Bat-Swap

by ImNotBuyingItEther

Summary:

Billy is freaking out. Maybe more than he should be but freaking out nonetheless.

I mean sure, he thinks, I've been in adult bodies before, it's part of my superpowers, but this is the very wrong body and the right body has the wrong mind in it! He is trying not to panic, or at least show any panic, just standing here. In the Batcave. As Batman uses his voice and his face to explain the situation to his kids that are here and everyone else over comms, all while Billy prays to every god of luck he's on good terms with that this isn't how his secret gets revealed.

Chapter 1: Prologue; Billy and Bruce

Billy is freaking out. Maybe more than he should be, but freaking out nonetheless.

“I mean, sure,” he thinks, “I've been in adult bodies before; it's part of my superpowers. But this is the very wrong body, and the right body has the wrong mind in it!” He is trying not to panic, or at least show any panic, just standing here.

In the Batcave.

As Batman uses his voice and his face to explain the situation to his kids that are here and everyone else over comms, all while Billy prays to every god of luck he's on good terms with that this isn't how his secret gets revealed.

Red Robin, Robin, Signal, and Batgirl are listening as Batman finishes his overly long-winded explanation of why this is all happening. “So until the spell wears off in about a week, me and Captain Marvel will have to assume each other's identities until we return to our bodies. Constantine said we should simply wake up one morning after we both inexplicably,” he gestured between the two of them, “Wake back up in our own bodies.” He turned to the many screens of the Batcomputer, an alien-looking symbol taking up a screen for itself and the image of Nightwing, Red Hood, and Spoiler on a video chat. “Until then, I’m requesting Hood don the cowl until I can return to duty,” that elicited a chorus of groans from both groups and a distorted snicker from whoever was behind the alien-looking icon.

He turned back to the physically present group now. “Captain Marvel will attend as Bruce Wayne for this week's events under your supervision and guidance. I will take Marvel's place in Fawcett City since his powers are tied to his physical form.”

“Half truth,” Billy thinks, “the blessings stay, but I could still head to the Rock to update the Wizard or use my own magic if I needed. But Batman doesn't have to worry about that or add that to some file while thinking of a million ways to beat him in a fight.”

Billy shifted in the batsuit under the new feeling of all eyes on him. “Is there anything about your normal behavior, patrol routes, villains, or schedule I should keep in mind to not tip anyone off that something has happened Marvel?” Bruce asks, and Billy has to think for a moment. When in Rome.

“I don't have a secret identity outside being me,” he motioned to, well, himself technically. “I’m just Marvel. I just go and do my job helping wherever I can, so while on patrol I help knock out army’s of evil robots Sivana makes with the same intensity I help people carry their groceries home or get their busted down car to a mechanic.”

Robin scoffed at that, “Those two aren't nearly as important in comparison." “To me they are.” Billy rebutted, turning back to himself to finish talking to Bruce. “I don't fight my villains like you; I don't try to intimidate or scare them. I try to talk them down or out of the fight, like if Sivana is piloting some new machine or aiming a death ray with his youngest kids, I'll try and convince him to leave his kids out of it while trying to trick him into aiming it at me instead. That way, maybe his kids can avoid spending more time in juvie or a detention center while targeting his rage at me so people don't get hurt.”

Now Red Robin was giving him a weird look behind the mask, “Any other tactic for your villains B should follow?”

Right. “Ibac has been on parole for a while now after the last time someone got him to transform, his real name is Stanley Printwhistle, and he's been himself for a good few months now. If you see him transformed you have to either trick him into saying Ibac again or remind him that he doesn't want to be doing this."

“Is he not in control of himself when transformed?” Spoiler asked from the monitor, “No,” Billy answered. “His powers come from malicious forces and evil spirits of old, once he's transformed his negative traits get amplified and most of the time nowadays he's forced into transforming in the first place and needs a pull back to being himself so he says his name willingly. He's not a bad person, it's just that other gangs or villains in Fawcett know how to use him and threaten him to help them.”

He looks to Bruce with purpose now, “If he's just attacking you, get him to transform and send him home. His transformation violates his parole, but Stan is really trying."

Bruce nods his head, “Understood.”

One regular villian down, “Beautia Sivana might flirt with me, reject her advances and get back to whatever you are doing.” Another nod, “Black Adam and I are friends now, so if he comes looking for a fight he's definitely mind controlled by another one of my villains, Mr. Mind.”

“And he's?” Nightwing chirps in from the monitor. Billy takes a deep breath and mentally prepares himself for the comments he knows are going to come up. “He,” there is no way this one gets taken seriously, “Is a telepathic magic caterpillar,” and now Red Hood is laughing. Great.

“Who communicates verbally with a miniature radio around his neck, you can get him out of people's heads with a high-pitched sonic attack. He needs to be actually inside people's heads to control humans, but he can control animals without being inside their heads, so he might try and make his getaway with a bird or something else.”

Bruce doesn't laugh, thankfully, just nods while Billy is acutely aware of his kids trying to suppress a giggle. “He normally leads the Monster society of evil or teams up with Sivana, just be careful to keep him away from you.”

Explaining the rest of his villains is less mortifying. Muscles McGinnis and his gang, Sin, Lady Blaze and her brother Satanus if they choose to make trouble, the Seven Deadly Sins, Superboy Prime on the off chance something allows him to break out of the Monsterlands (Red Robin visibly bristiled at that), Arson Fiend, Sabbac if he got resurrected or a new host was chosen, Mister Atom, King Kid if he left the Funlands for another siege, Oom, Madame Libertine, and the host of magical creatures that like to stir up trouble. 

“My normal day is spent mostly just flying around and helping where I can, but Friday I agreed to be at a charity event Beautia and Magnificus Sivana were hosting.” Billy thought a bit about whether he should say the next few parts, fidgeting with Bruce's fingers before deciding on his answer with a sigh. “I also have some promises I made that I need to keep,” Oh yeah, that doesn't sound ominous at all. “I promised a woman a while ago I'd make sure her daughter was safe, since her dad is more than a little crazy and neither are good candidates to really be in her life at the moment.”

Billy looked at the floor, “He’s a villain and he was causing trouble near where her daughter lives, so she got really worried. Before I had to put her away, she made me swear to check in on her and keep her dad away.” Billy shrugs. “I promised, and now I'm kinda just her superhero friend that drops in every week to ask how school is going and make sure no weird guys have been around her school or the house.” Billy signed again, “I'm supposed to visit again this Thursday, so I need to ask that you don't be yourself there.”

“I know how to act like you Marvel, I can-” “That's not what I mean Brcue,” the look Billy was giving the man pleaded something desperate, like the action of asking itself was killing him. 

“Don’t be you, don't be Batman and try and figure out who she is. Her dad is one of the Leagues villains and if he gets the faintest idea she exists her life will have to be uprooted again and he might figure out she exists. I promised her mom I’d make sure that man never got within the same city as her, and I won't let you be the reason her life gets turned upside down again.” He didn't mean for his plea to turn threatening, but Bruce had to stay away for her sake. And for his own, because her mom would definitely hunt him down herself if she learned she got put in danger because he couldn't keep his nose out of things. 

“You can visit Thursday, make sure she's safe and ask about her week, but then you leave and forget she ever existed. No checking in, no background checks, no impromptu investigations in that area.” Billy doesn't know when he started copying the intimidating Bat-stalk and got up in his own face, but he's here now. Using Batman's voice and intimidation factor against him, “Am. I. Understood.” Billy stressed each word, looking for Bruce's tells in his own face. “I understand Captain.” Billy backed off and finally freed his head from Bruce's stupid cowl, “You see Mary Marvel or the Lieutenant, you are going to tell them what's going on before they say anything. No pretending to be me around my family, I wouldn't do that to you and you aren't doing it to me.” 

There’s as much silence as the Batcave could allow for a few beats, only the sound of the bats overhead shuffling on the stalactites and the hum of the equipment and electronics around them. “I'll do my best not to worsen or intrude on your life by the end of all this, Captain.” His shoulders sagged with relief, “And I'll make sure to not cause unwanted headlines.” He put his hand out for a shake, becoming surprised at Batman's ability to restrain his grip so well it hardly felt firm when it had taken Billy a whole day to get a handle on his strength.

“This is going to be some week,” Spoiler giggled through the video link. 

Notes:

Whoop! Let’s get this ball rolling with some build up and a Billy-Bat threatening the big bad bat

Chapter 2: Going through hell on a Tuesday; Billy

Summary:

Billy hasn’t even gotten through one room here and it’s too much, it’s too familiar, it’s too much like the life he lost.

Notes:

Time for the child typical panic attack at the scope of super-style situations. Posting twice in the same day lol

Billy immediately hated this. 

The stress of changing and showering in someone else's body felt mortifying enough, just washing his hair and praying the hot water would do fine for everything else to save some private dignity. The awkward elevator ride up to the manor, Manor— god Billy hadn’t been anywhere like this since he was eight. Before his life got turned completely sideways in the span of a few months, before he lost everything and had to scrape by with nothing. His chest feels tight, he tugs at the collar of the robe to try and loosen the tension there only to realize how clammy his hands feel once they grab the material.

Rob- Damian, Damian is looking at him, judging and studying him just like his father always does whenever he's like this. Stressed and showing too much, leaving Billy terrified that this is the moment, he'll be figured out and after six whole years with the League this will be the moment he loses everything all over again. He can't breathe by the time the doors slide open, Tim, Damian, Duke, and Cassandra walking out in front of him. Cass looks back when he doesnt follow, “You alright?” She quirks her head to the study’s open door everyone else had left through to their rooms, eyeing Billy worriedly. 

She must've seen something then, something Billy hadn’t felt happen yet until he felt like he was going to collapse as he started crying into her shoulder from where he still stood in the elevator, she had crossed the room again so quickly he debated asking if she had superspeed.

It looked like his dad’s study. Where he'd let Billy pick any book he wanted, from the kids books he kept on the lower shelves for him to reach to the vast array of books and texts his parents collected because of their jobs, and he'd make the grandest bedtime stories out of them. Where he’d chase him in and out of the room and around the house playing heroes and villains. Where he framed every picture they took at the sites they brought him to and the knickknacks he let Billy collect stayed on a shelf that was all his in that room, where he's not allowed to go anymore because that's his uncle's study and not his dads study anymore. 

The amazing Batgirl who could kick anyone's butt in a fight and Captains Marvel’s first impression for her is crying like a baby with her dad’s face, god he sucks at first impressions. 

Billy does his best to collect himself, pulling back from Cassandra’s hug and trying his best to wipe his tears away. Taking deep breaths to calm himself down as quickly as he can so it can just be over already just stop crying Billy. Five seconds in, five out, breathe for god’s sake.

Opening his eyes again Cassandra is still looking at him with that worried expression, arms up and slightly open if he needed that hug again. Looking at the room behind her Billy tries to think, not his study, it's not dads study, it's Batmans. You were never here before, there's no memories here Billy, get a grip.

“Bad memory,” Cassandra says, somewhere between a statement and a question. Billy just nods his head and looks at the far wall at the one thing keeping his memories separate from the now, a family photo with too many people in it to be anything his father owned. Billy buried his face in his hands and groaned, “Sorry,” he slid the hands down his face miserably. “Just got reminded of something else. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable with the whole,” He pointed at Bruce's face, “everything.” 

Cassandra patted his shoulder in comfort, a knowing smile pointed his way. “They get better, so will you.” She turned and left for her own room after that, leaving Billy who still hadn’t actually stepped into the study yet. After a few more breaths Bruce's fancy slippers strided across the hardwood and carpet of the room the moment the study’s door shut behind Billy with a thud, Billy physically deflating as he let out the breath he didn't realize he held to get through the room. Billy took an extra moment to collect himself, realizing at the end that he didn't know where he’d be sleeping tonight or during this whole predicament.

Looking around the hallway, Billy found himself lost in what he knew from experience would be a multi-leveled maze of rooms, passages, and hallways. Most of them he probably wasn't welcome in. He mentally cursed himself for being so freaked out at being in a rich guy’s study that he didn't ask the last person he saw where to even go , and for not asking that when Bruce himself was there. Now he's probably already stopping muggings and saving lives in Fawcett while Billy couldn't walk the length of a room without freaking out.

He debated just falling asleep in the study on the couch he saw, only to quickly remember how many times he did that when he was littler in his dad’s. “I don’t need an emotional breakdown trying to fall asleep,”  Billy thought grimly. Opting instead to walk around the manor until he either found an open guest room, or until he found the home theater Tim mentioned once before while Billy pulled Den-Dad duty for Young Justice. 

After a good half hour of just walking around, Billy found a room that convinced him he already walked too far. By the looks of it the room was one of those spare sitting rooms, or it was until it went unused for long enough that it got most everything save for the large furniture removed. Now there's little more than the loveseat with a white sheet over it, but Billy felt too tired and too done with today to care. Walking straight for the abandoned loveseat and flopping down into its cushions, his mind and Bruce's bones both tired enough that he didn't consider using the sheet over it as a blanket. Just straight up passed out in pajamas and a robe, not caring about anything other than putting an end to this horrible day. Future morning neck pain be damned.

Notes:

Mixing a lot of Billy’s canon backstories and his life story together, but the basics are his parents were archeologists, his uncle kicked him out when they died at 8, and that same year billy got his powers some months later. Hopefully everything else gets explained but if there’s still confusion I’m happy to answer!

Chapter 3: Breaking in the new body; Bruce

Summary:

Bruce contemplates exactly who, or what, Captain Marvel actually is. Throwing most his theory’s on the subject out the window within the first hour.

Notes:

It was going to be a cold day in hell before Brucie-boy over here decided not to intrude a bit into others lives, he’s going to keep his promises to tell the other Marvel’s when he runs into them and forget the whole mystery child after all this but that doesn’t stop him from looking into every other part of the Captains life. Enjoy the word vomit that is this man’s head

Bruce has gotten used to this scenario; Someone like Klarion, Mr. Mxyzptlk, or a number of magical or extremely technologically advanced item swaps around peoples bodies willy-nilly and they all have to figure out each other's powers to get through the situation. He knows how to fly in the conventional position from the times he's been in Clarks body, how to hone superhuman strength, how to summon a form of energy from himself that extends past his reach, and he knows how to fake being anyone he knows.

That's the only problem with this situation though, he doesn't know Captain Marvel entirely. 

Landing on the top of a towering office building Bruce assesses his situation privately. Marvel doesn't have enhanced senses, there's no excess stimulation that comes from senses like Clarks. Focusing his vision to the streets below him, Bruce tests for some trigger to a form of enhanced vision and finds it. Shapes and colors that weren't there before, electric waves arching out of cracks in the ground and spirals of mist and light curling around the few people out so late into the night. Now Bruce understands something the Captain had mentioned before, seeing magic. Seeing where it stems, how it ebbs and flows through the world and how you can see peoples potential for it. 

Unfocusing his eyes, the world goes back to how he's always seen it. People don't have tiny bulbs of light buzzing inside them of color he couldn't begin to describe as anything other than magic and the world didn't look like it was aflame. 

He thought to double check his other senses for more information, thinking to see if there was anything unique to his sense of smell now, only to realize something else entirely.

He wasn't breathing. 

Planting his fingers to the pulse point of his other wrist, Bruce realized there was no heartbeat either. 

“Six years,”  Bruce thinks, “Six years and no one realized Captain Marvel didn't have a heartbeat.” But then, as quick as Bruce finished that thought, he felt a pulse. His heart only beat when he thought of it, and Bruce was left trying to wrap his mind around the new data. That more parts of Captain Marvel’s body operated voluntarily than that of normal humans, that maybe his entire existence was voluntary with how he could fall off a map in an instant, that he might not be as human as he thought he was. 

Before, his theory was that he was a man blessed or born with phenomenal magical ability, that his civilian life was just as anticlimactic in retrospect as Clarks was. Maybe a man who was raised with the idyllic two parent household in the middle of suburbia with a spotty dog named appropriately and a white picket fence, who gave to his community every day in his civilian life as he did in his superhero life. Coaching the local little league or being a dedicated member of a number of volunteer groups, working his normal nine to five and then spending every spare minute being a hero every way he could. 

His every working theory on the man, or whatever he was, was thrown out completely in one hour with his body. The people Bruce knows don't have something approximating a normal human cardiovascular system were all some manner of non-humanoid alien, robots, dead, or somewhere between those three groups. Captain Marvel was in the brand new category of ‘Has one, doesn't always use it.’ 

He's still standing there, dumbfounded, with the pulse of Captain Marvel's body still thumping away. Even as his mind races with thoughts and theories over every magical creature and miraculous creation born from it he's heard mentioned, the pulse stays steady. Even Diana has a heartbeat, she has a pulse and she was made from clay and given life by the blessing of gods. What the hell is-

A crashing boom from 6 blocks down de-rails his train of thought, he can delete his cursory profile of the man and fill in the new information once he's back in his body, for now Fawcett needs its hero. And it will have to make due with Bruce filling his shoes.

Bruce is there as fast as he could think to respond, overlooking a handful of spider-like robots with mounted laser cannons attacking an empty office building. They take instant notice of Bruce and take aim, canons notching back to charge their blasts for a second. A second Bruce doesn't give them before punching his arm through the barrel and wrenching it up, destroying the first cannon as time moves at a snail's pace around him. He can still see the particles gathering at the barrels in small pieces of light as they charge, destroying the remaining five in the same manner before their charge cycles could finish between the first and the last punch. Leaving the legs of the machines left as time catches up with Bruce, they register their defeat as their legs make a mad scramble to flee to wherever they came from for repairs.

Knowing the Captains villains, and taking a small glance to the business they had just fired at, (the offices for a local pharmaceutical, coincidently the main trade of Sivana Industries) and considering Dr. Sivana is still behind bars for the time being from his last brawl. The scrambling robots he's following now are probably the product of one or both of his youngest, Georgia and Thaddeus Jr. 

A pair of twins who got roped into their fathers lifestyle due to their own love for the general theatrics of villainy and the shared family interest of proving their intellectual and villainous genius, something his older children got themselves out of early. Now Magnificus just tries to keep the company as separate from his fathers actions as he can and Beautia fills the same role he fills as Bruce Wayne, the good looking socialite that donates to every good cause she can think of. 

“Though she does it to get Captain Marvel’s attention.”  Bruce thinks as he rounds the last corner the remainder of the robots run through. Having passed a few officers on duty and a couple civilians he gave the patented Marvelous smile and wave so they wouldn't worry about the retreating robotic limbs he was following. 

Now he's in the warehouse district of the city, watching as Thadeus Jr. charges up to Bruce with a comically large ray gun similar to the spider-bots in design as they scamper past their maker. Save for the hair and distinct lack of wrinkles, he’s still the spitting image of his father. 

“This shall show you to meddle in family affairs you ingrate!” He screams in a squeaky and cracking battle cry, a voice he's heard many times before his own children somersaulted themselves into a robber. 

Bruce wouldn’t waste time with words in this fight, he’d prepare to dodge the blast and use a Batarang to disarm the assailant with minimal injury and destruction of property. But he's not Bruce, he's Captain Marvel for the week and Captain Marvel would say, “Not the best idea to bring destruction of property into the fix of family affairs either then, Junior!” He said with a bright and triumphant smile that never seemed to leave Marvel's face in a fight, being a hero with a flair for the dramatic himself. That comment only got him a powerful beam of a violet light barreling into his chest, up until the recoil of the gun knocked the kid off his feet and the beam traveled with him until it shut off when he dropped it and let go of the trigger. 

Bruce grabbed the weapon and tossed it straight up into space behind his back, as if he was making a simple trick shot into a garbage bin with a wad of crumpled paper, smiling down at Thaddeus Jr. with a, “And that's why we practice gun safety young man.” Knowing he'd be getting that laser out of orbit after all this and disposing of it properly. 

Still on his back, Thaddeus tried to spit up at Bruce, only for it to fall onto his own chest while he sneered at him. “Don't patronize me you man child!” He quickly jumped to his feet and jabbed an accusatory finger at Bruce, “I will honor my family name and destroy you, but not before my father and I rip your body apart and turn your every cell into a human battery, you ridiculous waste of power!” 

Bruce has to wrestle the knee jerk urge to scold this kid like he's a younger and much more spiteful version of Damian to act the way he thinks Marvel would, gently picking the boy up by his sides with his arms pressed to his sides in one swift motion like he's a misbehaving Alfred the cat and saying, “You'll have the chance another day buddy, just gotta keep working on your ambush planning.” Encouraging the kid with a patronizing undertone, ever the older brother Marvel always portrays himself as. 

Taking off to get to the officers he passed earlier, Thaddeus grumbled over his failed plan. Thinking out his newer better plan that would most definitely work and defeat this bozo loud enough that Bruce could hear. Dropping him off with the two men Bruce took off to find the spider bots again and completely dismantle them, then flying to where the laser ended up in orbit and depositing it at the Watchtower to be processed. J’onnz and Diana being the ones to take it off his hands since they had monitor duty that night, and Bruce returned to Fawcett to do a sweep of the city for any more threats or issues. 

Silently hoping in his head that maybe the rest of today's crimes will be as comically easy as Thaddeus Jr. so that he can figure out more about Marvel with the time he has, hopefully without going back on his promise and breaking his colleagues' trust completely.

Notes:

*wince* mmm uh-oh, Bruce is already figuring stuff out about how Captain Marvel works! Billy’s gonna have a hell of a time explaining that, also Thad Jr already dropping the first mini clue to Bruce, oof.

I’m going to try and show some love to underrated Cap Villains and characters in this fic, it’s what they deserve.

And before Beautia starts seeming worse than just a plain narcissist, her and Magnificus don’t know Billy is Cap, they stopped joining their dad to fight him before Sivana figured it out so only Georgia and Thaddeus Jr. know.

Chapter 4: Breakfast with the Bats; Billy

Summary:

Billy wakes up, having had a dream about his childhood triggered by the recent events reminding him of his childhood home. He meets more of the Bats face to face, and they have ideas on how to make this the best week for themselves and the worst one to bring up to Bruce once he gets back.

Notes:

Time for some sadness and crack, as a treat. Breakfast with the bats that aren’t in school leads to a fun new ringtone for the bats and the beginning of something that may just reveal more about the titular Captain.

He woke up being carried, head lying comfortably on his fathers shoulder as he carted him off to sleep the rest of the night away in his bed. 

 

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his beloved stuffed doll of Tawky Tawny held firmly in his grip even through his sleep, Billy mumbled. “Waz goin’ on?” tiredly. His dad shushed him, the hand that had been holding his head close left to open the door to his room, Billy pushed himself to look at his dad. Blearily looking at the eyes he got from him behind the thick rectangular lenses he had to wear.

 

“Buh ‘en did we get ‘ome?” Billy remembered being at the zoo for the lights before christmas show, him and his parents admiring the displays after looking at the animals all evening with cups of cocoa keeping their hands and tummy’s warm. “We came home ‘cause you started to fall asleep standing up buddy,” he plopped him into the bottom bunk of his bed and pulled the covers up to his chin, tucking him in tight before giving him a kiss on the forehead. 

 

“You get some rest Champ,” he pat his shoulder lightly as Billy felt himself falling asleep all over again. “We can see the snow leopards and all the other big cats some more tomorrow if you want.” Like always his dad gave him a smile, one so infectious Billy fell asleep smiling and woke up-

 

He's not waking up smiling now. 

 

Because he's not seven anymore, he's not at home in bed with his best friend in the whole world there to fight off the monsters in his closet like his mom said he would. Billy is fourteen now, he's in a mansion in his co-workers body, Tawny is off enjoying the Zoo treatment with all the other tigers, and his monster is hooked up to half a dozen different machines in his home so he can still live to enjoy the luxuries he stole from him. 

 

Curled up in a position he trained himself to take so he'd be as unnoticable as possible in the streets, curled into a tight fetal position with his hands clutched tight to his chest behind his knees. The less space the better was always what got him through another night where the world didn't need Captain Marvel for the moment, and right now Captain Marvel has probably saved a couple dozen lives already while he's been here sleeping. He curls into himself more, facing the back of the loveseat he spent the night sleeping on with his back to the door, not realizing the person watching him until he spoke.

 

“Wow,” Billy shot up in alarm and was halfway to his feet when he registered that that was the Red Hood in front of him, in a civilian version of his outfit without the mask but still definitely the man who'd be taking up the mantle of Batman during this whole ordeal. “You look like shit dude.” He snickered at Billy, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “You always so jumpy man?”

 

“No,” Billy wiped the sleep from his eyes, “Just used to always being prepared-” to run, to get away from his villains if they managed to get him to depower himself, avoid every social worker worried he's a kid being left home alone for days at a time when his neighbors didn't see Captain Marvel pretending to be his dad around enough. “To get right back into the fray if I'm needed for the League.” Is what he settles on, looking at the floor instead of Hood. 

 

The Red Hood made a thoughtful sound, thinking something over before looking down the hall from the doorway. “Breakfast is still on the table, you should eat something if you're going to be in B’s body for the foreseeable future.” Breakfast sounds wonderful right now, “I’ll be-'' Billy stopped himself, “actually, could you lead the way? I've never really been here before and I'll just get lost again.” He scratched the back of his head nervously. 

 

“Sure thing,” He nodded for Billy to follow him out, “and call me Jason,” he held out his hand for a shake at the door. Billy took it and did his best attempt at a firm shake without using too much of Bruce's own strength in it, “You can call me whatever, I don't mind my nicknames.” 

 

He followed Jason down a few halls and to a large staircase, the room he was in now reminded Billy of that fancy royalty show one of his foster moms liked to watch all the time. Grand and opulent not being enough to describe how much this looked like a perfect place for one of those elaborate ballroom sequences. The chandelier with all sorts of crystals wasn't just the cherry on top, it was a whole ‘nother layer to the beautifully decorated cake that is Wayne Manor. “This way dude,” Jason knocked Billy out of his thoughts, following him to the right to come into a giant dinner table going half used, with all the food and seats in spots closest to the doorway. 

 

Yeah, my house was never this fancy. Hopefully his mind would find another similarity, he can avoid one room easily but having the rest of the house feeling like a copy of his old home would be way too much for even the courage of Billy Batson. 

 

He took a seat in what he assumed was Bruce's chair, seeing as it was right at the head of the table, and an old man dressed in butler attire appeared out of nowhere and deposited a plate before him. “Wonderful to make you acquaintance Captain,” he held a gloved hand to a shake, “Master Bruce may have mentioned an Agent A, that would be me, but you may call me Alfred during your time here.” He took his hand and shook it with a smile, “Thank you so much sir,” not noticing how taken aback he was to that greeting, Billy let his hand go and bowed his head in gratitude. “Thank you so much for breakfast, it looks delicious.”  It really does, just one look at all the food in front of him. Blueberry muffins, eggs, bacon, sausage links, pancakes, handbrowns, and some toast he was happy to swipe a piece of. Looking back at Alfred for a moment, he gave him a humorous smile before walking off into another room. 

 

Jason plopped down into a seat near him, opposite of where Cassandra sat munching on her plate full of food. “Can't ever beat a good breakfast here,” Billy felt obligated to agree once he got a forkful of pancakes in his mouth, much better than the oatmeal and fruit he tried to eat every breakfast he could. 

 

He heard a door swing open with a rushed creak somewhere else in the house, looking behind him he saw a younger blonde woman walk in with her hands over her head before clasping them together with a dramatic clap, “Ahoy Captain!” Billy just about choked on his eggs holding in his laugh, something both Jason and Cassandra failed to do. Jason barks his out while Cassandra tries to muffle her chuckle, the woman taking her seat beside her as Billy tries not to be the reason the Batman ends by choking on scrambled eggs.

 

“If you would my dear Capitano,” she whipped out a phone in a Green Arrow themed case with a flourish, “I have about a billion requests for you to document for the viewing pleasure of me and my fellow vigilantes.” 

 

Billy halted his fork halfway to his mouth, mentally sighing to himself. He’s grown a bit used to being made to be entertaining, filling the role of icon that every other superhero with a flashy cape and flashier smile has to fill at some point in their careers. Willing his award winning smile onto Bruce's face, “Got any good ideas then?” 

 

Stephanie must've started recording since she's propping her phone on a glass to get every second of what she has planned, “First off, can you just say, verbatim if you'd please, “I’m so sorry Steph, I made the worst call in all history and you were right.”” She spoke with an added gruffness to her voice for what she wanted him to say. Making a motion for him to start. Priming his years of childish guilt tripping powers, Billy faked as good a kicked puppy look he could with Bruce's face. 

 

“Steph, I'm so sorry for the decisions I made.” He held his hand over his heart, and got the tears to build up in his eyes for extra authenticity out of habit. “What I did was horrible, I should've listened to you and let you make the call.” He closed his eyes and let that one single tear drop fall so she had the best emotional blackmail he thinks shes aiming for, straightening his posture that same second and getting back to his food. “How was that?” 

 

She just looked at him for a moment, a glance to his sides showing similar surprised stares from the other two, before chuckling. “Good god dude,” she gave a small clap of approval, “you’re one top notch actor!” She pointed to Jason now, “Tell him you're proud of him and call him Jaylad.” 

 

Jason took a bite of his omelet, “Leave me out of this shit.” He grumbled around his food. “Table manners, Master Jason.” The butler chided from wherever he just popped in from, Jason covered his mouth before speaking again. “Sorry Alf.” 

 

Billy gets an idea and giggles, which in retrospect definitely looked weird coming from a middle aged man's body. “What if I just say absolute gibberish?” Stephanie looked at him with full interest and said, “Go on,” curious to what he was going to straight up babble. 

 

Billy cleared his throat and with the most dead serious face he could will over the Btamans face, spoke in the most dead serious monotone voice. “Bingle-bongle dingle-dangle, yickety-doo yickety-da. Ping-pong lippy-tappy too-ta.” 

 

Jason and Stephanie burst into laughter, Cassandra mouthing the words he just said in confusion. “Have, snrt, wait wait wait.” She tried to regain her composure, “Was that a fucking, pft-ha, was that the freaking Dcoter Who clip?” She asked with disbelieving glee, “Oh my god dude,” She put her hand up, “High five.” Gladly, Billy thinks. Happy he's making a good first impression with other cool vigilantes. “That's gonna be my new ringtone, I swear.” 

 

Jason pointed his fork to her, “You're sending that clip to me,” “Oh duh, this is going to everyone Jay.” 

 

Off to a great start, Billy thinks, maybe this won't be so bad of a week. He pauses for a moment at the next bite of his pancake, if Bruce doesn't figure too much out. He thinks glumly, his hesitancy doesn't go unnoticed by Cassandra, whose eying him as Staphanie and Jason come up with all the other dumb stuff they can get Billy to say.

Notes:

Cass over here is probably going to figure Billy out before anyone else does honestly, next chapter will have Bruce asking more questions with little satisfying answers. We’ll keep switching back and forth this whole fic, changing between Billy and Bruce mostly but we’ll get other views as we go along. I’m really excited for this!

Side note: it is Tuesday so Damian and Duke were absent due to school, they had their own breakfast. There’s just two waves of the meal for people who have to leave earlier and those who wake up late.

Chapter 5: Pinky; Bruce Pt. 1

Summary:

Bruce starts learning more and more about Captain Marvel, seeing the world through his eyes. In the process he meets a friend if his, Pinky Butler, and learns something more about the Captains life and the friends that are a part of it.

Notes:

Time for more building on Shazam lore with my personal blend of canon, fanon, and head-canon! Bruce, you’re coming along for the ride! This one’s gonna have a second part to it next update, Bruce’s chapters tend to have a lot of word vomit.

Nine hours. Eight of those hours since the meeting in the cave, and a good while longer since either him or the Captain had a chance to rest before that retreating warlock swapped their bodies so he could escape through a portal in the confusion. By all accounts of logic, Bruce should feel tired. The Captain's body should be at the very least mentally exhausted from how long it's been awake, Bruce should be mentally exhausted after being awake for forty three hours himself but he isn't.

 

He's as passively energized as he was when he got the body, no fatigue nipping at his heels after using Captain Marvel's superspeed plenty of times between his altercation with Thaddeus Jr. Hes patrolled and done the minor acts of good deeds Marvel and Superman are poster childs of; He has helped eight different cats out of trees, flown three groups of people and their cars around Fawcett to mechanics so they could avoid paying for a tow truck, helped four older men and women with their groceries, and helped direct the flow of traffic when a light post got busted. 

 

Between all that there were only two emergencies other than the Sivana child, a drunk driver that had almost crashed through a traffic circle and a man who had a heart attack in the middle of the street that he was able to get to a hospital in the same amount of time it took Bruce to blink. For the last nine hours Fawcett had been far too safe for Bruce's liking, much more than he's ever been used to. 

 

He's been over the city fourteen different times; On the ground, in the skies, through the subway systems and everywhere in between. Bruce's skin felt wrong on his body with how safe everything felt between the two instances of real mortal danger for the city’s citizens, his body or not it all felt wrong. There had to be something more to Fawcett, something that deemed it necessary that whatever manner of being Captain Marvel is had to stand guard come hell or high water.

 

Most of the time hell does come to Fawcett it's because of the Captain. Lady Blaze and her forces trying to drag the city into hellfire because of an unknown vendetta with the Captain, his various villains targeting him and targeting the city because it's what he's associated himself with, magical beings coming to challenge him for something he never names. 

 

Flying to stand over the city’s center, Bruce prepares to test his theory.

 

It is the job of the Champion of Magic to protect magic, Fate had told him when he questioned him on what he knew of the Captain, A fickle and ever changing force that he must ensure remains in balance.

 

Bruce summoned that feeling again, flexing Marvel's eyes down at the city before they blew wide at what he saw.

 

Its quite the sight Bruce,  Zatanna had whistfully said to him once, And a fucking eye sore, John had added during the conversation. Looking as he was now, he gets what they mean.

 

It's like the Aurora Borealis under a supernova, ley lines and bursts of magic shimmering and glowing like stars. Wafts of magical energy swirling around them, blowing through buildings as if they aren't in the way and spread throughout the city. Bruce feels like he should be looking up at the sight, not down. He blinks away awed tears he didn't know were falling, the world shifting back into its similarly colorful but much duller reality. 

 

Floating back down to earth, Bruce's feet touch the earth for the first time in a good few hours, a foreign feeling he doesn't desire a repeat of. He walks around a park, somewhere there's a memory telling him that this is Fawcett Central Park that he's in. A memory Bruce doesn't have because he had never been in the park before, nor had he seen a sign telling him so. Flexing his eyes again he'd met with an almost neon glow to the foliage around him, like he could see the life flowing through it all. Dim outlines of squirrels and a number of brights pass through his sight, void of magic unlike almost everything else Bruce had seen. Then he sees something with an aura of gold around it, unflexing his eyes he sees what it is.

 

A bronze statue of Fawcetts own hero, fists at his hips in a heroic stance with an all too trusting smile plastered on his face and his cape hanging off one shoulder. The plaque on the stone he stood on said, ‘Our hero, the amazing Captain Marvel’

 

Before he could postulate as to why it seemed enchanted, a young man appeared at his side. “Hey Bill,” huh? “What're you doing here?” The man elbowed Marvel- Bill's side playfully, a joking smile on his face. Bruce found himself dumbfounded again but eagerly wanted to know who this man was, how he knew Marvel and how he knew what Bruce hoped was his real name. Bill, but would it ever really be that simple?

 

The man next to him looked about Jason's age, much leaner and with wavy ginger hair that looked overdue for a cut, blue eyes, an oval face shape littered in freckles. He carried himself with an air of confidence, like he could walk into a room and meld right into whatever he interrupted without being an interruption. It's the same confidence he's seen his sons carry effortlessly, and with his build hidden under the preppy attire he wore Bruce wouldn't doubt the notion that he may be a vigilante himself. 

 

The man eyed him in the split second it took Bruce to look him over and formulate a response, “Oh,” he looked like he realized he miscalculated something. “You aren't Bill,” He laughed at himself, looking back at the statue. “Lemme guess, he got himself tangled up in another crazy magical misadventure and now someone else is playing pilot with his body.” He remarked like it was a story he heard a million times before, peeking one eye open in his direction and quivering a sly grin. “I'm right aren't I?” 

 

Bruce kept his facial expression and posture steady, portraying the poster boy of paragonistic wonder Captain Marvel always did. “I’m sorry?” asking dumbfounded, as Marvel always came off when he wouldnt understand something, and Bruce definitely did not understand this. “That,” the man snapped his fingers and pointed at him with a “eureka!” expression. “That exactly! If you're trying to fake being Cap youre doing a piss poor job man.” He exclaimed, like he was more mad someone was faking being Marvel poorly rather than the obvious fact he knew someone was in that body.

 

“Pinky Butler,” he held his, well, pinky, out for the gesture of a pinky promise. Bruce gave him a look, “This is how I greet people,” Pinky deadpanned, “If you want a chat, which I can tell you do Batman, you'll honor my oddities.” 

 

Bruce sputtered, “How did-” “You're faking being Cap when he's a Superhero around superiors, respected deities, or faking something himself to throw friends off.” He pointed at Bruce up and down, “and the way you're acting, like everything is new to you, you're not one of his coworkers with powers that would make them more used to the experience. That and you're schooling your facial expressions, thinking before you say or do anything, but most importantly,” he prepared for his great conclusion, “You're not breathing, Marv hates that his body forgets to and always makes a point to keep thinking about it. He's the world's mightiest mortal and he's not going to let that slip out of his fingers.” 

 

Bruce's shoulders slumped, the facade visibly falling. That just made Pinky giggly, “Ohh, the big bad Bat comes to Fawcett.” He wipes a fake tear from his eye, “Ah, if only my dad could see this. He would’a been a huge fan’a you.” 

 

Pinky nodded his head over to one of the park's chess tables by a bench, “Care to talk over a game buddy?” He was already making his way to the chair on one side as Bruce eyed him oddly, sitting down he called “Gotta make sure I'm the only one who figures you out Batsy, else Marv’s villains use what they know and you don't against ya’.”

 

Bruce… had to admit he did need more information, especially if one man could figure out he's not Marvel so quickly and who he really is. Sitting across from him at the empty chess table, Bruce assessed his situation. 

 

The man before him says his name is Pinky Butler, he's obviously a skilled detective with impressive deductive ability. Pinky is a friend of Captain Marvel, he called him Bill. A common shorthand for Billy that itself is a nickname for William, Bruce knows his first name now. 

 

“So,” Pinky started, “Do me a quick favor and say, “Powers of Eternity, summon before me a cet of checkers pieces!”” He boomed. “And why would I say that?” Pinky made a waving motion to start doing something to Bruce, “It's a magic thing, just do it.” 

 

And so Bruce did, red and black checkers pieces with a thunderbolt emblazoned onto them taking their place on the board. Bruce hardly finds himself surprised Marvel can do this, but slightly unsettled at the implications he can summon whatever he wants with a few words. “May I ask why checkers?” Pinky moved a piece foreward, “It's simple, chess has different rules for different pieces and it all feels too showy for my tastes.” 

 

He leaned close on the table with his arms crossed, “Now you tell me what you do know so that I can fill you in without being the worst friend in all existence.” 

 

Bruce hardened Marvel's features, hoping to get through the interaction with the upperhand. “Assume I know everything.” Pinky laughed in his face, “Pfft-ha! Aw man you really suck at this,” he leaned back and placed a hand over his heart. “Lords above and below Bats! I've already called you out on not knowing Marv!” Bruce squared his shoulders, “And you've already told me his name is William.” He moved his piece forward, Pinky gave him a look. “Fair point.”

 

He smiled, “But I know you don't know the rest of it,” He moved another piece out, “If you did you and Billy would be close as family, and maybe you'd have the basic respect to not snoop.” Bruce moved his first piece again, “What should I know Pinky?” He tutted at him, moving his piece again. “First explain how this happened. Is Bill just out of commission and someone has to pilot his body till his spirit wakes up again? Is he in your body and donning the mask while you don the cape?”

“We swapped bodies,” Bruce interrupted. “And that's all you need to know about the situation.” 

 

Pinky frowned at him, “Now,” Bruce started, "tell me everything I need to know so we're the only two in Fawcett that are aware of who I am.”

Notes:

To the titular tune: They're Pinky and the Brain! Yes, Pinky and the Brain! One is a genius, the other's insane!

I’m a sucker for these minor unknown characters, they deserve love. Especially Pinky and his dad, aka Mr. Scarlet and the Whiz kid. Double AKA, the Fawcett comics version of Batman and Robin (just with Batman being working class and Robin not wearing short shorts)

Can you imagine tho? A version of the dynamic duo and a magic Superman operating in the same city? Chaos, I love it

Chapter 6: The Brain: Bruce Pt. 2

Summary:

Bruce learns more about Captain Marvel, the child he watches over, and about Pinky Butler. But the city has secrets just as grand as it’s hero, too grand to simply brush over.

Notes:

World building with Bruce and the Robin your parents say they have at home when you ask for a Robin! Always got tried if people using chest moves and the game as a metaphor, why not just use checkers? I’d bet good money more people understand that game than people do chess.

Pinky is a fountain of information on Marvel, explaining away the details left unanswered and confirming the offhand tidbits Marvel had given that seemed completely contradictory.

Captain Marvel is the living embodiment of a form of magic, Living Lightning itself that's shared between those who share an unbreakable bond of trust and care, hence why those who share it refer to each other by some family title. They are as close to family as they can magically be. 

His name is William, yes, but that's just one of his many names and titles. Some mortal tongues can't speak, some there are safe to say without incurring his wrath. Bruce almost thinks Pinky is lying to him when he goes dead serious and informs him, “But don't call him by that name, not unless you want a full on Superman on red kryptonite level freakout from the guy.” It was said genuinely and with actual worry to have been a lie, so Pinky continued on.

“He was a normal person before a wizard shot magical lighting at him,” a story piece Marvel had said before, “That's why I knew you were not him, he never liked that being Captain Marvel strips him of a lot of human experiences so he makes sure his body remembers to keep being mortal.” 

Something that included breathing, eating semi-regularly around the Watchtower, Bruce's mind supplied, he's just trying to hold onto what he's lost. “That's the magic of Cap, he believes it or wants it to happen and magic listens. He says he's still a human being under all that magic and godly power and believes it with all his heart and magic responds in kind.” Pinky moved one of his four remaining pieces, “King me.”

“So he doesn't have his old identity anymore?” Bruce kinged Pinky, whose face fell as his eyes flickered back to the statue. “Nothing people can build a statue to.” 

“Where does he go to?” Pinky looked back at him, “When the day is done and he's helped all he can, where does he go?” Pinky measured his next few words before saying, “Home,” moving his king back to retreat from Bruces. “I won't tell you where that is though, he can't lose everything that keeps him grounded.” 

“I’m not going to take his life from him,” Bruce spat. He hated that, when people instantly leapt to the idea he'd puppet his friends' lives around the moment he knew about them for no reason. “I just want to know why he is like this. How he can be stopped if what's happened to us now happens with a less than moral individual.” He gestured to himself. 

“He already knows how to handle someone else piloting his body if he doesn't want them to,” Pinky took Bruce's king. “You're in his body with his permission pal. He could strip the powers from you and make any number of sleep gods knock you out, but then there's everyone else who'd be a problem.” Bruce worried at that statement, worried at the everyone else Pinky mentioned being his kids. 

“You're here. So against his better judgment, Billy either trusts you or thinks you won't figure him out.” Pinky moved his king, leaving himself open, and looked at Bruce with an expression he couldn't read. Something between a silent plea and offering reassurance. Bruce didn't move either of his pieces, “One last question.” 

“Move the piece first Batman.” Burce moved his king back in retreat, seeing the simple trap for if he moved forward. “He mentioned a child he visits on Thursdays to make sure she's safe.” Pinky balked at that, “He said it’s because he made a promise to their mom while apprehending them, their father is one of the League's villains, apparently.” He looked at Pinky, seeing as he steeled his expressions to answer. Going from shock, to realization, acceptance, and finally a calm business face.

“He said it had been a while since he checked in,” He chased Bruce's piece with a pawn. “She's a good kid, her name’s Lucy. Lives in Elkins Park on 7904 Ivy lane with her aunt, but she only knows her as her mom.” That makes sense, she’s the child of two villains. “If you want her to believe you’re Cap, act like an older brother type and go along with any game or kiddy roleplay she starts up. Ask her about her week, help with homework, and be horribly upbeat to match her energy.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Bruce took Pinky’s king with his pawn, “Now tell me.” He stared the man down. “Why do you know the Captain, who are you other than Pinky Butler?”

Pinky sighed, moving the pieces back to where they belong. 

“I used to be Pinky Whiley, a kid from Gotham who was well on my way to being a child prodigy in school.” He put the last piece in its place, “Then someone killed my mom,” He wasn't looking at the table anymore, now just looking through it.

“I figured out my teacher killed her, had this whole Jekel and Hyde thing going on where he could turn into a monster. Same monster I saw killed her,” he took a breath before continuing on.

“Brian Butler, this attorney that really wanted to make a difference and went out at night as Mr. Scarlet, he tried to stop me from confronting him. Thought I would kill him,” Pinky looked to the side. Avoiding Bruce's sympathetic look, “I kinda did though. Found him and he ended up taking his own life ‘cause I figured him out, but it didn't make my mom come back.” Bruce knew the story, no matter how many times he’s helped his children live through the same tragedy it's a tragedy all the same. 

“Brian took me in, adopted me and made me Pinky Butler. I wanted to help him so badly I kept sneaking out past him and his secretary to help, calling myself the Whiz Kid 'cause everyone said I was such a whiz at everything I did.” He chuckled at the memory, “Eventually dad thought Gotham was too dangerous to raise me, and way too legally corrupt for him to keep practicing there with a clean conscience, so we moved here.”  

Bruce could understand that sentiment, but there was something bothering him. He knew that name, Mr. Scarlet , from somewhere but he knew it wasn't in the recent news.

He looked at Bruce now, “Mr. Scarlet and the Whiz kid, taking on Fawcett way back in 1937.”

1937?

The feeling of a false memory, the filling in of facts he doesn't know comes back. Like a grandparent reading of a fairytale to a child, or a history book. 

Mr. Scarlet was one of many heroes and vigilantes who joined the fight in WW2, he was a member of the All-Star Squadron. He was active in Gotham for several years before the war and moved his operations to Fawcett before disappearing from the hero world, alongside other heroes like Spysmasher, Bulletman, Bulletgirl, Master Man, and Phantom Eagle. Speculation among members of the superhero community then was that they retired after the war, but that never explained why they never reached out or returned in times of crisis. They should have all been dead by now, and yet…

“Trust me man, I know I don't look ninety three.” Bruce thinks for a moment that this man is just messing with him now, using the names of dead Fawcett heroes for some sick joke, “Honestly, I don't think I'll ever see that age. Thanks to Mister Minds weird time travel experiments from back then I’ve been living my best eternally youthful life.” There was more of a dramatic flair to that comment, everything he had said up until saying he's from almost a century ago had been said somberly. Now he's back to theatrics.

“He experimented with this Suspendium bomb right here in Fawcett,” He began recounting the tale, “My dad had requested leave to bring me back to Fawcett after I had borrowed a friends plane to come help him out, we ended up being here when it went off. Didn't age a day for a good thirty years with everyone else in Fawcett, then when the time bubble the bomb made finally disappeared we didn't age right after that.” He gestured to himself, “Somewhat obvious from the twenty something looking grandpa right here,” He chuckled. 

Bruce hadn't heard a peep of this, this couldn't be a real thing. A real event no one knew of that locked a whole city in time for thirty years and stopped its residences from aging properly, “How come I've never heard of this Suspendium bomb then? Or even Suspendium?” Bruce tried to challenge the man's obvious lie, Suspendium just sounded like a fabrication.

“Because most people here don't remember it, of course.” Was his answer, “Most people here never even realized it, just went timeblind from seeing the dang blast. Now there's great-great-great grandmas here living their best lives spoiling their grandbabies rotten without thinking about how long they've been around. The people who do remember had their crises’ and have had this support group meeting at St. Marcels Church ever since, that or they moved out and got away from the residuals from the explosion that's keeping us from aging right.” 

“Besides,” he propped his head in his hands with a questioning glare. “It's just something that age locked all us old people. Most of the kids born afterwards just aged normally, not like the city turned into a fountain of youth overnight for the weary traveler to come and abuse whenever they please.” He flicked one of the checkers pieces away, a bored expression on his face.

“Metropolis is the bright city of tomorrow, Gotham is everything awful about today with hopeful heroes trying to get people through the times,” He looked up, past the trees of the park and to the city’s buildings towering above. “Were the city of yesteryear, the yesterday your parents waxed poetic about with all the love of a tight knit neighborhood spread throughout the whole place.” He flicked another piece into the grass, “And like a tight knit neighborhood, everyone kept that secret to themselves. Kept what made our city so special privy to ourselves and our fellow Fawcitizens.” 

A third piece was flicked, this time in Bruce's direction. Hitting the lightning symbol on his chest, causing the rest of the pieces to fizzle into static and disappear. 

Bruce couldn't wait to get out of Fawcett and stay out, this whole city was too weird for his tastes already. “Over eighty years to learn chess and you never did?” He questioned, eliciting a smile from the man who looked no older than Jason but through the miracle of a bomb was older than Alfred. 

Definitely not coming back here, Bruce thought.

“Never said I never learned it, I just don't like it.” With that Pinky Butler got up and waved Bruce off, “Don't do anything too stupid Bill-a-Bat!” and Bruce sat there for a moment. Fully taking in the information laid out before him as he stared down the checkered table, a cold case of missing heroes explained away in one afternoon, a city with century old denizens, one full to bursting with magical energy guarded by Captain Marvel. 

Bruce sits there for a minute more, then two, then three. And then he's gone, jetting off back to his home to confront William on just what else he should know before he manages to have a heart attack.

Notes:

Not even 24 hours later and the dude is going to talk to Billy again, but then again having a city where half the people don’t age right and are functionally immortal while it looks like a powder keg of magic ready to blow probably isn’t doing Bruce’s anxiety any favors.

Hopefully Billy’s day was better after breakfast than Bruce’s was.

Chapter 7: Batson bonding, and the lack thereof; Billy

Summary:

Billy spends the afternoon having to be in Bruce’s body hating the whole experience, Billy is fourteen and knows nothing of the exhaustion and pain built into his 54 year old co-workers body. He wishes he didn’t know that pain now…

Notes:

Wow, over 11k words and seven chapters later and were like… 12 hours into the story. These guys are just going through it.

Billy’s wonderful idea of keeping up with Bruces normal day while being stuck in his body had bit him in the butt, hard.

 

Stephanie had already gotten a whole hour of Billy making the most openly confused faces at half the conversations had with only half the normal amount of Bruce's kids around, him fumbling words and trying to right himself after saying “Words aren't wording.” Apparently a fourteen year old trying to just get through a conversation or breakfast with vigilantes in the body of said vigilantes father figure was comedic gold, and his attempts to keep Bruce's body in shape over the week had led to a lot of sore muscles and this wonderful afternoon.

 

He's in sweats and a tank top, he had spent all of the morning after breakfast and the last hour after lunch in the home gym Bruce has, and while trying to practice a roundhouse kick he lost his footing and exclaimed “Goodness gracious!” His head hit the floor as he fell right onto his back as Jason burst with laughter, Cassandra’s punch landing and sending him in his own fall to the ground with a soon to be very bruised jaw. Billy just looked up at the gym's ceiling, not bothering to get up for a solid five minutes until Cassandra stood over him and asked. “Hit head bad?” 

 

“No,” Billy started to get up, quickly remembering with a few snaps and pops that this body was neither godly or teenaged as it felt like Bruce’s were about to fall faster than the Roman Empire. The crackling spires being the man's legs as they gave out under Billy's attempt to stand again, he was able to catch himself in a kneeling position but had to breathe his way back up on the second attempt.

 

Once again, he found more respect for the man, because he either powered through this every fight and night as Batman and still found the masochistic will in him to keep training inbetween it all. But now Billy would probably be fighting the urge to go full ‘worried kid around senior citizens’ around Bruce after this, hard enough when most of his coworkers are in their late forties or early fifties and he's just himself. God, Billy would throw himself into the sun if he ever accidentally offered to help Batman of all people to cross the street or offer his seat after feeling how awful it is to just exist with the man's joints. 

 

Cassandra stayed by Billy’s side and had a hand open to him to hold if he needed the extra support to get up, Jason was still laughing through his hurt jaw at Billy. 

 

“Goodness Gracious? Dude, what are you? Dick?” he kept laughing until his jaw made a loud pop sound and he hissed. He could see Cassandra give him a look out of the corner of his eye as he turned to just forget the last few minutes. She purposefully lowered her voice and said, “Goodness gracious, I've been bamboozled!” Before ducking to the side at Jason throwing a water bottle at her, “Point tak- pop! - MOTHER OF FUCK!”

 

Billy chortles at that, he can't help it. He's definitely hating the whole body thing, but loving the familiarity of the sibling relationships. If it was just Billy having to not go insane in the manor with just Alfred and Damian for company after he was done with school for the day he'd definitely go insane with all the mixed memories and heebie jeebies the place gives him. 

 

Unfortunately the training means feeling gross by the end of it, which means showering, which means another awkward eye closed shower and waiting in a towel burrito for Bruce's body to be dry enough to dress. How anyone on the League ever got through this for longer than a day baffled Billy at this point, especially the times he's heard lady and guy Leaguer’s got swapped and had to deal for longer than a handful of hours to get back in their bodies. 

 

Bruce will be fine if his body doesn't exercise for a week, Billy thinks. Rationalizing any scenario that will make the rest of this week as mentally painless as possible for him, all the while eternally thankful Bruce is in Captain Marvel's body. He gets to avoid all this embarrassment that is going to haunt the back of his mind every time he's in the room with the Dark Knight. 

 

Billy is laying like the dead in Bruce's bed, trying to let the moments tick by and praying to Hypnos to just knock him out for the rest of this week so he's not dealing with this anymore. He's not even filling in for Bruce like he is for him! Just put him in a magic coma and let the week end already! 

 

He thinks maybe he can snatch a bottle of fancy rich person wine to pour out to the gods and make a temporary shrine to really send a prayer when there's a knock to Bruce's bedroom door, “Captain Marvel.” 

 

Damian, looking at the clock on the bedside he probably just got home from school. Billy really just does not want to get up. The past, what, twelve hours? Thirteen? Either way they've been bad enough. Even if the bed is way too comfortable, even if he knows Damian probably won't make him feel like a sideshow attraction by accident, and even if he knows he can't be a hermit the whole week so Why start now Billy, it’s not going to last anyway. There's another round of knocking, “Captain Marvel.” 

 

With all the grace a fifty-four year old should have, Billy shuffles to the door and opens it. Damian on the other side quickly lowered his hand once he saw him. “Good, you're here.” He pushed past him into Bruce's room, “I thought for a moment Todd had misinformed me as to your whereabouts. I wish to contact my father,” He stood there waiting for Billy to do… something.

 

And at that moment, Billy hates that he’s in this body even more. Because all he has is his own head; No Atlas to encourage him to persevere through the day despite the aches of this body, no Heracles to have given him advice on his stance or footing in the gym earlier, no Mercury to tell long winded tales of travelers and his mighty descendants like Odisyus as he made his voyage home, no Zues to declare the Wayne family impolite hosts for making the Champion uncomfortable, no Achilles to comfort him and help him through the embarrassment of the whole situation, and no Solomon to remind him to tell Bruce everything else he needed to know after he got pissed off at him. 

 

He's just Billy, he hasn't been that for years, he can hardly remember not having his Patrons to rely on. 

 

“Did you hear me Marvel?” Damian snaps Billy back to reality, “Yeah, yeah sorry just kind’ve been a day i guess.” Billy dragged a hand down his face, no wonder he hasn't been feeling good. All the bravery and rational thought is with the dude who's the epitome of it…

 

“It's only three,” Damian's voice just dripped with disappointment with those three words. “Do you have a method of contact with my father or should I just try your communication device from the Batcomputer?”

 

Another problem, without Solomon Billy didn't even say where Lucy even lived before getting defensive about her. He didnt think through being able to talk to each other in case anything came up, calling Mr. Morris to tell him he’d be gone or even an excuse to get him out of work for a week ( oh god I'm so screwed when I do) , how Bruce even could visit Lucy without drawing unwanted attention since he always heads over as Billy and transforms if she wants to go for a flight or see a really difficult magic trick he can't do as just Billy yet. 

 

Billy barely restrains the urge to bash his head into a wall, saving that for when it's his head and a wall he's willing to risk breaking. 

 

“Probably the second option, we didn't talk as much as we should've about the situation before I sent him flying.” Billy paused, “Packing? Away? Ugh I don't know,” Billy made his way out of the room and past Damian for the study. “Lets go call him.” 

 

Damian hurried after him, “I only wish to talk to him myself Marvel, I demand you save rectifying your-” Billy cut him off, 110% done with the day in true ‘plain teenager’ fashion. “You can talk to him first, but I do need to hash things out with him.” Billy bit out, teeth clenched.

 

“Just,” Billy remembered his breathing exercises, five in seven out, five in seven out, “You can go down first, I’ll wait for you to be done in the study.” Damian seemed happy enough at that and continued on in front of Billy, who dragged his feet all the way there and didn’t even see Damian anymore by the time he got there.

 

The door to the study was open, and Billy just stood there.

 

He tries to distance himself from the memories, thinks with a different perspective on what the room feels like and what it reminds him of. He thinks of Mr. Morris’ office, how the layout is the same with the large ornate desk centerplace in a spacious nook between the bookshelves. He thinks of how the couch by the window looks like his old social worker, Ms. Mulhouse, just with different pillows. How all the pictures and mementos of the bookcases aren’t familiar.

 

He sits down on the small couch, the heels of his hands dug into his knees like he’s waiting to be called into the principal’s office. The feeling of dread there is familiar, certainly wouldn’t have been the first time he yelled at one. He calms himself, and his heart doesn’t stutter or start beating erratically. He’s not home, he’s not going to have Uncle E burst through the door to kick him out all over again like in his nightmares. 

 

Bully tenses at that memory, wincing he thinks he should probably ask for a session with Harley again. She did wonders on the whole exposure therapy thing when he was scared of how loud his thunder was, helped him through the host of fears and complexes he got from becoming a hero so young. Even if it's not an official-unofficial therapy, he can sit down on her weird giant fluffy couch and just hang out with her, say hi to Bud and Lou and bring Tawny over so they can either play fight or make faces at each other for hours on end. 

 

Maybe he could sneak out as Bruce to see her? She mentioned being sure he was Batman so Billy explaining the situation wouldn’t be that weird, he could probably pass by with a teleportation spell. If he could remember one right now, ugh, Billy hates not having Solomon to help nudge his memory’s around when he needs them or just tell him the answer. 

 

Six more days , he tells himself, you can handle the mental silence and being here for six more days Billy .

Notes:

Billy is a dunce sometimes, but then again he’s had 6 other people to bounce his ideas off of and magical knowledge to help him for like 6 years now. He’s not as used to having a silent skull as he probably should be.

And yeah, the Lucy here that lives on Ivy lane with her aunt is Harley’s kid. Billy sought Harley out for therapeutic reasons bc he’s aware enough to know he needed help after the first nightmare of people he didn’t save blaming him for their deaths and they become friends, Harley asked Billy to look out for her since she lived so close to him. Is Batman going to figure this out? Mmm, we’ll see if the beans spill and how…

Chapter 8: Day in updates; Damian

Summary:

Bruce, having learned a great deal about his co-worker and the working of his city in just over twelve hours, calls a meeting with his family. Both to warm of potential dangers traveling inside its boundaries, reopening and closing cold cases of missing heroes, and to speak with Marvel himself.

Notes:

I’ve been on a huge happy high from all the feedback this has been receiving, I’m so happy people are liking this! This chapter is more of a “let’s update the other characters since they’re separated” chapter with some funny reactions and a few introductions to other Fawcett heroes that were trapped in Suspendium.

Once he's at the floor of the batcave Damian expects to have to use the league communications to contact his father via Captain Marvel's communicator, only to find his father at the computer himself. A meeting table with chairs set up nearby, obviously Father must've found out a good deal of information about Marvel. Or enough to warrant a discussion so soon into the week, from the tunnels he can hear Graysons bike roar into the cave.

“You seriously didn't last a day in Fawcett B?” He jokes, “Caps place can't be that bad!”

