The moment his hands touched the computer system, a small jolt sparked off his fingertips and traveled across the station. Suddenly, Cyborg's message came in much clearer.

"Come in, Captain! I need you to reboot the ship!"

What did that even mean? "I need to what?"

"The system is trying to override me. I'm holding it off, but I can't get through to the database."

"Then disconnect! The information isn't impor-"

"If I disconnect, the system will follow. I cannot allow that to happen. Captain, you need to overpower and reboot it."

A wail from a defeated Parademon reached his ears.

"H-how? I can't even touch the thing without breaking it."

"You need to go to the ship's energy core and disrupt it with as much power as you can. It's weak against you. Zap it!"

"But what about you? I can't leave you alone! You're still connected to the system! You're just as susceptible to my magic. What if-"

"We don't have time for what ifs. You need to go!"

"No!" Did Victor realize what he was demanding? What he was asking of Marvel? Of course he did, but... "I'm not leaving you."

"I'll be okay," he said, determined and stubborn.

"It's gonna hurt you! There has to be another way!"

"There is no other way. Trust me, Marvel, I'll be okay."

Liar, Marvel thought as he stared at Cyborg's still body. But what else could he do? All this alien technology stuff was way beyond him. The only one capable of understanding any of it told him to literally zap the system's main core, the same system he was currently within.

There really was only one thing he could do - trust in his teammate.

"Tell me where to go," he conceded.

After Cyborg gave him directions on how to reach the core reactor, his final words were, "Thank you, Captain." Yet Marvel couldn't help but feel dread instead of gratitude.

There was little time to process what he was about to do, what the weight of the consequences were, though they were not far from mind. "Tawny!" Marvel called as he stood again. He saw his tiger familiar perk up from where it had been eviscerating a rather large Parademon hybrid. From what he could tell, the few remaining parts that were still animate had spliced themselves together to create an even more grotesque form, so mindless and sloppy he had no doubt that Tawny could finish them off. "Protect Cyborg!" He commanded before he took flight with Mercury's speed.

Still, he hoped he would be fast enough, strong enough, to succeed.

Closed doors did not slow him down, the metal easily bending beneath his hands. His worries did not deter him, Achilles' courage blocking out the what ifs. Billy's faith reminded him to trust in Victor.

Upon reaching the reactor room, Marvel immediately took in the energy core - erected in the center of the room and attached from floor to ceiling was a large cylinder that glowed an eye piercing red, because of course it did. The ominous light bathed the entire room. A quick scan for a control system proved fruitless, which meant Marvel not only had to directly overpower the core, but also that he had to be careful not to mess this up.

"Alright, you can do this," he muttered to himself as he approached.

The energy seemed to be contained within its confines of the top and bottom metal bases, as no glass was around to hold it in. However, when Marvel took a step too close a protective shield was activated and blasted him back several feet. More surprised than hurt, he observed what he was up against. The field shimmered an angry orange where he walked into, like a warning sign, before becoming completely transparent again. But no other defense protocols attacked him.

"You have to do this," he told himself, not able to hold off any longer.

Planting his feet and widening his stance, Marvel concentrated Zeus' power into his hands. He had to get through the shield to get to the core. Should be easy, right? Satisfied with the amount of lightning on hand, it shot out - hot white and gold hit the shield immediately, but went no farther. Undeterred, Marvel increased the power and soon the room was flooded with a blinding light that outshined the red. Still, he wasn’t getting through.

“What the heck,” Marvel said after he powered down. He watched as the shield absorbed his lightning, the orange turned briefly to a bright gold before reverting back and shimmering down again.

"Whatever you did, do it again!" Came Cyborg's voice from the earpiece, clearer than it had been before, and thankfully not hurt.

He has a human life force, after all. Seemed to be Solomon's answer, as if Marvel's magic instinctively protected Victor. Okay, okay, good. More power? I can do that.

Building lightning in his hands, Marvel blasted at the core again. On initial contact the shield glowed orange, but with a determined flare Marvel pushed forward until he noticed the color begin to change again. More power, he thought, calling upon Zeus from his very center. Soon the entire force field was a familiar gold, yet still the core ran red. C'mon Batson. The artificial atmosphere of the room became noticeably heavier, sparks of excess danced across the floor. He pushed harder.

Careful!

Little busy here, Tawny.

Enemies to you!

What?

I come!

No! Stay there and protect Cyborg.

Keeping the lightning steady, Marvel listened carefully for the garbled screeches of Parademons coming from corridors.

Oh shit.

Marvel dug deep, calling upon Zeus and Atlas for more power, more stamina. He didn't know how long Victor had. Time was running out.

A tear began to split in the field.

A large, deformed monster burst through the door.

Ready for the attack, Marvel immediately redirected one of his hands towards the Parademon. What looked like paneling from the ship covered it like rushed armor, though Marvel still noted deep gashes on its body, most likely from Tawny. Several heads and multiple sharp toothed mouths protruded from the top, as did flailing clawed hands.

Truly a horrible space rendition of Frankenstein's creature.

Lightning struck its chest, stopping it in its tracks, yet that only seemed to make it more enraged. On his other side, Marvel watched in frustration as the breakthrough he made in the shield became undone with less firepower directed at it. He began to understand where all the ship's power supply went to.

Marvel tried to dig deep, tried to reach into the well of energy he knew the Champion had. C'mon, I can do better than this. Please!
He begged to the Gods, yet the stagnant level of power was worse than any refusal.

Something he never thought possible - his limit was reached.

The Parademon took a step forward despite smoke sizzling out of its body, despite being cooked within the confines of its makeshift armor. The field was knitting itself back together. Cyborg's voice could barely be heard over the static of his communicator. He was running out of time.

He needed more power.

What if he...

Marvel wasn't on Earth anymore. The lands that the Gods claimed, had dominion over, were intrinsically connected to - he was far away from them. They could not fully reach him in the dark of space, every bit of distance thinning their thread. The Gods' powers could only go so far.

But Marvel...

Marvel was still a well of magic, still had reserves running deep and full. He was the Champion of the Gods, of magic, of humanity.

And right now his friend needed him.

With a quick glance at the Parademon that was burning up with every step it took, and the core reactor that still stood red, and his surroundings that may not be able to handle the oncoming damage, Marvel determined that the risk was worth the shot. He may not survive the outcome, and he was not looking forward to the possibility of dying via outer space exposure, but at least Victor had a fighting chance. Marvel clenched his fists to hold the conduction steady, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath...

"Shazam!"

The magical lightning did not so much strike Marvel from the outside, as it tore out of him from the inside.

Billy felt something sharp beat furiously behind his ribs, begging to be let out before a hot flare burned through his chest. A tingling sensation overwhelmed him, his body felt like a static television all the way down to his bones. For moments, or minutes or hours, he couldn't move, couldn't twitch a muscle with everything locked up in place. It left him lightheaded and breathless all at once, left him suspended in a bubble of magic.

For the first time since he accepted the mantle of the Champion, Billy knew what it felt like to transform.

It was...terrifying.

And it hurt so much, he wanted nothing more than for it to stop.

And then...it did.

-

“Oh shit,” Billy breathed as he tried to sit up. His limbs were incredibly heavy and prickled like they had fallen asleep along with him.

But he didn't fall asleep, did he?

He had blacked out from the pain, from the excruciating feeling of shock that coursed through his entire body, like nothing he had ever felt before. Or ever wished to feel again. Heart racing in his chest, Billy remembered the ache still there and quickly pulled up his sweater. He nearly wished he didn't.

On the left side of his chest, directly over his heart, a an ugly knot was burned into his skin. It had branches running out and across Billy's chest, some of them reaching up over his left shoulder and arm. Those angry lines were zigzag and messy, smaller branches coming off of larger ones to reach further on his skin.

Like lightning, he thought as he gingerly lowered his sweater, more aware of how hot and uncomfortable his skin felt as the seconds passed.

The struggle to stand up took longer than he wanted, but even afterward his legs wobbled as if they would give out at any second. It didn't help that the oxygen in the room was severely thin and he still felt lightheaded. But now that Billy knew the situation he was in, he couldn't just sit around and wait to be at hundred percent. He had to get moving, had to figure out what he was going to do. Summoning Marvel seemed like the obvious answer, but the mere thought of experiencing the transformation again, of Shazam's lightning ripping out of him - he couldn't do it.

So what was he going to do? Where could he even go? He was stuck there with no-

"Captain!"

Billy froze. Like a deer in headlights, he stood there in panic as Cyborg burst through the open doorway. He skidded to a stop, smudging the black char burnt into the floor. There was silence as they stared at each other.

"Oh shit."

"What the hell?" Immediately, one of Cyborg's arm shifted into a cannon, it's open barrel pointed right at Billy.

Billy threw his hands up in surrender. "Holy moly! Okay! Woah there, slow down!"

"Who are you? Where's Captain Marvel?"

Think, Billy, think! "Uhhh-!"

Cyborg’s arm started to glow blue. "Talk."

Right at that moment a ferocious growl echoed from the shadows. A dark spot from under Cyborg's feet slid across the floor to Billy, and from it formed Tawny. The tiger familiar bared its fangs as it moved to stand in front of him, ready to protect, ready to attack.

That was the last thing Billy wanted right now.

"What the hell!" Cyborg shouted, though very luckily did not fire.

"I'm Marvel!" He shouted, trying to telepathetically tell Tawny to stand down. "It's me! Cyborg, I- Look, I know this is really weird, but please-"

"Weird? There is a monster-!"

"Victor! Please, trust me. I'm Marvel." At Cyborg's paused shock, he moved around to be in front of Tawny and continued. "This is my magical familiar. Tawny protected you while I was here." Billy glanced around, trying to find anything to help. He focused on the energy core. "Look! The core. It was red, just like Parademon tech. But now it's gold, like Mar- my magic. I had to put a lot of power into it. And it sorta...did this."

"You mean... turned you into a kid?" He was still suspicious, but at least his arm was powering down.

"Yes! This is...kinda my power save mode."

A quick scan from Cyborg's eye and, "You're a kid."

"Yes, but, look. Watch." While Billy did not have much danger to work against in terms of utilizing his newfound magical abilities, he did practice the small bits that he could. Cupping his hands in front of him, he took a deep breath and slowly released it, concentrating on filling his hands with a sparkling, golden substance that flowed like water. When he moved one hand away, the small pool of magic held together like a sphere, before he let it slip from his grasp and onto the floor. Once it hit, it dispersed in a flash, leaving a burn mark where it made contact. "See?" Billy asked, breathless and more lightheaded than before. "Magic."

The next thing Billy knew he was blinking away dark spots from his vision and he was surrounded by something veil thin and soft. Careful. And boy, did that sound like a gentle reprimand.

"There's no time for careful," Billy whispered, unwilling to move just yet.

Victor's worried visage appeared over him, cannon gone, but eye still scanning. "Okay okay, that was magic, yeah. I don't know how my scanners can see that now, but...sure."

"Don't be scared. The reboot. It...surged magic into you. Your human part." At least, that sounded right. He'd have to confirm with Solomon later, but Marvel's magic did protect Victor within the system.

The wariness on Victor's face doubled, but he seemed to swallow the flood of questions in order to say, "You pushed yourself too hard. How do you feel?"

Like shit.

"Sick." This was not how Billy pictured this going, and while he was incredibly frustrated at his human body's limitations, he was also grateful his teammate was around. And could now see magic. That was good, probably.

"Your oxygen levels are low, and actually, the entire room's oxygen is depleting." He scanned the rest of the area, "The gravity is also letting up. It can't be sustained on your magic for much longer. This place is shutting down for good." Billy wasn't quite sure what he was getting at, but it sure sounded bad. "Hey there, uh. Little Marvel, stay with me here."

Something cool and solid patted his cheek as his eyelids began to feel heavy. He made a noise of discontent and blinked his eyes more open. Right. They had to leave. He couldn't fall asleep yet. With Tawny's help, he stood on his own feet, though Cyborg hovered close like he would collapse again.

"I'm good," Billy huffed out. Though his vision wouldn't stop swimming and his head spinning. But hey, he was still alive.

"Sure you are, but we still gotta leave, and fast. This place is set to self destruct."

And then Billy was in his arms, cradled like a child. It was beyond humiliating. "Hey!"

"Sorry, Cap. But we gotta go," he said, completely unrepentant and not at all a comfortable person to be held against, especially when he started blasting through the corridors at speed. "Does, uh, your tiger, can he be, like...a space suit for you? Or can you survive out there like...this?"

Well that was quite the conundrum. Honestly, Billy didn't know Tawny's limitations or how space affects a familiar.

Protect. Will protect.

"I...think we're good. Magic and all," he confirmed, not entirely sure he was being truthful but trusting in Tawny to help him.

"I still have no idea what any of that magic nonsense means, but sure okay, got it."

The moments between that point and the next were a blur to Billy, his eyes closing and opening to stretches of time passing by. First he was in Cyborg's arms, then he was on his back with something very much protruding from Cyborg's shoulder covering his face and the familiar feeling of his familiar surrounding his body. Then, they were somewhere else, somewhere more welcoming than a Parademon ship, and with the bonus of a surface way more comfortable than Cyborg. It was only when his vision stopped spinning and the headache pounding in his skull diminished that Billy was coherent enough to realize it was an oxygen mask on his face and they returned to the League craft.

"How long was I out?" Billy asked as he pushed himself up on the bench to lean against the wall of the ship.

"Long enough to miss the Parademon ship exploding," Cyborg answered over his shoulder from the pilot seat.

Billy made a noise of complaint, "All that work and I didn't even get to see it."

"I'll wake you up for the next one," Cyborg chuckled, and despite the harrowing experience they went through, Billy was certain his teammate was less stressed than before.

"No offense, but I'd rather not do that again." He may need to ask the Wizard about that. If he even gives a straight answer, which Billy doubted.

"And how are you holding up?"

"Better. Can finally breathe again and I don't feel as sick."

“Being a kid in space must be hard.” And the way Cyborg said it, staring ahead and nonchalant, yet clearly leading up to something, had Billy slightly on edge.

“This...isn’t my powerful form, but I-”

“Oh, come off it, Marvel. I’m not blind.”

Billy couldn’t help the hackles raised, the defensive instinct kicking in when someone was getting too close to the truth. “I know that! But like I said, I used a lot of energy and-”

“No, you don’t know.” For the first time since they’ve met, Cyborg used an authoritative tone, firm and unrelenting, like Billy was just some uncooperative child and not the respected hero he had proven himself to be.

He hated it. “I know plenty.”

“Then why was your magical energy reading different from the energy core’s? Not just dimmed, but different. Why is every scan I run on you showing me that you're a completely human child?”

Billy didn’t have an answer to that besides the truth, so he kept his mouth shut and sulked.

“Look,” Cyborg sighed, and Billy was immensely grateful he was piloting and not sitting with him, making eye contact that Billy would desperately try to avoid. The distance helped. “I don’t understand all this magic crap, I know. But I’m not an idiot, and I know what I saw.” There was a moment of silence, presumably to give Billy a chance to explain, but he stubbornly refused to. "And I know you're a great hero, and everyone likes you, and you've been doing this whole schtick for longer than I have, longer than a lot of the others have, too." He voice softened, but lacked that distinct condescending edge most adults used. "I'm just asking you not to lie to me. I'm here for you, trust me."

Well, shoot. Why'd he have to be such a softie?

Billy sighed loudly, thought a long moment on what to say. "It's magic, yeah, but like, old magic. Ancient."

"Okay. So, were you born with it or…?"

"No, I was...chosen. A couple years ago." There was more to it, of course, but they were taking baby steps first.

"And your parents-?"

"Gone." There wasn't anything else he could say on that, and by the lengthy silence that followed, he guessed Victor didn't have a reply. Though it was obvious some serious thoughts were going. For a second, Billy braced against the onslaught of who's watching over you or are you alone.

Instead, thankfully, he asked, "Does anyone else know?"

"Nope. Well okay, no one in the League knows," Billy clarified without giving too much.

"Meaning someone does," and okay, Victor was already navigating his deflections.

Billy sighed, caught. "Constantine knows. That's the only person in this business who does." Because yeah, Freddy knew, but Billy would rather experience off-Earth transformation again than put his best friend in any kind of danger.

"Uh huh," Victor had totally let that one slide. "And you're not really two thousand years old, right?"

"Nah. I mean, sorta. Marvel is. I'm not." It surprised him how easily the truth came when he accepted Victor's trust, just like with John the words wanted to come out. "It's a magic thing."

"Something tells me you're not ordinary magic," and wow, Victor really was a quick study. "So if Marvel is other guy, you are…?"

"It's not really like that. I'm still Marvel, just bigger than I am now, but he's also more than that, more than me. Sorry, it's really complicated, even for me. But…" Seeing as their conversation was going great and he was already so far deep, with a surge of that Batson courage and gritting through the flare up from the burn on his chest, Billy moved to sit up front. "I'm Billy Batson."

Victor smiled, obviously just as pleased, and Billy vowed to get him smile more. "Nice to meet you Billy, I'm Victor Stone. And I guess I know a thing or two about becoming someone else."

"You're still you, Vic. Amazing football player and League hero." Billy also vowed to ensure he felt secure as himself, whether he was alone or not. "And you're doing great."

The side glance Victor gave him was calculating, like he was examining the truth in those words, or for the first time truly seeing Billy as Marvel. Finally, with a small smile still on his face, he said, "So, is it Marvel's birthday, or Billy's?"

Billy smiled back. "Mine. I'm… actually twelve today."

"… Seriously? No offense but you look like you're ten."

Billy groaned. "I know. I'm just small for my age, okay. I'm still growing."

"Does this mean you weren't going to the safari?"

"No. I had plans for the zoo today, but, well, it's gonna be a bit too late for that by the time we get back." A twinge from his wound promptly reminded him that he was also in no shape to be going anywhere any time soon.

Something must have shown on his face because suddenly Victor's full attention was on him. "You need medical help. What happened?"

The sincere concern on Victor's face made Billy red in embarrassment. "It's nothing."

"Dude, you literally have an electrical burn!" He exclaimed as he set the ship on autopilot and rushed to the back.

"It's magic," Billy said, aware of how weak an excuse that was.

"That doesn't make it better! That's worse!" Soon enough Victor returned, attaching an accessory to his hand as he sat down. He looked nervous, but determined, which was probably why Billy complied with orders when he said, "Okay, let me see. I'm gonna try to take the inflammation down and ease the pain. Why didn't you say anything?"

Easing his sweater up, Billy heard him inhale sharply, which was fair because the burn certainly looked angrier than before. When the metal pen on Victor's hand emitted a laser to his skin, Billy was surprised by the trail of warm skin it healed. "It wasn't important," he said truthfully.

The crinkle of Victor's eyebrow reminded him of the same look John made sometimes, when Billy said something particularly concerning he didn't agree with. "You getting hurt is important."

"Why, because I'm a kid?"

"Because you're my friend."

Billy stared at him with unbelieving eyes, but Victor didn't explain, just concentrated on his task at hand to heal Billy up. But he did say that. He said friend. They were friends. Billy couldn't stop the grin on his face even if he tried.

After minutes of comfortable silence, Victor leaned back. "There. You're probably going to have a gnarly scar, but this is what I can do for now. I have some better tech at home, maybe even some STAR Labs scraps from my dad."

"Your...home?"

Victor looked at him like it was obvious, "Yeah, man. I figured you don't want to go back to the Watchtower and have your identity exposed. Plus, there's a good twenty-four hour diner and dessert shop down the street."

For the second time, Billy couldn't believe his ears. Victor was willing to protect his identity from the Justice League, willing to get into trouble, possibly even risk his membership. All for some punk kid who was reckless with his powers. "You...Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. It's your secret, your life and I said I'd be here for you. I meant it," he said without hesitation, regaining manual control of the ship. When he looked back at Billy, sincerity and promise shined bright. "You in?"

Billy grinned, overwhelmed with happiness and relief, and certain he was going to start crying. "As long as they have pie, I'm all in!"

And he was certain this was the best birthday ever.

Chapter Text

Do good, and good will follow.

That sounded like some pretty words and even prettier intentions. And it made sense. If you did good, others will see that and also do good. A daisy chain of goodness. Or maybe even, if you did good, you will receive good things in return. That also made sense, but also a bit selfish, if Billy were honest. And he was fairly sure being honest fell under the whole do good thing.

And in all honesty, with how fuzzy his head felt, he couldn’t quite recall where he had heard that saying before.

Like, he said, it was pretty. Much too pretty for him to have thought up. But here he was, lying around thinking. So, maybe he did? Or maybe he heard it somewhere from someone else.

Okay, well, enough thinking for one night.

It wasn’t until that assertion that Billy realized he had been staring up at the ceiling for some time now. The morning sunlight streaming in through a window brightened the room, and he began to notice the slight ache resounding in his head. Maybe from too much thinking, or too much light, or not enough sleep. But he knew either way it was time to get up.

Except, the more Billy stared straight ahead, up at the colorful ceiling of chipped paint and drawn on scribbles, the more that realization dawned on him that something was amiss. That he didn’t recognize the ceiling at all. An unsettling weighed heavy in his gut, and he knew it was best if he extracted himself from wherever he was as quickly as possible.

Even if he was laying on an incredibly soft bed. Probably the softest blanket he’s ever been on. But while it was the most comfortable thing he had ever laid on, his instincts said Leave, and he wasn’t about to argue that now.

When he moved to sit off the edge, the aching in his head left him slightly dizzy, the bright spots in his vision dizzying. With his eyes clenched closed and his breathing deep and steady, it only lasted for a few moments, but once gone his gaze avoided the bright windows.

Thusly, his attention was immediately transfixed to floor where clothes littered about. Clothes that were definitely not his - all lace and silks, and far too nice for him to ever own. He thought it strange, and likely owned by whoever’s bed he was currently sitting on, and made a point not to step on any of them.

It would be rude.

There also happened to be an assortment of dangerous looking weapons along the table space and walls, all of which also tipped him off that trouble was just around the corner. No one good and sane owned a plethora of wooden mallets and knives and comically large guns, especially left messily tossed around like the excess clothes.

No, this was someone who was Trouble, with a capital T.

Yet, it wasn’t until he heard growling from the far side of the surprisingly cozy room, growling which quickly revealed to be from a pair of very large, odd looking, spotted dogs - that Billy’s brain finally began to truly process everything.

This wasn’t the normal kind of trouble.

This was Dangerous.

Seemingly on instinct, Billy squeezed his mouth shut and swallowed any noise of alarm wanting to burst out. A small squeak escaped him as he felt his body freeze, his mind racing with the thoughts of Oh Gods and Don’t Move over and over again. Make any noise and that meant consequences and pain - that’s what his instincts said. Like, if he did not run, the two threatening dogs would not give chase and tear him apart.

Think, Billy, think. Where are you? What can you do? Don’t scream for help, never scream for help. Don’t cry, crying never does anything. You can’t run, don’t move. Gods, what can you do?

He couldn’t do anything. At the mercy of the hounds, of whoever took him there, he was stuck. Billy closed his eyes, tried to stop the hitch of his breath, tried to stomp the flood of fear rising within him.

I want to go home.

Suddenly, low rumbling came from behind him. Louder and closer, it warned Billy of something else in the room, something even more dangerous. From the corner of his periphery, a large dark creature prowled out beside him. It moved with grace and power, until it firmly, and surprisingly, planted itself in front of him, facing the dogs.

Almost like it was guarding him. No, exactly like it was guarding him.

The tension in his muscles eased ever so slightly as the inexplicable feeling of safety washed through him. Up close he could see it was slightly bigger than the dogs, but instead of spots, its nearly black body had stripes.

Protect.

"I'm sorry...what?" Billy felt like this may be some wild dream of his, if an animal was talking to him.

Protect.

And as the creature looked over its shoulder at him, voice somehow exasperated, Billy realized he was talking to a tiger. “Who...are you?”

The flicker of the tiger's tail and ears reminded Billy of an offended cat. He had said something wrong and it was being very patient with him.

Tawny.

Now where had Billy heard that name before? It sounded so familiar.

Yes. Familiar.

“Excuse me?” Did the tiger just answer him? His thoughts?

Your Familiar.

That seemed very important. But also something a dream thing would say. “Oh. Okay. I don’t really know what that is, but-”

Tawny made a chuffing noise, very much done with Billy’s confusion. But he couldn’t help it! He had no idea what was going on and really, it seemed like the situation was only getting weirder. There was no other explanation - he was in an exceptionally detailed and self aware dream.

The very next moment, because of course, before he could think any more on it, a woman burst through the door and startled Billy to jump back. He wasn’t sure if it was the surprise or the noise, but alarms were screaming in his head, and his heart refused to calm down.

Was that supposed to happen in dreams?

“I hope you boys were all playing nice now,” she said, hands on her hips and deranged grin splitting her face.

Aside from her manic like glee, she didn’t look particularly threatening - she wore shorts that were awfully short, and a green sweater that was too big, and the silliest thing of all was that her hair, while blonde at the roots, was split between red and black. But Billy knew not to be fooled, after all, this was obviously her room and those scary dogs were hers, if them going up to her with wagging tails were an indication.

But that’s only if this wasn’t overall some crazy dream.

Billy was still leaning towards that one.

After she was done petting their heads, she turned her gaze onto Billy, which is when he noticed the smear of dark makeup down her face. She never stopped grinning, and was frankly, quite terrifying. “Good! You’re awake! Now Pammy can stop freaking out, so come down-”

When she stepped foot towards Billy, Tawny widened its stance and snarled. In response, the spotted dogs pushed the woman aside and growled back, hackles raised. Tawny did not seem to like this woman, and while Billy did not know what a Familiar was, he knew his instincts weren’t wrong to move him closer behind the tiger. It might be a dream guide or his subconscious.

Or, stranger yet, this might all be real.

“Woah there! Babies, babies, it’s okay,” she consoled them with gentle touches. “He’s just a lil’ squirt, ya don’t gotta be so mean to him. Hey, kid, whatever woojie mojo yer doin’, ya better stop! Yer freakin’ my babies out!”

What did that even mean? Was it better to engage with this or not?

“I’m...not doing anything, Miss,” Billy finally replied from behind Tawny. Whatever happened, at least he had a cool tiger with him. “Tawny doesn’t like you and your dogs.”

There was a pause as the woman's face contorted in confusion. Could real people be so expressive? “Tawny? Who the heck is Tawny?”

“The...tiger? Right here?” Billy wondered if parts of dreams couldn’t see other parts of dreams. He was now leaning towards the strange possibility that this may be reality.

“There ain’t no tiger, pipsqueek.” She took another step forward and Tawny snarled again, mouth curled back to show large white fangs. Her dogs made noises of warning and fear, gaining her attention again. The woman froze for a moment, looking between her dogs and Billy. To Billy’s surprise, she raised her hands in a non-threatening manner, and slowly lowered herself to her knees. “Okay, okay. Sure, there’s a tiger named Tawny. Nice to meetcha, Tawny.”

But despite her words, her tone was too placating, too nice. It tickled something in the back of his mind, a familiarity that left him more suspicious than before.

She was lying, Billy knew. He didn’t know how he knew, but his instincts weren’t wrong yet. And despite his earlier doubts, he was starting to believe that this wasn’t an off-the-rails nightmare. His perception of reality was slightly skewed, and maybe it was the headache or waking up somewhere strange or the talking tiger only he could see, but he wasn’t stupid. He was in trouble and the only person who could tell him anything was at least attempting to be kind, even if it was a little condescending.

