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Billy Batson’s high school, lunch time.
“I can’t believe it,” Freddy says, turning to Billy with his plastic cake fork clutched tightly in his hand. “How did you do it? Did you fly to Metropolis to find him? Did he know you were coming? Oh my god—he has super-hearing. I bet he can still hear us.” Freddy’s eyes go wide with horror for a split-second, and then his face twists into a gleeful grin. “Yeah, I don’t even care. Tell me everything. You’re friends with Superman now?”
Billy shrugs, but he’s smiling too. “It’s no big deal.”
“Dude. Don’t ‘no big deal’ me! I mean—he’s the real deal. How come you didn't bring me along?”
“I thought I’d surprise you. You know—after the other lunch thing, I figured I owed you one.”
Freddy shovels the last piece of chocolate cake into his mouth. “You did,” he says, nodding as he chews. “You totally did owe me one, but a heads-up for something like—”
“No.” Eyebrows raised, Billy crosses his costumed arms. “If I’d given you a heads-up, you would’ve done something weird, like worn Superman footie pyjamas to school.”
“I don’t have Superman footie pyjamas,” Freddy says, scoffing.
“Bottom drawer, underneath the Wonder Woman scarf.”
“Okay, okay, but I don’t wear them!”
“Yeah, and I’m trying to keep it that way.”
“Whatever, okay, Captain Sparklefingers? Tell me more about Superman! He was so… wow. Did you see his arms? I can’t believe I got to shake his hand. Me!” Freddy beams and gestures at himself with both hands, scattering cake crumbs onto his blue jeans. “Maybe we’ll work together. That’d be so sweet. I bet we could learn from each other. Hey! It makes sense for us to join the Justice League, now that we—”
“My arms are at least as big as his,” Billy says, looking down at his grown-up self. He lifts his right arm and flexes, just to prove it. “And I’m taller than him.” He thinks for a second. “For real, Superman’s actually shorter than I expected.”
Freddy barks out a laugh. “No way.”
“Oh, yeah—I forgot you’re still pocket-sized,” Billy says, grinning.
“Only ‘cause you didn't warn me!”
“Hey,” Billy says. “I’m not sorry. I mean—I’m sorry about the lunch thing, before. And I didn't actually ever say that I would—whatever. That doesn’t matter. I know it means a lot to you to have people like Superman in the world. And since I’m sorta like him, I figured now he’d see someone like me, you know—that he’d talk to me. But I wanted you to meet him as yourself—this self—because of that stuff you said, about being invisible. So you’d see that… you’re not, ‘cause Superman came to have lunch with you, and it wasn’t because you’re a superhero, too.”
“Well, it was because you asked him to, in your Zap-tain America face.”
“No; it’s because you’re awesome.” Billy thinks for a second. “And also because I asked him to. But take the compliment, dude, I’m not very good at th—”
Billy freezes as Freddy shoots forward and wraps his arms around his torso in a rib-crushing hug. Or, it probably would be, if Billy weren’t literally bulletproof. The lightning bolt emblem crackles softly against Freddy’s hair, his cheek pressed into the middle of it, skin glowing gold.
“Uh,” Billy says, and hugs him back tentatively—but only ‘cause there are still people watching them, you know, it’d be cruel to leave the guy hanging after going through all the trouble of making this scene in the first place.
When Freddy pulls back, he clears his throat and smooths down the front of his shirt like hugging is a tremendously outfit-wrinkling activity. “Thanks.”
Billy smiles. “You’re welcome.”
“Now… Superman,” Freddy says, with barely-contained eagerness. “Tell me everything. Have you seen his lair?! I heard it’s in the Arctic. How did you get him to come here? Does he really know Batman? Billy, I’m telling you, I gotta know, I’m dying here, I’m in a desert with no water, only the knowledge I require can sustain—”
“I found him,” Billy says quickly. “Yeah, ‘course I found him.” He relaxes into the story, adopting a more serious tone. “I just… flew to Metropolis, like you said. He was easy to find ‘cause he was fighting some alien monster guy, and I saved his butt, and he was like ‘wow, man, you saved my life, how can I ever repay you?’ and—that’s when I told him that the best thing he could ever do would be to visit a public high school for lunch.”
“Not a word of that is true.”
“Nope,” Billy says, letting his face crack into a grin. “But you know what is true?” He leans in across the table, conspiratorial, and lowers his voice. “He’s gonna buy us dinner next week.”
“No way.”
“Would I joke about this?”
Freddy narrows his eyebrows. “Yes!”