Todd yells from the bottom of the fireman pole entrance with Cassandra, “He didn't! And now you owe me a month of gun cleaning Big Bird!” Both make their way to the meeting table, Grayson's smile turning strained.

“Aw come on, I bet he would last a day and he did.”

“And I said he wouldn't last twelve hours in Mr. “Sunshine out my ass” city,” Todd argued as he held his hand out for the IOU slip. Father didn't even turn from the Batcomputer after video conferencing in Barbra to challenge Todd's claim. “I was in Fawcett for thirteen hours, thirty-two minutes and seventeen seconds. Not twelve hours.”

Father raised his head like he noticed something, most probably an anomaly in his file on the Captain since he was in the process of updating it. Damian took a seat by Todd as he audibly groaned, passing Grayson his own IOU slip that he snatched with a chipper “Thank you Jaybird!”

Cassandra took her seat as well by his side, Grayson proudly showing off the “Personal Wayne Manor chef for one week” IOU that would allow him to have Todd make whatever he wanted to oblige his and fathers shared ban from being in the kitchen alone. And seeing that he'd be needed at the manor every night there's a likely chance Graysons winnings will be used in excess for the next week.

Finally Timothy took a seat by Grayson, taking a long sip of what Damian assumed was the herbal tea he'd taken to drinking since complications with his splenectomy.

“I met with an ally of Captain Marvel in Fawcett Central Park,” Father made his way towards the table with a monitor propped in front of a seat for Barbra. “Through him I've learned a good deal more about the captain but I'm not here to explain it all to you.” He took a seat at the table's head, folding his hands in front of him.

“What I came here to inform you of is Fawcett City’s nature and why I will implore you all to stay away from it, because I don't fully understand the situation myself and I don't want the city to affect you.” He looked around the table, “Unless Captain Marvel or any of his partners can vouch for your assured protection none of us are to step foot in the city.”

Cassandra cocked her head to the side as Grayson and Todd went a tad slack jawed, Tim taking another sip of his tea with a look that told father to continue. Damian flicked his eyes between his fathers grave expression etched onto the Captains face and his siblings' reactions.

“The hell is so wrong with his city that we need a freaking chaperone?” Timothy spoke up, placing his cup down on the table. “His drinking water full of Lazarus water or something? It can't be that dangerous there.”

“You aren't far off actually Tim,” Todd choked. “Hey wait what?!”

Father pointed to the batcomputer, pressing a button on a small remote. It showed CCTV footage of a young ginger haired man leaving a parkplace, looking around before spotting the camera and waving with a grin. “This is Captain Marvel's ally, a vigilante now known as Mr. Scarlet.” That gave the other boys pause before Barbra spoke up, “Like that hero from the forties?” Todd snapped to attention, “Is he still kicking after all this time?”

“Where did you hear of him?” Damian asked, the name and face of the man waving at the camera on a loop now completely new to him. “Bruce had them look into the cold cases of heroes that went missing after WW2,” Tim answered. “I looked into it too ‘cause I remembered something about a new Bullet Girl operating in Fawcett but she's too young to have been their daughter by the time the family went missing.”

“Those cases are no longer cold,” the button clicked again. Showing a set of pictures of some older men and women, a younger brunette, and the man from the video feed. Under them were names and aliases.

A graying police sergeant smiling in his photo. James Kent-Barr Aka Bulletman: Retired

An older woman with curled gray hair done in an elaborate bun in the Whiz Publication paper, the title suggesting she made a donation to a local school telling form where the photo was cut off. Susan Kent-Barr Aka Bulletgirl-1: Retired

A young woman with short, wavy brunette hair in an air force pilot's uniform. Deanna Kent-Barr Aka Windershear / Bulletgirl-2: Active

A blonde middle aged man with a thin mustache and narrow features. Brian Butler, Attorney Aka Mr. Scarlet-1: Retired

A dark haired middle aged man, a scar on his square jaw that looks like it had been done with a serrated blade or healed in poor conditions. Alan Armstrong Aka Spysmasher-1/ Crimesmasher: Retired

Then there was the man on the footage, who looked no older than Todd did. Pinky Butler Aka Whiz-kid/ Scarlet boy/ Mr.Scarlet-2: Active

Heroes that went missing following WW2, is what Timothy had said. He looked at the men and women pictured, both ones labeled active looked young. All the others looked like they could still kick for another decade, “How in the shit are all of them still alive?” Todd stood from his seat, pointing to the screen as father sat silently.

“They all fell off the map right after the war without a trace for decades after, what happened?” Asked Grayson, the growing worry in his voice was clear.

“From what I've been informed,” Father began. “Fawcett had a form of ‘Time Bomb’ detonate that trapped the city and its inhabitants in some form of temporal anomaly that kept them from aging for a little over thirty years.” He sighed, “In the aftermath the people affected didn't seem to age at the right pace anymore, those who were ‘time blinded’, as Pinky put it, didn't seem to realize that they never aged a day in that time and still don't realize their slowed aging process.”

He pointed to the screen at the collective of time-displaced heroes, “These people did not witness the blast of the bomb head on so they remained aware of their predicament. The effects of the Suspendium the bomb was made of would wear off outside the city limits but would take effect again once they returned, since the Suspendium is still affecting its residents the heroes there have failed to age while new citizens of Fawcett age at a normal rate.”

There was a beat of silence before Barbra spoke up, “So all those people just dont realize theyre over a century old?” Father’s face saddened slightly, his expressions more open on the Captain's face. “As far as I can tell from property sales and reviewing the identification of Fawcetts citizens, there's a total of forty-seven thousand three hundred and fourteen time displaced people still in Fawcett and living through the effects of the Suspendium. Only two percent of the original population from when the bomb went off still live there, many having left or died somehow in the interim.”

Jason fell into his chair, gripping its arm with a vice grip. Tim held a hand out to Grayson and received a small flask that he downed in one go before getting up to leave, Damian could only stare into the distance. Tens of thousands of people just one state over, aging only some years in the span of decades. His father hadn’t noticed, his grandfather hadn’t noticed, if he did Damian remembers no attempt to research it nor a mention of it. Nobody knew.

“How,” Grayson croaked out, “How-who, who did that? How'd a city just get stuck like that and no one noticed?”

“Because they had their heroes, and no one cared as long as their world wasn't ending. Those men and women,” Damian pulled his eyes from the depth of the cave back to the screen. “Kept their home together until time started to move again and after that until Captain Marvel came to take care of the problems they couldn't.”

“And you don't want us to go there because you didn't know anything about this before and still don't,” Jason piped up, massaging the bridge of his nose. “So we don't get time lost because who the hell knows how that Suspendium thing worked.” Father nodded, getting up from his chair.

“I'm going to confirm more details about the week with Marvel, where is he?” He asked, looking them all over, sans Timothy after he left with Graysons flask, as they took in the fact a city went stuck in time without anyone noticing for a good eighty years.

“He's in the study,” Damian answered him, Cassandra looked his way. “He said he wanted to speak with you as well.” She looked back to father and began to sign, Bad memory. He hates the study, and Damian saw the look on his fathers face that said he took a mental note of her comment before heading for the elevator up.

Just a moment later the revving of an engine echoed down the tunnel entrances to the cave, coming closer until the rider could be seen. Duke returned from his daytime patrol just then, his bike coming into the cave with a low rumble, and took his helmet off. Hollering “Hey, what’d I miss?” from the vehicle platform. Jason's head hit the meeting table with a thud, “Not it.” as Grayson sunk into his chair. Damian took a breath and got up to explain everything Father had just told them to Duke.

Notes:

Tim definitely needed that drink lol. And poor Duke who has to get that whole update from a bunch of people who don’t have divine courage helping them through processing everything going on. Bruce is starting to hear Billy’s patrons, Solomon is randomly making him know things and soon the rest of them will be talking to Bruce too.

Also, if the estimated population of people still suffering the effects of Suspendium sounds like a lot, that actually is the current 2% of Philadelphia’s population. Being stuck in time doesnt stop people from dying of every other kind of death, people being born, or people just plain moving away after the first 30 years stuck in time.

Chapter 9: Batson to Batman

Summary:

Bruce comes to talk with Billy, only to be interrupted by one of six separate entities mingling in his head. Billy offers an odd comfort, explaining what is going on and how his gods behave towards him. By the end, Billy is optimistic that maybe things won’t be as bad and Bruce is wondering what other surprises wait for him for the next week.

Notes:

Double update because I had a big writing kick and a bit of talking I wanted to just get out of the way so we could get back to them being in separate cities trying to get through their own obstacles in the others life.

Billy is going to ramble a bit on how his gods are, for the most part nice and a little annoying but they mean well.

Billy sat looking at the clock opposite of the couch, waiting for it to slide up and the bookcases to squeeze to the sides so he’d see Damian come out. Signaling he could go down and talk to Bruce on whatever he used to call him, it would be much better than seeing him face to face after his last interaction with the man included threats and Billy being an absolute dingus.

 

But without his gods, Billy’s prayer went unanswered. Because coming out of the elevator was Bruce, just Bruce , with an irritated and tired expression that instantly made Billy’s stomach drop. His face twitched, a jump of his eyelid before Bruce tried to cover it by blinking with the twitch. But Billy knew the meaning to it, it was his own face after all. He had felt it more times than he’d seen it on recordings of him on the news or internet, one of his gods had said something odd or Solomon had started off on a tangent.

 

“Problem with the voices?” Billy asked sympathetically, trying to give a knowing and reassuring smile that probably came off as condescending with how he said it. Sue the kid for finally having someone other than Dr. Fate or Firestorm who knew the feeling, he felt vindicated that he wasn’t the only guy who didn’t like it all the time.

 

“You, the voice is something you’ve heard before?” Bruce inquired, taking a step out of the elevator that shut and put the study back into place behind him. Billy shrugged, “They normally like to give their advice or moral support when I need it, Solomon is probably who you’re hearing right now? You ask a question in your head?” 

 

“I, what? Solomon?” Bruce sputtered, Billy gave a sigh and scooched to one side of the couch and patted the spot next to him. Bruce stood for another second before sitting beside him, tossing his cape over the back of the couch as he did so. 

 

“To get the introductions out of the way, whether you’ve met them or not yet, I’ll just go down the list. You remember when I’d say stuff like, “That’s the wisdom of Solomon for ya” or  “I’ve got the power of Zeus helping me out!” when I started out?” Billy asked, he’d stopped saying them after a few months. Having remembered that those names made the acronym the sent his powers his way, if Batman somehow connected those dots it’d be the most embarrassing way to have his weakness figured out. Gloating and naming his own powers, could you imagine?

 

“Solomon is the voice that sounds like an encyclopedia brought to life by a grandpa with the world's greatest lung capacity, he’s kind’ve a guiding conscience mixed with super knowledge about anything you really need to know. Think of any math question or how Mallus Trolls excrete waste and he can tell ya’.” Bruce gave him a slightly disgusted look, “It’s a crystalline force beam from their mouths dude, head out of the gutter.” He elbowed him, or well, kinda himself? On the side.

 

“Heracles doesn’t normally talk much, not unless I’m in a fight, then he’ll start shouting wrestling moves and fighting tactics from the mind space. Or if I watch his Disney movie, then he kinda gets either really sad or defensive about that whole chapter of his mortal life.” Billy breezed through, “Atlas is kinda like Heracles, cheers me on and gives awesome moral support about getting through whatever challenges I’m facing.”

 

He could see Bruce putting pieces together, which worried Billy because he’s certain he’s said all those names and the gifts associated with them before. Throw him off Billy, throw him off the acronym thing!

 

“Then there’s Hermes, he’ll wax poetic on his kids and their descendants if you give him the opportunity. Just ponder what order Odysseus’ voyage went from island to island and you’ve got a good couple of hours of entertainment. That or whatever godly gossip he’s picked up as the messenger.” 

 

“Achilles doesn’t pop in much, he’s spending his time in Hades with Patroclus just about twenty-four-seven, but he’ll pop in to check in and see how life is.”

 

“Zeus just has nothing better to do so he’ll make sporadic appearances to make sure I’m honoring the host code, always be courteous and treat others with all the respect you can give.” Billy laughed at a memory of the god, how he swore to strike his Uncle down with great vengeance after learning how horribly he broke the host code Zeus ensured every denizen of Hellas (Greece) respected else they face his divine wrath. 

 

Billy had to mentally beg him to not kill the guy, it would solve nothing and as horrible as he was to him, he never deserved death or a fate worse than death from a god with experience in creating those fates. No matter how much Billy chuckled at the idea of old Uncle E rolling a boulder up a hill forever or stuck in the same pool as Sisyphus, he could never be that cruel as to let it happen.

 

“They might chime in for you once in a while,” Billy said as Bruce looked past him. Like the words were being drowned out by- “Zeus is, huh.” Bruce muttered.

 

“Zeus is… talking quite a bit about how kind of a host I am?” Bruce blinked, small static sparks coming from his eyes as another telltale sign Billy had seen when Zeus decided to talk his ear off about the glory days. “Good job, you’ve got the gods favor!” Billy said, half sarcastically with a thumbs up. 

 

Bruce blinked, once and twice again. Zeus’ sparks fading as he shook his head clear of Billy’s patrons. “We should talk about the rest of the week's plan,” Bruce started. “This time with no animosity or details left out.” Opting to completely sidestep wherever Billy's patrons had been buzzing in Bruce's ear.

 

Billy nodded, this time going through every detail of his week Bruce would have to know to convincingly be Captain Marvel. And Billy couldn’t be more happy to have his old heroes as friends when he heard Pinky did some of his job for him, he’d definitely treat the guy and his dad to dinner once he got back. As far as he could tell, his secret would probably be as safe as ever by the end of all this. Not knowing a third of his anonymity was lost with his first name to Bruce.

Notes:

Bruce is keeping some information close to his chest right now, not wanting to reveal everything he knows until he has more data to extrapolate a proper theory out of. And poor Billy is hopefully optimistic.

Also

Zeus: How dare that scoundrel do that to his own flesh and blood!? VENGENCE!
Billy: HEY HEY WAIT NO!
Hermes, munching on popcorn: want some?
Heracles: Hell yeah man
Billy: GUYS HELP
Heracles: stop fighting brother, tis’ a futile effort
Billy: aw come on!

Chapter 10: Friendly fire; Billy

Summary:

Billy reminisces on his love of libraries and the books they hold, Tim comes in looking for answers to his questions and gets into a fight with him.

Notes:

Again, lots of mixed canon here. The idea of Billy being a den-dad from the Young Justice tv show and comics mixing with some fleshing out of my own design for the RoE and Billy being Billy.

Tim drank in a previous chapter and didn’t stop there, Billy had some less than stellar foster homes with less than stellar foster siblings and has some experience recognizing and helping someone drunk.

It’s a sad truth that early heroism leads to children parentifying themselves for the sake of others, even if they’re the sidekicks you basically babysat.

If there was one little escape Billy enjoyed, it was always libraries. 

 

It was one place he was never expected to buy anything at that he could enjoy for hours on end, especially when weather got tougher to deal with before he started doing good for himself. He could just let the unspoken assumption that he was a book nerd wanting to enjoy one of the comfy chairs during a rainstorm explain things away, and he was a good nerd. At first it was pretending to read so the librarians wouldn’t take notice of a kid not reading in a library of all places, then he’d read the fun comics they had in the kids sections and all the fantasy books. Then it was catching up on science and math because he started missing so much of it, then getting every history and mythology book he could fit in his book bag and burning through their pages like a man on a mission.

 

So Billy always found himself in heaven when he was curled up with a good book somewhere quiet, something he’d always find at The Rock of Eternity in its own library. 

 

“The Library of Eternity” was the original name, before Billy bemoaned how everything there had “of Eternity” at the end of it to Steve (the beloved magical feather pen that could apparently shape-shift into any writing tool) and suddenly the big stone letters were carved out and replaced with the new name Billy came up with. He went with “The Library of Lost Literature” since the whole room had a copy of every physical text written, including those that were ‘lost to history.’ 

 

Billy loves that room, he can study magic and read any book he could think of while Steve helps him take notes. Nonexistent specters in cloaks that would help find what he was looking for populated the room, various pieces of furniture to loaf around on, the loose notes discarded to the hands of time flying over the shelves in origami shapes until the room itself sensed a reader wanted them, and that old book smell Billy could never get enough of made the room a paradise.

 

The library of Bruce’s house isn’t as grand, but it definitely has some funny reads. Billy had asked where it was so he could have a nice place to pass the time for the week after he and Bruce hashed more minor details out, and now he’s got his feet kicked up sitting on a sofa reading “Ancient Egyptian Algebra”. Which seems more like a themed algebra book mixed with fun math trivia on how the ancient Egyptians did calculations with their old tools, an odd read but it’s something new and has Billy thinking about looking for more like it once he gets back to the Rock of Eternity. Asking the specters if there’s any more texts like this by the same author or with the same mix of old math and trivia, maybe there’ll be something like “Ancient Greek Science” that just explains the myths behind phenomena instead of actually explaining it.

 

“Are you seriously reading my old highschool books?” Tim asked as he rounded the corner of one of the shelves, Billy turned his head to him without fully taking his eyes off the page. Wanting to look at the diagram of how they changed their calculations for building the pyramids after they screwed up with the Bent Pyramid, changing from one angle to another halfway building the thing up before realizing they couldn't keep the angle up. Tim gave an odd chuckle, which did get Billy's eyes to leave the book.

 

“Something up,” He asked as he shut the book with his thumb saving his page, giving Tim a once over as he went to seat himself at the table next to Billy. “Nah nah, no.” He waved Billy off, “It’s just’ this… thing.” There was a slight slur to his voice. Billy dropped the book on the couch, entirely abandoning the text, to sit next to Tim and put a steadying hand on his shoulder. Though Billy didn't know who he was trying to steady, a probably drunk Tim or a definitely worried friend. 

 

“Are you ok Tim?” Billy asked, keeping his voice clear and calm. “Did something happen?” Tim gave him a look and brushed his hand off, giving his face a few slaps like he was trying to wake himself up. “Yeah yeah yeah, I'm good. Fine really, I just wanted to clear things up myself.” Tim waved his hands free of his nerves, trying to find where he should start. But none of that helped Billy's growing worry, he'd never imagined Tim to be someone to drink. He could tell he had had something, his speech is messy and he's coming into a situation without having thought it out. Tim had always been the type to plan out every syllable in a conversation before starting one, he rarely was at a loss for words. 

 

“Suspendium,” Tim finally blurted out. “The hell is it and why did some whack job drop a bomb in Fawcett of all places?” He was looking at him now. “And- and, did you- god. Did you know about it? Like before? We've all been there before, hell you basically took Young Justice on a field trip to make us feel better about getting a mission overtaken by the League, but you never said anything about the time dilation crap!” He waved his hands around with each sentence, and Billy knew he was definitely being affected by something if he's not doing anything to hide his nerves. 

 

“Tim,” Billy raised his hands in mock surrender, trying not to flinch back at Tims angry glare. “I'll be happy to explain when you aren't drunk, until then I-.” Tim leapt away from him and out of his chair. “I AM NOT-'' He almost tripped over his feet, Billy caught him by grabbing at his arms. Tim just got more agitated, ripping himself away from Billy's hold. Billy let him, remembering that Tim was touch adverse at best when his anxieties got bad and hostile at worst when people wouldn't give him the space he needed. Tim fumed, expression twisting into a scowl as he failed to find the right words to say before making a move to punch Billy. Dodging it Tim clocked him with his other hand. 

 

Hostile, Billy thought as he grabbed at Tims hands and pulled him into a restrictive hug. Twisting his arms to be crossed against his front as Billy pulled him close so he couldn't struggle too hard to hurt either one of them. He tried to wiggle and kick at Billy in the hold, and he was thankful that whatever Tim had and how much had him forgetting the hundreds of ways to escape for the moment. Tiring himself out until the anger burned out into sobbing into his chest, Billy let go of him and hugged him properly. The hug wasn't returned, his arms just going to wipe the tears and snot from his face onto his sleeves as Billy waited for him to be calm again. 

 

“Why didn't you do anything?” He mumbled into the embrace, “Huh?” Tim pushed away, not violently or angrily, but Billy could tell he wanted to be angry about something but he couldn't decipher the look. “You said,'' He snuffeld. Wiping at his face again, “You said yesterday that Superboy Prime was someone Bruce could worry about since he's in your body.” 

 

That. 

 

“What else are you not telling people? People stuck in time and barely any of them know it,” He began to list off. “Primes still alive, you're apparently this weird magic protector of an even weirder magic hub, you had two siblings you didn't tell anyone about until they showed up just as strong as you.” He stalked towards him, an accusatory finger pointed to him. “You aren't even alive, you dont breathe or sleep or anything Marv!” He was yelling in his face now, and Billy hated every second of it. 

 

Backing away, Billy said. “I don't talk about not being fully human because I am human, I am human I just have a dumb power that makes it so I don't need to do human things.” He began, trying to diffuse Tim’s miffed confusion. “I don't try to complain about my responsibilities, especially when I was in charge of looking after you guys back then, because they're my problem to deal with. Not any of yours.” Finally, he got to what he knew must’ve upset Tim the most. “And I didnt about Prime because I didn't know until he broke out of the Monsterlands and tried to kill me and my family months after Kon came back. What good would have come of me knowing before then?” 

 

That only made things worse, causing Tim to tackle him and grip Billy's throat tight. “You didn't DO ANYTHING!” He screamed into his face, “We barely managed to stop Prime, he killed Conner and you didnt do shit to help us! You fought him, you won against him, but when he was killing us you were off in sunny perfect Fawcett,” he sang the words mockingly. Billy could feel his vision giving out, Bruce's old and battered lungs burning trying to get air into them as Billy scraped desperately at Tim’s wrists. “Why didn't you help?!” 

 

Tim finally let go of Billy, letting the air rush back into his lungs as he hovered over him. Waiting on his answer, Billy relented with one he knew Tim didn't want to hear. The truth. “I didn't know tim,” He rasped mournfully, “I'm sorry it happened and that I didn’t help when I could've, but I barely managed against Prime alone.” It took me and Black Adam detransforming at the same time to hit him with their lighting’s, Adam almost died and they only managed to knock him out before sending him back.  

 

Tim fully broke then, hunching over and sobbing all over again. Billy moved to sit them both up on the floor and hug Tim, hugging him close as his body shook. 

 

The League had found it hilarious, they had, that Captain Marvel and Superman shared the same birthday. Both heroes were born on a leap year, or at least that's what Billy had told them and what the Kent’s had always said about Clark's birthday. It wasn't a leap year this year so both heroes got their own day, Superman the last of February and Marvel the first of March. 

 

It was March then, Billy had been so excited to celebrate with the league for the first time since telling them when his birthday was. He thought it’d be a safe enough decision and then he'd get to spend the day with all his heroes, but their recent losses still weighed down on them. Billy wasn’t surprised it fell out of peoples focus, it had escaped him too. Who cared about a birthday after everything that happened anyway. Apparently Tim did, enough to catch Billy at the top of WHIZ Radio station after a monotonous day of patrol. 

 

He had waved him down and given him a dvd box with the whole Night at the Museum trilogy in a box set and wished him happy birthday. Billy had stopped him before he left, asking if he was alright, if he needed to talk to someone. He knew how Batman was with dealing with losses, heard most the horror stories of it and seen a few instances himself, he didn’t want Tim to fall apart or rip himself to shreds the same way Bruce would. 

 

Billy tried to comfort him then, wanting to help however he could. He knew what losing friends felt like, one’s you could’ve helped if you thought things through more or moved faster. He’d lost Scott like that, Victor had gotten most of his face burned away by Arson Fiend, he almost lost Freddy too many times for comfort. 

 

Billy held Tim as tight as he did then, hugging him close and letting him cry as much as he needed. “I promise I won’t let any of you get hurt when I can help ever again.” he muttered, more to himself than to Tim, but he returned the hug when he heard it.

 

Billy is the hero that protects people from their demons, he’ll always be there to bring someone from an edge. Whether it’s keeping Freddy from being the one to kill his demon so he doesn’t destroy himself in his revenge, fighting the Sins themselves, or comforting a friend. He’s not going to let anymore of his friends down, not as Captain Marvel. 

 

Billy got an idea to try and make things up to Tim, he’d have to call Kon and other members of Young Justice, but knowing how unhinged they could all be they would probably like his idea. After all, sometimes the best way to stay fearing a monster is to beat it.

 

“Once you feel better and whatever you had is out of your system, can I offer an apology gift?” Billy asked, Tim having quieted down to a snuffle here and there in his hold. He mumbled a ‘sure’ , “Mind telling what you had?” Billy inquired, trying and failing to not sound like a chiding parent.

 

“Jus’ whatever Dick keeps in ‘is flask thing ‘n…” he waved his hand in a circular motion trying to come up with the words, “like, two bottles of whatever was in the liquor display.” Two bottles , Billy reeled at the thought. Tim had gone into a whole twenty-seven minute rant about alcohol and underage drinking when Kon asked if he ever snuck into a bar with his ability to disguise himself so well, he couldn’t imagine him just drinking random alcohol and then busting into a liquor cabinet when he was still nineteen. 

 

He gave Tim a reassuring pat on the head, “Let’s get you an empty trash bin and sober you up, sound good Tim-buktu?” He gave a weak laugh at the older nickname, letting Billy help him up and guide him out the library before he had the chance to let the nausea catch up to him and make him puke on something.

Notes:

Tim’s gotta sober up and then it’s off to do whatever Billy has planned!

Wanted to confront the weird canon of Superboy Prime being a prisoner of the Monsterlands and Billy mentioning that to Bruce the first night in front of Tim, the sudden knowledge your best friends killer is still alive under the lock and key of a completely unrelated hero is a bit to process.

Chapter 11: Watch the world move; Bruce

Summary:

Bruce spends some more time in Marvels body, feeling how the world seems different to him. How magic seems to just flow around him, how electricity dances across his senses and plays its own tune. He also meets with one of his gods, who seems very protective of the Captain.

Notes:

Kinda filler-y but I like having my excuse to talk about magic and introduce Billy’s patrons, especially how I like to think they get along.

Bruce finds himself floating high above the city, wind whipping his cape to and fro as the city lights dim and flicker out as the night gets older. People heading off to rest in a time locked city protected by… Whatever this body is.

 

He floats down somewhere to rest, even if this body doesn't need it and his mind feels as alert and awake as it could possibly be. He ends up atop WHIZ Radio station, sitting on the metal cross beams for a decent view of the city. Buildings still tower over him but he can see that the city is alive and well around him, feeling the hum of radio waves around him resonate in his chest.

 

Like being too close to a singing whale or hit with a sonic weapon using white noise as its base sound, he can hear something that doesn't sound like any language or melody he can pinpoint to an artist. Closing his eyes, Bruce puts one hand to his chest and he can feel a thrum like the one surrounding him now. It feels alive, peaceful. He thinks for a moment that maybe this is how the Captain rests, one thing he can remember him rambling on about was his love for listening to music over the radio. He couldn't conceive having it blare straight into his ears, it took away the feeling of being surrounded by it that he loved.

 

He focuses on the feeling, like he's the hub of all the energy moving through the city, from the radio waves and electricity in the power lines to the magic Bruce can only imagine is passing over like a fog.

 

Opening his eyes confirms that theory, even if he hadn't been focusing on seeing it. But what he sees should be blinding him, making him squint his eyes away from the sight and shield his eyes. But there's no burn or irritation, even as he tries to blink the sight away it remains without any pain. The entire world is blinding, if it doesn't appear as a fine mist the magic is white hot fire in a hundred different forms. The crackling forms of electricity through the skeletons of buildings and branching out through cables and fluttering off the wire like frayed threads of string, the luminance of the air around him reminds him of the various gasses and pollen attacks he's learned to avoid like the plague they can be. 

 

He manages to blink the vision away. Bruce wonders if the sight is something Marvel can control, it seems to come and go as it pleases. Both times Bruce had the unfortunate luck to end up switching with Clark he could keep decent control of his senses, Marvels are activating with no warning. 

 

Bruce feels a boisterous clap to his back, followed by a chuckle from his side. 

 

Quite the sight to see, is it now Dark Knight? Says the voice, baritone and regal in tone. Mentally going through the list, Bruce ties the voice between belonging to Zeus and belonging to Atlas. It's too old to be Achilles or Hermes and not quite old enough to belong to Solomon, he heard Heracles voice from spats with Diana the League had gotten involved with. 

 

You should have seen the lad's face when he saw the world for the first time, The voice continues. The thruming of electricity and its waves gets more intense and Bruces, Marvels, chest tightens. Like the air itself is tying a rope around him that constricts with each breath, joined by the phantom feeling of a firm hand on his shoulder. 

 

Poor lad had to see a new layer to his world at the rock first, I've seen my fair share of mortals go mad at the sight. It's what my son's wine has been known to give them a peek of before their minds succumb, He drolls on. Thank Gaia he came out of the madness sane. It sounds thankful, relieved at a memory that sounds to have shook a god to their bones. 

 

Are you able to see us through his eyes? It asks again and Bruce can feel a hand try and guide his face to look to his left, his panic spikes. 

 

He outstraches his hand, thunder traveling through his veins and lighting them on fire for a brief second before it blooms from his fingertips and crashes into the open air. It hits a wall across the block with a BOOM! , chiping at the brick from a block away, as the lightning dancing in his fingers fizzles to nothing. You missed, Bat. The voice chides.

 

At his side is a haze of lightning lit clouds, forming the silhouette of Olympus’s king. His arms are crossed as thundering eyes judge him, none of the light illuminating the rest of the world around the two of them. Not physically here then, Bruce’s mind supplies. The lord of the skies chuckles at the deer in headlights look he gives him, shaking his head at Bruce for being surprised. 

 

You’ll grow accustomed to seeing the lot of us. My sons are fond of the Captain, as am I, so I shall give you fair warning. Bruce could smell a coming storm, clouds moving overhead and winds picking up to prepare for rain. You made an oath to my champion, break it and I'll have you drowning in the river Lethe until this week isn't even a wild dream of yours. Poison dripped from each word. 

 

A child of mine has already been at the mercy of the fates because of your paranoia , He seethed the word out. Thunder rumbling somewhere in the distance as the air felt thick, too much so that Bruce could hardly feel the breaths he was trying to take. If I should risk losing another or you destroy what he has left of his life, Nemesis themselves would balk at the display of my wrath. Bruce could feel something like a noose tightening around his neck. Do I make myself clear detective?  

 

“Crystal.” He bit out, leaving Zeus to fade with a gust of wind and the storm to go on. The rain began to fall as Bruce contemplated just making it through the week without learning anything more, not exactly chuffed at the idea of incurring the wrath of multiple gods.

Notes:

Bruce is confused. As he should be when one of the twelve Olympians threatens you, Zeus is a shit dad but he’s still got some dad-isim’s in him.

But this is just more fuel to his fire, and also an easy out if he happens to come across too much about the Captains personal life.

Next up is a bunch of chapters I’ve been editing and stockpiling, in which the bat boys are going to get a good chance to learn more about Marvel’s place as Champion of Magic and just how weird his world outside the League is.

Chapter 12: Hangover and hang out; Tim

Summary:

Recovering from a poor decision, Tim gets over his hangover and assesses what he knows about Captain Marvel, and what he doesn’t know entirely.

But he offers something Tim had dreamed about a few times too many, a chance to punch Supervoy-Prime in the face. Which, he didn’t phrase it like that, but that’s what Tim was planning on doing.

Notes:

Again, LOTS of mixing and mashing of various Captain Marvel canons. Including SB-P being a prisoner of the Monsterlands and the Young Justice tv show idea of Captain Marvel having pulled den-dad duties.

Tim could remember a lot about the Captain, not surprising since other than Red Tornado and the occasional Black Canary he was one of the few League members who actually signed up for “Babysitting duty” back in his Young Justice days. He was pretty cool, laughing when Bart asked if he was a clone of Superman and Wonderwoman the same way Kon was of Supes and Lex. Always seemed happy to be there, never like they were students that needed a stern teacher or a bunch of dumb kids that couldn't handle the world they were always trying to save. Stood on their side during spats with their mentors more often than not, the guy always seemed to care more about sidekicks and anyone new to the superhero life. He’d be this bumbling dad type, always asking if they were doing okay and wanting to be in on the fun. 

 

It really shouldn't surprise him that he never grew out of caring, being this weird caregiver you could never get a handle on figuring out why he cared so much. 

 

This is the same guy that introduced Kon to most of his favorite movies today by insisting on movie nights, super-sped through activities with Bart to be at the same speed as him, and got him and Cassie their favorite snacks whenever he passed by them in stores. Even if they had just mentioned liking them once and that time was months ago he'd remember and nab their whole stock for them to enjoy over ordering pizza and takeout for the zillionth time or eating the prepared meals that tasted worse than cooking leather. 

 

Now he's holding the longer piece of his hair back as he vomits into the porcelain throne. Never meet your heroes, was a common enough phrase, They might have to help you with a hangover, was an odd Tim approved add-on that he was unfortunately living through. 

 

Flushing down what was once his lunch and way too much alcohol, Tim miserably lifted his head. Doing his best not to look Marvel in the eye, because he also remembers how anti-”Any and all addictive habits” the guy was. Tim was, and mostly still is, anti-“all that junk” but even he needs something to just turn his brain off when everything gets to be too much. Else he ends up in another evil scientist lab or like any number of ‘Evil Future’ versions of himself. 

 

“Are you feeling better?” Cap asked softly, like speaking above a whisper would be the same as a Canary cry. Which it probably would with the pounding in Tims head, “Fine.” He mumbled, trying to ignore the tacky taste of his mouth as he went to get up. Stumbling and ending up being supported by a worried Cap again, Tim just gave up and let the guy currently wearing Bruce's face be his crutch for the moment. “Let's get you somewhere comfortable to sit down, I'll grab you some milk.” Tim quirked his brow at him as he led him to sit at his desk chair, “Milk?” He’d half expected water or something.

 

“Yeah, helps coat your throat. Which, like, you probably need after puking and all. Should help with the cruddy taste too.” He sat him down and headed for the door of his room, “I'll be back in just a sec!” He waved him off, and Tim remembered more of the inconsequential little tidbits of Marvel. The stuff that didn't help much in building a profile or preliminary outline of his civilian life.

 

He doesn't swear, always using other phrases or censoring himself. There was a betting pool of who could get him to curse first that got so expensive Bruce had to shut it down, no one succeeded at getting so much as a ‘hell’ out of the guy. Even when he's talking demons and gods of death, he only ever says the underworld. 

 

He talks his way out of fights, or tries to at least. He's seen him try and calm down rampaging monsters and various wild magical creatures, try and convince newer or younger villains to stop a fight before he goads them into just attacking him to keep the destruction contained, offering a shoulder to cry on or a ear to talk off the second he sees something wrong in someones head. 

 

He's painfully familiar, Kon always bemoaned that the guy was too much like Clark and looked too much like him while being sickeningly kind to him that he couldn't be the same ‘Stick it to the man’ kind of mad at him. He worms his way into people's hearts to be like a brother or a surrogate father figure to people, jumping right into that role or characture the minute there's an emotional vulnerability. It's something Bruce always found suspicious with its frequency and how well it worked, even he couldnt help but trust the guy despite not really knowing anything about him. 

 

But to Tim he was familiar in a different way, he could swear he'd met him before. His first time seeing him was when they were both in costume as far as his memory was concerned, but his face was something he'd seen before. Not the same way he's seen the same “Black haired, blue eyes, strong jaw” combo on Bruce, Clark, Dick, or any number of other heroes. Like he'd seen him out of costume, met him out of costume, but his traitorous mind threw that one memory away.

 

It made his head hurt trying to think of it again, the hangover not helping as his body forced itself to sober up. Whatever prayer Cap had thrown out to Dionysis was certainly doing its trick, one second he was dead on his feet the next he's got a stomach tossing death back up his throat. 

 

“Milk!” entering the room came Cap, a large glass of milk with a straw in Tim's face the same moment. He took the straw out and gulped two thirds of the glass down, his sore throat feeling much better and his mouth mostly void of the horrible taste of his own stomach acid. Cap pat his shoulder, “Feeling better?” he quired. Tim nodded and set the glass on his desk, turning in his chair to look at him. Cap was shrunken in on himself, slightly hunched to stay closer to Tim’s eye level and face painted with worry. Not too uncharacteristic of a look to grace Bruce's face, but not to the extreme Cap was displaying. His heart on his sleeve and his emotions bared for the world to see at all times. 

 

“You said something about an apology gift.” It wasn't a question, he could remember his drunken actions with more clarity than typical to those sorts of episodes but was curious as to what the Captain meant by it. “Was it something about Superboy-Prime?” Tim pressed as the Captain reeled away ever so slightly. He didn't look Tim in the eye as he shook his head, almost guilty, as he could see him reconsider whatever gesture he planned out just half an hour ago.

 

Tim motioned for him to continue, “So what did you have planned?” He shrugged, “It helped me to know, like really know, that my monsters couldn't hurt me anymore. Maybe seeing that he wouldn't hurt anyone anymore would make you feel better too?” And there's something new to learn, that my monsters couldn't hurt me anymore. Tim looked at him, searching. “What hurt you?” and he found a face he remembered on Bruces, a look in his eyes that's graced everyone in this household. That sad look of loss, then the resignation to the fact it happened. 

 

Tim wondered who Captain Marvel had to have lost, but considering the odds it was probably his own parents like so many other heroes and vigilantes. 

 

Then he considered the idea, seeing Prime unable to hurt anyone. Locked away to rot in some cell, all the way in some other reality Tim himself probably couldn't weasel his way into. It… sounded nice. 

 

“When can we go?” Tim looked up at Marvel, “Once your headache is completely gone, ok?” He offered, his face twisting with worry. “And it doesn't have to just be you, if you're okay with it I was thinking maybe the rest of the team could get that offer of, I dunno, closure?” He tilted his head at the question, worried he was overstepping a boundary or making a mistake with every word off his tongue. 

 

Tim nodded his head, he'd rather face Prime with his friends by his side.

Notes:

Young Justice core 4 next chapter: 🎵woah, I’m about to kick somebody’s ass~ woah I’m about to kick somebody’s ass~ if you don’t leave me alone, hm. You’re gonna have ta’ send me home! Cause I’m about ti kick somebody’s ass~🎵

Billy canonically was on his own verge of wanting to murder his parents killer/s and other people who’ve hurt his family in horrible ways, he can sympathize a lot with wanting to see your monsters put to rest.

His in this fic’s canon monsters being his parents killers (maybe more explanation later) and his Uncle E, Tim’s is Prime and Capt. Boomerang but I’ve heard he’s past the second one so there’s no revenge plot there.

Chapter 13: Infiltration; Jason

Summary:

While Tim and his posse go on their revenge mission, Jason and Damian make their way into the Rock of Eternity. A classic adventure for the Dynamic Duo, especially when they make a new friend that’s willing to help them out.

Notes:

Time for a field trip to Captain Marvels magical version of the Phantom Zone! And time for the prodigal and blood son to have their own unapproved field trip into Marvels secret lair.

Jason could safely say, he loves when Bruce gets benched. Especially when he gets to wear the cowl. It pisses Damian off to no end that he has to listen to him, which just has him smirking twenty-four-seven behind the faceplate of his version of the mask at his grumpy face. 

 

Plus, it's never a boring day when Bruce is benched. Right now not being an exception, with four Titans raiding the armory while a very sheepish Captain-Marvel-in-Bruce's-body stands to the side with apologies oozing out of his ashamed face. Like a kid standing by the vase they broke waiting for a parent to yell at them, he twiddled with his fingers as Tim came out with Wonder Girl in toe carrying some magic mace Bruce got from a case and never let go of. Kon and Bart were sing-songing about how ‘We’re going on a trip! To kill this piece of shit!’ from inside the armory. Leaving the Captain to deflate once Damian asked, “What's going on exactly?”

 

“MarvelpromisedTimwe’dgettobeatupSuperboyPrime-” “No I didn't!” Cap somehow interrupted a speed talking bart. “Sowe’regettingsomecoolweaponsthatwillreallypackapunch!” He finished before zooming off and back with a large laser cannon in his arms, “Dibs!” 

 

Tim lifted his hand, “I'm signing these out.” He informed them. “And how exactly are you getting there?” Damian asked, “Marvel said it himself, Prime is in the Monsterlands. With his magic with father, how are you going to travel there?” Jason looked at Marvel, who looked like he was seconds from deciding to jump off the platform and into the depths of the cave.

 

“I, uh, funny story.” He nervously chuckled. “Not all my magic is with him, just my blessings from my gods.” He showed his hands, stray sparks jumping between his fingers. “I can still do most of my spells, just can't use my superpowers right now.” 

 

“And he said he can make a portal out of any doorway, so Al is setting one up.” Superboy pointed behind him to Alfred with his thumb, who had just finished adding a lone wooden door to the edge of the main platform. Cap shook his head, “We didn't need a new door, it would have only been temporary.”

 

Jason looked to Damian, he could see an idea bouncing around his head behind his domino mask. Looking back at the group, they had swarmed around the wooden door behind Marvel, who had started drawing symbols on it with chalk. “No one touches this until I open it,” He instructed as he repeated the set of symbols for a third time. “This method is one I know because of Sivanna breaking into the Rock before, but it can kill people who don't have the right magical spark. So unless you wanna be some magic human sacrifice,” He drew the symbols for the fourth time. “Don't touch it until I say so.” A fifth time, the same seven symbols in the same order. Jason mentally cataloged the symbols to show Bruce later, Sounds like it opens straight to his lair instead of right to the Monsterlands.

 

He finished the last set of the symbols and pressed his hand to the door, a warbling sound filling the air as his lightning spread from his hand to around the door. He slammed himself against it, like he was trying to bust the door down, and a plume of smoke came from the cracks in the door as the symbols glew. The door creaked open as he backed away. Making a grand sweeping gesture, the Captain let out a showy, “Ta-da!” with some added jazzhands for flare. 

 

From what Jason could see, the inside led to a cave-like room with thousands of floating and floor-level doors of various types. Bart zoomed in and left their sight before rushing back, “There's like a bajillion doors here dude!” Cap went in and pat him on the shoulder, the rest following behind as they began to walk off with their pick of Batman's horde of collected weapons.

 

“It's just the door room, we need to head to the-” his voice petered out with the group's footsteps, Jason turned to Alfred and Damian. The unspoken question answered once he locked eyes with his little brother. Alfred cleared his throat, “I'll leave you boys to it.” And he left for upstairs, Damian rushing off to grab a surveillance kit. Stepping through the still open door, the two ended up in the motherlode of answers to questions that had plagued Bruce for years.

 

I can hold this over the old man's head for years , was Jason's thought. Damian was probably thinking of all the ways he could impress Bruce with some well placed mics and cameras.

 

And Bart was right, there's a lot of doors here. Most of them floating above their heads to the top of the room, up to a ceiling Jason couldn't see. Some had taped on papers with notes, the ones to the left of him said “Gator’s playing cards” “Infinite ocean dimension” “Darla’s drawing dimension” and “Mega-World”. Damian left a batarang between the door to keep it propped open, that way there's no risk of their exit closing behind them and leaving them stranded in the whatever the hell the Rock of Eternity was. 

 

“Come Robin,” Jason pointed onwards to their right. Swishing the cape with his movement, “We have exploring to do!” Damian groaned, ever the little hater of his brothers theatrics. 

 

They marched on, passing doors made of different woods; some painted, some marked with those papers describing them, some chained shut, some so small you have to have a Wonderland style drink me drink to fit through it, a few so big Jason wouldn't have been able to reach across the knob even if he stretched his arms out. Eventually the room ended with an opening in the cave wall to a more polished hallway, full of even more weird stuff. 

 

The middle had what he could only describe as a ginormous dragon skeleton posed like a museum dinosaur, its head pointed skywards in a roar. Against the opposite wall was a golden full-length mirror, a pillar with a dusty cushion, and a suit of armor with two tears in the breast plate. Looking at the spacing of the claws on the dragon skeleton, Jason would guess the armor belonged to the guy that fought the thing. Damian moved to stick a camera inside of the armor's helmet, only for it to swipe him away with an offended backhand. 

 

“How dare you, scoundrel!” He drew a blade from his belt, which Damian responded in kind with his own. “Didn't your father teach you not to touch one without consent? I’d have your hands severed for your indecency, young man!” Jason pulled Damian from the knight, “We didn't know you were alive, sorry dude.” He tried to deescalate the situation, mentally cursing himself. Caught by living armor, great!

 

“Leave the boys be,” Came a woman's voice. Shocking the knight into sheathing his sword and standing at the ready, ramrod straight. “Apologies Lady Francesca!” He called out, “I didn't mean to disturb your slumber nor offend you.”

 

The mirror beside them warped a woman's face from the silvery surface, smiling softly at the knight her mirror was turned to. “You’re perfectly fine Arthur, these are friends of the Champion.” She tilted her head to them. Damian and Jason looked to the other, brows raised in confusion. Did the Captain say they were welcome? Does he talk about everyone to the things living in the Rock?  

 

Francessca’s head turned to them, pushing out of its mirror slightly. “Be safe wandering here, not every face here is as friendly as ours.” She warned before retreating, the reflective silver of her mirror flattening and showing their shocked faces. Arthur sighed, “She is a most wonderful maiden.” He breathed out, Cap has a suit of armor crushing on a mirror. Nice. 

 

“Sir,” Damian started, placing a hand over his heart. “May I ask you not to mention our visit to the Champion.” Jason raised an eyebrow at what Damian was trying to do. “We needed to visit the Rock without his knowledge to complete our own errand.” Jason smiled. Appealing to the whole honorable knight thing, smart move. It certainly worked on this Arthur guy, who returned the gesture and bowed to Damian. “A friend of the Champion is a friend of mine, I shan't speak a word unless ordered otherwise by him young lord.” 

 

That got Damian to smile, probably from the whole respect thing on top of not getting their covers blown. “Might I ask you to act as our guide of the Rock, we have yet to have acquainted ourselves with its layout.” Arthur nodded, his visor shuffling with the movement. “It would be a great honor to aid a friend of the Champion, follow me young lord.” 

 

Jason smiled behind the metal plate of his cowl, this was going to be a piece of cake. 

Notes:

The armor is a little empty headed lol. I liked the idea of the Rock having odd items and being in it that call it home, especially Francesca and the suit of armor I named Arthur (for obvious reasons)

But now the two have a guide to help them not get lost in the Rock, less they end up in the throne room alone with the Sins or falling off one of the many bridges inside the place with no one to help them. Those two don’t need Wrath and Pride trying to pick at their brains

Chapter 14: Katabasis

Summary:

Katabasis is a word that means “a journey to the underworld” which feels close enough to what Tim and his friends are doing, marching through a weird central station of the magical universe on his way to fight (and maybe kill) an old demon whose face is way to close to Superman’s.

Notes:

If Jason and Babs get to kick Jokers ass their own share of times then Tim can have his shot with Prime, invite the friends and make it a party while he’s at it!

And while I’m at it, more building of the very eerie and special magical world Billy has basically been in charge of since he was 8. Mamaagran you madlad

“And this is the station!” Captain Marvel made a sweeping gesture, showing off the five different trains waiting to be used on their own tracks. Each one pointed to a tunnel with runes Tim couldn't read that probably spelled out where they would take its passengers, each train a different model and with different numbers of passenger carts. “What's this thing?” Bart pointed to an odd map on the wall, between the stairs they just went down from the door room and another twin set on the other side of the map. 

 

The map labeled different sections of lands. Six lands separated by a wall with a large symbol in the center that connected to them, an earth with Marvels signature thunder bolt striking between it. One looked like it was built to be a labyrinth, odd and ends with no escape, had a banner calling it the Gamelands. One had pictures of rollercoaster rides and circus tents, its banner said Funlands. Wonzenderlands with a castle and a rainbow, Darklands with jagged cliffs and twisting forests, Wildlands with parts of its world broken up in different biomes. But the one Tim was concerned about was the one at the map's bottom, the Monsterlands. Its land a simple island with the prison surrounded by broiling red waters.

 

“That,” Cap began. “Is a map of the different Magic lands.” Cassie let out a broken off laugh. “Magic lands, really?” He could see him cringe, “Trust me not my idea, these places were all named before I got here.” 

 

Kon clapped his hands together to draw attention, “Hey, come on!” He pointed to the trains, “Which one of these we gotta take to get to Prime?” Cap walked over to the edge of the platform, where there was an empty track. Be brought a hand to his mouth and whistled, the chugging and screech of metal on metal sounding from down the tunnel as it roared into the station. The train was… exactly what you'd expect for a destination called the Monster lands. Black metal cars with silver shaped in deadly imagery of vanquished monsters, bat wings at the ends on the passenger cars, and the exhaust pipe on the engine shaped like a wailing banshee. 

 

Cap brought his hand to scratch the back of his neck, “Not my idea either.” He chuckled. 

 

Boarding was just as odd, there were no seats. Just chains and shackles clanking together from the ceiling, Cap grabbed onto one shackle. “Grab a hold of something guys.” Was the only warning they got before the car filled with lightning and they slammed against the back wall, the train speeding off with them pinned back and Cap dangling birdly from where he held onto the ceiling. There must've been twists and turns on the track, seeing as they got thrown around the car from one wall to another before they got a hold of their own chain.

 

Eventually the train came to a stop, whipping them forward as Bart lost his grip and face planted onto the cold metal flooring. Sliding across it and flipping over onto his back.

 

“What the hell Marv!?” Kon cried out. “Give a guy more warning next time!” 

 

Tim looked out the now open doorway, a stony dock outlined by spearlike teeth protruding out of the ocean of lava welcoming him. “Woah.” Cassie said over his shoulder, Tim added his own comment. “Looks like a Bowser's castle level.” and it definitely did, especially with the prison-castle on the horizon with its spires, towers, and gargoyle decorated outside. Bart got up and looked out past him, “So how do we all get there? ” He pointed out to the building, all the way on the opposite side of the good mile or two of flowing lava. Marvel walked past them and waved out to the open lava, “He’ll help us out.” 

 

Along came a ferryman, or ferry-dummy. A wooden ventriloquist dummy, dressed in a moth bitten suit and cobweb covered tophat, paddled over a boat. Just big enough for the passengers waiting to ride it.

 

“Sup Dummy, how's the tide today?” The dummy answered with a chattering of its wooden mouth, something Cap was somehow able to understand as he nodded his head. “We’re heading to the Dungeon of Eternity, mind taking us there?” That only got him to chatter more, this time with his limbs flailing angrily. Making a flurry of gestures at Marvel, which got Bart laughing behind his hand. “Ok, ok, I get it. Dumb question, but I still wanted to ask in case you wanted a break.” The dummy crossed his arms and turned away, brows knitted downwards, before he beckoned them to board. 

 

Cap stepped on first, “Just don't offer him your hand, he might try and possess you so he can talk normally again.” He warned. Cassie and Kon opted to fly beside them while Tim and Bart sat themselves down, placing the weapons and items they brought along with them on the empty seats. The dummy began rowing them to the dungeon. “Soooooo…” Kon dragged out, floating on his back beside them. “What's with Slappy over here?” The dummy thunked his oar on Kons head and went back to rowing.

 

“He's Exile number 413,” Marvel answered. “He built charms and weapons for Mr. Mind's old Monster Society of Evil and led a gang in Fawcett in the thirties.” He explained oh-so casually. “Ibis the Great handled him and sent him here since I wasn't in the picture yet, dunno where he came from specifically but he's crazy smart.” That had the Dummy lifting his head proudly at the praise, adding on his own commentary with another clattering of his jaw. 

 

“But now he's serving out an eternal punishment as the new ferryman, last one got his sentence ended early because of that so he got to stop being immortal.” 

 

“Who was in charge before you?” Cassie asked. “The Wizard, I've told you guys about him before right?” He had, but just in the sense that he was his mentor. But he kept sounding more and more like he was the Marvel before Marvel who had a lot to deal with before passing the torch to him. The dummy went on a clattering rant for the rest of the boat ride, a thrown out gesture here and there as he probably complained about the Captains predecessor. 

 

Tims mind just kept wandering to Prime, he really hoped he hadn't changed. That not a day went by for him so he could barge into his cell with a bloody vengeance for the year of hell he caused and the hell that seeped into the rest of his life afterwards, so he could see that Kon survived despite his best efforts and get every blow he sent their way returned to him tenfold. His fingers twitched around the mace he’d grabbed, some strong alien metal from getting stranded on some barbarian planet a few years back that could knock one of clarks teeth out. He imagined knocking Prime's head off with it. He wasn't like other villains, he wouldn't win if a hero killed him. It would just be his loss, proof he wasn't strong enough, an insult to everything he tried to be. 

 

Kon noticed his leg jumping, the distant look as his eyes started to bore into the bottom of the boat. He nudged his shoulder, pulling him out of scenario number eleven of how he planned to beat Prime senseless before he could speed into planning scenario number twelve. The silent question of if he was okay, asked only through a worried look and answered only by Tims pained glare back, was cut short by their arrival. “Welcome to the Dungeon of Eternity,” Cap welcomed. “Home of the seven Magiclands worst monsters and mythical tyrants.”

 

Kon laughed, “What the dude from the Funlands do? Impose bedtime?” He joked as they walked past stone statues of feral looking rat monsters and into the main gate. 

 

“No,” Cap replied. “He started eating the kids that ended up there.” He said blankly. Pushing open the large iron wood doors to the building proper, the sound of people banging on metal doors and a drill filled the air. 

 

“Is that you Champion?!” Shrieked a woman's voice, “I swear on the roads, once I'm free your family’s heads will adorn my palace gates!” Cap sighed, walking on through the noise through the expansive entrance.

 

“Queen of Hearts,” he explained, his voice tired like this was something he’d had to explain numerous times already. “Imprisoned for her crimes alongside the Wicked Witch’s in the Wozenderlands.” He explained, waving off the weirdness with a wave of his hand.

 

“The drilling is probably the old Gamemaster from the Gamelands trying to drill out of his cell, again.” He sounded dead tired at that point. “And I thought the villains couldn't get any weirder.” Cassie poked tims side. “Any other weirdo’s?” Bart sped ahead of him and asked. 

 

Cap tilted his head in thought, “There's Jeepers, this Manbat looking ex-king of the Darklands and this Evil-Eye guy who's a native of here. But he lost his title of warden here after he started eating the exiles, ate the other natives too so he's kinda got a “Last of his kind” thing going on.” Kons face drew back as he made a ‘sheesh’ sound.

 

The thudding kept up as they got to a side part of the dungeon, the previous room had levels of doors connected by bridges that were out of the way. This one had small doors on the walls in rows, most were empty. Save for the one halfway down the corridor with thudding blows coming from inside, “How is he staying out?” Bart whispered to Cap. “There's a magically sustained mini red sun in his room, keeps him depowered. Plus if he happens to escape he wont have any sunlight to recharge with, the only light comes from the torches and the whole lava ocean thing.” He explained, Tim let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Relieved that he’d be in no condition to fight back, to hurt Kon again.

 

“So pull our punches, gotcha’.” Cassie gave a thumbs up. “Well,” Cap interjected. “Like everyone else here, he's not technically, really, allowed to die. He can't until his sentence is served, the magic of the prison kinda sustains him since there's no guards or warden here. Just lock the door and leave sorta thing.” 

 

He extrapolated, “He can't die until the world forgets his name, as per his punishment. So you guys can hit him as hard as you want,” Tim twitched. “He’ll just heal it all back but still have to deal with the pain of it all, he's immortal until then just like the rest of the exiles here.” He waved around himself, coming at a stop in front of a door with the crest of the house of El signed into it. Superboy-Prime seething at the group through the small eye level bars of his cell door, “ You.”  

 

There was a clatter as he slammed himself against the cell door and reached out for Cap's throat from between the bars, “I’ll kill you Bratson!” Cap backed away, and Tim was too frazzled to note the nickname. “Think the world will forget me so quickly, you know they won't.” He cocked his head to the rest of them.

 

“I’ll slip out and strangle these worthless knockoffs and then I'll bash your new family’s skulls in,” He punched the door. “ARE YOU LISTENING?!” Cap pressed his hand against the door and Prime was knocked back, Tim could make out a second doorway down a small hallway that had just been added. 

 

“One door opens at a time,” He looked over his shoulder at them. “He can't muster anything other than a bit of glow in his eyes. Who wants to head in first?” Kon cracked his knuckles and slid on a pair of Nth metal knuckles. “Dibs.”

Notes:

Bet Kon’s feeling like the specialist birthday boy rn, if I could beat my killer bloody with no repercussions I’d definitely feel that way.

Chapter 15: Recon; Damian and Jason

Summary:

The two bothers search through the Rock of Eternity with the helpful guidance of Arthur, the living suit of armor.

Soon they meet some of Captain Marvels villains, in cases in stone they are still able to tear a rift between he two brothers and speak to one of them. Calling for their freedom as they egg one of the brothers on.

Notes:

Whoo! Finally got my first handful of chapters edited and fully posted! Updates may get slower and more sporadic from here since this is where I stop being ahead of my posting, I’m still writing but between school and applying for college there’s going to be less time for me to write this.

I promise not to forget this though! I’m really enjoying writing this and having all my fun cameos but I did want to keep you guys updates too

There are so many rooms, so many .

 

Why does this place need so many rooms?

 

Arthur, the freaking living suit of armor acting as their tour guide, shows them all off the many, many , amenities of the Rock of Eternity.

 

Including but not limited to; The Cafe of Eternity, a old timey looking coffee shop that had Black Adam sipping in a corner booth on his own cup of coffee from some fancy looking teacup. Simply nodding at them to welcome them as Arthur explained that the room was Black Adam's contribution, “He takes his coffee very seriously.” being the comment that was supposed to explain everything. It didn’t but they weren’t going to comment with Black Adam right there .

 

A treasure room, one of many apparently, full of various objects like Mr. Atoms old severed head, multiple chests and boxes of gold and jewels, a ship's anchor, an open and empty sarcophagus, as well as many banners and tapestries hanging from the ceiling. 

 

An astrology room that seemed to stretch forever once you stepped out past the entrance enough and into the literal expanse of the universe, Arthur had displayed how certain hand motions could have a sort of zooming in and out effect and observing different star systems at a whim. 

 

And then here, the throne room. Like the treasure room, it did look like it belonged where it was, like a mountain was carved out to make room for the area. “Here the Council of Eternity would gather to decide the fates of transgressors.”

 

He listed off the items strewn about the room, “Here is the Violin of Vitriol, ever burning in spite of the forces of decay.” He pointed towards a violin burning in a brazier, the fire latched to the wood and strings as it failed to burn or darken the instrument.

 

He turned his upper half in a sweeping gesture, feet firmly planted where they were before as he opened his arms to seven statues. “These are the statues of the Seven Deadly Enemies of Man, the despicable Deadly Sins that plagued humanity and whose poison still runs in the bloodline of most every mortal.” 

 

He righted his body and took a number of waltzing steps to cross the room to marvel at the statue with the inscription ‘Pride’ carved into its pedestal, hand over his torn open breastplate. “The most powerful being the formidable Madam Pride, the sister of the Sins.” 

 

He let out an enamored breath before backing away, snapping himself out of a trance. Much to both the bystanders' confusion, “These are Marvel's worst villains?” Jason pointed to the statues, stationary and impossible to hurt anyone. “Why does he have statues of them?” Came Damians question.

 

Arthur looked at him, the hand by his face limp as he kept his arm crossed, looking at him with nothing but a metal helm like Damian had grown two spare heads. “There are the Sins, young lord.” He waved his hand to the statues, “They are imprisoned in stone but are still–”

 

“Still able to speak to all who come to bear witness to our magnificence.” Echoed the alluring voice of a woman, shocking Damian enough to step closer to Jason's side as he readied a Batarang. Surveying the room for the intruder, “I stand in stone before you young demon tamer.” The voice echoed from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

 

“ Don’t bother with this whelp Sister, ” slurred a snotty voice. “ He couldn’t live up to a mortal mantle as simple as an Al-Ghul, how could he have a will strong enough to free us? ”

 

“Hey!” A new rage bubbled in Damian, pointing the batarang to the possible stoney offenders. “My families are honored by each success I make demons, I am plenty strong!” He yelled as he advanced to test how thick the stone imprisoning them was, only to be stopped by a frantic metal hand.