This, Billy could work with.

“Where am I?” He asked, not moving from his spot.

A thought flashed across the woman’s face, too quick for Billy to follow, before she plopped down on her butt and crossed her legs to be more comfortable. To be more open. “You are in my room.” She rested her elbow upon her knee and her chin in her hand, giving Billy her full attention. Whatever hurry she was in was swept aside, it seemed.

Aside from the slight concern that the weapons really did belong to her, Billy rolled his eyes. “Well, duh. But where am I?”

Something in her gaze narrowed, but her voice was still light and playful. “We’re in Gotham.” The confusion on his face must have been obvious because- “Do you remember how we got here?”

Billy's spine straightened at the question. It wasn’t aggressive or anything like that, but the way she said it - like she knew something he did not, and she knew that, too. There was no point in lying. “No.”

She grinned again, and it reminded Billy of the Cheshire cat, though he couldn’t recall where he knew that from. “Got a name, kiddie?”

There was a beat of hesitation before he slowly crawled out from behind Tawny. “Billy,” he said, and nothing more. Something told him that giving too much information was a bad thing, even if the woman seemed nice right now.

“Well, I’m the magnificently talented and stunningly beautiful Harley,” she gestured to herself in an over dramatic fashion, and somehow that seemed rightfully so. “And you, Billy boy, got a pretty nasty hit to your noggin.”

Is that why his head was hurting?

“How?”

“Oh, you know,” she shrugged casually, “Wrong place, wrong time. Lucky for you, I was there at the right place, right time! Couldn’t let a cutie pie like you just lay there on the ground.”

Vague.

That was the word that came to mind as Billy listened to her, but nothing about her words rang untrue. Something was off. Mixed signals all over the place. Billy wasn’t sure what lead to follow except his own gut.

He nodded and scooted closer. Tawny rumbled low behind him, a warning or reminder.

“Okay,” Billy nodded again as he stood. Even then, he barely surpassed the woman’s sitting height by a head. “So, who’s Pam?”

“I’m glad you asked!” She jumped to her feet in a very fluid motion, nearly startling Billy back a step. “She’s my wonderfully brilliant girlfriend who's making scrumptious breakfast right now and she would love to meet you.” Harley gestured grandly for him to follow as she literally marched out after corralling her dogs to walk ahead.

It was a purposeful move, he realized. She left her back exposed to him, at the chance that he would follow. Yet it gave him the space, the choice. The effort was appreciated, no matter the dubious intentions, and really there was no other option were he to find the truth to all of this. Besides, he had Tawny. And even if he didn’t know what that truly meant, it gave him a comfort he couldn’t deny.

Billy patted the tiger’s incredibly soft head, like a stuffed animal velvet, and with the swell of security and courage, he followed Harley out.

Difficult not to scrutinize the area, Billy tried to memorize the way back as well as all the potential escape routes out the windows. It never occurred to him why he automatically did so, only that he had to. He had to know where to go next, where would be safest.

Is following this lady safe? He thought to himself, eyeing the woman as she skipped merrily ahead of him. Well, it's not like you got a choice, huh. Find an exit and run for it. And then...we'll figure that out later.

On their walk, Billy noted the place was not as colorful or suspicious as the woman's room. In fact, it felt rather domestic and cozy with it's dark brick and many windows. The morning sun shone through the green canopy of vines that draped outside. Even on the inside, plants hung everywhere like a constant, welcoming garden. Billy wasn't sure if they were Harley's or Pam's, but the eyesore of wallpaper and art were definitely chosen by Harley.

It felt like a home.

"Hey, Pama-lamb, your half pint is awake!" Harley called out with a flourish, swinging open a door into the kitchen. "Oh! Do I smell something sweet?" She quickly abandoned Billy at the doorway for the large bowl on the island countertop, immediately stuffing a handful of colorful fruit in her mouth. Her dogs, deeming this new room secure, laid down nearby to keep watchful eyes.

Billy would have made a disgusted face at Harley's terrible table manners, he's sure, if he wasn't so focused on the other woman in the room. Standing by another counter preparing food, Billy immediately noticed how striking she was. Long and brilliantly bright hair contrasted against the slight green tinge of her skin in a way that Billy thought seemed more plant like than sickly. Swirls and leaf shapes were also noticed as they ran across her skin and under her silky robe.

Yep, she was definitely the one that tended to the plants.

"Harley, those are for the sweet potato bowls," she admonished in that exasperated way that spoke of all the other times she said it.

When she turned towards Billy, he noticed how bright her eyes were, and how intense her stare could be. He felt awkward in his spot, but hesitated moving any further into their domesticity. He felt like an intruder despite the likelihood that he was kidnapped.

"Uh, hi," he said before he could stop himself, and for lack of anything to add, "Miss, uhmm. Pam. I'm Billy."

She raised a delicate eyebrow, "I know, it's not likely I'll forget." And it was such a casual statement, thrown out there as she turned back to her food prep, yet it left Billy blinking in confusion.

"Uhhh…"

"Oh, yeah," Harley piped up, squirting whipped cream into her mouth. At least she had the decency to swallow it before speaking again. "He don't remember squat."

Pam froze at those words before turning her head so sharply Billy winced in sympathy. "What." That was not a question.

Harley sensed the oncoming storm, wilting under the heated gaze. "He must’ve got hit by one of yer bomby...things and...doesn't remember?"

Before Billy could ask, Pam was directly in front of him, tension in every line. "Billy," she said cautiously, like these words were the be all end all. "Do you know who I am?"

Blue met green in a one sided stare off. Possibly dangerous situation forgotten, Billy racked his brain for any recognition of the woman before him. Beautiful and strange. Someone he doubted he would forget.

In fact, the more he tried to remember…

Yesterday. The day before. Anything before this morning…

Where he came from. His home. His family...

Visibly distressed, which alerted him even more, she asked, "Do you know who you are?"

Dread began to dawn upon him and Billy really wanted this to be a bad dream.

-

Now, all things considered, Pamela Isley very much liked to consider herself a rational, cool headed person.

Most of the time.

Sure, she has killed men in fits of anger and vengeance. And yes, she has orchestrated many eco terrorist attacks that had less than savory outcomes.

But, at every turn she used her sharp mind. It's what got her through college with honors, into the difficult field of biochemistry, and how each of her botanical experiments ended in success.

Unethical and lethal by human standards, yes. But successful.

Pamela was a scientist and activist for the Green. Her mind was as brilliant as her seduction techniques.

But right now all of that was failing her.

Because right now, she was facing the very real consequences of her newest trials of inhalant formula. It was supposed to induce a hypnotic state of mind that repressed certain, personal memories of supers - making her control over them easier. Instead, she was witnessing a full amnesiac effect, and not on any of the heroes she had targeted in the fight yesterday, but on a civilian child.

A child that she had met before through a mutual acquaintance. Someone who clearly adored said child, and would most definitely reward Pamela if the child was returned.

But would also wreak havoc on Pam's life if the child was injured - by her own hand, nonetheless.

Her options were slim here, but still very clear; reverse her toxin's effects before they caused permanent damage, and safely give Billy back to the Greek Goddess of the Underworld and Green, Persephone.

Easy, right?

Except, despite all her brains and understanding of what humans wanted most, she felt powerless against the glistening of Billy's blue eyes as he began to realize he couldn't remember a thing about himself. Pamela did not know how to deal with children, let alone crying and possibly traumatized ones. She sent a look of utter panic towards Harley.

Luckily, her girlfriend was watching on, her own baby blues starting to tear up in sympathy. "Oh, hey now, lil' short stack, don't cry!" She consoled, kneeling before the boy who was trying very hard not to let a single tear shed. "So what if you can't remember nothin', it ain't the worst thing out there. 'Sides, you got us to help you."

Pamela was immensely grateful for Harley's easy charm and navigation of emotions. When she wasn’t clowning around, she could definitely put her degree to use. She really was amazing.

Billy nodded along to Harley's words, silent for a few moments as he collected himself. "So, you're not gonna hurt me?"

"Hurt ya? Where the heck did you get that idea?"

And Pam mirrored that sentiment. Did they really seem like terrible villains, in their own home? She liked to believe her villainous tendencies didn't follow her into these walls, but Pam also knew she sometimes couldn't be a good judge of character with her own failings.

"Uhh, well, Tawny-" Billy glanced behind him, but seeing nothing there, seemed very confused.

"Oh!" Harley looked up at her. "His…tiger, doesn't trust us," she said in a slight conspiratorial whisper.

"Well, he doesn't," Billy confirmed like it was absolute truth. "I don't know where he went off to, though."

Pam had no idea what either of them were talking about. But if there was one thing she knew not to underestimate, it was capabilities of otherworldly powers or creatures. Sure, Harley may not be able to see a tiger, however, Pamela did not doubt that Persephone would leave something to protect her favorite ward.

"If he's not here right now," Pam interjected, careful not to spook the child even further. "Then, wouldn't that mean he trusts us, or at least trusts to leave you with us?"

An expression of thought crossed the boy's face, possibly weighing his options. However, Pam would not actually assume that the child's guard was far from him. The tiger was probably hidden away, maybe cloaked in invisibility or waiting to pounce from a portal. It was hard to determine which, especially when it came to powerful magics.

If someone were to tell Pamela Isley a decade ago that magic was real, she would have stared them down into shame before walking away without a second thought. Now, however, after everything she has witnessed and experienced, everyone she has come in contact with - she knew better. With her constant exposure and communication to the Green she unlocked her own capabilities of seeing certain magic.

Her outings with Swamp Thing were perhaps the most enlightening she has had to date.

"Exactly!” Harley caught on, needling the boy more. “So that must mean that while Red here fixes your little amnesia problem, you get to spend time with lil’ ol me!”

Wait a moment.

“Harley, no-!”

“Harley, yes!” She wasn’t even paying attention to Pam’s objections, sweeping Billy up onto a stool and pushing the bowl of fruit towards him. “You need to make an antidote, and meanwhile, I’ll take munchkin here around town. Maybe jog loose a memory or somethin’.”

While Pam knew the formula of her toxin wouldn’t last forever without reapplications, she did not know how it would fully affect a human child, as opposed to the superheroes it was originally intended for. Concocting an antidote would be the safest bet of undoing any damage, but she would need a few magically enhanced ingredients for it to be a guaranteed success. Which means she would need to leave the two of them here, and Pam knew better than to assume they would stay put despite Gotham being dangerous, especially for a wanted criminal and amnesiac child.

This was Harley’s version of a warning, a clever exchange to get permission so Pam wouldn’t get angry at her later. No matter where they went, no memory will come back to the child. They both knew this. But Pam had seen the way Harley acted around him, relaxed and loose, as if to lower his guard, as if to make Billy comfortable.

Harley liked the kid. Which wasn't surprising since she always had a soft spot for trouble. She had already become attached, was curious about the boy since all that she knew was that a Greek Goddess was overly fond of him. And Pam knew after all this was over - it will be hard to separate them.

Pamela frowned at Harley’s puppy-dog blues, unwilling to give in just yet.

“Okay, okay! I just really, really, wanna dress him up and make him my lil’ sidekick,” Harley admitted. “Please? Pretty please with lots and lots of sugary kisses on top?”

Content that she at least got her girlfriend’s true intentions, Pam relented. “Fine. But! And I cannot stress this enough, Har, keep him out of danger. I really don’t want to explain to Persephone how he came unto harm while under our watch.”

Harley gave her a wide, satisfied, and entirely false innocent smile which showed Pam that yes, Harley was listening, but no, no matter what they did, danger would definitely follow. “Gotcha! No danger! All safety! You can count on me!”

Billy, who had been spraying whipped cream into his mouth and overshot the ridiculous amount, started choking.

Pamela sighed. This was going to be a terrible idea.

-

This was going to be a wonderful idea!

Harley had promptly stolen Billy up to her room once Red's lab door closed. Before either of them could leave they had to get disguises on, something atrociously fashionable, yet subtle. Harley herself was far too recognizable on Gotham streets, and if she was claiming Billy boy as her sidekick, she couldn’t have him showing up in the rags he was in now.

The problem was what would he fit in?

“Umm, Miss Harley?”

Tossing aside the fourth outfit that was just a tad too big for him - because seriously, this kid was tiny! - Harley made a noise. “If yer gonna give me a title, call me Doctor.” She picked up a sleeveless hoodie that was covered in gold sequins, completely indecent on her, but perfect for him!

“Doctor Harley,” he muffled out as his shabby red hoodie slipped over his head, his shirt underneath riding up enough - and wow, not to sound like her mother, but this kid needed to eat more. “Why do we need disguises, exactly? Don't we want people to recognize me?”

“Any other day, sure. But you’re ridin' with me, and I don’t want nobody knowing it’s me, got it?” Maybe she could do the classic tan trenchcoat - have a noir detective thing going on as she tried to solve this puzzle.

His head popped up from the new hoodie, which was totally a good call, it looked good with his tattered pants that she really didn'thave a substitute for. “Is it because you hurt people?”

“Hey now, why would ya say that?”

Billy glanced around the room, and Harley couldn't ignore the array of weapons she had lying around. The disbelief on his face made Harley want to just smush his little cheeks.

“What if I’m a superhero, hm? And I have to hide my real identity from those that would do me harm? I know you can’t remember jack, but you know I’m helping you here, right.”

“But you’re only helping me for Miss Pam, and even then, for whoever Persephone is.”

Amnesia aside, he was a clever little observant munchkin. Harley really hoped she wouldn’t have to kill him some day. “Look, kid. I promised to watch you until this whole thing is done with and I can spend a nice cozy evenin’ with my Pam-alamb. Don’t go gettin’ all smart mouthed on me, alright?”

“But I’m right,” he persisted, all childish stubbornness. It was as adorable as it was annoying.

Harley groaned. Her sidekick really needed to work on the whole not-questioning-her bit. “Yes! Okay, yes, you’re right on yer little button nose. I’m not a superhero, I’m not even a good guy at all. I’m selfish and terrible and take what I want when I want. Ya happy?”

The look in his weirdly sparkling eyes sharply reminded Harley of Nightwing’s - when he offered his hand and him and Bats helped her after that particularly nasty fight she got into with Joker, when she was still so desperately, foolishly drawn to her Puddin’ that she went back to him even after that. They couldn’t save her then, and she didn’t want to be saved, but still, they tried and were just so kind it hurt. That was the look in this kid’s baby blues. Like he saw into her and was sad at what he found.

She hated it.

“What?” Harley couldn’t help but bite out, tugging her shirt off with no regard, and searching for a suitable new one so she didn’t have to keep looking at the kid. He didn’t seem particularly bothered by her half nudity, but Harley didn’t have a funny joke for that right now.

“You’re not a bad guy,” Billy said softly. “I don’t think you’re so selfish and terrible, either.”

“Oh yeah? And what would you know about bad - ” Harley cut herself off with a sharp intake of breath.

The kid was frozen still, eyes glowing bright and beautiful and mesmerizing. And honestly, so so creepy, as well as very very magical. Like he was staring right into her. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and she vaguely noted all the weapons she had within arm's reach.

This sweet faced baby looked very, very dangerous right now.

She half expected some booming deep voice to echo out from him, like he wasn't truly some malnourished half pint - but he still sounded like Billy. “I know you tried to make me feel welcomed. I know you care a lot for Miss Pam, so much that you’re gonna babysit me. You care about your dogs. You could just leave me here and go have fun, but you’re going through the trouble of finding me an outfit to bring me along.”

He said the mouthful like he believed every word was true. It was, of course, but none of that made Harley feel any better.

Well, okay, maybe a little better.

But she didn't have to like it!

“I know you can be a good person, just like you can be bad. You have the choice, you’ve always had the choice. Your light is twisted and hurting, but it’s still there. It still shines.”

Billy blinked. His eyes returned to blue and he smiled up at Harley like he hadn’t just performed some terrifyingly neat magic trick that scared the bejeebus outta her.

“I dunno ‘bout any light, but you sure did glow the heck up,” she said, nowhere near wanting to touch the rest of what he said with a fifty foot pole. She could psychoanalyse herself, thanks. No ten year old needed for that.

Though there was an annoying gurgle in her gut felt like warmth or hope or bad indigestion.

“Umm. I glowed?” Billy asked, like she was the one spouting off nonsense here. “You’re the one that started to light up.”

“Nu uh! You were the one that stared at me like a weirdo and then went all glowy eyed!”

“But- I didn’t - ” the kid seemed to think that through for a moment, faced still mixed up in confusion. Harley took that time to scoop up a probably clean shirt. “It was...magic?”

“Probably. You’re odd enough.” Harley scoured around for her mysterious trench coat.

Huh. Well, that wouldn’t be the most outrageous thing out there.

Sure, Doctor Harleen Quinzel is a woman of science and the intricacies of mental and emotional health. But, Harley Quinn has seen things that there just ain’t no other explanation for besides magic. There were aliens and monsters and superheroes in spandex out in the vast world and universe. She may not have experienced magic firsthand herself, but she knew Pam was dabbling in something like it, that her connection to the Earth was more than Harley could understand.

Maybe little Billy was a bastard child of the Greek Goddess? A demigod stuck on Earth, his mother visiting him at her leisure, leaving him alone otherwise to wander where he wants even if it's this shithole of a city Harley calls home.

Harley's sharp eyes glanced towards the kid in a quick observation. He had a thin frame despite the baby-roundness of his face, and his hair was dirty and shaggy despite its softness. She noticed how he had constantly searched for any exit available, any means of escape, with his far-too-old eyes. There were gnarly scars peeking out from under his shirt, trailing up from his shoulder.

Maybe little Billy wasn't so favored by the Gods after all.

Maybe she shouldn't give him back after this.

“Tawny says that I'm magic," Billy clarified.

Harley softened her features like she wasn't contemplating murdering some immortal beings. “Your tiger?” He nodded in confirmation. “He magic, too?” Another pause before he nodded.

Well, okay then. She was in charge of a demigod toddler and his magical, invisible tiger.

Persephone could fuck off back to Hell or wherever she came from, because Harley was definitely keeping this one.

---

While Billy was not certain on his whole missing memory situation, like who exactly he was or where he came from or even what really happened to him, he was certain on a few things.

He knew that taking someone else's motorcycle without asking was stealing, and bad. He knew driving at terrifying speeds, especially without helmets, was dangerous and bad. He knew doing all that through the crowded streets of the city, zooming in between cars, not stopping at red lights, and making incredibly sharp turns as people tried to walk, were all bad.

So, there was the whole common sense thing he understood. But he couldn't quite tell if Harley understood all that. Or if she just didn't care. It was probably the latter.

Maybe, when he remembered himself, he didn't care either?

But the words from when he woke up echoed in his head, like it was the only thing tethering him to his true self, though the phrase had faded away with his sleep. Something about being nice or great? Maybe it was important to him before, or maybe it wasn't important at all, considering he forgot it. Then again, he also couldn't remember his own last name, which was kind of scary when he thought about it.

The whole situation was scary when he stopped to think about it. Who was he? Were these decisions he was making really his own? Without his memories was he truly himself?

It was all very confusing, to be honest.

Luckily, or probably not, he didn't have much time to really think. Especially when he was clinging onto Harley for dear life.

They needed to keep a low profile, at least that’s what she said. That’s why she wore the coat and the black wig and sunglasses. That’s why he was in her hoodie, though it was very shiny. So far, they were very much not being low profile.

"I don't get it," Billy said when Harley finally parked, half way onto the sidewalk of course, and after his legs stopped shaking.

Harley paused in her stride toward the door of the shop. It said Gotham Scoops in colorful and curly letters. "It's ice cream. Do ya remember ice cream?"

Billy huffed, but followed her nonetheless. "Of course I remember ice cream! I'm talking about the whole, you know, secret identity?" He whispered the last part as they walked into the ice cream parlor, the cool air a refreshing difference from the heat outside. A fair number of people were enjoying icey treats.

"Ice cream ain't gonna out us," she said, completely missing the point, but Billy was sure she was doing it on purpose. Something in her sharp smile told him so. "So, pick a flavor, short stack."

Huffing in reply, and knowing he won't get a clear answer, Billy stepped up to the display case and gazed upon all the different flavors of ice cream. There were a lot. Like, a lot, a lot. Usually one would choose their favorite flavor, their tried and true. But every flavor Billy scanned, no bloom of recognition sprouted. They all looked delicious, he just could not recall what they tasted like or if he enjoyed one in particular.

So, Billy closed his eyes, took a breath, and pointed.

Minutes later, ice cream in hand, they left the parlor and returned to the warm outside.

"Remember anything yet?" Harley asked in between licks of very berry strawberry and chocolate chunks.

Billy tasted his treat of caramel rocky road and birthday cake supreme, both incredibly delicious, but neither striking up a memory. He shook his head and tried not to pay mind to the tide of disappointment crashing against his chest.

"Hmm," after a moment of deliberation, Harley grabbed ahold of his cone and replaced it with hers. "Try it."

Bewilderment had him blinking up, watching as she ate his ice cream. There was nothing to really lose in humoring her attempts at jogging his memory. Don't get him wrong, Billy was grateful for Harley's company and her optimism, it was getting him through this entirely confusing time. And yes, he wanted to remember himself again, but the prospect of going through a trial and error at every turn, of being disappointed every time he did or saw something - just thinking about it was exhausting.

But, he had to try, right?

Mind made up, Billy took his first taste and-

"Stop!"

Billy paused, tongue still out, and looked up.

"Someone stop him! He stole my purse!" Down the street stood a frantic woman, shouting as the culprit ran away from her.

Though he was too far away from them, and he knew he could not chase, let alone fight, a grown man, something inside Billy jolted. It screamed at him to move, to run, to go and do something. He had to help, he had to...to…

"Where ya goin', shortstack?" Harley asked, completely ignoring the crime down the block. Her surprisingly firm grip on his shoulder had kept him from actually running over there, and instead steered him the opposite direction. "The park is this way! It's got some neat market crap goin' on and loads'a street acts."

"But-!" Billy glanced back, but the woman and man were gone. The crime moving away out of sight, and yet Billy still felt the need to follow, to stop it. Or, at least do something.

"Stop being a worrywart and c'mon!"

With one last tug, Billy followed Harley a short distance toward the noise and ruckus of a crowded area. By the time they reached the supposed market, Billy finally noticed his ice cream melting in his hand, half dripping to the ground. Maybe he was just worrying too much? Then again, maybe it was the perfect amount of worrying for someone in his situation. He was some lost kid in the middle of a big city.

But there were much more terrible things happening around him, so what did he have to worry about? He had Harley and Pamela and Tawny. All things considered, his situation was pretty damn good in comparison to getting mugged.

Billy finished his ice cream, unable to truly taste anything as his mind turned those thoughts around and around.

Harley finally stopped them in the middle of the walkway, people bustling around without a second look. Billy had worried their disguises weren't going to work, but it seemed like they pulled it off. Or more likely, people didn't bother to care. Their apathy both a relief and mild concern.

"Alright, we got food trucks to the left, homemade crap to the right, and performers all around. Where do you wanna hit up first?" Harley said with a gusto.

Billy glanced around in wonder.

There were so many people, so much noise, so many smells and colors. It was just...so much! Yet even then, with all the sensory input crashing onto him like waves, none of it was familiar. Not the crowd or the food or the music. Nothing was recognizable, and nobody recognized him. He thought they were going out to find more information on his identity, but thus far it seemed like dead ends.

Still, Harley was helping him. Or maybe she just wanted to hang out or something. It was sort of hard to tell what her intentions were since their little talk.

"Um. Should I… do some street magic?" Is this what they came to do? Maybe someone will recognize him if his eyes glowed.

"What the heck are you talkin' about! No, you ain't gonna do yer magic, ya dummy!" Harley hissed, like it was the worst possible idea ever. "We're here to have fun! Wander around, eat a lot of food, barf it all up in the fountain. Ya know what fun is, don'tcha!"

That did not sound like fun at all. Billy was sure his face said as much.

"Ugh! C'mon, we're gonna have fun and you are gonna like it!"

Billy let her drag him down the street again, determination in her every step, like this was more important than finding out who he really was, or if anyone knew him.

Have fun!

But-

I am here. You have fun.

Well, when his magical tiger insisted…

---

Tawny very much did insist.

Tawny was Billy's Familiar.

If Billy was in danger, Tawny reacted.

If Billy commanded, Tawny obeyed.

What Billy knew, Tawny knew.

But Billy did not know a lot right now. He did not remember who he was or what he was or what he could do.

Tawny remembered.

Tawny remembered shadows and hunger and wanting. Tawny remembered crying and tears and please. Tawny remembered friends and home and a family long gone.

Everything with Billy. Everything for Billy.

But not everyone wanted everything for Billy. Some wanted everything from Billy.

Someone old and cold and distant.

The Wizard.

Always watching, always staring at everything large, but never the small, never Billy. Always for duty and balance and fate and others.

Always about others.

Always Billy's power for others, safety for others, life for others.

Tawny did not like that.

Did not like the others who were not friends, did not like demands and risks.

Everything dangerous to Billy was bad and Tawny hated them.

Tawny especially hated the Wizard. Did not trust the Wizard.

The Wizard did not trust Tawny.

With no past or present pain, no duties or fights, no Wizard or Champion, Billy felt lighter. Happier.

Tawny did not want that to end.

The Wizard did not agree.

His magic called for Billy, sought out and pulled. Tried to sink in and take over, take him back to the Rock.

The Wizard wanted his Champion back.

Tawny wanted Billy to stay.

But did Billy want to stay?

Billy helps, always wants to help. Others are in danger and Billy helps.

Do good, he told Tawny. Always do good.

His happiness and safety and fun did not matter.

It mattered to Tawny.

Billy was lighter when he was with his new friend. She was danger. She was friend. She gave food and clothes and fun. It was nice. She was nice.

But danger happened everywhere. Even in this new place with new people. It was there around them. When Billy saw the danger, he wanted to help.

He could not remember, but he still reached out.

The Champion was reaching out.

Billy's magic was reaching out.

Tawny was sad it could not last, but what Billy commanded...

---

Billy didn't mean to hurt them. He just wanted to help.

Harley and him were leaving the park, their spoils of candy in hand, and the sun was setting. It was the most fun Billy had ever had, and memory loss aside, something ached in him that it was true. He didn't know whether to be relieved or saddened.

Streets away was where Billy heard it.

There wasn't any yelling or clattering noises, but the voices were raised. Something about it raised alarms, he could sense it like static in the air - Trouble. He followed the narrow passage down, vaguely aware of Harley not noticing his divergence as she kept walking.

He'll catch up to her, Billy thought. But this was important.

At the end of the alleyway stood two men and several kids, two of them possibly teenagers. They were trapped against the wall as the men stood tall before them, authoritative and demanding, knives between them. The smallest of the kids stood up against them, talking back though her voice wavered. She looked to be not much older than Billy, and she must have been the one he heard. The men kept their voices low, but firm, brandishing their grins and weapons at the kids in threat.

Billy couldn't hear a word. His blood pounded in his ears, thundering like an oncoming storm, charging under his skin, flashes of white hot lightning.

Something was happening.

The teens tried to make themselves smaller, keeping a hand on the younger girl as she stood up to the men. Despite her bravery, the girl stumbled back when one of the men took a threatening step forward. In contrast to the kids' grimey clothes, the men wore nice suits, even though there were dark spots.