“Okay,” Billy agrees. “I would. But I’m not! I swear! All the burning questions you have, you can ask the so-called ‘Man of Steel’ yourself. Now,” he adds, raising his voice to slightly-louder-than-usual tones, “you should get to class, young… friend. Algebra… is important.”
“C’mon—you still haven’t told me how you met Superman!”
Billy stands up. “That’s a story for another day. It’s too epic to be told in this common cafeteria.”
“Okay, well… you’ll tell me later, won’t you?”
“‘Course.” Billy looks Freddy in the eye and makes an effort at sincerity. “I’ll tell you when we get home.”
Some Philadelphia skyscraper, four hours earlier.
“Is this seat taken?” a voice asks, and Billy nearly jumps out of his skin, because when you’re sitting at the edge of a rooftop fifty-eight floors up, you really aren’t expecting company.
“What?” he says dumbly, and then looks up, and there’s Superman, floating beside him.
“Hey there,” Superman says.
“Holy moley.”
Superman takes this as an invitation to sit down. His cape ripples behind him like some gravity-defying alien thing—which, okay, it almost definitely is, and that shouldn’t surprise Billy as much as it does seeing as he himself is currently a gravity-defying magic… wizard champion.
His life is weird.
“Uh,” Billy says, trying to tamp down his surprise. “What brings you to Philly, Supes—uh, Superman? Everything is under control here.” He gestures down at the city beneath them. “Nice monster-free day we’re having, right?”
“I see that. I’ve heard accounts of what happened at the fair—good work, Red Cyclone.”
“Haha, that’s—yeah, that’s not actually… I mean, the hero name is a work in progress. My friend—well, manager… uh, PR guy… came up with them. I might fire him.”
“I didn't choose my name,” Superman says, staring out across the sky as Billy looks over at him. They’re not quite eye level: Superman is… is shorter than him? He seems huge on TV. Maybe the guy’s all leg or something. “‘Superman’ was a name given to me by the media.”
“Because of the S,” Billy says, and then quickly adds: “I know it’s not an S, it’s a symbol of hope, I saw the YouTube video.”
Superman smiles. “Yes, that was the source of inspiration.”
“What would you have picked?”
“I don’t know. In some ways, I’m glad I didn't have to. People like us—we have another name. The name we use with our loved ones. For me, that name is more important.”
Billy thinks about Freddy and Darla and Pedro and Eugene and Mary holding the magic wizard staff and yelling his own name. “Yeah.”
“Anyway,” Superman says, “I just wanted to drop by and say hi. Introduce myself. See how you’re doing.” He looks sideways at Billy. “Growing into my own powers was rough. For a period of my life, everything was changing. Every other week I’d realize there was something new that I could do. If it’s new for you now—”
“It’s not new. I’ve been doing this forever. The media only just started to take notice of my impressive—okay, yeah, it’s been like, a month. I can’t lie to you, dude, you’re Superman. This whole thing is crazy.”
“Well, if you want to talk about it…”
Billy kicks the building with his heels where his legs dangle over the edge. “Not really.”
“Okay.”
“It’s complicated,” Billy says.
“It always is.”
Superman knows about this, Billy thinks. He knows what it’s like to be a super-strong, bulletproof, flying guy that supervillains want to pick a fight with. Now Billy’s family knows, too—but Superman has years of experience on them all, and maybe it’s the wisdom of Solomon talking, but when Superman asks if he can offer some advice, Billy agrees.
“Some people will tell you that it’s fate,” Superman says. “That you were destined to be a champion. They’re wrong. It isn’t anyone’s destiny to shoulder the weight of the world. I can do what I do because I was born under a different sun, but I’m Superman because I made a choice to use those abilities to help people. It took me years to come to that decision. You don’t owe the world anything, Captain. You are always allowed to walk away.”
“I’m not afraid,” Billy says defensively. “I’ll do it. I was chosen.”
“Maybe you were. But you can make your own choices, too. Just like you choose every day to act on the goodness in your heart. And if you take the time, if you think about it, and you decide that this is what you want—just remember that you never have to do it alone.”
“I know.”
Superman smiles. “Good man.”
Billy leans back on the heels of his hands. “You said it took you years, but—why? You obviously care about being a hero. If you could do it, why wouldn’t you?”
“Fear,” Superman says. “But not of the dangers I would face. Mine was a fear of hate and rejection. Fear that people would fear me. My father believed that the world wasn’t ready to know about me.”
“Well… he was wrong,” Billy says, frowning.
“Maybe. But maybe not entirely.”
“Superman is a symbol of hope. People will always need that.”
“People will also always fear what they can’t understand or control. With the emergence of new people with abilities like ours, the issues have changed. When I was forced to reveal myself to the world, my very existence was scrutinized. Now, most people have accepted that our existence isn’t the question—rather, they fear what an organization like the Justice League might do if our goals ever change. It’s a reasonable fear.