 

“Cease young lord, they only antagonize to gain freedom!” 

 

“ Will you allow another commoner to hold you back from greatness, Champion? ” A shrill voice questioned.

 

“The fuck are you two hearing?” Jason looked between the two, then to the statues as he realized their eyes were glowing a bloody red as they stared his brother down.

 

“ Take life into your hands and claim your destiny, child. ” The woman spoke again. “ Behind you is the plucked eye of sin, ” Behind him was an alcove holding a singular stand, on top was a glowing orb of blue light swirling around a glass marble. The item encased in a web of coral, misshapen as it caged the light in. “ Take it and hold the world in your hands, become greater than all kings before you. ”

 

A memory flared in the recesses of his mind as Todd grabbed his shoulder and shook him, him and his mother in a room with all the intricate details of the world laid out on the ground. He was lying among mountains, his mother hugged him from behind and promised he'd be greater than Alexander. He heard her voice again, surrounding him and nudging his feet forward and out of Todds grip. 

 

“ Build your kingdom Damian, walk above them as a giant. ” 

 

A harsh yank to his uniform's hood drew him back from the eye, the coral retracted where his hand once was as it grew to surround itself again with haste with his fingers retreating by force. He blinked himself back in control of himself, aided painfully by Arthur smacking the back of his head as Jason barked a ‘ hey!’ to the suit of armor. 

 

“The Sins influence the impure of hearts as well, young lord. ” The name dripped from his mouth with so much disgust he was surprised no rust appeared, yanking himself from Jasons grip as he turned to confront the statues. Only for their eyes to be trained elsewhere as they were when they entered and lacking their glow, “What the hell was that Metal-Head?” Jason thunked the suit where the helm would protect his forehead.

 

“Couldn't have given us, oh i dunno, a warning that these dudes like to mind-control people?!” 

 

“They dont mind control ,” Arthur scoffed. “They bring out the worst of one's desires. They are Lust, Wrath, Envy, Pride, Greed, Sloth, and Gluttony themselves!” He waved a hand to the statues as Damian studied them, “It is of no fault but the impure that fall for their tricks!”

 

A harsh Clang! drew Damian to turn back to them, seeing Arthur’s body scramble to locate his head and an angry Jason huffing at him through the metal cover of his cowl. “I sure as hell aint fucking pure either pal, why didnt they target me?!” He pointed an accusatory finger to the bumbling knight, who slammed his helm back on with an annoyed ‘ tsk ’.

 

“Perhaps he held the right motive for them to decide he's the perfect little antichrist–!” Jason fully knocked his head off and tumbling down the hall, his body groping at the empty space before Jason kicked the rest of him out of the room with his head. Arthur cursing them and calling for doom on their houses as he scurried back to his position by the mirror maiden.

 

“ You are perfection, Damian. ” He turned to see the statue named Envy passing him a glance, “ Rise above a borrowed title and claim your throne. ” 

 

“Hey,” Jason ruffled his hair, ruining the gel he had applied earlier to style it. Argh! “Don’t listen to these guys. Alright? You got real daze-y.” He pointed to the statues behind Damian, eyeing the muscley multi-armed one behind him as a whip of smoke seeped from its enraged eyes. 

 

A low, baritone snickering came from just behind him, but he could hear it just as easily coming from Todd. Looking down at the wide-eyed idiot who took Graysons original title with all that worry, that pity, that mocking glare , like he couldn’t take care of himself. He could handle his own problems plenty!

 

He smacked his hand away and went for a different exit than the one Arthur took and where they had entered, “Dames!” Todd called as he jogged up to his brother. Damian did not spare him a glance.

 

Unlike him and the rest he could keep his hurtful looks to himself. 

 

He could handle a case himself without becoming a new hostage, he could survive that two-bit clown, he could defeat them in single combat, he had beaten them himself and done more than enough to earn his spot in the family. He was the blood son, he was so much more than any of his fathers false progeny could ever hope to become. 

 

As Todd tried to appeal to his brother to speak to him again, an echoing chorus of howling laughter bounced down the halls of Eternity. 

 

Pride, Wrath, and Envy had planted the seeds of their Champion's birth in Damians mind. They need only to wait for the rest of the dependable poison that reached all but a handful of humanity’s core to water them so that they could be free once more, feeding first on the Marvel family and leaving the earth to be their Champions false kingdom as they fed as if they all shared the name Gluttony. 

– – –

 

Whatever was going on with Damian now, he didn't like.

 

The worry manifested itself in a heartburn, he hasn't talked to him since the Sin thing in the throne room with Arthur that sent their stupid travel guide packing. Now they were just wandering aimlessly through the weirdness that was Captain Marvel's weird underground castle, cave system, magic lair… thing… Jason really understands why Bruce hates magic. His chest itched through his suit, scratching at the material in hopes it would generate enough friction to deal with it wasnt working either. Whatever the Sins had said to Damian, hell, maybe even promised him, had left a chip on his shoulder and him scowling like it was the first day he was home all over again.

 

He’d talk to Tim and Dick about this later, making sure to get plenty of Damians angry face on the eye lens cameras while surveying the rest of the Cave? Castle and cave had a baby? 

 

Whatever this place was, if they could find their own way in without Marvel's door they could have a decent map of some of the main rooms and where they were. He could make a note to not visit the throne room, since it has some of Cap’s villains stuck in stone Medusa style and has a habit of getting little baby bird’s panties in a twist. But a map might not be so useful, since no amount of turning they did in either direction and how far they walked could logically explain the room they were back at now.

 

“What the hell?” It was the door room again, but they couldn't have gone full circle. Realistically they should– what is he saying? This place is magic magic, no amount of reality other than your perceived one means jack-shit here. 

 

Damian rudely walked past him, crashing his shoulder into his purposefully without even the decency of a snarky comment to make the whole thing some brotherly joke. He went straight for the door they came through as Jason trailed behind, fuming.

 

“The hell crawled up your ass and died, Dames?” He called to his brother as he kicked the door open and rushed into the Batcave, almost knocking the damn thing off its hinges. “What the hell did they say to you to get you so pissy!?” 

 

But Damian didn’t dignify him with a response, he simply hopped into his spot in the Batmobiles passenger seat. Not even looking at him as he monotonically spoke, “We still have four hours to make use of, so don't stand there useless Todd. ” looking straight ahead down the track that would lead them straight outside.

 

That's when he knew they definitely needed a family intervention, and maybe socking a few answers about the Sins out of Marvel once he finds him around the house. Damian had not called him Todd since he started calling him Dames, the anger flared in his chest again and his heartburn got worse. “We aren't going out tonight.” That got Damian to look at him for the first time since those statues did something to him, snapping his head to him with a vein in his forehead threatening to burst.

“Wha–!” Jason interrupted him, “That place fucked with my chest somehow and im in no condition to-” 

 

“Then I'll go myself!” Damian hopped over the center console and almost had the keys in the ignition before Jason swiped them away, tossing them far and into the pits of the cave.

 

“You're benched Dames.” He tried to pry his brother out of whatever magic funk he was in, only to be met with a floundering Robin landing on flipping him off as he marched his unhappy ass up the stairs to the elevator. Still in his costume and definitely planning on running out by himself.

 

With a sigh Jason activated the ‘ Birdcage’ protocol Bruce had been working on and updating since Dickie-bird’s days as Robin from the Batcomputer, sending out an update that Damian was benched for the foreseeable future due to “ A sudden growth in hostile attitude.” He let himself feel bad about the wording but he wasn't sure if it was just plain old corruptive magic or that Arthur just hit a nerve and that put him in a shitty mood.

 

Jason massaged the dulling, burning pain in his chest through the armor of his suit.

Notes:

Gotta love the little details and cameos, kinda debated having Adam do or say something more but we’ve got enough on our plates for now.

For now we have a Bruce on thin ice with Caps gods, Pinky enjoying this whole debacle with popcorn and gossip to his fellow time locked heroes, a Tim fresh from his little vengeance trip, a Billy just going through it, and a possible Battle of the Batsons build up this chapter.

Mwe-hehehehehe! (Evil laugh! Evil laugh!)

Chapter 16: Reaching out; Billy

Summary:

Billy has a nightmare, again. This one all too familiar to him and to Bruce’s stressed body, he can’t seem to wake up from as quickly as before.

Waking up in tears and terrified of the past images he reaches out to someone he knows can help him, immediately regretting it as he places another thread to his secret identity in place for any number of Bats to follow.

Notes:

Mixing a few canons on this one, mixing the backstory of what happened from Power of Shazam and the Black Adam movie for Billy’s dream sequence.

Plus, who doesn’t love a literary parallel for our two main characters?

Between Billy's painfully empty and troubled mind and Bruce's everything, this feeling is too familiar. His heart doesn't race as fast to wake him up, too used to the sensation, the type of nightmare, to wake him up as quickly. Leaving Billy stuck, locked in place as he witnesses the gruesome sight.

Unlike Bruce, he was on the other side of the world when it happened, munching on cereal because his Uncle didn't like getting up as early as Billy had to for school and was in no mood to make breakfast. He was probably in class, maybe enjoying recess, playing Villains vs Heroes with his classmates when it happened.

He didn't see it when it happened, he saw it more than a year later, curious as ever in the Star Room as he fiddled with the Historama. A ball of clouds when not in use, transforming into a twirling globe mimicking the earth as it was when the memory it displayed showed.

He wanted to know what happened to his parents, he hadn't even been told they were gone, really gone . Everyone had either not cared to tell him or wanted to spare explaining death to an eight year old, leaving him with a magical artifact that could answer any question about the world's history he asked the question, “What happened to my parents?”

– – –

It's not as dark as one would expect, an abandoned temple carved into a mountain cave system being lit well enough for the scene beginning to play out to be seen by its year late observer. 

The room was open, the altar that held the Crown of Sabbac empty over a hundred foot drop as armed men forced in his parents. Looking back further he'd see that they went a different direction from the other woman, trying to find this room.

His mom was scared, rambling off in a language he didn't understand then but learned what she was saying during one viewing as the Captain and hearing the same words over and over until they were singed into his memory.

His mom begging for their lives, to at least spare his dad or Adrianna so he and Amon wouldn't be orphans. His dad begged the same, claiming it was his idea and to spare them. 

One of the men mutters something about last words and shoots, his father falling back with a hole in his forehead and a part of his head blown out from the back. The man points his pistol to Adrianna, threatening her to give them the crown as his mom screams, wailing before another man fires at her. Automatic gunfire creates a blaze of bullets that lights the room further and shocks Adrianna to avert her eyes, looking down to the carved ground beneath her kneeling form to spare herself the gore.

She gets the chance at last words, reading off the writing on the ground surrounding a thunder symbol, by the time the men realize what she's doing she's already uttered the word. “Shazam.” 

From her whispered prayer comes an explosion of thunder that forces them back, a hooded figure in all black with gold accents with his back to the mercenaries, motionless until one butts the back of his head with the muzzle of his gun. The same man who just ended his mothers life is grabbed by the neck, magical lightning burning through him until he’s a charred skeleton whose skull Adam throws to the others as they hail him with bullets.

But Billy could care less about the freeing of the former Champion, his eyes focused on his parents. His parents laying in a puddle of blood as his mothers choked breathing fades, having not been granted the same mercy as his dad as she drowns in her own blood rather than passes with the flash of a muzzle light. 

The scene replays. Begging, then screaming, then drowning. Begging, screaming, drowning. Begging and screaming and drowning.

Begging, screaming–

– – – 

That's how he wakes up, screaming as he jumps out of the bed, like the mattress was the stoney ground his parents died on. Like he was just in that puddle of blood beside them, drowning in the sheets like his mom– god his mom.

He can't breathe, stumbling back until he hits a wall, heaving breath into not his lungs, not his body, bodies, oh god his dads body he could see his brain and–

He hits himself on the chest, trying to force Bruce's heart to stop, to shut up, calm down. Pounding his head to jar the images loose from his eyes, only succeeding in hurting his chest and head as his mothers wailing echoed in his ears.

In his panic, he reaches out, stretching his hand out and focusing on finding something, someone to help him . 

His internal begging resulting in sparks to dance in the air and what he needed to drop from the space into his shaking hands dialing the first number he thinks of as he clenches the sleep shirt over his heart and prays. 

It's only then he realizes his mistake, ending the call just as the other side picks up and tossing the old phone to the bed. It hits the mattresses side and halls to the floor, skidding a few inches back to him from the impact. Billy eyes it in silent terror, scrambling to grab it again once it rings, declining the call.

Slipping the back of the phone out to access the keyboard, he hastily types a message before they can call again.

You: ‘Didn't mean to call, Im fine’

D.Q.: ‘And I'm Aquaman’

D.Q.: ‘ pick up’

The phone buzzes and Billy declines it two more times, Billy praying to every god he can think of to help him.

Hermes to mess with the phone lines so she can't call, Demeter to get Dr. Isley to wake up and make her stop, Tyche to tip the odds of her just letting his random call go in Billys favor, anything from anyone. But, lacking their assistance and praying Harley won't recognize a choked up Batman, he wiped away his tears and snot on his sleeve and picked up.

“H-hey,” He chokes down a sob that wanted to leave him, body still shaking from the tremors of his nightmare.

“Billy bean! Are you ok? You called ‘outta nowhere.” The words spilled out of the phone in what sounded like one worried breath, “I-I’m all good, fine! I just–” Billy failed to reassure as Bruce's voice hit a broken high pitch with every other syllable. That just worried Harley more.

“Did you fall asleep as Marvel again?” Billy both cursed and thanked his gods, she thought he was crying in his Marvel form. Worrying he had another past lives nightmare that never failed to spook him, “No, no!” He reassured.

“I- I’m just, it..” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “It was the Historama memory, my- my parents…” he trailed off, sparking a sympathetic sound to leave Harley's mouth and travel through the phone that it barely picked up. Jolting another sob from Billy, “Just-just not a good night, y’know?” He tried to laugh it off, choking a bit and having to cough the lump out of his throat.

“Hey, just try and breathe through it Billy bean. Look at what's around ya and ground yourself there, get your head ‘outta there.” Billy took her advice, practicing breathing. Five seconds in, seven seconds out, keep repeating until calm. 

He got choked up at second twenty two, pulling face away from the phone to wipe the fresh tears away as Harley called out to him. “Bill? Hey baby-bat, talk to me.” Another breathless laugh got knocked out of him, he loves and hates that joke but leans further to the latter when Harley does it. Whether it was because she's, y’know, Harley the former villain partner and full time headache to Batman calling him by the nickname or just that her accent makes it sound funnier to him. Either way, he's laughing the tears away, boyish laughter escaping his lips.

“There's my big guy,” if Harley could reach through the phone she'd be pinching his cheek. “Gotta put those dimples a’ yours working some overtime!” She joked, pulling more laughs from Billy. Eventually the pattering of his heart in his chest just being from laughing and not from the adrenaline of fear. 

Billy smiles so hard it hurts for a second, but then, in the clarity that comes from an adrenaline spike regulating itself, he remembers he woke up screaming. He is in a house full of vigilantes fine tuned to always have an ear out, and looking at the phone shows that it's 4:03 so they're definitely back from patrol and trying to sleep.

At first, he thinks it's a small miracle no one heard, but then he mentally slaps himself over the head at the wishful thinking. They're all probably leaning into the door stacked on top of eachother listening in, just waiting to tumble over when he opens the door and startles them to ‘ Quick! Act normal!’  

Sighing into the receiver, Harley checks in on him again. “You alright Billy?” 

It…hurts a bit, knowing he can't answer honestly. Just tell me whatever truths you’re comfy with pal, is what she had said when he first reached out for some Super-counselling and what amounted to child therapy.

Awkwardly staring up at her ceiling full of hanging plants and vines while laying down on her weirdly fluffy couch, Bud and Lou off to the side of her own chair as she eyed him curiously from behind a clipboard. He couldn't have blamed her for being weirded out, the new magic hero on the scene from a state away comes to you for hero advice when you are the recently fabulously emancipated ex of the Joker only to find out later after months of promising some client-patient confidentiality that he's a kid. 

So he told the truth, the one he was comfortable with.

“Just not feeling like myself,” Billy screwed his face as he cringed at his voice. It was Bruce's voice, just tinged to a more chipper tune and less gravelly because of his influence. He hoped Harley wouldn't recognize it, would pinpoint the sound to a different caped crusader or the ditzy public persona of Brucie Wayne that she kidnapped with the Joker on more than one occasion. 

It wasn't like he could say Captain Marvel had a cold to explain the voice, he doesn't get sick unless it was a seriously magical disease, one gods could catch or could interfere with their magic. Harley knew this, he had complained in excess about how Marvel took a lot of mortal pains away just for them to come back when Billy did. She’d see through the lie, call him out and then he would have to explain everything he didn't want to worry her with.

That Batman would be visiting her daughter to keep up with Billy’s promise to her, it would be a nightmare come to life for her and she’d never forgive him. Oath’s from beings like Marvel, especially with Zeus’s influence stuck to him, he couldn't break a promise, he needed to find a loophole to keep true to it. If Captain Marvel couldn't be there then his body would, keeping the promise alive and Zeus happy for the most part.

A Captain Marvel without Zeus’s favor wasn't nearly as strong, he’d lose the thunder, lose his resistance to magical attacks, Captain Marvel would have to rely solely on the power of Billy Batson until he got back into the god's good graces.

Who knows how long it would be before he could ingratiate himself to him again or if Zeus would even send the lightning when he called for it? Billy couldn't risk that just as much as he couldn't risk this week being the one week Lucy was in danger, he’d be a useless hero then, unable to help as he should always be able to just because he didn't want to risk more ties to him.

His anxieties were soothed, somewhat, by Harley speaking again. “I get it baby bat,” Billy let out a breath he hadnt meant to hold. “You just keep kicking demon ass and being the bestest boy in the world.” Billy smiled at the little title, he had so many because of his exploits and being Captain Marvel.

Billy Batson; Heir to the Council of Eternity, Champion of Magic, The WHIZ Kid, and now the silly title of Bestest Boy. 

He kept smiling even after the call ended, both of them wishing the other some more good shut eye at the early hour and both of them being their own brand of nightowl for one reason or another. Kept smiling when he slotted the old phone into his pocket dimension, an endlessly useful spell he was always happy to have.

He rested his head on the wall behind him, sitting as he contemplated how he'd get rid of the phone and explain why he changed numbers again. 

It wasn't smart to have had a phone call here , he chided himself. Batman will track that call to Harley and then things will get worse, he’ll look into every avenue he’d find. He’ll track that phone to anywhere it went, any call it made or accepted. Billy resolved himself to just dumping it on Saturn, he didn't want to risk forgetting how dangerous using the phone had become and making things worse for himself and his family to just end up calling with it again.

He amended that thought to just toss it into the sun, Batman would make the trek to get it and filter through his contacts. It would be fuel to the fire under his butt from the guy on his identity, but he had a lot more people to really worry about if his identity ever got leaked. A lot of them sharing his weaknesses a villain could exploit to kill off another hero and a lot of them still being kids, some younger than him.

Batman can take his trust issues and shove them up his Batcave, Billy chuckled again.

Notes:

At least there’s one bat getting therapy for all this trauma and stress, lol

And yeah, in my experience when you lose a family member young, people aren’t exactly jumping to explain death to you and how people can’t come back. I doubt Uncle E would care enough about the nephew he kicked out to tell him, and what social worker wants to deal with a crying kid when they aren’t crying yet? Leaving Billy to ponder that question until he finds his answer via some magic and get deeply traumatized, more than he was before at least.

Poor kid…(I say as I make his life irrevocably worse and give him Batman truama)

Plus some more magic world building. Since Billy is a champion of Zeus’s powers, and Zues was popular for punishing oath breakers alongside his other stuff, he can’t break a promise made as Marvel

Chapter 17: Cats out of trees, Cats out of bags; Bruce Pt.1

Summary:

Bruce is a full day into this whole debacle and he’s tired, or he wants to be tired.

For Batman, the blessing of a self-sustaining body that needed for nothing to run at full functionality would do wonders for his detective work. But he’s Captain Marvel, a man with no notable personal life he can fall into like he’s does with Bruce Wayne.

Hopefully some superheroics and catching Marvels family up to speed on things will make the week more bearable. Hopefully

Notes:

Time to have both families more caught up on the situation!

Introducing the known members of Marvels family in these parts! The unknown ones can come in later

Watching the sun rise again isn't as comforting as it should be.

 

He hasn't slept in a while, not something uncommon for him, but the distinct lack of exhaustion or fatigue. Floating high above the tops of the city’s topmost buildings he feels weightless, drifting aimlessly with no idea how Marvel spends his time between League meetings and his Monitor Duty shifts.

 

The man has friends outside the rest of the League, he knows that now. Hes built friendships with other Fawcett heroes that survived a century of vigilantism, wormed himself into the hearts of more than heartless gods who've shown no issue with toying with each other and mortals on a whim, earned a level of respect from Tim by encouraging his and his friends impulsive decision on a hero team, and has a number of reformed villains he keeps friendly with.

 

He saw the publication of Black Adam's wedding, he officiated the ceremony for a man who, just three months before, had tried to kill him and destroyed a trainyard just within his field of vision now in a scuffle with him. 

 

He's seen the admiration from Beautia Sivana’s eyes by his side and on video, she was so enamored with the man she foresaked her father and convinced her older brother to follow her out of their family’s shared affinity for villainy. He's seen him politely refuse and then give into her invitations to be her date to any number of charity events, relenting the moment she waxed poetic on how much good he'd be doing for the beneficiaries of the charity. 

 

But each one traces back to hero work; unofficial and official team ups to utilize a sharing of skills, using his heroic image to benefit anyone and everyone else, forming relationships that bolster a person's desire to do good or push them to change their ways. 

 

But there was barely a hint at a personal life!

 

Pinky was the closest he got to a shred of evidence he even had one, You’re faking being Cap when he’s a Superhero around superiors, is what he’d said. Hinting that Marvel didn’t always act as he did around the Justice League, he had a whole other demeanor or side to his personality Bruce hadn’t seen before but Pinky was familiar with.

 

The young looking man knows him, he could clock that Bruce wasn’t Marvel faster than any other proclaimed friend did when he was in similar situations with his other coworkers, he was caught and done for in one word to the guy. He probably knows Marvel better than the man knew himself, all Bruce knows is that he’s a former ‘ normal human being’ who got hit with a wizard’s lightning and loves the radio. The imbalance was infuriating .

 

Bruce breathed, making the body take calm breaths as he counted backwards from ten in his head, stressing over figuring his out would do him no good if his city still needed its hero.

 

He let himself glide down, falling like a feather, so he'd be more overhead then an observer far outside the city’s reach. Flying over traffic, waving back at civilians that called out to him, “Captain Marvel!” “Eyy! It’s ‘da Big Cheesey!” “Look ma, it’s Marvel!” 

 

He passed by lots of greetings with a chipper ‘ Hi!’ and a wave, passing by a playground he saw a young boy looking sadly up at a tree with his arms out. Bruce, knowing that Marvel was a sucker for the little things in heroism, dropped down to ask what was wrong.

 

A cat named Teucer stuck in a tree, a hissy calico with a chipped ear and a shorter tail than he should have. “Ma said he’d probably run off ‘cause he wasn’t here long yet,” the boy explained as Marvel floated up to try and coax the cat out. “But he’s a really sweet kitty, he’s just a bit jumpy ‘cause his last home wasn’t great. That’s what the adopt-y lady said anyways, an’ she’s right!” 

 

Bruce slightly doubted how right someone was on this cat being nice as it jumped into his arms just to go right for scratching at his face, leaving him eternally thankful that physical invulnerability can go all the way to soft tissues like a person's eyes as Teucer tied to claw his out. 

 

Handing the cat back to its owner, it calmed down enough to just growl at him with a scalding glare. The creature plotting a murder as the boy scratched behind its clipped ear and cooed at it, whispering “Why you gotta’ go an’ run off like that Tuce?” to the feline. It swiped his direction again and Bruce lifted Marvel's hands in a mock surrender to the animal and twisted his face into mock, nervous fear. 

 

The boy gently scolded the cat, “No bein’ mean to Marvel Teucer, he's a superhero.” Walking away with a laugh at his cats behavior followed by a thankful wave and smile to Bruce, “Thanks again Mr. Marvel sir!” 

 

Bruce waved him off, flying off with the thought that overly nice manners must be a staple of a Fawcett resident. Thinking about how Marvel called everyone some manner of Mr. and Mrs. before their with a Sir or ma'am at the end, “It's an honor to meet you Mr. Batman Sir!” 

 

It had taken Diana a week of knowing the Captain to reassure him that he didn't have to call her by Her Majesty every time they spoke, a solid month to get him to stop bowing everytime he greeted her. 

 

Bruce smiled at the memory, as odd as this city and the people living here could be it seemed like a wonderful place. Too nice for Bruce or any other Gotham native to not go stir crazy after a month, or in his growing case a day, but it had plenty of charm.

 

In the morning glow of a bright Wednesday, the city was something out of a dream to admire. It’s timeless, an ironic term all things considered, sprawling streets lined with all manner of hustle and bustle as people came and went. Outside of the clutches of modern minimalist architecture, each building had a soul, colorful and unique from its neighbors. 

 

Finding himself over Binder Bulevard, it was flooded with life. A seat atop the theater house’s sign gave the perfect view. 

 

Buses and cars decades behind in time gliding down the street as a million conversations took place, people heading into their day shifts passing those leaving their night shifts, a morning show finishing and a stampede of people taking the street by storm as they sang the songs from the play that just finished holding their hearts its hand, vendors calling out, and a paper boy on a crutch calling out ‘Extra! Extra!’ finding a customer in an old-new Chevy camaro. 

 

Pocketing the money from the sale into the satchel carrying the rest of his papers, the boy caught a glimpse of Marvel and beamed. Waving excitedly at him from across the sidewalk, leaning heavily on his crutch to bring the other hand as high as he could so Bruce would see the gesture. He waved back with a smile from his seat, turning his head to a street artist on the corner sketching out a couple in front of a boutique window.

 

Bruce was happy waiting, he'd have six more days of time like this. All he had to worry about was visiting a girl named Lucy tomorrow and then a charity event with the reformed half of Sivanna’s kids that called for Marvel's face, he could manage both easily. Worst case scenario was that Lucy would be as smart as Pinky and figure out that something was different about Marvel, but he doubted he’d be that unlucky with Marvel's family twice.

 

He heard thunder strike a block down, bringing his head up to look for any commotion he was confused at the distinct lack of clouds in the air. He seemed to be the only one to notice the odd occurrence, the people below continuing with their day like the sound was as common as a songbird in these early hours.

 

“Cap!” He turned his head to find Lieutenant Marvel flying to him from behind, “There you are, you n–” Bruce quickly raised his hand to signal the younger man to stop. “I'm not Captain Marvel, I’m Batman.” He’d said the phrase in his own voice as he’d said it a million times before, the Lieutenant just snorted a laugh.

 

“And I’m Superboy,” He threw his lopsided cape to the wind for dramatic effect. “Come on dude, you can make the joke but no one else can?” He giggled more as Bruce twisted Marvel’s face in confusion, mentally filing away his words to look into later. 

 

Floating out of his sitting position and flying to stand in front of him, Bruce tried to explain the situation. “I am Batman, Lieutenant. Me and–" “Oh come on Billy, the jokes deader than Kit at this point.” He crossed his arms, amused as Bruce tried to figure out how he could convince the man he isn't his friend.

 

Throwing his hands up in the air, he desperately asked “And how do I convince you I am Batman?” He didn't want to betray Marvel's trust on this level, Marvel isn't lying to his family while wearing his face and Bruce wont stoop that low for the sake of his own satisfaction.

 

Bewildered, the Lieutenant blinked at him, bringing his fingers to his chin to hold it in contemplation. Going as far as to tilt his head with a ‘ hmmm’ sound, once, twice, as he thought over something Bruce knew he already had an answer too. He gave him a cheeky grin, “Hows’about that bat-branded secret identity Mr. “ Oh I'd never sell out my he–”

 

“I'm Bruce Thomas Wayne.” The words forced themselves out of his mouth, he felt like he was slapped hard on the back to knock his name loose.

 

He hissed to the air between them, he could almost hear the glass shattering sound from the others internal thoughts as he stopped talking. Mouth gaped open from abandoning the words on his tongue, eventually allowing a series of confused sounds to bumble out as he flew back away from him. He was very animated in his shock, posing and twisting around the new information in the air before snapping back to his direction with both hands pointing at him. 

 

“BATMAN?!!” Was all he could muster at that point, “Batman.” Bruce nodded as the Lieutenant seemed to have a full mental shutdown before almost sending Bruce toppling back as he appeared mere centimeters from his face, rattling off questions a mile a second.

 

“How’d this happen? How many batarangs have you gone through? Where'd you get so badass? Who's the coolest model you've dated? How many Bat-suits do you have? Why do you team up with Red Hood when he's a drug lord?” Bruce almost spoke out in defense of his son's less-than-legal business practices in the Narrows, but the Lieutenant simply put a finger to his face and rattled off more questions now that he was an arms length away.

 

“And what's up with Bat-Woman? Why’s there a Bat-Woman and girl when there's never been a Batboy? What's the coolest feature of the Batmobile? What was the Failsafe incident Billy’s so sca–” Bruce slapped his hand away then, sending the Lieutenant recoiling in a childish defensive position, still never placing his feet to the ground as he hovered away from the visibly pissed off man in his friend’s body.

 

“You shouldn't know that.” He growled out, the only ones that should know of that were the ones he almost got killed when those plans got leaked. Marvel shouldn't know about it, and he certainly shouldn't be gossiping about it to his partners. 

 

“Uhhh,” Lieutenant Marvel averted his gaze, looking anywhere but at the man wearing and seeing red. “He um, it's just–” He stammered, twiddling with his thumbs as he inched back from Bruce's glare.

 

Clearing his throat and righting his posture to stand in the air straight, he crossed his arms and gave Batman a look of false confidence. Faking being someone above him to some degree to challenge his look, “Captain Marvel overheard about it and was worried about it.” He said coolly.

 

“And why would Billy have to worry about my plans?” The Lieutenant bit his lip at the mention of Marvel's real name.

 

“Is there something I could possibly do to actually hurt him? ” He emphasized his question with a curious tilt of the head, clasping his hands behind him as he stepped towards the blue colored Marvel, backing the man to the other end of the roof with each step.

 

Catching his calves on an air unit as he backed away, the man stumbled out of his flight and landed with a hiss of pain when he caught himself on his left leg. Bruce eyed how he almost went to grip the limb but shot himself back into the air higher than he was before, looking down at Bruce with a scowl.

 

“Christ, Cap was right. You are a ginormous asshole. ” He flew off, keeping his back to Batman as he called over his shoulder. “You come after me or my family before Cap’s back to normal and I will toss you into Cerberus’s chew toy pile!” 

 

Batman steeled his expression, thinking the conversation over. 

 

Marvel worries about his Failsafe Plan, Bruce thought. So there's something to worry about for him, he has a weakness Batman could find a way to exploit. 

 

Knowing the threat against him from both Zeus to erase his memories and Lieutenant Marvel to cause him harm, Bruce pulled his communicator from its hiding spot in Marvel's yellow sash. He typed what he knew for facts.

1. Marvel was once a human man
2. Fawcett is in a time bubble keeping it locked decades in the past
3. Marvel can physically see magic
4. His name is Billy, possibly a variant of Will or William
5. He had a vulnerability yet to be found
6. Lieutenant Marvel has a injury of some sort in his left leg

 

He knew all this now, but something else dawned on him. The Lieutenant only believed he wasn't Marvel because he named his secret identity, mocking him with the unfinished name “Mr. Oh I’d never sell out my he– ” He was going to say heroes, Marvel had the look of an admirer whose dreams had come true for months after joining the League. It was something completely Un-Marvel-Like to reveal that information to anyone, even to another hero he’d call his own brother on more than one occasion.

 

Marvel didn’t tell his own brother, a lover and fan of superheroes, private information and doing so was the sure sign Bruce wasn't his brother. Events that were not to be disclosed to outsiders, his family was privy to that, but not their identities. And it was the Failsafes they told them about, something that could very likely be as bad for them as it was for him since they shared the same powers and possibly the same weakness. 

 

Bruce looked at the notes he’d taken, finger hovering over the button that would send it to the Batcomputer, and felt a chilly weight come down on his back.

 

The old voice from before, Solomon, his brain provided as he chided the man. 

 

Surely you know this isn't fair, Dark Knight?

 

He hated how the question had him feeling like a kid being judged by his father, or judged by a steel faced Alfred. 

 

The Champion has done nothing but try and build a comradery with you, you are his hero Detective. The boy looked to you before he turned his head to the kryptonian, Solomon informed him. The vague image of a boy looking up in the night filling his mind, the feeling of safety despite the loneliness and cold of the night seeping into his bones keeping his heart warm. Bruce couldn't find himself able to move his thumb to send the notes home. 

 

The Captain is much better to have as an ally than an adversary, detective. Solomon's voice sighed, the cold in Bruce's spine became unbearably frigid. 

 

You won't listen, even at the advice of a prophet, you wont change your ways. He was tired, used to the scenario of his words falling of deaf ears.

 

I feel like that Cassandra girl most days, heroes begging for the knowledge I hold but going against the advice that would save them. He gave a weak chuckle as his presence faded from Bruce's periphery, taking the cold and most the weight with him. But what remained of it kept Bruce staring at the device in his hands, he cursed the dead king as he turned his communicator off and pocketed it back in Marvel's sash.

 

He stood on that roof for a time, the busiest street in the city long since having grown as quiet as such a busy city could get before Bruce flew off, wanting nothing more than to do something good to balance out the horrible feeling of the knife he was about to stick in Billy’s back.

Notes:

If anyone gets at all curious as to why Freddie is doing his paperboy job on a school day, Fawcett public schools have later start and end hours than other city schools due to some older traditions from being time locked. He’s squeezing in some extra hours before classes and he can use Hermes speed to make it as the bell rings just incase.

And Bruce complied with Freddie’s request due to his own promise to not keep Billy’s family in the dark, a promise he made while in Marvel body and thus enforced by Zeus, the slap on the back knocking the words out was Zeus’s influence.

Plus Solomons wisdom acting as the guiding conscience aspect it normally is, since Bruce’s is a lot more selective on when to tell Bruce to back off.

Chapter 18: From the depths of hell, an insurance salesman; Bruce Pt. 2

Summary:

Bruce’s day goes from bad to worse, one of Captain Marvel’s villains attacking a downtown apartment building and Bruce feels genuine pain for the first time all day.

Hell fire burns like a normal fire to him, but he’s left without his suits gloves. Without help to make sure he’s saving as many as he can, to make sure he can handle the situation while the bad guy still gets apprehended. He’s seen his family just hours prior and he’s still feeling terribly homesick.

Notes:

Here comes Cap villain number 2! The Arson Fiend!

Plus some divine assistance to Bruce so he doesn’t fail miserably to be Marvel or look as bad as he feels.

Bruce needed to think, that's all he needed.

 

Bouncing from one emergency to the next, the man got agitated. He had no issue before, when there was nothing keeping him from pursuing his leads, delving into worlds of information unknown to most normal men so that he could hold the upper hand if someone who could send the world off its axis decided they were done caring. But the minute he gets in Marvel's body he's bombarded with gods and long dead biblical kings telling him to back off, swatting at him with a paper like he was the proverbial misbehaving cat. 

 

Lifting the collapsed rubble of a burning apartment roof overhead so the residents could make their way outside to the firefighters, Bruce had to focus a good amount of his control to keep his face from appearing murderous at the bubbling rage. Lacking a physical form for any of the voices plaguing his head to hit, he focused his wrath on the arsonist responsible for the present situation. 

 

George Tweedle, the Arson Fiend. A former insurance salesman who extorted people into buying his insurance at the threat of having their properties burned to ash, lest they pay his ridiculous prices, now a thrall for Lady Blaze with demonic pyrokinetic powers who takes glee in burning innocents in hellfire. Something that was searing the palms of Marvel's hands as Bruce strained to keep the path to safety for the people clear, quickly shifting the weight of the collapsed ceiling and some floors above them to one hand to help a child who tripped over a fallen beam.

 

“Hurry out of here son,” He urged the small boy. “Hurry now!” He pointed him out before rushing his hand back to the pressing matter, watching as he made his way through the rubble and to a rescue worker through the opening he made in the wall previously. He tried to use Marvels Magic vision like Clarks X-Ray, searching for a signature of human life in their magical aura’s like Clark a human skeleton, but completely blinded by the hellfire burning the building down as its light covered every direction he looked.

 

A wicked, cackling laugh rang out from another part of the apartment building, “Not doing so hot are you Marvel?” Tweedle called, Bruce assessed his options. Drop the ceiling and risk there being more people to save, completely unable to be certain he's saved everyone without Oracle ensuring that everyone was accounted for or his sons helping what they assured was the last person out. Or he holds the ceiling until the hellfire snuffs itself out, losing its fuel as the firefighters contain the blaze as they've learned to after years of Tweedles attacks, so that he can apprehend the fiend and send him off to wherever they hold him. Cool his feet in Crowley Penitentiary or sealed away with his fellow evil entities in Marvel's Rock of Eternity, but that would mean Bruce chases him blind with any number of casualties left nipping at his heels.

 

“Don't tell me I've slain you this easily Captain,” His shrill voice carried itself through the smoke and embers. “It’d be quite the anticlimactic end, no?” His shrill laughter echoed through the ruins, Bruce grit his teeth as he deliberated over the thought of finding some way to throw the roof right on the guy.

 

Suddenly the searing pain of the weight in his hands lessened, he turned his head to find Mary Marvel taking up the roof. “I don't have long so make it snappy.” She hissed as she took to the air to force the rubble up, Bruce nodded and raced to where Tweedle's voice had come from. FInding the arsonist making his getaway through the back exit into the courtyard that seperated the building from its sister complexes, reaching out and summoning a fiery portal in the now crooked doorway. 

 

Bruce tackled the cape cladded man, pinning him to the ground. “You aren't escaping that easy, Fiend.” He spat to the man, who only returned his word with a manic fit of giggling. Turning his head to him, his twisted smile mocking him as the hellfire around them and through the portal roared in his ears. “You really think,” his words were cut off with a humorous laugh. “That you and your puny family can make a difference, it's laughable!” He broke into another fit, “Laughable!”

 

A voice whispered in the back of Bruce's mind, Return him to his humanity with the phrase, detective. Have him speak his phrase!

 

“Turn back and maybe I won't break your arm before turning you in, Tweedle.” Batman spat, his voice full of nothing but contempt for the man turned demonic pawn. He spat his own burst of flames at Marvel's face, forcing Bruce to draw back and release his hold to shield his face. Allowing for Arson Fiend to scramble to his feet and leap through the portal, keeping it open long enough for him to call out to him one last time. 

 

“The fair lady has plans for you Captain!” Bruce shakily got himself up to his feet. “Beware the demon running amok in the heart of the world's most accursed city!”

 

Bruce lunged but didn't make it before the portal closed behind Tweedle, he gave himself three seconds to seethe, to kick himself for letting a villain with knowledge of a larger scheme at play, just get away after he put so many in danger. Then he gets up and runs to check every room, lead the firemen and rescue workers out of the building with the others they could find, and pull Mary from her spot holding up the load of burning debris.

 

She looked a tad worse for wear by the end of it, he’s sure he did too. Smoking hair that went beyond the meaning of frazzled, soot smudged faces, and annoyed beyond relief.

 

“You really got to work on being Billy.” Mary broke the silence, “You do a good job for everyone else but you stink at this.” She shook her head and took off, “Where are you going?”

 

“I know who you are, Lieu told me what was up before–” She stopped herself, pressing her lips in a thin line as she planned out her next words. 

 

“I have other things to worry about, you pretending to be my brother isn't at the top of that list and I'm on a time crunch. Bye.” She was off, and Bruce finally felt tired. Tired physically, definitely, but also just tired of the situation. He hoped he could get at least one question out of Mary before she went, like where Marvel went to sleep, recharge his magic batteries, but again he's left with nothing but voices in his head.

 

Simply give it time, a tired voice told him. You will recover, just wash off that soot. You’ll feel rejuvenated with my Stamina shortly. Stamina? Oh, right, Stamina of Atlas. He could remember Marvel boasting about that his first week after he Booster complained that he was bone tired during a monitor shift, Marvel had bragged that he never had to sleep with the Stamina of Atlas. How Bruce wishes that was just playful banter and not one of his actual powers right now.

 

“And where am I going to wash off?” Bruce questioned to the sky, opening his arms waiting for his answer. He was met with a thick sheet of rain coming down, a storm of thunder rolling in from a distance.

 

There is your shower! Zeus’s voice chipperly supplied, he could hear the laughter causing Hermes to double over from wherever he resided in his subconscious. The rain washed away the soot and soaking his hair as it put an end to the flickering remainders of Arson Fiends hellfire.

 

Bruce swallowed the curses bubbling up in his throat, he’d incur the wrath of the gods when he’s in his own body. For now, he’s a flying wet cat of a hero in the rain as he bounces the Arson Fiends threat around his head.

 

Beware the demon running amok in the worlds most accursed city, Bruce massaged his temples. There are some things Marvel can deal with once he’s back in his own body, he gets enough riddles from Nygma.

Notes:

Adding onto last chapters notes, Mary is Mary Bromfield here. She had to get to the situation by sneaking out of school since this chapter takes place more into the afternoon than the last, which is why she had to leave so early.

Bruce is just wishing to feel tired again, he’s been perpetually tired for three decades now and isn’t used to constantly feeling well rested and rejuvenated.

Chapter 19: Back to square one; Bruce Pt. 3

Summary:

Bruce deals with the aftermath of Arson Fiends attack, finding himself between a rock and a hard place.

He then seeks out Marvels friend, learning something somehow more tragic about the Captain. Something he’ll doubt he’ll be forgetting anytime soon.

Notes:

Something both comics and a lot of people forget, the Wisdom of Solomon grants Captain Marvel an eidetic memory, here’s Bruce doing some ruminating on that angst factory of a power.

Fourteen.

 

Three burned alive by Tweedle, a heart attack, and ten smoke inhalations. Bruce let fourteen people die today, two of them were still alive when he chose to go after the Arson Fiend instead of checking the rest of the building.

 

The boy he urged out of the building lost his grandma, he was visiting her that week and was downstairs grabbing her mail for her when the stairway he just went down collapsed in flames. 

 

Bruce consoles him as he clings to the letter he got from his mom and dad, sent to his grandmother and singed at the sides. Clutching it close to his shirt, branding a smiling cartoon of Marvel and to his heart. Bruce stays by the boy, Cecil, as one responder called him, and sits by his side. Comforting him through the tremors of grief that shake his body as he curls around the burned paper, Zeus’s impromptu rainstorm soaking his red hair as the cold seeped past the shock blanket and worsened his shaking. Bruce has to reel himself in, only offering a steady hand on Cecil’s shoulder as he mourns, but keeps his sympathy open and obvious. 

 

Marvel is open to other victims, he comforts where he can and assures they will never be alone in what happens next. Bruce does the same, as himself and as Batman, but he can't pretend to be him to console someone. “Why didn't you save her?” Cecil looks past his soaked straight bangs and caught tears, the betrayal of his hero failing him shining in his eyes. “Why didn't you stop him?” 

 

Bruce can't give an answer, he tears his eyes away and sees another stretcher get loaded with a black bag and drive off. 

 

– – – 

 

Pinky is having a grand time.

 

Working security for Fawcetts Museum of Art is a wonderful job that, more often than not, puts him right where the city’s normal dose of magic based crimes starts out at. He's patrolling around the garden area, full of shrubbery and newer modern art installations littered throughout, making sure nothing suspicious happens. Something he somewhat fails at today when one of his dear friends descends from the heavens. 

 

He knows Billy would’ve had the common sense to come as himself, sneak peeks at all the newer pieces coming in with all the traveling exhibitions and play the part of the bright eyed, history loving child he never grew out of being until he found Pinky. That, or he’d put his slight shapeshifting abilities to dress Marvel in something more innocuous. Like the trench coat fedora combo, or something reminiscent of his dads old look, all ugly plaid sweater vests and dressed in his sunday best. 

 

But Batman doesn't have common sense, he has his own Bat Brand of super senses that tells him Marvel probably drops in like this all the time to have lunches with his best buddy on his breaks. He almost feels bad for framing himself as his number one bestie when Freddy definitely takes that title by a mile, but outside of his actual family he's the guy whose known Billy Batson the longest, he can still remember his mom bringing him in on a stroller to see whatever pieces the Batson couple discovered and were on display. 

 

“Hey buddy!” The Bat fakes his friends' ever chipper salutations, he drops to the ground with a skip in his step. “How’ve you been?” 

 

He throws his arm around his shoulder and leads him to the employee entrance to get him out of visitors' sights, “Marvel doesn't visit me at work in full hero get up.” He whisper yells to the man, pulling him closer like a friend ecstatic to see his best of buddies. “I know you didnt but just focus on looking like someone different and the suit will change.”

 

He wonders for a second how he figured out where he works, but then remembers he probably has Billy’s gods helping him navigate half this charade.

 

He twirls the man through the entrance where he lands against the wall, Pinky closes the door faster than it would on its own to minimize the risk of people seeing Batman. He can almost feel the bewildered look burning into the back of his head, running his fingers through his bright ginger-red hair as he thinks through a conversation plan. 

 

Just get him to focus on a new look, he tells himself, not like Billy would be upset about that. He has to go to that party this week anyway so he needs to know how to switch suits, just tell him it's a clothing manipulation spell he knows by heart or something! Hell, blame the power on Zeus!

 

Turning on his heel to face his fellow caped crusader he jumps back at his proximity in the narrow hallway, his eyes betraying the painted on look of his friend. “What happened?” He doesn't know Batman, or whoever is under that mask, but he knows Billy well enough to know that look even when someone else is pulling the strings. He's played mentor long enough and seen that stare in the mirror enough times to know it at a glance, someone died and the man with all the power in the world to make a difference didnt know how to help. 

 

He hovers his hand over Marvel's arm, knowing that some people need others to ground them to the present and some need to be left alone, else the attempt at comforting them makes things worse. He doesn't know where Batman stands on that though, so he draws his hand back. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

 

– – – 

 

Now this is more his speed, munching on the egg sandwich he'd made this morning and a bag of chips from the break room vending machine as he tutors a struggling hero through the toughest moments he was lucky enough to have his dad for. 

 

Main difference being he's comforting a veteran hero who's been at this for about a third of the time he has, not a kid whose suffering PTSD nightmares at the ripe old age of nine. But Batman is probably going to have some very familiar fire filled nightmares after this week, or at least when he figures out Captain Marvel can sleep, just at the risk of some freaky prophetic dreams or nightmares of the deaths of champions past. Hopefully he never does, despite how his whole body slumps in a cocktail of emotional and mental exhaustion, Pinky really doesnt think Billy would much appreciate the guy crossing generational lines of privacy.

 

He sat there trying to comfort the man for the better half of his lunch break, but his main talking points of comfort didn't really get more than a thousand yard stare or glare, he definitely wasn't going to be offering an awkward side hug anytime soon to the guy anytime soon. He doubted he'd even want or appreciate the gesture. “Y’know, that's the worst part of Billy's powers?” Batman recognized him with a questioning ‘ hmm’ sound. 

 

Pinky took a sip of his water, “Solomon's wisdom gives him all the knowledge he'd ever need, from literal rocket science to the most obscure occult trivia, even pulls a jiminy cricket with the guiding conscience thing.” He gave a humorless chuckle, fiddling with the cap of his water bottle. “But he can't forget anything that happens, eidetic memory and all.” Bruce blinked himself out of his daze, looking at Pinky for the first time in the last half hour.

 

“I doubt it’ll be that bad for you,” He offered. “You’ll only really remember every detail of what happened for however long you're in his body in the best case scenario.” 

 

“And the worst case?” Pinky sighed, hating magic and its stupid rules and applications as much as the next guy. “Worst case is all your memories from this week snap into Billy’s, and you're stuck with everything.” 

 

They sat in silence for a minute longer, then his digital watch beeped the notification that his break was over. Getting up with a sigh, he offered a hand to Batman. “Here's hoping for the best case.” He gave a weak smile, Batman searched his hopeful expression for something. Pinky hoped he found what he was looking for, because he took his hand and chimed, “Here's hoping.”

 

– – –

 

Eidetic memory, yet another little quirk to the Captain Bruce would envy had it been under different circumstances. Or worry about, knowing himself.

 

Looking back, he's stunned at every small detail he can remember. How many birds he's flown by already, three-hundred forty-eight. The detail of everyone's faces, how many steps it took him to reach Tweedle when he chased him, nine-teen. And then, clear as day, like it was still happening, the look on Cecil's face. Twisted in agony like he's seen a million times before, but there's no fade to the memory. 

 

It's as clear as if he's watching every second of his cowl camera footage, no detail unaccounted for. But that's how all Marvel's memories supposedly work, he can't forget like everyone else does. 

 

He shakes Pinkys hand and leaves him to the rest of his workday, flying off and looking down at the city as he goes. Wondering just how little there is to Fawcett the Captain hasn't memorized by heart, how much of his own life he's not allowed to forget. 

Notes:

Pinky has been around a /while/ so he’s known Billy a while to, knowing him as that bright eyed kid who loved visiting with his folks and then the up and coming hero he helped mentor.

Billy has had some weird powers, but the ability to literally never forget what happens would suck, especially when he’s already getting nightmares. I’d like to hope Billy’s memories and Marvels memories can stay separate, the kid has enough on his plate.

Chapter 20: On Wednesday's, we wear pink; Billy

Summary:

Bruce Wayne is invited to a charity event, wherein there’s a lot of art to admire, and even more to admire from the Wayne family as they dress in all pink to a formal black tie event.

All goes well even as Damian speaks out and finds himself interested in an odd statue, Billy finds himself interested in the odd smell permeating the rooms air.

Notes:

Billy has been having it a bit easy compared to Bruce, let’s even those scales shall we?

“Stop! That tickles!” He tries to shy away from the makeup sponge Tim was pressing just below his eyelids, giggling at the weird sensation. 

 

“It would stop tickling if you stopped moving!” Tim snaps, grabbing Billy by the chin to apply the makeup. Leading to a battle of Billy’s giggly squirming in the vanity chair and Tim trying to keep him still, Billy would feel bad later but for now all he’s thinking of is how the heck some ladies do this every day.

 

Especially Bruce, since apparently the face of Brucie Wayne is accomplished with about three crates worth of cosmetics and a solid three hours of various beauty care regiments at the same time. He can hear the make up brush clatter against the wall, peeking an eye open he can see Tim looking at him from where he’s perched on the vanity and where the excess makeup on the brush hit the wall. “We done?” “Yup,” He tilted the mirror at him, Billy raised an awed hand to his face but stopped sort of touching it.

 

“Can I?” Tim nodded, amused when he poked around his face. Stretching it out, testing various expressions, and then slapping his cheeks like he was trying to wake from a dream. The amusement grew into soft laughter when Billy spoke with a gleeful sparkle to his eyes, “I love it” in a hushed tone.

 

“Didn't take you for the type to like makeup, Cap.” Billy gave him a quizzical look, “Y’know, just always seemed like you had the perfect face for yourself already. Didnt think youd care so much.” he explained.

 

“Oh no no no! Believe me, I’m more than happy with my face as is, it's just really done well!” He remarked turning back to the mirror, marveling at how Tim was able to make Bruce look about twenty years younger. “I’d never be able to get this good.” Billy said, more to himself, but it didn't fail to fall onto Tims ears. It took him a second to realize he was looking at him again, flickering his eyes from admiring Tim’s handiwork to the man himself.

 

“What?” “Since when do you wear makeup?” Ah, right. Big masculine heroes aren't exactly what you'd expect to try girly things , even if girls' clothing made Billy feel a little handsome-er than the bland outfits other boys his age mash together. He liked the style, not like boy's jeans have embroidered flowers on pockets or fancy dress shirts with dramatically long tails and frills at the arms. Who’d expect Captain Marvel to paint his nails and practice applying makeup with his sister, heh , especially when they try and copy those beauty video’s and turn out looking entirely different from the other. 

 

He shied into himself, blushing behind all the concealer and its sister products at accidentally blurting that fun little factoid about himself out. Fearing he just made himself look like a weirdo when Tim gave his shoulder a playful jab, “You aren't the first to like gussying yourself up a bit, trust me.” That last comment, trust me, made things better. 

 

Tim slapped his hands together with a ‘ welp’ and motioned for Billy to follow, heading to the bed and picking up a hanger with, what he assumed, was going to be his outfit for the charity event. It was all pink, and Billy suppressed his new fit of giggles. “Bruce mentioned watching a lot of chick flicks with Stepanie Monday, including Mean Girls.” He jostled the ridiculously hot pink suit as the hanger dangled from his finger, “So Brucie is heading out with her and his precious baby boy to this event, matching outfit themes of course.” 

 

Billy hid his laughter behind the back of Bruce's well manicured hand, imagining Damian and Stephanie in all pink. “The fact it's a black tie event be damned,” Tim added with an impish smile. “The press will love it, and Bruce will love that he's building the ‘Late to the game overly doting dad’ image to usurp his ‘Most eligible bachelor’ one.” 

 

Billy remembered hearing Mrs. Fidelity, his co-worker, gossip about that over lunch a few times. How it was finally time he started acting like a real dad and not a phrase Billy wouldn’t want to repeat, even in his own head. He’s liked the shift too, Bruce definitely has some fun stories from his newer misadventures in his civilian persona, and he’s thankful for the shift now that he’s going to have to be Bruce. He can’t fathom having to do half the ‘Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist’ shtick, he still blushes and flies into signs when Beautia decides to flirt with him! 

 

Looking the outfit over, Billy holds his chin and puts on his thinking face. Humming a few times before asking, “Would I look better or worse with a feather boa?” The delighted smile on Tim’s face gave him his answer, feather boa it is!

 

— — — 

 

Billy is happily kicking his feet in the back of Bruce’s limo, freaking limo! , on the way to the event with Stephanie and Damian. Stephanie in a ‘ Legally Blonde ’ inspired outfit, a hot pink suit and pencil skirt with gold bracelets, and Damian grumpily rocking his own full piece cotton candy pink suit. Though he had foregone the suit jacket and had his sleeves rolled up, the vest covered in rosé embroidery was phenomenal though. 

 

But, to keep with the theme of the party, ditzy and somewhat clueless Brucie and his kids were wearing a thin, black tie with each outfit. Billy’s mostly obscured by the boa and ridiculous amount of snazzy jewelry Bruce had for such a showy look, he had a feeling Bruce would either admire or loathe how much he committed to the bit. But this is Batman, if he can’t appreciate some theatrics he should’ve never added batears to his cowl.

 

Stephanie leaned over with her phone, “Smile for the camera!” and took a selfie with Billy. Pink, heart shaped glasses and all. Billy flashed the pearly whites, smooshing his cheek against Stephanie’s. She then snapped a picture of Damian looking out the window, his head swirling to the sound once he heard the click. “Delete that immediately!” “Nah” Steph, smoothly replied as she began to type aloud.

 

“On this episode of Keeping up with the Wayne’s, we look pretty in pink for tonight’s event!!!” Billy had to stifle his laugh as she said each exclamation point out loud, “Sounds great.” He looked over her shoulder at her post, finding her Twitter handle being @ SpoilerAlert to be more than a little on the nose. But, Freddys’ does say @ HeroManager and Billy doesn't give him crap about it, so he won't say anything. No reason to be a jerk.

 

“ Tt ,” Damian clicked his tongue. “Just because you wear fathers face doesn't mean you have to constantly act like we’re your children, Captain. ” Billys’ name off his lips dripped with poison, confusing the teen.

 

“I’m just having fun,” he defended himself. “Trust me, I don’t me–” Damian threw a hand in the air, “And why should I trust you? I hadn’t met you until just yesterday!” He yelled. The divider between them and the front dropped with a whirr. 

 

“Master Damian, the Captain is simply doing as your father requested while remaining ever so positive in his shoes.” Damian crossed his arms and mumbled something sounding like, ‘ I knew that already.’ Alfred continued, “If you’d be so kind as to remember all the ways Master Kent tried to excuse himself from any and all events when he was in the same situation?” 

 

“No, no, It’s nothing really!” He waved his hands to try and reassure the man, “I get that I come off fatherly,” For some reason, Billys’ mind supplies. “But I'm just trying to not screw all this up. I mean, like Damian said, I’ve never had the chance to meet you all as heroes other than Tim and I really want to make a good impression.” 

 

He rambled, looking back to his fellow passengers. “You guys are all super amazing and really fun to hang out with, I don’t want to let Bruce down as much as I don’t want to just be some non-entity just taking up space in the house.” He spun a rose gold ring of h-Bruce’s finger, he really didn't want to mess this whole week up. Jason already seemed nice, Steph was fun to be around, Tim is as cool and weird as he remembers, Cass was sweet, he liked everyone he's gotten to really meet. 

 

Steph nudged his side, “And you’re doing a bang-up job Cap! Just gotta be a doof tonight and buy a bunch of pieces once that auction starts up, then Sunday you gotta have that puppy interview.” She waved everything off like it was no big deal, “Puppy interview?” That got Billy excited.

 

“We’re here Captain,” Alfred informed them as he slowed the car to pull up. Steph slapped his arm with the back of her hand, “Let’s make a fool of ourselves for some headlines!” She cheered, eliciting a groan out of Damian. “Oh shush, you love your outfit, picked it out yourself and everything.”

 

Opening the door she was the first to step out to head to the building proper, brightly lit and beautiful to Billy, run off the mill and common to everyone else he shared a car ride with. “I only picked the vest for the roses…” Damian mumbled as he headed out behind Steph, grabbing Billy’s hand and dragging him out with him.

 

Billy had four seconds to get his face ready for a barrage of cameras, lights that would've blinded him snapping a million times a second had he not gotten used to so much light from his lightning. He imagined the sly grin Bruce always seemed to wear in his photos and mixed in his own genuine happiness to the smile, making the short walk from the limo to the doors childs play. Leaving the camera’s with an eyeful of Bruce Wayne and his favorite Not-his-daughter kid and his youngest kid wearing their gaudy outfits to admire some art before flexing their wealth in true Wayne manner, by spending too much to one up every other buyer and looking their own brand of good while doing it. 

 

The eager chirpings of “Mr. Wayne! Mr. Wayne!” with rapid fire questions being thrown his way. He drowned them out and ignored them for now, he would have the faintest idea how to answer most if they were about Wayne Enterprises, or god forbid whatever scandal they want to milk for all its worth. But he answered one to an older, gangly reporter by the door. “Why the extravagant pink outfits Mr. Wayne? Have you no more shame?” 

 

Billy offered a smile he’d practiced a million times for cameras at the rude question, one that was reassuring and as charismatic as a hero’s ought to be, “Stephanie got me hooked on the idea! And I’ve got to say they look good on us too, she's got a real eye for this sorta thing.” 

 

Waving the man off as Damian dragged him in, Billy stomped down any nervousness he’d normally feel at being the center of attention. But the Courage of Billy Batson had plenty of years hosting live events and ceremonies as the WHIZ Kid and representative of WHIZ radio under his belt, he could handle a room of people staring at him like the pink human peacock he was dressed like.

 

Shaking his head when a waiter offered a drink, he let Damian drag him around. Playing the part of a dad keeping himself included in one of his sons favorite things, ‘ Ohh’ ing and ‘ Ahh’ ing at most everything Damian pointed at and keeping note of their labels. He humored the idea of asking to keep one painting if he got it here, one that looked to have had Wonder Woman as the artist's muse as someone with her likeness bested a three headed lion, knowing Freddy or Darla would flip their lid if they found it in their spot of the trophy room once this week was over. 

 

But he could cross that bridge once he got there, instead focusing on the statuette Damian seemed to like of a beautiful woman admiring herself with multiple mirrors in multiple hands. The statuette felt vaguely familiar to Billy as he read the name, “ Vanity”. As odd as it was to him, he could appreciate the beauty of the sculpture and why Damian would seem so enamored with it.

 

Though he did find two things odd as the night went on, why Damain had seemed incapable of not keeping his eyes off the piece the rest of the evening for one. And for two, the smell of something earthy in the air, like he got dropped onto the Kent farm and got a face full of the corn fields. 