Dirt or spillage or dried blood, Billy couldn't tell, did not want to.

Danger, whispered in his head, either his instinct or Tawny, just like that very morning. Danger, they're dangerous, stop them, stop them, stop them.

Billy inched closer, prowled behind the men, steps silent and breathing light. He wasn't noticed yet, knew he wouldn't be. The shadows seemed to blend around him, a veil, a shroud, a presence that masked him from their sight.

Tawny.

There was no plan here.

No hesitation, no forethought. Just action, the need to move, to help, to do something. Instinct or maybe something deeper controlled him as he crept closer, waiting for the right moment. Heat and static ran through him, down his arms to his small fists that clenched so tightly his muscles ached, because these adults were being bullies and needed to be stopped.

One of the men lifted a knife toward the girl.

One moment Billy held his breath.

The next, he was standing between the kids and the men who were suddenly on the ground, tangled limbs and painful groans. As he watched them try to move, their legs shaking and uncooperative, Billy forced his breathing to calm down. His heart hammered against his chest and that heavy charge of static still boiled his blood and he was still so angry-

"Holy smokes, short stack!"

Like a switch had been flipped...

Billy blinked.

At the opening of the alleyway was Harley, looking upon the scene with a mixture of amazement and amusement. As she made her way toward them, Billy remembered the others.

"Uhh. Are. Are you okay?" He asked toward them, though the moment he turned they flinched away against the wall.

The young girl, eyes wide and grin gleeful, was immediately pulled back by the others, pushed behind them as if to shield her, protect her… from him. They glared at him warily, shook more than they did against the men, like they were scared. Scared of Billy. At their reactions he took several steps away and kept his hands up where they could be seen. He didn't want to seem like a threat, he only wanted to help. However, that seemed to frighten the kids even more.

Billy saw why.

Sparks jumped from his fingertips, dancing around his palms and down his arms in bright golden arches that shone like the sun, they illuminated the dark damp alleyway and warmth followed their wake across his skin. It did not feel so much like heat or shock, but a tickling sensation, like static from a numb leg that had fallen asleep. Like power that was awakening beneath his skin.

Billy swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.

"Uhhhhh! I didn't-! I mean I did, but-! That wasn't what I- I wasn't thinking! It just happened!" Billy rambled, the full force of what he had done hitting him like a brick. He backed away from the others even more, but the jolts weren't dying down, they sparked at each panicked word. "I won't hurt you! I promise! I just wanted to help and-!"

The groaning men drew Billy's attention in time for him to witness Harley gleefully hitting them in the head with a giant mallet.

The teens took that as a distraction and ran, pulling the young girl with them despite her protests.

Billy didn't blame them. Instead, he shrunk in on himself until he felt the cool press of brick against his back. A familiar weight wrapped itself around him, soft and dark. The air smelled of ozone and burning and guilt. And still, he couldn't recall what he had done.

I just wanted to help, Billy thought, clenching his hands close to his chest in case anything else jolted from them. They were gonna hurt- I couldn't let- I just- I didn't think. I just wanted to help. I didn't know-

Magic.

I know but- But I don't- I didn't- That's not-

Yes.

Billy thought seeing people's auras was his magic. That having Tawny was his magic. Not this. Not hurting others.

I don't want it. I don't wanna hurt anyone. I wanna go home.

There was no immediate answer. Only the solidified comfort as Tawny materialized around him like a security blanket, like a guard.

You are home.

I… I don't-

Home is you. Your heart, your mind, your magic. You are home.

That still didn't make sense. None of that made any sense, but still, Billy clutched onto Tawny harder.

Tawny is with you. Always with you. Tawny is your Familiar. Tawny protects.

But I hurt them. They should be protected from me.

No. Tawny protect you. You protect them. You are Cham-

"You okay, sparky?"

Billy blinked back into awareness, unshed tears dispersed. He looked up at Harley with misery and clutched Tawny's pelt even tighter. She seemed to get the message as she crouched down to his level.

"Are they ali- Are they gonna be okay?" They were bad guys, Billy knew this. But still. He didn't mean to hurt anyone.

"Probably," Harley shrugged and that did not make him feel any better. "They're alive and breathin', anyway. Gonna be real sore if they wake up."

"If?"

"I'm joking! Jeez, relax, sparky. They'll wake up and think someone hit 'em and stole their wallets."

"But I didn't- Did you steal-"

"Sshh, we're not talkin' about me right now. They're bad men. Ain't that why you shocked em? They were hasslin' a couple of kids and you couldn't keep outta it."

"But I hurt-"

"Oh shush! Yeah, you gave a beat down, but that's what ya gotta do sometimes. And look! You got cool zappy powers!"

"I don't want them." And Billy knew he was sounding stubborn and petulant, but he couldn't seem to stop. Not when the fact remained that he did hurt them, and that he liked how his supposed powers felt. "What if I used them before? What if I hurt others?"

"C'mon now, ya don't mean that," Harley said in a soft, encouraging tone. It reminded Billy of their first encounter that very morning, though it felt like so long ago. She was trying to comfort him, in whatever way she could. Billy believed she was very good at this sort of thing. "You don't strike me as the kinda kid that goes around hurtin' folks for no reason, or any reason that can be avoided. You coulda used your zappiness on me or my babies this morning. But you didn't."

"You were being nice…"

"Yeah, but you still didn't trust me. You still looked for any escape you could find. But right here, you saw other kids in danger and you saw two big tough guys and you knew you couldn't just talk at em. You didn't think about rewards or being thanked or nothin'."

"I didn't think about anything! I just… moved! I didn't think or-!"

"Exactly! In your heart of bleeding hearts, you knew you had to do something! And you did! You can't remember jack, but you're still a goodie two-shoes that wants to stop crime and help others and that's just who you are." Harley concluded with a poke to Billy's forehead, unafraid of the sparks reaching out from his clenched fists. "And trust me, I know a lil good doer hero when I see one."

Speechless, Billy mulled on that as he watched the last of the electricity die away, back under his skin or into his blood or wherever it came from.

A good doer.

The words echoed through his head, over and over. Something familiar. Just like from that morning, before hazy sleep took it away again. Something important.

Do good.

But there was more, right?

Do good.

Do good.

Do good.

Good will follow.

Like the lightning that flowed through him only minutes ago, something clicked inside as Tawny finished the sentence. He didn't know where it came from, but Billy knew those words were important, were a part of him. And though his memories were forgotten, that was still who he was.

"Hey, Harley," Billy said, sniffling the last of his melancholy away, unfurling himself from the ground to stand up again. The doubt faded away like Tawny's pelt back into the shadows.

Do good.

Harley stood with him, "Yeah?"

And good will follow.

"Can we stay out a bit longer?"

Do good.

A sly smile curled her lips. She already knew what he was going to say. "Got somethin' in mind, sparky?"

And good will follow.

Billy looked her in the eye, determined and more confident in his answer than anything else that day.

Do good.

"I wanna stop crime."

And good will follow.

Chapter Text

Two days.

It had been two days.

The first sightings had popped up the previous night. Whispers and glances of electricity, of shiny gold shifting out from the shadows, of a tan long coat and giant mallets and laughter.

Security cameras were no help at revealing the facts, since there had been only one available recording. An attempted mugging of a store clerk behind his shop, and the next moment a small form stepped out of darkness, bright and crackling, shocking the offenders enough to take them down. The woman in the trenchcoat sauntered on scene afterwards, from the same dark void as the child, inspecting the damage and effectively keeping the offenders knocked out before stealing their wallets. The clerk pleaded thanks before the woman told him to scram.

Batman did not need further evidence to be convinced that the woman was one Harley Quinn. No matter what disguise she wore, her walk and attitude were largely unchanged, recognizable even from the low quality recording.

The real mystery here was the identity of that child with Harley.

And they were a child, Batman was certain.

Four feet. Skin with a tanner complexion. Inexperienced. Very, very magical.

Their face was shadowed so thoroughly, Batman suspected it to be an extension of their magical abilities. Just like their capability of stepping into and out of shadows, just like the electricity that sparked from their hands.

Science made sense when it could be broken down to formulas and methods. People made sense when you learned their habits and thought processes and beliefs. Everything made sense when studied enough, taken apart to their bare essentials and laid out.

But magic?

Flimsy and whimsical, but firm and unbending. Worked on belief, but only to few, and sometimes to those who studied or inherited or got lucky, sometimes not at all. It flowed and ebbed away like the ocean's tide, yet even that could be explained by the moon.

Batman did not understand magic.

And he loathed it.

What he did understand, what he could gather from his brushes of the magical world, was that a magically powerful child running around Gotham, with a Gotham Siren no less, was incredibly concerning. It was a situation he must stop before it got out of hand. Before someone got truly hurt.

Muggers and thieves, notwithstanding.

And while he finished documenting his findings on the battle from a few days ago - neatly wrapped up and with the instigator back behind bars, though a few villains still to the wind - Batman also utilized his resources available.

Specifically, he consulted someone more magically inclined.

Normally, Captain Marvel would have been his first call. However, due to recent events he was out of commission for the moment, and unfortunately, Batman did not know how long that would be. Marvel wasn't answering his communicator and even Cyborg couldn't contact him.

It was a puzzle for another day.

Given the situation then, Zatanna was his first call. Still living in the bustling city of New York, she was ever the popular performer. Always aware of her show schedule, he had sent her the video of the magical child for a quick consultation. Even through the screen, he saw how she studied the video with an intensity that nearly concerned him. Her answer wasn't good.

"Where did this happen?" She asked, eyes still trained on the video before her. Batman could see the way she followed the child's movements.

"Gotham. Last night. The only evidence captured on screen."

"And the other evidence…?"

"The perpetrators caught by police last night and the night before all suffered moderate electrical burns. Surprisingly, no cardiac effects. They got off mild, considering."

"Considering it's magic, you mean? It could be a Metahuman ability."

Batman didn't answer that. They both knew what it was. Despite their history and current friendship, Zatanna knew his opinions on the matter.

"You know for certain this is a real child? Not another Klarion?"

The way the child moved, the hesitancy when their lightning struck, the enthusiasm when they took down the offenders, the joy when they were praised - Bruce knew a child when he saw one.

"I'm certain." And it only made him more determined. "Can you tell me anything about the child, or their magic?"

Zatanna sighed, but her eyes sharply registered the video again. "I don't know who they are. If there is some powerful kid sorcerer around, it wouldn't be quiet news around here, I can tell you that."

"So, the kid is new to this."

"Maybe. But not necessarily. Their magic, it's… it's not something you just pick up from some incantations on the internet or off some magician on the corner. This is… powerful stuff, B."

"Powerful, how?"

"The color. It's gold, see. A lot of magical energy is color coded, in a way, but I won't bore you with the theories and discourse around all that," she said, like she didn't have her own essays on the subject. He knew she did. "Basically, very few have magical energy that is white hot gold like that."

"Very few as in…"

Zatanna leaned back in her seat. "Doctor Fate is dark gold, though it could be contested that my father's own magic is what gives it the white flare. Captain Marvel is the only other." She paused, contemplating what no doubt was already one of his suspicions. "Do you think-?"

"I'm still collecting evidence. Identifying the kid and getting them away from Harley Quinn are my top priorities. Any information is useful, but I won't jump to conclusions."

He still kept note of it, of course, now that it was brought to his attention.

"Have you talked to him?"

"I will," though he did not mention how Marvel had been gone since the fight days ago.

"Do you…" she paused, unsure if she should continue. Zatanna most likely knew what his response would be, but still, she offered, "I could scry on the kid. Track them down, get more insight from other planes, if need be."

Ever helpful and curious.

"No, I have other leads, first. Thank you for your time, Zatanna." Like a second thought, unwilling to go unsaid, "Give them the old razzle dazzle."

She smiled at him, a little soft and a little fond, a little disappointed. "Of course, any time. I'll keep my eyes open for anything else. Take care of yourself, Bruce."

As he sat alone in his seat, the echoes of the Batcave a backdrop of noise he had grown far too used to, Batman pondered. Zatanna was right to suspect, as sharp as ever as she questioned a note he had immediately thought of.

What if the child and Marvel were related?

He needed more information, more insight. Another pair of eyes that could see far more than even Batman could.

---

For a guy only in his twenties, Victor was loathe to admit he was already seeing premature grey hairs on the remaining part of his scalp that still grew them.

He blamed it on the stress.

Part of that was due to his new position in the superhero business. Trying to live up to everyone's expectations as the Justice League's tech geek was more harrowing than learning the ropes with the Titans. Yeah, everyone treated him well and were friendly enough, but that didn't stop the creeping suspicion that dwelled within him, that he was an imposter, a kid playing in adult shoes. He didn't even get to finish college, for crying out loud!

Saving the world with some newly merged advanced alien organic technology surpassed any degree he was planning to get, anyway. It certainly was more thrilling than winning a football game. At least, that's what he told himself on those nostalgic nights when he was awake in the Watchtower, when he watched his old team's games, when he saw his college friends celebrate without him.

The world kept turning and crime never rested. Coincidentally, now neither did he.

All that aside, Victor was entirely sure that the other factor giving him grey hairs came in the form of an obnoxiously good hearted little punk that liked to run around as a magical mighty mortal.

Between ensuring Billy had food and an actual security system at his shabby apartment, and that he made it home in one piece, both as himself and as Captain - Victor was starting to wonder if this was what being an older brother felt like. Or a dad. He really hoped not, he was just barely managing to bridge things with his own father. It would be too much, even for him.

"Update," came the command from his station that he was working at, the third current source of his stress.

Sometimes he wondered how much grey Batman had in his hair.

"I reviewed the video and compared it to my database of other magic users," Victor started, sending over a comparison as well as the energy data he collected. "The only similar match is with Captain Marvel, but there are numerous magical beings even we don't know, and obviously the kid's is significantly less powerful."

"Anything else?"

Okay, Victor, show time.

"Well, the quality isn't great, and I can't do a full scan without witnessing it in person, but there are key differences if we're going down this route. Marvel's energy is pure concentrated magic. Like, straight from the source, or as he likes to put it, the Gods. But this kid, he's… it has similar readings, but it's coming from... himself? No outside sourcing, or maybe it's heavily filtered? Diluted? There's something different about it. More innate, maybe. Which may be why it's less powerful. Not just anyone can match the power of Gods, I guess."

There was a moment of silence as Batman put the pieces together. "The magic may be natural for him. Inherited. It could have just awakened in him, or he could be from one of their realities, which may be why there's no information on his identity."

"That's my theory, yeah. If it is inherited, then his parents can shoot lightning and move through shadows."

"So that isn't a portal or cloak he's using?"

"More like actual magical darkness, which, yeah, could be used as a portal or cloak. Either way, last I checked, our Captain did not control shadows."

"That we know of," Batman countered, suspicious as usual. "The ability to control shadows may have been inherited from the other parent. Or it might be the boy's own."

Crap. Okay, different tactic, Victor.

"I may have only taken Mythology as a filler credit, but I know there are a lot of stories about the...trouble Gods get up to. Especially on Earth. The kid could be any one of theirs."

"With his connection to them, being their so-called Champion, Marvel and another God could have-"

"Look!" Victor had to stop that right now. "I know I haven't known him for very long, but I honestly cannot imagine Captain, uhh, starting a family. With a human or God," he said, trying to drive home the point at the absurdity of that suggestion.

And also because he literally refused to imagine that scenario. Knowing what he does now. No way.

"Don't let your new found fondness blind you from any and all possibilities, Cyborg. Captain Marvel is an appreciated and trusted member of our team. Probably more of a boy scout than Superman. But the fact remains that we do not know much about him or his magic."

And, jeez, was this how Batman was with all unknown variables? Or did he hate magic that much?

Granted, he did basically order Marvel to babysit him like he was a ticking Parademon bomb a few weeks back. Could Batman be upset that he still didn't know Marvel's secret identity? That Cyborg not only overcame their worries with Marvel's magic, but became a trusted confidant of the Champion when the others couldn't get anything but round about nonsense out of him? It was hard to tell, but still...

"He's my friend and I trust him."

There was a moment of silence, but Victor wasn't stupid enough to think Batman wasn't contemplating everything they've talked about thus far. "Any word from him yet?"

A release of pressure, a defensiveness he didn't even realize he was holding onto eased. "Not since he left, no."

"Hn," he made that noise so packed full of judgement, Victor wondered how he could audibly emote so well whilst exuding emotionlessness. "Anything else?"

Yeah, I know exactly who Marvel is and I won't tell you.

"No, that's all I have," Victor lied, relieved that Batman was on the other end of a communicator and not in front of him. "Do you want me to check other security tapes? Search some child services databases?" He already knew the answer, knew the detective preferred his own labor at every opportunity possible. Batman had most likely gone through it all twice by now.

"No. Thank you, Cyborg. Batman out."

That went about as well as Victor expected. Though, it took a bit of an unexpected turn.

He knew as a League member, he should heed Batman's command, especially on issues connected to Gotham and its villains, and especially on his cases. However, as Billy's friend, Victor knew he couldn't sit aside and allow the world's greatest detective to find Billy out.

So, sure he was technically interfering with Batman's investigation, had been since this all started and his own surveillance system pinged him when Billy showed up at a Gotham ice cream parlor of all places. And yes, that all included him deleting security recordings of this mysterious magical kid that just appeared in Gotham several days ago, and him hiding any evidence of one Willaim Joseph Batson - which, honestly wasn't a whole lot, but damn, this kid sure did have a rough life.

This could very well get him in a lot of trouble.

But only if he got caught.

Thankfully, Victor had the upper hand when it came to the world wide web and the subject of his crime.

That is to say, he will absolutely be in trouble when Marvel's true identity is revealed one day and everyone learns Cyborg knew all along since every time Marvel goes missing Cyborg covers his trail.

Oh, yeah, Captain got hit by a nasty poison bomb and needed to go to his magic rock and heal up. That's totally what happened. He's not secretly a kid that's currently running around with an insane clown stopping petty crime in Gotham, like some magical demigod. That would be ridiculous.

God, he really needed to give Billy a freaking cellphone when this was over. Considering all that he's doing, Victor did not actually know what was going on. Billy wasn't answering his League comm and instead of reporting in, was out gallivanting with Harley Quinn.

And Victor totally knew that was Billy's magic. But since when did he control shadows or shoot lightning? Last thing he was aware of that the kid could pull off was dazzling sparklers and static cling. Billy often complained about the draining effects of practicing his magic, of how surprisingly strict John Constantine was with their occasional lessons on incantations.

But what Victor saw on video was nothing like that. It looked almost exactly like Captain Marvel's magic. No wonder Batman was suspicious.

So, what was he doing stopping crime in Gotham? Did something happen during the battle? Did Marvel get hurt so badly that Billy was stuck? Did Billy get hurt? Did that insane clown kidnap him? Did she see him transform and was blackmailing him?

See, this was why Victor had grey hairs.

---

Since he first woke up, Billy felt like he truly knew himself, like he was closer toward his truth.

Sure, Miss Pam still had not finished her antidote, some of the more magical ingredients difficult to find or something. And no, memories were not coming to him yet, no flashes of pictures or recognition, nothing around him familiar. But, it was like he said - things could be worse.

He had Harley. He had Tawny. He had his magic.

That was all he needed to fulfill the most important part of himself that he had regained: his desire to help.

It felt right.

Besides, it had been several days. If someone was missing him, they'd be looking, right? There would be missing child posters and the police would be going around and Billy would see pictures of himself on the news - pictures of him and his family, his parents, siblings, friends.

But there wasn't any. There was nothing.

The realization made him uncomfortable. Like it was a particular truth he was better off not knowing.

Nobody was looking for him, so, did it all really matter? If he got his memories back, if he remembered his life before Harley and Pam found him, would that really be better?

But they had mentioned a 'Persephone' that first day. That she would be worried about him, that they had to restore his memories before they returned him to her.

Who was he to her, though? Was she his mother? His guardian? His nanny? If she cared so much, why wasn't she coming to get him right now? Did she even know he was gone?

When Billy tried to ask who Persephone was, all Harley gave him was a shrug and quick, flashy distraction. Like, she didn't know. Or didn't want to tell him. Unfortunately, he couldn't even ask Pam because she was still out collecting ingredients for her antidote. For him.

Billy thought it would be ungrateful if he demanded answers when she was so busy helping him.

And asking Tawny was a wild card. Despite saying they were always there with him, the Familiar seldom answered his questions, and when they did it was even more confusing.

All of it left a particularly unpleasant feeling inside him, a heaviness in his chest, a shadowing doubt in his mind.

Luckily, stopping crime kept the darkness at bay, kept him from thinking too much.

"The weather is supposed to be nice and clear tonight, so what time are we heading out?" Billy asked over his bowl of warmed up chicken soup, one of the few meals Harley could prepare, though Billy was not complaining. It was good.

They had gone grocery shopping earlier that day. Though it was more like, Harley handled Billy a list of food stuffs to buy and a fistful of cash as she went a different direction for 'personal items'. Whatever that meant. It was fine, of course. Billy could walk around a grocery store by himself, and sure he got a few glances, especially by store managers, but no one stopped him. It was not an uncommon sight, he concluded, for a child to be out on their own. As long as he looked well enough, not suspicious enough, no one would bother him.

Billy couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not, if it was something to be concerned with in this city or he should just merrily take advantage of it. In the end, he got the food and left.

"Well, I got a meetin' with a client in a smidge, so you, lil sparky, are stayin' in tonight," Harley said as she dumped her dishes in the sink.

"Staying in?" Billy furrowed his brows. That sounded… unproductive.

"Yeah, ya know, stay up late and eat too much pizza, watch R rated movies, have a sip of wine when the adults ain't home. Stuff like that." Harley shrugged, voice casual, but something in it was leading somewhere Billy was not familiar. Like she really, really wanted him to do those things, despite her flippancy.

(Or she really wanted him to not do those things, to not stay in.)

But why?

Why would he want to do all that, when he could be saving someone?

The question must have been obvious on his face, because Harley blew out a huge sigh and pointed at him, for emphasis or accusation, he wasn't sure. "Look, I just don't want ya runnin' about on your own, okay? Gotham ain't as friendly as you've seen it be these past few nights. It can get pretty nasty out there, especially for a half point. You need someone who knows their stuff to be there with you."

It sounded like she was concerned for him, for his safety. Which was sweet! Really! But… something inside him pricked at the notion that he couldn't take care of himself. "I have magic?"

Harley leveled a look at him. "Yeah, but ya still learnin' the ropes, and there are folks out there that can tie knots so fancy it'd make the boy scouts cry with envy."

Well, if she was worried he would get caught and tied up… "I have Tawny."

Harley rolled her eyes so dramatically that Billy didn't feel so bad about arguing. "Not my point, sparky!"

She seemed to have a lot of points. Billy just had better ones.

"So, what, we're not going out at all?" Something bubbled in the pit of his stomach, turned it over and over. He didn't like this plan. "You said it gets nasty out there, right? Well, no one can do what I do, so shouldn't I be doing something?"

"You don't gotta do squat, kid."

That didn't sound right.

Of course he had to do something!

"Fine!" Billy huffed, slouching in his seat. It wouldn't do him any good arguing this. He could tell.

Harley was smart, could probably use adult logic to get him to agree. So why bother going through all that, when he had already made up his mind?

She squinted at him for a moment before shrugging. "Glad ya agree. Now, I won't be back til later, okay. My babies have already been fed, and they're on baby sittin' duty, so don't give em a hard time."

Billy had noticed Harley's crisp and clean button up shirt, that she had easily twisted her hair up in a way that obfuscated the dye job. He thought this was a new disguise. The glasses completed the ensemble and she looked professional.

"If I get back early," she started, already at the door, manilla folders underneath her arm, "we'll go beat up some bad guys!"

And just like that she was gone, the sound of multiple locks clicking in place echoed after her.

Billy dejectedly spooned the remaining bit of soup into his mouth before packing the rest up and putting it in the fridge. The thought of wasting it nearly as absurd as the idea of him sitting around inside all night.

Because of course that was ridiculous. Harley wanted him to just, what? Wait around? Let crime happen out there when he was perfectly capable of stopping it? He had magic, for crying out loud! He had Tawny! So what if he didn't have supervision? As far as Billy was concerned, that was just how his life was until this point.

Maybe there really was no one.

That particular thought brought on an ache, an uncomfortable squeeze in his chest. His earlier ruminations returned in full force. If there was someone, if he was important to this Persephone, then why weren't they looking for him? Why weren't they here? Why was he alone?

Not alone. Never alone.

Yeah, I know, Tawny. Billy scrounged around for his red hoodie that was finally clean. It wasn't as grand as any of Harley's outfits, but it was his.

I'm just saying that if somebody had been actually watching me or something, then they'd know I'm gone, right. But there isn't anybody looking for me, so that means I've always been unsupervised. Billy reasoned whilst opening a hallway window that led out onto a fire escape.

Harley's dogs whined at him from the end of the hall, half growls rumbling in their throats as if to warn him of what Harley said. But they stayed where they were, not daring to edge closer even as Billy climbed out the window. The familiar prickle of his Familiar's presence chilled at his back, and Billy knew that Tawny was keeping them at bay. The tiger could be pretty intimidating.

"Sorry guys, I'll be back soon!" Billy whispered to them as he closed the window. It was only a hop, jump, and skip down to the alleyway below. He didn't worry of being seen by anyone, Tawny shrouded him in shadow for safe stealth.

See, Harley, I don't need supervision. Billy thought as a rush of thrill and pride swept through him, as he urged the magic to sniff out where help was needed. I'll be fine on my own!

As if emboldened by his determination, Billy ran through the streets of Gotham. He stuck to alleys and shadowed edges that gave him cover. It was practical and smart, it felt right. There wasn't a particular path he was following, only a vague direction as his magic sensed danger nearby and gently guided him. Tawny had commented a few times on Billy's lack of self preservation, on his desire to jump head first into trouble. Billy jokingly argued that trouble often found him, and he's only been aware of all this for several days.

Still, it didn't feel wrong, and he didn't avoid danger. Something inside urged him to investigate, to help, and denying that part of him felt more wrong than anything. If he can help an old man carry his groceries, if he can scare some teenagers away from heckling a pretty woman, if he can stop some lowlifes from breaking and entering, if he can investigate suspicious creeps stalking abandoned warehouse buildings - he will.

In fact, he did!

Well, he was currently doing the last one, but so far he's been on a roll and he had no plans of slowing down now. The criminals in question had been arguing back and forth for a while before Billy got there. He could hear them the moment he entered through a broken window, their voices carrying throughout the open space. Aside from hanging out in an abandoned, run down warehouse in the middle of the night, the large guns strapped across the mens' chests really added to the overall 'up to no good' atmosphere. He still wasn't sure what exactly they were planning, so a stake out was in order.

As quietly as he could, still shrouded in Tawny's shadow, Billy carefully stepped his way up the rickety stairs at the far end of the warehouse. The upper level consisted of a walkway that ran along the whole wall, as well as across it, with only some offices in the corners. So many places to effectively hide and overhear what goes on below, one didn't even need to have the magical benefit of disguise. I can totally do this.

Now it was the waiting game.

Billy felt a silly amount of glee when his still, patient, and boring waiting paid off in the form of an obviously fake flower delivery van. It was obvious because all three men that stepped out had guns strapped to them, and because what they revealed in the back of the van was not artistically arranged flower decorations, but a large container filled with more weapons.

Really hit the honey pot here, huh?