“Many of us don’t feel like using what we’ve been given to make a difference is a choice—but there are always choices. It’s important to remember that people are watching us. It’s important to be understanding, to be kind, and to listen to the concerns of ordinary citizens. I don’t regret becoming Superman, but I have to treat my responsibilities with care.”
“Yeah,” Billy says. “I think I freaked some people out, especially at the beginning. Uh, hey, speaking of the Justice League—asking for a friend, but do you know Batman? Are you guys friends or something now? Because that whole thing was wild.”
Unexpectedly, Superman laughs. “You know, I could never have predicted this chain of events, either. Yes—Batman is a friend.”
“Wow.”
“He’s sorry he couldn’t be here, too.”
“Batman wanted to talk to me?”
“I think he had a few stern words for you about carelessness, but—overall, he’s impressed with what you and your team accomplished.”
“Wow,” Billy says again. “My PR manager is gonna freak. He’s got a replica batarang and everything.”
Superman raises an eyebrow. “I could get you a real one.”
“Oh my god, that would be amaz—” Billy stops, frowning. “Wait. Why would you even do that? I don’t need… you don’t need to look out for me, or do me favours. I’m fine, okay? Look at me! I’m probably like, your age! I’m not some kid looking for a guardian angel.”
“I know,” Superman says. He looks Billy in the eye. “But it took me years to find someone who was able to offer me guidance, and insight into my identity. I just want you to know that I’m here if you need me. And if you don’t—that’s fine, too.”
“I don’t,” Billy tells him.
“Okay.” Superman drums his fingers pensively against his knees. “But the offer still stands, as long as I’m around.”
Billy kicks his feet out and looks past his golden boots to the city below.
“I’m fine,” he repeats.
They sit in silence for a few minutes. The morning sun is bright in the sky; light reflects off of his belt and the gauntlets on his arms.
“Actually… maybe there is something you could help me with.”
“What’s that?” Superman asks.
“I owe a friend a favour,” Billy says.
Hall of Justice, ten hours later.
“You never told him.”
Clark pulls out a chair and sits down at the Hall’s meeting table. “No, I didn't.”
“If you’d revealed to him what you know, he might have been more open with you.”
“He’s a fourteen-year-old foster kid, Bruce. He has no reason to trust me, or anyone else. He can tell me in his own time if he chooses to.”
Bruce removes his Batman cowl and sits down across from Clark at the table. His hair is stuck up at odd angles; he smooths it down with one hand. “And do you think he will?”
“I don’t know. I hope so.” Clark taps a hand again the table, concerned. “You have more experience with this than I do. Bruce… am I doing the right thing? I’m a little out of my depths, here.”
Bruce laughs once, weary. “Look at my track record, Clark. I’m hardly an expert with teenagers.”
“Bruce.”
“The boy’s been through a lot. Even more as Billy Batson than whatever it is they’re calling him today. He hasn’t had a support system since he lost his mother, but he has one now—or, at the very least, he has the start of one. The best thing you can do for him is to be a part of that.”
“What if he never wants my help?”
“Then be his friend.”
Clark nods.
“And don’t try to kill him.”
“He’s a kid, Bruce,” Clark says, aghast. And then, in realization: “Oh, very funny. Ha ha.”
“It wasn’t, really.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Clark looks at Bruce seriously. “He shouldn’t have to deal with this, Bruce. He’s a kid. No fourteen-year-old should be fighting evil scientists and living gargoyles. Being a teenager is rough enough as it is. But I also know what it’s like to have the means to help, and what it’s like to feel that sense of duty. You know; you feel it, too. It’s important he has friends his age, but it’s also important to have people to look up to. People who can guide him, who’ve been through what he’s been through. There wasn’t anyone like me when I was growing up, but—but I can be there for him, now.”
“You will,” Bruce says.
“I’m afraid, though,” Clark admits. “What if it’s a mistake to—Bruce, what if I cause more harm by trying to help him? My life is dangerous. I’ve never been a mentor before. Maybe I’m not—”
“Don’t say that.”
“Bruce—”
“No. If there’s anyone a boy should have on his side, it’s you.” Bruce takes a deep breath and shakes his head once. “Billy is already at risk. Even without running the numbers, I can tell you it’s statistically more likely you’ll be a good influence on his life than a bad one. I know you, Clark.”
“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Bruce stands up, cowl in hand. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Headed back to Gotham?”
“Patrol.”
Clark stands, too. “Want some company?”
Bruce smiles as he tugs the cowl back on, and Clark follows him out the door.