 

He didn't get a chance to question if Damian smelled it too before his heart rate spiked and he lost his breath to the sudden change, then the screaming started.

Notes:

Ehehhee!

Let’s see how well things go in the next chapter! Billy is going to be going through it once more.

Also, fun little tidbit I found about the Sins, they get more active in their prisons at night. Especially on full/new moons. So Damian will have times in the day and before the witching hours where he’s more himself as he’s influenced by them, like how he was outright rude and taking things the worst way in the middle of the night before but just being a tad antagonistic in the evening. Poisoning is a process, especially with souls.

Chapter 21: Pride cometh before the fall; Damian

Summary:

Reacting according to his training, Damian quickly separates himself from the party to prepare to face Crane until backup can arrive on scene. What his training hadn’t prepared him for were forces of hell coaxing him with promises of rulership of the world.

Notes:

Just realized how much I’m going to hate writing Dami like this, the Sins being corruptive influences making him way to close to his fanon “one bad word away from murder demon child who hates everyone and everything” self. That’s what I get for this though, I can fill the rest with my normal self-indulgent junk in the meantime though.

He's quick to cover his face, knowing inhaling the fumes will compromise him as it's begun to do to most the guests. Nervous tremors and people jumping at the slightest movement triggering a cascade of people reacting to their screams, soon the whole room is a symphony of the sound.

 

The mad conductor of this orchestra overcome by their fears stands tall, taking in the melody of madness he’d brought. “Music to my ears!” Crane stayed focused on the disorder of the scene, listening to people call out the monsters after them or cry as anxious visions showed what they care for crumbling in their hands. The man next to Damian began to scratch at his skin wildly, blubbering through his terrified cries about the bugs crawling under his skin.

 

“What simple fools,” “A good study for our needs, perhaps this doctor would do well at our side?” “The buffets open! Grab something!” The sins buzzed in his head, he kept his train of thought focused on making it to the bathrooms, weaving through the crowd below the canopy of people's heads so he could change into Robin unnoticed. Not sparing a glance at the pink clad imposter he left behind.

 

He made it to the boys room, making quick work of ridding himself of his ridiculous suit, ‘But you love this suit, didn't the roses remind you of mother?’ A voice at the back of his mind queried, causing him to flinch when he heard a seam pop in his haste.

 

“Your mother would be prouder if you got on with it, Prince.” Another voice spoke.

 

“Who’s in there?!” A goon with a burlap mask similar to Cranes slammed the door open, luckily Damian had his mask applied and was at the ready. The oaf aimed his gun, firing and breaking the mirror behind him as he dodged the bullet. Closing the distance he slammed the heel of his hand to the man's chin with a loud Crack! , kicked his legs from under him, and delivered a right cross. He hadn't been knocked out yet, but one more well placed blow would've done the trick.

 

But he didn't just deliver one blow.

 

His fist met his face again and again, this voice raucous and domineering as it egged him on. Past when his jaw cracked and his glove became slick with blood, until the only thing keeping him from hitting the ground was Damian clutching his shirt. He reeled his fist back for another blow when a force kept it there as he fumed over the goon, “You should kill him yet, dear Prince.” 

 

 A gentle hand guided him to look at the pieces of mirror that remained stuck to the wall, seeing the woman he recognized in the statuette, leaning to speak into his ear as she pointed with one of her many hands to the man in his grip. “He has a use, as does his blood.”  Her voice curled in his ear, “You remember the symbols, you are far too smart to have simply forgotten.” Her voice held a slight lit at the thought he'd forgotten them, his failure being laughable. It filled his chest with Pride.

 

“ Prepare the door,” six more voices joined in as he dragged the barely conscious man to the door back to the party. “we will help you.”

 

He wrote the symbols as he remembered them, all the same order as he repeated the sequence six times more. Scooping blood from the man's bloodied face to make due, ignoring everything else, from the continued screaming outside and the mans choked breathing through his injuries.

 

Envy hopping from foot to foot behind him, muttering for him to hurry, his three sets of arms floundering about as he got antsy by the fourth line of symbols. Wrath grabbed his much smaller brother in his enormous iron grip, squeezing the misbehaving roach of a demon between his gauntlets. “Silence you insect!” Lust hissed through his mouth guard, struggling against the straight jacket holding his hands firmly to his sides with the desire to strangle the other Sin. 

 

By the sixth line the goon began to stir and wriggle weakly out of Damians grip, “Boys, hush! Pride bit out, “Our Champion needs our aid.” She placed one set of hands on his shoulder to urge him on, the rest holding the rest of his arms to his sides as they hymned the words.

 

“Seven lands torn by seven wars, seven locks and seven doors, reveal yourself to the Champion, so say the Seven Sins.” She tapped his shoulder, “Lay him against the door and say the word, dear Prince.” 

 

He wanted to ask what word she was talking about, why he needed to place the man to the door, when the word wormed its way to his brain. Knowledge unknown to him before coming in an epiphany, “Shazam.”

 

He whispered the word like a prayer as he let the man drop against the door, a black rot taking hold as his scream drowned out the Sins’ cheers. The rot burned through him as it withered him skeletal, left with enough life to reach out before his body collapsed like sand under its weight into a fine ash, dirtying his shoes as the symbols glowed white hot. Searing itself into the door as tears seared his eyes, his stomach dropping as his world spun.

 

“Don’t falter,” Pride steadied him before he could collapse. But her firm grip on him didn't stop the bile from bubbling out of his mouth, desecrating what was left of the man's body. Pride chided him further, “Some must perish for you to claim your throne above whelps like him, you're so close already Damian, soon you'll never need to raise a blade to your enemies again.”  

 

Damian tentatively reached to the handle on the door, feeling a zap to his fingers as he took hold of it and opened the passageway. A cold breeze welcoming him, the draft pulling him in and welcoming him like a friend, cooling his nerves. He took a step forward, wobbling on his feet when he felt the ash shift under his foot, but Wrath urged him on with hatred filling his heart. 

 

Hatred for the evil who aligned themselves with scum for the sake of terror, to kill and maim for the thrill as they gave themselves over to their bloodlust. He deserved it, the world is better without bastards like him. I’ll shape this world to have no room for monsters like him, I’ll make this world my own.

 

Stepping over the threshold, his friends rejoiced as they trailed behind him, the door creaking shut as the scorched wood healed. Leaving no trace of the blood smeared on its surface or the symbols burned into it, only a floor stained with soot and soiled by a boy's stomach contents.

Notes:

Oof, Damian ain’t doing great. He’s gonna go catatonic once he’s just himself again, poor kid just killed a guy again.

If the descriptions I gave of the sins cause confusion, I’m basing their designs off their form in the new 2016 and 2019 Shazam comics, with the addition of Pride having many hands to hold many mirrors. Her main set being actually attached to her while the others are more spectral, floating hands with smoky connections to her torso.

Also, Lust is not going to be saying anything bc that’s a child. Main players being Pride and Wrath for now, Envy will have some things to say around the bat family but he’ll be scuttling in the background for now.

Chapter 22: Fears and Delights; Dick

Summary:

As much as he wants to search for his baby brother, Dick knows how dangerous it is to leave Bruce’s body alone and defenseless where a million coverups can happen. He’ll stand guard, be there to catch a fellow hero if he needs catching and keep him company as the toxin purges from his system.

Notes:

This took a bit but I’m so happy to be celebrating 250+ Kudos!!! So we’ll be visiting the hospital this episode to check on Billy and get some more bonding for this fic that’s becoming very self indulgent for me

Dick is hoisting up a Catwoman copy-cat, say that ten times fast, ha. When his watch buzzes, tilting his wrists pulse point to his face he sees it’s a message from Babs, encouraging him to save the quippy remark of how he’s getting diet versions of Batman villains and finish leaving the guy to hang out for the cops. 

The alleyway nearby is wonderfully narrow so he can easily wall jump to his heart's content to the top, pressing down on the watch's crown to open the video feed, where he meets Oracle's icon and her distorted voice. “Hey-o, O. What’s the haps?”

He can feel the glare, “Nightwing.” He kicks one of his feet and looks away, grinning. “Aw, come on Delphi, I’m just having some fun.” He shrugs off the glare he knows he’s still getting from her, probably pinching the bridge of her nose with her glasses off muttering about all the coffee she needs to get through the night. Though that does have him making the mental note to grab some more filters for his coffee maker before he heads home.

“The Red Cheese got a whiff of some spoiled corn and the Baby Shrike fell out of the nest,” Dick bristles at that. “I can’t find Shrikes flight plan and Cheese got lumped with the rest of the groceries.” Setting all humor aside, Dick nods and presses the crown of his watch again. He leaps from roof to roof, back to where he left his cycle so he can race home and help with the search.

Red Cheese is Marvel, that spoiled corn means he got fear gassed. Dick doesn’t want to think what a guy like Cap could have nightmares of, he’s thankfully lacking in the whole fighting demons and bordering on godhood department with his anxieties, who knows what’s swimming through his head.

Baby Shrike is Damian specifically, the little passerine bird that impales their prey on the thorn around their homes to eat for later. Falling out of the nest means he got kidnapped, not having a flight plan for him means she can’t find his suits tracker, so Crane must’ve grabbed him and found some way to disable it.

He kicks the stand of his bike up and roars out of the alley, heading straight home to get caught up with the others. Bab’s said Cap got ‘mixed with the rest of the groceries’ so Cranes attack must’ve been handled by the GCPD first, it’d be the only reason he can think Cap would’ve been taken as a civilian to a public hospital. He knows that isn’t going to go over well, not when he isn’t as used to Fear Gas like Bruce is.

He’s going to wake up cuffed to his hospital bed because the staff can’t risk a patient being a danger to themselves in their state, if he wakes up before the general antidote does it’s full round in Bruce’s system he’ll be at the risk of a goddamn heart attack from the stress.

‘They’ll keep an eye on him,’ he tries to reassure himself. ‘No nurse or doctor is going to let Bruce Wayne die like that. At least, if they aren’t paid off by someone, or a firm hater of all rich people, or an angel of death killer who wants the high profile press of saving a Wayne from the precipice of death, or any number of other kinds of people and dear god he has to get to his hospital room to make sure he doesn’t die.’

– – –

Getting in is easy, threaten some waterworks to the front desk about how ‘He just has to see his dad because he's been in a horrible attack’ and he's pointed right to his room. No climbing through the window and standing ominously in a dark corner when nurses come in, just a normal guy being worried for his dad. A normal guy who happens to be Dick Grayson whose dad happens to be Bruce Wayne, be he digresses. 

Point is, he makes it to the room. Where his dads body is strapped to the bed to make sure, in the unfortunately common scenario he wakes up from a Toxin induced night terror and flips out, he can't be a danger to himself or any nearby staff. But that has a chance of just exacerbating the whole problem and sending him into cardiac arrest from the stress, one that's way too high for his liking as a practice and why every Bat with half a mind prefers just riding it out with updated anti-toxins’ in the Cave. It’s bad enough to have the risk of Bruce dying, it's worse when this scenario has the chance of permanently kicking him out of his body or killing two people at once.

Thankfully the heart monitor is showing normal signs for a man in his condition sleeping soundly, the IV administering the general antidote for Cranes toxin stuck in his restrained arm doing its rounds as whatever has him knocked out keeps him that way. Dick grabs his chart and reads through what they're using, wincing slightly at the morphine levels, he knows with Bruce's tolerance Cap is going to end up waking up early.

Flicking his eyes from the man and back to the chart, he worries a lot on just how he's going to react when he does. He knows now that Cap used to be a normal person before the whole Champion of magic thing, thank you Pinky Butler for being a friend, but everything else is a blank to take a gamble on. He can't predict if he’ll flip out from a bad hospital experience being triggered and being a catalyst for what's left of Cranes toxin or if he’ll be able to wake up with the same level headedness you’d expect out of Batman. He highly doubts the latter, and prays against the former, when his phone buzzes against his leg.

JayBird: How is it on your end?

You: Bruce looks fine, just doubting he’ll stay asleep. You remember all the stunts he pulled that landed him in the hospital? 

JayBird: Yeah.

JayBird: Remember anything that might help calm him down?

Dick thought for a second, trying to come up with something he could remember Bruce or Cap mentioning that he liked to help him keep calm while he was here, granted he woke up before he could be safely discharged. He remembers Bruce having some theory on radio waves, apparently Cap had waxed poetic about listening to songs on the radio. One stake out they did together Cap had talked about how cool Gothams’ zoo had looked from above on his flight over, he’d asked Dick if he'd ever been and passed time talking about animals. 

Dicks mind drifted to the idea of just getting the guy a ‘get well soon’ bear since he went on about bear facts back then, that or just playing a radio station broadcast for him from his phone. It’d be best to keep him calm if things went wrong.

You: I have a few ideas

You: Think Tim’s too busy to answer my texts? He might have some better ideas

JayBird: Oh yeah, said he was gonna play some new video game with Dami

JayBird: Probably won’t hear you over the game

You: ok. Call ya later brobro

JayBird: Dont call me brobro, fucks sake

 

Dick pockets his phone, crossing his arms and thrumming his fingers nervously at his elbows as he thinks his next moves over. He knows Tim is busy looking for Damian, Jason too, but he's here making sure nothing happens to Bruce's body or to the Captains mind if the Toxin is a more potent variant or one the general treatment won't help much against by the time he manages to wake up. He feels almost useless, but someone has to be here to catch Marvel if he falls into the deep end on this. 

He wishes that were enough to get his nerves settled as his leg takes a mind of its own with its jumping, looking from the heart monitors to Bruce's face and the clock as he waits for something about tonight to change. 

How did Crane disable the tracker? The question plagues his mind, even if it stops transmitting it has a signature to it that Bab’s could track all the way to the other side of the galaxy if he got in trouble with a teleporter. Nothing should be able to stop them from finding each other in costume, and as smart as Crane could be he doubts he’d manage to somehow dupe them on this. 

The sinking feeling in his gut gets worse, worrying his lip as every scenario swirls through his head. Some new but most reminiscent of what they've already gone through in that uniform, he almost doesn't notice Cap waking up, but he does and it's a welcome excuse to not focus on just his thoughts for now.

He moves slowly, noting that Cap’s eyes are darting around the room in anxious expectation for something, so he just slowly comes up from his chair to avoid startling him and being a catalyst for weavers left of the toxin. “Hey B,” He starts. Getting enough of his attention as he tries to breathe shakily through whatevers running through his head. “You ok?”

Cap opens his mouth to speak, but just heaves a strained sound out as he grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut. Gripping at the bedsheet as he concentrates on breathing through his nose until his breath evens out, Dick places a hand on his shoulder as he pushes himself through it.

He opens his eyes and tries again, floundering for the words and getting his mouth to work before rasping out, “Are they ok?” Dick, trying to make sure he’s not inquiring about someone from a hallucination, asks. “Are who ok, B?”

“Staphanie an-and Damian. D-did they get out ok?” He manages, Dick gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and a smile. “They're fine, Steph got out for some air before the attack and didn't get hit.” Cap heaves a sigh of relief, thankfully not catching on to the fact he hadn’t said how Damian avoided the gas.

For now, he's just happy Cap’s only got some jitters from this for now, not even freaking out over the cuff thing. Just breathing his way through it all, five in and seven out, is what he notices. And Dick rejoices that at least this part of the night isn’t going wrong, being able to just occupy his time making sure nothing bad happens in the hospital while he makes conversation with Cap. He throws a quick text to Babs.

You: Camera on my laptop fixed?

Babs: Yeah, it's good for your next zoom call.

He spares a glance to the camera in the room and where another is situated in the hallway, thankful he won't have to censor himself as much anymore.

– – –

“–And that's why the first Nightwing suit looked like that!” Dick finishes recalling the tale to a, now unhandcuffed by the wonderful hospital staff and smiling around the spoonful of his jello cup, Captain Marvel. The door to the room closed so they could just talk the night away while Dick tries not to worry about his baby brother while waiting for the doctor to clear them to leave. Thankfully the conversation is easy to keep going since Marvel turns out to be a fan of him.

“That's so–” he stops himself to swallow his bite, silently scolding himself for bad manners as Dick chortles a laugh. “That's so cool man! Me and Leiu loved your old look, he got into this scrapbooking hobby with Mary and he got every snapshot he could get of your old suit.” He chuckled at a memory, “Honestly he loves anything retro, but he really loved when hero suits had a lot more style before everyone decided on excessive body armor. And even when they have invulnerability! He thought it was so dumb.” 

He really can't argue on that one, their old suits were pretty good looking, no matter how much his siblings like to clown on his deep V-cut. Or the tassels, or his mullet, it had much more soul than black spandex with his crest. Marvel prattled on, “God, you were his hero for the longest time. He’d get his folks to sign him up for gymnastics and kill it every class he had, he still practices his flips at the community center and on any jungle gym he can make due with, even with his–” He pauses, halting his reminiscing to press his lips in a thin line. Like he'd almost let something lose he couldn't take back.

“Something up Cap?” Dick questioned, wondering where he was going. It sounded like the Lieutenant was a big fan, to the point he practiced to pull off his moves and got started being a gymnast, but if there was an ‘even with–’ then something probably stopped or hindered him.

Marvel swallowed, poking at the remnants of his jello cup with his spoon Thinking over what he should say, or if he should even say it at all, from the looks of it. “Lieu… there's a lot magic can't fix,” he decided on, leaving a cryptic answer in the air until he took a steading breath and continued.

“Before he got his powers, before I could even… help him, he got injured in the cross hairs of one of my fights.” His spoon thunked at the bottom of the cup, looking on mournfully at nothing in his lap as he stared off. “He almost died and I tried, I saved him but–” His eyes flickered to his and back to his hand.

“But he didn't get better than how Krieger left him.” He bit out the man's name. 

Dick knew the name, unfortunately, and could piece together what happened to the Lieutenant. Krieger hurt him, now he's not able to do something he was physically able to do before. His mind takes him back to one time when Wally made a jab about the guy, how he never lets his feet touch the ground like he's all high and mighty. It was a joke then, but thinking of it now puts the next piece in place for two mysteries, Caps and the Lieutenants.

Lieu was physically handicapped and used his flight as his crutch, injuries that deep don't go away just because Marvel magic’s up a solution for his family, and he and Marvel weren't really family. He said ‘His folks’ not ‘our folks’, so whatever magic they share is not limited to blood but a bond. 

But it also twists something nasty out of his heart, having someone you love get caught in a fight they shouldn't have been brought into and left with less than they had before. He grabs hold of Caps hand, the one absentmindedly squishing his jello with his spoon, and give him a look when he turns to him

Dick tries to convey that understanding to him in that look, the guilt and blame that comes from being too little too late for the people you love. The hush of the room is deafening for a minute, then Marvel pats his hand. A silent ‘I know too’ in return to his, Dick’s lips quirk up at one side for a lopsided smile.

He hadn't met the Lieutenant himself, but he'd like to. If not to give a few words of praise to a fellow hero then to let him know he's not the only hero who needed to pick themselves back up.

Notes:

Fun factoid; Freddy is actually a practiced gymnast and can to stunts even after he becomes disabled in the older comics, in newer ones he was a really good baseball player. Plus he a fan of the oldies, no reason he shouldn’t adore the 80’s fits of his fellow heroes.

And yeah, a bit of extra bonding mixed with the batboys keeping notes on Marvel, they can’t help it and neither can I.

And the reason Dickie know C.N.’s name? Bc Jason killed him in the UTRH comics, so he’s just straight up dead here too. As he should be.

Chapter 23: It’s a beautiful day in Fawcett!; Bruce

Summary:

Bruce comes to some revelations on his this week is affecting him and how it’s shifted his view of Marvel.

Passing by a park, he feels a kinship with someone he’s never met and a friendship with a friendly cat.

Notes:

Actually starting to map out multiple chapters at a time rather than making this up as I went, we’re finally at Thursday! Considering this whole thing started early in Tuesday and has been working up to this I’m feeling really good in the progression, especially considering the POV changes and everything baked into this monster.

It's Thursday, one of only two days where Captain Marvel has a prearranged event he has to appear at. This evening, at four on the dot, he makes sure the daughter of some ambiguous villain is safe living with her aunt. He plays the part of some big brother/guardian angel superhero dropping in to check on her, she how schools doing, and hang out until dinner. Then he leaves, Bruce leaves and doesn't look back at the memory, lets a good thing stay that way without his influence. 

 

But why?

Marvel was personally invested, he genuinely cares, more than her just being some kid to some villain. Either she’s somebody to him, her mom is somebody to him, or both. But whatever the case, Marvels fears are clear, Whatever Bruce does to intervene will hurt her somehow. But he doesn't know why, and it's eating him up.

 

It’s not for you to know, Achilles chimes in. You don't exactly have the best track record of keeping a child safe, Detective. Bruce so desperately wishes he could punch a ghost, getting hit by thunder the second he gets in his body be damned. 

 

The sun is shining again , it's a wonderfully sunny day again , the people bustle down the streets and a paperboy in crutches is selling papers again, Fawcett only has old ladies with too heavy grocery bags as their problem again. It’s a city to dream of, again , and it pulls a thread in Bruce's mind taut. Like any second it will snap, Sivanna will come crashing in with his youngest children in tow piloting giant robots, Ibac will be mind controlled by Mr. Mind and they’ll scuffle, Lady Blaze will try to raize Fawcett and leave nothing but hellfire and brimstone, or some alien armada will drop out of the sky.

 

There’s a million things that could happen, a million things Captain Marvel had described in his JL reports, that he’d warned him of before sending him away in his body, but none of them are happening!

 

It should be a dream! He’s in another heroes’ body playing as him as he listens to Mrs. Henkle chatter on about her grandson making the honor roll for the third year in a row, he stops a car that's brakes had failed and sends Dr. Geoff to the auto shop with a quick trip through the air, he stops a robbery by simply crossing his arms and giving the men a disapproving look.

 

This should be his ideal patrol, an ideal day where crime has been far and few. Where people feel safe and smile like today is the best day of their lives, where no one is scared or dreading any disaster conceived in Bruce's head. But he can't enjoy it, it feels like the world is waiting for the right moment to pull the rug out from under him, to drop the other shoe, and he hates that he's hoping for it so things will feel normal again.

 

But this is normal , Bruce's mind supplies. This is Marvel's normal. It’s Williams normal. This is the normal of a city that raised and supported him, this is the normal of a city he gave back to with his whole heart.  

 

And that's what does it, Bruce can't imagine William betraying him. He can't imagine him turning out as an enemy of the people, of their safety. The man would sooner give everything he had and more to save even one soul, he’d see an unwinnable situation between one life or another and give his own so others could live.

 

The worst thing is, Bruce thinks he already has. He doesnt need for anything or exist in a way that defines being mortal, he's something more than human and he uses everything that fate entails to save everyone he can. How do you even come back from that? Bruce ponders, but lets the thought go. He's spent enough of the last two days asking questions he either gets little from, nothing, more questions, or something that deeply unsettles him. He’s not going to keep dropping off the deep end, he can ask questions after today.

 

There was still plenty he could do to bide his time until he flew to Elkins Park and visited 7904 Ivy lane, until he could put a face to the name, and then promptly ‘ forget’ both of them.

 

It was almost eleven already, he only had five hours to blow, he could certainly help out more around the city. People who need it are easy to find, they flag him down more often than not with shining smiles that Bruce responds in kind. The whole ‘ Neighborly hero of the city of Neighborly love’ becomes a much easier sell when that feeling of neighborly obligation seems to be infectious. 

 

Like he said, this should be a dream, and for the most part it really does feel like it. He’ll pass by anyone and he's greeted like a friend, a small update about life from them and encouraging words from him. William’s patrons helpfully nudging names and small memories to the front of his mind so he’d fit his role, so he’d remember conversations he never had and experiences that weren't his own.

 

Like with Mr. Warren talking his ear off about his grandkids while Marvel helped him down the stairs, his old joints flaring from trying to keep up with the daily walks he’d always go on with his wife. “And my little Wallace got in his school's baseball team, he's real excited to be a lil’ lightning leaguer like you’s.” The man laughed as Bruce kept helping him down the stairway from the road to the park paths, his cane thumping onto the gravel once they made it fully down. 

 

Signing the man continued, “And little Josephine is doing great, got one of her art projects in a show this weekend. Rudy an’ Mark are over tha’ moon about the whole thing, callin’ her the Piccaso of tha’ family.” He raised his cane in triumph for his grandkid, cheering a light huzzah as he got started on his walk and Bruce trailed behind. Happy for the man and happy to listen, he tells himself it’s what William would do but he also just likes having this moment. Where there's nothing intimidating or terrifying about him putting people off, just smiling as he listens to a man brag about his kids and grandkids to his city’s hero.

 

It's a luxury he’s not often afforded as Batman, people still scared stiff by him when they've done nothing wrong. Though he supposes it's like when you see an angered parent coming your way, every little infraction magnified in that moment makes something as small as jaywalking on an empty road some sort of sin. It's nice to have that trust and feeling of safety, even if that trust is for someone else and the memories of past conversations that weren’t his own.

 

He ended up going the length of the path with the man, making polite conversation and catching up for William on how the man was doing. A memory playing in the back of his mind of similar conversations with the man, any and all things from his fascination with aircrafts and William rambling on about wild cats to simple talks about their weeks. 

 

Some joggers went by, stopping to ask for photos and tell him to keep up the good work. The older man walked ahead of him each time it happened until the point Bruce stopped running up to keep pace after each pause, but he kept walking himself. Enjoying the path as the gravel and loose leaves from fall crutched under his boots, birdsongs tweeting around him as the wind rustled the trees. He’d hardly get a day like this in Gotham, there hasn't been one like it without one report of violent crime since 65’. Today he can walk around and feel the sun on his face, unobscured by smoke lined skies and uninterrupted by something horrible right around the corner.

 

He takes a breath, enjoying the clear autumn air entering and leaving his lungs, and opens his eyes to look up past the warm colors of the tree tops and to the tufts of soft clouds decorating the sky. 

 

Today is peaceful. A moment like this in Gotham and he’d automatically add a for now to the thought, but it feels like it really could stretch on forever. No other shoe to drop or ill omen, just the sound of birds standing their ground until snow falls and people milling by safe and content. Assured that if anything could go wrong in the day, in would swoop a hero all their own. A level of trust attached to his name even he and Clark had never achieved, but something Barry and William had in spades.

 

They were still human to their cities, the World's Fastest Man and the World’s Mightiest Mortal. Batman and Superman were still seen as the Dark Knight and the Last Son of Krypton, something greater than human or alien in concept. It almost feels wrong to feel like he's finally being seen as just a person in William’s body, his heart beating to show that he's human while Bruce's beats to show he's alive. 

 

Had yesterday never happened, Bruce would call this whole experience a vacation. Chalk it all up to an eye opener on Fawcett as a whole and William being the new name to put to Captain Marvels face, having enjoyed a breather and gained a newfound trust in the man. 

 

Coming to a more open part of the pathway, leading to a playground on the other side of the clearing, Bruce spots a gazebo with a plaque next to the steps up into it. ‘In memoriam of C.C. and Marilyn Batson’ was etched into the aluminum, the years 1978-2017 and 1980-2017 put under their respective names. ‘Struck down in their primes, we hope they can still share memories with their surviving son under this roof.’

 

The message plucked at Bruce's heart, thinking of an unnamed boy spending time on this side of the clearing holding onto his parents memory rather than playing with other kids just across the way. Walking up the short steps inside the gazebo showed two benches positioned opposite of eachother, one making Bruces wandering thought feel more like a fact. Because on one of the wooden arms, carved in with what he’d assume was some sort of knife or sawed in with a determination he was all too familiar with, was ‘B Batson’ in jagged lettering.

 

Standing there a moment, his mind flashes back to all his first appearances in the public eye, memorials and openings of foundations and charities in his parents' names. Barely keeping himself from toppling into a blubbering mess if he hadn't had Alfred keeping a steady hand on his shoulder, silently comforting him while angling away from camera’s just itching to get a shot at the orphaned Wayne. He wondered if that boy, ‘their surviving son’ , had to hold himself together the same way. If whatever relative he had to turn to after losing both his parents so quick offered that same comfort, or did passing his time here at the park was the cold comfort he got after everything was said and done at their wakes.

 

‘Mrrow?’ He turned his head to the other bench, an orange cat tilting his head at him questioningly. Bruce contemplated the thought that maybe cats really did have some sixth sense to things metaphysically wrong in the world, it tilted its head and looked him over about a million times before hopping off the bench and trotting to headbutt his shin. Rubbing its head against the golden boots of William’s costume as it purred, ilicting a weak chuckle out of Bruce.

 

Kneeling down to scratch at the ears of the animal, he eventually relented to the onslaught of affection and sat on the floor of the gazebo with his legs crossed. Letting the stray cuddle into his lap and paw at the medallion attached to his cape, letting it toy at the rosette’s that adorned the front of William’s cape. Smiling at its antic’s with the humorous thought that ‘Even the local animals are neighborly.’ Though he guessed it was par for the course, he knew before that Fawcett was the city of that brand of love and was acutely aware by now that magic lined every part of this place.

Notes:

I cant help a cameo or Bruce simultaneously building a kinship with Billy’s secret identity alongside building a stronger trust with his superhero one, having it happen with one of those memorial benches or landmarks out into parks felt appropriate. Especially considering the iteration of the Batson family I’m using were well known and liked in Fawcett during their lifetimes, had cruddy Uncle E not done it the city definitely would’ve.

And yeah, Billy used a knife. He lived on the streets for some amount of time before finagling his way into a paying job and getting a place with Marvel signing in civilian clothes, he’s gonna have a way to defend himself that doesn’t include electrocuting bullies.

Chapter 24: A Kid and his Keeper; Kit

Summary:

A brother demanded, the wrong one taken, so goes the tale of the Freeman’s.

Kit died 75 years before his time, left to drown at the ripe age of 9 and resurrected soon after by the boy who bent fate to his whims, he dedicates his afterlife to being a hero and persevering the happiness of his brother.

Whose to say he can’t have some fun and watch some drama unfurl while it happens?

Notes:

So I completely skipped a finished chapter… here’s the Marvel family having a mole in the Batfamily for ya! Sorry I messed this up, ha

Heaven is something awesome, like anyone who ever heard of the concept would expect. 

 

Kit can just lounge on a puffy old cloud as the world turns and everything just feels right, no weight on his shoulders, the air in his lungs cleaner than it has ever been on earth, time turning as Father Time tends to his clocks. He can breathe easy, not at all reminiscent of his death where he drowned before his time, fate disturbed and jostled around by a hero wanting to save his friend. Unknowingly trading one life for another in that moment, but Kit can return to his life whenever he pleases.

 

Or his brother can just barrel through the cloud and grab him, that works too.

 

“WAHHH!” He yells at being grabbed and twisted around to face his powered up older brother, shaking him like a soda can as he screams “KIT WE HAVE AN EMERGENCY!!” in his face. Kit gets his bearings, stares at his brother with the silent question of ‘you done?’ before he floats out of his grip.

 

He lets his brother bumble and float in circles as he regales the tale, Batman is in Billy’s body and is pretending to be him while they wait the swap out and apparently Batman’s secret identity is Bruce Wayne of all people . Though the minute he lets that information slip past his lips he slams both hands over his mouth, fumbling his body out of flying upside down in his unfocused ramblings to grab at Kit again. “You can’t tell anyone.” He tells him, dead serious. Ha

 

Kit smiles, devious and prepared for this exact moment. “Well, dead men tell no tales.” He shrugs under his brother's firm grip on his, well, he’s still kinda a ghost, so as he grips his ghost. Gets his ghost? Whatever fun saying there is. Freddy just throws his head back for a miserable groan, because even in death he can’t escape his brother's puns. 

 

He lets him go to bury his face in his hands, curling up in a floating ball of misery with a red cape. “Hey, just you wait until I get today’s comedians on my roster. Then you’ll really be in for it Fred.” Kit offers the cadaver cold comfort, patting his brother's good leg as he floats out of his reach some more. Though he just keeps mumbling curses at himself, probably for building up that joke and for saying Batman’s secret identity. Which like, seriously, Bruce Wayne?

 

Eventually he slaps himself out of his stupor and turns himself back to Kit. “I need you to check in on Billy, please make sure he’s safe and that they haven’t figured too much out.” That has Kits eyes positively glowing as he claps his hands in glee, he gets to spy on the Bats! 

 

Oh this is going to be fun !! “Oh, Keeper~!” He calls on his best buddy in crime fighting, sans his brother and his family but it still stands of course. Up comes the stout and round ghost of a man, dressed in a simple white hooded robe and a rope tied ‘round his waist come Mister Keeper, Kit guardian angel in all but name and lacking the wings attributed. Popping his head into the pit of clouds Kit and Freddy occupy as one brother stresses and another bounces giddy in anticipation.

 

“We’re goin’ to Earth! It’s a Marvel mission for the safety of our own,” Kit proudly proclaims. He continues as he points to Keeper with purpose, “Me and you are gonna have a blast!” 

 

He looks hesitant, raising a finger to speak something before Freddy butts in with, “No getting caught, full ghost quest Kit.” He holds a questioning thumbs up, wanting to assure Kit got the memo, Kit blows him off and waves his thumbs away. Looking between the two he assures them of his plan. 

 

“Get down, check to make sure Bill’s doing peachy, stay invisible the whole time, I got this!” The Keeper doesn't look as convinced, crossing his arms as he judges the idea, which takes a good long while. By the time he finishes hemming and hawing over the idea, he smiles as he gives them the approval. 

 

“You do remember you dont need me anymore Kit?” He chuckles as he shoos them off, the two brothers jetting down to earth with their missions. Kit to spy on the Batfamily and ensure Billy stays safe, and Freddy to keep Batman out of trouble in a body not his own. 

 

Before they split off, Freddy says something else.” I’ll tell Mr. Morrision Billy was out sick with a bad flu and that's what's keeping him at home for now, tell Billy I’ll cover for him and keep Batman off his trail the best I can while you make sure the rest don't follow either. Got that Kit?” Kit salutes his brother, turning in the direction of Gotham as he waves him off. “Ten four Freddy!” 

 

But he’s grabbed by his ankle, throwing him for a loop as his flight is halted. His brother tugs him into a hug in the air, holding him there as he rushes to return the gesture. Then he feels the comforting warmth heaven lacks in his older brother's embrace, hard muscles made by magic squeezing him tight against his brother's chest as he feels his heart beat. A trait he lacks after dying seventy-five years too early, “Love you man.” Kit holds his brother tighter, gripping at his own sleeves to anchor the hug. Pressing his cheek into the warm, buzzing emblem of Eternity itself, ear against the thrumming of magic and his brother's heartbeat.

 

When Freddy does let him go Kit is slow to respond, holding on a minute longer and giving his brother one more squeeze around his torso before letting go. “Come down to earth more often, trust me when I say Rosa wouldn’t mind you taking the top bunk.” He shickers the proposition out, all the sincerity baked into the offer. Kit nods his head, “I’ll keep it in mind. ‘Till then we’ve got jobs to do.” 

 

He raises a fist, waiting for his brother to return the gesture with a bump and a celebratory ‘Go team Freeman!’ But he just hovers there, eyes glossed over as he opens his mouth to speak before clicking it shut when he can't get anything out. He gives Kit his fist bump, “We’ve got jobs to do.” He reluctantly returns.

 

Then both brothers turn and fly, Kit yelling out “ Eternity! ” and disappearing in a flash of lightning. Invisible to the world as a ghost as he free falls through the roof of the Manor, slipping through room after room before phasing through the ground and into the caves that lay beneath it. Becoming tangible but still invisible as he takes a vantage point atop a giant dinosaur, taking in an eye full of various platforms chock full of fun little and giant momentos of Batman’s adventures. 

 

He feels tempted to summon Heracles and ask him to flip the giant penny, see if it lands on heads or tails over if he should take it right outta’ there. Maybe get Paul Bunyan to haul it while they haul outta’ there with half a dozen bats on their heels. Or the old man at the monitor below him, shifting from one part of the ridiculously large computer set to the next as he monitors various news programs and what looks like chat rooms from Kit’s angle and distance.

 

A purple clad lady in a hooded cape comes up, “Anything on Dami yet?” She asks. Voice and shoulders sagging as the old man shakes his head, knowing her question before she even finished it and answering just as quick. He can see him shake a little, a silent tremor over this Dami guy the purple lady asked about as she went to hug him from the chair, making Kit feel like he intruded on something he shouldn’t be.

 

But he’s here to intrude, make sure Billy doesn’t have his whole secret life fall apart. It was the least he could do for the guy, even if Freddy hadn’t been the one to ask and he figured out this was happening himself he’d pop down to help how he could. Billy spoke on his behalf before literal God with a capital G about how stupid his and Freddy’s fate was, that he deserved to live it and Freddy shouldn’t have to die to trade the place he accidentally stole from Kit on earth. 

 

Told him off for still using people's lives to prove points, taking away a kid's whole family to show that people with nothing could rise above their tragedy instead of succumbing to some sort of darkness, yelled to just turn his gaze to any other hero and he’d have his proof. It’s why he’s ‘ kid Eternity’. God let him have the seventy-five years he was supposed to live back whenever he popped back down to earth, Billy gave him access to magic to tie his whole resurrection together, and the being that let the whole thing happen acted as the third party in charge of keeping an eye on him and granting him access to the part of his powers that summoned all the heroes of old.

 

It's how he got the Keeper, how he got the chance to be the hero he was supposed to become, how he got more time with his brother than he would've had without Billy’s influence. Had Billy never saved Freddy, never saved him from an early grave, he’d only have had his brother for the first nine years of his life then never again. Now they share Eternity, he’d never disgrace that by backing out of what he had to do to protect his family, to protect Freddy’s family. 

 

The purple girl tells the old man to get some rest, promising she’ll keep her eyes peeled and get him herself once the Damian guy gets back. He argues that he is fine, they he won't stand by a second time, but she glares him down with a look that most convey something an outsider like Kit can't decipher since it sends him to the exit. She takes the empty seat and de-masks, showing pinned up blonde hair pulled back from where it was hidden in her mask from Kits vantage point.

 

He drifts down from the dinosaur's head and comes to hover cross legged by the chair, watching from the lady’s side as she checks over a million maps and scans of the city while six different stations cover their news cycles. None are about Billy, just the normal morning news and some check in about a rich guy at a hospital being discharged as he leaves with his son. The rich guy looks familiar on the shot they get of him, but Kit puts the thought aside to focus on making sure they aren't looking into Billy.

 

Side eyeing the lady, he shoves his arm through her shoulder and out the other one. She hops out of the chair from the full body shiver of having a ghost phase through them, curing and wrapping her thick cape around her to combat the bone deep cold of the effect. Kit snickers, because who said he ever had to mature past his death age after the fact? He can have his cake and eat it a million times over, especially when it comes to ghostly shenanigans.

 

“Now that is just rude Christopher.” Keeper chides, his voice ringing from far above him but clear as if right in his ears. Kit counters with, “Well so is breaking and entering to spy on people, but you okay’ed that, now didn’t you?” He looks up to the scalatite, knowing his gaze reaches a man high up on a cloud far beyond it as he turns away from it with an agitated huff.

 

Kit just smiles his face sore at the image, abandoning the spot next to the now chilled vigilante to pass through the floors and walls again to survey the place. Spinning on his side in cartwheels fully posed like a starfish in his boredom and passing his fingers through old paintings and vases, deciding to let just the tips of his fingers be tangible for a later jab at a house full of detectives. Giggling at them finding the random print of a dead kid's middle finger left on the otherwise pristine stainless steel fridge and smudges on the windows.

 

Like he said, died at nine so why does he have to act his age when he never really did? If they figured them out or not, it’s a fun prank to pull. Plus, he doubts his prints ever got recorded. He drowned to death, it was up to the state to hold his ashes until they got rid of them with all the other uncollected. He doubts he even had prints to take once the fish were done with him, so Batman is just gonna have unknown kids finger prints in random places from inside his house.

 

Maybe he should stick around with a camera after everythings said and done here so he can discreetly snap a photo of the manor's collective breakdown over the inevitable cold case of his cold mitts prints. Freddy would probably blab about pranks going too far or not toying with his identity with Batman of all heroes until his ears fell off, but then he’d go quiet and nervously ask to see the photos because he's a crazy hero nerd who’d kill for the perfect inside joke of a reaction image like that. Good thing Kit’s the same kind of crazy to do it in the first place, summoning his inner cat to slide perfectly even vases just out of center on their fancy pedestals and leave a number of painting crooked as he checks for anyone else in the house snooping into his family’s live like he's snooping into theirs.

 

Eventually the doors swing open in another room, which appears to be the main entrance and front door of this ridiculously huge place, since in strolls the rich guy and his son. “Billy!” He dives to hug him, only to phase through and into the floor most the way before he skids to a stop and slaps himself over the head. ‘Intangible dingus, you can’t talk to people.’  

 

He floats at his side instead, listening as the guy, David? He's sure that's the guy's name. It was definitely a D something, or Rick? Maybe an R something? rattled off about some breach of security with their trackers. Kit follows as they go up a flight of stairs and down some twists and turns of the hallways to a study, Billy flinching at crossing the doorway before following… Derek? Daniel? Lords above and below, Kit needs to remember names like he remembers historical heroes.

 

The clock for some reason in the entrance to the Batcave, shift the hands around and take the elevator down a million levels to the purple lady still in her chair. Though now with a giant blanket with the yellow and black symbol of the great Batman covering it in a checkered pattern with the Robin symbol, Kit snickering some more at giving her such a chill. She turns her head over her shoulder at the sound of them walking up to the computer, sparing them a glance before snapping her head back to attention.

 

“Anything yet?” Billy speaks first, worry lacing his voice as he instantly goes to pick at his hands. A nervous tick he’d never grown out of or lost when he grew up an extra decade or two all Marvel’ed up, “No.” Was the simple response bit out at his questioning, earning a worried sigh as he went to the side to pace and the Blue guy as Kit is just going to call him walked up to assess the monitors with Purple lady.

 

“Nothing about Scarecrow or–” “If there was I’d tell you, dick!” Kit’s mouth went a bit agape as he shifted his gaze back and forth between the two of them, surprised he didn't even tell her off for calling him a dick. He bit his lip to bite back his childish giggle, wishing Billy could see or hear him so he could elbow him in the side and remark “The girls are fighting~! ”

 

But, neither the time nor the place, but he could enjoy the drama and joke about the whole situation later when Billy was just Billy again. For now, it’s an episode of keeping up with the Bats and Kit is the sole viewer having a blast. It helps that when he wishes for popcorn to munch on he’s got a bowl right in his lap courtesy of the Keeper granting his silly wishes, so he can happily munch away while the silence stretches on and he gets to play happy little observer.

Notes:

Skimming through Kit’s comics and realizing just how effed it is to be the boy destined to live while your brother dies only for fate to twist and harm both of you in different ways, I’ve decided he needs to hide his truly horrific early years under a thick coat of humor.

Also, yeah, Kit is mostly just /dead/ dead and pops down as he wishes to be a hero and help his family when they need him. He’s saving the 75 years he has before he’s well and truly dead so he can stretch it out with his brothers Eternity.

I miss them being brothers, the stories you can weave with them are endless, especially with the agnst.

Chapter 25: Cast the eye into hellfire; Damian

Summary:

Damian, led on by the Seven Deadly Sins, accepts the Eye of Sin. It sears into his skull, burning what came in its way to nothing, as the Sins revel in their freedom.

Now Damian sees while merely half blind the gravity of the situation, and he is given an ultimatum. Kill Captain Marvel, or see his family ripped apart and fed to the monsters he’s let loose.

Notes:

Since the eye of sin feels like an obvious nod to the Bible quote about plucking an eye out to avoid hell for winning with it, it felt right to use a title referencing that quote.

These guys are only nice until they get enough of what they want, they’re free now so all pretense fall away with the statues that imprisoned them.

They’re louder, he wakes up and they’re tearing his eardrums apart with their screeching. Slamming his hands to cover his ears does nothing to help, nor does plugging them with his fingers and screaming his throat raw as he collapses into himself before the thrones.

 

The searing pain in his eye is blinding, burning white hot in his right socket as he scrambles to hide his crime with his mask. Scraping his gloved fingers on the rock that makes up the floor to rench the domino back on his face, doing nothing to soothe the pain he's heaving his way through.

 

“The Champion's soul is left defenseless!” Wrath cheered, punching his metal fists in a premature victory to the air as he rejoices. “He can gut him belly to tongue! Scatter his ribs and hang his family with his entrails!” Gluttony proposed, the collective cheer of his siblings making Damians ears ring.

 

“SHUT UP!” He screamed, demanding them to stop, wanting nothing more than silence. At the very least a brief reprieve so he can pick himself up from the crippling pain burning through his skull, like flaming cotton was shoved up his nose and through his brain before it sprouted thorns to grip his cerebellum like a vice. “Just…” He mumbled weakly, “one second.”

 

He hangs his head, trying to breathe his way through the pain, when Pride yanks his eyes to meet hers. Her claw like nails digging into his cheeks, the grip is really there this time, unlike all the others that were soft phantom sensations. “Now is that any way to speak to your friends, sweet Prince?” She jeers at him, a ghostly hand appearing beside his face as her other real and fluffs her circles absentmindedly. The ghostly one pinching at his reapplied mask and peeling it halfway off, revealing his bleeding right eye as the rest roar in laughter at his expense.

 

Pride coos at the sight, “Now you have both your mummy’s eyes dearie.” She releases his face to wipe away and flick off the blood he’d wept, “Such a pretty blue to complement that oh so regal jade, I can even see myself in there.” She spoke in taunting admiration as she fixed the parting of her bangs, Envy giving his shoulder a shove as he cackled. He smacked Prides false hand away and turned to tell Envy off the stubby Sin dressed like an affluent cockroach, but Wrath's hand clamped down on the crown of his head and forced him to meet Prides disapproving gaze once more. She pressed a blade sharp nail to his adams apple, and his mind reminded him though the haze of rage and pain that they’re real now, he’s their tether now.

 

“Are you going to be a good little boy and kill that meddlesome Champion before he can take your dear, sweet friends away from you?” Her voice came out sickenly sweet, “We know you didn't react so well before, but we can handle it for you. Just let us do away with him and no one will stand in your way ever again, not even his family once they lose their connection through him.” Prides' brothers hooted and hollered in agreement, Wrath releasing his head to cheer once more and yell out a battle cry. Damian mutely shook his head in short movements to avoid having his throat slit. Prides’ face twisting in a serine scowl at his response, “He’s only…” Damian licked his lips, trying to force the words out as disgust built in his stomach again.

 

“Marvel is only weak because he’s in my fathers body, isn't he?” Pride tilted her head, looking at Damian like he was some fool asking if fire burned. “I’d like to think a bit of accidental fratricide is a fair bargain for the world, Prince.” Damian moved to back up, his back bouncing off Sloth's belly before he could take a full step away.

 

He strengthened his resolve, as much as he desired it, as much as that particular greed coursed through his blood, there were lines he didn't cross. Before, now, or ever. “I will rule with my family by my side,” He stood tall in defiance of Pride's words. “From my grandfather to my brothers and sisters, the world will be rebuilt by their hands as much as my own.”

 

Pride grinned, giggling behind a thin-lipped smile. “Come the end of this charade that has the Champion vulnerable, you will trick him into saying his inherited name.” She raised a finger as she listed her terms, “Should he walk out of Gotham alive, you and your family will never see a perfect world, nor a perfect Gotham.” She hissed. Turning her gaze over Damians shoulder, she hid a laugh behind the back of her hand.

 

She offhandedly remarked, “It’s been so long since you’ve had a proper meal if I’m not mistaken brother?” Damain turned to see Gluttony bob his head up and down in eager agreement, turning Damians blood cold. Her nail hooked under his chin and brought his eyes to her as she crouched down to his level, slowly fading into a smoke as she spoke for the last time. “Tuesday, the Champion will say Shazam in his body and you will have the world divided among your kin with thrones of gold.”

 

They all fell into a smoke and whirled around him in a cyclone, his lungs filling with the poisonous smog of the Sins as power thundered through his veins. The eye buzzing in his socket as the pain subsided and his bloody tears ran dry, once he could finally breathe his vision became half distorted. A haze of magic in the air, looking down at himself he could see rivers of green wrapped around his veins and black lightning burn in his bones, but there was no pain. He felt invincible, powerful, like a newly anointed king.

 

The weight of his future on his shoulders heavy as he considered what he has to do. He has to kill Captain Marvel, lure him into weakness with his name once he has returned to his own body to spare his father, else the demons living beneath his flesh will tear his family asunder. His hands shook at the thought, but he gripped them tight when he reminded himself he’d build his better world. Build what his grandfather had dreamed of his whole life and what his father fought and lost children trying to lay the simple groundwork for, he’d remake the world better for the people he loved who loved it the same he did.

 

But bile still built in the pit of his belly, rising in his throat and gagging him as he wept. Pressing his mask secure as he hid away behind a legacy he’d sully to do so, fixing his eyes closed to do away with the tears that only agreed to fall from his untainted eye while the other remained a dull ache to match his hearts. Once he opened he found himself in the sewers, where he found the first gift he’d ever given his father, beneath Crime Alley where his grandmother's pearls fell through the grates as that night's rain attempted to wash away the blood.

 

How cruel of them to send me back from here, Damian mused. 

 

Stumbling onto shaky legs, he dragged his boots down the path that would bring him close enough to home to exit without being seen by a random Gothamite at whatever time it was in the day. Lamenting that he’ll have to break his oath a second time, but resolving that it will be that last. Then his grandfather will be happy, his mother proud, and his father could finally rest easy with the rest of his family. “I swear Marvel, your death will not be in vain.” He promised to the empty air, ears deaf to the chorus of laughter in response to his words.

Notes:

Fun little reference of Damian doing something nice for Bruce when he’s gotta go do a murder for his new demon pals, now he’s gotta take his little walk of shame back home.

But really, poor baby is going to do this for a family that would never want him to do any of this, thankfully not even the Sins themselves can get him to commit fratricide bc he lives his family too much for that.

But hey, it only lasts until the end of the week, til then we’ve got a Sin poisoned Damian in a house of antagonistic forces and a uncomfortable circumstance that going to push him over some edges. And that’s going to work Greeeaaat (obvious sarcasm is obvious but I can’t use italics here)

Chapter 26: Homecoming; Dick

Summary:

Happy to see his brother home, Dick and Marvel have to stop Jason from interrogating Damian about his odd behavior. Citing that he’s been acting off since an unknown event.

Notes:

Shorter more transition-y chapter! Also part of me doing a triple upload tonight and fixing my mistake of posting the wrong chapter before another one!

Fifteen hours, thirty-two minutes and counting. Thats how long his tracker was off before a monitor blared to life with his location in crime alley, it took all of three seconds for him to call up Jason to intercept whoever had Damian and get him back and twelve minutes for Jason to come roaring into the cave in full Red Hood gear with Damian holding onto him from behind on his bike.

 

“Damian!” He yoinked his baby brother off the bike as they dismounted, pulling him into his arms in a crushing hug as Stepth nearly toppled them over to join in. “Oh thank god you're okay.” He placed him down and kept his hands on his shoulders, looking him up and down as he assessed for any injuries. Moving his face around and checking for any gashes from being knocked out and checking his wrist for any rope burn or adhesive residue, finding none.

 

“Who took you? Do you know how they disabled the tracker because Bab’s was going nuts trying to figure it out.” He rattled off his questions, taking a moment to breathe so he wouldn't pass out after fretting for the last few hours since he’d gotten home with the Captain. He could hear him step up from behind him and felt Damians gaze turn from him to Marvel from behind his domino, slightly soaked in blood on the right side, the only visible damage it seems he had was there.

 

“You're bleeding,” Marvel stated as he reached towards Damians mask. “Let me use a spell to fix whatever–” He pulled from Dicks’ grip with a jolt and brought a hand to his eye to cover it from Marvel's advance. “I–, I was just,” He stammered, trying to find the words to explain where he was. 

 

“I was, I don't remember what happened.” Damian lied, and Dick couldn't think of why he would. “I just have a few cuts around my right eye and a scratched cornea impairing my vision, it's nothing for you all to fret over.”

 

He made his move to leave, turning to the opening between the people worrying over him and heading for the elevator exit. “I’ll tend to myself and refrain from my Robin duties until my vision clears up, I–” “Oh that's a bunch of bull shit and you know it Dami!” Jason roared as he hauled him back to the group by the cape, scowling at Damian as Dick rushed to release his grip.

 

“Jason! He just got b–""Like I give a shit Big Bird!” Jason seethed the words out as he kept his hold on Damians cape to keep him from running off, “You had this whole house worried, you had Dick worried, you had Alfred worried for Christ's sake!” He wrapped more of the fabric around his fist and shook Damian by the shoulder as he tugged him up to face him.

 

“You dont get to just fuck off back upstairs and try and hide behind actually taking care of yourself when everyone here worried themselves ragged all night while you were who the hell knows where!” He yelled in his face, Dick wrenched an arm around Jason's neck and forced him back while Steph pulled Damian away from Jason's grip.

 

“Back off him Jay!” Marvel took a spot between the four as Jason fought to get out of Dicks grip and Damian moved behind Staphine, “The lot of you, cut it out!” He held his hands to halt any advances from either side, putting himself as the wall keeping the situation stable. Jason ripped himself from Dicks grip and waited for Marvel to speak, Damian stepped out from behind Stephanie, and Dick could only think of how much he really looked like Bruce. Brow tense and eyes pinning the two of them down, he could catch Jason shift under that gaze as he turned his eyes behind Marvel to Damian.

 

“If Damian doesn't want to talk right now he doesn't have to,” “Oh like hell he doesn't!” That glare became focused on Jason, the hand halting them now pointing him out. “Damian is safe, we can figure out what happened with the tracker after he's taken care of his injuries.”

 

Jason went to march past Marvel, being wrestled to a halt before he could as he called Damian out. “He has been acting weird ever since–” He stopped himself and fumed. “Ever since what Jason?” 

 

He didn't answer, he just stared Damian down before backing up with a huff. “Nothing.” Marvel motioned to Damian and Stephanie, “Well then, you both be good brothers and keep your nothings to yourselves. I’m sure we can respect that,” He turned to Damian now. “Right you guys?” He nodded, and that was the difference to Dick. A fight settled with secrets intact, rather than forcing everything to be laid bare to keep a momentary peace for the price of later animosity.

 

Jason fumed for a minute more, saying nothing as he threw his hands up and made his exit out of the cave. “Tt,” Damian clicked his tongue, “Just because you are in fathers body doesn't mean you can act like you are our own.” He mumbled under his breath, but he might as well have hollered it for all the cave to hear with now deafening the silence was. It startled Marvel into not wearing Bruce's face anymore, looking at Damian with shocked confusion.

 

“I don't–,” he opened and closed his mouth mutely to find the right words. “I just didn't want there to be a fight, you're safe and that's what matters. I don't mean to act like a dad, trust me, especially not your dad Damian.”

 

He could see Damian think something through before he turned to leave again, “I’ll go tend to my injuries now.” “Hey,” Stephanie called after him. “Check in with Alfred, ok? He was really worried about you D.” Damian faltered in his steps, stopped, and nodded his head before leaving. Marvel sighed.

 

Notes:

And the seeds are sewn!

Plus, Billy getting called out for being such a dad. Bc he really can be, even when he’s just going for the cool uncle or caring older brother angle, he ends up being a dad

Imagine how weird that must be to hear

JL member: You connect so well with YJ Marvel, you’d make an excellent father/mentor one day!
Captain Marvel, secretly a 10 year old: Uh-huh, yeah awesome! Sweet!

Chapter 27: Batson to Bat’s son; Billy

Summary:

Billy finds Damian later in the day, the two talk and sit together.

One is unaware of the impending doom sitting right beside him, the other becomes aware of just how great his future sin will be.

Notes:

I had to make the joke, you can’t have a set up like this and NOT make the joke

He found Damian drawing in the garden, hunched over his sketchbook under a tree’s shade.

 

He seemed happy enough when he’d told him he was excused from school till after the weekend since he was there at the party, though he simply hummed in acknowledgement of his words before walking past him like he wasn't there once he was done talking. He could see him scratch at the edges of the medical eye patch he wore over his injured eye, toying with the edges of the medical tape as he made his way by his side. “Hey,” He crouched down by Damians side. Sneaking a more than obvious peek over his shoulder at the pages of his sketch, “What’che drawing?” He asks with a playful lit to his, to Bruce's voice, to break the ice wall between them.

 

“My mother,” Damian shrugged and shifted himself away to hide the drawing. “I’m making use of my time by practicing with tasks that require hand eye coordination or depth perception while I’m indisposed in those respects.”

 

Billy scanned Damian over, noting that he’d tensed when he noticed him walking towards him and has been uncomfortable around him since before the party. “Is it okay if I sit next to you? Just to talk.” Damian's good eye flicked to him, he tapped his pencil at the pages corner before nodding his head to tell Billy to sit down. Billy took his spot on Damian’s left, so he’d be able to see him without difficulty, and admired his obvious skill on the pages. His mom, Talia Al Ghul, he’d heard of her a good handful of times before hearing the whole bit about her being Damian’s mom. She sounded terrifying, but Bruce always spoke highly of her and Ra’s, more sad their paths differed how they did than like another nuisance corrupting Gotham like some of his other enemies.

 

In Damians view of her, she looked just as strong as Bruce described, strong build and facial features Damian held a ghost of in his own face. One illustration was her headshot surrounded by a halo of roses, another the model image of a general. Hand resting on the pommel of her sabere in a thick tactical looking dress that bordered on making her look like royalty and like a knight, her face there still unfinished and being penned in by Damian. 

 

Billy just sat there by him for a while, thinking, letting time pass without Damian having to talk to him unless he wanted to and Billy trying not to force a conversation to flow. Which seemed to work well, Damian’s shoulders relaxing as his pencil moved quicker and he flipped a page to two new canvas’ to fill in. And Billy enjoyed thinking for a moment more.

 

He thought how funny it was, that people always said sons end up looking just like their dads and daughters like their moms. Despite everything, when he looked at himself, be it as Billy or as Marvel, he always saw more of his mom than his dad. His dad’s hair was always more straight, his curls came from his mom. So did his dimples whenever he smiled, and his eyes were always highlighted by lashes just as thick as hers were. He just got his dads eyes, bright blues instead of his moms mossy greens, and his strong face with a ridiculously chiseled jawline.

 

Damian looked like he was in the same boat, he only really saw Bruce in his short spiky hair and scowl. Everything from his glare to his voice he probably got from his mom, his glare striking and deadly rather than cold and calculating, his voice clear and sure in its authority over being blunt and holding an intimidating gravel.

 

Billy wondered if he’d really grow up to be just like his dad, he’d heard about his gloating from his earlier years to that fact, that certainty that he would be the successor to the name Batman. Billy knew he’d grown up to be a dead ringer for his own to people who knew him, Sinclair and Uncle E proved that to his own horror. Mary was the same with mom to the point it was scary how much they could end up looking like carbon copies of their folks, save for her eyes being mirrors of dads like his too. 

 

“I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable these last few days Damian.” He broke the silence, the sound of pencil on paper broke with it. Damian flicked the broken off lead from his pages and flipped his book shut with a sigh, “Don’t.” He hung his head, and the quiet carried on.

 

Eventually, Damian spoke again. “What is your family like?” and that threw Billy for a loop, looking at him for that look he’d recognize from a mile away, whether he was Bruce's son in every meaning of the word or not. The judging, the weighing of words, studying every detail and shift in body language, and the way their ears would prick up to notice a change in inflection or pitch to tell a lie from truth. It’s what he’s seen pass over everyone elses face when he entered the room, but Damians face lacked it. He didn't even turn to look at him when he didn't answer right away, just looked ahead at the grass past his shoes like he was tired.

 

Damian…actually wanted to know more about him. That was a first.

 

“I lost what I thought was my whole family when I was little, my parents were gone in one day and i didnt even know until years later. The uncle who was supposed to take care of me stole everything my folks left for me and kicked me to the curb, had to rebuild everything with nothing.” Billy admitted, looking ahead the same as Damian. Giving the same courtesy of not judging him, not gauging his reactions and letting the words shared be remembered by what's said and not how it comes across.