Billy dropped his shroud and waited moments longer, thinking over how best to approach this. There were five of them and only one of-

"You are not planning on fighting five heavily armed opponents, are you?"

The question, though a whisper, caused Billy to startle. A surprised squawk turned into a squeak as he desperately tried to silence the noise. Billy glanced down at the men, still conversing on the floor without having heard him up top. Relieved and less disoriented, he turned towards the intruder.

Who happened to be just a kid.

A kid in a weird outfit with a cape and mask. But still just a kid.

"Uh." Harley didn't tell him about scowling kids in spandex.

"Because that would be a stupid idea," the kid, maybe even around Billy's age, continued, "if you were not at least somewhat competent in a moderate level of hand to hand combat." The boy had his arms crossed and looked down at where Billy was sprawled - despite the white and green mask covering his face, Billy could just feel the contempt and disapproval at the once over he was given. "Which I can hardly believe you have any experience in."

Wow, what a rude punk.

He felt Tawny's shroud begin to crawl back over him, in his ear were soft rumbles from the shadow's constant mask - warning him. Billy wasn't quite sure of what, but either way he halted the blanket of shadows.

"Hn, so you do control shadows," the kid said, eyeing him carefully.

This was entirely off putting. "H-How'd you find me?" Billy asked in a whisper, though the men down below were still discussing negotiations.

"That is none of your concern."

"Uh, yeah, it totally is my concern! Were you here the entire time?" How can this not concern him? Some kid in spandex just showed up! And to what, insult him?

He scoffed. "I don't stake out meager investigations like this."

"Then leave! I'm busy here and you're gonna get hurt."

"The only one who would get hurt is you. Do you even know how to fight those goons down there?"

"I can handle this! I don't need you in the way!"

"Hey, who's up there!"

"Quick, shoot em!"

Oh, this was just great.

The next moment a storm of bullets shot up at them. Billy reflexively moved, he scrambled away from the loud ringing of weapon discharge and metal on metal. Even having heard gunfire before, this was more nerve wracking than the single shots in dark alleyways. This was a barrage, deafening and terrifying. The shroud of magic may have helped protect him from being hit, and the men didn't really have that good an aim anyway, but still - Billy started to understand Harley's warning now.

This may be a bit more than he could handle.

"I'm in the way?" The kid said during a brief silence. He seemed ruffled at that remark more so than being literally shot at. Infact, he had managed to gracefully land on the other side of the walkway. "You're the idiot who's going to be in my way. This is a job for Batman and Robin, not some child."

Okay, this kid was really getting on Billy's nerves.

"It's Robin!" Someone yelled below, "Quick, scram!"

The bad guys fired at the kid - Robin - as the others ran for the van. They were trying to get away.

Assured that Robin could handle himself, as he was currently flipping about and throwing things at the men - like, who even was this kid? - Billy took the distraction as a chance to jump down to the ground level. Obscured by darkness and no longer their main target, Billy quickly revealed himself with a sharp crack of lightning towards the van's tires - blowing out the front two before tumbling behind a large machinery for cover. The mens' shouts of dismay and anger were overrun by their gunfire, but the pounding of his heart nearly drowned out all of it. He barely took a moment for a few gasps of breath, to steady his own livewire nerves.

This was exhilarating.

The unmistakable sound of faces being hit and another pause of gunfire alerted Billy that Robin was on the offensive. Peeking out from his cover, he spotted the other boy performing amazing combative acrobatics. He wouldn't ever admit aloud, but he was definitely impressed by Robin tossing a man three times his size clear over his shoulders. The resounding thuds nearly made Billy wince.

He didn't witness what else the boy could do, as one of the men who was presumably knocked out raised his arm and took aim towards Robin's back with a pistol. Knowing he wouldn't make it in time, Billy urged Tawny onward. Shadows stretched from Billy's spot toward the sprawled out man until they reached his foot - and then Tawny grabbed ahold. The man only had time to gasp in surprise and then scream in horror as he was dragged down into the darkness. His gunfire into the void did nothing to stop it and neither did his pleads or his hands scrambling for purchase on the concrete ground.

He was gone within seconds.

The remaining men screamed as they ran out the open garage door and into the pelting rain.

Robin did not follow, more interested in the shadow that began to rise from the ground. It became a tall figure of pure darkness that stood there for several seconds. Waiting…

"Tawny," Billy warned, walking closer. He made it halfway before a body tumbled out of the void, like it unceremoniously fell down a flight of stairs.

Robin jumped back a step and waited a moment until he noted the man breathing. He had fainted. "So you do have shadow manipulation."

That wasn't a question.

"Uh, yeah, and the bad guys are getting away!" Billy pointed out, calling Tawny back to him as he started toward the remaining men already out the warehouse.

"Unimportant. They won't get far," Robin said as he easily stepped into Billy's path.

"Unimpor-? Yes, it is!" Billy tried to side step the masked boy, but was effortlessly blocked again and again.

"Batman will get them. Were you born with these powers? Or are you a Metahuman?"

"Batman? Meta what?" Billy had no idea what was going on.

He thought this kid was after the bad guys, was he really after Billy all along?

Robin paused, his look of scrutiny matching Billy's. "You… don't know what Metahumans are? Who Batman is? Do you even know who I am?"

"They called you Robin, right?"

A moment of silence passed between them, the downpour outside hitting hard. Billy could hear the men screaming in terror in the distance. Was that the Batman causing that? Maybe he didn't want to stick around to find out...

"Guess you could be some clueless demigod kid," he continued with a thoughtful noise and cross of his arms. Something about his stance broadcasted superiority and Billy snapped his attention back to Robin when he said, "Would explain your naive ignorance."

"Just because I don't know who you are, doesn't mean I'm stupid!" He barely knew himself, afterall.

"Hardly!" Robin raised his voice to match Billy's. "But ruining a month's long investigation into the new wave of underground weapons distribution does!"

"What?"

He scoffed. "You don't know the first thing about the hero business, do you? You think just because you have magical powers you can run around with that harlequin psychopath and do as you please, like a couple of idiots."

"Harl-? How do you know about Harley?" Nothing about this made sense. Just moments ago this kid was questioning him, now he was talking like he already had all the information he needed. Billy took a step back, out of arm's reach.

"Because I track everything that goes on in my city." Tracking. He had been tracking him? He found him on purpose? "And you're stupid enough to be using your magic all over the-"

"Robin. Enough."

Billy's focus swung towards the guttural growl of the tall, dark figure looming in the warehouse doorway. A strike of lightning outside illuminated the black silhouette in a way that the eerie white eyes glaring right at him glowed.

Batman.

This had to be him. Billy did not know what to expect, but with how terrified the men sounded he understood why now. Imposing and unwavering and moving straight for him, Billy scrambled back several more steps. Alarms were going off inside his head. But they were all over the place: danger and predator and security and familiarity. Mixed signals that he couldn't understand.

This man was a hero, right? Then what did Billy have to fear? Except he had been going around this guy's supposed territory doing his job, had even messed up an investigation. Was that something a hero would hurt him over?

Safe.

He's safe? Do I know him?

There was silence.

Thanks, Tawny.

"What do you want?" Billy asked, because they must want something from him if they were here and not taking the bad guys to the police, not out patrolling their city. The way they blocked his path to the door, the suspicion of them both - it set Billy on edge.

"I just want to talk," Batman said. His voice didn't have that commanding tone it did before, and he had stopped walking closer the moment Billy had moved back.

Billy also noticed that he didn't include Robin in his statement.

Robin must have also realized it because he opened his mouth to retaliate, but Batman beat him to the punch. "Robin, keep watch on the arms dealers."

"What! I'm the one that got him talking! You weren't even going to bring me, I can-!"

"Now."

Seething in silence, Robin turned to glare at Billy, like somehow he was to blame for him getting in trouble. Not Billy's fault he didn't stay at home like his caretaker told him.

Okay, that was hypocritical.

With a huff of finality, Robin threw over his hood and stalked outside into the rain.

Being alone together didn't exactly make Billy feel any better, but at least there was only one potential threat to focus on instead of two. And yeah, Billy was very aware of his situation right now, of how scary this was compared to the others, but still…

Something about this man kept him from bolting, kept him rooted to his spot.

"Well, you wanted to talk, right?" Billy said after a long moment listening to the building storm. Batman did not seem like the type to talk first. "Because if it's about me helping around your city, then you can't even be mad about that! There are a lot of good people out there getting hurt, and a lot of kids that can't turn to anyone, and if I can help them, then I'm gonna do it and, and I didn't even know you existed, so you can't just call dibs and, and you can't stop me!"

That did not come out as eloquent as he wanted. It felt like uncontrollable word vomit and by the end of it Billy could feel his cheeks flush red.

Surprisingly, the cowled figure before him let out a sigh and it looked like his entire body became less looming. "I'm not angry at you for assisting those in need," he said. His voice was deep and rumbling, but not nearly as terrifying as it sounded earlier. Certainly nicer than his… sidekick. "I am, however, concerned about you."

That was unexpected.

"I… I'm fine!" Billy tried to put as much confidence as he could into his words, despite the situation. "I can handle myself just fine. No need to worry!"

Batman shifted, a slight tilt of his head and Billy could just tell how amused he was. No visible change in his expression was seen, but Billy could feel it. "Alright. Can you tell me your name?"

Should he tell him his real name? Afterall, they hadn't given him theirs. And all this time Billy didn't really think of a cool codename for himself. Harley had just been calling various nicknames.

A strike of lightning lit up outside.

"Sparky…?" Billy said.

"Try again."

"Sparkman. No, uhhh, Shadow Shocker? Umm." Wow this was hard.

Batman crosses his arms and exuded very clear disappointment. He was very good at projecting.

"Sorry, I didn't have one planned!"

"How about your real name?"

It was obvious that no amount of playing about would distract the guy. And lying wouldn't work even if Billy was good at it. He wanted the truth and the weird thing was Billy felt inclined to tell him. At least, what he knew. For the first time since he woke up in Harley and Ivy's home, Billy felt like he found someone who could help him find the whole truth.

And the guy was dressed like a giant armored bat.

It said something about Billy's life, he was sure, and he hoped to figure it out soon. So, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, stopped fighting the compulsion to trust this man. When he finally really looked at the man before him, what he saw surprised him. Like the moon above them, Batman glowed bright and welcoming. He was cool and distant and something in his light beckoned Billy forward. But like the clouds that rolled the skies, darkness easily passed through, full of pain and anger that reminded Billy that the scowl and cowl were not just for show.

This was a man both dangerous and compassionate in equal measures.

Which would greet him when he revealed himself?

Dropping his hood and the shadowed effect from his face like a heavy weight gone, he blinked away his Sight and finally said, "Billy. My name is Billy."

As Batman stood there in silence, assessing him, looking him over, taking his identity in, Billy waited with bated breath for a reaction, a sign, a hint that his gut feeling was right.

"Billy," Batman said, still clear and calm as ever - but it didn't sound right. It wasn't what he was expecting, though he didn't know exactly what that was. Except this wasn't it, something was off. "What you're doing is dangerous. Not only can you hurt yourself, but you put others at risk when you are out here."

There was no recognition. No realization. No homecoming. The warm glow of hope in his belly was snuffed out. He was back to square one, back to being a stranger in a strange place.

"I'm doing just fine," Billy bit out, trying and failing to hold in the unexpected sharp hurt of disappointment. He should've known better. "I have Tawny and Harley and Ivy."

"Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy are wanted criminals, and neither are known for their magical abilities," Batman said harshly. Billy was momentarily struck by the tone, by the authoritative imbalance of this conversation.

Now that was oddly familiar.

A rebellious flare of ire spread through him. "So what if they can't do magic? They're not perfect, but they're trying, okay!"

"You will get hurt. Others will get hurt."

"Harley's been real nice and has helped out a lot of people! We were doing fine!"

"You don't know them, Billy."

"Yes, I do! I know they took me in and Ivy has been working so hard to find an antidote for me and-!"

"An antidote for what?"

His jaw clicked shut and he put as much disdain into his glare as he could. Nearly embarrassed that he let it slip, Billy refused to answer.

"What is the antidote for, Billy?" He asked, voice laced with so much sincerity and concern he almost believed it.

Billy shifted his hood back on, clearly intent on leaving. "I'm fine, I need to go."

Tawny, let's go.

Batman took a step forward. Looking as threatening as he had when he first arrived, "You can talk to me."

Billy took a step back. "I don't need to talk to you."

Tawny, c'mon!

"There are heroes that can help you." He was blocking the path towards the door.

"I can take care of myself!" Golden sparks crackled down Billy's arms.

Tawny!

"Billy." His name was said like a warning. "You need to come with me."

Tawny?

There was nothing.

He had to get out.

Shifting his feet to bolt, Batman was already on the move toward him. Instinctively, Billy ran for it. His hands were raised and gold sparks shot out for Batman's feet. A warning to keep his distance, but just the same, the man threw a weapon that paused Billy's run for the door.

Tawny, where are you?

Billy called for the shadows to cover him, to hide him and take him away. But nothing came.

He continued to run, using his lightning to keep Batman away. A particular jolt was thrown to the ground, a blinding flash bomb in his wake as he ran through the door. He knew he could not outrun the other, especially in his own city, but he could try. Making it to the busier streets would mean easier places to hide and lay low until he could get back to Harley's.

Maybe even find a way to contact his Familiar.

The rush of rain and wind was an immediate cooling hit to his face, but still, Billy ran. He turned the corner out toward the street, right as the blur of a weapon whizzed by him, and he halted. Blocking his path at the opening of the alley was Robin and the unconscious pile of arms dealers tied up.

Shit.

Billy quickly glanced at his options. He threw a distracting bolt before scaling up a dumpster for a hanging ladder on the side of the building. Robin's shout of dismay was drowned by the pouring rain, clattering sound of the unstable metal, and Billy's own heart beating in his ears. He hadn't quite made it to the top when a hook snagged the edge of the building and Robin was propelling himself up.

And he had a freakin sword.

The brick edge of the building was easy enough to scramble over, and Billy didn't pause to see if Robin knew how to use that thing. He was on his feet and booking it. There was no set route in mind, he didn't know where he was going exactly. Only that he urged his magic out to lead him to safety and his feet followed the path.

The next thing Billy knew was that his feet were out from under him and his face painfully collided with something hard.

"I told him I should have stayed," Robin said above him.

When he rolled over onto his back, a heavy boot pressed down onto his stomach and the sword beside his head gleamed as lightning struck overhead. Golden sparks lit in his hands, ready for the defense until the blade pressed threateningly into his shoulder.

"Don't even think about it," warned Robin. Despite his frown, Billy could tell he was smug about this.

"Robin."

Dread pooled in Billy's gut as Batman landed on the rooftop with them. He made his way over, even more terrifying and looming than before as the sky stormed around them. This was it. Billy was as good as trapped. He didn't know why his instincts ever told him these people were safe. They were dangerous. They didn't know him, but they knew Harley and Ivy, and that did not bode well.

Maybe they'll try to get Billy to tell them where the women lived. Maybe they hate magic users. Maybe they'll keep him imprisoned, ask him questions he has no answers to, make sure he never gets out, never regains his memories, never goes home.

"I stopped him, didn't I? Let me do thi-"

"Beat it, lil birdie!"

One moment the boy was pinning Billy down. The next moment he was tumbling across the rooftop, sword and all. And would have Billy felt a little bad for him, if not for the overwhelming relief of seeing Harley to his rescue.

As Harley landed nearby, she pulled a chain that was attached to her giant mallet that had hit Robin away, summoning it back to her. At the same time, Batman was already sprinting forward, weapon in hand. Without hesitation Billy raised his leg up and slammed it back down, summoning lightning to arch toward Batman in interference.

Billy didn't even register his own attack until a stinging sensation blazed through him. As he looked down he saw his hoodie and shirt cut open, a consequence of Robin holding fast onto his sword as he was hit aside. It took a moment of staring for Billy to realize he was bleeding. From his shoulder and across his chest, a blooming pain accompanied the stream of blood that the rain did little to wash away. It hurt to even raise his arm, no wonder his body reacted creatively.

"Pay attention, sparky," Harley said, standing over him in a combative stance. She still wore the professional outfit she had left home in, but her hair was out of its neat bun, messily strewn down her shoulders to reveal the colorful dye. A wide grin split her face, teeth showing in manic glee.

"I thought you-"

"I lied," she said with a shrug, more a jerking motion than usual. "Okay, I half lied. I did my doctorin', but it didn't take long and I've been tryin' to follow you around."

"You knew?" Really, he shouldn't be surprised, but still, the deception stung.

"Oh, don't look so glum," she pulled him roughly up by the scruff of his torn clothes with a strength Billy did not know she even had. He hissed in pain as he steadied his feet. "We gotta finish this."

Billy warily watched as Batman and Robin righted themselves. The storm's rage was growing. Harley and him did not need to finish this. They needed to get away.

"Harley, we need to go," Billy urged with a step back.

Before he could say more, Harley was moving. Faster than he had ever seen her, she practically flew towards Batman. Her mallet hit the spot he had occupied, the roof's material cracking underneath it. Billy did not want to think about what it would have done had Batman not moved in time. She took another swing.

"Harley, stop! We need to go!"

A sudden restraint kept him in place, the contact of what bound his arms to his body rubbed painfully against his chest wound. The jerking motion that pulled him back made his feet skid on the wet surface and it lead toward Robin who held the other end of the restraint.

Reacting quickly, Billy let loose a shock from his body, hoping the conduction between them would suffice. However, the spark seemed to fizzle as it reached the boy's hands. Like he was wearing protective armor effective against Billy specifically. Trying his luck twice, Billy kicked a row of golden arches at the masked hero, but he easily dodged the attack and pulled Billy toward him again, successfully stumbling him to the ground again.

Tawny! Tawny, some help here!

Still no answer.

On his knees, Robin grappled him to keep in place, an arm around his throat and the sword once again threateningly held against his stomach. Billy was caught and there was nothing he could do.

"You're not going to win this," Robin said. "So you might as well cooperate!"

"Get off!" Something was wrong. If Tawny wasn't here, he had to grab Harley and go. "Harley!"

"Don't you see how psychotic that woman is? You really want to go back to her?"

The loud cracking of Harley trying to literally flatten Batman into a pancake drowned out Billy's cry for her. Her laughter boomed like the thunder above, her smile was wide and wrong. She was acting wrong.

"Harley!" Billy tried again, doubling his efforts to get out of Robin's grasp, even as the blade sharply dug into his skin. "You have to stop!"

"She just wants entertainment!" Robin shouted into his ear, the noise around them required it. "She doesn't care about you! You're a weapon to her! Just another toy to dispose of when she's done!"

"No, I'm not!" That was wrong. He was wrong. Harley cared about him, helped him. They needed to leave. "Harley! Please!"

Another hit to the roof and the foundation shook, the cracks got bigger. She took another swing towards Batman's head and laughed and laughed and laughed.

Robin pulled him away from the fight, towards the ledge. "That lunatic, she's gonna take this whole place down."

"Something's wrong with her. Let me go, I need to get to her! Harley!"

"Of course something is wrong. She's high on one of Poison Ivy's concoctions and more crazy than usual." Robin managed to get them to the edge by the building's fire escape.

Thunder rolled above them, matching the deafening hit to the building that rocked them off balance.

Billy took his chance and ran.

"You idiot!"

He had to get to her, to stop her, to save her.

From the sky, large lightning struck down.

"Harley!"

Its destructive power smashed through the building.

But not before striking right onto Billy.

Tawny!

And for one very brief and very painful moment, Billy finally saw the truth.

Chapter Text

They came to him in flashes, like a camera's light right before his eyes. He would blink and they were gone. And every time he did, he saw something different. Something familiar that made his chest ache.

Or maybe that was the sword wound. Or the shock of lightning striking him.

Billy saw masked people, all different and powerful, talking to him and laughing with him and fighting alongside him. There were monsters and robots and armies from space - opponents they always won against. Like they were a team. A family.

Blink.

He saw so many people he lost count. So many smiles and tears, so much joy and pain. They made his heart swell with emotion, with gratitude that he could see them, be there for them, help them.

Blink.

Billy saw a man that filled him with sadness, with a heaviness he could not name. The stoicism on the man's face did nothing to hide his grief or his heartbreak, his all consuming desire for retribution. There was so much violence and death around him. It hurt to witness, to be the focus of it.

Blink.

There were so many memories, Billy wondered how he could have lived so much life.

Blink.

Finally, he saw an old man standing in a cave, staff in hand and stone thrones surrounding him. Power crackled at his command, but he looked exhausted, haggard even. His time was running out. When his glowing eyes fell upon Billy, for a moment he felt like he was truly being seen. Like this wasn't just a picture show. Like the old man was calling for him, reaching out for him. Awe and fear bubbled in Billy's stomach.

He wanted to leave.

He wanted to stay.

The cave seemed to materialize more and more around him, becoming solid and whole.

Go!

The word was distorted, an echo in the distance of the dark caverns around him.

Go!

It sounded familiar.

The scene around him started to become fuzzy, the fortress cloudy and static charged.

Leave! Leave! Leave!

It sounded like his Familiar.

Tawny?

The wizard pointed his staff at him, the glowing end pulling him forward.

Get away! Get away! Go! Go! Go!

Darkness swirled around Billy. It crawled out from the air like tears in a cloth, wrapping around him to block out the light. To protect him.

Everything was dark.

Blink.

Everything disappeared.

Tawny!

Everything hurt.

"Tawny?"

Stay.

Billy blinked. He was laying on the ground, staring up at the sky that rumbled and flashed.

Stay.

Rain pelted his face. It was a cold downpour that soaked through his clothes, shivered under his skin, drowned his bones.

"Tawny?"

Please, stay safe.

Billy blinked. He was still there on the hard concrete, aching everywhere, but it hurt too much to move. The night was dark around him. He could not find the warm blanket that was Tawny's shade. This was unfamiliar. Unsafe. Tawny told him to stay safe. He had to get up. He had to--

There was a glow, so blazing and hot, like the sun. Billy squinted against the brightness as it came closer.

"Are you the disturbance out--? Oh, my. You are hurt, " someone said in a voice so sweet. Their heat scorched against his chilly skin. He welcomed it. "Rest now, little one. You are safe."

Billy was tired, so tired. But he was safe, so with that, he closed his eyes.

---

Harley was gonna be in so much trouble.

It was a good plan at first! Really, it was!

Let the kid go out on his own, let him spread his little wings and figure things out. If he was going to stay on as her sidekick, he had to be independent. She had to see what he could do. And that was going well until she realized she couldn't exactly track him.

He shorted out the device she snuck onto his shoes.

The kid had two annoyingly good powers, for crying out loud.

She had only been able to find him because his attacks lit up the darkened horizon. And Harley knew a fight when she saw one. So, yeah, she may have jumped the gun a little and activated one of Ivy's emergency booster pills she kept in her tooth so she could reach the kid on time. And yes, when she saw it was Batman's murderous half pint pinning Billy down with the business end of a blade, she kinda saw red and just went for it.

But honestly, what else could she do?

Once she's in the zone, there was no getting out. No logic or pleading or distracting can curb her desire for a beat down.

At least, that's what she thought. An actual lightning strike from the freakin sky is what finally knocked some goddamn sense into her.

Unfortunately, it also knocked directly into Billy.

The building her and the Bats were on was completely demolished. That was her first clue that this was no ordinary bolt. Then, the old Bat said Billy was gone - not dead or ashed, just straight up gone! But she didn't stick around to chat about it at the risk of being caught. 'Sides, there wasn't nothing she could tell him anyway.

So, she scrammed on outta there and was trying to think of the best way to break the news to Pam.

Hey, Pam-a-lamb, how's the potion makin' goin'? Good? Yeah? Gee, you sure are smart. Funny thing, while out n' about we ran into the Bat, and well, the kid may have gotten stolen by magic?

Yeah, that would go so well.

However, that was assuming Pam was even aware of the world around her, as she tended to hole herself up in her lab for days on end. If Harley was lucky, that could still be the case.

Which meant she didn't necessarily need to tell Pam that Billy was gone. If she found him first.

The only snag in that solution was that she did not really know where Billy went. Or possibly who even took him. Because if he was taken from her, if some hotshot magical asshole thought they could pull a fast one and steal her lil sidekick - well, she won't need no booster pills to teach 'em a lesson the hard way.

Determination rejuvenated, Harley hurried on home. She was going to need Bud and Lou if she had any chance of tracking down Billy's scent to steal him back.

And trust her, she was going to steal him back.

She sure hoped Pam didn’t catch on first.

---

Koriand'r would never have considered herself the sentimental type before her time on Earth.

Before Earth, when she was viewed more as a bargaining chip than a person, there was no room for sentimental bias. Those kind of feelings often got one killed, maimed, or something far worse. She learned early on that there was no trust without betrayal, no help without a price. It was a hard lesson learned sometime between walking and hand to hand combat, and she was a quick study.

But here on this far away planet that attracted so much attention, she was shown kindness. Koriand'r bore witness to a type of selfless devotion she was inspired to learn from, that she aimed to adapt as her own, despite every hardwired nerve in her screaming not to. She felt the overwhelming warmth from these unsubstantial beings, she saw them thrive even though they blazed far less than the sun. There was violence, of course. There will always be violence, but there was also so much more.

Maybe that was why, when she came across the suspicious youth that had disturbed their territory, she hesitated to strike first. Maybe it was the brightness of his light that cut through the night. Or maybe it was the smell of an Other energy that saturated his very being, so concentrated it made her want to sneeze. Or maybe it was the flickering in his light, the blood oozing from his chest, and the lingering scent of ozone clinging onto him despite the rain.

Or maybe, just maybe, when Kori saw his too blue eyes staring unfocused right at her, and his black hair clinging wetly to his face, she could not help but pause at the sudden shock of sentimentality. Another boy's image - now a grown man, yes, but she would always remember that boy - was brought to the front of her memory and it made her heart squeeze with buried longing.

Whatever the reason, she gently shushed the child to rest, and when he easily succumbed, she carefully lifted him into her arms. Despite her strength, she knew he weighed close to nothing. Kori hoped her heat would warm his chilly core, would keep his light from going out.

The boys would not be too keen on her bringing home a stray, she knew this. But she doubted they would say no to her resolution, that they would be able to resist the pull to him just as she could not. This situation would either end with them helping a civilian child or involving themselves with trouble. Neither of those options were necessarily bad.

"Hey, Kori, everything alright out there?" Jason asked from his seat, eyes on his laptop.

"In the sense that there were no enemies, yes," Kori replied, walking straight to the couch to lay the child down. She would need the medical kit for this.

As she floated off, she noticed the spike in Jason's energy, a sudden movement as he rushed over to inspect what she found. "This doesn't look alright to me."

"I said there were no enemies," as of yet, anyway. She did not know if that would change once the boy awoke.

Jason sighed under his breath as he immediately knelt over the boy to check his pulse, his breathing, to ensure he was still alive and not on the brink of death.

Upon her return, med kit in hand, Kori let out a huff of air, almost like a scoff if she had ever gotten used to such a human behavior. "He is living. I am not incompetent in that regard."

"I know, I know," he said, gentle but not placating. Like it was indeed a fact he knew. Kori always appreciated that about him. That he never treated her like a wild animal. He reminded her of-- "But he still has a wound that needs tending to. We're not all tough like you," he started to cut away at the boy's top with a blade he procured from one of the many places on his body that he kept them. "What happened?"

With a tilt of her head, she recalled what caught her attention. The downpour outside raged on. "I am unsure how he became like this. The storm had a distinct flavor to it for a moment."

"Magical?" He asked, a bit of an edge in his voice, to his light. But Jason never took his eyes off the boy, even as he grabbed ahold of the gauze and scrub.

She hummed, noncommittal, letting Jason take control of nursing the boy. Kori could not actually perceive magic. It had a certain energy to it, a lot of them had different smells and textures, but to her that was not unlike all the rest of the energy in the universe. Maybe it was an Earth thing, maybe it was an Otherwordly thing, maybe it was just outside her type of Tamaranean perception. Still, Kori knew something powerful when she felt it.

"Different," she finally said. "Otherwordly, perhaps. For only a moment, the air tasted strangely. When I went outside, I found him lying on the ground, nearly unconscious."

Jason had been careful as he cleaned at the oozing wound. It seemed shallow, mostly superficial despite its mess. Nothing they could not manage, considering everything else. But what neither of them expected to find underneath all the blood was a large scar across the boy's body. Kori felt her fists clench at the sight. Her nostrils flared and underneath the lingering smell of smoke and iron, she caught the ebbing scent of energy sink into the boy’s skin and knew that no amount of rejuvenating technology would repair the permanently marked body.

Jason, for all his lack of expression, had a sudden drop in his light, a sudden spike of his blood pressure. "Anyone else out there?"

"No, no one else was present. I could search--"

"If there's no one, then there's no one," he said, hands gentle as he bandaged the wound. "I'd rather you here when he wakes up. We don't know who, or what, he is."

Despite his gruffness, Kori knew how affected Jason was, how much he cared for young children. Kori mused on Jason's inability to resist leaning toward the boy, his own dim light sparking at the contact, though his suspicion and distrust ever present.

No matter how bright the light, how welcoming the warmth, one as defensive and trained as the Red Hood could not let his guard down. Kori understood that. Had been like that. May very well still be like that. But for now...

She slid a hand onto the boy's cool forehead, offering what heat and comfort she could. Sometimes it was the small efforts of kindness that really steered a situation like this. And sometimes she was the one who could give it.

"Rest now," Kori whispered the repeated words in her own familiar language, gently stroking the boy's messy hair, cupping his cheeks that still held baby fat despite the signs of malnutrition. "You are safe, little one."

His light entangled with hers and the tickling shock of it brought a smile to her face. He was a fighter, she could tell.

---

To say Diana of Themyscira was worried would be both too simplistic and an understatement.

She did not often feel the need to fret for her teammates, for her friends, as they were all exceptional individuals that had skills and abilities that proved remarkable in combat and civilian situations. They all had a support system within the League. If any one of them were hurt, she did not waste her time on something as useless as fretting. Diana was a woman of action, after all. Whether it be providing emotional or physical support, she needed to do something, anything. Inaction was not an option.

Her mother always had a difficult time containing her.

But right now, there was nothing for her to do, nowhere for her to turn to as a productive outlet. She had already spent several hours cleaning the last of the museum's newest exhibit - statues Arthur and Mera had assisted in retrieving with her in the ocean's deep. But still, her energy would not subside. Thus, she turned it toward punching a hanging sandbag made to somewhat withstand feats of strength like her own.

Like Captain Marvel's.

However, the repetitive motion that was ingrained into her muscle memory did not distract her thoughts. Diana imagined what possible delays would keep her brother from returning home. She wondered if he was healing well, if he was struggling against a particularly dreadful wound. Or maybe if he was being opposed by an outside force, by self centered Gods that wanted their Champion's attention, by indifferent Wizards who called him away to duty.

Afterall, Marvel did not belong to himself.

And that was perhaps what unsettled her most - the lack of true agency when push came to shove. That was how they were truly different, him and her. No matter what Fate or Destiny had in store for her, in the end, Diana chose her place in this world. She chose to lend her strength to mankind, chose to oppose Ares, to bend the Gods rules and break Queen Hippolyta’s heart, to leave her home forever. And though it went against every moral fiber of her being, she was still granted the freedom to choose inaction, to have a civilian life, to hold peaceful domesticity and rest her weary bones. She rarely did so, as her responsibilities were vast and never ending, but that, too, was a choice.

Did Marvel ever get a choice?

When chosen as the Champion, did he get to decline? And when he accepted his fate, was he ever allowed to be human again? Did he get to say goodbye to his family, when their mortal time came? Was he ever able to lay his head down, to close his eyes and sleep? Or was he forever tethered to the duty of his patron Gods, to their whims? To the constant struggle for good in a universe that needed balance?

Diana recalled the look of admiration on Marvel's face as she guided him through the Louvre Museum. His reverence of the pieces was so genuine, his hunger for knowledge so insatiable, that they spent a better part of the day touring through the exhibits. He cared not to see the rest of Paris, except through the bribing of delicious cuisine. More than once, Diana found herself comparing his wonderment to that of a child's, his eyes full of countless stars. Yet, she had to remind herself of just how close in age they were, of how despite that age, despite his place in this world's history - he remembered very little of it. The Champions had been gone for so long, after all. Dead, as far as anyone knew. But here was living proof that their legacy continued.

"Diana, do you have a moment?"

Relief came with the distraction - because although Bruce has come to her many times, Batman only approached when he requested assistance, when he had a case to solve. She loosened her stance and waved him in. "Yes, of course. Tell me what you need."

"Do you know of any family that Marvel may have?"

Well that was certainly unexpected.

"You know I will not divulge any secrets that Marvel has entrusted me with."

His fists clenched minutely. "Diana."

She raised an eyebrow, challenging the glare from under the cowl. It was cute how he thought his silent intimidation techniques worked on her. "Bruce."

"My current investigation involves a magical child that I suspect has connections to either Marvel or one of Earth's many deities," Bruce finally explained.

Diana processed the statement. Her other eyebrow raised. "That is quite the conclusion."

"I've consulted with others who have analyzed the boy's energy - it's a close enough match to warrant suspicion."

"To warrant Marvel as suspicious, you mean?"

"The other possibility is that the child is some deity's - maybe one that specializes in lightning or shadows."

"For that theory to work the Gods need to have come to Earth’s plane, and they are not subtle. That is highly unlikely." Diana does not go into detail on just how unlikely that is.

There are many factors that need to be in play for Gods to physically interact with this dimension, with this realm of existence. While it may have been easy for them centuries ago, times have changed, beliefs have shifted, and the Earth’s protection has grown stronger. A shift in that balance is not something that goes unnoticed. There are many lower tiered players, but true Gods of any belief are bound to their own rules. She also does not mention that she would have stepped in long before any God would have had the chance to even find a partner. She swore to protect mankind, especially against entitled Gods.

"Were the child born to a mortal, he would have been noticed sooner. That kind of energy cannot be contained without a great power’s intervention. If born amongst the Gods, they would have never let him go. Demigods are not as common as they were centuries ago. The Gods have gotten rather possessive of what they believe to be rightfully theirs."

Batman thought on this for a moment. "As unlikely as it is, the boy being a demigod is still possible."

Diana held back an eyeroll. "Yes, as incredibly unlikely as it is for modern times."

"The child's energy matches Marvel's, however it's suspected to be inherited, rather than conducted from a magical source," he continued.

"Marvel is granted that power from his Wizard, and from there, his patron Zeus. His title as their Champion is not an armor that can be taken off. It is a part of him, body and soul. For him, there is no difference between inheritance and conduction."

"But if none of these deities have been to Earth for centuries, then the only other candidate is-"

An irritable flare grew within her at the suggestion. "That child is not Marvel's."

"What if instead of a human partner, a God chose Marvel?"

"Then, I shall remind them of my title as God Killer." Her thoughts from earlier immediately resurfaced, fuel for the fire starting to burn in her belly. The idea that Marvel, forever shackled to his patrons’ whims, would be manipulated in such a manner—

The sound of a thud interrupted her spiraling thoughts. Blown off its hinges, the punching bag laid defeated across the room.

Batman's gaze travelled from the ruined equipment to Diana as she flexed the tension out of her hand. There was certainly an eyebrow raise of his own under that cowl.

"It's still a possibility," he said, despite the rumbled warning from Diana. "But compared to Marvel and a human?"

Diana turned full body toward him, determined to ensure he left here with a clear understanding of how his theories were not possible. "What solid information do you hold, Bruce? Tell me, please. What do you know of Marvel?"

Without hesitation, "He claims to be two-thousand five-hundred years old yet admits to having been in a magical coma for majority of that time. He claims mortality but is near invincible and does not appear to age, also stating he is a so-called avatar for the Greek Gods powers and will. Though he mostly patrols Fawcett City, he has said to originate from a place called the Rock of Eternity, located outside this realm and extremely magical. There is a wizard named Shazam involved, his connection to the Greek Gods, possibly his superior. Marvel's main mission on Earth is to implement an ideology of justice, and to stop a sealed away power were it to emerge and wreak havoc."

It was clear he had kept tabs on all the rumors circulating through the League’s grapevine. The snippets of information Marvel granted to his teammates were collected for the Bat's archive. Diana was not very surprised at the tenacity of her friend.

So clever, but so paranoid.

"And from that, you deduce he would start a family? That he would have a child?"

"The only information I have on his civilian life is that he is possibly alone, but we both know how misleading those claims can be. Especially if he wants to protect someone."

Athena give her patience.

"On Amazon, we were told stories of the Champions," she started slowly, careful to pick her words wisely. "These stories were of mortal men chosen by their patron Gods to carry that mantle. They were chosen to serve their pantheon’s will – be it opposing evil forces from mankind or monsters or other Gods. Their stories were filled with glory and honor. But their fates..." Emphasis was put into her tone, the importance of this needed to be known. She will seek forgiveness from her brother on his return. "Their fates as mere mortals were sealed. Marvel was chosen thousands of years ago and from that moment forward his life as a human ended. His freedom of choice was forfeit."

Bruce had to understand the severity of this, of Marvel's position. That despite his innate desire to help, to do good in this world, there will always be a greater power held over him. There will always be a magically binding contract keeping him in place. Marvel lived in a constant state of being with strings attached.

"Marvel cannot have a child," Bruce began. He was smart, and underneath that scary persona he was very empathetic. He would argue against rules of magic at every chance, but he understood relationship dynamics, how tilted the scales of control could be. "Because that would imply he has a partner, that he has civilian priorities outside of his Gods' duties."

Diana nodded, "And do you honestly believe Marvel would disobey rules for his own gain? That he would risk others' safety? Set them in the path of the Gods' ire?"

“Would Marvel be able to deny the Gods anything?” Bruce asked again, more solemn than before, more cautious.

“Not any God can touch the likes of the Champion without severe consequences.”

“And his own patrons?”

Diana frowned. “He would be the one to suffer at their hands. As I said, the Gods do not release their hold so easily. But if this is the conclusion we are leading with, then please, show me the evidence.”

Bruce conceded, pulling out a device from his belt and toying with it. "Based on what I know, there are multiple theories for who this child is. Aside from possibly being an offspring of any known deities, there is the approach that he is associated with, or is, an unknown entity with power levels similar to Marvel. That is unlikely."

"The Old World was much more in touch with magic. It was filled with mythical beings that existed alongside humankind, and have long since been forgotten," she mused. "An unknown heretic breaking through the veil into this realm would not be impossible."

"No, but as you said, those in touch with magic or its balance would know of a shift, and none of my sources have noted anything like that." He adjusted the computer device and showed Diana the beginnings of a video. "Tell me your opinion on him."

"There are a lot of good people out there getting hurt, and a lot of kids that can't turn to anyone, and if I can help them, then I'm gonna do it-!"

Oh, brave little lion heart.

"I am, however, concerned about you."

A smile touched her lips as Diana listened, as she heard the sincerity in Bruce's voice. He refused to look at her.

"How about your real name?"

And then, something happened. A millisecond glitch in the video, a static tear across the boy's face for just a moment before he revealed himself. Diana noted it as magic, an electrical energy that the technology recognized existed, but could not register, could not properly convey with digital data. Perhaps it was the magical effect of the disguise deactivating.

"Billy. My name is Billy."

Oh.

There was dissonance between seeing a masked child vigilante and finally witnessing him bare that left Diana startled. Perhaps she had grown too familiar with the existence of the young ones she already knew. Perhaps it was the gauntness in this child's face despite the baby roundness, the dirt and scrapes smudged on his cheeks.

Maybe it was the childlike hope shining in his eyes, like he was expecting something.

But when Bruce said his name, that brightness was gone. The boy - Billy - furrowed his brows, his pouting lips frowned. Where he stood presenting himself, he now began to curl in, stepping back and away from Bruce. He was hurt, crushed under sudden disappointment. He wanted to be recognized, to be seen and known. Billy saw Batman and knew, somehow, that he was safe. But now the walls were back up, his guard and resolve hardened.

This was where things went wrong.

"They're not perfect, but they're trying, okay!"

"You will get hurt. Others will get hurt."

A stubborn streak as resilient as his loyalty, his compassion, and his lack of self preservation, Diana thought. She snuck a glance toward her friend beside her, completely aware of the similarities. No wonder the two boys butted heads so quickly. No wonder Bruce was so determined to see this case through, to secure the child to safety. Diana would not be surprised if Bruce was already planning on stealing the child to his manor.

"-working so hard to find an antidote for me and-!"

"An antidote for what?"

The video continued to show the confrontation until Billy had run out of the warehouse. Every attempt Bruce made at calming the child, talking to him, grappling for answers, Billy secluded himself more and more. It wasn't surprising that Batman resorted to apprehension, though Diana now understood what he meant earlier. The boy's powers were very similar to Marvel's, the energy, the color, and the power.

But it didn't make sense. None of it did.

"You see my problem," Bruce stated, aware of the thoughtful look on her face.

"He is a child of magic, yes. His abilities match Marvel’s, as well as his looks, but--"

Diana cut herself off with a pause, then quickly reached over. Rewinding the video, she stopped at the boy's unveiling.

Crackles of gold jumped from Billy's skin, in tune with his emotions. Diana thought it obvious that the child knew how to wield the lightning. It was a part of him. But aside from that, Diana focused on the boy's expression, how freely those same emotions crossed his face - his determination, his dismay, his dejection. And the more she stared, the more she took note of his dark wild hair and bright blue eyes.

"Have we heard from Marvel?" She asked, her thoughts collecting themselves.

"Last known contact was several days ago when the battle ended," Bruce said, recounting the events. Diana had not been present for the fight, but regretted that absence now. "He attempted to follow the ones that slipped away, but was rebuked. Gave his departure through the comms, and we haven't heard from him since."

"Who did he pursue?"

"He said Mister Mind, but…"

His pause spoke volumes. Soon a new video was up, one from the fight, and clearly taken from surrounding security cameras. In the grainy and hashed together film, they watched as Marvel flew up toward the roofs of the neighboring buildings on the edge of the dwindling battle. A small mecha was blasting away, presumably Mister Mind. Already scaling over the top of the brick edge, the troublesome duo of Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn had taken notice of Marvel's ascent. Focused on his target, Marvel missed the two Gotham Sirens as they ducked for cover.

The next instance was the Champion obfuscated in a cloud of green smoke before falling in unsteady jolts.

A bolt of lightning struck down from the sky.

The camera's feed ended.

Diana rewound to the moment Marvel was hit by Poison Ivy's bomb, the smoke engulfing him whole. His lightning sparked around it like a storm cloud, discharged by his surprise of the attack. The smoke dissipated with a wave of his hand, but it seemed like he was already affected. Marvel had breathed it in.

"An antidote…" she said, before she brought up the image of Billy again. "Made by Poison Ivy."

Bruce tensed beside her. He realized the new theory. “But that’s--”

“Not impossible.”

She stared at the image of the young boy and everything else seemed to slot into place. It was insane, wild, and completely outlandish, but above all, it was magical. No wonder the other theories felt wrong to her. But this one…The more Diana thought on this, the more her heart raced. Something about this rang out with Truth.

“We need to find him,” she determined, resolute in joining Bruce on his case, whether he wanted her or not. Nothing was going to keep her from her brother, not now when he needed someone most.

Batman nodded. “I’ve been tracking for energy signals that match his. When something strikes we’ll--”

An alert sounded from his device.

Diana strode out the room without hesitation, “Let’s go.”

---

(You need to wake up now.)

Billy’s eyes opened wide and for a brief, silent moment, his mind was empty.

There was no soothing dream to be coaxed out of, no words of wisdom whispering in his ear, no tempting softness to keep sleeping. He was awake and yet had no recollection of having fallen asleep. When that moment passed, not a fraction of a second later, his heart was pounding and the only thing he knew was that he needed to leave.

He needed to leave right now.

(Where will you go?)

That was what his brain was telling him as he jolted up right, finally aware. Moving himself to stand was a struggle, not only against the sharp pain aching across his whole body, but also the grip of steel pushing him back down. Everything hurt and someone was holding him down and Billy really needed to leave. He was lost and confused, and the sudden ringing in his ears did nothing to drown it all out.

Only when he took gasping breaths did Billy realize he had been screaming the entire time.

“It is okay, little one,” was hushed against his ear, an intense warmth encompassing him in moments. Billy closed his eyes against the stifling, heavy heat that seeped all the way through him, relaxing his muscles seemingly against his will. “You are safe, you are safe.”

A cacophony of noises boiled inside him, he wanted to vomit them all out.

Nothing is okay. I’m not safe. I need to go, I need to leave. I need to run run run run--

But nothing made it passed his tongue. His mouth was crowded with the words, but all he could do was whine high and loud against clenched teeth.

“I know, little one,” said the being of fire in a voice so soft and sweet, Billy melted into silence. “I know you want to run. I know the energy in your veins is screaming at you. I know you do not feel safe. But you are.” The solid weight keeping him contained suddenly felt more like a blanket, felt more like security. “Please, trust me, little one. You are safe.”

Billy opened his eyes at the strange dialect and suddenly his field of vision was full of orange and red, like the sun. That is, until two green spots glowed down at him. They were a bright variant of jade he had never seen before, but they held such raw emotion. After a few more moments did Billy realize that those were eyes, that the living embodiment of fire was a person. Everything around him finally came into focus. For the first time since he woke up, Billy was fully aware of himself, of his situation.

He was alone and confused and so utterly, absolutely lost.

When he tried to recall how he got there, his memory stuttered. There were flashes of blinding light and wrong-laughter and looming shadows and the feeling of desperate, heart pounding fear. Even further back than that, there were streets of pavement and empty rooms and loneliness, but also groups of faceless or masked people and computer boards and a dark, vast star filled space. And further than that, further than Billy could comprehend, there were wide open skies and deep dark caverns and unfamiliar faces that filled his heart to burst. There was life and celebration, death and blood.

Too much.

It was too much.

(We have lived so much life, haven’t we?)

The wild thrashing in his chest arose up to his throat and his vision blurred. Blinking did nothing to stop the overflow of tears running down his cheeks. No matter how hard he tried, Billy could not stifle the hiccups bubbling out of him.

Everything was too much.

“You can cry, let it out,” said the lovely person holding him. “There is nothing wrong with feeling sadness, with being overwhelmed and stressed. You must feel it to let it go.”

And Billy did. For what felt like the first time in a long, long time, he stopped holding on. He cried. So much was inside of him. The need to run, to stay, to fight, to scream, to call for help – so many directions pulled at him and he did not know which to follow. But the soft, sweet voice understood. She said it perfectly. He was overwhelmed by all the emotion and by all the emptiness, by the building pressure he held inside for too long.

One would think that finally letting it go would lift the weight from his shoulders, that the pressure would be gone. But all the tears did was drown him, silence the noise inside him for a while longer. He felt just as full as when he woke up, just as overcrowded and scrambled. But it was simmered. Overall, he could not deny that he felt better, less stressed. Still lost and confused, but ready to face it.

“Jaybird, for fuck’s sake will you put down the goddamn gun?” The voice did not at all sound like the one from earlier.

When Billy opened his eyes again and reluctantly leaned away from the warmth wrapped around him, he realized that he was very much not alone.

“Not till the little dude stops with the light show.”

Blinking, Billy looked over and saw two men–

(Human. Dark, but human.)

One was sitting close by on the couch and another across the room with a weapon pointed right at him. The person still holding Billy gave a rumbling chuckle, and Billy’s gaze couldn’t help but be drawn to her. She was probably the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

(Not human. Too bright. Too blazing. Yet still so mortal.)

And Billy was hurting her.

Golden sparks of electricity danced from him, around both of them. But they snapped at the woman like firecrackers, leaving behind burnt smudges. Billy immediately pushed himself off her lap and away, trying to wipe his face of its tear stained tracks. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t know- I didn’t mean to- I’m sorry!”

(Control, child. You must remember control.)

The woman unfurled herself and stretched, as if completely unconcerned. “Sorry for what, hm?” One of her hands brushed at a darkened spot and the burn mark wiped away. “It will take more than a child’s emotional excess to harm me. Now, Jason, please.” She didn’t even look at the man to confirm her request as he lowered his weapon. Her eyes stayed on Billy and her smile remained welcoming and warm.

Heat flushed across Billy’s face at having all this attention on him, at having acted so childish, so reckless. He sniffled and wiped at his eyes as if he could undo the damage. The sparks died down to nothing. “But I still- I didn’t mean to-”

“I allowed for this to happen. I embraced it. There was no harm done. So tell me, do you feel better?”

“Well, not now!” Billy literally cried on a stranger’s lap – he felt beyond mortified, honestly. “I mean, I do. Feel better, that is. But also like, I’m super sorry for just crying on you and shocking you and worrying you. Oh my Gods, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, this kid is a real threat, Jaybird,” said the redhead man on the couch, amusement clear in his voice.

But really, nothing was funny about this at all, Billy thought.

“Never underestimate kids. Especially not ones like him,” the other man said as he cautiously stepped forward and perched on a nearby stool. His bright green eyes were vastly more human than the woman’s, but something dark lurked there. Something dark lurked within his whole body, Billy could feel it.

“I… come in peace?” Billy tried. He had nothing else to really offer, considering they witnessed him not only ball his eyes out like a baby, but exhibit…

(Magic. This is magic. You are magic.)

The redhead snorted a laugh as he pushed himself up and toward what appeared to be a kitchen area. “Seems legit to me.”

“Yes, I agree with Roy,” the woman said, her considerable strength coaxing Billy back onto the couch beside her. He couldn’t really resist. She draped an arm around him and kept him close. “His light is far too bright to be a threat to us.”

(Light. So much light from everyone and everything. See their lights, their cracks, their lives.)

Billy gaped up at her. “You can see light, too?”

“One step at a time,” the other man – Jason? Jaybird? – said, taking lead of the situation despite the others waving off his paranoia. “We ask the questions. You answer honestly. Got it?” For emphasis, he seemed to have procured a knife out of nowhere and pointed it right at Billy.

Billy nodded his head in agreeance. What else could he do?

“Great. Now, let’s start off simple. What’s your name?”

Well, that was anything but simple, wasn’t it? You tell adults your name and suddenly you find yourself stuck, trackable. Names were a powerful thing – they held control over you, lent power to anyone who knew.

The reluctance must have been clear on his face, because Jason sighed aloud. “C’mon, kid. Name. We’re not gonna throw you to the CPS dogs just yet, but we gotta call you something.”

(Truth. He speaks truth. But what is our truth?)

Something in his voice rang true. Despite the gruffness, there was something soft to this man, a light that bled through his darkness. Maybe it was that discovery, or maybe it was the sudden wanting that had an answer slipping out of Billy. It was a wanting that felt like hope.

“Billy,” he said, though something deep down made the name feel…false. Like it was not enough. Not the whole truth. “You can call me Billy.”

“Got a last name to that, Billy?” Roy asked upon his return.

Two cans of soda were in his hand, which he gave to the woman still cuddling onto Billy. She took them with such clear delight that Billy almost declined her offer of one. Almost, because she firmly placed it in his hand and refused his refusal.

With a small thank you and a sip of the incredibly bubbly drink, Billy contemplated his next answer. He knew what it was, as well as the multiple other surnames that popped into mind, but the truth lingered on the back of his tongue, reluctant to be spoken. He took a deep breath. “Batson. It’s… Billy Batson.”

“You gotta be shittin’ me,” Jason mumbled as Roy cackled with laughter.

“Oh, this is great! You sure know how to pick em, Jaybird.”

A poisonous glare rounded on the laughing man and Billy was relieved it wasn’t directed at him. “Kori is the one that brought him in.”
The woman – Kori? – hummed in reply, tasting her own soda. “I won’t deny that, however, you did not seem all that reluctant to help.”

Confused. Billy was terribly confused. “Wha?”

“A mere jest at Jason’s expense,” Kori said. “And as you may have noticed, the loud one is Roy. I am Koriand’r, but you may call me Kori,” she pressed her face minutely atop of Billy’s head. Like he was a teddy bear.

“Being oddly touchy, even for you,” Roy commented, though Billy heard an edge to his tone.

When she hummed this time, Billy could feel her breath rustle his hair. “He is bright and warm. Not even you can deny that.”

His question from earlier came back to mind. “C-Can you guys see light, too?”

“Back to the questions at hand,” Jason tried.

Kori interrupted him. “They cannot. As a Tameranean – a species not of this planet - I am more sensitive to the energy around me. Everything has a light. Some are brighter than others. Humans do not usually register to me, their energies not substantial enough.”

Humans are not enough. So what am I?

“But you can see my light?”

“Just as you see mine,” she replied with a slight tip of her head, curiosity lining her words.

Billy fidgeted with the can in his hands for a moment, looking anywhere but at the other three so focused on him. There really was no getting out of this now, so he let the words flow. “Well, it’s kinda magical for me, I guess. But I can see everyone’s light, even other peoples’, and like, animals and plants and stuff. It’s a life energy thing, I think.”

“So, you’re a sorcerer? A witch?” Roy asked with clear interest.

None of those seemed right.

(More. We are more.)

“I mean, I’m magic, yeah, but…it’s complicated.” Because he couldn’t remember. Because despite all the crowded thoughts and tangents and splinters of memory, he still could not recall anything remotely solid.

“Try us,” Jason said as he leaned forward.

“It’s not…I mean, there’s a lot and-”

“We have time.”

“It’s not that! It’s just hard-”

“The truth would be an easy place to start.”

“Hey, Jay-”

“I don’t- I can’t really-”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“I can’t!”

“Jay, cut it out!”

“Don’t bullshit us, kid.”

“I’m not!”

“Then what are you hiding?”

“I don’t know!”

Gold arched off from Billy and struck whatever it could reach – lights, television, radio, laptop – anything conductive that sparked and shorted out upon contact. Billy did not even realize he was on the edge of the couch, muscles coiled and shaking, until a gentle touch eased him back. A warm light entangled with his, coaxed his lightning to calm.

“That is enough, Jason.” Despite the warmth of her hand, her voice was scorching. It held an intensity, however brief her statement.

“Nice going, Jay,” Roy mumbled as he rummaged around the sudden darkness.

A moment passed in tense silence before a lantern was placed on the table, a dim light turned on for them, like a campfire. Billy took a deep breath, collected himself and calmed the storm building inside him. He was slipping. Something inside him was cracking open more and more. See? This was why he didn’t allow himself to cry. Shit like this happened.