 

“Mary is the only one I'm actually related to,” He chuckled. “Lieu and the rest are friends I’ve made my new family. Only know them a few years and it's like I’ve known them my whole life,” Billy paused.

 

“I’d give my life for them too. Buts thats just how family is.” He said somberly. “You have more family?” Damian sounded distant, like he wasn't right next to him. Billy nodded.

 

“My older brother the General, and my two younger siblings, the Chief and Maiden Marvel. I'm actually the fourth youngest of six, General is older by three years, Lieu by a month, and Mary’s older by me with all of eight minutes under her belt. The Chief and Maiden are younger by just three and two years respectively.” He shrugged, tilting his head up to the sound of a bird curiously tweeting down at him. A leaf fell from the branch above him and twirled down to hit him in the face, he blew a puff of air to send it away and it ended up in his lap.

 

He felt Damians head thud against the trunk of the tree, knocking a handful of other leaves loose from their branch. He saw him mouth ‘five’ out of the corner of his eye, Billy chuckled. “Didn't know you were the only one here with a big family?” He joked, his crowd of one just looked at him with an unreadable expression. He looked away to avoid reading it, not registering the pain and grief in his exposed eye. 

 

“I guess by age that makes me, what?” He counted off the bat kids by age. Dick, Cass, Jason, Tim, Duke, Dami. Huh… “I guess I'm the Tim of my family, which is actually kinda’ off since Chief is the one who's so crazy good with the whole electric magic thing he borders on being a technopath.” He laughs at the absurdity of the thought.

 

Pedro as Dick, Freddy being Cassandra, Mary as Jason, him as Tim, Darla as Duke, and finally Eugene as Damian. He thinks that’d be a fun family theme for next halloween, dress as the bat kid you map to by age, don a cruddy Spirit Halloween costume of their vigilante suits and hit the streets for a mountain of candy to divide six ways and trade amongst themselves. Though, he thinks he's a little too old and too connected to be dressing up as any Robin anymore. It was cute when it was him and his dad making a joke out of their surname, sparing no shame in going out looking like Dick’s Robin while his mom swapped which villian she’d base her costume off of each year, but doing it now with his new family would feel weird. Especially when it's Tim’s Robin suit, or his Red Robin one.

 

He’ll just leave that Batson Family Tradition in the past.

 

He laughed aloud at that too, Damian looked at him again. “Sorry,” Billy wiped the stray tear from his eye, chuckling some more at the thought. “Just found something funny.” He’s a Batson talking to the Bat’s Son, that fact just tickeled something inside him.

 

Damian spoke again, “You’re a great guy Marvel.” He rested his head against his arm, then he mumbled. “Your family is lucky to have you, Drake always spoke fondly of you.”

 

Billy opens his mouth to say something, but it stays agape for a moment as he holds back the choked sound from how those words touched him. Closing his mouth in a smile, he pulls Damian just a bit closer in a side hug. “Your family is lucky to have you too Damian.”

Notes:

Damian’s got a whole new perspective to work with, gotta kill the center of another family to protect his own and build a new world for them.

And Billy just bared a part of his life to someone with the knife already pointed at his back.

And yes, Vasquez family is here but Billy doesn’t live with them. Here it’s a smaller group home with just Freddy, Eugene, Darla, and Pedro, and hopefully Kit one day if he decides to spend the next 75 years really being with his brother.

Mary is with the Bromfields and Billy has his WHIZ Radio job to pay the bills and has been living alone, because this is my happy little mix of canon that has what I consider the better bits of their history’s.

Chapter 28: Lucy Doe; Bruce Pt. 1

Summary:

Thursday is here, and Bruce isn’t expecting exactly what he ends up seeing.

From the living embodiment of the color pink bring a hyperactive bundle of joy, to the dawning realization of just what he’s let happen for the last six years from right under his nose.

Notes:

WE ARE HERE!!! Foreshadowed this shit from chapter 1 and here we are almost 30 chapters later, holy moley…

Also, hmu on Tumblr. I’m under the same name there, I post updates and ramble about this and my other ideas

The neighborhood is modest.

 

There's spaces between the houses, many with front and backyards for kids to lounge and play in, most of them full of its fair share of trees that cast shades and shrubbery that highlight the houses. Brick bases and wood with fresh coats of paint that keep the supposed safe house of the aunt of a villian and her secret child under wraps, idyllic in its simplicity and the perfect place to raise a child properly. Looking down from the sky, it's exactly the neighborhood you’d attend a variety of block parties and have street competitions over who has the best holiday decorations. 

 

But he doesn't descend yet, he still doesn't know how Marvel checks in discreetly on her safety, so he does what he dreads after two dads. He asks Marvel's gods.

 

“I should take the reins!” Hermes suggests, “ I am plenty a trickster to entertain the child, she will adore me!”

 

“You are not the sole trickster brother.” Heracles challenges, smirking as he stands proud. “ I have done my fair share of trickery and used my wit to face my trials, I will be a model brother if the Bat would follow my instruction!”

 

“Oh, I remember vividly oh mighty Heracles,” Atlas seethed. “ Fixing your cape my arse, you burdened me with the sky once I’d gathered the apples for you!” The titan spat at the demi-god.

 

“You aren't as bright as you boast brother,” Hermes giggled behind his hand. “ Didn't your third wife take your life? The wife named Deianira, meaning quite literally “Husband Destroyer”? Not the best of idea’s…” He trailed off, the implied and clear idiocy of Heracles actions clear and heavy in the air. Bruce the unamused spectator to a family squabble.

 

“I thought differently!” Heracles raged as he brandished his club, “ I’d imagined a different meaning!”

 

“Ah”, Achilles chimed in, “ A true son of Zeus”. He sagely spoke, ducking his head from Heracles swing and side stepping away from the ones that followed. Solomon shaking his head as the one soul here thankfully unrelated to the rest, pinching his brow as the demi-god of strength that conquered the hydra failed to land a blow on a mostly indestructible hero as the lord of the skies cheered him on.

 

Hermes disappeared for a moment, a gush of wind following him and returning with him. “ Try this on for size!” And he slammed something down onto Bruce's head, at first he only felt the blow the same as he felt each of the patrons touches. Feeling real to him but not to the rest of the world as no Thump! sound came from the contact, but soon the object shimmered into his view as the weight of it became real and pressed down on the crown of his head.

 

“The helm of Hades! Ensured to get you to the ground without attracting the Champions admirers!” The god proclaimed with all the grandeur expected of a divine messenger, his words given merit when Bruce looked down and couldn't see his hands move where he tried to flex them before his face.

 

“The Captain has a way of announcing his presence without being seen,” Zeus placed a hand on his shoulder and pointed to the yard behind the house. Where a tree whose trunk that had been overcome by thin vines held a simple swing the vines had trailed onto, a tree house built into it with a basket pulley system. 

 

“Go there and hold out your hand, when you wish to announce yourself, strike a thunderbolt to proclaim your arrival. The girl knows what a boom of thunder at this time entails.” He explained to Bruce, quickly turning his head to suggest Heracles not dishonor himself by giving up before he could land a blow.

 

Bruce floated down where Zeus had pointed, thankfully leaving the gods having their spat invisibly over the streets. He held out his hand, like he was awaiting something to be thrown his way to catch, focusing on a contained thunderstrike that would be more boom than blaze so he wouldn't start off this trip by burning the yard. He clenches his hand in a fist, grasping the strike as it crashes down like a staff before the heat in his hands fades in a blink. Inside the house there's the frantic crashing of someone dropping everything and taking off in a run, soon the sliding screen door to the backyard slams open. And Bruce finally sees Lucy.

 

There's a split second between when he lifts off the helmet to reveal himself and when the girl jumps into his arms, burying her face into the sigil on Marvel's chest as she squishes her cheek into it. Hugging him like she's a hyperactive koala who just got her favorite tree back, arms around his shoulders and legs crossed to hold onto him entirely like Marvel would just disappear if she wasn't holding him as tight as possible. In that split second, Bruce can piece together a set of facts.

 

One, she's blonde. Her hair in lopsided and uneven pigtails with big scrunchies, slightly shaken loose, no doubt from a day being a bouncing ball of energy shed failed to burn out yet.

 

Two, she loves pink. Her cropped and studded pink leather jacket, a Barbie Mariposa T-Shirt, a tutu on top of a different pink skirt, pink candy cane patterned leggings, and light up hightops with the bedazzled design that came with caked with an unholy mix of glitter and dirt from an artist unafraid to hike a trail for the perfect view to draw. Not to mention the eight different friendship bracelets adorning her wrists and pink cat eye glasses. The design obviously made for a young girl, fit with their own tiny gems in the extra space around her lenses. 

 

Three, she's expecting a visit from the tooth fairy. Still losing her teeth and currently missing her left upper canine, something he sees when she cracks a huge smile that has Bruce flinching at how far she can stretch her face out to grin.

 

Fourth and finally, she's just eleven. Her height and build put her within the range of late middle childhood and early adolescence, her boundless energy and clothing style entirely unaffected by what's common in teen films putting her right on the transitional age between the stages. 

 

But he also pieces something about William, going on how long he's been active, he’d had to have known Lucy from, possibly, as young as five or six. It's entirely possible that it was a shorter time, but the dreamlike reality that this kid gets a superhero as a bestfriend that visits every week seems too odd to him to not discount every possibility.

 

“BILLYBILLYBILLYBILLYBILLYBILLY!!!” She squeals into his chest, hopping off once she's got done naming him out of her system. Landing on one foot and attempting a balancing trick before tilting back, grabbing at Williaml's cape to keep herself from fully falling over and righting herself. Beaming up at him, she bounces on her feet as she claps her hands. “Can we go flying? I got my homework done already and I was super good all day today!”

 

Bruce understood the request to fly, what kid didn't love the feeling, but the comment on being good startled him. He kept his face cool as he returned her bright grin, though unable to get his face to smile as wide as her. “Oh really? That's great Lu!” That got her to stretch her grin wider, and Bruce worried she'd strain a facial muscle.

 

“Yeah yeah! I can show you, come on!” She takes hold of his cape in both hands and leads him inside through the open sliding door to an open kitchen, letting go briefly to grab a paper off the table. She holds the paper up like her pride and joy, showing an odd rectangular path with squared off sections with pictures in them. Scanning the paper in s a split second, he analyzes what it is and what it's supposed to entail so he can react accordingly.

 

Each square holding a picture of a cartoon pony character printed in gray from the simple black and white ink, there's fifteen squares on the path total, twelve of which are stamped with a big dot. The eighth square has a line that says, ‘ Prize’ next to it.

 

At the bottom of the page is a note, most likely penned by a teacher of hers since it reads, 

 

Lucy was a delight in class today, during library time she helped another classmate with his vocab list for his assigned book after she finished hers. She's made such great progress!!

 

The two exclamation points making a smile with their dots as eyes and a curve underneath them. Finally looking at the top, he made out the name of the paper. ‘ Lucy’s path to good behavior’ With that name and the comment of “Her getting better” Bruce concludes that Lucy has or had behavior issues recently and is doing better by way of a reward system to encourage her with moral dessert. In that split second of analysis and realization, he looks back to Lucys’ proud smile and returns in kind.

 

“That’s so awesome Luce!” He beams with William's childish excitement. “What kinda prize didja get?” He eagerly asks, to which she lets Marvel's cape go to dig through her jackets’ pocket to brandish a handful of cute cat erasers. Which elicits a genuine soft smile out of Bruce that shines through his facade, because of course that's what gets a kid giddy. They love the simple things and they love praise for an achievement, no matter how small or expected. 

 

His smile still etched into his face as the corners of his eyes crinkled with his smile, “That's amazing Lu.” And it really is, at least to him, because she already seems so normal in comparison to everything else in William's life. She's a little girl who displays her eccentric and girly style with no shame and gets happy over small things like cute erasers and a nice letter home. If only it had been so easy for him to get his kids to behave, he’d hardly been able to keep any of them at home and in bed even if he swore to bring them whatever they wanted that wasn't risking their lives crime fighting. He had to surrender to them each time and try and corral them through their childhoods with as little pain as he could manage when they are grappling across buildings on a nightly basis, Lucy gets played into good behavior and charitable action over erasers. Bruce would probably still have a few more years in him if they’d been as easy to handle.

 

She ‘ Squee! ’s in her joy, doing that quick tip-toeing motion as she restrains the desire to jump with glee. “I know, right! Missus Zeakle was super nice and she played Drop Pop Candy fa’ me while I waited for th’ bus again! It was so much fun an’ Elecia did good too and got these Chris’mis pencils she really liked!!” She jumped in spot as she went on about how good her day was, Bruce silently laughing at her infectious feelings. Her accent sounded familiar, to what Bruce couldn't place, but what kid cared about saying the words properly when they still get their point across?

 

Lucy continued rambling on without pause, “An’ we had brunch fa’ lunch so we had hash browns and french toast sticks and I used my lunch coupon for a ice cream san’wich and –” she inhaled a loud and drawn out breath to continue on, momentarily stopping her hopping to do so before she began pacing a circle around him while she continued to recount her day. Counting them of with her fingers as she did so.

 

“-And then I spun in the spinny flower at recess and Elicia played ball ‘ith me and got a bad mark on her sheet ‘cause she kicked Dylan in the nuts for tryna’ steal the ball from me, then we had library time and I re-read Pinkalicious for about the bajillionth time!” She stretched her hands out, probably trying to show just how big a number a bajillion was. 

 

“Then I got home and did my, uh..” She stopped dead in her tracks and began a new count on her hand, pressing on a finger with each assignment. “Multiplication tables… ten a’ each spellin’ word… did my environment color’n sheet..” She bounced the hand she was counting on by the wrist as she tried to think of the other assignments. Humming in thought as she looked at the ceiling, like it would have an answer, before it came to her.

 

“Right! I got my reading minutes in! I got started on my new hero book you got me,” She ran past Bruce as he tried to keep himself together with all his chuckling, she was just too precious.

 

Turning to follow where she went, he found her digging through her Wonder Woman bookbag, finding her book and holding her over her head like it was an all powerful relic to gloat over wielding. “ Masks of Fury! The Kris Maddelin epic! I friggin loved it! The Capitano and Squire are the coolest and Mr. Heckle has the weirdest schemes, but it’s all just so super!” She hugged the book to her chest, “Thanks a million again!”

 

“Oh Billy,” a woman called from the bottom of the stairs across the way. “Good to see you made it. Lucy got worried you’d ran late again.” She waved at them as she walked by, dressed professionally and an earpiece with a small flashing light situated in her ear.

 

“Oh no Tiff, just saying high to my daughter's friend, I’m still here.” She tapped at the earpiece as she walked by into the kitchen for a glass, “Still on duty ‘till five. You two go have some fun,” She snapped a finger to get his attention and pointed at him. “Home in an hour for dinner, no fights, and no hero business.”

 

She moved her finger to point at the silently retreating grade schooler, “You too Lucy. Don't even think of getting your bat.” The sternly told the girl, who slumped and turned on her heel dramatically to bow with a curtsey.

 

“Yes, your humble and majestic majesty.” She agreed with all the sarcasm characteristic of a child, heading to the open door back outside and motioning for him to follow. “Let’s fly to the zoo while ma works!” Her mother ushered him out, a smile on her face as she took back her call and slid the door shut behind them.

 

Lucy instantly clamored to climb on his back, Bruce rushing to kneel down so she could climb on easier. Securing her arms around his neck and Bruce making sure she was properly held up before he acquiesced to her demand of “Up up and away!” Leaping up into the sky and past the cloud line, her giggly squeals right in his ear as she excitedly kicks her feet. Her head on a swivel as she looked around and down at everything below them, Bruce couldn't help but laugh along with her.

 

“I can see the birds below us! ” She exclaimed, smiling ear to ear as Bruce shifted in the air to aim where Williams' memory served him to the direction of the zoo. Or more accurately, the wisdom of Solomon pushing that memory to the forefront of his consciousness. Flashing images of walking the length of the zoo’s paths and a father holding his son on his shoulders as he pointed to the tiger cubs playing alongside the ingrained knowledge of the path from here to there, blended together and pushing the ends of his lips down in a grimace despite the happy memories. Even to him it felt too intrusive, to recall memories that weren't his own.

 

Touching down to where Lucy pointed, oddly enough outside the zoo and away from the parking lot and its paths, she hopped off his back and bounced on her heels. “Now just detransform and we can take the free route!” The words threw Bruce for a loop, detransform? He hides his confusion, instead joking with her to gauge the meaning of the words.

 

“Awe, what's wrong with my look?” He pulls the edge of his cape up to inspect it, “Is there something on my cape? I just got this one!” He feigns his displeasure, earning a fit of giggles and snickering that failed to be stopped from behind the girl's hands.

 

“Come’n silly, just Shazam it up and let's head in!” She punched his side in a few short jabs, “Shazam?” Bruce speaks, and thunder crashes down on him.

 

The world goes white, he can feel his teeth buzz in his mouth and bones burn inside his body, he opens his mouth to scream as his nerves snap and line themselves back into place in a split second. When the world comes into view again, no time has passed. His lips pressed in a thin line as he finishes humming the ‘m’ sound of the word he spoke, hand out holding a cape that's no longer there, pinched on nothing as he shifts his head up to match eyes with Lucy. She’s still shorter, but only by a head, as she throws her arms around him. Squeezing him in the embrace in what he can now feel is a grip far too strong for a normal child, her face pressed against a red sweater over a yellow button up with the collar peeking over the sweater's collar and buttons pressed into his sternum from her hug.

 

“There ya go silly Billy!” She grabs him by the wrists and pulls her to follow to an overgrown part of the zoo’s wall, letting him go to pull back shrubbery that hides a small opening to the brick big enough to crawl through with visible shrubbery on the other side hiding the opening. “Champions first!'' She rushes behind him and presses him to the opening, which Bruce dazedly crawls through and finds himself behind a gift shop as Lucy follows behind him. She grabs him again and leads him out into the building crowd, rambling about the aquarium and the wild cats as Bruce looks down at himself, at William, Captain Marvel.

 

Dirty red Vans, jeans with frayed edges at the ankles and white flower embroidery sprouting from the bottoms, a WHIZ Radio pin with the classic lightning bolt shaped exclamation point pin pinned over his heart. A heart that's beating faster with the running he's doing to keep pace with Lucy, sped up with adrenaline and hammering in his chest as it makes the transition of simply not existing to pulling overtime.

 

Passing the aviary, he catches himself in the reflection of a glass case holding paper flyers about upcoming zoo events for the autumnal season. He sees himself, he sees Billy, and his gut sinks and feet trip over themselves as he crashes his face into the pavement. Pulling himself onto his knees as Lucy frets over him and blood drips from his bleeding nose, adults passing by as none help the pair of hurt and distressed kids. Because that's what Billy is, he’s a kid, and he knows this kid.

 

Billy Batson, the current WHIZ Kid of his city’s radio station, the one constant person of contact with Captain Marvel. The point of convergence, the boy reporter who could get the story on his towns resident hero with all the ease Clark had always gotten on Superman, the irony of it all isn't lost on him as he numbly lets Lucy pull him to his feet. Grabbing a packet of tissues out of her jacket pocket and mumbling something about allergies and pressing a tissue to Billy’s nose, which Bruce silently accepts to clean up the blood drooling out of his face.

 

He lets her lead him into the aviary and to the bathroom area, pointing to the boys room and telling him to clean up and she'd wait on the benches inside to admire birds while he tidied up. He elbows the door open to the bathroom, hands bloody from handling his nose, and washes his face. The automatic faucet aggravating his attempts to just wet his hand to wash the blood off and wipe his nose clean, up until the point his rage boils over and he punches a wall mounted soap dispenser, popping a part of the casing off and hurting his hand.

 

Hurting Billy’s hand , his mind reminds him, reminding him of why his heart is hammering the way it is behind its ribcage. He breathes through his thoughts and turns his head, met with the face of a boy. Blood still dripping from his bruising nose and wavy overgrown black hair curling around his features, Bruce throws up in his mouth when he sees that one of those features is baby fat. Spitting the bile out in a trash can filled with paper towels, he looks again. He does the math, simple in how it bashes his skull in with a wham and knocks the wind from his lungs, telling him he’d let a boy younger than any of his own were when they started saving Gotham into the Justice League to save the world a hundred times over.

 

Another teen walks in, stopping on his way to the stalls to ask if he's ok, reasonable considering Bruce's face. He snatches a paper towel out of the dispenser and rubs the drying blood away, sniffing out a yes from behind the scratchy material as he finishes washing up and rushing out to find Lucy.

 

He finds her on the bench right outside the bathrooms, admiring the enclosure with toucans while waiting idly-by for him on a bench with sculpted bird legs holding the seat up. Bruce breathes, really feels the air in his lungs, and prepares a Marvel act with the added layer of a young child talking to a slightly younger child. He walks over and takes the spot next to her, asking if she knew any fun facts about toucans and listening to her babble on about them as he screams internally. 

Notes:

Lucy has her accent that my auto correct and grammar checkers hate due to 1. It’s fun to talk like that and 2. Child with child talk.

Congrats to Billy though, even if he’s not really here, his identity lasted like half the week. I’ve read identities lasting mere hours in other fics, so kudos to this kid

And if you remember the one comic with this plot, congrats! The book title is a nod to when Harley wrote a book, it bombed, and she started committing crimes based off it. The book in that comic being a romance between her self-insert and Batman that Bruce had to read to figure out her crimes before they happened, much to his misery. Here she’s writing inserts of her daughter fighting crime with Billy tho, because I think it’s cute.

Chapter 29: Billy Batson; Bruce Pt. 2

Summary:

There’s… a bit to think about with new revelations. None of it helped by a barrage of new information, like the sudden appearance of a talking Tiger who seems to know him and know who he isn’t.

Notes:

Time for the world’s favorite talking tiger! Framed here as a stuffed toy brought to life by Billy Batson and beloved by Fawcett Zoo visitors, a true showman who adores his childish audience and entertaining them.

That's the next hour for Bruce, half listening to Lucy ramble on about fun animal factoids and her cooing at the large cats and then almost having a heart attack in a teenage body when he pulls her from trying to jump into the tiger enclosure.

 

Her reasoning being that Tawny is there and she wanted to say hi, “You haven't brought him over all month!” She’d pouted. Then waved her arms over her head, gaining the attention of the sleeping tiger on the rock that barely counted as the copy of pride rock it was trying to be alongside the attention of other zoo goers, many being kids who did the same thing as her once she started. 

 

“Tawny! Tawny!” The newly formed crowd of children hollered down into the enclosure, Lucy at the head yelling down at the tigers that turned their heads up at them. The sleeping one lifted its tired head and pawed the sleep away from its eyes, swatting at its ears as it blinked up before suddenly gaining a burst of energy at the sight, somehow recognizing the name being called down at it.

 

It hopped up with a start, running around the expanse of the grass and bounding over the rocks and hopping off its home's walls. Earning his share of cheering from the kids as he zipped between the other tigers and made a break for them, running up the wall and catching its claws inches away from everyone's feet. Bruce grabbed Lucy from under her arms and yanked her away from the fencing separating her from the incoming threat, motioning for other kids to back up as Billy’s body went mute in response to his fear, the yell to flee becoming choked in his throat.

 

He’s too slow to move them out of the way, the fact strangling him in fear when he doesn’t have any idea how to defend anyone else, much less himself, in his current body.

 

The tiger gets a grip and leaps over their heads from the fence, landing somewhere behind them and Bruce doesn’t dare to look as the kids cheer. Bruce prepares for a mauling, scrambling to throw his arms protectively around Lucy, his brain too scrambled as it is to realize he's using someone else's body as a shield and risking more than one child's life.

 

But, instead, he’s picked up in a giant fluffy hug.

 

He peeks an eye open when Lucy squeals in glee once more and says “Tawny!”, a chorus of kids following suit as they swarm around what's holding the two of them in a hug. He can see the green and black pinstriped jacket sleeves around them, the big pawed hands with dull claws replacing the razor sharp ones the creature used just seconds ago, turning his head to get a better look he sees the tigers face.

 

“Well if it isn't my dear friends, Billy and Lucy!” It roars out a hearty laugh as it moves them to one arm and starts counting off the other kids, patting their heads as he lists off a name. “And here's little Jerimiah, Crystal, and is that Sunny I see just down the way?” He puts his spare hand, paw, up in a salute like he's searching the horizon. Finding ‘Sunny’ and pointing him out to the crowd. 

 

“Over here, Sunny my boy!” He hollers to the blonde boy, hoisting Bruce up to sit on one of his massive shoulders while Lucy tumbles to the ground and lands on her feet. A parade of children ecstatic at the company of a talking tiger, one that's dressed in a full suit and walking on its hind legs when it was just quadrapedic moments ago and fully animalistic. He shakes the confusion from his mind, knowing he's seen weirder and his sons have been friends themselves with weirder, and it's not like anyone else is treating this as anything out of Fawcett’s norm.

 

The Sunny kid looks like a deer caught in headlights as the group strides over to him, assimilating him to the bunch of them as the kids parents stand to the side and take pictures and videos of the apparently cute display, judging from their comments and cooing.

 

“I’ve heard that there's a missing animal here at the zoo,” Tawny speaks to the kids, leaning down to fill them in on the situation. Billy still puzzled on his shoulder as the animal, man, thing? secures him to his shoulder with a steadying paw on his leg, keeping him anchored above the other kids. “Mr. Herkimer seems to have gone missing from the reptile house!”

 

The news is followed by loud gasps from his young audience, Lucy jabs at his leg with an excited smile, and Bruce quickly realizes what this is. Entertainment. It's a scavenger hunt, with Tawky Tawny, he knew that name. It was an animated children's show from the 80’s featuring this same talking tiger solving mysteries about crimes and burglaries while educating its audience about animals, this Tiger had the same voice as that character!

 

He didn't have time to comment, or object to being part of the hunt, when Tawny led the parade of kids to the reptile house for clues as to where Mr. Herkimer went. Billy on his shoulder all the way through him leading the kids from the reptile house until they found the muddy alligator prints leading to the ‘ Carnivore Corner’ of the zoo with the snack booths and eating benches, then around the ‘ Chameleon Cafe’ and to the clearing reserved for the zoo’s newest tortoise and his brother. Everywhere they went, the kids searched the place up and down and brought everything they could think could be a clue to Tawny, who narrated the whole experience away and encouraged their ‘ detective spirits .’

 

Once they made their way to the tortoise path there was a zoo attendant waiting at an opening to their enclosure, holding open the gate when they saw them coming and waving them in with a smile. “Well if it isn't Tawny and his Jr. detectives!” She’d cheerfully called, as the kids chased after the conclusion of their short lived missing animal case, most the parents remaining behind with the attendant to tape the experience.

 

‘Mr. Herkimer’ was, thankfully, a normal alligator chilling in the edge of the tortoises pond, floating on the water and resting happily in the sun with his jaw open in a toothy grin.

 

Bruce's anxiety spiked when Tawny kept walking ahead of the crowd he’d amased, grabbing him and plopping him down next to Mr. Herkimer as he left the water. “He looks happy to be found!” Tawny commented with a playfully void voice, still narrating the whole experience as Bruce stood dumbly with the alligator resting its head on his foot.

 

Tawny kneels down and scratches at Mr. Herkimer’s bumpy head, a pleased hiss escaping the gator's mouth, a hiss that Bruce can feel on his foot and leg. He refrains from showing any fear, any anxiety to the fact something that could easily wrench its jaw around his foot and drag him to a small, watery grave.

 

He plasters a performative smile on his face, feigning happiness with the whole show as Tawny recounts their whole adventure, which is cut off by a boy throwing his hand up and excitedly asking “Can we pet him?!”

 

That question was followed by a million kids asking the same, a good half of them glancing back at their parents for permission as Tawny boisterously replied “Well sure! Are you ok with that Mr. Herkimer?” He asked down at the alligator, “No problem here Tawn’.” The gator replied to Bruce's exasperation, ‘ could anything here be normal?’ he silently asked the empty silence of his headspace, hearing no response from Marvel's patrons.

 

The children prepared to rush the reptile, only being halted by Tawny holding a hand and suggesting everyone get in a line and wait for their turn so they don't crowd the man, making the idea of Bruce moving his foot from where Mr. Herkimer was standing on it all the more uncomfortable of a thought. He eventually wiggles his foot free without disturbing the talking alligator or the kids who excitedly give the top of his head scritches.

 

Backing away, he hits the wall of fur covered by a suit that is Tawky Tawny’s chest. Looking up to see the tiger smiling down at him as he places a paw to his shoulder to nudge him away from the group, “Been a while since we’ve had a chat my friend!” He jovially says as he inches him towards the far side of the tortoise enclosure.

 

Waving the children off as they look at Mr. Herkimer in awe and chat with him, Tawny leads Bruce away for a chat. Lucy is the only one to give an odd look at them before shrugging it off, asking Herkimer about his acting roles.

 

“Don't worry about acting like the boy around me, I know you aren't him.” Tawny ressaured as he leaned down to Bruce's ear, thumping at the grass with his foot, paw?, for him to sit down while he crouched down, motioning for Bruce to join him. 

 

Bruce followed and watched the odd display of kids just petting at and holding odd conversations with an alligator, asking about his favorite foods and how cool it is to live in a zoo while he clammored on about his old days of show biz.

 

It was at that point Bruce fully checked out of the situation, eyes glazing over as the absurdity of it all weighed down on him and the world sounded like it was submerged in water. His co-worker is the radio sensation Billy Batson, a Jr. reporter in Fawcett who hosts a show about magical do’s and don'ts alongside his reporting of Captain Marvels exploits.

 

He introduced and voted a magical juggernaut of a superhero into the Justice League, a magical juggernaut that was eight at the time.

 

He’s in a city with talking, shapeshifting animals that seem to live to entertain the visiting kids. A city with people living in a time distorted epicenter of magic that the various forces of hell and their villainous allies routinely attack. Where everyone is joyful and courteous and caring, existing in spite of the world around them in this dream of a city. Where gods fall from the sky and are treated with all the respect expected in an ideal neighborhood, a pleasantry that blankets the whole city alongside the shroud of open secrecy he couldn’t ever manage to peek through.

 

Bruce has a fourteen year old boy pretending to be him, and that fourteen year old has kept his identity from him for six years while he had no clue any of this was the answer to the questions Marvel posed. That, good god , just after he’d lost Jason he let in a boy, younger than any of his ever were when they started fighting his goons, into the League. He put another boy on the front lines after he swore he wouldn’t, before Tim bullied his way into his family’s life and told him he had to let someone in again because Batman needs Robin. 

 

Bruce's mind spiraled further.

 

Christ, every time he’d torn the Captain a new one when he first started out, he was berating a fourth grader. Is he even in school? Where are his parents? Billy hasn't been home in days, they have to be worried sick. Why didn't he say anything? Even before when he didn't trust him, why didn't he swallow his pride and tell him when they swapped bodies?

 

Does he need anything? What if he has asthma and his stressing sends him into an attack? What if he accidently eats something he's allergic to? What if he needs to take a type of medicine Bruce doesn't know about because he never told him everything? Bruce told him everything! He’s confided and trusted him time and time again as a fellow hero, as a friend, couldn’t he be trusted enough? 

 

Billy knows Bruce more than Bruce knows him! He doesn't even know him at–

 

A hankerchief is being pressed against his face, Tawny is rubbing circles into his back and coaxing him to lean into his side. Bruce hiccups through a sob, when did he start crying? Why is he crying this much?

 

Bruce takes the handkerchief and dabs his tears away, wiping his nose with his sweater sleeve as Tawny helps hide his tear stained face from the distracted kids. Lucy’s back is to him as she picks up Herkimers tail to let it fall down into the water with a splash!

 

Bruce sniffles and presses the heels of his hand into his eyes, trying to force the tears to stop as he shakily breathes through the lump in his throat. His other hand clings to Tawny's jacket, deforming the fabric in his grip to the point when he does eventually let go to do away with the rest of the tears it’s still bunched up in a ghost of his grip.

 

Bruce’s arm is still wrapped around Tawny’s though, hugging the limb close as an anchor to reality, something seriously lacking after the entire un-reality of the last few days being one blow after another that left his mind staggering to catch up. The overwhelming want to just bury his head in the Tigers hood and fall asleep almost took him out, his body lacking the firmness of something alive, more like a living stuffed toy a child would hide his face in to escape everything. A beacon of comfort, a taste of home that was foreign to his senses but grabbed him in its embrace with memories of soft comforts bubbling to the surface.

 

He snaps himself out of the feeling, chalking it up to the city playing with his mind, to Billy’s body lulling him into a sense of comfort with him in it and dropping his guard. 

 

“It’s alright, as terrible as the day is, it's not over yet. You can always find the next bright side before it’s done.” Tawny spoke sagely, as sagely as a character from kids' media could be. He thought of how Tawny was here, if he was the basis for the show or based off it, using the known image in a time locked town to be a more known entity. But he’s asked enough questions and liked little to none of the answers, the talking tiger could be a Martian for all he cared and he’d just shrug it off and think ‘ Well that sounds like Fawcett.’

 

He just sat there and waited for the evening to be over, so he could figure out how the hell he’s getting Lucy home and where he can go to scream himself hoarse, and maybe find something to punch his feelings out on. Maybe scream and punch at the same time to kill two birds with one stone, just to feel something and prove that this isn't some twisted, drawn out nightmare.

 

Notes:

I wonder what the hell normal safety measures look like in this city, between the kids trying to jump into animal enclosures and petting talking animals. They’re in for a world of shock if they ever really leave Fawcett, but what city doesn’t have weird things to get used to once you come in or leave?

Tawny: (being a delight and making a bunch of kids zoo visit one of his cartoonish plots)

Bruce: (12 simultaneous heart attacks)

Lucy: (happy to be here)

Chapter 30: Captain Marvel; Bruce Pt. 3

Summary:

Bruce hates not knowing, having worlds of information that could make or break operations out of his reach or sight that become the difference between life and death. He hates that he never knew all this, knew about Billy, about every responsibility as Marvel and himself that he takes on his shoulders.

But he can’t spend anytime agonizing over it, not when a girl thinks he’s her bestest super-friend and not one of the many people who probably shouldn’t even know she exists.

Notes:

300 KUDOS!! WHOOP WHOOOP

The day is over, the sun is setting, and Tawny is insisting on walking Billy and Lucy home.

Walking out of the zoo, ignoring the lady at an entrance booth eyeing them suspiciously since she’d certainly hadn't seen them come in, Tawny is carrying the two of them out on his shoulders. The two of them fitting easily on both shoulders before he puts them down and backs up a few paces, a motion Lucy must recognize with the shine that comes to her eyes and how she gleefully claps her hands in front of her smile.

Tawny gets a running head start, leaps over their heads, and when Bruce turns to see him probably land in some impressive stance after a barrel roll he instead sees an armored smilodon baring his teeth in an awkward smile. The sight has Lucy squealing and climbing on top on his armor to a padded mount between his shoulder blades and Bruce tiredly cursing the word ‘Fawcett…’ in his head as he follows Lucy up, so he can ride an enormous smilodon that was once a anthropomorphic talking tiger and a normal tiger just an hour ago to drop a girl off at home in time for dinner.

‘Zeus, if you can hear me,’ He mentally prays as Tawny takes off to the streets to leap over cars that let out the occasional honk! ‘ Pass me a glass of that Lethe water, I’m begging’

He thinks he can hear a thundercloud in the distance rumble with what he can only assume is the gods' laughter, and the events of the evening and the last few days must be weighing on his face. Lucy nudges his arm as Tawny clambers onto rooftops to make the journey quicker, “Why so glum shuga’ plum?” She half jokes, worry etched in her brow. Bruce refrains from just blurting everything out, asking how this is normal to her, to Marvel, to the city. But that's always the question of an outsider.

People visit Gotham and wonder why there's different styles of gas masks to wear during attacks and emergencies and he’ll be the first to say it's just the fashion. People visit Metropolis and wonder why car dealerships in the area knock their prices down so much, and Clark has to trudge through the embarrassment of admitting he goes through a lot in his fights and brawls. Ask most principals of schools why they have so many unexcused absences that go excused and they’ll look you dead in the eye and say they don't give a shit if the kid was out of class skipping or saving the world, as long as their grades are decent and the school isn't on fire they're more than content with their lot in life, all things considered.

What's odd to someone just over the state line is their normal, you don't hear about it because it's not a conversation topic to bring up like you do the weather. The people of Fawcett find shapeshifting zoo animals par for the course, magic is just a talent like playing an instrument, and teenagers turn into gods who look like they're fourty with receding hairlines. What can he even say is bothering him as a cover?

‘Sorry Lucy! Just sad that my favorite toothbrush decided to come to life and dance out the window!’ ?? What is abnormal here? What would Lucy believe since she lives outside Fawcett City? Is it more contained here than in her neighborhood?

He settles on something simple, “Just a bad day at the Watchtower.” He lies, but Lucy knows Marvel, and she knows Billy. So she’ll know where they both spend their share of time, right? 

She hmm’s in thought, “I get that, can't be fun bein’ the youngest there.” She muses as Tawny makes his way down descending rooftops like steps as her neighborhood comes into view.

“I don't get half’a what my ma says to her friends and co-worka’s most’a the time,” she makes a blabbing motion with her hand as she turns her head to Bruce.

“Just yabba yabba the whole way through, n’ then when I wanna know somethin’ it’s either the most obvious thing in tha’ world or the friggin,” She snaps her fingers as her eye unfocus, trying again to find the word and snapping her fingers to try and spark the light bulb.

Eventually the spark works, “Da Vinci code!” she yells out. “It's like that dead guys code thingy nobody gets! I hate that–” she seems to catch herself on her words, back tracking.

“An’ I get it, I know hates a strong word reserved for tha’ worst’a tha’ worst, but I really, really, very strongly dislike when folk say I don’ wanna know when I wanna know!” She threw her arms up in the absurdity of it all, facing the same problem every kid goes through with all the same outcry. Leaving Bruce chuckling dryly from how much Lucy is reminding him of his kids. Of Steph and her sarcasm, Damian with his dramatics and gravitas, Dick who was a deadly combination of the both of them before they’d ever even met.

Tawny trots up to her street, his body fading in a weird, shimmery sand as it fell apart from under them and swarmed into a compact ball before taking the shape of a small tawny cat. Leaving Billy and Lucy to walk the length of her street on foot with a very familiar cat trotting next to him, though Lucy has much more of a skip in her step and hops the path of an abandoned hop-scotch game as they make their way to her house.

Just two houses down she turns on her heel and walks backwards, facing Bruce as she chats. “Today was super fun! Wish you’d stay ov’a for dinner, then we could talk some more an’ we could talk some more ‘bout my books.” Her voice petered off into a mumble as she found a way to skip backwards and turn mid-hop when Bruce caught up enough to pass her, catching up to beat Bruce to the door and knock on it. She looked back at him victorious, mocking him by stretching her face out and sticking her tongue out at him with a Bleh!  

Her aunt opened the door, now dressed more comfortably in sweats and the smell of freshly made dinner wafting out the door, punching Bruce in the face with the realization he hadn't eaten in days and god knows when Billy did. His stomach growled at the thought of a meal and Lucy poked him in the ribs with a smile, “See?”

Her aunt shooed her prodding away and told her to sit down inside, turning to Bruce. “Just make sure to get home safe, and less of that Tiger of yours,” She pointed down to Tawny, who just innocently meowed up at her from his feet. “Jumping over buildings with Lucy on his back. Please.” Bruce nodded, having a more than subtle understanding of her worries, but remembered why Billy said he made these visits in the first place.

“Everything still alright here?” He unsurely whispered, so a little girl enjoying her dinner wouldn't worry. “You’re both still safe, right?” A muscle in her jaw twitched before pressing her lips in a thin line, nodding her head to answer.

“As weird as you can make her life, it's a better weird than what running off to the circus would give her.” There was a shift in the last half of her words, a deliberate code just in case someone was listening in. Bruce supposed that would be better, especially when blatantly talking about parents Lucy probably didn't know existed. 

Though the code didn’t stop Lucy from hollering “The circus sounds delightful!” from somewhere in the house, earning a dry chuckle from the both of them.

Bruce nodded to the woman and turned to walk off, to hopefully catch further conversation with Tawny and figure out What the hell he's supposed to do now?

Something pressed against his shin. Letting his head fall he saw it was Tawny headbutting him to move, something he continued to do until Bruce got the memo and started walking down the road. Leaving the modest neighborhood and walking the side of a highway bridge as cars whizzed by, Bruce couldn't bother to be worried that no one cared enough to ask the fourteen year old why he's walking alone while it's getting dark.

‘It’s Fawcett,’ He thinks, ‘They probably trust each other so much they can't conceive of the thought that a kid isn't doing well off with a family.’

That thought irks him, that a whole city of over a million people couldn’t even imagine evil, that it’s just there in their life blood and they’re so used to it, to it being thwarted and taken care of before it causes more of a scene than a short scuffle, that they can't even see it happening. If it does happen they're so assured someone will drop in to stop it they don't bother to do anything themselves, why do anything when you know for certain someone else will? 

His skin crawled at just how easy it was to disappear from the world here, how everything just goes overlooked or brushed off. Magical epicenters, decades lost in time, people who didn't grow old or age right, kids turning into gods and back again with a word.

Bruce had looked into Fawcett from the outside for six years and all he ever got was a brief history of them having a manufacturing and business boom in the forties thanks to the war and the fact Billy Batson existed close enough to Marvel to be his biggest voice outside his own. In just three days he knew more than he asked before, including that he never wanted to step foot here again with all the things that are just wrong about this city.

It's like that stupid time bubble is still here, keeping prying eyes from finding anything until years later. Close-knit and cut off, trusting to the point of naivety on a city wide scale. You only learn a damn thing about the place once you're there, this whole city is one giant enigma that Bruce would call bad data had he seen proof from his computer screen rather than his own eyes.

Dragging his feet on the concrete, Bruce just watches every step he takes. One foot in front of the other, following the flicking tail of Billy's pet shapeshifting tiger-cat-man-thing. The fact he has four more days of this ahead of him offers no comfort. He just looks up to the sky, to the red dot hiding among the stars that is the Watchtower in earth's orbit, and wonders just how much he’d missed when he has a god's eye view. 

Notes:

Cities, on their own and without context, in the DC universe and crazy as hell. Daily villains attacks in Gotham, alien attacks in Metropolis, and magical shenanigans fit for a children’s novel in Fawcett.

And yeah, the “running off with the circus” thing is code for Lucy getting involved with her dad.

And Fawcett, as magically ideal is it can appear, has its flaws of the general populace not even realizing evil can exist or continue to exist if they don’t act. In a few words, Fawcett is “Blissful Ignorance” personified

Chapter 31: Security Checkpoint; Barbara

Summary:

Barbara looks for any leaks or holes in the communication system and security to see how Damian got taken off the map for hours, finding an odd call made from Bruce’s room.

Notes:

I love call backs too much, I love when everything has a consequence or a purpose being written.

She goes over the data again and again.

 

Damian pings from the auction building, over where the schematics say the bathrooms are, and then he's gone. Dropped off the map, cut off, missing. 

 

That's how he remained for hours, then he gets back and ends up under Crime Alley in the sewers. Unscatched when Jason finds him, save for the scratched eye and cuts around the area he supposedly tended to himself.

 

Dick said there was a fight, Barbara runs both hands through her hair as she hits her head to the table in exasperation, and Marvel stopped it because Damian was safe and that's all that mattered for now.  

 

She hates magic people, they can never think of all the risks involved with anything modern, including tracking devices just randomly going offline for half a day with no explanation! Damian was gone, he could've been dead for all they knew and they couldn't find him! She couldn't find him!

 

She takes a breath, Just breathe, she tells herself. 

 

If you can't build the puzzle from the inside out, “Build from the outside in.” she mumbles to herself, lifting her aching head from the desk and focusing on the outside concerns.

 

Look for errors in communication from the last few weeks, deviations from the normal routine that made them targets, bugs in the software, bad intel, what happened to the others. That's what she’ll do, then when she's got more pieces she can build a clearer picture as to what happened in the static.

 

The motion sensor goes off for the main vent, signaling Cassandra's entrance. The hair on the back of her neck tell her she's probably sticking to the vent behind her, looking over her work silently waiting to pop out to add some input or comment on the CCTV footage of Stephanie escaping the party and finding a blindspot to change and swoop in three minutes later as Spoiler from a building top on the opposite side of her exit. She doesn't say anything as she scowers through the footage of the outside for any transport they might have used to move Damian, or bring in machinery to negate his signal. 

 

The suns coming up through the clocktowers windows when she manages past the footage and intel scraped together about Scarecrows attack, nothing but him wanting to see the fears of Gotham's elite coupled with the varied imagery of the art gallery and a missing goon that probably ran off when Spoiler dropped in.

 

She doesn't hear the vent open, or Cassandra's foot falls behind her as she perches herself on the spare chair beside her eyeing the tail end of the footage of ambulances ferrying out the thankful majority of people who weren't DOA from cardiac distress or from having a statue bashed against their heads from anything between a trip and fall or someone else's fight or flight response. Steph followed close behind the responders carrying Marvel away, helping a lady who was having an asthma attack to an EMT ready to assist. Marvel had gone catatonic, paralyzed in fear at whatever he’d seen and fully mute until he woke up hours later from an induced rest to get the toxin out of his body safely. 

 

Barabra looked over his chart for the night, the man had gone just as dead to the world as if he was already asleep, save for his heart jackrabbiting out of its chest when anyone spoke to him. The recorded triggers for Bruce also affected him, the note of the doors slamming shut in the ambulance and a nurse dropping something that made a crash had the same effect on the toxin of making his heart rate violently pickup at any sudden, banging sound. It was expected of Bruce when the toxin was doing its work, but that was Marvel reacting just as violently to it as well. Barbara jotted the information down onto a sticky note and added it to her ever growing pile of things to look into when filling out the puzzle.

 

Cassandra craned her head to see her writing, turning the video back and focusing the footage on Marvel. The man being dragged out in Bruce's body silently sobbing and shaking like a leaf, Barbara tapped her pen as she rewatched the scene, eye flicking between the screen and Cassandra's searching eyes.

 

Barabra left the important footage to Cassandra, moving onto their communications to check for any irregularities, immediately finding something out of the norm. 

 

A phone call made in the manor the night before, the number not belonging to any of their burner phones or professional lines. Outgoing at 3:57 and then multiple rejected incomings up until 4:01 when the call was accepted, the phone was turned off and hasn't resurfaced since. 

 

She put a trace in for the other number and focused on the other phone's history, finding that it was definitely a burner that wasnt used often. Pinging off the Watchtower satellite then back down on earth on Fawcett cell towers, Captain Marvel .

 

Maybe he had something to do with Damians disappearance? She pondered the thought, wondering if Bruce's old theory of Marvel being some deep cover spy had some legitimacy now. If so, then he's embedded himself too deep already and knows way too much for comfort. She turns over to Cassandra, her question dying in her mouth if she’d suspected anything from him when she sees her expression.

 

Sorrow, sympathy, all directed to the zoomed in footage of Marvel being carried off. “He is like Bruce.” Barbara blinked, “What?” 

 

She pointed to the screen, “Reactions are the same, and also genuine. He was hurt same way.” Her voice broke off and became strained at the end, Barbara offered up what remained of her mug of tea to help with her throat, all the while considering her words.

 

Cass was always right about these sorts of things, reading people like a book with all the authors notes and annotations, even when they went to every extreme to hide it.

 

Marvel couldn’t hide anything he did for the life of him, he’d always been the type to wear his heart on his sleeve and let his thoughts tumble out of his mouth with little to no filter. Everything he said and did would reveal him, it's what he doesn't that hides everything so well.

 

“He cried a lot,” Cass cleared her throat. “When the call went out, he had a nightmare.” She pointed to the phone log on the screen, specifically to the outgoing time.

 

“I heard him scream, then cry but everything was calm when I got there.” She explained, eyes on the monitor twinged with a sadness for the man. Barbara took that information to assess. Figuring that maybe it was just a call to a friend or one of his siblings for some comfort after a bad dream in a house full of mostly strangers to his actual personal life, not part of some plot or scheme years in the making to destabilize members of the League.

 

Barbara shook her head, mentally chiding herself for going to the worst extreme first. She really needs a nap, she hasn't logged off all day. Peaking her tired eyes open to check on the ping, she blinks herself awake at where it's triangulating, down at a familiar part of lower Gotham.

 

Then a familiar street. Then block. Then building.

 

The residents' profiles coming up with pictures and aliases with the most notable just a few places down, one Harleen Quinzel and Pamela Isely in their building. The trace further refining and narrowing the placement to their level, most the profiles disappearing with it, and then to their apartment on the top level with just their faces staring back at the two.

 

There's a part of her mind that can rationalize this, that Harley did learn to poke around minds in a way that could be beneficial like a licensed therapist, but every other part rings the warning bells. Saying it's definitely not a good sign that another hero is in contact at odd hours with another's villains, especially when one is still a semi-regular nuisance and the other is an enigma Bruce had pulled his hair out trying to understand.

 

Cass peered over her shoulder, eyes darting at the information on the screens and coupling it with the mountain of data she had from just being in the same room as the man. Evidently finding something when she darts out of her seat and exits through the skylight this time, a quick “See you later.” is all she's left with as she tries to piece together what Cass might've seen with what she does have.

 

A notification from one of Bruce's logins chimes in.

Notes:

Bruce is a state away dealing with bombshell after bomb shell and in comes Barbara with an armed nuke, that’s gonna be fun :-)

But seriously, Billy’s whole secret life in getting unraveled like a dropped ball of yarn down a skyscraper.

Chapter 32: Home field; Bruce

Summary:

Bruce looks further into Jr. reporter Billy Batson with a renewed interest, seeing as him and the Captain are one and the same.

Somehow it baffles him more how much his life fell into pieces, only to be forced back together by small hands.

Notes:

Billy, in multiple of his canons, manages to rent a place for himself to live at by using Marvel as a dad stand-in by dressing him like a civilian. So he deserves a relatively good place to just fall into a mattress after his day.

The walk home was silent, save for the expected amount of dogs barking from yards and cars chugging by. 

 

What's not expected is now used to the trek Billy’s body feels, no ache in his legs or discomfort on his feet from the solid two and a half hours he’s walked for. He briefly wonders how much of the lack of pain is his own mental dissonance from pain or Billy just being used to exerting himself with no breaks. He pulls his hands out of his pockets, studying what he can see to get a better mental image of just who Billy is under Captain Marvel.

 

His hands have building calluses, there's a scar in the right palm that correlates with smaller ones on the fingers. Like he’d grabbed a knife that got ripped out of his hand, probably fighting someone and rushing to disarm them. There's other defensive ones, from lifting a hand to soften a blow or fists used to block various stabs and slashes. There's evidence of his left palm having healed from a gash, some slip up on a harsh surface that tore at his skin.

 

There's so many small lines on his fingertips from paper cuts he's surprised the kid has half his fingerprints intact, either a very avid reader or a very clumsy one. Probably both.

 

He’s wearing a Flash ring, one you’d get at his museum’s gift shop, and presses the small button to its side and sees one of the many little inspirational quotes in them. Billy’s has the small ‘It’s not being a hero, it’s doing the right thing.’ one filling the small memento, he clicks it shut and twists it on his finger in thought.

 

It feels satirical to look back, to see how wide eyed the man was in awe with every hero he’d met, only for him to be an actual wide eyed child behind that glamor.

 

Tawny startles at his dry chuckle, thinking Billy could've walked into events they've made appearances in and gotten autographs, worn their merch under his suit during meetings, maybe even reenact grand fights or even small squabbles with action figures while playing with friends. 

 

That every day he flew or Zeta’ed up to the Watchtower he was probably thinking at any moment he’d wake up from a dream, the memory of his first words up there when he took them being “Someone kick me, this has to be a dream.” in a hushed breath, looking off at the heroes he now stood beside as equals like one blink would make them disappear.

 

Guy had heard him passing by and obliged on his wish, only to end up in the infirmary with a broken foot and a string of curses leaving his mouth while Marvel sputtered apologizes like a kid who just hit a baseball through the window. The knowledge he was a scared kid under all that squeezes the air out of his chest and kills the lingering laughter, especially when he remembers yelling at both men to shut up from the irritation that was and would forever be those two in a room.

 

He instinctively brings his hands together when he really feels the drop of temperature, rubbing warmth into them as Tawny turned down a side street and into an alleyway, cocking his head for Bruce to follow. He did, following him down the alley and up a fire escape, jumping up and grabbing at the out of reach ladder rung to pull himself up. Bruce notes that there isn't as harsh a strain on his muscles as he'd expect, so Billy is either already used to this path or took up physical training for his weaker form; he’s leaning towards assuming the latter. 

 

Tawny leads him up the escape and to a window looking into a dark living room, pawing at the glass to tell Bruce to open it. When he reaches to do so there's a thin wave of light over the window that warbles around his fingers and deforms to make an opening for them, opening further to let him slip through and snapping shut with the window behind him. Bruce shifts his weight and walks without a sound across the room to the hallway, ensuring the floorboards don’t creek just in case he isn't alone here for whatever reason.

 

Tawny clicks his tongue up at him, shaking his head at Bruce's wary behavior. “There is no need to fret about other people, Billy lives alone.” He states too worrying of a fact simply, like that isn’t greater cause for concern.

 

Tawny pads off somewhere in the darkness, there's the sound of shifting sand again before the lights flick on. A warm yellow glow illuminating the living room and connected kitchen off to the side, the separation of the two just being the change from one shade of oak to the other. It's not what he’d expect from a kid living on his own, there's no sense of scarcity on the surface of it all. Had he walked in with no pretense he’d think the owner was a fixer type, bringing in discarded pieces here and there to fill out the odd and ends of interior design. 

 

Bruce's hand twitches as he surveys his surroundings, a nagging voice in his head telling him to make sure this whole apartment isn't some illusion like Marvel was. It tells him to stride into the kitchen, make sure he has food, make sure he's eating like a growing boy should and not a kid left home alone indefinitely. Make sure nothing went bad and formulate some idea of how to broach the issue to Billy if there is one.

 

He’d seen how boys on their own lived, seen how Jason made do with abandoned buildings, old milk crates, an actual lantern, and the barren, poor excuse of a mattress he slept on. And that was the better circumstance he's seen in his years, even if the cold still seeped in every winter and he didn't even have a damn door and the old heater looked ready to either fail or blow any day.

 

Tawny moves to the couch, taking a comfortable spot atop it and curling up for a nap. Bruce can at least have the comfort that the old thing is real, in all its cat-clawed glory with an off colored patch on the side fixing where the cat had clawed off the deep blue fabric entirely.

 

Bruce stands there a moment longer, waiting for the cat that knows he's not Billy to say something. To try and intimidate or instruct him somewhere where he won't see too much as to the boys’ real identity or the quality of life he's made for himself, but Tawny just snores on the couch, either uncaring or oblivious to any potential threat he could be. Just like the rest of Fawcett , Bruce bitterly thinks.

 

Tawny doesn't move for another minute, so Bruce does.

 

Bruce toes off his shoes, placing them by the door that's covered with dozens of taped on papers with symbols and sigils filling the white pages. The ones he does recognize say things like ‘Protection’ or ‘Warning’ while others look layered over the other to make something new for a specific spell, making Bruce squint his eyes to see the small differences between the simple and the layered to try and discern their use.

 

The attempt just gives him a headache, wincing at the shooting pain in the space between his ears, like a needle in one temple and out the other. Again and again until he turns his gaze to the ridiculous amount of physical locks on the door. Three different sliding latches and a chain coupled with the doors dead bolt.

 

Which, yes, assures that Billy has quite a bit more safety than Jason could afford. But also raises the question of why he felt the need to add so many latches, especially when Bruce can tell the only thing that wasn't an addition was the dead bolt.

 

Security cautious, his mind supplies, fully delving into detective mode. Probably dealt with break ins before, now takes what's considered the necessary measures to protect from threats. His eyes wander back to the papers, the shine of the pencil lead on most of the writing shining in the light but not in the right way. Magical and physical threats.

 

Bruce looks behind him, to the back of the scratched up couch and over it to the small TV, the screen smaller than most of his monitors at the Cave and the case outline dented like it hit a few things without it being hard enough to crack it. There's cords behind it connecting to an older DVD player, a VHS one too with the eject buttons symbol chipped almost all the way off, used so many times over some amount of time that the buttons are just buttons with nothing to tell anyone else what their function is.

 

He doesn't think he’d be able to tell himself without some trial and error, but there's another twitch to his fingers and foreign voice in his head, this one without a voice and just words, telling him which one brings the volume up and which one goes down. Which ones rewinds the tape and speeds the film forward, muscle memory and ingrained habits finally showing through after days of being in his body.

 

That brings a chilling thought to the surface, unconscious details only surfacing once he's Billy, not Captain Marvel. His real body holding the memory of navigating the little bits of life, Marvel working with nothing but a blank slate, leaving Bruce to rely on his own habits and memories to make his way. Why no natural movement or speech came to him like it would with anyone else he's been in this stupid scenario with, it's quite literally a different body he had to learn to navigate on the fly, using rehearsed and practiced moves that outed himself as nothing like Marvel to his closest allies.

 

He leans on the arm rest of the couch, steadying himself for the moment. He chooses to read off the names on the movie cases, thinking maybe he can hint at his new knowledge without setting Billy off by making small talk about the things he likes. Seeing the normal amount of kids cartoons, a season's collection of ‘ The Marvelous Adventures of Tawky Tawny’ , some blank cases with blank stickers naming its contents, and a portable movie player with the charging cord stacked on top of it.

 

He pushes himself off the couch, going to check on the kitchen. Breathing a sigh of relief with every thankful discovery. The pantry cabinet has the basic ingredients for everyday cooking and baking, canned vegetables ready to be heated up for a meal, and a small assortment of snack foods for moments between meals. A half empty box of granola bars sitting on the shelf eye-level to him, probably for the tired moments after a mission or long patrol when anything is better than nothing and he mindlessly goes through the motions of the night to prepare for the next day.

 

The half gallon in the fridge is good for another week, a half carton of eggs, and other condiments and additions to piece a meal with. The freezer has some cut meats and packets of chicken breasts to work with, some frozen snacks like mozzarella sticks in a gallon bag and a pint of ice cream under the wire rack shelf holding a half full ice tray.

 

The cupboards are stocked, no plate or glass matches another one and most are cheap plastic, but there's clean dishes to use. The silverware is the same, mismatched and cheap, but definitely usable and safe. There's a few other utensils like a can opener, some tongs, and a set of chopsticks with little cat and fish designs thrown in by the side. The forks and spoons in a divider to keep things organized while everything else enjoys its disarray.

 

Something in Bruce's gut wants to say he's hallucinating, that it shouldn't be possible for a kid on a Jr. reporter's salary to have a charmingly pieced together home when he's alone. But his head reminds him of just how put together his boys were when they entered his life in some cases and just how much they grew out of disorganized, juvenile habits when they became part of it.

 

It's with painful clarity he realizes that Billy probably scraped all he could together and made the most of it with a resounding success, but by himself. Bruce had Alfred, his sons though better or worse had him, they had each other.

 

He's hunching over the sink, spitting up the former contents of his twisting stomach. Turning the cold tap on to wash away the bile, pulling a cheap plastic cup down from the cupboard and filling it with water to guzzle down in an attempt to wash the taste away.

 

Bruce makes the mental note that, whether he confronts Billy about his life or not, he’s going to pay him back for the bag of grapes and ham sandwich he made to fill his belly back up with. And the pork chops he's getting out to thaw for a later dinner. And maybe some new shoes to replace his singular old pair with the heel eroding away. And about a million other things his British sounding conscience is badgering him to get for his teammate.

 

It's not where he expected to be halfway through this week, eating a ham on whole wheat like he's a younger and just as stubborn version of himself wanting to take care of himself to show he's not helpless. Frowning at the thought that Billy might react like he did when help was offered, biting back that he's not some helpless kid and he can take care of himself. Whether the words held merit or not, and Billy’s certainly would have carried more than his did at this age, Bruce fights to keep his appetite at the mental image of another kid sneering at him for wanting to do everything he could to help.

 

— — —

The superhero merchandise and memorabilia is expected, Marvel never hid his admiration of them and it makes sense for a young child to surround themselves with their idols. As are the spare baseball posters and items, a bat leaning against the bed's foot and signed baseball sitting on a bookshelf. The rest of the shelf is dedicated to comics, old worn out novels, and a handful of academic books on sciences and mathematics from middle school level to highschool.

 

There's toy planes hanging from the ceiling corner over a desk with a small laptop, notes scattered around it and newspaper clippings pinned to a small cork board on the wall. Mostly about strange magical mishaps in the day, or what Fawcett considers odd. Everything from a lost leprechaun to the miraculous birth of twins to an older couple, one kid in those photos being tinged green instead of pink.

 

The small sticky note with an arrow to that clipping reading, ‘Tricked Faye?? Smooth over F/H relations w/ Darla’ generating another slew of questions to talk Marvel ear off with when he gets back to the cave. Because, one, why are there four different families dealing with the Faye in Fawcett and getting both kids out of the deal? And, two, who the hell is Darla? Some Faye diplomat?

 

Pressing a key to wake the computer up, the screen opens up to a document being written titled “10/16-10/23 broadcast” . Some speaking notes on recent events in the week and a dialogue with someone called Con with the note to remind them not to smoke in the building or curse on air. Bruce skimmed through the document, catching up on the news in a way, learning that the other weeks broadcast was interrupted due to an airway takeover by Banjo Jr. that Billy was going to apologize for and that apparently the city needed a reminder to not open portals to hell or summon hellhounds to avenge scorned relationships.

 

Billy was heavy on the details of what to avoid with Halloween coming up, segwaying into a caller Q&A session about the topic of any Marvel or magic related questions.

 

Bruce makes a mental note that, alongside the headache-inducing amount of researching he's going to have to do and catch up on just for this city, he should probably tune in to Billy’s program for the weekly updates. Shuddering at the thought of how much this whole place was an unchecked powder keg held together by a child, mind drifting to what a bad day in Fawcett would be for anyone else to try and clean up.

 

Judging by the notes Billy took, he can't imagine Booster would be happy trying to wrestle a hydra into a hell portal or Clark being called to the next state to fight a different evil scientist. He certainly wouldn't want to deal with what amounted to the Music Meister if he was a band kid instead of a choir kid.

 

He yawns, blinking in surprise a few times that he’d made the sound. Granted he’d been up for three days in Marvel's body alone, but Marvel didn't need to sleep. Did Billy? He presses his hand over Billy’s heart, its beating under the layers of fabric, his chest rising and falling with each breath unlike how it did before.

 

Bruce decides not to waste time dwelling on it, saving the draft for Billy before exiting out and tapping into a secure channel to the Batcomputer. What research he can do, he should do, if not to gauge Billy's situation then to get the full picture before he does or says something that send the boy running from him. 

— — —

William Joseph “Billy” Batson, born December 23rd to Clarence Charles and Marilyn Batson. Twin sister, Willow Jocelyn Batson, declared dead after she became unresponsive in the hospital shortly after delivery.

 

Both Batsons were wealthy archeologists who had their son being schooled intermittently in Fawcett with his education supplemented by tutors while he traveled with them to dig sites, living between trips at their home in Parker Square where Billy was raised.

 

Following their deaths in Khandaq, Billy was meant to be raised by his Uncle Ebenezer Batson in accordance with the wishes of the late Batson's will but did not adhere to the request. Placing Billy in foster care and keeping the boy's intended inheritance for himself, Ebenezer would later suffer a stroke that would leave him bed bound for most the rest of his life. Being involved in a fire from the Arson Fiend that almost took his life at the Batson residence during a party sponsoring the mayoral campaign of his son, Sinclair Batson. 

 

Sinclair would become badly burned in a later attack, turning into the villain known as Sin before the race's conclusion.

 

Billy would move from home to home, running from most or being taken out of them after reports of abuse or criminal neglect were filed. There were multiple gaps in his first year in the system, his second showing him being placed in an orphanage for a year and a half before running away, falling fully through the cracks of the foster system. Only to fall into the criminal one for six months, multiple juvenile offenses for shoplifting necessities or food items or loitering.

 

His record also included a breaking and entering charge for breaking into a foster home shortly after being kicked out to retrieve a book bag of his things, alongside a number of times he assaulted or fled an officer. Each report coming down to Billy trying to survive or running from being put back in the system.

 

The medical records weren't as empty as he hoped, littered with evidence of the abuse he faced or the neglect that almost killed him. A broken arm from being hit by a car in a parking lot, signs of prolonged starvation, bruised ribs from beatings, a baby molar being knocked out early from fighting an older foster brother. Billy hand managed to break the older kids thumb and nose, claiming to have been defending two of the younger kids from his abuse. 

 

Then when he got caught after falling through the gaps it got worse, being taken in by police with scabbing over stab wounds from some form of fight, three concussions, a number of broken bones that were noted as fully healed when he’d end up in the hospital again far too early to have healed properly, which led to a physician noting he may be meta human with increased healing abilities. To Bruce there were too many broken bones, that just being the ones they knew about.

 

His eyes stung from staring at his findings, flicking from one document to another that showed a boy whose life fell into shambles so young but through whatever mix of magic and grit he used, was able to build something approximating normality.

 

Bruce leaned back in the chair, letting his head fall and turn to the side at the bookshelf just a few paces away from him. Most of the novels were what he could remember his sons talk about reading in their English classes, classic pieces mixed in with Shakespere, the others being teen fantasy titles or a fair share of worn out copies of Greek epics.

 

There's study books on algebra, highschool science, american history and government, any class aside from the arts taking up a shelf and a half. Sickynotes and bookmarks poking from the pages.

 

Bruce wonders where Billys at, where he's ahead or behind with kids his age, or even just sidekicks and starting out heroes his age. Is he balancing everything? The heroism, his reporting job, his responsibilities, his friendships, his academics, his life.

 

His eyes find a collection book, peeking out from between his comics, The Adventures of Bulletman and the Crimson Crusaders!

 

James Kent-Barr, Brian Butler, and Pinky Butler. He knows he had them, heroes with decades of experience dealing with what Fawcett would dish out that would support and guide him in his career until he was ready to go at it alone. Billy had people to count on here, he had people here that really knew him and helped him where League assistance was out of the question for him.

 

Some tension dissipated at that knowledge, but his shoulders were still bunched together at the nagging feeling that there was still more to be done. That Billy needed more than people almost a century old helping him, needed someone in the League to help keep the divide of civilian and alternate identities from everyone else. That nagging voice came back, both chiding him for thinking of Billy as helpless when he’s done fine enough so far while also pushing him to do something more to help.

 

A ping came from the laptop, a private chat room opened up in the corner with text bearing the news ‘Unknown call made at house.’ Oracles icon right by the message. ‘ Marvel in contact with suspicious persons’

 

Bruce gnaws at his lip, worrying over what he’s let Billy get himself into. A secret identity under scrutiny in a house full of trained detectives, detectives that have been the sounding board of his many theories and rants about his heroic persona and probably have their own suspicions.

 

He responds to wait until Friday night when he’d be at the cave for an in person update, they’d share what they’ve learned by word of mouth. Oracle confirmed the meeting, shutting down the communication stream.

 

His eyes hurt from the strain of the bright screen, his head hurt from spiraling, and god knows how long it’s been since Billy actually rested. He made away with the WHIZ Radio pin and belt and flopped into the covers of the small bed, foregoing a nightly routine at the moment in favor of a long awaited mental shut down from the past few days’ events.

Notes:

If anyone got confused at the whole dead twin thing, it’s because I’m going with the “switched at birth” narrative that Mary’s old backstory was.

That story being the Bromfield child dying and being switched out with Mary by their nurse, now with the Batsons grieving one lost kid and devoting themselves to the living one instead of being just straight up dead in the OG backstory.

Plus, the Jocelyn Batson bit is a nod to his parents old names, Jocelyn and Merril. With the added “parents naming their twins with matching names” thing with William and Willow

Also also, Bruce immediately going dad mode worrying over Billy bc his Super-Dad senses never turn off, even in a different body.

Chapter 33: Fullbody discomfort; Billy

Summary:

The prelude, the scene, and the aftermath of an interview with Gothams prince himself, Bruce Wayne! This time with puppies!

Notes:

Billy deserves a bad/good/bad again sandwich day, with guest stars and honorable mentions of some beloved little numbers from Bruce and Billy’s lives

Billy is trying to ground himself to the room, away from the one, er, well, technically two things bothering him.

Tim has to see his discomfort, off to the side biting his cheek as Billy throws him pleading glances after pleading glances to please step in and get this lady away from me!

He gives up calling for tims help and focuses on the mirror, reminded that he's Bruce Wayne for the week, he needs to act like Bruce Wayne in public for the week. So he should probably make some attempt to flirt with the lady taking ages to apply his microphone, in the unfortunate position of her leaning down while he's sitting. Meaning the problem is literally right in front of his face, both of them.

He’s almost thankful he's not Marvel at the moment, try as he may to get him to shut up, Zeus would always have something to say despite his marriage to the literal goddess of the subject.

She says something about makeup coming in just a second as she stands straight, Billy's grip on the arms of his chair loosening as he bites his tongue not to sigh in relief that she's leaving or blurt out that he already did his makeup. Billy tunes her out after that though, her comment on his looks for his age, her hand on his arm before she leaves and the shameless flirting in front of Tim.

The second the door closes hes slouching in the chair like a deflated balloon and Tims right next to him, “That looked like torture.” He joked as he pulled Billy up from the grossed out puddle he was in that chair.

And it really is torture, he hates women flirting with him on a normal day as Marvel. It's humiliating when the same ladies that pinch him on the cheek and call him adorable try and pinch his butt after he saves them from a six story drop, or try and straight up kiss him for saving their lives. Its a new method of torture to be dealing with Brucie Waynes reputation with ladies coming like like an avalance on him, the lady who just left had way too much cleavage open for him to see with some of her blouse unbuttoned.

Billy pulls at his short collar, trying not to jostle the microphone and risk needing her help again, and tries to swallow down the lump in his throat that kept him mute through the whole exchange. Tim awkwardly patting his back as he works through righting himself before he has to go out and act some more like an ex-playboy turned full family man with way too big pockets, ditzy and effortlessly suave.

Billy would rather choke on a cactus than be here right now.

Tim pats his shoulder for attention, “Here.” he hands him an earwig. Billy puts it in as tim rattle off some instructions, “Just fawn over the dogs you’ll be with and if any hard question come up me and Babs will tell you what to say.” he motioned to the Wayne Inc. pin on his hoodie, the black of the camera lens invisible on the similarly colored pin. 

Tim moves his hair to fall over his ears a bit, bothering his cheeks a bit, but if there's one thing Billy Batson can do, it's brave a little discomfort for the sake of keeping up a charade. It's what he does everytime Beautia flirts with him, or when Arthur or Hal try and invite him out for drinks, or Plas makes a few crude jokes, or Guy talks up his sex life. Just smile and wave through it all, keep playing the role you got yourself stuck in.

The makeup guy comes in, and Billy prays he’s entirely straight and wont try his hand flirting with him, or if he isn't then at least have enough shame to not do it in front of Tim again.

Thankfully he doesn't say much, just that his name is Axel and a small complement to his own artist who did most of his job getting him ready. He could see Tim preen a bit from the corner of his eye, making Bily accidently throw Axel off when he smiled a little too wide. Tim’s hoodie pocket buzzes and he excuses himself from the room, and Billy's alone with Axel as he gets ready for a hopefully stress free interview.

But Axel not talking makes things silent, and the silence breeds a flurry of memories Billy tries to shove down, none helping him feel better about his situation. 

The reminder of one of the big reasons he never wants to reveal his identity tying his stomach in knots. He knows his age will be a big deal to anyone whose interacted with him, not just with the League inducting a kid to fight world ending catastrophes, but with everyone who has had the misfortune to decide to flirt with him.

The humor-lined voice of Freddy calling him jailbait in disguise followed by the memory of flying into a billboard right after he said that gem bubbling to the surface of his mind, the last bit of it where Freddy apologized and steered the conversation to the robot he’d just a bunch of civilians from and who might’ve made it.

The number of times Beautia tried to kiss him in gratitude from saving her from her own dads evil plots, his old principal literally calling him a snack when he sweeps her away from a frenzied rhino that escaped from the zoo, the fanmail of ladies detailing just what they either wanted to do to him or wanted him to do to them sent to WHIZ that he’d be in charge of organizing and later answering. He never wants the world to know he and Marvel are one in the same, he’d rather die with the shame of being whatever you call guys like him than have the whole world, half the female population of Fawcett most importantly, know everything they said and did they did to or around a middle schooler.

He knows he doesn't have it worse than any other famous kid people anticipate growing up gorgeous, or his own siblings. Freddy gets flirted with by Georgia, but she knows he's her age under his glamor. Mary has dealt with the same he has, though she has the guts to break a guy's nose for touching her or not taking a hint after telling him no half a dozen times.

Billy kept himself from shifting in his seat, not wanting to make Axel's day harder than it had to be just because his mind wanted to dampen his mood. He just hopes Bruce doesn't humor Beautia more than shyly changing the subject and moving on, he doesn't want to deal with a supervillains daughter feeling led on at a party. Especially when the supervillain is Dr. “Uglier Lex Luthor '' himself.

There's a clack of a blush palette closing and a chipper “All done!” from Axel, who motions him to head out for the actual interview. The prospect of one of the puppy interviews being just a few rooms down resurrects the pep in his step, striding to the door number he remembers Tim telling him it was happening and peaking in.

Seeing the crew and whited out set up, a shorter woman with a headset waving him over and instructing him to take his seat on the canvas white floor. Which he does, sitting crisscross applesauce and listening to her prattle off the basic starter questions before they delve into the public's questions and introducing him to the man interviewing him.

A man named Jack who talks really fast, like an auctioneer pressuring people into making the next bid, and has oddly colored eyes. Irises tinged a bit red in the lights and sclera a yellowish off-white color, when the shake hands his grip is bone crushingly tight. Odd appearance aside, Billy smiles through the introduction and tells him he’s been looking forward to the interview, which he had because who doesn't love being in a room of adorable puppies.

Plus, he knows he's looked worse than any other reporter making it to the scene with the biggest scoop. Hair stuck up from the leftover static of transforming and talking his way out of why he's reporting from the scene in full Green Lantern pajamas and mooing minotaur slippers on more than one occasion. Weird eyes and strong grip has nothing on the top ten weird outfits he's been caught on camera in for his job, and Billy has seen weirder on his trips to the grocery store and making conversation with the bug eyed cashier that always has a bee or two buzzing by them.

Tim comes in from a side door, waving to Billy by the camera crew and giving him a thumbs up, which Billy returns with a smile. The shorter lady, who Billy realizes is definitely the one in charge, hollers out that they're starting shooting in sixty seconds and to make sure everyone’s ready. Billy straightens out the outfit Tim picked out for him at the short notice; Fixing the super soft tan cashmere suit jacket, the black turtle neck from bothering the bottom of his chin when he relaxes his posture, and double checking that his weirdly uncomfortable dress shoes are tied properly. Wanting to look as good as Bruce Wayne is intended to look, it's the whole point of keeping up appearances. 

Someone brings a chair up for Jack by the camera, the man tapping his papers straight on his folded lap and clears his throat. Billy leans to look past the camera crew when he hears the excited yipping of the puppies, seeing a few stage hands carrying in the cutest Bernese Mountain dog pups he's ever seen in his life .

Bruce can complain and the JL can make fun of him later if they figure the whole debacle out, but there's no force on earth that would've been able to stop Billy from squealing “ Puppies!!” like a schoolgirl with clenched fists lifted and shaking impure, unfiltered joy and seeing the adorable little fur babies. The crew shares a laugh, and Tim stays off to the side shaking his head with a smile as Billy makes grabby hands for the one coming bundles of joy, that exact scene being what the video opens up with.

— — —

The first question is easy, “Excited to be here today, are we Mr. Wayne?” The first clip gets a screen full of Bruce Wayne smiling as he gives the adorable pup lots of belly rubs as he settles them into a cradling hold. Billy cooed out the words, “This is a dream.” more to the dog than to Jack in response. Smiles growing with every dog brought out until there were eight of them and his face hurt from the smiling.

By the time they really got to the questions, Bruce Wayne had three dogs cradled in his arms, three running around him as they nipped and chased each other's tails, and one he’d affectionately named Chomper during the interview who was going to town on his fancy dress shoes. Billy had to interrupt answering, at Barbara’s guidance, about how he was taking his recovery from the latest gas attack so that he could just take the shoe off and leave Chomper off the side of the camera with his new chew toy.

“Not like I can't get a million more of 'em.” Billy joked as he gave Chompers ears a rub, shifting the weight of Tic Tac and Toe, as he’d named them in his head, in his arms so they could get the proper support in their position. Laughing with Jack when the question of if Bruce was finally settling down after decades being Brucie Wayne, Jack having more of a good natured laugh for the audio clip and Billy managing to pull his lips into a lopsided grin as he chuckled.

“I guess I kinda am?” Billy shrugged, releasing Tac to play with the other three dogs off in their own world. Barbara coached him to say the next couple of words, “I'm getting up there in years, trust me.” Tim snickered behind the camera, hopefully not being picked up by the mics. Billy readjusted Tic and Toe, the latter falling asleep in his arms. Which, awwww. Call him strong in  spirit and melted in heart, these guys were just too precious.

The more humorous questions were a breeze for Billy to get through. His thoughts on Batman, a question asked in every other interview as public perception and opinion was in constant flux, to which Billy echoed the rehearsed answer Barbara monotonically read off in his ear. The ones about Wayne enterprises had Billy reading Tims facial expressions and mimicking sticking to the topics Barbara listed off for his answers, some like the charity ones getting better Tim reactions than things like the company’s future if Bruce intends to fully retire. That had him mimicking the talk he’d heard from Magnificus, orderly and straight to the point, exuding an air of professionalism and confidence befitting a supervillian whose plan had fallen perfectly into place.

The image tarnished somewhat by the vicinity of a dog showcasing its burning hatred of his discarded shoe, but it's nothing new to the Batman. Billy had seen Bruce speak of a coming doomsday (that wasn't actually Doomsday, for once) they had to fight while Steph was at the Watchtower in her short tenure as Robin, going from rocking on her heels for him to finish and making faces behind him. If anyone could look dead serious in times of total crisis with their environment betraying their attempt to no diminishment of the serious tone, it was Batman. Billy just wishes he was Batman, enough to get less laughs from the staff outside the mics range.

The last few questions were a lot easier; Any plans after the interview? Excited for the upcoming superhero movies? Going to see any in theaters?

The last one had Jack making a weird face, still smiling but like he's faking enjoying someone's food. Billy just shrugged, “Who knows what might come up on the drive home or if me and Tim will want to stop for something.” Billy lets Tic go while still cradling Tac, the former getting tired of being in his arms and gallivanting off to join the rest of the playing pups.

“And, on the superhero movie thing? Not all that interested.” Billy gently patted Toe's fluffy head, the dog nuzzling into his chest. Billy really didn't want to move once this was done. “The backstories they come up with are so ridiculous half the time; Like, the amount of disrespect for the antagonists they put in are just insulting, especially for the ones that are trying to get better or have not acted maliciously in years.” He huffed, thinking of all the stupid Batman movies that keep painting Harley as some ditzy blonde with nothing in her skull but a Joker shrine and the practical effects that made up his cousin's appearance in the last short film they made of him.

He’d loved those movies before when it wasn't him and his best friends, the bad taste in his mouth coming up each time they kept villainizing Dr. Fries after he's been locked up and willingly stayed during massive breakouts after his wife was cured and she’d left him. Or when they get Clark and his motives horrifically wrong, painting him as some jesus figure or inhumanly cold.

Billy remembered he was still in the interview, looking back to the camera to remind it, and whoever added the last question in. “And I’ll wait for things to be available outside of the theatrical release to watch at home with my kids if they’re interested in them.” His voice bitter from his train of thought and his own disgust at having the question prompted, even after so many years that it had to be public knowledge to people born yesterday. His inner reporter wanted to find out who asked and chew them out for their insensitivity and everything else about him wanting to ring up Bruce and offer a sympathetic hug on principle, letting the last shot end on that note as he focused on the sleeping puppy in his arms.

— — —

Thanks to the ever prepared nature of Gotham's vigilantes, Billy had a second pair of shoes on once the interview was over. The ruined pair having been discarded in one of the industrial sized garbage bins, at least after Chomper had stopped fighting one of the stage hands for the right to keep mowing down on his new toy. 

He's still got the dog in his arms, cooing at the sleeping ball of fluff, when Tim softly claps him on the back. Whispering, “Gonna’ pull a Wayne move and adopt him?” The smile broke out immediately at the joke, nudging Billy's side with an affectionate grin. Billy's smile faltered, counting off the menagerie of weird pets his family already had. He swiveled his head around the room, finding and making his way to one of the other stage hands rounding up the puppies to gently pass the pup off. Looking back to Tim, he had his arms crossed and a raised brow questioning Why? At his sudden shift.

Billy shrugged, “Already got a dog in my family, plus, I’ve got a cat at home so it’d be kinda crowded.” He thought of Blue, Freddy’s aptly named blue heeler he got sometime between his last house and the Vasquez’s for his chronic pain from his leg, a loving service dog that the whole house loved to death.

As much as Billy really liked puppies, dogs grew to be bigger handfuls than he needed in life, he’ll stick to just having a shapeshifting stuffed toy given life as his version of “ Man’s best friend.”

Nevermind how crowded the whole family's pet situation is; Between Mary’s enchanted bunny Hoppy, Freddy’s service dog, Darla’s goldfish at home and Unicorn chilling at the Rock, and Tawny being Tawny there was enough with his family. Honestly, it's the story of his life that everything concerned with family was overcrowded with people and what they bring with them.

Tim just offered a fist bump, “Welcome to the club.” Billy happily returned the gesture with an explosion sound effect as they walked to the exit, garnering a chuckle out of Tim that was interrupted by his phone beeping again. Billy didn't snoop, rearing his head around to see if anything had come up, nothing of the sort. But Tims face fell, biting at the inside of his cheek before his eyes flicked to him and back to whatever was sent to him. Tims pace slagged, pulling enough behind Billy to be by his side to guide him out of the building but far back to the point he was hiding his screen as he typed some response.

He sighed, looking around to make sure it wasn't crowded enough in the hall before he said, “If it's about me it's fine Tim.” He let his shoulders sag, keeping his pace as it was so Tim was still where he wanted to be. “I get that you guys are you and you do this sorta thing,” he peered over his shoulder to Tims avoidant eyes. “But please don't just shut off around me. If there's something you're worried about I can try to answer it, at least give me that chance before you all decide on a truth that ruins things.”

Billy went back to looking straight ahead, Tim in his periphery silently leading their way out to the parking garage Alfred was waiting in with the car, opening the doors to them with a courteous greeting. Billy thanked him and climbed in with a smile, Tim mumbling a thanks to break the short silence as he joined opposite of Billy.

Billy's day just seemed to be switching from good to uncomfortable on a dime, silently embarrassed to the interview, then just silent with someone he’d been able to talk to easily. The space between them short, Tim pulling his feet up to sit crossed in his seat across from the other to make more distance in the large back of the car. The ringer of his phone turned off by now to hide the conversation that shut them up, evident by the lack of clicking and typing from his ranger being turned off sometime in between.

While Tim kept his eyes on the phone, eyes burning with something Billy hoped wasn’t somehow because of him, he kept his on the passing road. Counting the cars that weren’t generically colored as they went by; excluding the many grays, blacks, reds, and blues from his tally to see how many weren't just the basic colors as a challenge for the city.

One Volkswagen painted like a ladybug and an ugly, puke green Jeep was the current total, nothing compared to the still thriving old pastel paint jobs that were one of Fawcett’s many little holdovers from Suspendium. The sleek designs that filled out rich people's garages full of relics and fixer-uppers were the common beginner car for Fawcitizens big and small.

Billy wondered if he could convince Alfred to let him borrow the keys so he could drive. Billy knew how to drive most every older model, hotwire them too, and drives were always a calming experience for him. Everyone sees him and thinks he's old enough to do most everything else adults do; have an apartment, full time job, drive when he needs to, and that's as Billy does. Its that thought process that genuinely has him humoring the idea of asking, picturing just driving for hours in something more familiar than all this to feel a little more like himself, maybe even blare half a dozen podcasts or audiobooks at the same time from a radio so his head feels less empty for the ride.

He let his head hit the window with a Thunk! as he counted his third car, some hot pink lowrider. When he spared a glance into the car he saw the fuzzy pink dice hanging from the rear view mirror and the driver, giant cotton candy colored fur coat and heart shaped glasses blowing a huge bubble of gum before turning down a different road. “Gotta hand it to the Gothamites,” he thinks, “They really commit to their aethstetic.”

“You promise to answer if I ask?” Tim questioned, trying and failing to stare a hole through his phone, like he’d spontaneously gained laser vision and the device personally offended him. Billy straightened up in his seat to tell him yes, to just get the whole ordeal and get back to happily chatting with one of his friends.

Tims eyes just shifted to meet his, not looking up at him before he goes back to the phone and taps the case, thinking over what he wants to ask. Billy leaned forward as much as he could without making the seat belt reel back, waiting for Tim to muster up whatever he needed to ask to get past this. But he kept tapping at the case, thumb scrolling as he reassessed the information available as he squared his shoulders.

Opening his mouth to speak, the words died in his mouth for a second before reviving just as quick. “Are- does,” He stammered. “There's nothing… nefarious about you, right?” That… wasn't the question Billy expected, or one he'd ever expect. Did I do something wrong?  

“No wha-, no. Why are you thinking I’m–” Billy searched for the word, taken aback by the whole question. Nefarious, seriously? “I’m me Tim, I help because being a bystander makes me feel nauseous.” He made a clenching gesture over his stomach to stress his point, the idea making him car sick as the car lurched to a stop as Alfred commented on traffic. Billy glared at the man, not all too comfortable with someone else listening in, or the fact he went from being interviewed as Bruce Wayne to integrated as Captain Marvel.

When he turned back to Tim he was typing something, a cold sinking feeling taking over his chest, like someone scooped out some unnamed part of him and left his heart and lungs to struggle without it. Slouching back into his seat, he waited for the traffic to let up, hoping to just make it back to the manor and distract himself with something in the library when Tim pressed some button behind his seat and a hatch on the spare seats back opened up.

Out dropped a messenger bag full of something Tim grabbed as he unbuckled his seatbelt and made his exit with a quick “Gotta go meet Jason.” to them, Alfred jovially commenting how it's a wonderful day for a stroll. The car door clicked shut behind him and Billy was still sitting, looking out the door Tim just from as Alfred got the car moving again, seeing no other car as they drove by.

Notes:

Can y’all tell I did an egregious amount of homework on Shazam lore? Yes, Billy could and did canonically drive his own car.

Also, Tim, measured response to the info that suggests your old super-babysitter for your team might be a tad dubious. Not the best response but measured none the less.

Also, Blue is an actual pet of Freddy’s from the Shazamily Matters interlude comic for the movies. Had I gone with older canon he’d have a pet monkey (not kidding)

Someone give Billy a hug please, he needs it (I say as I scrap the fluffy end to this chapter)

Chapter 34: Radio Chatter; Bruce

Summary:

Bruce, four days into this whole adventure, finally wakes up from some much needed sleep.

He spend the afternoon catching up with Billy’s life, more specifically his physical needs as a growing boy and making a decent breakfast while he listens to the radio.

Notes:

Semester finals are done! Whooooo!

Onto Brucie boi dealing with the weirdness that is Billy’s life and worrying over everything!

Bruce doesn't open his eyes right away when he wakes up, far too comfortable after far too long awake. Any notion of moving a muscle dismissed in his mind in favor of worming his way further into the bedding, curled up under the covers with his face buried in something fluffy hugged tight to his chest.

 

Wait a minute.

 

He blinks an eye open, the one not smooshed into the pillow, and sees a stuffed tiger dressed like Tawny slotted in his arms. Bruce blinks again, wondering who the hell tucked him in without waking him up.

 

Turning onto his back added a new detail to the room, because up above him, with all the other little pieces of memorabilia Billy happened to own, was one of many posters of the Justice League. This one is drawn and includes some of the core members; Him, Clark, Wally, Diana, J’onzz, and Hal. A small space between him and Clark big enough for a child to easily imagine themselves as a part of the line up, it was one of the better posters Bruce liked with the phrase ‘Anyone can be a hero’ spanning the top and bottom borders.

 

But Billy hadn't done what many other kids did with the empty space, clipping in their favorite hero they wanted to be included or drawing themselves in, instead it was filled with signatures. Plas, Booster, Jaime, Kon-El, Wally, Firestorm, and about three dozen more names filling the space. The corners of the poster had other pinholes on them, obviously taken down and repinned back onto the ceiling each time some opportunity to get a signature came up. Bruce fidgeted with the Tiger plush, rubbing the toy's cheap metal cufflinks from its suit as he surveyed the room in the morning, Or was it afternoon? , sun.

 

Nothing else was different than how it was last night, just the blanket being up to his chin when he woke up with some random plush in his arms. He lifted the toy up to scrutinize it, looking the copy of the odd tiger from the other day made of fabric and stuffing up and down.

 

The cuffs to the identical suit were tarnished, made to look like gold but the color long faded to time. The plastic eyes were a soft chestnut shade, the plastic scratched like a cat tried to claw them out in a rage. One ear had fallen off, stitched back on with red embroidery thread unevenly and in some rush, a small stain of a stray blood drop from the tailor pricking their finger right where the ear meets the head. 

 

He turned the doll around some more, cataloging the small details and similarities to the tiger before holding the item over his head with a grimace. “You’re that tiger from the zoo, aren't you?” He was met to a bucket of sand smacking him in the face, springing up from the mattress fully awake as the sand shifted back into the doll. Sitting upright and sewn on smile just a bit wider as its eyes bore into Bruce's soul, meanwhile he coughed at the sensation of sand falling into his nose and flinging itself back out to join Tawny, scratching at him on its trip back home. 

 

Bruce glowered at the doll, unamused as the toy boisterously laughed at his scowl and turned back into the anthropomorphic tiger, slapping his knee as he laughed his tail off. Wiping a tear from its eye, or simply faking the gesture if he followed any rule of actual tiger anatomy, he sputtered out an apology between laughing. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He lifted his paws in surender, folding over to keep laughing. “I thought it was good fun, you need to loosen up a tad!”

 

Bruce walked right out of the room, leaving the cackling tiger behind and heading for the kitchen, having remembered that alongside having not slept he also hasn't had a proper meal that wasn't thrown together on a whim. Hunger is something Bruce's mind is used to, and by his records Billy had grown accustomed to it for a time as well, but god damn it if he's gonna let a boy's body waste away under his supervision.

 

He found a small skillet and put it over the burner to heat up, sifting through the fridge and pantry. Collecting a few eggs to fry and some bacon strips, his plan being to pair that with some pancakes he’d make from the mix he'd raided from the pantry, the items all being added to the list of groceries he's having delivered here once he's back in his body.

 

He's adding the bacon and watching it sizzle when he feels a small headbut to his calf, looking down to see Tawny as a cat again peering up at him. Bruce rips off a piece of fat from a bacon strip before adding it to the pan, throwing the scrap to Tawny, who just lets it land on his head before swatting it into his claws and eating it. Bruce chuffs a laugh, refocusing on the breakfast he's trying to fix for his teammates' body. Adding the eggs off to the side as the bacon finishes up, turning to mix together the pancake batter from the boxes instructions, hoping the end result will be better than what Alfred calls pancakes.

 

He takes out the bacon, a tad burnt on the edges, and the eggs to add in the batter. Going through drawers around the whole kitchen to find the spatula, taking a minute to reassess just how much Billy is a superhero fan when he sees that it's shaped like the House of El crest as he stares at the utensil. Odd as his week keeps getting, he moves on from the constant presence of themed items around the house and flips his pancake, getting both sides golden brown. Grabbing a mismatched fork and butter knife to eat with, Bruce prepares his plate at the raised counter top that made up the table area surrounding the sink.

 

Turning off the gas, he finished his plate with a small stack of pancakes to top off the classic breakfast combo. He grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it half full with orange juice, smiling somewhat at his symbol dotting the cup like bat shaped polka-dots. 

 

He munched on his food, Tawny hopping up onto the counter to just stare at him, which, coupled with the knowledge he's a sentient and talking thing?, makes his unblinking gaze just a tad creepier than when Alfred the Cat tries to pick at his soul with his eyes. He breaks off another piece of his bacon and holds it out to the aptly named tawny cat as he fills Billy's body up on a good enough breakfast pancakes, mentally declaring them better than Alfreds.

 

Tawny is silent, Bruce can't hear any neighbors walking around, there's no rumbling of engines going by or honking. It has to be the evening or mid-day, he scans the apartment for a wall clock. He finds an uncharacteristically boring one over the front door, just black numbering in a simple font with the one splash of color being the bright red seconds hand. Compared to the well worn and used furniture and mismatched everything else he bets that Billy just went and got the clock, unused and woefully generic compared to the rest of his living quarters.

 

Bruce adds a wall clock to the list of things, preferably one themed after his own heroic persona or Flash to match.

 

The clock reads 2:17, making his meal a late brunch for the kid. A very quiet late brunch, a part of all this that has Bruce leaving the last few bites of his pancake to go cold. As solitary as he gets he doesn't like when things get too quiet, quiet means danger, something that's not him hiding in the shadows ready to strike. Bruce taps his nails to the counter, looking around for something to occupy the silence and his eyes land on a small radio.

 

A piece that fits into Billy's decor, well loved and decked out with imagery of his fellow Leaguers, with its replaced and dulled dials and small stickers of their symbols filling the empty space of the panels.

 

He grabbed the radio from its spot by the TV, pulling the antenna out and pressing on the red power button that glew with life as the broadcast it was on rang out. Adjusting the volume as he finished off his rapidly cooling breakfast, Bruce enjoyed what the announcer said was the best of “What's up WHIZ Kid?” since their star reporter was out sick today. Bruce smiled at Billy’s preparedness, figuring out an alibi for his secret identity.

 

— — —

 

“Hello Fawcett city, WHIZ Kid Billy Batson tuning in to keep y'all up to date on this week's Marvel Mythos and a few more reasons why you should dabble in magical forces you haven’t fully read into.” There was the whirring of a theremin at the mention of magical forces, earning a chuckle out of Bruce at the old sound effect as he finished off his eggs.

 

“Earlier this month, a woman whose allowed us to name her for this broadcast called Lucy Todd ingested a potion calling for the base material of the animal the drinker wished to emulate. When she added the chameleon base she gained the desired effect, an ability to control and shift her physical appearance, but the potions effects didn’t stop at granting her wish.” There was a pregnant pause, Bruce taking the time to move the radio to the sink with him as he cleaned his dishes.

 

“Her body continued to change involuntarily, at the time of broadcast she hasn't been able to halt the constant transformation, but thankfully the shifting isn't taking a physiological toll on her. She's currently being counseled by the local Witches and Warlocks Reform group on how to halt the potions effects or remove the magic from her system, in the meantime please don't be alarmed should you pass her in the streets. Her condition is involuntary and she holds no control over when it happens or to what degree of change she undergoes.” The announcer interrupted to tell the audience that Lucy Todd had been treated and fully cured, the young voice thanking the community for its fair and courteous treatment of Ms. Todd followed by a message from the woman herself.

 

“ In today's news, yet another holy war in the skies! Just this Tuesday Captain Marvel was confronted by and faced off against Black Adam, facing his foe of the millennium in the heart of Fawcett before diverting the battle away from the populus and to the deserted trainyard in the warehouse district.” Bruce could hear Billy really get into his storytelling, retelling the news like a tale of old for the masses.

 

“Their tussle fueled by thousand year old grudges, Adam once more demanded the Captain to relinquish his powers and surender Eternity,” Bruce couldn't piece together the meaning to those words, hazarding a guess that there must be something of their powers that's different and somehow passed on. Bruce wanted to smack down the voice in his head that chimed about a possible method of subduing the Captain by force with this “Surrendering” talk.

 

“Into the air and beyond the reaches of the great sea, Marvel jettisoned off to another battle ground. Successfully luring Adam away from the city and any other harm to come to Fair Fawcett.” He said the name with such reverence, all the love a hometown hero could have squished into one little phrase of ‘ Fair Fawcett’ .

 

The love for such a backwards town resonated with him as he dried his plate, his lips quirked up at the thought of Billy telling tall tales by a campfire, something his storytelling sounded exactly like rather than reporting the news. But, he supposes that's the charm of the program. Modern myths of their hero made a spectacle for the happy listener.

 

“According to Captain Marvel upon his return to Fawcett, a truce was made between the two powerhouses. An age-old feud of the champions of Eternity’s Council, the ever mysterious proclaimed sources of the Marvel Family’s power, finally coming to a close in a blow for blow battle of magics giants of the scene. Marvel claiming to have reached out in a successful appeal to his humanity, from now on the sovereign ruler of Khandaq and our Captain Marvel are akin to battle brothers and no more calamity shall come of their fights.” Billy recounted the event like an epic, cheerfully chiming back in with an audible tab of a paper stack while saying.

 

“Now, on with the weather! Thunder is more common here than you’d think.”

 

Bruce chuffed as he pressed the power button, smiling at Billy's infectious enthusiasm for reporting on himself. He's almost happy he’d been the only one on the League he knows of to figure him out, had it been Clark there’d probably be some lecture on journalistic integrity and professionalism in the field on top of the raving of him being a child. Now if he does Bruce could pull out a mile long list of Clarks little infractions in his journalism as the main man in his and his wife's own papers, the image of Clark going red in the face for being a tad hypocritical making him giggle again.

 

Tawny is by the radio now, bapping the power button back on to listen to Billy some more.

 

“-ocal news, it seems we've got a little einstein growing up in Fair Fawcett! Just last Friday Fawcetts own Dexter Knox won blue ribbon at the state science fair for his time machine prototype! In his example, Knox was able to lock an apple slice in the device's small spherical chamber and input a time code for the event's scheduled voting time. The device disappeared after activation and reappeared with no signs of decay or oxidation of the fruit when voting began! Wowza!”

 

Bruce mentally added Dexter Knox to a list of people to look into once the week was over.

Notes:

Bruce is going to have two lists to go over once he gets home; what he’s buying Billy bc ‘Holy hell kid, I don’t know if you’ll accept it but I wanna help you.’ List and his “WTFWTFWTFWTFWTFWTF” list.

Also yeah, Lucy Todd. Completely unrelated to anyone else characters that had a shapeshifting problem, like Dexter Knox she’s another little mini figure of old Fawcett comics mentioned here. lol

Chapter 35: House call; Harley & Tim

Summary:

Captain Marvel makes a lot of trips to see the good doctor, wonder why that is?

Notes:

Holy shit it’s been almost 2 months, sorry about that

I get on one thing and then it’s all that until the next thing pops up, so sorry about leaving this behind for more than I’d like. Had some trouble figuring out where I’m going with this whole mess of a first fic and I’m just making it up as I go really

Hope this gets my momentum going again so I can deliver on the ideas I still have to cram in here

Shifting the rest of her totes to one arm, Harley fishes her keyring out of her pocket, feeling for the little charm attached to it and yanking it out from between all the other little odds, ends, and bobs her pocket was full off. Most all of it got flung out onto the floor of the hallway, eliciting a muttered curse.

Some car crash sounded outside as some brunette kid ran by and picked her things up for her, unceremoniously dropping them into the bag with her groceries before running like a bat outta hell before another crash sounded from around the hall's corner. Not a word outta’ him during the whole exchange and rushing off before she could get a word in herself, she’d say it was a weird encounter if she hadn't spent the better half of her life dealing with twelve year olds in freaky kiddy green speedo’s kicking her into jail cells and asylum rooms.

Unlocking the door she called to her babies, “Mama’s home sweetums’!” Her two little rays of sunshine barreling into her legs and nipping at the bags she had to lift out of their jumping reach, giggling at them leaping up and down for the bags of goodies.

“Hey, Hey!” She scolded. “Gotta’ wait till I separate me and Ives junk from yours babies.” She had a wonderfully long weekend planned, she didn't need heading out for groceries all over again on her little list of things to do for her weekend. Of which she's been keeping to a fair and even zilch to deal with.

Rummaging through one of the totes with her open hand she finds a big chunk of mutton for Lou and Bud that has clambering to play some tug o’ war for the snack. Cooing at them as she packed away the rest of the meats in the freezer and got to the rest of the foods and snacks she’d stocked up on for a lazy week, shivering at the cold the freezer let out as she packed everything away.

She could hear a number of things cluttering behind her, things from the tables getting knocked all over the place and something hitting her wall. Turning, expecting to find Bud and Lou being the little culprits of whatever mess was being made behind her back, the two were still slobbering over the mutton they were fighting over. The frame hanging on her wall slamming frame first into the wall to hide the picture of her and Pammy, “Hey! WHat the he-!”

The fridge door slammed shut as a terrible shiver ran down her spine, leaving Harley hugging herself for some phantom warmth. “Whose br-br-bright idea is this?” The words escaped her mouth in a clattering hiss, the metal of her fire escape outside her window creaking under somethings weight. 

Peachy, she's gotta deal with some robber or worse. One of the freaking Bats wants info on something, probably Pammy but she's keeping her lips sealed. Ain’t no way, ain’t no how she spills the beans if they wanna bother her about something stupid.

But, just in case of robbers, her trusty buddy Mallet O’Mally will send them flying from the fifth floor ri~ght~ into a car roof down below. 

Rubbing some warmth into her hands, while also making her fun little scheming face with an evil little grin, O’Mally joins her in her trip out the kitchen and across the living room. O'Malley ready for a killer blow when a post-it suddenly sticks to the wall beside her window with a Slap!

‘They don't know, SHUSH!’

Harley takes a moment to quirk her brow at her rudely helpful ghost before shouting out, “TRICK OR,” and smashes O’Mally through the glass and curtains of her window and sending somebody over the gate. “TREAT!”

Whatever little bastards are on the other side, her dumb old curtains hiding them, steals O’Mally outta’ her hands and tosses him back into the living room with his handle broken right at the neck. “Hey!” And in crawls Red Dead and his pissed off redder little brother. She wags a disapproving finger at her intruders as they dust off the window bits.

“Now this is breaking and entering young man, your dad know you’re breaking and entering in a defenseless woman's home?” Harley feigned surrender as she raised her arms in mock surrender, backing away from the window enough for Lou to lock his jaw around Deadzo’s arm.

Said man not crying out in any pain, just the general vibe he's cocking an unamused brow underneath his helmet as he raises his arm, Lou dangling from the limb growling and trying to chew like it's a chew toy. Harley makes no attempt to hide the adoring coo at her sweet little baby’s behavior, clasping her hand together and wishing she had a classy polaroid to snap the picture and stash the scene in a scrapbook.

“Technically,” Little Red Bird chirps, putting his finger up like some nasally nerd about to go ‘ Um, actually…’  

“The window was open and you did smash it even more open to let us in, so this is just trespassing.” He corrected, proving Harley’s comparison about 104% right.

Red Dead Redemption kneeling down to Lou can chomp at his arm in a fun game of tug o’ war, the whatever of his jacket and whatever copious amount of Bat-Armor under it probably stopping any damage under the fabric. She just clicks her tongue at the lack of fun in him not even acting phased when Condom Head tries his part being the good cop, acting all welcoming asking her to sit down and to please just answer a question or two for them.

“If this is about Johnny boy,” She flops onto her sofa, arm still raised in the mock defense. “I ain't heard nothin’ ‘bout nothin’.” And it's enough of the truth on the subject, especially when all she knows is he got just a wee bit drunker than normal last poker night and ranted about the hidden fears of the elite for a solid twenty-seven minutes before clocking Tockman for cheating with his powers. Heh, clocked.

“Crane isn't the reason we wanted to talk with you,” Red Riding Hood states. “It’s more what other vigilantes you’ve been making pals with.” Little Red nods along to his claim, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here, face all pinched like he smelled something bad.

Harley waves her hands in a you have the floor motion, wanting them to ask their questions and get. Feeling Death the Kid quirk a brow from below his mask before he got started with his questions, strolling around the living room as he listed them off like some corporal. Like a jackass.

“First,” he counts on one hand with his arms crossed, definitally pulling the asshole drill sergeant shtick. Harley just gets comfy on her couch so she doesn't stand around like a third tool in the room, Duckboy’s posture relaxes a bit with a humored smile at the Redwood he calls a brother.

“Could you tell us a bit about the call you received at 3:57 AM last Wednesday, or the four calls you put in between then and 4:01 AM?” Her blood freezes at that, Billy .

Red Robin sees her posture stiffen for a fraction of a second when she realizes what they’re here for, she can tell he does before she has the chance to catch herself with the satisfied little twitch upwards to his lips. A silent Gotcha’! as she tries to power through by feigning relaxing further into her couch, blowing the question off with a scoff.

“Like I’d shirk client patient confidentiality for you wack-a-doo’s,” it's her honest to god truth on the matter. Ain’t no way in whatever fancy-schmancy hell that’s gonna  judge her she's just gonna blab on Billy like that. He's a little munchkin with enough issues to last him eternity but he's a good kid and he's got some morals left over, play– Lil’ sticky note ghost says they dont know ‘bout Billy, so they only know they talked as the Big Red Cheese.

“You don't even have your license Harley, y–” “ Bup bup bup!”  she points to her perfectly preserved proof of all the years she put into getting her psychiatry gig, from her framed bachelor’s degree and PhD to every itty bitty bit of her proofs of residency at Arkham sorted all neat and tidy in a scrapbook on the shelf. “I still got all that crammed in my cranium boy wonder, I just ain’t allowed to professionally use it!” She corrected him, his face twisting up with the boy wonder bit.

Serves him right for trying to get in her head, let the birdie squirm like w–

“So what is your relationship to Marvel like?” Hood asks, rounding the couch while Robbie’s face twists up something worse than before at the question. “He did call you late at night.” He adds in, all nonchalant, and Harley bops him in the helmet because absolutely no way in heck is that going to be the line of questioning he goes down.

“Professional you freak,” she answers snappily. “I pick at his brain for a bit and I get all those flights Superman was never gentlemanly enough ta’ give me.” She huffs, waving a hand flippantly at the annoyed crime lord she can tell is scowling through that helmet. It’s enough of the truth; She just keeps her mouth shut on the whole baby-bodyguard duty and the babysitting he does whenever her and Ives pull a stint together in Arkham and the babies need a pal for a while, and they love chasing Tawn-Tawn around that rock place Billy-bean splits his time between when they visit.

“Cappy is a little screwy in his head but he’s done more than I can bet any a’ you’s have to put a damper on all the hero stress that boils over until you’ve got a mess like him.” She points to Red Hood, whose brain she’d love to get a pick at with the whole dead Robin angle Mista J had jabbered on to her about way back when.

Red Robin, thankfully, looks like he believes her. Whatever stick up his ass disappearing as his shoulders slump the tiniest bit in relief to the words, “So you’re just his choice of therapist?” She nods, and Hood throws his hands up all ‘Welp!’ as he makes his way to the busted exit of their busted entrance into her humble abode.

— — —

Tim wants to rub it so far in Jason’s face it stains, “I told you.”

“Can it, poser.”

“Nope.” He says happily, popping the p and kicking his feet over Redbird and knocking the stand up while Jason mounts his bike.

The whole way there, Jason torments him with the idea of Marvel and Harley— ugh— the mental image made him want to puke. Bad enough Jason was getting at him with talk of security risk, he didn’t have to ham the Florence Nightingale angle up when he saw how uncomfortable he was getting. 

“It was a joke,” he defends. “And funny as shit seeing you squirm the whole ride here.” Tim wants to drive out of the dead end alley and away from this conversation, but Jason has his bike blocking his path. Between the comments on the way and the militant questioning, he’s leaning towards running him over on his way out. He’d live, and Tim would feel much better. But then Jason would be on his ass for running his over, then Marvel would ask why the heck he did that and have to explain.

Or worse , Jason explains and starts acting like a dick again.

“‘Sides, I’m like half sure the guy is messing with us too.” He gestures to his chest, clenching his hand over his heart like there’s a pain there. “Had this burning sensation for days now since he got here.” 

Tim scoffs, shrugging off Jason’s complaint. Like Marvel would curse Jason , he thinks, last time I saw him use magic that wasn’t his lightning was the whole magic doorway thing.

In all, Tim highly doubts the guy who lets him and his friends vent a few years and two deaths worth of rage against a guy isn’t the kind to be petty enough to give someone heartburn for shits and giggles. Marvel is too… himself to be like that.

Jason backs his bike up manually and Tim tries to start up his bike, key word being tries , since his doesn’t start up. There’s a crash of something from above, their head snapping to the fire exit on the side of the building to see, dear god Tim has to be hallucinating.

“Hey!” The kid, who looks just like Jason before he died, fully decked out in the old robin costume and face twisted in anger. “Imma’ say it once and once only Boy Blunder! Keep digging and I’ll be digging your grave!” The kid points to him, scowling as he flips him off before a thunder strike crashes into the escape, tearing through the metal of his platform and leaving red hot metal behind as smoke pours from where the kid was.

Tim sits on his bike, still in shock at the scene, and shifts his eyes to Jason, and he can’t tell whether he hopes more if Jason saw his younger self too or if Tim hallucinated the whole thing. Jason tilts back in his bike, falling off with his leg caught on his seat and knocking his helmet against the dirty alley ground as he passes out cold. Okay, Tim thinks, trying very hard to meditate his way through whatever that just was.

Okay, so there’s a mini-Jason that’s haunting Harley’s haunt, fun! Great! Kewl! He slams his head against the handle of his Redbird, thunking his head a few more times to knock himself back into reality only to come back up with Jason still passed out off his bike and the fire escape still burning hot, some of the old railing melting off and landing on the dumpster below it.

Tim calls for support, because no way in whatever fresh hell his life is becoming is he dragging Jason home on his Redbird— even if the thought of hitching him to the back of his Redbird as revenge for the Captain Harley comments sounds very fun and it’s not like Jason would really get hurt with all the gear he wears— he’s not dealing with any later Jason Todd branded vengeance. He doesn’t need that in his life again, and Duke answering the call and laughing the minute he sees Jason still passed out leaves him with someone to laugh at this whole thing with.

Dumping Jason into the back of the Batmobile, Tim sets both their bikes up to follow remotely while Duke gets a feel for what happened. “You sure it wasn’t just one of our shapeshifter pal’s pulling a fast one on us?” 

“Unless Clayface somehow found a way to not instantly bake himself with a lightning strike, I highly doubt it was anyone we know.” Duke hummed, checking out the cooling metal and waving a woman who looked out her window back inside. 

“And he threatened you specifically?” Tim shrugged, “Sure felt that way since he called me the Boy Blunder and did point at me.” Looking up at Duke, waiting for him to finish his observation. Seeing him take a breath and steady himself before he took a closer look, using his meta-abilities to assess the situation as it played out. Head following movements from before Tim didn’t see and probably would’ve never seen with his limited perception of light waves compared to Duke.

“Up here,” he ascended the rest of the way up the escape, Tim followed with his grapple and met him there. Duke looked around more, focusing on where a small scorch mark burned itself into the rooftop, under further analysis he saw that the soot was fresh and the stone warm. “This… kid,” Duke began, disbelieving of the scene. “Appears out of nowhere, says something and gets hit with that lightning you talked about, then it’s a Mini-Jason hopping down to berate you guys.” He turned to look down the building at the end, following the kid as the moments prior replayed for him.

Tim heaved a sigh, because suddenly Jason’s idea that Marvel might not be Mr. Super-Roger’s levels of perfect might be true if some thunder kid is coming down to tell them to back off.

Please let Jason be wrong, he prayed, hoping whatever gods Marvel is friendly with will hear him and answer it.

Notes:

Kit is doing his best to be helpful, Tim is watching his perception of another mentor fall apart in slow motion, and Jason is on his way to a heart attack.

Oof

Chapter 36: Dinners and departures; Bruce

Summary:

Captain Marvel has one final obligation for the week; a small dinner party for a charity the man had promised his presence at.

That night, Bruce feels like he finally understands his co-worker and gains a whole host of new worries for the boy’s well-being

Notes:

This became a lot of words, a whole 3.5 k

Warning for this chapter specifically, Beautia being flirty with Captain Marvel and Bruce worrying his head at those implications

Tawny is a surprising help with the next event Marvel was obligated to join, pointing out a small section of Billy’s closet that was adult clothing fit for if Captain Marvel did have a civilian persona. Albeit, one that wasn't a teenager.

“This should do great!” Tawny brandished a full red suit with black cuffs and lapels, still in a dry cleaners wrap. All that was missing, as Tawny rambled on about proper attire and manners while at a party in mixed company, was a tie and cufflinks as Bruce scrutinized the clothing for an answer as to why Billy owned something over a dozen sizes too big for himself when he’d never seen him wear anything other than his suit while powered up.

He turned to ask that very question to the less fashionable shapeshifting plush, only to have an assortment of ties shoved into his arms atop the suit. “Pick one of these out, the lad got this whole box at a bargain and has hardly worn anything other than the red one or the yellow one.”

Bruce looked, finding a good thirty or so patterned and monocolored ties in a shoebox, with the exception of one peacock feather-patterned clip-on bowtie. Tawny lifted one such patterned tie, a leopard print. “I quite like this one.” He suggested with a close-eyed smile, and Bruce just contemplated going back in time and finding a way to stay a city-level vigilante instead of the circus his life had become.

Because he's in his apparently fourteen-year-old co-worker's body. Talking to his stuffed animal, that is also a sentient tiger man. Picking out an outfit for a charity dinner hosted by said co-workers' nemesis's oldest children. All like it's any other Friday and the rest of the past week was just par for the course.

Why couldn't he have just gotten his mind swapped with Clark again? Or even Guy? He'd settle for being stuck in Guy’s body for a month if he could just erase all of the past week.

“And how do I,” He gestured up and down to the currently pubescent body. “Change into this?” He held out the clothing to Tawny, who was still smiling a Cheshire smile with tie in hand. “When it seems to be a full fledged transformation that switches Billy from Marvel?”

Tawny huffs, like the answer was oh-so obvious, taking the suit out of his arms and swiftly shoving the shirt and jacket over him and holding the pants of the ensemble out expectantly. “Step in.” He instructed, so Bruce did into the ill-fitting clothing, the lot of it draping off him awkwardly.

“Now say Shazam.” And so he did, the small cloud plume filling the ceiling of Billy’s room to bring the lightning strike, and suddenly his head was much louder and the clothes were tailor fit to him with no sign of a cape or golden boots in sight. He was simply a fairly normal man of the Captains stature in the suit picked out, and multiple Gods loudly complained of the knowledge Bruce now held and cursed the tiger for being such a stupidly trusting informant for him.

The outline of mist and thunderous cloudline that was Zeus looked entirely ready to strangle the feline, all the other patrons in various levels of dismay at their champions’ secret coming out to him. Tawny just stood smiling, unknowing of the club Heracles was preparing to try swinging at him.

“I’d always imagined a doom like my own would be this secrets’ undoing,” Achilles spirit mused aloud. “The boy would readily risk all he has for what love he manages to hold within his mortal life. I suppose this fiasco is better than the blurring of mortality and immortality in some grand heroic sacrifice.”

Bruce was appalled, blocking out Tawny's worries about ‘whatever are you scowling at good sir?’

Bruce steeled his expression, doing the cognitive backflips necessary to tune out six half-there voices and figures shouting a number of things about anything and everything from threats on his own life to the promise he’d made to the Captain.

“Where is the event being held again Tawny?” He spoke evenly, resigned to the fact he’s probably going to be flying in this suit and will have to listen to the nagging of angered gods and spirits on top of whatever sickeningly polite conversation he’ll have to mull through for the event.

Acting like a child who dupes everyone into thinking he’s grown, his mind adds on, realizing the new layers to this facade he’ll have to sort out to not act out of character for the next few days. And soon, he’s going to be at a party with the children of Billy’s arch nemesis, who have most certainly gotten the boy clocked behavior wise and would easily sniff him out if he slipped up in the slightest.

Captain Marvel is a boy given magical powers to transform into a superhero, whose been like this since he was eight, whose probably had any deficiencies supplemented by the gods in his head guiding him, who scrapped by in his civilian identity with impossible amounts of grit and determination to be as fully independent as a teenager can get. 

He’s a kid who is entirely… himself, choosing to adhere to unwavering principles of trust, care, and kindness over the pettiest grudges a child would be fully entitled to holding against someone. The man– child, good god. Billy had always been as much a paragon of unflappable hope as Clark had in practice, always seemed to work as diligent as Bruce himself would when it came to joint duties within the League, and he'd never made himself a stranger of any sort to his fellow heroes.

Then his civilian life– so full of optimism and hope from a child who had to work himself out of a gutter his remaining family threw him into. Speaking with nothing but kind words and working with news that sounded like tall tales to entrance his audience, it was like a folk hero came to life in the lifetime of the boy telling his story.

That was the missing link of Captain Marvel; A good kid trying to be a good man.

No bored god trying to entertain himself before falling off the face of the earth when all the battles are fought, no host of an uncaring force of order or good, no unborn entity following a directive.

It was appallingly simple. An easy answer he should have seen after having done his part raising three sons and still raising two more who were good for the sake of it, just too blindsided by the fact he saw the juggernaut of sheer goodwill before he saw the boy that grew into that role.

Tawny waved a hand in front of his face, “Hellooo?” It snapped Bruce out of his thoughts, now armed with a better understanding of his temporary cover and his co-worker. “Did you hear me just now?”

“When will he stop hearing your incessant mewling you stuffing brained idiot?!” Zeus came off the most miffed as he yelled to the one being in the room who was unable to hear him, the other patrons of Billy shaking their heads disapprovingly at the anthropomorphic feline. “The boy will denounce us, I know it.” Achilles spirit bemoaned, face buried in his hands.

Bruce cleared his throat, focusing his attention back on the tiger man while straightening out the suit– which was almost entirely unneeded but helped ground him to what reality he was familiar with was within reach, and so, to fixing a tailored-to-fit suit he goes. “Zoned out, the party address?”

Tawny smiled, his ears doing some sort of happy waggle. “You know Sivana tower?” Bruce nodded, the building far too tall to miss in any of his flights. “Main floor of the building, Miss Beautia does adore the parts of the architecture there her father let her have some choice in.”

Bruce made his way back out into the living room as he straightened his tie, opting for the black one to mesh well with the lapels and not flood him in too much red. He was halfway out the window ready for a proper kickoff into flight when a small weight clambered up onto his shoulder, looking there to see Tawny back to being a small cat with a small suit collar and mini sized leopard print tie.

He took flight, one hand securing tawny to the back of his shoulder blade as he made his way to the Captains final obligation for the week they had been swapped.

— — —

Arriving there showed Bruce the nature of the fund raising strategy for the night; eighty-five a plate and the promise of both Sivana siblings matching the raised funds individually to triple what the guests raised for the repurposing of the old Sivana estate into a proper boys home.

It was painfully familiar to make his entrance, hounded by paparazzi asking him a thousand questions a second while blinding him with their camera flashes. Asking if he'd make himself open for an interview about his recent scuffle with Arson Fiend or comment on the rumors of him finally reciprocating the courting of Fawcett’s ‘Fairest Flower of Femininity’, whoever that was.

Stepping into the building proper with Tawny jumping off his shoulder had the cameras following him through the glass of the doors, trained on him with Bruce realizing he's the only one they are watching. Twitching a nervous wave with the expected face of a child star in the spotlight, recalling the way his face twisted into a similar expression in his own younger years when the news crews were able to get a snap of him and using that same awkward smile as he backed into the crowd of attendants.

“Captain!” Someone sang out, turning just in time to catch a blonde woman throwing herself into his arms with a content sigh. “Oh Captain, I am so happy to see you make it!” The woman pulled back the slightest with her arms still thrown around him, revealing the ever appropriate face of the woman named Beautia looking at Bruce– looking at Marvel– like he’d planted the stars in the night sky just for her viewing. She gave him one final squeezing hug while he was still shocked stiff in her arms, detangling herself to drag him away from the doors.

“I swear, one of these days you should send a rain cloud those vultures away with how they treat you.” She turned, only to wink at him. “As if anyone should be allowed to admire you the way I do,” Her hand was on his chest, “My dear Captain.” 