“I don’t know,” he said again slowly and with emphasis as he stared right at Jason. “I don’t know what I am or where I came from or even who… who I am. I can’t tell you anything because I don’t know anything. I just…” A thrumming beat inside Billy’s head as he tried to string words together, as he tried to bring coherency to his jumbled thoughts and emotions.

The Rock.

(All magic. Our magic.)

“I was in a cave and there was a…a storm or something, and everything was falling apart, but I…I was told to run. I had to run, I had to go, and now everything inside me is telling me to find where I’m supposed to be, but I don’t even know where that is and…” Billy paused as he pressed his palms against his eyelids, against the pounding in his head. The ache increased the more he talked, the more the truth came to him, as if summoned by his voice. Still, the pieces did nothing to reveal the whole picture. It just hurt.

Everything hurt. His chest. His head. His heart.

(We have been hurt many times, in many battles. In many storms.)

“And I can’t…I can’t remember…There was also noise? Smoke? There was smoke and I…I was trying to... But so many people were hurt. I couldn’t save them. I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t save him. And, and…there was…lightning and flashes and I was bleeding and I couldn’t…I couldn’t move because, because, because…”

He was scared, he was trapped.

(Which storm are you chasing?)

Trapped in a crater on the ground staring at the disarray of destruction.

Trapped in a house that was not home, with a man that was never family.

Trapped in a grip stronger than his own, helplessly witnessing a fight he wanted to end.

Trapped in a system that never cared, that never supported him, that let him slip through the cracks.

Trapped in a cave, lightning and darkness swirling all around, an old man calling out for him.

(Which storm are you running from?)

Air refused to fill his lungs no matter how many times he opened his mouth. The pressure inside his chest left him short of breath and he could not release the words on the tip of his tongue. His eyes screwed shut so hard he saw bursts of color that looked so very familiar, like sparks of electricity. His hands fisted at the restraint around his chest and he pulled at it, tried to loosen it, tried to tear it off.

(The storm that slayed me?)

He couldn’t breathe.

(The storm that found you?)

He couldn’t breathe.

(Or the storm that claimed us?)

He couldn’t breathe.

(You are in the calm of it, past and present.)

He couldn’t-

(You cannot run forever, young Champion.)

“Breathe, kid. Breathe.”

The pressure that surrounded him suddenly eased and he inhaled as much air as he could, as if he had swum from a water’s deep and finally broke surface. The cold sweat on the back of his neck certainly made it feel that way.

“Easy, easy. C’mon, now. You gotta breathe with me here.”

His head was gently pressed against something, and soon Billy felt an expanding motion beneath him. He needed more air.

“You gotta exhale, kid. Just follow me, okay. Breathe out.”

The motion deflated. Steady. Slow.

Billy’s breath stuttered out of him, reluctant to be let go. What if he was pulled back under again?

“Okay, it’s okay. Do it again. C’mon. I’m right here.”

Billy inhaled as the chest he was pressed against expanded in tandem.

“There you go. You’re okay. Just keep breathing.”

Billy exhaled. Smooth. No stutters. He was okay.

“Is…uh, is he okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Billy inhaled. He got this.

“Okay, okay. Cool. Because I always knew you were a giant softy.”

“Roy, I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

Billy tried to exhale, but instead, a burst of air was punched out of him. A noise that almost sounded like a wracking laugh turned into a coughing fit. He did not have this at all.

“You’re killing the kid, is what you’re doin’. Nice going.”

A rough pat knocked against Billy’s back as he straightened himself up. When he opened his eyes, he saw Jason glaring death over his head to someone beyond him. Presumably, Roy. Movement in the corner of his vision had Billy glancing over at Kori who sat next to them, her chin resting on her palm as she observed them with contentment. Their eyes met and her smile widened. Billy realized how cool he felt. It wasn’t just that he was separated from Kori and her ever-emitting heat, but there was a distinct chill surrounding him.

Turning back toward Jason, Billy took a moment to appreciate the soothing coolness. It was his life energy, obviously. Something about it radiated differently than the others, than of Roy and Kori. And it wasn’t because she was an alien. Jason was human, Billy could tell that much, but his energy was changed somehow. Like something was taken out, but then something else stuffed back in. There was a darkness to him, and though his light shone, it was dim, a heaviness that reminded Billy of something he knew of before.

It nagged at the back of his head, it was so familiar.

(Death. The touch of death.)

It was definitely concerning, but Jason had been acting fine thus far. Hostile and aggressive, but also kind of nice, too. Billy took a deep breath and let it go. One thing at a time, please.

“Feel better?” Jason asked. His voice, while still low and rough, was much less biting than before. His hand stayed on Billy’s back, rubbing soothing circles. Billy nodded his head against the other’s chest, reluctant to move away. He wasn’t sure if it was the breathing techniques or the cooling effect that made his headache go away. “Well, this wouldn’t be the first time we’ve dealt with memory loss,” Jason sighed. “But damn, did they do a number on you.”

“First time we’ve dealt with magic, though,” Roy said, and Billy could feel that deliberate silence from Jason.

“How is your wound?” Kori asked instead.

The question had Jason gently pushed Billy back enough to get a look past the ripped shirt and sliced open bandages that dangled off him. “Well, that’s…different.”

When Billy glanced down, he saw nothing. His hand searched along where he remembered a bleeding wound to be, a wound he had gotten earlier from… from a lightning strike or a sword. From someone named…

(Which truth are you chasing?)

Jason whistled low. “Looks like magic to me.”

Billy’s hand continued to search for any evidence of the wound that had been there before. Instead, it brushed against a twisted bump of flesh. He followed it along his chest, pushed aside the scraps of shirt and found a scar that branched across so much of him.

“Holy shit.”

Gnarly and rough and old, Billy tried to remember. It was there, at the edge of his mind, calling to him, and he was desperate to find its source.

“Yes, eloquently put, Roy,” Kori said, tone high and not lending itself to the clear sarcasm on the edge of her words.

“Well, sorry, but honestly, what the hell. Do you need some ice for that, kid? Some more bandages?”

Something very important was missing from him. Something he had to find above all else.

(Your truth, young Champion.)

“Roy, shut up for a moment. Hey, Billy, you still with us?”

(Find your truth.)

He had to find something.

“Billy?”

No. Someone. He had to find--

(Find me.)

“Tháv̱ma,” he finally said, brought back to awareness as his mouth formed a word he did not even realize he could say. The weight of the pronunciation was almost as heavy as the feeling in his gut.

Silence answered him. Billy blinked and looked around him at their questioning stares.

“Ya know, it’s real concerning when your eyes glow up like that and you start speaking in tongues,” Roy said.

Kori tilted her head in thought, “I believe the English translation of it is…Wonder?”

Billy made a face. That didn’t sound right.

“Miracle?”

He hesitated on that one for a moment before shaking his head. That wasn’t right either.

“Marvel?”

Oh.

Now that sounded familiar.

“Marvel?” Roy interjected.

Billy shrugged. “Yes?”

“As in Captain Marvel?” Jason asked. “Are you sure?”

“I think so. I…don’t know? Maybe?”

Jason and Roy groaned.

“Dude, if we gotta contact the League, I dunno if I-”

“I’m sorry!” The last thing Billy wanted to do was drag them into this. Into his mess. “I don’t know if it is…Captain Marvel, but it… it feels right.” That name. It felt like home.

“Is this something you wish to pursue?” Kori asked, taking the direction of conversation much more easily than her friends, but still with weight behind it.

Yes. Yes, it was. He had to. Billy nodded.

“The memories you lost may be very important but regaining them may prove to be a difficult endeavor. If you wish to find them again, you must face that hardship. As well as the possibility that remembering may hurt you in the end.” Her green gaze bore into Billy, a warning that bore experience. “You may even regret remembering anything at all.”

Billy vaguely wondered how Kori came to know so much about this. But still…

“I have to. I know I have to. And I know Marvel is a part of it, but I don’t want to make you-”

“No one’s making us do anything, kid,” Jason sighed as he sat up straighter and yanked his jacket off. Underneath the leather was a soft hoodie that he pulled off before unceremoniously draping it over Billy’s head. As he slipped back into the jacket, he proceeded to pull out a phone from the pocket.

For a moment Billy struggled to right himself, but once he did, he noticed how much bigger the article of clothing was on him. Still, it soothed him in a way he could not name, and he relished the feeling. “But if you don’t want to-”

“If this is the path you need to take, we will accompany you,” Kori said with confidence. As if Billy weren’t some burden thrust upon them. “I will not abandon you here, little one.”

“Contacting someone like Captain Marvel is just…” Roy shrugged off the rest of his sentence. “Complicated.”

“But if there’s anyone who knows magic, and isn’t a total asshole about helping us, he’s our man,” Jason said, typing into his phone.

Their willingness to help, their lack of hesitation – it made Billy’s heart swell with emotion. They were rough around the edges, and each carried a weight on their shoulders, but still, they stood by him. It was…good. They were good. They were doing good, granting him kindness, being guiding lights for him as he felt so very lost. He didn’t know what he could ever do to repay them, to show them how much this meant to him, but he promised he would try. When this was over, when he got his memories back – he really hoped they would still like him, that they would want to be his friend.

“Alright, so what’s the plan, then? We can’t just knock on the League’s door, like, hey there, sorry for all the ruckus a while back, can we have a word with Marvel? Absolutely nothing suspicious happening here, thanks.” Roy expressed his concerns and doubt as he wandered away from their circle.

“We get into contact with Marvel through someone who isn’t in their big clubhouse,” Jason said.

“Yeah? And who’re you contacting?”

“The little substitute.”

Both Roy and Kori paused at this. Billy watched as Jason continued to type into his phone, a look of concentration or frustration furrowing his brows.

“And he’s just gonna answer your call?” Roy asked with skepticism.

Kori, on the other hand, seemed delighted. “Tell Tim I said hello.”

“Not a lot of other options here. Our laptops are smoked because of sparky there, and we need info, stat. At least he won’t tattle to Bat-dad, and he has access to databases and whereabouts.”

“Sorry,” Billy immediately said, reminded that their lantern lit conversation was because of him.

“Ah, don’t sweat it. Just don’t do it again, okay? I don’t think our clubhouse could take it,” Roy replied from across the room, effortlessly navigating the dark. He seemed to be rustling through some things, but Billy couldn’t really tell. Kori soon joined him and provided a source of light.

There was a calm about the room, the sort that reminded Billy of approaching storms. He knew something was coming, that they would be on the move very soon, but he couldn’t really do anything right now. He couldn’t help with anything or tell them anything useful. So, he just sat there on the edge of the couch as the others readied themselves for whatever it was they were about to do.

“He says Marvel hasn’t been seen in several days,” Jason said, casting a curious glance up towards Billy, who tried very hard not to fidget. There was something heavy in his gaze, something that very much wanted to pry Billy open and find answers. “Know anyone named Harley?” The others in the room paused again at the question and stared at Billy with raised eyebrows.

Harley – the name was lit in familiarity, yet Billy could not pinpoint how. He had a feeling this was important to him, that the name should spark in his memory. But there was nothing besides an anxiety of something. Billy really hated it, the feeling made his stomach twist into knots and his head ache in focused spots when he tried to remember.

Billy shook his head, though he knew it was with hesitation, with frustration.

Bright green eyes held his gaze for a moment longer, all sharp assessment and calculated patience. Whatever it was that Jason found, he deemed it acceptable and focused back onto his phone. Billy let out the small breath he held.

“Well, apparently she knows you. Along with the goddamn Batman.”

“You serious, Jaybird?”

Jason ran a hand through his hair and huffed. “Dead fuckin’ serious, man.”

“Yikes.”

“Wait, wait. Hold on. Two people know me?” Billy’s mind was rushing with the possibilities, the potentials. Yet still, something lodged in his chest warned him of danger. Alarm bells were going off inside his head.

(You may not remember heroes, child, but they remember you.)

“Batman knows everyone. He’s insufferable like that. But these aren’t the kinda people you want knowing you. Wouldn’t be surprised if that harlequin bitch did something to your head, either.” Jason said with mounting frustration. A moment later he suddenly hissed, “That little shit!” before jumping up from his seat and running toward the door.

“What he say?” Roy asked, already moving to follow with weapons in hand.

Alarmed at the sudden shift of urgency, Billy was on his feet and rushing toward the window as Jason threw open the door. The storm still raged on outside and rain pelted down as the rumbling of thunder started back up again. Jason and Roy stood at the threshold as if watching or waiting for something, though Billy saw nothing but the rain.

“Fucker failed to mention that the Bat was on his way right now. Goddamnit!” Jason had a gun at the ready.

“Jesus, already?”

For a few breathless moments, there was nothing. Billy strained to see something, to feeling anything that could be out there. And suddenly, there was a light. Bright and blinding, like the headlights of a truck turned all the way up, and Billy squinted against it. The downpour of the rain outlined something large right outside, settling down from the sky. As it came to a stop right in front of the warehouse, both Jason and Roy aimed their weapons. Silhouetted in the light and rain, a figure emerged from the aircraft – dark and large and unyielding. A shiver ran down Billy’s backbone as the person drew closer, as he watched piercing white eyes land directly on him through the dirty window.

Immediately, Billy pushed himself back, scrambling to get away. His breathes came out in haggard gasps and he tried desperately to calm his rapid heartbeat, to control the sudden fear and anxiety gripping him tightly.

“Are you alright, Billy?” Kori was behind him, warm arms encircling him and guiding him away from the front of the warehouse.

He knew that person.

Or, at least, he thought he knew that person.

Billy nodded his head. “I… That guy. Is he-?”

A sudden crack drew his attention.

“That was a warning shot,” Jason called out. “Last I checked, I didn’t invite you over, old man.”

There must have been a response to that, but Billy wasn’t near enough to hear over the rush of the storm. He didn’t want to get any closer anyway.

“Not an orphanage here, you know. This ain’t the goddamn manor. Whoever the hell you’re looking for, you better do it quick. Our fingers are getting twitchy.”

In the midst of straining to hear what the other side of the conversation was saying, Billy suddenly found himself being guided away. Kori’s strong grip ushered him toward the other side of the warehouse, toward the backdoor.

“Wait, what about them?” Billy furiously whispered, unsure if the figure outside could listen in on them. He really hoped not. Still, he tried to look back for his friends, to see if they needed him.

“If Batman is in search of you, then you have little chance of hiding,” she said, a veneer of calm just barely masking her own nerves. “Jason knows better than anyone how to distract him long enough for us to escape. We must not waste his and Roy’s efforts. Do not underestimate them, they are more capable than you know.”

Billy would have called it dragging, if Kori’s considerable strength didn’t mean she could just carry him out the backdoor. Everything felt like it was going too fast. He had just accepted that he wanted his memories back, and already they came hounding for him, for his friends.

Did he make the right decision?

Pelted by the rain, Billy threw the hood on over his head and squinted against the dark downpour surrounding them. Kori shifted him in her arms before she lifted off the ground. Soon enough they were floating higher and higher, just barely past the height of the warehouses around them as Kori carefully soared further away. Billy hoped they wouldn’t be spotted in the dark.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Of course his prayers weren’t answered.

Stopped midflight, Kori pivoted around and right above them stood a very terrifying woman. She was intimidating in the way that Billy could tell she would not let them go that easily, scary in the way that she crossed her arms and stared down at them with sharp blue eyes. And dangerous in the way that magic radiated off her, off of her sword that was sheathed on her back, off of the rope that was tied to her waist. Whoever she was – she was powerful, that much Billy could tell.

The moment their eyes met, hers widened in an overwhelming emotion that struck Billy raw. Almost like she…

The hold around him tightened, “Somewhere that does not concern you.” Kori turned Billy away from the woman across from them, putting herself in between.

Something in the woman’s posture straightened, hardened in a way that opposed Kori’s words and actions. She held her head high as her hand gripped onto the rope at her hip, though she made no further move to use it. “The child you hold and where you take him greatly concerns me, Koriand’r. You have three chances to surrender him. This is your first warning.”

A low rumble echoed from Kori’s throat before she could silence it – feral and defensive in a way Billy never expected. Very carefully she lowered them both onto the ground, the woman following suit. When she landed, Kori gently set Billy onto his feet, though her eyes never left their focus. Before Billy could question what they would do next, she positioned herself between him and the woman again, except this time her hands glowed a violent green. Energy grew in her palms and it was clear to Billy that Kori was not going to surrender at all.

“Kori, you don’t have to fight,” he said as he took a step away, her hair flared and flickered as her entire being seemed to emit more energy, as she prepared for a strike. But he didn’t want this. He did not want this at all.

“He is not yours to take,” Kori said back to the woman as she threw a blast that sizzled through the air. “But he is mine to protect.”

The lasso unhooked at her waist glowed brightly as she parried the blast away. It hit a nearby dumpster and promptly melted it upon contact. The woman stood unphased by the attack. “This is your second warning.”

Just like the rain, dread began to seep into Billy, cold and heavy. If they fought, he had no doubt in his mind that the destruction around them would be awful. That the damage taken on either side would be harsh. He didn’t even know how Jason and Roy were holding up against the Batman. And all of that for what? To protect him? The idea that others would be hurt because of him made Billy sick.

He had to stop this now.

Blood rushing in his ears, Billy noticed the women begin their assault again. An area around them was already alit in green fire and the woman’s rope burned bright through the darkness. Billy did not give himself time to think as he threw himself from behind Kori. Electricity charged around him in golden sparks.

“Stop!”

The woman holding the rope had began to pull it back from her attack, but it stayed true to its course. In the milliseconds before he was caught, Billy felt his magic pull the lasso toward him. He saw the rope glow brighter as it made contact with the lightning, as if answering his magic’s call.

The moment the lasso encircled him, Billy thought he heard a familiar voice.

(It is time to wake up, child.)

.

.

.

“Billy!”

“Marvel!”

.

.

.

It felt like being struck by lightning.

Again.

Oh, he was well acquainted with the feeling, now that he remembered it. From the first moment he agreed to become the Wizard’s Champion, to every time after that. Every time he was needed and had to transform. Every time his duty was done and he reverted back. Every time the Wizard summoned him. Every time the Gods sought his attention.

It did not hurt. Not really. Not in any way he could rightly recall.

There was the blinding moment that electricity engulfed him whole, that it seized his entire body stock-still. The shock locked his body in place with a tingling sensation that reached his muscles, his bones, his very core. No real awareness was there until a new body stood in his place – a form that was stronger in every possible way, a vessel that held great power gifted by a pantheon of Gods.

Transforming was exhilarating, freeing.

The lasso brought that feeling back to him, helped him remember.

Like the cover of a well deep inside him was finally broken, like all the power rushing through him was finally unleashed. Like the memories locked away were finally unburied.

The truth…

His truth…

His full, uninhibited Truth…

“Billy?”

He blinked down at the rope that bound him – an artifact that glowed with divinity from the Gods – and saw sparks of gold leap from the body he occupied. A body so small, it was barely containing the light that was peeking out from the hairline cracks breaking across his skin.

The Truth was squeezed out of him, “No.” And in perfect clarity, it began to dawn on him that perhaps this was not a good idea.

“Marvel? Are you hurt? Please, allow me to release the Lasso of Hestia.”

“Yes,” already on his knees, he curled inward more and more. This body was becoming terribly warm and uncomfortable. “Yes.” He gripped onto the rope with such small hands, and in a voice he was familiar with hearing, but not familiar with speaking, said, “Please, Princess.”

There was a sharp tugging motion that caused the fragile body to collapse onto the ground, yet the lasso tightened itself more.

“Billy!” The Tameranean – Koriand’r – cried out as she flew forward and gripped onto the lasso, attempting to break the unbreakable. “Release him! He is merely a child!”

“Tháv̱ma,” he said with gritted teeth, unable to stop himself. “My name is Tháv̱ma. This child is Billy.”

“What?”

“I can’t,” Princess Diana’s voice was closer than before and soon her hands joined Koriand’r’s. “The Perfect won’t obey me. Marvel, what is happening?”

Oh, what a terrible question to ask.

What he had believed to be freeing, now felt too tight. The heat coiling within burned more than ever, as if the energy of the Champion was clawing its way out of this body that was far too small and human to contain it. The cracks were growing larger, branching out more and more as the light burned brighter. So many memories were pouring out, so many lives this child did not live, yet held within.

Too much.

It was too much.

“Magic,” he cried out against his will, for the Will of the Lasso was far greater. It sought out to bring forth the Truth, and this body held back so much. “This body cannot withstand the magic.”

“But you are Marvel,” Diana said with conviction, “Your body was reverted to its child form, but you are still Marvel.”

“I am Marvel,” he said with an effort not to bite the boy’s tongue, “This body is Billy.”

But if he were in the Champion’s body…

“Sh—” His mouth immediately clamped shut.

The rest of the word refused to be spoken.

He had forgotten the extra securities that the Wizard instilled upon selecting a new Champion. No good, selfless intent. No obligation towards justice and duty. No transformation.

Was stopping the destruction of this child’s body not a worthy enough cause for the Gods?

“I do not understand. Brother, who is Billy?”

“This vessel,” he answered. More lightning began to spark from him, though neither pair of hands stopped trying to pull the lasso from him. They gripped onto him tighter, as if afraid they would lose him. “This child is Billy Batson, the Chosen Champion. I am every Champion before and within him.”

“Billy’s memories were lost,” Koriand’r said in realization. “He wanted to find them again, to remember, but this… There was more lost than just his own.”

Golden light poured out of him, a source of power too much this vessel to contain. He had to shut his eyes against the brightness, though it still burned past his eyelids. It burned his skin like an electrical shock one after another, like a sudden submergence into freezing water, like something entirely else never felt on this plane of reality.

He could not hold back the screams that ripped from the child’s throat.

“Wonder Woman, report—”

“Kori, what the hell—"

For the first time, in a long, long time, he remembered what excruciating pain felt like.

.

.

.

Tháv̱ma never meant to cause this child harm - exactly the opposite. He wanted this new Champion to thrive, to excel at the responsibility placed on his shoulders. The boy had no choice otherwise, he either succeeded or he died.

It was not an easy matter to accept when he finally came back to awareness, when he awoke from his long slumber. The entirety of what happened to him, to his fellow Champions, to his home, to the Counsel of Wizards – were he who he used to be, were he still human in any way, he was sure that moving forward would have been impossible. The mourning would have been too great. But he was The Champion – every Champion that was granted this power accumulated into one conscious. There was no time, not when he was now a guide for the new Champion. He did wonder, at the beginning, why the Wizard Shazam chose young William, why the pantheon of Gods agreed to the decision. Although, attempting to understand them was a fruitless endeavor. However, what he did understand was that this child needed his guidance, his experiences, every ability that every Champion grew to possess and master.

That was Tháv̱ma’s sole responsibility now.

And it was quite the task for him to undertake.

The new Champion was literally a child in every possible way. From his physical body, so tiny and weak, to his naïve confidence, foolish at worst and optimistic at best. William was a far cry from what was once considered appropriate Chosen Champion material. The several Champions that were now one may have had their highlights and faults, but there was still a striking similarity, and most likely the cause for why Tháv̱ma himself was so stable. But he also recognized that the previous Champions were from a linear time set closely matched. At the start Tháv̱ma believed that was the difference. That the vast change in eras, in cultural growth and societal perception, was the reason for how the child was – hardly engaging an opponent before they could attack, and even then, never slaying them. But as time went on and the more he observed, for that was all he could do, Tháv̱ma witnessed the eerie similarities between this new world and his old one. The people were surprisingly the same. They stuck to their communities based on arbitrary human traits, they lifted one another up in times of need, they mourned and frenzied with equal passion. And yet, they also fought each other over a variety of differences, over greed, over misguided notions of an ideal world.

Yes, humans, no matter the time, were always the same.

But young William was different.

He suffered more than most, came to awareness of his surroundings and its effects much earlier than those his own age, and had a burning spirit that shone far brighter than one twice his age. And yet… And yet, he was still so faithful. Tháv̱ma saw time and time again how William offered his hand and kind words first in an impending battle, how even when blows were exchanged he still tried to deescalate the situation, how he absolutely refused to take another’s life, even when they threatened his own. The closest Tháv̱ma has seen of William’s rage, of the possibility that there was potential of a Champion’s true terrifying power, was at the defense of others. When civilian lives were in danger, when his colleagues were in desperate need of heavier fists – that was when William hit the hardest, when he let go just a little.

That was also when Tháv̱ma admitted that perhaps his first assessment of the boy was inaccurate.

Perhaps William was fit to carry on his title, his experience, his legacy.

But still, there was a lot of work to be done before the child was even close to ready to face the real threat. Because no amount of niceties and kind words and pleading looks would sway one as corrupted and bent on destruction through sorrow and rage as the Traitor was.

There would be no talking to Teth Adam when he breaks himself free from his prison. Tháv̱ma had tried and paid the ultimate price. He did not want the same fate to befall William, thus he became impatient with imbuing his knowledge forth, with speeding up the process of this new Champion’s true awakening.

The outcome…well…

The recent turn of events was certainly peculiar and unexpected. He was sure Shazam had enough energy to summon the child and expel whatever magical effects ailed him and his memory – that is, if the child’s Feyr had not changed the playing field. None of the previous Champions had fully realized Feyrs before. They were often slaughtered by the newly appointed Champion as means of proving their worth. Their first monster slayed, as it were. It had been interesting to watch the child not only confront the Feyr with no warrior’s intent, but also befriend it, welcome it as a fully realized Familiar.

Oh, Shazam did not enjoy that decision. But the child defended it, and despite everything else, Tháv̱ma knew the old Wizard had a soft spot for William. That deep down, past the eons worth of years, under the detached and cold exterior of an immortal being fated to watch over the mortal world while being its connection to all magic, that despite his immoveable decision in choosing William – he felt a twinge of sympathy for the child. It was a hidden facet of sentimentality Tháv̱ma would not have believed any Wizard capable of if he had not witnessed it himself.

He wondered if that bias would hold up against this situation.

No one expected nor realized just how intrinsically tied a Familiar would be with a Champion, what that entailed for each participant. Even when the child’s memory was repressed, his Familiar still had access to everything - knowledge William forgot, information he never knew, the well of Champion’s power. Using that to block Shazam from summoning William – now that was clever. It certainly diverted all the Familiar’s attention and energy, anyway.

Which was rather convenient for Tháv̱ma because now, more than ever before, he was finally accessible. All his memories and experiences and capabilities, all of it just a hair breadth away from William. He was so close to breaching that wall, so thrilled at the prospect of this new Champion coming into full potential, of all his lives finally being remembered.

However, he should have known better…

He should have known that the boy could not withstand the fully realized power of the Champion and all that it entailed. He should have realized the consequences of the new clause Shazam put on the gifted powers – that the name could not be evoked, that the powers could not be summoned without good intent. He should have remembered that William was still just a human child, despite all of his marvel.

The risk Tháv̱ma took with the Lasso of Truth was a miscalculation.

And young William was the one left suffering.

.

.

.

Out of all the shit storms Jason expected to occur when Kori brought in a magically inclined child, this was definitely not in his top five scenarios.

Not that he would have said no, anyway. You can’t really say no to Kori when she’s determined, when she’s imprinted on someone. Tameranean emotions are a powerful driving force that even the Red Hood wouldn’t be able to sway. Alongside that, Jason still would have allowed the kid. Call him weak or sentimental or whatever the fuck, but when there’s a kid crying in front of you because he can’t remember anything past waking up on your couch, what else is there to do but hold him close and tell him it’ll be okay?