No. No, no, a million times no.

He pulled his hand from hers and stumbled back like a man burned, disgusted at this woman. Did she only invite Billy to harass him? What's wrong with this woman!?

He's about to shout just as such, cause a scene and yell at a woman for preying on a child in full public view surrounded by guests, when he bites his tongue. Because he's Captain Marvel, the obviously adult looking man, and not the very much teenaged Billy. It still leaves his mouth tainted with the taste of bile as he laughs the advance off. 

“Oh, well, I–” Child trying to be a good man. A boy just put in an uncomfortable situation he can't make a scene in. “I don't mind, per se, getting my pictures taken. Just wish it went to helping here instead of just trying to get the front page.” Beautia giggles, not at all put off at his retreat, which makes Bruce just worry if Billy being uncomfortable with her is something normal.

Something normal she ignores just to press up against him the next time he's put in a position he can't run from. His stomach twists at the thought of it.

She hooks her arm with his, smiling up through her lashes with crystal blue eyes. “If I were blind, I'd say your humility is your most attractive feature.” She tugs him along, “But you promised me a night full of that dashing smile winning the guests hearts and checkbooks, and I intend to cash that promise in by your side.”

Bruce scanned the floor for Tawny, finding the cat skipping after him with a face that, seeing as it was on a cat, should not have been able to perfectly articulate the begrudging attitude Bruce held for Billy and his supposed promise to the woman.

Zeus' voice chimed in, verifying that, yes, Billy promised his smile and gentle urging words to try and do some good with his Friday night at Beautia’s insistence. So he smiled, agreeing with every pitch Beautia threw at guests at every table she dragged him to, the woman never letting go of Billy’s arm the bulk of the night. Bouncing between tables and the clusters of some richer folk speaking in the normal rehearsed lines Bruce had heard a million times before at his own events from people who cared more about the food or publicity of his gala’s then they did about the money from their pockets that hardly amounted to anything near a cent of what they could give without damaging their lifestyle, money they’d only give that night just to fit in with the crowd and the hosts expectations for extending the invite.

He was nodding along to Beautia at his arm, coaxing a couple with their disinterested teenage son into considering an investment in the poor youth of Fawcett and its sister cities with the night's charity goal, when someone poked his back with jabs that would hurt without magical invulnerability. He turned, hearing a displeased ‘Ak-hem!’ that made him turn his head down the slightest bit to come eye to eye with a brunette girl with thick glasses, loudly chewing on her bubblegum as she looked him up and down.

"Well, if it isn't the Big Cheese.” The girl sneered with her uppity posh voice, blowing a bubble with her gum as Beautia turned and finally detangled her arm from his. 

“Oh! Well, if it isn't my dear little sister,” She pinched the girl's cheek, who made a vain attempt to swat her hand away as she cooed the following nickname: “My gorgeous little sister, Georgia!” She pulled the girl into a hug she didn't return, arms crossed in her hold with a belligerent huff at her elder sister's unwanted affections.

“Oh, none of that huffing, sissie. You look wonderful tonight, and you should be enjoying yourself instead of scowling the whole time.” The girl, who looked so unnervingly like her shriveled-faced father, simply turned to scowl from Beautia to him.

“I will not be smiling anywhere near the man who had my brother locked up just days ago.” Beautia flicked him a look, halfway between uninterested and unsurprised, before regarding her sister's complaint. “Well then, maybe Thad shouldn't have made things worse for the lot of us trying to be like Father.”

That comment flew Georgia into a rage, pointing an accusatory finger at her sister. “He was doing what was best for our family’s plans to seize–!” She grabbed the arm of the hand pointed at her, yanking it down and speaking low to avoid a growing scene. Seething, she scolded Georgia. “The last thing that is best for this family is to act at all like father, or were you too young or simply too dumb to remember that he's the reason he and mother divorced?”

Bruce stood there, a silent witness in the uncomfortable staring match between the two sisters, before Georgia tore her arm away and fled somewhere else into the crowd of people. The woman beside him signed, fully frowning with saddened eyes following her sister's exit. “I pray your next lecture gets through to them before they get tried as adults.” She murmured, the words almost drowned out by the commotion of the party that didn't seem to bat an eye at the short squabble and quickly forgotten with Beautia excusing herself for a drink.

He milled around the party some more, almost tripping over Tawny at one point after forgetting despite the eidetic memory that he was there as well. Though, he was momentarily ecstatic that the power wasn't automatic, every detailed memory had to be searched for instead of constantly intrusive. 

“Mayhaps we should make our leave?” Tawny offered, nodding his head to the stairway entrance. He looked around, finding Beautia to the side with her older brother, Magnificus, both in deep discussion with their younger sister. He figured they would be too busy the rest of the night to drag Captain Marvel along, and it was by his estimate and the pledged donations of the two siblings in mind that Billy and his promise had done its fair share of charitable good for his community. 

The top of the building was like any other: flat with an antenne, and the doorway he exited from the stairs with being the only things up there. Save for the man and shapeshifting cat now occupying the space as well. He tugged at his tie, “I don't think Billy would appreciate me attending a League meeting like this.”

Tawny tilted his head in some cat-like, amused expression, before padding to the roof's edge. Nonchalantly licking the back of his paw as he spoke, "Well, just say the name again and you’ll be golden.” Bruce did; the singular word, two syllables, and he was back to being Billy. He was dressed as he was below the suit, oddly enough. “The clothes are charmed.” Tawny answered before he could inquire as to where they’d gone, wiping his paw to his ears in his small bout of grooming.

Bruce stalked to the edge, looking past the view of the river separating him from home, and debated.

— — —

“Don’t get mugged.” Was the advice the teen manning the counter gave him as he handed him his ticket for bus fare to Gotham, Tawny in his stuffed animal form remained tucked under his arm as he boarded and took an honest to god break to just sit and really think. Melting into the stiff, and undoubtedly long uncleaned, seat to wrap his mind around everything before properly confronting Billy. Bruce counted an added twelve dollars to his debt to Billy and scheduled his arrival to his stop in Gotham, repeating the numbers of his limited time before revealing to the boy that he’d peered into the Pandora’s box that was his life.

Departing from the station at eleven, the ride will take an hour and a half, and then he'll have that half hour between flying to the Cave as Marvel and the League meeting at two to try and figure out and deliver the news.

He rested his head against the thrumming glass of the bus, a million new questions about Billy's safety replacing all the one he had about his life and identity.

Notes:

Sometimes a dude who can fly needs to just ride a bus and think his life over, how wanting to fight systematic corruption as a city level vigilante and ghost story to scare Gothams criminals spiraled into the situation he’s in now.

Also, if you’re confused at Beautia’s comment and obvious distain for her dad, she’s the one consistent sibling who opposes her dad and in one comic cite revealed the man cheated on his wife when Beautia and Magnificus were kids. So between that and the villainy he drags his younger kids along with him on, the woman has good reason to not want anything to do with the man other than using the family name for good.

I love these kids, I want more of them, but DC is full of cowards that dulled Beautia into a simple narcissist and forgot her other siblings.

Chapter 37: Spooked animals; Alfred and Tim

Summary:

Returning home, Alfred worries about his boys and the state of the animals, who have left the manor and refused most their food for the last few days.

Tim remembers something, looking through the library for a book with a very specific picture in it.

Both, unfortunately need the Captain to confirm or deny their worries.

Notes:

Apparently getting through a chapter I wasn’t excited about is just how to get to starting and finishing this one the next day, which possible yikes/possible yay

The plan for the next chapter is another overlapping one, taking place at the same time as this one and the last one until they all meet up properly, next time being Damian’s perspective as the Sins keep guilting him into killing Cap.

Hopefully I keep doing my boys justice and thank you all so much for the wonderful feedback and excitement for the story that you’ve all given! I never expected starting this just 5 months ago that I’d have 100k+ words posted across my works or getting comments from my own muses and inspirational writers.

“He saw his own ghost?” It, frankly, would not have been the oddest thing to hear tumble out of Master Timothy’s mouth. What with the recent time he swore up and down Master Bruce had been alive whilst presumed dead just years prior and his recollection just last month about watching Saint Nick himself get blown to bits by a meteor in his youth while between consciousness and unconscious from a particularly nasty stab wound.

But a lad seeing his own ghost while heading back from questioning Mrs. Quinn? It almost got an eyebrow raise, but making sure the inner padding of his helmet safeguarded any concussions while getting him on the cot was more pertinent than judging the developments of the week. Going through the various removals of security guards to avoid the headwear deciding to either electrocute him or explode while still attached to Master Jason’s body, never mind how many times he and Bruce told him to not default to these specific pieces of headwear for the most simple outings.

The facial plate came off without a hitch or the warning beeping of a countdown as Masters Tim and Duke deposited him onto the cot, Timothy making a ‘Poser ’ comment to seeing the secondary red domino mask as he took his leave to change into less leathery clothing. He removed the rest of the helmet and mask to turn the man’s head around for any signs of injury, “Simple fall off the bike?”

“Yup,” Tims voice echoed through the cave, spooking a few bats into a chirpy flutter away from the noise. He walked past, heading for the elevator. “Heading up.”

Duke blew a disgruntled breath from his nose, settling himself in a seat by Jason. “Bad daylight patrol?” Alfred mused, “Other than Dames it's been a chill few days.” The yellow-cladden hero shrugged. 

He hummed, and Duke carried on. “But then we get back here, back home and it's like all the craziness got all clogged here.” He looked to him now, taking off his own helmet. “I'm not just blowing hot air when I say it's weird, right? That the lot of us are getting more done on Marvel's case than B did in like, what now, six? Seven years?” 

“Just about six years now,” Jason would be fine, simply passed out. “But I don't doubt the whole of you will have a solved case to wave over Master Bruce's head after a simple six days.” Duke smiled. 

“My money’s on Tim this around, honestly.” That managed a grin, “I’ll take a gander in assuming he told you of some lead?” 

Duke waved his hand, the lead quite possibly a loose one. “Something about his face, rang some bell before and it’s nagging him more now.” There’s a realization, some idea that– considering the young man’s powers– it would be entirely appropriate for a little bulb of light to pop up over his head. Moving out of the med-bay and for a beeline to the computer.

“Lead of your own?”

“Fawcett is really messy with time, people who should've been long dead still kicking like the old Squadron, right?” Alfred smiled, the lad would have Bruce's six year case done in six hours. “So let’s see what faces from the last century and a half match up with the Captain.” He spoke more to himself, starting up the search with the Captain’s face, lifted from his photo on file. 

The scan began its runs, faces blinking in and out of sight until it came to a decently close enough comparison for a more hands-on look over. Duke snapped his fingers and made a whoop of delight, and Alfred made his ascension back to the manor– figuring that a characteristically taken care of home and his assurance the house hadn't burned down between his appearances would be a nice segway into Master Duke's future good news.

— — —

“Oh, hey.” Tim really wouldn't have expected Marvel to be an avid reader, between all his odd degrees of separation from the real world and events that spanned anywhere outside his own city coupled with the fact he’d stated on more than one occasion that divine knowledge was one of his fancy powers. He didn't seem at all the type to enjoy it or even need to read anything other than to understand a League report. But he was here, in the library, with a scant few pages left of Jason's collection of Edgar Allan Poe short stories. 

“Hey Tim!” The man unfolded himself from around the book, posture gone to hell and brought back the minute he’d greeted him. He pointed to the book, like he wouldn't have already clocked its origin from the blank back of it and the sacrilegiously dog-eared pages. “Wonder how many villains read the pit and the pendulum, or didn't with how much they still leave the lot of us alone, huh?”

Tim made an aborted laugh, shuffling off to one of his unofficially claimed shelves for the book he had in mind.

It felt like a long shot, but his memory hadnt failed him yet in figuring out the unexplainable or the impossible. Cap may be impossible, still cracking some commentary on the poet's collected tales like Tim hasn't gone cold on him earlier, but that was just how the man is. It's how he was too, if he and the nagging voice in the back of his head was right.

He knew it was best to build on the facts first.

Fact 1; Important people, or people who would become important, had trouble staying dead. They came back by any number of miracles or hands of god-like entities deciding to change a course time took, some more like themselves than others depending on the method.

Fact 2; He knew Marvel. He saw him once and had a weird gut feeling that told him it wasn't his first, and he wasn't alone in that, Cassie had too. He told her Marvel looked familiar and she agreed, saying she had that feeling too. He’d gone over everyone they could've possibly known, finding no good contenders with even six degrees of separation in mind. He chalked it up to Marvel having one of those faces, he certainly could pull off a Superman with how many people made the Magic Super jokes.

Fact 3; When people came back, it was with something missing. Be it their literal soul, the time they missed age wise, mental faculties, body parts, or what powers they had before their death. All of that, and memories. Because Marvel talked to him like a stranger after learning his real name, and Tim could remember clearly then that there was no recollection in his eyes. There was nothing about his body language that said they’d ever met before, at least to his memory.

Marvel was still talking, getting a few quick but friendly responses from him as he scanned for his book. “Ever been in a P&P situation Tim?”

“Sure, but I didn't need rats to chew through my bonds.” He retorted, pulling at the older and more worn spines of books he couldn't read in the C section, hoping he actually organized by title. Marvel laughed, “Last time Sivana had me in one I had to convince one of his henchmen to rip the bonds off. Big ol’ gator guy who got sick of being a lackey and had a penchant for the stage.” He said, ever so dramatic in his retelling.

“Hermiker is doing great, last I checked, he was a new entertainer at the zoo and has been eating up all the good attention he gets between his feeding times.” He flipped to a new page, still talking to Tim, but his eyes were firmly on the pages. “He’s even got a stunt gig coming up for this Indiana Jones reboot,” Found it.

“Which, ugh, those things are so–” “Insulting to the profession between its drawn out action scenes and crap writing.” He finished for him, and Charles looked at him, blinking wildly at his words.

“Yeah… How did–?” Tim flipped to the dedication page of his book, The Collected Myths and Legends of Khandaq . The spine faded to hell and back, cracked from a hundred too many revisits to that one page, dedicating the text to all those ‘ Who venture for the tales of this world past; To being able to tell these tales to our children and all those who follow .' It was a sweet sentiment, printed below a picture of an excavation group, locals mixed with American archeologists. To the right side was the leading couple, the dad holding his son with a small lantern on his shoulder with one arm while the other was held around his wife by his side for the photo.

Charles blinked a few more times, squinting his eyes. It was then Tim realized that, without the Bat-cowl, Bruce might have vision problems he's not the most vocal about, so he steps forward and thrusts the book into his hands. Taking the one prior and leaving the man with proof of a life he had to have forgotten, or not , with how he could see his blood run cold.

He had met Marvel, twice, when he came over with his small family to talk with his parents. He hadn't wanted to remember the meetings because of their kid, who his parents insisted he could keep an eye on while they talked with the Batsons, that their perfectly responsible and capable only child could babysit for a short catchup with old friends. Stuck for the bulk of that afternoon keeping an eye on a kid no older than five, which solidly showed Tim an example of just how much a few years difference could make in trying to relate to someone.

The first meeting was short lived, merely getting a handshake and exchange of names before only finding some common ground with their kid by talking about Batman and Robin. Charles had joked afterwards that the three of them went as the group each year, Billy and him as the duo while Marilynn stayed home to pass out candy as one of his villains. Apparently, she had discovered a hay allergy after stuffing her costumes’ sleeves and pants full of the material and the holiday was cut short to rush her to a hospital. It was something they laughed over, and their son, Billy, had proudly proclaimed he didn’t have the same allergy ‘cause the doctor checked the next month.

The second one was cut short, this time visiting them at their home just a month later with Billy being at a playdate with some other kid his own age, leaving Tim free to mill around what he expected to be a mini-museum like his family home. Finding only pictures of things they found over mementos and artifacts like the ones his parents collected, recalling the golden scepter his dad showed him after taking it out of a golf club bag. It was all pictures on the walls and fake trinkets fit for a museum gift shop rather than the actual displays, Charles had called him down from his exploring, inviting him to join the conversation about a recent dig after his parents had mentioned his interest in some similar topic.

He’d given him a copy of a book based on the trip, full of stories they were able to dictate after interviewing locals and consulting a resident expert they’d known from college. There was Billy, the same dumb kid he'd met just a month prior who wouldn't remember a thing about his childhood like Tim could, he could remember from when he was his age while Billy probably couldn't remember his own breakfast that morning. Billy was in the photo, carrying a lantern while Marilynn gushed about how excited Billy was to help everyone see and doodle down the inscriptions in his little clipboard.

It was after that the memory of what they talked about got fuzzy, even his own responses, as he envied another boy. The kid who got to join on the adventures, even if it probably wasn't the best for him with the effects of air travel and on sleep schedules and jet lag and every other logical reason his own parents had for keeping him home. Billy got to go, he got to be part of it instead of with a babysitter or nanny the whole time. Tim just remembered how the meet-up ended, his mom and Mrs. Batson moved their part of the conversation out into the backyard while they chatted under a canopy, taking him with them until his dad told them they were leaving with a tissue covering a bloody nose.

He hadn't remembered it, or been there for the more heated part of it before his mom and Mrs. Batson ushered him away, but apparently they’d gotten into a fight about the difference of their homes. Mr. Batson getting up in arms about putting items he’d collected around his house instead of in museums to keep people educated about history or back with the people who could make claims of it belonging where it had been found, a strong moral he stuck to about what did or didn't follow him to Fawcett’s own museum. The verbal scuffle started, he was taken away from it, it got louder, and Charles had stuck his father and called off some planned trip.

His dad was quietly upset during the ride home, his mom disappointed in having to change plans. Tim still had the book in hand, looking at that photo of another kid who got to jump head first into an adventure, as mundane as his was, with his family. It wasn't a memory he held onto like when he met Dick, or much of an emotion he went back to, but he did come back to the picture a few dozen times. As understanding as he was of his parents' logic, he wanted that time, those memories attached to what his parents always brought home like what the Batsons had with their photos.

Charles had those memories, he could see it in the sickly pale complexion Bruce's face fell into when he really absorbed what was in front of him. He may not have everything, but he can tell his own face in the snapshot.

“I–” He cut himself short, voice breathless and dry as he tried to find the words, grasping at straws to explain whatever it was that brought a man Tim knew was dead from the grapevine of his parents' conversations at the table. His eyes found his, scared, pained. And that told Tim that he knew enough about the life he had to feel guilt for the ones left from the old one. “How did you–” He didn't finish, cutting himself off again at the cold indiffernce painted on his face. Tim turned and left, Charles hung his head low over the dedication page, thumbing over the image as Tim headed down to the cave to tear off the bandaid and wait for Bruce to report in to hear the news.

Charles' face was on the Bat-computer, green lines of comparison and facial analysis finding a 92.57% match between the photos of Captain Marvels ID and Clarence Charles Batsons last drivers license. Duke turned to him in the chair, expectant for a shocked expression that Tim didn't have. “Oh, come on!” Duke threw his hands up as he spun back to the screen, “You knew already?!”

— — —

Passing Tim, the young lad looked… disappointed would be the wrong word, too steeped in a sense of fury too similar to Bruce’s titular scowl beneath his cowl. He made no comment, assured that whatever was bothering him would, like all other issues, simmer until the pot overflowed or someone exploded in some grand display of righteous fury to whatever enraged him. Timothy had only begun to simmer, so he’d prepare for that bomb of piled up emotions when the boy was ready to properly verbalize it, or break his bō staff over a criminal’s skull. It would be then Alfred, or someone else, would step in and force the lad through his emotions until he could be constructive with it.

He saw his face, prepared for the inevitable crash and fallout that would come to the house as it always did, and poked his head into the next room. Still not having found the Captain, he closed the door to the room and moved to the next.

Something odd had happened once he stayed the night, the animals refused to stay in the house. Titus and Ace had lost their appetite sometime in the second day of the Captain’s arrival, as did Alfred— the cat bearing his namesake had refused any food like it had fallen suddenly ill within the house's walls. Just the other day they had made a more permanent exodus, camping out together in the barn with Jeffery, Bat-Cow, and Goliath.

Of those three already outside, Bat-Cow had collapsed that afternoon and had not eaten since breakfast the day before. It was only under a cold glare the dogs and Alfred had eaten their last meal, albeit sluggishly and with Titus getting sick soon after with puke to Alfred’s shoes just as he made his leave.

There was a pattern he assumed had something to do with the Captain and his more divine ties to magic, his sudden arrival causing ill-feelings among the more mundane but respected animals of the manor. There’s not many pieces of religious iconography he can remember with things like a turkey or a Demon-Bat, but cattle with dogs and cats are fairly common to his memory.

He reaches the library, calling out for the man. “Captain?” He doesn’t hear anything, so he steps in to make entirely sure. “Captain Marvel, I’d like your aid if you can spare it.”

There was a beat of silence, then scattered footsteps from further into the room before finding the man down the space between shelves in front of him. “Hey, hi, I was just-” The man wet his lips, catching his breath as he righted his mind to speak clearly, clearing his throat once he collected himself. “So, helping. I can still do that.”

“I’d like your input on an issue with the animals and some help bringing their food out, if you may.” The man wordlessly nodded, following the butler in a stiff walk and following his instruction to pull along a wheeled tray with some smaller bowls and a very large covered one. The larger being for Goliath, the black hole of consumption the beast was, while the smaller were for the rest. He himself grabbed the large bale of perennial ryegrass for Bat-cow and sack of mixed grains for Jeffrey, carrying the sack at his side and the bale thrown over his shoulder in a carry.

The Captain offered his help at the sight of the bale, offering a trade, but Alfred reassured him that “I am not as frail as my age would leave you to believe.” Which he takes in stride and accepts in their leave to the barn, hearing Bat-Cow mooing long before they see her. The poor creature on her side in her stable as Goliath worriedly petting the miserable bovine to give some form of comfort, the rest of the animal gang curled up to her to ease whatever pain she’s found herself inexplicably in.

“Oh,” Marvel remarks, face twisted in worry for the animal.

“Oh indeed.” Luging the feed in, he laid out the fresh meals in replacement of their uneaten feed with the Captains help. “She’s been under the weather for some days now and I’d grown worried it had been due to you.” He wasted no time in explaining, passing off the massive bowl of meat cutlets and fruit salad Goliath had grown very fond of as the Demon-Bat tore into his helping. None of the other animals followed, ignoring their meals without second thought and cuddling closer to Bat-Cow, who mooed pitifully as she lolled her head away from the ryegrass placed before her.

The Captain kneeled before her, petting her head in lack of Goliath's previous comfort, a gesture she leaned into that quieted her down. “Poor thing, what’s got you in a tizzy?” Voice soft, he looked her over and brought her head to rest on his lap as a faint glow came from the palm of his hand, which he began to pet her with again.

He grimaced in discomfort, “Someone been bothering you?” Alfred cleared his throat, repeating his guess as to who was incidentally harming the bovine. The man made a face, like he’d said something overwhelmingly obvious to a burnt out scholar, or detective on his fourth night straight with no sleep while working on a case with the face he was currently bearing.

“If my magic of divine origin was the issue,” he pointed to Goliath. “Then he’d be trying to claw me to death.” He turned his regards back to the animals. “It’s something from the Rock, it’s probably why they aren’t going inside anymore. Magic can move like a fog and some probably let itself out when me and…” he trailed off, eyes going foggy until Alfred jostled his shoulder to snap him out of it.

His head snapped to look him in the eye, one of his tearing up and beginning to cry when he wiped the stray tear away to inform him. “Just keep them out of the house and if she doesn’t start eating soon you might want to ask someone for an exorcism or cleaning spell.” He mumbled an apology and left, rushing out of the barn and back to the house.

Sighing, he finished laying out the meals in the stable all the animals had gathered in and took Goliath’s now empty bowl to clean with the other dirty dishes he collects before leaving. He gives Bat-Cow a hug and a wish to get better, making a mental note to update Bruce when he arrives within the hour that he’ll need to ask some member of Justice League: Dark for some assistance. 

Notes:

Call back to Chapter…. geez, 12 of 37… but anywho, Tim recognized Cap as more than another black haired blue eyes paragon with muscles like half of DC’s other heroes, he saw someone he recognized from before he was Robin. Which, handly helps me in putting Billy as between Tim and Damian in age with a 4.5 and 3 years age gap respectively.

Plus, magic having its unintended consequences with some dashes of characterization. The Batsons having a lot of respect and practiced morals about their work and Billy echoing his dad’s opinions that Tim remembered years later. So now there’s people who know his “identity” and his identity with varying reactions.

Good luck to Billy on all this :)

Also; Damian, coming back to the manor after getting possessed with that one TikTok sound
The animals: and, I felt like that wasn’t my friend that night
The animals: it was the devil

Chapter 38: Storms; Damian

Summary:

The Sins tighten their hold

Notes:

Wow, waited another month! Oogh

I gotta say, never expected this thing to go on so long! 6 months and going strong!

…and we are halfway through, woo hoo… god this really I’m going to be a year long investment lol

His skin itches.

There’s a crawling sensation, like maggots writhing just between his flesh and muscles, mercifully not eating him from within but still there . And it made him itch.

It was worse around his right eye, having to remove the patch in the safety of his room with the dim lighting of the moon keeping him from being in total darkness, just so he could scratch at the agitated flesh like he was trying to claw his own eye out. Or, really, not his own eye— that having been replaced by the blue glass occupying his socket that had replaced it with deluded vision and voices that kept getting louder.

“Oh, stop it.” Pride chided, reflection within his room's window pane uninterested in him in favor of her own reflection in a handheld mirror, despite her speaking out to him. “You’ll start tearing your skin off if you keep that up, Princeling.”

“T’would not be the first he’d leave an opponent with flayed flesh.” Wrath sniggered, taking up a separate pane with the rest of his siblings in the glass, obscuring the view he’d been enjoying of the backyard and the barn. Wraths voice having spent the last half hour whispering ridicule for worrying over disloyal animals, something they had become over such a simple matter as him having grown a less desirable aura of magic they chose to detest. Fleeing from him the moment he reached out to them, barking and hissing scorn before fleeing to the other side of the property.

He snapped the curtains shut, stalking away from the window view of their traitorous sanctuary and the reminiscing of Wrath, opting to ignore the now burning itch beneath his flesh with tidying up his art desk. “The wondrous days of old where you’d just as easily peel flesh from muscle! What a grand spectacle of a boy's indiscriminate wrath!” The Sin howled, the memory flashing through his mind's eye as well as the glass one as he tried to gather up the loose sketches he worked on a few days prior. The pages slipped out of trembling fingers, bile rising up in his throat that he swallowed down remembering sights of what lies below a target's skin.

The blue tint of his right eye went red and murky like a lens smeared with blood, showing those memories in outside perspective. From lessons in anatomy to the final birthday challenge that showed his growth, the smile he remembered once full of warmth and pride in succeeding and finally earning the right to meet his father twisted sinisterly. 

“Now that's simply rude dear brother,” Pride chided, her reflection shown back handing Wraths armor with a dissatisfied grimace. “Twisting a memory with my influence to fit yours? Have you no manners for me or the boy?” The burning subsided, right eye filtering back into soft blues and smoke swirling his vision. 

“You were no part of my life before this,” he declared, finding the steadiness needed to sort his drawings and file them away in a drawer to be handled into folders later. “You weren’t- you aren’t- you’re only here because I say so.” The words bumble out, unsure in the confidence he feels built to turn to the offending Sin.

“I get rid of your problem, you help me destroy mine, that’s the deal.” He reiterated.

He wouldn’t— he wasn’t going to fail, he wasn’t going to let his family’s cause fail by continuing to be weak. His father would live to see a good world and Damian would deliver it, a garden purged of its weeds with the assurance they’d never return. His… lingering disgust was just going to hold him back, stop him from being able to follow through. No matter his reservations, Marvel would fall to his hand and he’d use the other to build the world better.

But that would wait for when there was no danger to his father, for now all he wanted was silence from the Sins bickering. He said nothing of the sort then, turning away from them and refocusing on his desk when a crack came to his window. The Sins no longer reflected in it, not even Pride stood her ground in honor of her namesake.

He glared the now cracked window down, the lines fading with a thin stream of dust where it mended. Damian found little comfort in that, a small sign that— if nothing, the Sins obeyed him. They pestered but did not force his hand, it was all his own action.

The images Wrath had conjured in the right eye burned again, now with the face of the man he’d killed nights prior. The man’s body crumbled into ash as he wailed, and Damian’s crumpled all the same with a silent sob. He was weak, an ill fit warrior unfit for the grit of conquering. Ill fit for what he was born for.

He was the Bats Son, immovable and imposing of a force, striking fear in the darkness as he led the good to brighter tomorrows they’d almost forgotten.

He was grandson of the Demons Head, he was meant to bend the world until it broke so he could reshape it anew for the better. No matter how his father objected, that better world shouldn't have to rely on him risking his life every night, risking his family’s lives.

The best world would be one with them living among it without ever having to be its heroes or defenders of the night again. Some selfish, Greedy part of him wanted that future for himself. If he could get rid of the one obstacle in his way now, if he could use the Sins to weed out the criminals and monsters and men who debased themselves into inhuman cruelty– he and his family would have that future.

There was a crash outside, his room lighting up in its dim light as thunder rang out somewhere on the property. When he looked past his window it flashed again, black lighting barreling down and seeming to suck up the light of the previous strike. Some part of him felt giddy, and his fingers twitched with that same lighting jumping between them.

Notes:

Sins doing what Sins do best, corrupting.

I spoke with a friend of mine to make sure I’m not doing Dami a disservice and when I mentioned his age being like 12 here they said “Oof, prime trauma time” and I felt that, he’s been through a lot by this age

Oh and if anyone here has read the novelization for the Shazam movie, you might be able to figure out what that lighting is gonna do. Wink wink, nudge nudge. To all others you can wait and see or I’d be happy to explain in a comment!

Chapter 39: Old faces, new looks; Tim & Bruce

Summary:

Kit is a good agent of Chaos, Bruce returns to Gotham and finds a new fun bit of things that happen to people in a Champions body

Notes:

Ah, I love getting closer to the clash that will be Tim saying “Hey, this is Captain Marvels secret identity and the implications here are seriously effed!” And Bruce countering with the knowledge that, “No, that is not his identity and it’s actually worse!”

I love the plot thread of people looking at CC Batson and Marvel and thinking “Ah, same person.”

And there’s more I love I’ll mention in the nest set of notes

Tim and Duke worked opposite of eachother, back to the other as Tim handled further complication of facts as to Marvel's identity and his possible false civilian life after his supposed, or even temporary, death. Duke handled a digital mock up of the kids face he’d seen when he surveyed the roof, so far up to the finer details of the face to run through recognition after getting the basics of face shape and specific features.

Tim spared a glance at the mock up, finding the kid to look unremarkably normal by all standards. Unremarkable brown eyes, straight light-brown hair cut short, with an unremarkably young face. Ballpark? Tim would guess about twelve years old, maybe thirteen.

Tim turned back to his own work, flicking between papers and small bits of information on the man. Clarence Charles Batson, died some years back with his wife in a woefully falsified cause of death. What was available showed what was reported as a drive by, despite the fact Clarence was shot directly to his glabella with a .45 close enough that the velocity of the bullet tore through his skull and blew the back of it out. Marilynn was shot at close range by some automatic with exit wounds for most of the bullets, but none were found in the wounds without exits. 

They policed their brass, and the blood at the supposed scenes in the police reports by the Khandaqi police force at the time didn’t yield the expected evidence. There wasn’t enough blood on the street, there were other bodies but they had the proper splatter patterns. It was a poor cover up, utterly laughable.

Digging further showed that after contact back to the states there was no transport request by Clarence’s older brother for funerary arrangements, it was only after Black Adam cemented himself as the new reigning power of Khandaq that their bodies were taken from the morgue, already cremated due to no response from the brother and the length of time they were there, and were given a funeral thanks to the wishes of their friend.

Tim counted himself lucky he was able to even find that last bit of evidence, buried under the mountain of obituaries and top news for that week with the change in leadership and how little the newspaper cared for the funeral of two archaeologists from America. Kahndaq cut itself off more, so sources and forms about what happened never became more than what was publicized or what Tim could scrounge from the scant digital files. Whatever happened next happened that year, dead at the start of summer but back in the spring with all the daisies. Marvel made his first appearance to the world in an odd subway video clip Bruce had long since found. 

Fawcett Pennsylvania, at the Binder Street stop. Marvel rushes in a confused dash onto the platform from the subway car and exits through the stairwell of his left. CCTV cameras catch him at street level still looking confused before running east to the park and dropping off the radar.

The next time he was seen he has grabbing a car off the road to stop fleeing bombers who just tried to blow up the Whiz Radio station, the next after that was a bridge collapse where he saved every car that would’ve fallen into the water below, and a hundred other feats of classic heroism for the Captain.

There’s a part of Tim that wants to give him the benefit of the doubt— that he didn’t know about his life, that he woke up one day with phenomenal powers and a moral conscience and decided he’d save people all day everyday for the rest of his… existence he supposes. Jason had apparently come back with limited memory and cognitive function when he first got out of his grave, maybe the same stood for Clarence. Maybe he ran out of that subway and fell into the groove of saving people as part of some second nature to protect, maybe a hold over from being a dad in his past life.

Tim wants to believe that, but he doesn’t.

Captain Marvel had been around a shy bit more than he had been donning the cape and domino mask as Robin, he’d had the time to let his memory fall back together or at the very least get flashes of it to investigate into. When he’d seen that photo there was definite recognition, there was a sadness, a realization— not that he had that life but one of being found out somehow. He knew, he doesn’t know how long he’s known but he knew.

“Woooow,” Kon— what in the hell? “You guys are just those class A sucky kinda friends, aren't cha?” His friend's voice mocked.

Tim and Duke stood, pushing their seats back into an offensive position to the appearance of his friend boredly looking down at them from the top of the Bat-computer. Laying on his side with his head propped up by a hand, glaring Tim down specifically. It wasn’t Kon, not his mind and definitely not how Tim remembered seeing him just days earlier. This one was still in the abysmal downgrade that was him wearing a black shirt with his S shield and his hair buzzed short.

It was Kon before he died, just like his appearance as Jason was him before his own death. 

“Honestly, it doesn’t take a possession to get in your heads and know you messed up in the biggest way imaginable when it comes to Cap. Like-” The specter huffed an amused breath, moving to sit with one leg crossed over the other. Pointing to Tim, “-you specifically just threw out how many years of knowing a guy and seeing him be one of the greatest people around and ditched the second you think he’s not all sunshine and rainbows? Seriously?”

The false Conner rolled his eyes, bringing down a hand that had an all too familiar aura to it down unto the Bat-computer. “What are you—?” Duke started to ask as Tim’s eyes bugged out, silently curing every stupid time Kon boasted and told anyone and everyone about his TTK. The aura spread past the fakes hand and wrapped up the computer in an instant, clinging and crunching it up in its entirety until the screen he sat on had a more comfortable curve and the rest of it looked like a trash heap.

“Either leave the guy alone with your shoddy conspiracy theories,” the fake smiled with malice. “Or I'll spend all the time I’ve got left after you all croak to summon your dead bodies from the afterlife and see how you like being long dead human shields for the rest of eternity.” With that threat said and done, a lightning strike took up the fake's body and made him disappear in the same flash it crashed down with. Setting what was left of the very crushed Bat-computer to be set on fire.

“Oh, mother of pearl.”

— — —

Bruce was very happy, so far, in his decision to opt for the bus route and take the time it was taking him to get to Gotham to wrap his mind around things. He took a breath, toying with the plush paw of Tawny's hand as he thought things over.

Billy was… a case, to be for certain. Even still there were questions he still had unanswered and worries he’d like to voice at some point.

Who were his fellow Marvels? Who was Mary Marvel, his supposed twin sister, when records showed that she died under a different name? How much of the offered information he had on the man— the boy— was even true?

He leaned towards believing that maybe the nebulous wizard he claimed granted him his abilities was a real figure, though it raised more questions as to why anyone would saddle a child as young as Billy was with the responsibilities he held himself too.

Everything else he could assume fairly easily was through truly monumental amounts of grit and determination to achieve some sense of normalcy or comfort with what childhood Billy had left; Why he got a job he seemed to thrive in reporting on his alter ego and beloved city. Why he was so eager to join hero groups and be part of the action, a child suddenly surrounded by idols and just as suddenly a part of their group as a hero himself. At some point the answer to a lot of his questions and the blank spaces he once saw with Marvel filled in with the simple fact that he was a child, and one doing his best to be a good man.

That simple fact struck Bruce, reminded of every time there was always a child that became what they are now. A child who witnesses some horrible tragedy, that’s left alone, is shown a world that takes more than it cares to give far too early. A child who leaps to show the world it’s wrong, to give and give. Marvel’s response to his tragedy was simply quicker than anyone else’s. He lost and started to give that same year, no growing into his powers or decades between the reason and the result.

The bus slowed to a halt, the hydraulics of the door hissing open as the driver announced their stop in Gotham. Bruce left with Tawny, heading straight out of the station and for roads he knew would be the least busy and the safest. Tawny wriggled in his arms, shifting like sand out of them and landing as a small orange cat to the sidewalk. A quick glance around thankfully shows that no one was around to see that display, not that it’d be the oddest Gotham has seen.

He took off in a bolt, Bruce left standing dumbfounded before he found his feet and ran after him. Twisting into alleys he knew were not the best to go running down between the tripping hazards of trash and the high likelihood in this neighborhood that he’d get Billy's body killed in a mugging here, “Tawny!” 

The feline stopped right at a dead end, looking up at him with deceptively innocent eyes as he caught up. “Well this is a good spot to start flying, no?” Bruce felt an eye twitch, Tawny smiling a Cheshire grin and chuckling at his expression. 

He gave the alley a once over, the windows of the buildings around him seeming abandoned enough to not be a security risk. Giving in, for both the sake of the safety of Billy's body and his sanity by simply going along with Tawny, he spoke the word that seemed to be the trigger phrase for the transformation.

“Shazam!”

Lightning struck, his bones burned under his flesh as they buzzed and reformed, and his perspective shifted with nauseating force. But this felt different.

“Good lord,” Tawny bemoaned, crouching down with paws over his eyes in embarrassment. “What on earth are you wearing?” He looked down, finding himself not in Captain Marvel's suit, but an odd dark version with details he took a moment to recognize.

The suit was a dark gray, as was his own style, and the thunder symbol glowed a different hue. A stark and complete white compared to the slight hint of blue that outlined Marvel’s symbol. The shirt was double breasted with silver buttons, the cape was black and much longer. The boots were more streamlined and the arm bracers came up to and wrapped around his hands like brass knuckles, it was nothing someone like Billy would wear.

He brought his hands to his face, feeling the edge of the hood he was wearing and the mask stuck to his face. Patting the back of his head revealed that it was a bandana with metallic edgings, the hood part of his cape. It was then one of the patrons chimed in, Hermes.

“I’ll take a wild guess and assume you and Billy don’t share the same heroic idols?”

Bruce wondered what the messenger meant by that for a second, then looked down at himself again. Realizing what and who he looked like. The gray suit reminiscent of the Gray Ghost, the mask and sash around his waist matching well with the cape to emulate Zorro, and the sheer practicality of the knuckles and streamlined design entirely matching with his own practicalities.

He also remembered precisely which Justice League member Billy had been the most excited to meet and what red clad vigilante Billy was friends with. Billy's costume was a mix of Mr. Scarlet and Superman— Bruce’s was a mash of Zorro and the Gray Ghost. He almost wanted to laugh, almost, but this was just another wonderfully awful addition to his week. Now, with his look linked to his idea of heroic idols, Bruce couldn’t even manage to look like Captain Marvel as the whole world knew him.

“Why,” he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose through his new mask. “ Why does the suit work like this?”

“Well a hero must appear as such,” Solomon sagely explained. “Why bother creating a new look for every iteration of Champion when the image is so clear in their minds?”

Bruce chalked it up to the collective laziness of a handful of gods and left it at that, already planning on asking if Billy knew any work around for his own alter ego’s appearance or, failing that, simply sticking to the night for the rest of the week so no one asks too much about the sudden costume change for Marvel. He sighed, and motioned for Tawny to jump into his arms, crouching down so he could carry the feline and get him to Billy to help sort out the madness the week was further delving into. Instead, Tawny ran around him and hopped up onto his shoulder, digging his claws into the fabric of his cape and staying there.

With no fight left, he took flight. Reaching a hand back to keep Tawny situated so the cat wouldn’t go hurdling off his back as he flew back to the cave.

Notes:

I love the idea that Captain Marvel is Billy’s idea of what a hero looks like, I love the idea that his design could be a mix of one of his own home town heroes and his larger idol in Superman while looking just like his dad at the same time because they’re all heroes to him so all together it’s his dad in a funny costume.

I saw someone getting confused as to who Clarence or Charles is, so here’s the friendly reminder that C.C. stands for Clarence Charles. I keep using his name because yadda yadda, name importance depending on the POV we’re focusing on, yadda yadda, mistaken identity.

Bruce now doesn’t even look like Captain Marvel and I am so excited for those two to finally TALK, I can’t express enough how much I’m going to tear them to peices

Chapter 40: Too many Bats in the belfry; Bruce & Billy

Summary:

Bruce returns to the Batcave to an odd scene, takes a good hard look in the mirror, and realizes he is way too out of his depth.

Billy loses the last thread holding his secrets together and fears the worst.

Notes:

I have spent so many nights thinking up good lines for Billy to scream at Bruce, y’all don’t even know. This kid has plenty to scream about too, there was no shortage of messed up stuff for this guy, but I stuck with vocalizing the properly good stuff.

Also, debated having Billy curse for the first time and adding a “Let Billy Batson say Fuck” tag but I think imma’ save that bullet

Tawny hopped off his back just as he landed by where his computer should be, instead of Duke pointing a fire extinguisher apprehensively while Tim paced.

Jason was also there, rubbing his temples like he was nursing a headache while another burst of flames sprung up from the former computer and Duke shot the fire down with the extinguisher.

Bruce is there with a cat and an ungodly horrible suit, mask still tied around his face and hood drawn up. He also becomes increasingly aware of the fact he doesn’t look at all like the Captain save for the lightning emblem and is thrown when his sons notice him and he is immediately met with Duke throwing the extinguisher at his head while Jason gets a few bullets to flatten against his chest. Tawny snickering at his feet as all of them bounce off him and he flips an attacking Tim onto his back when he charges with his bō staff, bending across his face at an angle as he told them to stand down.

Luckily, he’d always taught his children to be prepared for any eventuality.

Stepping softer than would be normal for an intruder to pin down an attacker, he spoke to Duke. “I heard Penguin got out.” He gave him a look, piecing things together that same second, and spoke back conversationally. “Might wanna’ keep an eye on sudden large fish sales.”

Bruce let go of Tim, assured in the fact they got that he was himself. “I’d check sushi places first.”

Once Tim had gotten to his feet and Jason put away his guns, they asked “What happened to you?” Gesturing to his suit. Bruce hemmed over the best way to explain it without giving too much about Billy away, he didn’t want them getting too close to what he knew before he could even talk to Billy and make sure he understood his situation. As, honestly, horrible it sounds, Bruce didn’t want Billy to have more than half a dozen people on him about his identity and age before Bruce fully understood it himself.

It— as he had spent the bus ride and every minute since he’d shot down a few feet in height with a simple two syllable word— was a situation with a lot of bad implications and a lot that he needed to clear up. Bruce knew as much as Billy ever told him, which was just the basics of his life outside the odd comment of liking a song or the typical chatter about nameless people he meets on patrols and basic hobbies. He just knew beforehand that he claimed to have gotten powers from a wizard and he did whatever he said after swearing an oath to protect the meal and defenseless, the gods were somewhere in the middle of all that and empowered him to the degree he’d always seen in a fight.

Bruce wanted to know why such a young child ended up there. Did any of Billy's villains know his real identity? Why did he never say anything about his age all this time? Were any of the entities from his gods to this anonymous wizard using him for some greater gain than a pet hero? Was there any way for Bruce to help him?

He wanted to help wherever he could, this was a kid left alone and kept himself alone outside other heroes decades older than him who never knew him personally. There were the other Marvels, maybe, but god knows who they are under whatever glamor they have on. He still needs to look into who Mary Marvel is because, as far as the birth and death certificates show, his twin sister was very much dead and not helping him flatten robots or trade haymakers with magical arsonists.

Bruce kept any mention of a transformation to himself, at the very least until he was on the same page as Billy and could actually come to his defense, or at the very least answer questions when everyone else got up in arms about the fact they’d let an actual child handle world ending threats.

“Good lord,” he thinks, thankfully at super speeds with the much appreciated trait of people with that power to both think and process at the speeds they could move. “He was still an elementary student. Dick hadn’t even gotten past the typical monster or less dangerous rogue until years into their crusade and he’d been right beside him!”  

Bruce hopes, prays even, that this kid had somebody— anybody— looking out for him these last few years. Were he in his own body, he’d have probably had a short heart attack remembering every instance Billy was put through things he was much too young for without anybody to even properly open up to.

Settling back to normal time, his sons still looked at him expectantly for some answer as to his ridiculous getup.

And while Bruce understood it as much as he understood all vaguely explained magic, he knew his own thought process and the difference between becoming Marvel for an event and Marvel in his suit. He thought before of being Billy, now he’d looked this way because somewhere in his mind he allowed for the thought of his own biased heroism to seep in. Perhaps he could fix things with an isolated costume change with some thought control? He could focus his thoughts well enough, maybe enough to trick the magic so he’d look like Captain Marvel in time for the meeting?

Nonetheless, he couldn’t now with his sons around and still needed to explain enough to not give Billy away in any way.

“It’s a consequence of one of Captain Marvel's powers as ascribed by Zeus and his blessing of divine power,” he gestured vaguely to himself and lifted a bit of the long cape. “It draws off my subconscious idea of what a hero looks like. Apparently it’s a tool built into a champion so that they and their patrons don’t have to go through the process of designing a heroic outfit when the blueprint can be taken directly from my own mind's idea of what a hero would look like.”

Saying this, he pulled the hood down and untied the mask, wanting very much to simply get that pressure off his head as he would after any other long day to de-cowl.

The bandana evaporated in his hands like smoke once it was off, and their looks hardened from taking in information to further questioning. “What?” He lifted to touch his face, wondering if the mask or something else appeared without his notice.

Tim looked the most confused, eyes darting at features Bruce was none the wiser to on his face. It twisted as he shook his head minutely side to side, disbelieving. He walked off with an angered growl, not one word spoken as Jason started cracking up like someone had drawn on his face. “Does your face get the brain hero treatment too, B?”

Tim returned with a tablet, swiping through something before holding it beside Bruce’s face, not showing him the screen as it pointed to the three of them. Duke's jaw going a bit agape in confused shock as Jason just snickers behind a fist, “Wow B, you figure out the fake face thing before us?”

“Thought that was too obvious.” Duke muttered, crossing his arms and tilting his head to inspect Bruce’s apparently new face. Tim’s face was unreadable as he snatched up the tablet and looked at what he was pointing to Jason and Duke, seeing the face of his father.

Bruce tapped to the camera app of the tablet, turning it to face him and seeing his father staring back at him. Darker blue eyes staring back, brown hair graying at the sides like his father’s would if he lived to this day and age. 

“What the hell Bruce?” Tim asked, agitated like it was the first. He asked again, shoving the tablet out of his hands and letting it clatter to the floor. Tim asked what was going on, how he learned it, what happened while he was gone. The exact words mixed and muddled, pausing when Tim realized he couldn’t hear Bruce breathing or feel his pulse where he’d grabbed his wrists for attention.

— — —

Billy sat in the study, not fully there or in his own mind as he watched the grandfather clock tick without the hands moving an inch. Someone would come up, be it Bruce to catch up a bit on whatever other mundane madness Billy was used to that he wasn’t or his kids to further poke at him with questions and glare at him like some conman.

The hands moved, to the same haunting time that would’ve been late in the night, and slid with some of the wall and shelving to opening elevator doors. The sight of the person behind them was the next nail in his coffin, eye bulging as his mind focused back on the here and now with the fact he was really figured out by the worst possible person looking at him mournfully.

He stepped out, the elevator disappeared behind the clock and walls again, and he reached for a book that partially slid out with a click before it was pushed back in.

Unlike the nightmares or anxious spirals he gone down before, but the tears didn’t well.

He didn’t cry, no blubbering of apologies, no hyperventilation. No jumps to a defensive rage to hide his fear, no gaping hole opening up beneath him to swallow him back into the model picture of squalor he’d lived in before as Batman and every hero he’d ever respected looked down at him with disgusting pity.

He merely let out a resigned breath, shoulders sagging with his secret a long gone privilege he’d held and a chunk of ice lodged in his chest. Squeezing any space for itself or could afford as it grew into his lungs and heart, forcing a calm as his feelings halted for the cold indifference it left with the frost.

“It was bad enough—” he thinks. “—that I was right about anyone ever putting a name to my face. Now Bruce has the right name, and Hera knows who else he’s already told.”

Bruce sat beside him, like a parent readying to comfort a child trying to navigate their first grief. He stood and stalked to the other end of the room, not meeting Bruce’s wrong eyes once. Not wanting to see his face— his dads face— warped into someone else’s. It’s worse that way, Bruce trying to play the comforting role like Billy was one of the scared kids they saved or pulled from rubble.

“Billy-”

“No,” He bites with more sadness peaking through than the bark he wants, so he could keep some semblance of control here. “Billy-” Bruce tries again, and he turns to shoot him down again.

“I’m not Billy to you, Bruce!” Wrong eyes blow wide with worry, “I’m not a child for you to talk down or comfort! I’ve always been Captain Marvel to you and that’s not going to change just because you couldn’t keep your nose out of one thing!”

The ice in his chest burned up into a flame, tightening his chest with how it charred and shrunk his ribs to hold his lungs and heart like a vice, the tears he’d hoped wouldn’t make an appearance ticking at his eyes as he flew into his rage.

“I’m Captain Marvel! I’ve saved the world with you hundreds of times and I’ve earned the respect to be called the name I used when I saved the world beside you all!”

Bruce stood from where he sat, reaching out to comfort. “Bill-”

“Stop that!” His voice cracked, slapping his hand away in a way that should’ve been like back handing steel but instead flinched back with no physical pain to him. “You don’t get to call me a name I never shared! You don’t get to stop talking to me like an equal!”

Bruce took a breath in, then out. Doing the hand movements along with it like he was trying to coach him through them too, so Billy thought every expletive he could think fit the man.

“Marvel, please believe me when I say I stumbled across this information unwillingly.” His voice stayed even and diplomatic, Billy threw his hands up with none of his anger abated as the worst kept going on.

“I don’t have intentions of sharing this with the League or anyone else until you-”

“No, no!” Gods, doesn’t he get it?!

“No one is learning about this! Not now or ever Bruce! This is my life!” He jabbed him where he was at least still familiar, to the thunder symbol that saved his life and made him capable of having the one he has now. “And that’s why I have no intention of sharing this until you’re willing!” He defended, still not getting it!

“God, I have to spell this out to you? World's greatest detective with the universe's thickest skull?”

Bruce’s face fell, that typical worry and sympathy for another helpless kid never leaving. Billy gnashed his teeth, loathing it pointed at him. He could just see the picturesque cookie cutter helpless orphan his savior complex would happily swoop in to help and protect in the reflection of his eyes, the image of how Bruce had to see him now that he knew he was another kid caught up in what he’d see as too much.

“I don’t need your worry! I don’t need your help or sympathy, Bruce!” He waved his hands around for emphasis, not knowing what else to do that didn’t involve breaking Bruce’s hands trying to punch him. “I don’t and will never need you to parent me! I’m your friend, not one of your sons!”

He was yelling now, but he couldn’t care who heard his mad raving or who’d see him crying now. Tearfully, though his voice never wavering, he listed every way he was perfectly fine. How he never needed him, or the League, or any other adult to help him. How he was happy and handling things fine, spending time with friends and working at a job he loved. He ranted and paced as he defended himself.

“And it’s not all even for me! I have family who are caught up in my mess of a life!” He raked his hand through his hair, losing focus to Bruce as himself.

“You document everything and if you figure me out you’d figure everyone else out and do the same to them, then they’ll all be in danger of you and your stupid paranoia that’s almost gotten half the League killed!” He still remembered seeing Clark with a Kryptonite bullet in his chest in the news, crying into his dads arms as his mom frantically searched for the remote to change the channel before outing to rip the TV cable out of the wall to save him the rest of the sight. He remembers the horror stories in break rooms at the Watchtower in hushed tones face away from cameras so their lips couldn’t be read, all his friends being on the verge of death thanks to the masterful plans of Batman stolen by rogues.

Billy never wanted that for his family, and all it took was knowing how he transformed to figure Mary out too. Sure Freddy and his siblings used his hero name, but if Batman figured one phrase out he’d figure out the rest, and then rogues could get their hands on it again. That can’t— he won’t let that happen, not to the last family he has left.

Then if it wasn’t a rogue, if it was someone who just wanted the story of the millennium and knew Batman had all of them, if they focused on the biggest scandal of kids jumping into the fire too young. There’d be uproar about the League again, sure, but also their parents . Mary would never be able to explain away why she always called him her twin brother and keep up the lie she’d known most her life of being the Bromfields daughter, Rosa and Victor would lose Freddy and his siblings if they were figured out. Mary might lose the only people she’d ever known as her parents and the Vasquez’s would lose everyone and each other when the system separated them.

They were all tied to Billy, and the worst always happened with what Batman knew.

“You care so much and that’s what kills people Bruce! You care and I’ll lose the life I’ve built and risk everyone else I care about, but then you get paranoid because you have the unfortunate luck of having the most back-stabby friends in the universe and you make my life a living hell! Why would I ever tell you when you could ruin everything I’ve ever cared about!?”

Billy found himself snatched up into too strong and too comforting arms, fighting fruitlessly from the hold as the tears that’d been flowing freely without even a hiccup burst into full sobs and his attempts at punching Bruce off melted into desperate clings to the cape of his suit for the offered comfort. He was crying, blubbering apologies to nameless people to cover his bases for all the ones he’d failed. He’d jumped to rage, the world swallowed him up and he’d fallen apart into the arms of the man who’d undo his life the minute he saw it as too much of anything for his standards.

Bruce held him close as he fell apart, never breaking the embrace as he lowered them to the floor of the study and Billy sobbed into his shoulder. There was a dampness to the shoulder of his sweater now, but he didn’t comment. Bruce just held him close, and Billy hated himself for wishing he still had his fathers face.

Notes:

Just for reiteration, Bruce did look like Marvel at the party, he doesn’t now bc he was thinking about looking like Captain Marvel as a hero and the “Hero” bit muddled things, as it does for some glorious pain.

Also, the domino effect anyone who isn’t a petty nemesis destroying their lives is a very real threat and something Billy wants to shield his siblings from more than anyone else. Sure his villains always know who he is under the mask but they don’t often know Mary and Freddy ‘cause that is his ‘long lost’ twin sister and his friend, not as much connection to figure them out and those who do are normally typical rogues who want to handle the Marvels themselves

Chapter 41: Some truth, but enough; Billy & Bruce

Summary:

Bruce and Billy finally talk about Billy’s circumstances, and while Bruce leaves not knowing everything, he knows enough to realize just how beyond too far he’s treated the boy could’ve destroyed him.

Notes:

Again, month long delay on getting this out due to some writers block, my sincerest apologies for that cliffhanger and how long I’ve left y’all dangling.
Billy is goin to help color in the lines of the picture Bruce has but it will still be incomplete in smaller details

“Is there a reason other than “Because I’m Batman” as to why you have your own private Zeta to your office here?” Billy gestured to the much more sized down Batcave of the Watchtower, only holding a few spare suits in cases and an extra Batcomputer compared to the meticulously thought out hoarding problem his home cave was. Bruce simply made a noncommittal hum as he stepped off the smaller platform, having instructed Billy to wait on the much larger one in the cave feeling like the child sent to another room so a parent could berate their kids without an impressionable witness.

He didn’t like being treated like any kid of child in any kind of scenario, but with the stress that weighed on him the past few days and his anxieties finally bursting out of their bubble in a mess of tears he was kinda happy he didn’t need to see Bruce take the long way in telling his kids that under no circumstances were they to keep investigating into him. It wouldn’t work, Billy knew a few of them too well and knew their teacher in all things detective-y would never take that order seriously and neither would his oh-so prodigal pupils that had long since outgrown him and his orders. But, Billy could hope, and so he did and would continue to do.

He’s made it just about six years and through a lot of crazy stuff in the meantime, he can believe in good for goodness's sake and hope a few days longer until he can fly back home and stay home. If hope failed him, he’d mourn his losses and hope in someone else as he always did.

The Achillean thought of simply wrapping himself in blankets and refusing to ever talk to another bat becomes tempting for all of one moment, when he snaps out of his own head and follows Bruce off the platform.

“SHA—!” Billy covers Bruce’s mouth, “You can just say it like a normal person or whisper it.” He informs matter-a-factly, and Bruce listens, thankfully. Quietly saying the word so there’s a small bolt of lightning that crackles as he turns back into Billy without making the whole base go Code Red with a sudden powerful electrical surge caused by magic thunder ripping through everything. The jarring feeling of seeing his body twisted into someone’s else’s ideal made all the more uncomfortable at seeing Batman use his face to convey his usual stoicism in the face of absolute insanity.

Billy leaned his weight from foot to the other, “So.”

“So.” Bruce crossed his arms, trying to meet Billy's own avoidant gaze with too much care for comfort. Every nightmare scenario of this day, something Billy was so scared would come like a hammer of gods and shatter his whole life in an instant instead sat like a bonfire at the edge of a forest. The fire too close for comfort and sent small embers up to stray branches that had Billy reeling away as much as he could, even if his life and secrets were planted firmly in the ground and couldn’t be uprooted as easily as he’d like to protect the people he cares about.

“I understand and respect your reluctance to trust me with the deeper details of your life, put in your shoes most anyone else would be hesitant to disclose much of anything about themselves.” Bruce conceded, Billy's shoulders unconsciously buckling and tensing up for the “but”.

He lifts a hand. “But while I know what I do now I want to help where you’ll allow, on your terms.” It’s an olive branch, and Billy's stomach sinks to his feet, through the floor, and hurdles back down to earth like a fiery ball of misery.

It’s somehow worse than he’d imagined, being figured out. He’d been so scared of being pushed away and now Bruce wants to take him in as far as he’d allow, but it’d go further than that. Because Bruce cares. He’ll stay just behind the line he draws, then buy the land on the other side so he has a reason to cross it that has “nothing to do with him” and worm his way into caring as much as he wants to care about someone. Maybe he’d do to Billy what he’d done to Clark “as friends” and buy WHIZ like he did the Daily Planet, brush off any protest about invading his life as him making sure Billy can remain independent as he wants with Bruce offering job security.

There are things he’d love to have dealt with that he can’t do by pretending to be an adult as Captain Marvel and he doubts would get any simpler if he emancipated himself, getting a dentist or doctors appointment for the first time in years being some of the bigger things he’d like, but he’s not going to ask. Heck, he’s not even going to joke or else Bruce would do something outlandishly philanthropistic and try and cover any and every hassle in Billy's life just to “be a friend” when he’s just worried. The sillier nightmare of getting adopted by his coworker would be real in all but legal status, the thought sending his stomach into a deeper crater back down on earth.

Bruce’s hand is still outstretched, face growing all the more worried at the pained expression Billy pulls with his face. Reluctantly, he takes his hand and gives one firm shake. One deadly swing of the hammer of fate that nails the coffin holding his sense of independence even more closed.

“I don’t want or need your help anywhere, I just need you to leave me and my family alone.” Billy sees his own reluctance in Bruce’s eyes, but he nods. “That means no more looking up my files, no more poking into my life, and not letting anything I tell you or that you’ve learned leave your own mind.” Billy doesn’t need his weaknesses or life put on a file any super-hacker or false friend could get their hands on and risk his and his family’s lives over.

There’s a pause, “I already looked into your files and information.” Billy sighs, because of course he already did.

“And I have questions I want to clear up,” Billy throws his hands in the air before burying his face in them, pacing as he does his breathing exercises to calm himself. He stalks to the chair of the spare computer of the room and drags another chair as he sits down, placing the second one to face him as he puts his head in his hands. 