There are just some traits that refuse to be beaten out of him, and sometimes Jason believed that it was not actually a bad thing.

Not even when the kid was currently in the epicenter of a maelstrom filled with lightning and a magical force so intense it could hold off both Wonder Woman and Starfire. The standoff between him and the Bat hadn’t been disturbed by the destructive noises of Kori’s blasts. He knew Wonder Woman was with him, Tim had given him that much of a head’s up. But all three of them booked it when they heard the child’s scream. It rattled him, Jason would admit. He’s heard children scream and cry before, a long career of being a vigilante exposes one to that. But this…

It was louder than anything a human child’s vocal chords should produce. More like a boom of thunder that could shake a building’s foundations, Jason felt it in his core. He didn’t have time to worry about the Bat, didn’t even hesitate to turn his back and run, let alone notice Bruce and Roy on his heels. When they reached the outskirts of the clearing, Jason could feel the air around them getting sucked in, could feel the atmosphere get more and more volatile. The three of them could only watch as their two teammates were finally forced away. They each crashed through a warehouse, electricity following in their wake, and it took several moments before they dragged themselves back.

Well shit.

“Care to give us some information on what we’re dealing with, now?” Bruce had refused to tell him jackshit when Jason held him off – all classified information, and you don’t know what you’re dealing with. Like the fucking anti-magic hypocrite had any room to talk now.

The stubbornness of the old man was as clear as day, even under that inscrutable cowl. But to his surprised, Batman said, “He’s Captain Marvel.”

What the fuck did that mean?

“What the fuck does that mean?” Roy asked, like the best friend he was.

“It means that Captain Marvel was reverted to childhood,” Wonder Woman replied as she landed nearby, brushing off the dirt and debris. If something like that could make Diana bleed…

“Are you serious?”

“It’s a working theory,” Bruce grumbled.

“Sounds fuckin’ crazy,” Roy said, and Jason had half a mind to agree. Because seriously, de-aging a freakin’ demigod?

“But nonetheless, it is true.” To his surprise, it was Kori that defended the idea. Dark spots of electrical burns marred her bright skin, but she seemed completely unconcerned by it. Jason could see the concern in her eyes were for the boy in the eye of the oncoming storm, still huddled in on himself like he could hold in the amount of power breaking its way out. The kid looked so small, but seemed so large in unfathomable ways. “He could not remember anything before waking up here, as if his mind were a puzzle. Pieces jumbled and missing. Under the effects of the Lasso he admitted that he was Marvel, though he claimed the body of the child was named Billy. With us, he said his name was Billy.”

“Okay, okay. Hold on does this mean he’s Marvel or he’s Billy?” Roy asked a reasonable question.

Who really was this kid?

“We may have an answer after we handle this situation,” Bruce reminded them, right as a flicker of lightning reached out and struck where they all once stood not moments ago.

The magical energy was expanding. Jason didn’t know how much more this kid’s body could take.

“Any ideas?” What the hell were they supposed to do here? They couldn’t outright attack the kid, not that anything they threw at him would subdue the amount of force he was emitting. Not even Wonder Woman and Starfire’s combined strength and energy capabilities could contain him. They had agreed to help Billy remember who he was, what happened to him – Jason was starting to regret that decision.

“Got a good one right here.”

The reaction of drawing his gun and pointing the end of it toward the obnoxious voice didn’t even register to Jason until he was already firing. Figured that when everything was going to shit, a couple of nasty broads would show their mugs around to make it worse. The weapon fire from him and Roy were deflected aside by what looked like a giant fucking weed plant.

Great.

“You got till the count of three to beat it,” Jason warned, not giving anyone a chance to choose differently. This was not what they needed right now.

The sneer on the painted clown’s face deepened as she dared to take a step forward, “We ain’t here to beat ya—"

“Harley,” Bruce cut in, because of course he would. “This is the last place you want to be right now.” And despite the words of advice, the threatening tone was ever present.

“Nah, this is exactly where I wanna be, Big Bat.” She glanced around them as Billy let a wounded sound, like an animal stuck in a trap. “Sparky!” The moment she bounded towards him, Jason was taking aim again. However, before she could get very far a shock of electricity forced her to stop, the same barrier that pushed Wonder Woman away. “Hey, c’mon now, sparky. It’s me! I’m right here. Look!”

At the sound of her voice, Billy’s head raised, though his body stayed curled in on itself. The sight of him left a shiver going down Jason’s spine – and he wasn’t the one getting the kid’s full attention. It wasn’t long ago that the boy’s eyes were a brilliant blue, and though Jason witnessed them flicker and glow earlier, this was something else entirely. As if Billy’s eyeballs were burned right out of him, as if the light was trying to burn up the rest of him – the golden glow of power seemed to grow with every passing minute they stood there not doing a damn thing to help him. When Billy opened his mouth, Jason wasn’t entirely sure what he expected to hear, especially not after the deafening scream from earlier.

“Har…ley?” Surprisingly, it was still Billy. Still the scared little kid they took in from the storm, still the kid that cried his eyes out and rested his head against the Red Hood’s chest like Jason could ever be considered comforting.

But underneath that resonated something else. Something deep and rumbling that reminded Jason of rolling thunder echoed in parallel to the squeak of a child, and that hit home the realization that Billy really could be Captain Marvel, that Captain Marvel’s power was tearing the kid apart from the inside out.

“Yeah! Yeah, it’s me, shortstack.” Despite her previously failed attempt, Harley Quinn took a slow, cautious step forward. “You remember me, right?”

“Bright,” he said, breathless and hoarse and the low echo still there. “Cracked.” His gaze – sightless, yet somehow all seeing – roamed over towards them. From one person to the next, “Cracked and dark. Bright. Too bright. It’s too bright!” The last words were spit out with a ferocity not entirely his own, the stereo sound of the other voice nearly combining with his own. Billy covered his head with his arms and hid his face away, unable to look at them anymore.

The fact that his very existence, that just being near the kid hurt him - that made Jason uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t peg.

Right as Harley tried to reach him again, a strike of gold lightning branched out. This time it forced her several feet back, and she would have crashed into a stack of crates had Wonder Woman not caught her.

Poison Ivy finally spoke, “We are here to help.”

“Why?” Kori asked suspiciously, “What reason do you have to help us?”

“We’re not here to help you.” When Poison Ivy looked at the kid, a frown etched itself on her inhumanely beautiful face. Like she actually felt a real feeling that wasn’t murderous contempt. “We’re here to help him.”

“You’re the one who turned him into this,” Batman stated, but nothing about that statement made any sense. Then again, nothing about this situation made any sense anyway.

Ivy nodded as she pulled out a vial of purple liquid that glowed unnaturally bright. “And I’m the one with the antidote to fix it.”

What the hell kind of trick was this—

“Give it to me,” Wonder Woman demanded with her palm out. “The force around him is too great for anyone else to attempt to broach, but I can reach him.”

“Are you fuckin’ serious?” Jason gritted his teeth. Was she seriously going to believe this load of shit? That they were actually here to help and not make things worse? That either of these two suddenly cared about someone other than themselves, let alone a kid who forgot he was Captain Marvel? The last thing Billy needed was either of them butting into his life at an inopportune time.

Jason ignored the niggling feeling of that statement also applying to him.

Poison Ivy ignored his incredulity and did not waste a moment to place the vial in Wonder Woman’s hand. “Break the glass and the liquid turns to gas. He needs to inhale it for the effects to take place.”

“Diana.” Batman stepped up with questions and concerns laced around her name. Finally, Bruce was on his side about something.

“We don’t have time,” she started approaching Billy before anyone could stop her. Not that anyone would be able to. But within a certain distance she paused as lightning struck out. “I refuse to stand by and let my brother suffer any longer.” And with the strength expected of Wonder Woman, she continued her trek through the field that lashed magical energy at her.

“We ain’t lyin’,” Harley commented as she held onto a wound, most likely an electrical burn from her earlier stunt. “I’ve been watchin’ Bills for almost a week now, and that kid really stuck to me. He’s a nice boy, got a big heart and fancy magic tricks and when he looks at ya…I dunno, he made me feel like I wasn’t some sorta monster. Like I coulda helped him, or maybe even be helped from him, and be better for it, ya know.”

Something inside Jason cracked open at her words. A mirror’s broken edge wanted to reflect that very same sentiment within him. After all this time spent being a vigilante, all the lives that he ended, every confrontation against the Justice League, every breath that he took a sordid reminder of opposing the natural cycle of death – after all of that, when something made him feel good about himself, Jason could admit to being just selfish enough to want to hold onto that with all his might. He’d only known Billy for several hours, and while the kid wasn’t fully himself, Jason knew his heart was as golden and warm as his magic. Jason wanted to keep that spark close, keep it safe.

“I just didn’t wanna give him up,” Harley continued, eyes never leaving Diana as she marched through to reach Billy. “Sorry, Red, but I don’t think I woulda been able to.”

Warmth enveloped his hand and Jason returned the comforting squeeze as Kori leaned into him. She felt the same, he knew. Jason wondered what it was about the kid that made them all so possessive, so unwilling to let go. If it was something about him, or something about Captain Marvel, no matter his form, that was ever present. Then he connected the dots that Billy was technically Captain Marvel, and out of everyone Jason knew, super or not, Marvel was always the kindest. He had that type of sincerity about him, an ever emitting warmth that eased everyone’s defenses just a little. Jason could easily imagine this kid becoming such a hero when he grew up.

He really hoped this worked.

He secretly hoped that Billy didn’t forget them.

Once Wonder Woman was within arm’s reach of the kid, she wrapped herself around him in a tight embrace, as if she could save him through sheer will alone. He watched as Diana fought against powerful magic and he recalled her using the word brother. Jason understood how willful those bonds could be. Despite everything between him and his own brothers, he knew he would do the same if they needed him. A dark cloud suddenly began to spread from around the two of them, and Jason saw Diana’s mouth move as she spoke to the boy in her arms. She coaxed his face out from hiding, holding him fast when he began to breathe in the questionable gas.

Jason felt Kori’s hold tighten in his hand. The Lasso around Billy seemed to loosen, slipping off him as the cloud dissipated. Though the crackling energy did not lessen. Diana shifted the child until he was cradled in her lap and his head firmly held in her gentle hands. His eyes were screwed tightly shut as he coughed against the aerosol, and Jason damn near prayed that this worked. Whatever breath he had been holding, Jason released it when the light threatening to break out of Billy dimmed and the lightning storm began to let up bit by bit. When Billy finally opened his eyes they had returned to normal.

“D-Diana?” Billy whispered into the sudden quiet, the only sound in the vacuumed space they all occupied. There was no double voice echoing beneath his own.

“Yes! I’m here, dear brother. I’m right here,” and Jason could not recount a time he had ever heard Wonder Woman’s voice crack like that, so raw with emotions just brimming to the surface. All the tension and weight eased off of her, and he felt just the same.

They succeeded.

At least, that was what they had all believed.

There was a flash of lightning overhead, and a rumbling that followed. That was the first warning.

The fear flickering across Billy’s face was the second.

Something was wrong. Jason felt himself step forward in time with Kori.

“Please,” Billy pleaded as Diana held on tight. “I’m sorry.”

“What is wrong? Speak to me.”

But he was looking up toward the sky, toward the reforming storm. The air became heavy and thick, a sparking atmosphere made it harder to breathe.

Magic.

“Billy!” Jason didn’t realize he was running full tilt toward them until he saw Billy’s panic clear on his tear stained face, until he could make out the angry red lines along his skin that the light had tried to burn out from.

Billy opened his mouth—

Kori’s strong grip pulled Jason back.

Lightning struck down right onto Billy and Diana in a blinding flash much like the power exuded earlier.

The last thing Jason had seen as he fought to keep his eyes from fully closing against the onslaught, for just a moment he thought he saw a door. Like an opening or an empty tear down the middle of the lightning bolt. Except it wasn’t empty, there was something there.

Dark and cavernous stone. A tall, old and imposing figure in a cloak.

When the light fizzled out and the oppressive energy dissipated, when everyone was finally able to pick themselves up from where they had been knocked down, Diana was left scorching on the ground with the Lasso clutched in her hands.

Billy was gone.

Later, after the situation settled and the atmosphere cleared, after the shock wore off and before the aching grief that they had failed to save their friend overtook them, when there was a moment to ask what the hell had just happened – Diana would tell them, in a voice barely restraining her frustration and fury and exhaustion:

“The Wizard took him back.”

Chapter Text

There was always something inexplicable about the Rock of Eternity that Billy could never quite put his finger on.

Aside from being the center focal point of all of Earth’s magic, or maybe because of that - the deep and ever echoing caverns could never be mistaken for anything else, for anything less. When one stood there under the vast immovable stone that arched and stretched, one could not help but feel very soft and very small. There was an energy that thrummed within every mineral. Billy could feel it. It made the entire realm seem alive in a way that almost made Billy want to talk aloud to it, even if there was an uneasy belief that his echo would not sound entirely familiar.

Magic was strange like that.

Before being chosen as a candidate, Billy did not think he had an affinity for magic, there were never any signs to make him even consider it a possibility. He never showed any natural inclination, neither of his parents had any abilities nor did they talk about anyone in their families that did. There were no unexplainable events that happened in their home, no mystical prophesies told to him, no letter from a magical school, no strange encounter with a peculiar stranger, no pulling urge to find where he truly belonged, no fairytale adventures, no cataclysmic outbursts, no horrific hauntings – nothing. The Batson household was normal and mundane in every comfortably domestic way.

When he first discussed this to John, he was told that magic thrives in the most unexpected of places. That while, yes, there were the obvious connections – blood, research, stolen knowledge, artifacts, etc - sometimes, or often enough, magic just flowed where it wanted to, and all the various routes it could, and that was all there was to it.

Constantine called it synchronicity, or luck.

The Wizard called it Fate.

Billy didn’t know what to call it, but he was grateful all the same.

When Billy felt a pull to visit the Rock, to sit somewhere solitary and empty and vast within its sturdy walls, he found it odd that such a place could feel so familiar. Like the vibrations of magic had always been a part of him. Not quite a home, never that, though he nearly forgot what that meant to him now, but it was comforting all the same. A refuge, a sanctuary – someplace quiet and secure. It was warm in a way he did not think stone could be without the sun’s gaze. Despite the infinite labyrinth, Billy never got lost, his feet carrying him from one tunnel through the next, and when he was ready to find the throne room again, there it would be, waiting for him.

Often Billy wondered if it was really him the Rock ushered about its network of chambers and dens, or if it was calling for someone else, someone dormant that the Rock very much wanted to wake up. Beneath his skin, with every thump of his heart and inhale of charged atmosphere, Billy sometimes thought he could feel something answering back.

But home was not a place, Billy knew that; he learned that hard lesson years ago. Just as he learned that certain people could make a place feel… well, like the opposite of home. A prison with locked doors and barred windows and rationed foods that were never enough to stop his stomach from gnawing at itself to the point he had to sneak to the kitchen in the middle of night for just another slice of bread, his hunger at war with the anxiety of being caught and the dread of what punishment would befall him.

So yeah, Billy knew all too well what those kinds of places were like.

What those kinds of people were like.

He never thought he would feel that way when he entered the Rock of Eternity, never considered that he would ever be deathly afraid of the Wizard.

When Billy awoke from a slumber that was both timeless and far too short, he was immediately aware of several truths:

One, his body ached in the way that could only mean he had been struck by lightning. It hurt like the first time he had accepted the duty of Champion, like the terrifying event on his birthday when Marvel’s power tore right out of him.

Two, his memories leading up to this moment were both vivid and unclear, only making sense if he took the effort to piece together the narrative, except his head was as rung out as the rest of him.

Three, he was in the Rock of Eternity, obviously, but something was different. As he laid upon a slab of stone a chill seeped through his skin, he struggled to breathe the too thick air around him.

It did not feel familiar.

Something was wrong.

-

It had been a week since Captain Marvel had been taken.

Superman had not been present during the incident, only brought up to date through the reports from Wonder Woman and Batman. He hadn’t even known there was an incident, that there was a problem that could lead up to an incident.

He’d have to talk to Bruce about the whole lone detective thing again. But since Diana was involved, Clark guessed he was technically okay.

Still, they had a missing teammate. A missing teammate that had not only been hit with amnesia, but apparently been de-aged into childhood. How that came to be, he did not know in the slightest because it apparently involved magic.

Clark did not like magic at all.

There was a noticeable tension about the meeting room, mood heavy and outcome uncertain. Only the inner circle was privy to the situation, not yet wanting the news to creep its way through the grapevine or, even worse, through the general public. Especially not the information they were piecing together. The only ones not in attendance were J’onn and Cyborg, who were in the monitor room watching for any new developments.

“Any head way on locating the Rock of Eternity, Zatanna?” Superman tried not to let the frayed at the edges of his tone show too much.

If there was just some kind of ritual or doorway they could summon, some kind of bridge or whatever – Superman would march on over and save Captain Marvel himself, vulnerability to magic be damned.

“Unfortunately, not really,” she said, and it was obvious that she wished she had better news to share. “While general information about the realm is not hard to come by, finding something useful is another matter entirely. Everyone knows the Rock exists, many literatures mention its importance for the supernatural and mystical world, but anything deeper than that…” She sighed and combed her hand through her hair, and the repetitive motion was showing itself in the tangled knots. The circles under her eyes were darker against her even paler skin. She must have secluded herself in her library for quite some time, probably longer than the last time they spoke, but again, Clark didn’t really get on with the whole Other Magical Dimensions bit. “Magic is needed to get there, obviously. But being summoned is the only method implied, and even knowing that… leaves us back to square one.”

Superman did not sigh in resignation, but he was sure his expression was obvious. “Doctor Fate, do you have any additional input?”

The surprise of having the powerful sorcerer present had not quite vanished completely. It wasn’t that Doctor Fate was necessarily disliked or untrustworthy, but more so that he only graced others with his presence when he felt his duty toward Order required it. Captain Marvel currently missing apparently seemed like an important enough case.

The Justice League may be expanding its numbers, but it still lacked in magical members.

“Yes, I do.”

Everyone’s interest was immediately piqued.

“Well…?” Superman encouraged after a moment. They didn’t have time for dramatic, cryptic pauses.

“Captain Marvel is where he needs to be, and your search is a counterproductive endeavor.”

Another moment of silence passed as everyone absorbed what he had said, and then, all at once, an outrage of ‘What’ and ‘Pardon’ and ‘Ex-fuckin-cuse you’. Doctor Fate did not seem concerned. Superman took a calming breath.

“Explain yourself.”

The room quieted. Superman glanced toward Batman in appreciation. As always, his dark visage was a pillar of cool and collected calm, though his tone booked no argument for round about mystical nonsense. There was a reason Clark liked having him around.

“It is known that Captain Marvel is with the Wizard Shazam at the Rock of Eternity. That is where he ultimately belongs. That is where he has always needed to be. What of these facts need further explanation?”

Everything. Everything about that needed further explanation.

See? This was why Clark hated magic.

“The fact that the Wizard took him while he was in a vulnerable state! He was a child!”

“Princess Diana, what concern is that to you?”

Oh no. That wasn’t good.

Quick, Clark, intercept this before—

“What concern? What concern! I have every right to be concerned!”

“Now, Diana, calm—"

“Do you really?”

“Fate, stop—"

“He is my brother—”

“He is the Chosen Champion of the Wizard Shazam and his pantheon of Gods. He exists to protect the Rock and keep balance in the magical world. Captain Marvel is their vessel, nothing more—”

“Holy shit!"

“Woah there!”

Yeah, Clark knew that would happen. As smart as sorcerers were, sometimes they had the wisdom of newbies who believed they were invincible.

“Diana, stand down.”

Wonder Woman rumbled a noise of low warning and Superman felt it against his arms as he held her back. She was poised but a few inches before Doctor Fate, having over-turned her seat and leapt across the room in less than a second. The Lasso of Truth glowed within her fists, ready to be used.

“Fate, stop it.”

Despite the blank slate of his helmet, golden light pulsed and faded within Doctor Fate’s hands.

Everyone around them steadily eased themselves out of their fight reflexes as Superman coaxed his teammate away from her attempt at violence.

“You do not get to speak of him like that,” Diana growled as she allowed herself to be pulled back.

“Easy, easy. We’re not going to find Marvel if we’re attacking each other,” Superman said. He shot a cold glance toward Fate. “And we are going to find him.”

Doctor Fate said nothing to that.

“Uhhh, so, I’m not saying Fate is right or anything – like, full offense dude, but you’re a dick – but what he said had some merit,” Hal pitched in. At the fierce look from Diana, he quickly explained himself, “Look, look. All I’m reiterating here, is that Cap is tied to this magic rock, right? And when he’s hurt, he goes there. He’s gone there all the time. He’s like, the only dude who can apparently get there. So, if he’s with this wizard or his gods or whatever, and he’s recovering… he’ll come back when he’s better, right?”

(“Huh, so you do listen when people talk,” Flash whispered to him.

“Shut it, Bare. Yeah, I’m a smart guy.”)

“If our only concern was toward Captain Marvel’s recovery, yes,” Batman interjected, “However, given the circumstances and Marvel’s state of being… it’s imperative we find him sooner than later.”

“You make it sound like this wizard guy is gonna hurt him or something.”

Finally returned to the other side of room, and not being goaded further, Diana said, “The Gods cannot be trusted with him and neither can the Wizard.”

“We can’t rush into this, Diana,” Zatanna said. “The position of the Champion is—”

“He is a child, Zatanna.”

“Wait, wait. I thought you said he looked like a kid,” Flash tried to clarify.

“His mortal self was turned into a child, yeah,” Zatanna addressed.

“As opposed to his other self… which is a… demi-god?”

Superman felt incredibly incredulous of every bit of information he learned thus far. It was easier when he believed Marvel was actually Kryptonian. He understood dual identities, don’t get him wrong. He even sort of got shape shifters and glamour and full body possession. But the idea of having completely different bodily forms, like a full transformation… like something right out of a fantasy novel or horror move. This was stepping into new territory for him. He wondered if this was what his parents felt when they were adjusting to having an alien as a kid.

“That is our current theory,” Batman said.

“Theory? Hold up, B, Cap has another form? Like, a regular guy lookin’ form? Not all tall and buff and exuding literal magic?” At least Hal was on the same page as him, though Clark didn’t get much comfort from that.

“Yes, of course he does,” Diana answered, “Although not as powerful, his mortal form does have an affinity for magic.”

“So, like a werewolf.”

“GL, no,” The Flash cut in, though Clark thought that was an apt comparison. Maybe it wasn’t though, if werewolves also really did exist. “Do we know what he looks like? Who he is? Does he have family we need to contact?”

“Marvel is from ancient times. Everyone he had was lost since his fall into slumber. Only recently was he awoken to continue his duty as Champion.”

“Again. That is our current theory.”

“Wait, Batman,” Superman interrupted, because suddenly the obvious was staring him in the face. “I thought you knew the Captain’s identity?”
Batman’s silence was very loud and clear.

“Diana?” He turned toward her, since she seemed to be the one who knew the most about their missing teammate - about his origins and his powers and his life thus far. Clark wondered how agitated that made Bruce, Mister I Need To Know Everything About Everybody.

She shook her head. “His identity is not something we usually discuss. Since his awakening he had lost a great deal of his memory. It is a sensitive topic for him.”

“So, not only does Marvel have memory loss of his life from before, but now he has full amnesia and is also a child on top of that?”

“A child that has access to Marvel’s magical abilities,” Zatanna added.

“Oh, great. This isn’t confusing at all,” Hal grumbled, and Clark completely agreed.

Magic was so… complicated.

“It is much simpler than that,” Doctor Fate said.

Clark was somewhat surprised he hadn’t already left.

“You don’t get to speak,” Diana snarled.

“Diana.” Superman hoped the placating hand on her shoulder kept her from jumping out of her seat again. They really needed to stop destroying conference rooms. “Anything you would like to add, Fate?”

“No, not add. Only correct. Your theories and assumptions are wrong.”

“Do not lie to us!”

“I am not lying, Princess. There has not been a Champion of Magic in thousands of years… until recently.”

“Yes, we know that, Nabu,” Zatanna’s own patience seemed to be thinning toward the sorcerer, and Clark understood.

“Your assumption is that the previous Champion was placed in a coma. That is incorrect. The previous Champion died in the battle that claimed his brethren. All of them except the Wizard Shazam perished, and in the aftermath, he isolated himself within the Rock of Eternity. Since then, he has been attempting to find a worthy enough candidate to be the new Champion.”

Well… this was new to Clark.

A quick glance around proved that this was also new information for the others as well.

“Since Marvel only appeared within the last few years, that would mean he’s from this time period. But wait, hold on. Candidates? There aren’t any tomes that mentioned anything about candidates,” Zatanna said, able to keep up with this line of conversation better than the rest of them.

“Of course not. Just because one is chosen to be a candidate, doesn’t mean they are chosen to be Champion.”

“But there isn’t any information of these candidates – no stories or interviews or archives. Were he choosing candidates all this time, there would be some account of them. People disappearing to the Rock and coming back would have said something.”

“Ah, and now we come to the real questions. How many candidates were chosen throughout the years? And of those chosen, if none of them were deemed worthy enough to carry the mantle of Champion, what happened to them? What mystery did they leave behind for others to find?”

“Okay, okay, so this is some real neat murder mystery you got here,” Hal interrupted, tired of being confused at the whole magic problem that was not helping them find their teammate. “But what does this have to do with Marvel, now?”

“Oh, it has everything to do with him.” Doctor Fate turned his attention from Zatanna to the rest of the room. “What do you think the best course of action would be for the Wizard to take when a chosen candidate is not worthy to wield the power of the Champion? What would be the best method to ensure no loose ends are left open, to ensure none of them try to return and claim the power they were promised?”

“Wipe their memories,” Batman said, though it was unclear if he was serious about Fate’s theory or if he was humoring it.

“Really? Is that really the best way to keep someone silent?”

“Dead men tell no tales,” Diana grimly said, as if she knew where this was all leading.

Superman felt a sudden dread in his gut. “So, this wizard killed unworthy candidates?” he asked. The unease from this conversation implied something he very much did not want to be true. “Could he do that to Marvel? If he thought Marvel wasn’t worthy anymore?”

“Of course. But it’s more prudent to ask would he.”

“You know something.” Batman accused.

“Yes, but not enough.”

Diana stood once more, “Stop talking in circles, Nabu. You know something is coming, something is going to happen to Marvel. What is it?”

“There is a change coming,” Doctor Fate said, seemingly ignoring Diana’s demand and being ever the cryptic. “Something large enough that every corner of the mystic world can feel it.”

“You believe that Marvel is the catalyst. That his return to the Rock is the start of it,” Batman noted.

“I do not think that Marvel’s recent experiences leading up to this moment are a coincidence. Fate is ever at work.”

Oh, more than magic, Superman hated the concept of fate.

“Any validity to his claims, Zatanna?” Superman glanced at their trusted magician.

She was silent for a moment. “I… I have noticed somethings. There isn’t a concrete way to explain it. Like the smell before a storm, maybe. A lot of resident supernaturals back home have been on edge. Some occultists are feeling an influx of energy. But…”

“Anyone you can contact to cross reference this with?” Batman asked, but something in his tone suggested that he wouldn’t like the answer.

She hesitated. “I can call Constantine.”

Even with the cowl, Clark could tell how entirely displeased Bruce was at the suggestion. Still, surprisingly, he nodded.

A sudden tension filled her frame as Zatanna stood and hurried out of the conference room.

“I have said all that can be said,” Doctor Fate concluded before he vanished in a blink of golden light. Which was probably for the best.

“Okay, soooo… I’m getting that there’s something bigger going on than just Marvel’s identity and him missing, but I feel like we’re not really gaining any ground here,” Flash commented.

“Yes, thank you. Can we get a non-weirdo break down here?” Hal asked.

“Marvel isn’t from Ancient Greece. He’s a modern man and his adventure of being an amnesiac child may have bigger consequences,” Superman summed up, though it felt woefully like an understatement. “Diana?”

She had been staring at the spot Doctor Fate had vanished, fists clenched and body still. “I need a moment to confer.” And with that she stomped out as well.

“Do you want to call this?” Batman asked, and like the others, there was a tension about him. He had gained something from this conversation, at least.

They weren’t anywhere closer to finding Marvel, and now they had more questions than answers. But with those more in tune to the mystic arts now gone, there was not much left for them to discuss. Worry curdled inside Clark’s gut, as well as the frustrating feeling of being useless. This wasn’t his forte. This wasn’t something he could investigate or talk with or punch away. In fact, he had a distinct disadvantage against magic. What could he possibly do to help his teammates? To protect or save them?

Superman sighed. “Keep a steady patrol at Fawcett City, in case Marvel returns or something strange happens.” At the quick departure of Green Lantern and Flash, he turned toward Batman. “Something bothering you?”

“A suspicion.”

“Must be pinging a lot of alarms if you’re suspicious.”

“Hmm.”

“Bruce.”

“I spoke with Red Hood and Harley Quinn – after Marvel was taken.” The admission was more straight forward than Clark expected. There was something more there.

“There’ve been stranger conversations. Probably.”

“Information isn’t adding up.”

“It’s magic, Bruce. It doesn’t always make sense to us. And I’m pretty sure it only makes sense half the time to them.”

“But people make sense to me.”

“Someone being suspicious?”

“Only one way to confirm.”

With everyone’s combined efforts, Superman was sure they would find and bring back Marvel.

And yet…

A foreboding still gripped him, like a storm cloud in the distance. Something was coming, and it wasn’t just the mystical world that would be affected. Not now, not when there was no real veil to keep everything separate. There really hadn’t been for a while now. Superman may not have any fingers in any magical pies, but even he knew that there was an increase in both alien and supernatural activity around the world. As the years went by, more and more oddities seemed to reveal themselves, as if attracted to the chaos, to the open acceptance of everything strange and outlandish.

Maybe it was just coincidence.

Or maybe not.

Either way, the Justice League would be ready, Superman would be ready.

But first, before worrying about what was on the horizon – he had a friend to save.

-

Victor was having the third worst week of his life. The only events that surpassed it were when his mother died, and when he died only to be brought back to life with alien organic technology.

So, yeah. This was bad.

Captain Marvel was missing, taken by some old crusty wizard, and now, not only was the main Justice League circle searching for him, they were investigating his real identity.

Something Victor has known for months and helped keep secret to the point of hiding information from any online databases and literally lying to Batman's face.

So now Victor had a conundrum.

He tried not to pay attention to the blinking alert that he had an awaiting message.

Ever since his mission with Marvel that resulted in him gaining a better insight into the world of magic, Victor had been doing his research. He accessed any online library and archive he could that held information on the Rock of Eternity and the Wizard and the Champion of Magic. The lengths he went to access them, well, they weren't totally legal. But what he found added a whole lotta nuance to the situation.

He was more than sure that the magic wizard would not take back Marvel's powers. He doubted that the eons old being would listen to the League's concerns and suddenly change his mind on having a preteen be a demigod. And Victor was absolutely certain that no matter what decision the League chose, Billy would continue his duties as Captain Marvel.

The double edged sword of having an alien supercomputer as part of his brain was that Victor remembered everything in detail - especially that fateful mission. From Marvel's wise words and comfort, the way he just seemed to know the insecurities that plagued Victor's mind, and what to say to combat them; to Marvel risking himself and his own identity to help Cyborg.

Nothing was forgotten.

Especially not Billy's face as Cyborg rushed into the reactor room. How a small child stood amongst the damage made Cyborg momentarily believe something was seriously wrong with his own brain. He remembered how light and fragile Billy was in his arms, how panicked he felt at the dawning truth of Marvel's secret.

The ride home was equally as memorable. The way Billy held himself back, hunched and guarded and wary - the complete opposite of Captain Marvel's usual presence, and not just his physical build. It was as jarring as everything else. But it wasn't until Victor realized how intertwined Marvel and Billy really were, how surprisingly similar the child demigod was to him, the half man half machine, did Billy start to open up.

Victor made a new friend that day, and an important promise…

Another incoming message alerted itself.

He had to answer it.

But what would he say?

Victor thought of his own life's former path - how he knew deep in his bones that he wanted to be a football star, ever since the little leagues, and never had his father supported him. At every turn Cyrus Stone pushed some course or summer class of STEM, determined to have Victor follow his carefully laid plans towards a predetermined future.

Victor hated that.

He hated that no matter how well he did in other courses, how he excelled in his studies - his true passion would never register as a blip on his father's radar. The chasm of loneliness and resentment grew between them and it wasn't until they were literally in the midst of an alien war did they come together.

Victor did not want that for Billy.

The circumstances were nowhere near the same, but the sentiment still stood. Whatever came to pass, he would have Billy's back. And right now, Billy needed him, as a teammate and friend.

The Justice League was searching for Marvel, for Billy. And along the way they would find out the truth. With their combined efforts it was inevitable. So, really Victor only had one choice to make - to help them or not.

He had made a promise to be there for Marvel, for Billy, and no matter what, he was sticking to it.

Victor finally looked at the blinking message from Batman, a request.

(No, no it wasn't really a request. Victor wasn't stupid enough to think like that.)

With a hefty sigh, he wondered how many more grey hairs he'd get before thirty. The proceeding thought was that he'd rather beg forgiveness from a friend that was alive than dead.

Decision made, Cyborg started on his way to meet Batman.

--

Diana had quite a lot of thinking to do.

Not just thinking - meditating, searching, and praying as well. These actions were not her usual, but did her well when she needed to take a moment to examine herself, her position, and what lay before her. Queen Hippolyta ensured her daughter did not skip on her lessons of introspection. Though, this time did not include the catharsis of punching a bag.

Diana thought she understood. She thought the facts were clear cut and as she had always believed them to be. But with Gods - she should have known better. The truth was never as it seems when it came to Gods, despite the strict constraints they had to abide by. She believed in truth above all, but with Gods - they bent it, hid it, glamoured it up, found a loop hole and shape shifted it. Even for a God Killer, keeping up took effort.

The Champion of Magic was supposed to be different. She believed her brother to be different. And now…

And now the truth she had once believed was turned on its head. It only took one blinding moment, one searing lightning strike for the Lasso of Hestia to reveal everything.

When that moment passed, Marvel was gone and in his absence Diana was left breathless.

She knew the real truth now, but still it did not make sense.

To unravel the information she now had, Diana needed to think, to meditate, to pray. Thus, she was at her own Greek residence. It was not quite home, as Diana could never return to her actual home, but it was hers to retreat to. It offered the quiet solitude she needed right now. Her communicator was turned off after she had told her companions that she needed time to gather herself. She would be no help to anyone until her mind was clear.

And her mind was anything but clear right now.

The weight of a child sobbing in her arms still lingered. He looked so impossibly small, drenched in the rain and dwarfed by the brief conflict between herself and Koriand'r. The videos failed to convey that. Or maybe she was too used to Marvel's larger than life presence. She never thought he could ever be anything less.

That was not quite right, however, was it?

Marvel was never less. Not even as a youngling. Because that is what Marvel is, his secret identity, the information even Nabu lacked. Marvel’s true mortal human form was a child.

A child chosen to protect a world that needed him.

What an honor that was.

(What an injustice for a child that should be the one protected.)

Diana understood what it meant to be determined to see the world as hers to protect and defend. To want so badly to fight to save humanity - from itself, from others. To be chosen by the Gods to fulfill Fate's roles.

More than ever, she understood how Queen Hippolyta must have felt as she watched her only child sail away to fight man's war, a God's battle.
Diana had been the only child on Themyscira, and for a very long time she remained. It was not until she had begun her training in earnest, when her divine powers began to awaken, did she grow. While she knew her Queen was proud, only in hindsight could Diana see how those years chipped at her mother's heart.

When Diana thought about her brother - and he would always be her brother - her heart ached. She is seized by the overwhelming notions of affection, of sadness. His path unfolded before him, just as hers did, and no one could stop it.

Children must grow, and it is up to their loved ones to nurture them, guide them, teach them the skills they will need to go forward on their path. Even if the road is for warriors. Even if the future is bloodstained and violent.

Diana so desperately wanted to do the right thing, but she was not certain that it was the same as the good thing.

A sudden swell of panic expanded in her chest, the sweeping fear of uncertainty. Should she try to protect her brother, keep his fragile form close and secured, he would be out of harm's way. However, she would become an obstacle to him, she knew.

He would fight her every step of the way.

(He had a warrior's heart, and that absolute truth made her own heart sing.)

Steve's words of wisdom came to mind: when you see bad in the world, you can either do nothing or you can do something.

Billy lived by those words as well, didn't he?

(They often spoke of doing good, of being good – but where was that goodness for him?)

There was really only one clear path for her to take.

Diana took a breath and cleared her mind. She completed the communication ritual with a blade to her palm, drops of her own blood seeped on to the ingredients in the mortar.

She held her breath and closed her eyes.

The first moment of contact with Zeus was like a migraine threatening to split her head in two. Pressure beyond belief expanded inside her skull, accompanied by a rolling rumble that grew in ferocity. After her eardrums had popped and a burst of sparks exploded behind her eyelids, did a deafening silence follow.

The smell of burnt oak and thick ozone choked the air. A crackling presence suddenly and wholly filled the room until she was no longer in her home, no longer on the physical plane. Diana took a breath and felt the power consume her.

"Princess Diana of Themyscira, my daughter, for what reason do you call upon me?"

Zeus was every bit a king as he was a God.

But Diana was every bit an Amazon warrior as she was a God Killer.

She opened her eyes.

"Zeus, father, I demand answers."

--

Constantine hated superheroes.

That was no surprise to anyone who spoke to him for at least five minutes. Or anyone who had even remotely heard of him from someone else.
See, heroes were just over powered, self righteous sods that decided they could take the world's future in their hands. Like toddlers that take a hold of snow globes and furiously shake it up. Their actions affected everyone inside that globe, even those they never knew existed. And they did so because they felt they knew best, because they had 'good bleeding hearts.'

What absolute rubbish.

They acted like they couldn't just break the world as easily as they shook it up, shatter the glass and spill everything out.

And who could stop them?

The nations' governments?

Hah! John trusted them to hold super power even less than a bunch of spandex wearing fools.

Don't get him wrong though, he hated a lot of people - for example, those in mystic arts communities just as much. Either power hungry or pompous, most likely both. Complete pricks all around.

There was one exception, however. And bugger all if John didn't look at the sunshine of a child and feel his own rotten soul cringe away.

And of course the little shit had to be the literal Champion of Magic.

This was why John never trusted those o' so superior beings that sat up top on their mighty thrones and fancied themselves as Gods or Wizards or what have you. They liked to blame Fate for their decisions and never thought twice about it. Not even when their puppet was an orphan child with nothing to lose.

Especially when their victim was an orphan child with nothing to lose.

That was their favorite kind of chess piece.

If there was one thing John loathed more than heroes and sorcerers, it was Gods.

He would lump Fate in there, and often time did, except there wasn't much stock in doing so. Maybe that was because he often found himself on the edge of its grasp, synchronicity a helpful tool of keeping him just out of reach. Then, again it also pushed him in the way just as often.

Or maybe John refused to let up his own grasp of reality and free will. Preferred to look at the faces of those he's failed, sacrificed, and admit that it was his own choice. That he chose the lives of many - and his own, of course - over the life of one that was unfortunate enough to stick close to him. Maybe he preferred to wash the blood off his hands with full knowledge that someone had to do it and it sure as hell wasn't going to be a bloody superhero.

(The one thing John hated most of all was himself, but that had never been a secret.)

Zatanna had been the one to contact him, and it was a regular call, too, no magic show or sudden kidnapping, which surprised him most of all. She loved being flashy.

“Have you felt anything strange in the air?” was the first thing she said when he answered his phone, but being cryptic was never really her style.

“‘Lo to you too, luv,” John said. A cigarette dangled in his mouth and as he walked, a few nasty looks were shot his way.

“John, I’m serious. Have you felt anything?”

“Gonna have to be a bit more specific than that. Feel a lot of things, ya know.”

“Anything that could be linked to the Champion of Magic?”

John stopped. The bustle of pedestrians grumbling as they had to pass him didn’t even register. “Now what’s goin’ on with our big red cheese, hm?” He tried for casual, but something heavy clogged up his throat and he knew he fell short.

Zatanna hesitated. “He’s missing.”

“He’s a big boy, Zee. He can take care of himself.”

“That’s not…” she made a noise of frustration. “He was turned into a child, John. And has amnesia.”

As if everything that had paused within him had restarted at three times the speed, John waited until he could trust his own voice. “What do you mean turned into a child and has amnesia?”

She described the situation at hand, a continuous edge of uncertainty staining in her tone.

Several colorful explacatives left his mouth in quick succession.

"Do you know how to get there? The Rock?"

"No of bloody course I don't! It’s the fuckin’ Rock, Zee! It’s more elusive than fuckin’ Heaven or Sukhavati!"

“We have to find him, John.”

Static rushed through his head at the dump of information, and though he wished he had something clever and witty to say, all that came out was a strangled noise before he could get a grip on himself. John tossed away his forgotten cig, down to a nub for his negligence, before placing a new one between his teeth and lighting it. His hand shook. "And do what? Tell the Wizard to fuck off? Take the kid back and ground him? No more superheroing for you til you've finished your schoolwork?"

"This isn't funny."

John took a deep inhale, held the warm smoke in his chest, and exhaled. The nicotine calmed his stupid frazzled nerves. "Not laughing, luv."

Zatanna released a heavy sigh that crackled in his ear, "I know. I just… I have to try, and this is a lot, especially if Nabu is to be believed, and--," she paused. "You said kid.”

Fuck. Sometimes Zee was too smart for her own good.

“You knew this whole time, didn't you? Since Marvel came to you for help."

There was no use in denying, in lying. Zatanna Zatara was one of the few who could dissect his bullshit with a glance, even when there was an ocean's distance between them. So, John chose to say nothing at all.

"Of course, you did," she said, not surprised or defeated, but something close to both. She was familiar with him and his antics after all. "So, what, he’s really a--”

“Yep.”

There was silence.

“How old?”

“Twelve, if he ain’t lyin’ to me. But he's kinda shite at it, so...”

“Fuck. He...he's just a kid, John." The heartbreak was clear in her voice. John could sympathize.

"I know, Zee."

"He's been out here as the Champion for who knows how long. He looked like something the streets coughed up. I doubt he has family. And what if someone else finds out? A sorcerer or a cult or a demon or or--"

"Nothing we can rightly do about it, is there."

"We can find him. Take him back,” she was determined. “We could… we could teach him. Both of us."

"Aww, luv,” something funny did a flip in his chest. He didn’t trust that feeling. “You know I’m not the kinda bird to settle down and start a family."

"John."

"Alright, alright. Just having a joke."

"Still not funny."

"No, no it isn't," he conceded with a long drag.

After a moment of silence, when John thought the conversation was done, she said, "You're not going to help find him, are you?"

John pondered on that for a short second, before deciding to answer honestly. "No. Maybe in my youth you could tempt me with forbidden knowledge, but it won't do us any good finding the Rock. It won't help him."

She made a thoughtful noise that didn't sit well in John's gut. He knew Zatanna couldn't resist an academic challenge, couldn’t turn her back from doing what was good and right.

"I'll keep in touch. Take care, John."

"You too, Zee. Ta."

Well, then. Fuck.

John stared at the smoke as it dispersed, as if he could find a message in it, instructions on how to help. There wasn't, of course. He had never been good at divination, and considering what he would be going up against…

Don't get him wrong. He could lie and trick and deceive his way into Hell and back, but the Rock of Eternity?

And even if he found a way to get there, then what? What would he do? Take Billy away? Let the Wizard find a new poor kid to inherit the mantle? Because that's what would happen.

The Champion of Magic needed to exist, and someone had to take up the title.

That someone was Billy Batson, and John knew he would be hard pressed to tear that kid away. Even if he wanted to leave. Which John knew he wouldn't.

They both had their burdens to bear - no matter the cost, the mental toll, the blood on their hands.

John took a long drag and started toward the nearest pub. He desperately needed a drink.

--

Live long enough over watching humanity, and one may develop something akin to human emotions.

Shazam would not say he had many regrets in his existence, as he existed for an insurmountable amount of time. However, there were moments, mere drops in the entire ocean, that would have him pause. Even when the occurrence passed, when the ripples long since washed in the waves, he wondered.

No. No, wonder was far too human a concept.

Question was nearly correct, but not quite.

His time was running out.

The moment he had locked Teth Adam away, he knew this would come to pass. He knew his fate was sealed. The knowledge of what was to come did not frighten him, did not fill him with dread or guilt or sadness. Those were far too human for him to feel.

He had indulged enough already.

For centuries, the Wizard had found potential candidates to be the Champion - humans with the natural spark of magic, with studious training, with years of experience. There had been professors and students, sorcerers and witches and devotees, warriors and soldiers, philosophers and poets. None of them satisfied all of the Gods' wishes. None of them so much as sparked an interest from the Rock of Eternity.

None of them survived Zeus' trial - the bolt of lightning.

Fate had not chosen them.

Every time, Shazam felt another grain of sand slipping. His energy would not last if he chose the wrong candidate too many times. He could not hold Adam imprisoned forever. His time was running out. The Rock needed a Champion and he needed a successor.

For the first time in a long time, he felt tired.

He examined the previous Champions, what was sought out, what was desired, what was necessary. He tried to satisfy the Gods and the Rock while he honored his fallen siblings. He recalled what went wrong with Adam and vowed never to allow that to happen again.

The Wizard came to a decision and changed tactics.

The candidates needed open minds and bright spirits, adaptable instincts and malleable paths. A variable Fate could shape.

Still, the search continued with failed candidates until he came across one in particular.

This one little drop in the ocean made him pause, made the currents of the Rock be still just long enough to hear its tiny plea. The young thing spoke of humanity and free will and change, as if The Wizard hadn't witnessed all that humanity had to bear.

Still…

When Shazam called forth Zeus' bolt, he felt his nonexistent breath hold. He felt the dusty chords of hope be strung. When before him stood his Champion once more, he knew Fate had finally Chosen. Taller and more physically imposing than his mortal form - this candidate was perfect and golden.
Guidance was needed, of course, but the child never complained or sought to be coddled. He did not ask for answers to be given to him, and he did not bow before the challenges that surmounted him. The boy exceeded expectations and proved his worth for the heavy responsibility of Champion. He had yet to disappoint...

Until now.

Shazam had his doubts about the Champion keeping on his Feyr as a familiar. None of the other Champions had done so before, as slaying the fear creature whose innate ability to devour magic was a right of passage to proving one's strength. It was an unpredictable variable that had tethers tied deeper with the Champion and his connection to the Rock than Shazam could have known.

The spell containing Teth Adam was breaking.

His time had run out.

Shazam did not fear death. He witnessed it plenty of times, communicated with a number of deities connected to both the concept and its many realms. But Death would not be coming for him the same way it did mortals - who existed for such a short amount of time, or even Gods - whose existence relied entirely on others belief and knowledge.

The Rock of Eternity created him and his siblings - fully fledged and set to their duty of establishing bonds to all magical and occult beings - and thus, The Rock would take him back. As it started, so shall it end.

Fate had plans for everyone, and The Wizard knew his place among them.

Something akin to worry, however, did bloom within him. When he thought of the child who would inherit his throne, who would grow into the role of Champion much sooner than preferred.

He would say it was unfair for the child, if he believed in such a human concept.

As it was, Shazam had one last lesson to depart, and it would be, by no means, fair.

--

Billy never thought he would end up here; trembling before the Wizard as he was lectured, scolded. He disappointed so many other adults in his life, but he tried so hard not to mess this one up.

It wasn't even his fault.

"I had called for you, William."

"I didn't know, I--"

"When I summon the Champion, you abide." The Wizard spoke to Billy like he was a particularly stupid kid.

He never did that before. Billy felt his heart sink.

But it wasn't my fault.

"I...I'm sorry. I wasn't myself and I was trying, but I... I'm sorry."

What else could he possibly say?

It wasn't my fault.

"Apologies mean nothing when you only regret being caught."

No, no that wasn't true.

I'm sorry, but it wasn't my fault!

"I am sorry! It won't happen again! I promise! I didn't want to lose my mem--"

"Your memories could have returned back to you if you had truly wanted them."

It's not my fault!

Something burned at his insides, made him dizzy and tense.

"I did! I did want them back!"

"Do not lie to me!" Loud like a crack of thunder. The Wizard had never yelled at Billy before.

"I'm not!" Billy shouted back and rumbling echoed through the caverns. Wetness threatened to blur his vision and Billy blinked it away furiously. He refused to cry, not now. "I'm not lying!"

It's not my fault!

"If you truly did desire your memories to return, then your meddlesome Feyr--"

"It's not Tawny's fault!" Billy could not have Tawny take the blame. He couldn't let them be punished because of him. He could never let his Familiar be hurt. "They were just-!"

"That creature leeched off the Champion's power--"

"They didn't! Would you just listen-!"

"--In order to keep you away from your responsibilities!"

"That's not true! That's not what happened! I was helping! I was helping! It's not my fault!" Billy screamed over the roar of wind and thunder.

He couldn't stop the tears from spilling out, but he was just so full to bursting. The flood of emotions rose up and threatened to drown him. It made him sick.

Billy couldn't remember feeling so angry in his life.

He had tried so hard to be good.

It's not my fault.

It wasn't fair.

"Child, that is enough!"

Even as the storm howled around the Rock, a heavy silence stretched between them.

Child.

He called Billy a child.

Billy felt his lungs seize as he swallowed down the choking urge to scream. Something dark clawed at his inside and he was certain it wasn’t Tawny.

"You are the Chosen Champion of the Gods. You are the avatar for their gifts, yet time and time again you act as though this were child's play."

"Don't call me a child."

"You are the one who swore an oath to uphold good in your world and in your heart. Yet when the opportunity presents itself, you throw it all aside for a shallow illusion of mundane childhood normalcy."

"Don't call me a child."

"You are blinded from Fate’s path by your own hubris. You believe you can bring light into others, yet you know not the true darkness that exists amongst this world, or even inside your own heart. Imposing your own childish views of black and white as if it will be enough!"

"I'm not a child!"

"As if you believe you can truly save everyone when you cannot even save yourself. You are lonely and you are scared, and you cannot push yourself past that. Perhaps I have been too lenient! You are the same terrified, trembling child I brought here, begging to prove his worth!"

"Stop calling me a child!"

The storm raged around them and Billy felt electricity jump from his skin as he curled his fists up tight, as he shouted over the Wizard talking down on him. That sharp clawing in his throat felt unbearable. Golden sparks cracked between them and finally, finally Shazam paused long enough to look at him.

Past the tears and past the fury, Billy stared right back.

"I take no pleasure in teaching this lesson, William. But know this: if you allow your fallible heart, ever fickle and reactive, to rule your moral compass, it will lead you astray. You need to learn to harness your strengths, your ambitions, your passion, and you need to think outside yourself."

In the face of cold passivity, Billy's boiling anger simmered. It bubbled in his gut like acid at the entire exchange. He felt wronged and hurt, but yelling made him feel even worse. Like he was the bad guy here. Like he was a selfish child.

It's not fair.

"There is a storm coming and you are not ready for the lightning that will strike. Not now, not yet." The Wizard warned as he lifted his staff and struck it to the ground three times. Each hit he stepped forward and it resounded like thunder.

The only storm Billy saw was the one before him.

Confusion and exhaustion settled around his shoulders like a well worn coat. He was tired of the Wizard's riddles and half truths and hidden secrets. All these years and still, he felt like that lost kid shivering in the subway station.

Aimless. Alone. Angry.

It's not fair. I've been good.

The Wizard stood over Billy and raised his staff once more. His other hand came to rest against Billy's Lichtenberg figure right over his heart.

I've been good, haven't I?

"Prove me wrong."

Something like sad finality passed across Shazam's old face.

"Goodbye, William."

Lightning struck them both.

.

.

.

.

One moment Billy was standing in a stone throne room, a storm whipping around him in the great cavern. The next moment, Billy found himself lying down, staring up at an eerily familiar white ceiling.

As if a great deal of time had passed, yet no time at all.

He sat up and realized someone had removed his borrowed jacket and shoes. A plush warm blanket was tucked in over him. It was floral print and he had never seen it before.

The room itself was quiet, pleasant with its tints of baby blues and greens and yellows. Sunlight shone in through the window, a nice breeze fluttering the pretty white drape. Somewhere outside birds were chirping and someone was mowing their lawn.

Billy distinctly remembered that window being nailed shut.

He remembered the walls being a dirty beige and stuffed boxes crowding the area. The ceiling light never worked. The door was always locked…

Heart pounding, Billy scrambled out of the bed. His instincts kicked in and he tried to be as silent as possible as he cracked open the door.

The hallway was different, too. Cleaner. Neater. Nice.

Before he could shoot for the stairs, muffled talking stopped him in his tracks. He inhaled once and held his breath. Hoped that his wild heart wouldn't be heard, that he wouldn't be caught.

Nothing happened.

No yelling. No glass breaking. No doors slamming.

Hesitantly, Billy exhaled as quiet as he could. Like a switch in his brain was turned on, he crept down the hallway with practiced ease. He avoided all the creaking panels he knew were there. The stairs would be a bit trickier, he wasn't as small as he had been before, but-

He stopped.

His gaze focused on a framed picture that hung on the wall, the first thing spotted when one came up the stairs. A family trio on a picnic blanket smiled down at him - a pretty lady was hugging an adorable child in her lap, and they had the same toothy grin; a stiff but clearly content man crouched right beside them. Billy stared at it as if it were a puzzle. The surrounding pictures contained much the same; an arrangement of a happy family displayed in their home.

Billy never knew this place to be a home, never knew this man as happy.

The hushed voices had stopped.

Before Billy could make a dash down the stairs, the door to the master bedroom opened beside him.

He froze.

In the doorway stood the beautiful woman from the pictures. Up close Billy could note the laugh lines gently wrinkled at the corners of her mouth. She looked soft, nice. A brief expression of surprise gave way to concern. "Oh, dearling!" Her step toward Billy was halted by the man behind her.

He stood as tall as Billy remembered him to be. Hard lines and a square jaw made his frown more pronounced, that also didn't seem to have changed. The biggest difference Billy noted was that he was clean shaven and didn't immediately stink of booze. His blue eyes seemed brighter, less sunken but still just as piercing.

Run, Batson, run!

Billy did not even realize he had taken a step back from them until he felt the wooden banister against his shoulder blades.

“Hey there, champ.” A crooked smile lifted on his Uncle Ben's face, "you finally woke up.”