“You ask,” he points one finger to the chair in front of him. “I answer,” he takes the seat opposite. “None of it ends up in your files or written down anywhere, got it?” He gets a short hum of agreement.

“Pinky promise?” He can see the ghost of a smile try and crack on his face as he holds up his pinky finger. “Promise.” Bruce twines the digit with his own.

“Swear on the Styx?” Billy asks, and Bruce’s face gets more serious with an air of unamusement. “I swear.”

Even if Bruce does cross the line, go the extra mile and go completely crazy in being a good friend, at least Billy would have someone in the League he could be entirely honest with. It’s the one win he sees in this whole scenario, but it’s a win nonetheless.

— — —

“First, I want to ask about who does know your secret identity. Who else besides me?”

Billy winces. “Well there Black Adam. I mean, his whole figuring it out was the start of him not wanting to murder me anymore and him basically being like a weird uncle to me in terms of how much we see and like each other.” Bruce hums and nods, taking mental notes.

“Fawcetts vigilantes know too, Pinky and the bunch were kinda the first heroes I was open with about the whole “actually a kid” thing and it kinda spiraled into all of them knowing and helping me through the more technical parts of working on a city scale.”

“Then there is Dr. Sivana and his two youngest kids, he figured it out after a while of me fighting him and after he sent a… um—” his mouth goes dry, choking up the words “—hit squad after me.” in a rush as his mind snaps back to when he lost a friend that same night. He quickly squeezes his eyes shut to clear the images in the same instant his throat tries to choke up and keep going on.

“Him, Georgia, and Thad all know but Beautia and Magnificus don’t since I guess he didn’t see the point in telling them if neither would help him in taking me and my family down.”

“You’re absolutely sure those two aren’t aware?” Billy blinks at Bruce cutting in there. “Yeah, why?”

“Beautia acted a certain way at the charity event towards, well, you the moment I came in.” 

There’s a stiff silence that stretches out there, taking a moment for Billy's eyes to go wide and stammer out an answer to what Bruce is insinuating. “Oh, no no, god's no! I mean, I know she likes me but that— I don’t reciprocate there at all. She’s a great friend and has been a wonderful ally to have by my side time after time but she’s just kinda into me and I know it’s messed up but I don’t want to look someone whose been nothing but a wonderful person to me and my family and done so much to help Fawcett and say she’s been into… me.” The words blabber out with so much speed it’s almost like he’s in his own body with the speed of Hermes getting his motormouth going. His shoulder tense up as he blanches at the idea Bruce had in his head.

“Your sister?”

“What about her?” Bruce’s eyes bore into his, hoping this game of conversational catch up won’t get any more uncomfortable as it already has and had the possibility of becoming.

“I did already look into you Billy, and from what my sources can say your supposed twin sister died in the hospital and her name wasn’t Mary— it was Willow.”

Bruce can see his own face pale, words bubbling up and getting lodged in his throat as he turns away with some unreadable shame. He reaches out, reminded once more that he’s questioning someone his own son's age. “I just want to understand your perspective on this. What am I missing so I don’t have to dig anymore?”

Billy presses his lips in a thin line, worrying over his words until he manages a short. “Mary is my sister, that’s it.”

“No it’s not,” Bruce cuts in. “I don’t want to look any deeper into your life but if I have to to make sure you aren’t emotionally projecting or caught up in a delusion that she’s alive I wi—”

“She was swapped at birth, okay! I didn’t even know I had a sister until the nurse who took her told me on her deathbed because she was so guilty about the whole thing!” Billy exploded, “And it’s complicated and I can’t exactly be her brother as Billy Batson because she has a whole different family that doesn’t know a thing about what their best nurse friend did to save them from grief and I have enough feelings about the fact that I can only ever treat her like my sister when neither of us even actually answer to our names.” 

As soon as the explanation is over he takes a breath and leans back into the seat, head low and arms crossed as Bruce takes in that truth.

His first thought is to sympathize, worry, but Billy would just grow more uncomfortable if he pressed. He curbs the feeling by mentally relating the truth to scenarios he knew about but didn’t feel the need to care so adamantly on, other heroes he knew who were dealt the same poor hand in only ever being able to relate themselves to their family on the terms of each of them wearing a mask. Clark and his family as Kal being far larger than his civilian identity, Diana and her own long lost sister in Donna, and Bruce himself with only ever being able to fully speak of his family in terms of their vigilantism. Especially understanding the shared conflict of one member of his family being dead to the world but known by the anonymizing mask they wore, but Billy was more fortunate in the regard that their relationship could be publicly accepted as close family while Bruce’s remained strained by how terrifying the mask Jason wore was.

He understood it, far too well, and once more the little heart in his chest ached at the thought another child knew so much of a pain he was most acquainted with.

The conversation of who was who to him and who held knowledge about his identity already continued, the wonderful fact of Billy having so many who knew him beyond the cape and magic and had supported him as he built his independent life was a welcome relief to know. Less wonderful, though, was how many people who wished him harm knew his identity. The more villainous of the Sivana family being the least of his worries as nearly every villain he regularly faced knew as well, even knowing how to bridge the gap of Marvel and Billy by tricking or coercing his transformative word out of him with threat of harm to others. Between the good and bad news, Billy led a good life, Bruce could know and accept that much from his words and his own observations, but he was rightfully scared of how much the early knowledge his villains held could affect the people he now had in his life.

At the end of his questioning Bruce had no names for Billys numerous loved ones, only the understanding of his care and devotion to their continued safety and happiness as well as his own, with the most haunting comment snuck between the boy's confessions. “I’d rather my own life have to end before they ever have to face the consequences of me caring for them.” The clarification of Billy thinking of ending his own life as becoming Marvel, losing his mortality and his half lived life as a human being, for the rest of his days so that there was no other life to pry into and risk exposing his family. Billy avoided his eyes at that confession, and the sinking feeling that Bruce had spent most all the time he’d known the boy pushing him to falling off that ledge settled in his gut like a rock.

It was a first, many of them, to know he’d gone so far in risking a child’s life and so many mores safety in wanting to understand and decipher what he thought was a man. It was a common point for him to stop here with that realization, to consider the collateral and lives caught in it, not just two siblings that had to have been of equal power and ability but many more he considered family who shared the same weakness as him or lacked any power to defend themselves with against what threatened him. His identity was one card in a house of them, Bruce couldn’t risk anymore than he has in wanting to know more to protect them as his knee jerk reaction. With a breath, he accepted how much he knew and how much was still a mystery to him, and placed a hand to comfort his friend on his arm.

“You have my word, I won’t meddle in your city or with your family. If I or any other hero comes too close, speak the word and I’ll pull them away to the best of my abilities.” Tears that had just been welling up in his own eyes fell as Billy took him up into his arms, knocking the wind out of Bruce as he returned the embrace. If ever he needed to know more he would not be secretive of his desire or intention, Billy would trust him as far as the boy would rightfully allow and he would do all he could to never break that trust after he’d bent it so out of shape already.

At the end, with a sniffle from him as he wiped his relieved tears away, Billy only asked he stay as Captain Marvel unless he really needed to. “It makes for a less awkward situation living as me for the rest of week,” and he nodded to that fact. Walking to leave he whispered the word again with the intent to be Captain Marvel as he knew him, causing his nearest device to spasm with electricity that shot out to transform him. He instructed Billy to prepare himself for the meeting he might just run late to by fitting into one of his spare suits. 

He was sent off with a smile and small wave, which eased some feelings of grief for the last six years as no part of his mind found the gesture or his face untruthful in any way. It was a feeling he knew well enough from being able to fully know some of his fellow heroes as true friends; recognizing the person, the mask, and the identity at each layer of who they were and continue being. Billy Batson with an endlessly kind heart, Captain Marvel the champion with a otherly world on his shoulders, and the most overt example of a boy wanting so desperately to grow into the ideal of a good man his father laid out in his childhood. 

It pained him to think it took so long and so many crossed borders to find that trust but, knowing himself far too well, he knew his mind would never fully be at ease if he’d never known. The new unease came with the realization of another shared pain— a willingness to lose one’s own personhood to continue as the hero, be it pragmatic or for others safety. 

“It’s a burden to know so young the prophecies that carve the few paths you are allowed to walk,” the wispy ghost of Achilles spoke as he walked down the corridor. “It's one we know far too well, to choose a life of normalcy that lasts a moment over the glory that inspires ‘cross so many millennia. To be sacrificial lions has been the fate of too many boys but, at least with this child, it’s one not faced alone so long as he has those who understand the burden.”

Notes:

Can’t be a Billy Batson story without his near suicidal self-sacrificial tendencies can it? Nor can it be a Batman story without consequences to his actions hitting him in the face and drowning in some self loathing for them, on top of the shared pain these goobers got going on.
I could scream about the topics in this chapter specifically forever; the hidden families only allowed when all parties wear some mask, Billy’s ready acceptance to give up his life in a way if it meant saving his family this time, Billy and Achilles parallels!

Augh! Bruce leaves with no names and some people still unknown but by golly is he suffering more guilt than a sinner at confession.

And this is why I love these two compared and contrasted in Bat-son fics, they are genuinely so similar and alike in the worst ways and I feast whenever I get to see how much that realization hurts Bruce to see a child suffer his young and old pains.

Chapter 42: A Reintroduction; Bruce and Billy

Summary:

Meeting like this were regular fixtures of being a full time League member, alongside the monitor shifts and on call response to threats, Billy had never enjoyed them and wasn’t a fan of todays either.

Notes:

:)

Billy supposes it can’t be helped, feeling out of his depth as he looks at the doors separating him from most of the others on the Watchtower.

He picks at the edge of his suit's sleeve, where it delves into his bracers. He remembers Wonder Woman complimenting them on their first meeting, comparing the design and asking who had crafted them. He could only stand and smile, genuinely happy but confused at the names brought up and mentioned, obviously people she knew and expected he did as well. He could’ve sworn he recognized one, Hephaestus, and at that recognition the voice calling himself Solomon voiced the fact the name belonged to the Greek god of smiths and forgers who was well known for crafting gifts and weapons of great power. It made things make more sense, but he still couldn’t understand the familiarity as he tried so desperately to contain his awe.

He lost the conversation at some point, Wonder Woman looking at him expecting an answer or reply to something he hadn’t caught. Solomon did though, the memory of her every word rushing back like a crashing wave of clarity and snapping a proper response out of his mouth. “Oh, no, this outfit is inherited in a way.” He tried thinking of an example, if only to make his words clear and convey some idea of what the experience of appearing like this was like, but once again his mind came up blank with Solomon ushering his own idea to the forefront.

“It’s akin to Dr. Fate in a way, or maybe the Spectre in how they appear to be palatable to mortal minds and visions in spite of greater origins.” Christ on a cracker, Billy thought, what even was that? It took him a minute to understand it as Wonder Woman instantly recognized the meaning.

“Ah, so this is merely a presentation to blend in with your magic crafts?” Solomon told him to nod, so he did, still wrapping his head around the next oddity of the last couple of months. One instant he was happily watching the people around him save the world from his seat of the couch with an overly sweet cereal as his breakfast and all too fast he’s alone and the months were getting colder, then he’s too close to death and he’s suddenly able to be as he is now. It still felt like such a big shift but he couldn’t deny how appealing the idea was in every sense of the word, to fight alongside his heroes and do the most good he could, they even seemed to like him!

Someone called them both over, he looked a typical Robin Hood like one illustration he remembered from a collection of short stories his dad always read him. “Spooky’s gonna tear the new guy a new one if he ends up late,” he says as Wonder Woman waves him off. “He can spare the first meeting for the Captain.”

“Not today or any other day this year princess, been stomping around like I stuck one of these up his ass.” He brandished one of his arrows with a comically large boxing glove and Wonder Woman snorted a laugh as she walked to catch up, Billy just balked and followed, mostly because of the cursing he hated to know the meaning of but also the crude joke made about Batman of all people. Sure, he’s not really talked to him much and up until a few weeks ago he didn’t even think the guy was an actual human but even then you don’t make fun of people, especially behind their backs! Or— or curse about them! It’s rude, he’d never insulted someone not listening, his parents always told him that if there was ever something to be said you say it with that person present. He’s said his fair share of mean words, sure, but he never used a rude name or ever thought of cursing.

It made him feel awkward walking into the big meeting room, Batman at the front overlooking some floaty screen before tapping at the corner and pulling up a clock Billy read backwards as he took his seat, the minute passing just after he’d settled. Batman made a sound he didn’t fully catch and someone elbowed his arm behind him, “First on time meeting, good job buddy.” Boo—BOOSTER GOLD!

Billy stammered, chastising himself for not noticing the hero sitting next to him. “I- I’m such, such, a huge fan Mr. Gold sir!” He hoped he said that right, he wanted to rattle off a hundred questions about his powers and Skeets and getting to know the man when someone loudly cleared their throat. Turning again, Batman's lips were pointed in a frown. Even more embarrassed Billy moved to sit on his hands, tucking them under his thighs and staring down at the portion of the table that lit up as a screen in front of him with flushed cheeks. Booster— goodness he still couldn’t believe he had the luck to sit next to him!— patted his shoulder sympathetically, whispering an assuring “It gets better ‘round here.” as Batman started the meeting.

“Is there or has then been any conflicts, occurrences, knowledge of a worrying nature for the future of any of our respective cities or planetary safety, or any other form of information that will take precedence in this meeting?” The question was… an overly stale way of asking if there was anything they should be worrying about, Billy raised his hand to the height of his head but Batman just regarded him with an odd look. “You don’t need to raise your hand Marvel.”

He dropped his hand from the air, confused, but he speaks what comes to mind. “Lately in Fawcett King Kull has been sabotaging and attacking a lot of local and neighboring electrical plants, I don’t know why he’s going straight for these places after escaping suspended animation but he—” Superman this time rose a hand to stop him, sitting right next to Batman and confusing Billy more on if people are supposed to raise their hands or not. “Who is this King Kull? Is he a threat you can’t handle alone?”

“Well, he’s basically this ancient king of another human race?” Billy offered, Solomon muttering off information he tried to communicate himself this time. “He understood how to mesh magic and technology way earlier than any other civilization to the point it borders on today's advancements but he was tyrannical and sought to build an empire that would’ve upset the natural order of things for a lot of magical species and was tampering with ley lines so the Wizard, uh, my Wizard, inspired a revolt and one of my successors helped get him in suspended animation but it looks like he’s trying again with his empire idea now that he’s out and a lot of tech and materials have been going missing.” Billy rambled, finding no confidence in every other person's confused or overly serious faces as he rattled off what he knew and what Solomon told him.

A feeling told him to name the man Solomon mentioned to him earlier, “Dr. Fate would know more, he was present during some of that time and aided my predecessor.” Faces turned to him, the helmet showing no emotion as he sagely nodded and responded.

“While Kull’s intellect and technological capabilities then were something to Marvel at so soon after the Stone Age I see no future worries to fret this group over, you possess Solomon's wisdom and will easily be able to commune with your predecessor should advice be needed in your coming battle.” Dr. Fate—Nabu?— the information swirling into his head got confusing and began to hurt, trying his best not to punch his face up in pain as Batman instructed them to move on with the meeting.

Billy listened, through the mentions of crime patterns of their cities or jurisdictions as they called them and recent run-ins with big named villains Billy was able to recognize without Solomon worsening his headache, but quickly found the meeting to be more than a waste. So many heroes, so many vigilantes filling the room and along the table, and they were all here. Billy’s skin itched to move, get up and fly home to make sure Kull or that McGinnis guy who’d been sweeping into the organized crime game Pinky had been talking about weren’t causing another ruckus, but he couldn’t find the power to move his body.

“I swear to uphold the statue of the Justice League and follow the ordinance agreed upon and regulated within the group in the pursuit of earth and humanity’s best interests and safety without infringement of their individual rights nor the laws of sovereign nations part of earth.” Was the vow he’d read verbatim when he joined, promising to be a good member of the League, which meant attending these meetings and coming when called on his communicator. But that vow clashed with the one made to the Wizard, one that made his heart unsteady with worry and a sense of dread.

“Henceforth it shall be your sacred duty to defend the poor and helpless, right wrongs and crush evil everywhere. Do you swear to abide by this oath, oh child of pure heart?” 

He’d agreed then as he’d done again later, and every summoning of his name and power was his promise to fulfill that oath made skin and flesh as another voice told him, the voice reminding him of his promises booming alongside a growing guilty conscience. Evil still roamed and plagued his world, his city, while he stayed here listening to what he could gather from the news with insignificant details here and there about what transpired in each fight. It seemed no help, but Solomon spoke again, reminding him of what good a well educated Champion brought to battle and the importance of democracy in modern times. “Think yourself a king like I was among his many advisers and take their experiences to heart, so you too can fight what battles they struggle to end with greater ease and ability.”

Billy didn’t like to think himself that way, but it soothed his conscience and its twin voice for the rest of the meeting. For his first, it felt too much a waste, but he remembered Solomon's words, something the Wizard said would help guide him as he grew into his roles and responsibilities. They would help him become greater at his job, he’d be a good hero and help so many more people by being indirectly taught by them in ways Solomon could not offer him. He struck his two promises middle ground, and he’d do his best to be what he promised to the Wizard and his heroes.

~ ~ ~

Honestly, his reflection did surprise him.

In the glass bordering the Watchtowers inside from the expanse of space that stared down to earth he saw himself, or, himself as Captain Marvel in a different light than before. He remembered the subconscious influence he had, that he would probably always have and hold for the boy now. Billy appeared as his ideal of heroism, a mix of his hometown hero in Mr. Scarlet and the dream most every child shared that was Clark as Superman while donning his late fathers face. It made sense then that he would shine as nervously hopeful and endlessly kind as long as he did with the air of maturity and trust that came with those men’s visual influences, but Bruce tainted the visage in his attempt to pass off as the man people thought Marvel as.

His eyes, normally an electric blue and squinted slightly like someone in need of glasses without them, were open and dulled to a more natural but still bright hue. He seemed shorter, merely an inch or so while still proportionate but shorter nonetheless. Oddest of all the changes his mind conjured, Marvel looked a decade younger, like the youth he acted and spoke with finally shown through instead of mirroring the trusted aged face of Billy’s father. Marvel was more human, younger, and less intimidating in his mind's eye and his magic drew that image out for everyone to see that change, even if it wouldn’t be understandable to them without a breach of an already too weak trust.

He wondered, briefly— as he turned from the glass to keep his stride, what would be others' perceptions were they forced in his same shoes. If in the split second between that random mage trying to level a town shooting an attack with their spell drowned out by the strike of bloody red thunder their blast ripped through the air as someone else moved to place their body between it and Marvel, only to find themselves coming too from a screeching darkness in his body unaware of how complicated and worrisome the revelations of the next few days would be. Undoubtedly a good few of them would see themselves as their ideal, only now made greater to fit their ego, or like Bruce and Billy would appear as a mesh of who inspired them.

“Ey! Whiz-bang!” Michael’s voice greeted him as he came up behind him, clapping a hand on his shoulder and bringing him in for a side hug as they walked. “You see the Knights game this week? My guys kicked your Marvel's keisters from now up to my birthday!” He joked, laughing at his side good naturedly but still slightly annoying to Bruce.

“Carter,” Bruce decided using proper names would get the point across quicker. “Did you hear what happened last Tuesday?” He cocked his head to the side, still smiling at Marvel as they walked shoulder to shoulder. 

“Some mage guy going all Alakazam-a on everyone’s butts, yeah, but you look fine enough man. You’ve still got that megawatt look even when you got a pissy face,” he chuckled. “Why, what happened? Dude turn ya to a toad?” 

“No, body swapped me actually. Still am.” He saw the dots connect in his eyes, smile growing nervous. “So… who am I talking to…?” 

Bruce made a short comment, a bit of a low blow to the time traveler but it would confirm his identity well, then walked off with Michael stuck frozen in place in the middle of the hall. “I- you- you promised that would stay on Dinosaur Island Bruce!” He yelled after him during a jog to catch up, Bruce smiling perhaps a little devilishly with a laugh of his own threatening to escape. His voice is far from his own, falling naturally into the gleed, chipper pattern Billy supported.

He’s loath to admit, but between the rollercoaster that has been the last few days, he’s growing to enjoy feeling young and not strung to precision like a bow string— ready to snap if pulled too far for a punishing shot. He’d love to feel human as much, needing the air in his lungs or the heart thumping in his chest to pump blood, but he doesn’t have to admit the unnatural comfort in not needing those functions with none of the pain from his years experience complemented by the power that made up the body. The selfish thought brought a selfish wish, where he’d ask if Billy could go the rest of his life with him and his family unburdened, but the stab of pain in his head helps him in stamping the thought down before it can grow.

“You are no Champion.” Bruce faltered in his step, Michael’s complaints and minor insults further drowned out as he kept his pace. Whose voice was that?

— — —

Billy felt some relief, knowing that for a change a hero in the League knew the bulk of what he had to deal with daily, what he’s had to go through and will continue marching past. Pulling the more bare-bones version of Bruce’s suit on, he also finds himself eternally grateful he can say a single word to get a whole costume change done and over with instead of the tedium of dressing and redressing in an actual suit that needed maintenance and upkeep. Especially when that suit is a Batsuit, he’d caught a glance of the suit vault when it was open the first time he went to change out of the Batsuit and the sheer number of variations gave him a headache trying to understand the need for so many. He can understand maybe two or three per rogue to combat their specific abilities or tricks but it looked to be more like five or six for each rogue, and he didn’t even look for things like his mech-suits or the Hell-Bat suit in the armory.

Still, he throws a short thanks to his gods for working his form as Marvel to never need to worry about that hassle, and hassle it is to get into the stupid Batsuit. 

He curses the suit itself, its belt and gloves, but most of all the cowl. It’s tight on his head and the sharp end of its nose ends after Bruce’s own which leaves an odd empty space and his nose oddly agitated. He can’t even scratch with it on, which just seems like some other masochistic torture technique Bruce normally put onto himself to be better, probably this time to hone his focus and restraint.

Billy decides, as he speed walks to the meeting room, to say darn it all to uniform the minute he sits down and de-mask. Protocol on appearing in uniform at all times is thrown out the window, everyone in that room knows that Bruce Wayne and Batman are one in the same, it won’t be as big a deal as if Bruce did the same in return.

Billy tugs at the cowl to hold more comfortably on his head, still uncomfortable but less so now, and enters the code. 

He expects to find his seat empty, Bruce at the helm as he always is waiting for every entry to the room and silently flicking his eyes between who just walked in to the clock as a slight judge as to their attendance of what’s a serious matter to him. Instead his seat is filled by a Captain Marvel smiling like he has the pride of hanging the sun itself in the sky and holding back laughter at a fuming Booster, every other face he can see somewhere between amused and petrified at the fact that Bruce is almost laughing at the display so freely. Considering it’s his face, he’s weirded out too.

“Marvel!” Batman waves from his seat, “Everyone else is caught up on the switch thing, wanna do the honors of starting us off?”

He takes slow steps to the empty seat.

At the end of the table, in front of everyone.

This is punishment for not saying everything he wanted isn’t it?

He’s late, for the first time in his tenure as a member of the League, he realizes as he pulls up Bruce’s screen and views the clock. 1:06 AM, Oct 21

He feels the need to laugh but swallows that feeling and sits down. “Is there or has then been any conflicts, occurrences, knowledge of a worrying nature for the future of any of our respective cities or planetary safety, or any other form of information that will take precedence in this meeting?”

It wouldn’t have taken the Wisdom of Solomon to remember Bruce’s opening remark for every meeting verbatim as he did, having heard it so many times it didn’t matter if his memory was magically enhanced or not to be eidetic. Bruce’s brows hit his hairline in open surprise, looking almost proud. His stomach folded into a knot, Clark eyed him worriedly, reaching a hand from right beside him before Billy straightened up. “Anyone?”

“Cap, buddy, just because you’re in my body doesn’t mean you have to play my part.” Bruce feigned playful offense, a hand splayed over his heart.

Ollie barked a laugh, “And you don’t gotta go around acting like Brucie when you aren’t in your mask.” 

“Ollie, dear, my bosom buddy. My week has been trying and horrid, I’d like one moment to let loose.” 

“Ugh,” Billy cringed. “Never use my mouth to say bosom buddy again, please.” By Jove, Bruce is punishing him, he’s sure of it. It’s all made worse by the fact that people are laughing, maybe not outright but there’s tight lipped smiles and minor shakes that show they are holding the reaction back for his sake, which he’s thankful for but embarrasses him all the same. It ends with him black and red with the cowl.

“Since when are you and Whitebeard such good bosom friends?” Guy—ugh, Guy…— almost hollers from his seat much further down the table, which he’s sure is meant to keep him from talking but has done little in the years to help. Billy drops his head to the table and groans, finding little solace in the memory of Batman one punching him in his early years at the League as his short comfort in this whole wretched exchange.

“We just are, of course. It’s not everyday I see the world through such a contrasting perspective, I’d swore nothing would be able to surprise me after me and Clark had to do a quick swap for a few days!” Clark’s face pales, put on the spot and wilting when Bruce turns his head to him to drag him into the humiliation too. “Though yours went much better, I got to read so much of what you write in your down time and you only had a slight mishap with a pair of heels.”

Billy turns his head, still resting it on the table. “What happened with heels?”

“We don’t talk about the heels.” Clark mumbled, which elicited a giggle from Canary and told Billy there was definitely a story there. “Moving on, please.” Arthur cut in, looking pissed alongside a stone faced Diana.

“There are threats in my waters that have escaped their prisons, I and Diana have fended them off alongside my armies but the issue has become widespread and covered all of the kingdoms in disaster as beasts meant to be trapped behind my ancestors magics have allowed their freedom before their lives could end naturally.” He gives Bruce a pointed glare, “I care not for your jests or extravagance today, Bruce.”

“It is the same with the house of Hades,” Diana says. “I have been forced to return a panicked Cerberus to its gates as wailing souls escape the underworld’s shadows alongside the creatures meant to stay below. The dread queen and her often visited groom speak of an unease in the realms below Earth, there is worry that Hades’ house is not the singular affected realm.”

“To this I attest,” Dr. Fate— oh no. “A great storm clouds my vision from seeing the perpetrator or perpetrators of such a schism in the after-realms but I know that the heavens remain unaffected. It is only the netherworlds that rumble with the threat looming beyond even my vision.”

Billy pulls the cowl of then, exposing the terror stricken across his face as he stands to regard his friends, hoping the ghost pale complexion his face falls into doesn’t worry them more than he already is.

“Champion,”  Wizard.  “I still rest to preserve strength, send for your family. This threats alludes my sights as well.”

“Has someone made threats? Any of you,” he regards the table. “Who could be active, what magical irregularities have you seen?”

A silence falls, more from shock than lack of words. “Anyone?!” Billy doesn’t mean to yell, he doesn’t mean for Bruce’s face to twist in anger, but he has only the courage of Billy Batson.

“Marvel—” 

“No!” He snaps at Bruce as he hovers over his seat, not expecting the outburst anymore than Billy had. “You, my city is a wellspring and home now to the Rock of Eternity, if there has been conflict it has happened there. What happened under your watch?”

Bruce thinks for a moment, “Arson Fiend burned an apartment building down and warned of some threat, I was—”

“And you didn’t say anything?” He drags a hand down his face and sucks a breath, his lungs beginning to burn at the lack of doing so in his panic. “You sit here joking and not thinking it’s integral to say something before you sit here joking and embarrassing me?!” 

“I—”

“What’s the threat? What did she say?”

It takes all of a second for his memory to snap the scene into place, with smoke in his lungs and burns searing his skin as death permeated the air. “The Fair Lady has plans for you Captain, beware the demon running amok in the heart of the worlds most accursed city.”

Billy breathes a word Bruce can’t hear but snaps Clark’s head to attention, a spike of fear pricks in his chest in the silence. Billy speaks again and this time it’s heard, “Lady Blaze… She rules Hell after she and Satanus dethroned Neron. Hell would certainly turn at her whim.”

“You think her scheming a plot, why now?” Diana asks.

Billy blinks to the realization, turning to Bruce again. “She knows we switched.” 

Wally cuts in, confused as a mortal sitting between demigods and magic's own sentinels. “How on earth would she know, is this some mole situation?”

Billy shakes his head, all but collapsing back into Bruce’s chair with eyes swelling with tears. “She knows my powers and my blessings, she can sense if there’s a schism between the Champion and its vessel. I’m the Champion, Bruce is now the vessel.” He can see him shake, white hot terror shaking through him.

“She,” he struggles for a breath and Clark jumps up unexpectedly. “She’ll—”

“Marvel, breathe!” 

“What’s happening?” 

“He’s having a heart attack!”

Notes:

I am not sorry, lol.

Brucie boy has heart issues and that’s a canon fact, maybe the anxious teenager in his body during what becoming the worst week of his life was a horrible idea but alas!

Bruce is going to need to dial Leslie for a rush on some pro-bono medical attention and heart medication now that this issue is affecting his body without all his ninja-meditation-whatever tricks to always stay calm.

Chapter 43: Med bay meet up; Billy & Bruce

Summary:

Alive, for now at the very least, Captain Marvel and Batman continue talking about the approaching danger. A truth comes to light and now Hell itself is knocking of Fawcett’s door this morning.

Notes:

Sorry about the death scare last chapter, I will be doing more but sorry none the less!

We about to start getting more interactions with Bruce and Billy know that all this knowledge is going around and some nice family drama ;) lots of family’s to have drama with, got the marvel family, the Batfam, the Freeman brothers once we get back to them— it’s all gonna be fffuuuunnnnn

“We can continue here,” Billy massages the headache building at his temples away. “Arson Fiend spoke of Lady Blaze and some warning in cryptic words.” 

Bruce nodded in confirmation at the side of the room, “Then she’s taunting us. She’d take any good opportunity to attack me or my family.”

“Uh, hey,” Plas sticks a hand way into the air. “I get her beef with Supey-boy over here ‘cause of that whole soul debacle but what’s your guy’s deal?”

“It’s,” Billy sighed. “A long story that boils down to my Wizard being her father and, because he chose me as Champion, her birthright to his power and station was skipped and fell to me. I go, she ascends, and the world probably ends.” He hadn’t meant for that to sound like a rhyme but it got the idea across, especially if he could skip the whole Hellhound mom thing. Or the fact his part-demon cousin was the result of his uncle making a contract with Blaze which was just… uncomfortable to think about, like a lot of his life.

“If she wishes your death, why would she not simply attack you as Bruce?” J’onn pointed out.

“It’s just my mind like this, my best guess would be that if I died—” he regarded the medical equipment keeping the room updated at the pace of his heart. “Bruce would just be stuck in my body and she’d only be rid of who her father chose with him forced to take my role until he found someone else to pass it to.”

“If she is causing this commotion,” Diana stepped forward. “Then there’s a plan regarding your state. Perhaps hoping for an oversight of Batmans or a moment of confusion when you are able to switch back and this is merely a mustering of armies.”

“She’d have a proxy on Earth to relay her on my and my body’s condition then. I doubt she got much out of Arson Fiend, he’s her agent of chaos.”

“Then what agent would she send?” Arthur asked.

Billy thought a moment, spinning through the names and indebted souls he could remember between the pain in his head. “The only names I can think of working with her other than the typical demonic host would be Sabbac or Sin, but those two aren’t capable of much of anything with Sabbac being too much of a hassle with every resurrection needed to deploy him and Sin’s comatose state.”

Billy racked his brain for more ideas, “It’s either that or she sensed something from the Rock with her connection to it, but I—” He pauses, realizing the window he left open for anything trapped there to weasel out. He threw the cover of his medical bed off and went to stand, ripping the sensors off him as J'onn tried to force him to sit back down.

“You’ve just had a heart attack, Captain!”

“So?!”

“Christ, is there some sort of Bat-muscle memory in Bruce’s body?” Ollie stage whispered to Canary.

“Bruce,” He pointed to him. “Back to the cave, now, there was a doorway I opened and something must have gone through while I wasn’t looking—”

“What?”

“I’m sorry! But get rid of that first and then go to Fawcett and get in touch with my family, search for anything wrong at the Rock, anything that escaped.”

“What do you keep there?!” Guy cut in, “About a hundred and one ways to end the world and one of them is Blazes’ half brother!”

— — —

“Sir,”

“What vault Alfred?”

“Sir,” he said more firmly this time around. “Not to ignore you putting a hole in the Batmobile’s cave entrance because you didn’t think to find the sense to say you were coming home, nor the fact you could have easily teleported—”

Bruce hated doing it but he drowned Alfred out at that point, having no energy to argue despite being in a body magically endowed to always have it in excess, and looked with the second vision he possessed to find something out of place.

The world washed in an oily fog, like his eyes peered through a puddle of sludge to see anything as his face scrunched in revulsion at the ill magic that filled his home. His eyes darted to the direction of his vaults, storing items dangerous enough to take the League down if he needed to arm himself against them. He finds a thin glimmer tall enough to be a door in vault D2.

Speeding with Hermes urging him on, Bruce prys open the elevator doors and plunges to the depth the door is hidden in, Alfred calling after him as he forces the vault door open that next second. It should discomfort him how easily his defenses bounce off Marvels skin, brushing the shot sedatives with bent Nth needles off as he marches through the room moving things about to find the supposedly newly made door hidden behind boxes that probably contain the scrap of weapons that toppled his friends over.

The secondary door to the vault seals him in as an intruder, but he pays it no mind. He takes the glowing door, still seeing through Billy’s eyes that regarded his city with wonder and star like glimmers of hope in a fog of blissful ignorance that do nothing but view his home with a greasy visceral disgust, and breaks it in his grip as easily as a blow to plywood. The light extinguished in that same motion as seven sets of seven symbols hold on for all of a breath before fading.

Head in hand, he tries to drown out the beration and yelling of Billy’s patrons as he walks to the door— or, rather, through it, forgetting entirely that he hardly needed to exert any conscious pressure in his state. He reminded himself to hold back at all times, especially in cases like his current aggravation, and leaped back up the elevator shaft to a displeased Alfred tapping his foot with arms crossed and face stern.

Bruce flickers the eyes back to normal and Alfred eyes raise slightly, “Learn one of your colleagues parlor tricks then I’ll take it?” 

“Who hid the door?” Alfred’s expression cooled, “Master Jason insisted after some presence had been making he and the animals fall ill.”

“Who went through it, everyone you know who did I have to know too Alfred.”

“Well,” “Just the names.” He pleads, thanking Atlas’s blessing for his steadiness that feels like the only thing keeping him from quaking in some mix of emotions.

“That would include master Tim and his young justice friends, the Captain was doing some charitable act in letting him face some old demons. Jason and Damian also followed for a chance to investigate the Captains' abode, though their return was fruitless and they returned with nothing but a bad attitude.”

“The Rock is the nexus of your world's magic,” Solomon spoke urgently. “Most mortals would not fare well in that environment without aid or attention of the Rock’s wardens.”

How do I help before finding the other Marvels to make sure nothing’s escaped with my sons? Bruce thought, not too keen on talking to himself like a mad man and heading out of the vault area with Alfred close behind. “That is your duty now,” Zeus thundered. “Find the boy's family and find what the demoness has found to conspire with before it overturns your world! You’ve plenty of sons to worry for when they have no fear of sudden death!”

Bruce… wants to be mad at that comment, his first interpretation being that due to the amount of children he has Zeus is saying they’re expendable in dire times, but he chooses to focus on handling the fact that there’s a possibility of the world ending and elects to not try and antagonize a god.

Bruce leaps forward with enough control to merely fly past Alfred with a short breeze, but not enough as to not leave a foothold in the floor Ashe rockets ahead, out of the cave and past the clouds before breaking the sound barrier to cross into Fawcett just over the river.

It’s sun up now, the moon is still sticking around in the sky, and Bruce lets the second vision of Marvel's other world wash over his eyes and down onto the city. He looks at the network of light and storming power that seems to be his own skin and searches for it in a sweep of the city to find his siblings, looking for only two forms that could possibly help him in his haste and finding none. “Where are they?!” He shouts to himself, encouraging the appearance of the patrons to try and point him one way and another with shouts that are immediately drowned out by a roar of flames.

Snapping his head to the sound he sees the dawn light up brother than the sun and allowed just seconds prior with the inferno reaching to the heavens, deafening his ears as the plot of land he recognizes as the park he’d conversed with Pinky in. He abandons the shouting voices and rushes to the fire to meet the screaming resonating within, alongside a cackling he remembered in perfect clarity.

“Arise flames of Hell! Tear this land asunder and reveal he who bows only to Blaze!” The Fiend calls out from inside the burning park, Bruce touching down only to see the burnt and crisp skeletons that were once in the process of trying to jump the fence and escape from the hellfire. Death reaches his nose as the realization and heat forces tears to well in his eyes, flying into the geyser from hell with a vengeance as Printwhistle manically calls one name again and again as he stands on scorched earth.

“Rise! Rise! Return to this realm with all I’ve offered Lord—” Bruce clamps a hand over The Fiends mouth and pulls him into a headlock, one he only realizes in hindsight would have snapped a human man’s neck had he still been mortal. An earthquake rattles the ground beneath them as black thunder rips from the earth, the flames swirling like a gathering storm above them before crashing down with the escaped bolt and only burning the surrounding trees, all the power that once surrounded them gathered into the demon before him. 

The Fiend roars flame into his hand and takes Bruce’s distracted state to slink away and retreat into the flames with one last appraisal from his lips, “Face her greatness’s Champion, Lord Sabbac!”

Sabbac unfurls from his kneeling position, grinning wickedly with ogrish teeth and bloody skin, ripped open at the chest in the mark of a reversed pentagram with the two points reaching his rocky, slightly spiked shoulders. He laughs with fire licking his lips as he looks him over with disdain, “You aren’t Billy.” He cocks his head amused, Bruce levels his stance and lightning of his own jumping around him prepared to fight this man back to death. The titan of Hell bellows in laughter and matches Bruce’s stance, who attacks first is inconsequential as both clash with the smoke the demon breathes burning at Marvel's eyes in return to the lightning Bruce fires to burn flesh. Knowing that there are some who will hear it, as Sabbac catches both thunder charged fists he throws at him and forces him back with hellfire melting his bracers as divine skin sizzles, Bruce prays for aid. 

A flash of green finds itself beside him and rips off one burning hand, letting Bruce retract the arm for a blow that matches the unharmed fist that collides with Sabbac in tandem with his own. He sees Lieutenant dive in to attack, yelling at Sabbac before hauling him off for airborne battle, a gray colored Marvel following looking like a being of lightning itself alongside a red one he recognizes as Mary as the fight leaves him. A blur of purple stops by his side, “I’ll handle the fire big bro, you and Pedro get that guys butt!” She encourages, too childishly for the grown woman she appears to be, but is off before he can get a word out, the fire and following smoke of the park finding itself in the cyclone that follows her assurances.

Notes:

Y’know how there’s that “JL meets the Batfam” idea of no one knowing how many people Bruce really works with as Batman? This is that but it’s Bruce reacting to how many people Billy knows, especially when it comes to his family.

In come the Shazamily! Just as a pre-game, Freddy is in the Vasquez household with his siblings while Billy is independent and Mary is with the Bromfields. Freddy shared his initial CMJ powers with them so there’s a whole extended family. We’ve got Darla as Cadet Marvel, Eugene as Chief Marvel, and Pedro as General Marvel to Freddy’s Lieutenant!

We’re gonna have some fun with Sabbac while he’s here 🙃 just ignore the dead people in the background, we needed the human sacrifice.

Love hearing from you guys, every comment I get delights me

Chapter 44: Family Reunion; Freddy & Bruce

Summary:

A brother blessed, a brother damned, another fleeing the middle with no comfort with either.

Freddy somehow got the short end of the stick and the long one when it came to family, but it never stopped him from loving them all. No matter how bad things turned out

Notes:

Holy Mother of Moley, three months?? I abandoned you for far too long and for that I apologize... enjoy the angst tho

Freddy Freeman is ten and he’s crying.

Kit is nine and only then starts to realize the permanence of death, and one of his brothers isn’t there. They both want to ask their grandpa why Tim wasn’t there, they were mom and dads family too. Kit fidgets with his necklace all throughout the funeral, Freddy with the umbrella his uncle told him to hold. It passes in a blur, one person speaking then the next as two boys sit shaking and their grandfather does all he can not to fall apart next to them.

Freddy Freeman is ten and his parents are gone. His older brother, a boy his parents had taken in at a time that it felt like he’d always been there for Freddy, is gone too. “I can hardly care for you both Freddy,” he remembers the first crack in his grandpa’s resolve. “I’m so sorry, but Timothy had to go back to find another family.” He nods numbly, Kit doesn’t ask the question out loud and Freddy doesn’t answer with words but there’s the quiet understanding for the rest of their time as a family that Tim wouldn’t be coming home.

Freddy prays like he’d heard people mentioning at the funeral, neither of his parents really taught him the difference between his mom and dads faiths but he tries to have both the types of gods they knew hear his words. He prays his parents are okay in their better place and that Tim finds his own while he’s still alive, that he’d feel better since he’d just started coming under the weather and that he’d find an awesome family.

— — —

God, and gods as Freddy would hear more about them and end up being empowered by, are jerks.

He can look back and say maybe the Big Guy didn’t care since his mom wasn’t the type to drag him and Kit to church just as much as his dad and grandpa weren’t the type to pull them to a synagogue, but he says phooey to a god not caring because of a lack of visible devotion. He wished and hoped and prayed with all his broken heart that things get better and look at where he’s at now, blessed with a new family that loves him to high heaven and through hell n’ back while his old one is all one some level of dead. Not the best outcome and Billy physically had to stop him from fist fighting God after he kicked a Nazi into the hospital but it was the life he got, and if his mom taught him anything past the usual things it was that you have to be grateful for what good you can hold onto in life. 

So Freddy had a wonderful set of foster parents, three brothers, a sister, and the coolest best friends in the world. Sure, Kit stayed in heaven more than he’d like, and sure he liked one friend more than the other and the other differently than he liked one, but that was his life and his prerogative. 

He wishes he could’ve had four brothers and a little sister but Timothy was gone in a far more permanent way than he was aware of once he met the Vasquezes. Timothy wanted his brothers and their grandpa, but Freddy was all that was left for him normally. Kit was lucky enough that he hadn’t really had to see what became of him, kidnapped near the end of his life by some weird cult and put on the spot to try supervillainy. Those hands hooked onto him and haven't let go since.

Freddy was all that was left for Timothy to miss, to see happy with a different family, to hate, and now left to fight as his family backed him up.

Freddy hated every asshole of a god that sat by and let lives get so messed up so young. He’s only fifteen for goodness’s sake, why does he have to have a sibling in heaven and hell?

— — —

Freddy punches Tim in an uppercut to daze him, to try and get the fighting to stop for any second he can use to get a word in. Tim grabs him by the bracer and waves him back like a human whip, making his arm feel ready to rip out of its socket, then tossing him into an incoming Eugene as Mary speeds past like a fury. “Tim!” It's second nature, he chastises himself for worrying even in this situation but that’s still his brother that's about to get obliterated by his friend .

Those two blitz in the air like feuding birds throwing lightning and fire, the former booming with each landing and the latter singeing skin that healed just as quickly as it had been burned with a merciful combo of Zephyr's speed and the raw restorative power of Living Lightning. Tim has her by the throat now, ignoring the heeled kicks to his pentagram-carved chest as he rears a flaming fist.

“Hey!” Darla’s voice hollers from the heavens, where an inferno twists behind her descent like swirls like dancing fabric. She bolts down between the two, knocking Mary out of his hold and grabbing him by the horns as she tugs the curtain of fire down with her in the jet she creates. Eugene has enough quick wit to physically drag him into the air as he catches an exasperated Pedro and haul a dazed not-Billy up and away in the air to avoid the swath of Hellfire Darla had just turned against Tim, bathing the scorched earth with it as a plume of ash blinded them from seeing the ground immediately below them.

“Insolent!” Tim shouts, probably clawing around him in the smoke pile as a quietly giggling little sister floats by him. “First I am met with a fake and now you send in my replacements?!” His brother yells from the smoke, and he has little time to shout any reassurances when he sees Pedro lead not-Billy down into the smoke in a dive bomb. They disappear into it and Freddy has to wrestle out of Eugene’s hold when he hears the twin booms of blows breaking the sound barrier.

It’s a scramble of stupidly landing on his legs and not flying because he misjudged his distance from the ground and flying to where he can hear the punches landing, all his brothers yelling from whatever burning and lightning packed punches they’re throwing. “Tim!” He calls out, only to have Pedro thrown at him sideways to catch in his arms, the latter nursing a bloody nose as Freddy places him down. There’s a thundering boom as the ground inches below his feet crumbles to being multiple meters below it, the ash and smoke billowing past the two as they turn their head and shield their eyes to avoid the burn. When they’re open, he sees Tim at the bottom of the crater, knelt over a battered champion as lightning leaks from torn open skin to stitch itself back together.

“What now, Batson ? No final word to try and banish me again? No quips or appeals?” Tim mocks, loudly enough to reach out to Freddy’s ears. Mary’s too, who swoops down with Eugene almost fully enveloped in his lightning with a battle cry Freddy could swear he’s heard from one of his video games. Tim spews lava from his mouth in a stream and immobilizes the two as they plummet to the side of the caved in earth, smiling up at Freddy once he catches his sight.

“You leave me behind for this?” He hollers, “You leave me for someone so insignificant, that you can’t even care to notice he’s been replaced? Did I mean that little as well?!” He recoils, thinking how bad it must look if Tim could tell he wasn’t looking at someone who fit the same parameters as Billy, and how much angrier he must be than ever before. We are so dead.

Timothy stands, letting not-Billy go for all of one second and stomping down on his body to keep him pinned, a pained yell resounding. “The virtue of justice and charity tainted with wrath,” he sneers down. “And you condemned me for illness?”

“I never condemned you Tim!” Freddy defends, floating down to face his brother face to face. “I know grandpa messed up your life when he gave you up but we didn’t know— I didn’t know until you were dead and Blaze sent you crawling out of hell the first time!” 

The demon tsk ’s disapprovingly, twisting his heel into not-Billy as creaking sounds and cracks pop from his chest. “Damn it Tim, stop!” He advances, going to pull him away and try and stop this without anymore fighting, he’s so tired of fighting him when it always ends the same. Please god, don’t let it end the same.

Tim raises a fist and is stopped mid-backhand when Darla grabs at his arm and plants her feet against his side to hold it back, “Get off me you—” his roar of anger is cut off by his head being wrenched back, grabbed by the horns and reared like a bull by Pedro as he lifts and swings him into a flying stop in the air, Darla having thankfully let go before she could spin out with him.

“Tell me that’s a different Tim, just for peace of mind.” Not-Billy wheezes the joke from his battered state on the ground, immobile as Freddy catches his breath, Pedro engages his brother, and Darla goes to the other end of the crater to punch-drill the other two out with her speed. “That’s my Tim, older foster brother, not a pissy possessed pigeon.”

That gets enough of a laugh to have him curling in on the pain in his chest, probably from rapidly setting and healing ribs. “God, why couldn’t it be Gregor?” Not-Billy laments aloud as he sits himself up, thinking back on the sparse two times the League had to fight him when he had the powers of Sabbac. Gregor had training and knew how to fight tactically, Tim had rage and motives he hasn’t dealt with yet and has to learn on the fly. Freddy scoffs, “Don’t say that around him. He’s pissed off enough with me as is about the whole replacement thing.”

“What the hell did you do?”

“Choosing not to answer that, just some family feuding. You know how bad the Cain instinct can get, right?” The joke falls flat, tumbling to the ground from Freddys lips like an anvil that takes them both down into the territory of embarrassing like cartoon characters. Damn him and his stupid qiuping.

Tim lets out another battle cry that borders on pitchy death rattle, hellfire licking at his heels as he jets for Freddy with clawed hands set on wrenching his neck from his body. Not-Billy puts himself between the two, Freddy knowing from personal experience that those ribs didn't heal with Hermes' speed or Zeus’ power that quick, and grabs him by the wrists to deflect the attack upwards before flying up with the demon dragged along with him. 

“Scout, General!” Freddy sticks to code names, because god help them if they risk Mr. Contingency knowing their real identities. “Help Mary and Chief, then me and Cap with Tim once you're both done.”

“Aye aye!” And Darla is off in her usual rush with Pedro following after giving a curt nod to Freddy. Then, it's to the rest of the fight Freddy is not looking forward to.

He hardly has time to look up to start flying when a crumbling crash shakes the earth and the crater deepens another few meters with Sabbac at the bottom, heated hands molding the dirt into lava as he pushes himself up for the next chance to fight. Not-Billy comes crashing down to stomp on his ribs with all the same courtesy he’d shown the guy prior, wailing on Tim until even he’s too stunned between each impact to even attempt in throwing more lava balls.

It would only work so long, a physical fight doing nothing but drawing out the damage until someone inevitably forced the other to say their word, and even if Blaze played her dirty trick of corrupting any good memory Tim had of him left while erasing the times Freddy was able to get through to him, Tim was still a smart kid who knew he was the only one who could reveal his Achilles heel.

“Sheesh,” Eugene not so helpfully adds as Freddy feels just inches away from falling into whatever crisis covers the Sisiphysian nightmare that is fighting a family member over and over again just for their brain to get rewired to hate you more. “Bill’s extra pissed today.” Oh yeah, there's also the fact he didn’t tell them the body swap thing yet and it just looks like Billy is in a Wrath of God Murder Craze arc. It probably wouldn't top Freddy’s own as a fledgling Marvel trying to twist a Nazi’s head off, but that's only if it were the case of it being Billy going batty and none of his current family exactly witnessed that very justified mania.

“Mary’s still stuck, any orders Mr. Lieutenant?” Freddy takes a breath in, then out, and curses mentally. “Yeah, but I’m gonna need everyone to grab one of Tim’s limbs and keep him suspended enough for me to get under him.”

Eugene shrugs, says it's his drama, and whistles to get the rest on board while not-Billy keeps giving new meaning to the wrath of god coming down on someone.

— — —

There should be a crunch. 

A crack as fists pummel into a skull and black ichor bubbles up a now laughing throat and spits onto the golden emblem on his chest, “Wrath… deluding a hero into a mad man. That’s your sin, your fear.” Sabbac, some twisted demon clung to a man's soul taunts. 

“Had Aym not blessed my body to nigh indestructibility under the blows of lesser foes you’d have killed me,” Bruce's punch halts. Sabbac smiles. “You don’t know this form! You know nothing of a god's power–”

There's a burning, singeing feeling that closes his throat. He wants to scream, gasp for air this body doesn't even need but now longs for like a flooded land under the scrutiny of a scorching sun, blazing and burning the excess that went unappreciated until life begins to escape with every failure to gasp for air under Sabbacs constrictive grip. He hooks his fingers on the ones crushing his throat and tries and fails in prying them off, fighting and glaring his potential killer down as the blood on his face dries and his grin grows ever despicable. He floats so they are closer to standing in the ruined earth, looking down at him with a more subdued but all the same middlingly amused smile at his struggle, even as lightning singes and makes the task harder. 

“How unfair, I don’t even get the pleasure of killing you wholly.” He scoffs, “Maybe the Fair Lady will let me have a go at you once you’ve entered her domain. Fair I make your eternity miserable after ridding my chances for a happier one.”

“Now!” A red bur tackles Sabbac from just above him, his throat released from his grip and Bruce is hitting the ground with the odd thought that he never thought he’d miss needing to breathe, seeing as it was kind of a daily given that he’d always need to and all. 

Blinking the spots out of his vision, seeing the other Marvels wrestle Sabbac into an open position as the Lieutenant latches onto his back from just beneath him and yells. “Captain Marvel!”

There's a split second, where Bruce thinks it's a call to action and leaps to help, vision blurred as it is but not at all prepared to let more people get hurt. Thunder slams down onto him and pierces three bodies, ripping through and leaving a pain in his chest as he falls into a heap on the ground with the others. The now exaggerated heat radiating off Sabbacs body cools just as soon as it felt like boiling Bruce's blood from sheer proximity, turning his head to see a kid crushed under the dying form of a demon. Clawing his hands into heated red earth to pull himself out from under Sabbacs back, a familiar face now tear-streaked and looking on mournfully.

Sabbac has a hole in his chest, through the chest and out the back, arteries spilling blood without a heart to go to slowing to a disgusting ooze without the organ to beat. There's a flash of black lightning zipping across his body, then it fades with smoke and a distinct smell of brimstone, leaving a sickly, frail boy still in a hospital gown. The other boy, wearing a similar outfit to the blue dress jacket and newsboy attire as he cradles the boy, hardly older than himself, close. The word ‘brother’ echoes around in Bruce's mind as Tim’s body withers years in seconds and becomes dust stuck to the other boy's clothing as he crumbles into himself, hugging a corpse that isn't there anymore as a sob escapes him. 

The General, as he overheard the- the Lieutenant calling him, floats down from where they had been holding Tim still from the air and kneels down, placing an apologetic hand on his shoulder as the boy all too quickly composes himself and wipes his tears with his jacket sleeve. “I’m fine, I’ll be–” The Lieutenant tenses his jaw, catching sight of him there as witness yet again to the unexpected and the tragic. He grabs onto the General's shoulder for support and limps onto one leg, he doesn't say anything. But there's a look, hollow from being carved out until there's nothing left while the knife keeps scraping for more, that tells Bruce that this probably isn't the first time. That, in all the horrible ways magic brings a past back to haunt people, with loved ones twisted into empty shells of who they once were– only a betrayal and grief surviving– Tim had come back before and the Lieutenant took the responsibility of reburying him in at least one of those times before. He can't be more than a year older than Billy, and he’s repeating the hero's name as his evident transformation word and speaking nothing more about what just happened.

Notes:

I hate fight scenes evidentially and doubt the method of defeating him would work in comics but that's a strong attack and no way was I wasting another month torturing myself adding an emotional confrontation to get Tim beaten by saying his trigger phrase, so we all deal, including me.
My original vision for this chapter had more emotion and the Tim Freddy knew peaking out in his final breathes before his soul went back to Hell and Blaze, with the stronger insinuation that Blaze messes with his memory's as her thrall to make confrontations more painful for Freddy and the Marvel Family by association, but I kinda scrapped that to get this chapter done satisfyingly without delaying longerand still delivering on the main angst I'm here to deliver.

Also, the return of Captain Marvel as a trigger phrase! Heck yeah! I missed it! Also, Freddy canonically being Jewish for the soul and the healthy level of disrespect he has to have for god/s at this point because... come on. Expect a more wholesome Billy & Diana chapter up next as a nice palate cleanser because lord knows we need it.

Chapter 45: 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea; Diana & Billy

Summary:

Billy does his best to help clean up some of his and Bruce's mess, but sometimes being indestructible and being a hero at heart leads to dumb decisions

Notes:

Going in, I could not for the life of me find a way to include this without messing with my vibes or having the Girls talk jewelry in a token way, but Diana has and is wearing earrings that let her breathe underwater that Hephaestus gifted her.

Just... just keep that in mind.

They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks, and while it's certainly a more often than not true statement one can be inclined to have a different version of the saying after so many years with the same handful of vigilantes.

You can't teach a Bat any different than how they operate. 

Apparently it doesn't matter if it’s a Bat in their own body, they can and will act the same each and every time when it comes to doing the right thing and the possible effect on their quality of health. Which is why there are a dozen Atlantean sorcerer's chanting and weaving spells as two elder looking members of the bunch meditate beside the Captain to replace the battered barriers that Diana and Mera are wrestling a larger creature back into the depths of its dynasty old prison. By whatever metric needs arguing, Marvel was in full tilt Bat, forgoing the danger of being out on the field without League training in a non-powered body and under the literal ocean of stress that is cannot be good on Bruce's suffering heart, no matter the quality of the Bat-Sea Gear. 

The many faced beast of writhing slime and swirling maws charges, twisting into a slimmer form as its tendrils jet it faster to Diana, who throws the slack of her lasso towards and above the creature as she dives to only twist up once its missed and passed her. Pulling hard, she snaps the retreating maw shut and forces the beats form to still in the one it chose to seal its fate with while attempting to seal her own. Resembling the front of a whale made monstrosity with the back end of a hundred krakens made one larger entity, it thrashes in her lassoes hold and twists about trying to throw her off as she plants her feet in its back and hooks her heels in its now blubbery flesh. “Mera!” She cries, “Turn us!”

Atlantis’s queen does so, creating a whirlpool only such a skilled Atlantian and powerful hydrokinetic like herself could, sucking the beast into the closing doors of its prison whilst Diana wrestles it to stay in one form and not allow for its escape. Slipping past the turquoise bars that form as it roars escape through gritted teeth and feeling a tensing sense of entrapment settle in her own bones, Diana undoes her lasso and swims fast and hard for her escape. Its cell is dark, cold , endlessly empty, there's nothing. Leave Diana, leave!

Something grabs at her leg and shifts, half a dozen eel like jaws biting into her leg and sinking in deep and the cries out as the water burns her wound. She reaches for her sword, the eels drag her down for the beast's final meal until eternity in pitch black becomes its home again, the jaws growing in number and separating into many tendrils to begin to tear her leg apart for smaller feed.

“Armamini Pugnus Imperium!”

Hand on leather handle, arms wrap around her middle and grab at her arms and tug into another direction of the darkness. 

Slipped out of it, Diana’s mind clears and becomes well aware of the ally that is dragging her away from the threat as the golden bars of its confinement slam together and ring in chimes as the spell fractures out to fill every empty space between them and It with threads of magic in a spider web pattern, leaving no room for escape. It takes a moment to realize the voice that saved her shouldn't have been able to have their voice ring out underwater, that it should've been obstructed from the beginning with a breathing apparatus, and that is horribly more mortal than they should be right now.

“Marvel!” Her voice borders on scolding as she twists out of the odd mix of rainbow and oily colored magic in the form of arms that had grabbed her out of her predicament, swimming fast and hard to grab him and hurry to Mera. “Bubble!” 

She pushes through the barrier and drops him on the watery floor, the man laughing between every other cough to keep the seawater out of his lungs. “Hah-ha! That was clo–OW!” She hits him hard on the back, humanly hard, considering the apparent state of health with Bruce's body. “Hey, what’d I do?” He asked incredulously, eyes bugging out of his head as he removed the goggled cowl of the Bat-scuba suit.

“You took your apparatus out to save me, you risked your life! You are not immortal and havent been since that sorcerer hit you and bruce!” She reminded him, “I had no risk of drowning in there, you know this and Mera already seemed to be on her way.” She gestured to her, remembering seeing her swimming hastley towards them before she’d even called out to her. 

Marvel blubbered to answer, “I, you– the spell was closing up! If we left it open longer than we needed it would've tried to slip out again and–” 

“And I would have wrestled it back into his prison.” She countered. “You put yourself in danger, something you promised you wouldn't after everyone tried and failed to get you to stay on the Watchtower.” 

“I didn't want you to die in there! I panicked, okay? You're important too Diana.”

“I know that, but you are in Batman's body Marvel, you risked more than just yourself.” She sees the realization flash through his eyes that flick down at himself, scared at whatever his mind conjured up, and then back to her with enough remorse to void the need for an apology. One wasn’t needed, though she could see him choke in surprise on the word. It wasn't her body in danger. She patted his shoulder to get that same sentiment across, earning a shared smile between friends.

Mera enters the bubble, “Now that that little sibling squabble is over–” Marvel chokes a high pitched laugh. “You should see Mary pulling at my ear.” He jokes. 

“Either way,” Mera says. “Atlantis thanks you both for your aid today with the escaped creatures, Arthur is still leading the Mariana garrison in taking care of the beasts we’ve become better equipped to handle instead of locking away again. Would either of you mind extending your aid further?”

“Of cou–” “No.” Diana says, with finality.

“What, why? I know a killer spell that’ll make a rainbow shrimps punch look like a–”

“You promised you wouldn't put yourself at risk, you did, so you are going back up and going through the injury protocols for Batman.” Marvel pales, “Oh but– I’ve never had to do that! What’ll I say to the doctors about the heart attack and–”

“Alfred knows plenty to help you through,” She handwaves. “And you need to take care of yourself and this body.”

“I can still help you guys,” Marvel looks to both Mera and Diana. “I don't want to sit by useless when I still have some magic to help with, come on guys.”

She and Mera share a look, and then Mera is exiting the bubble whistling sharply. “What's that for?” Marvel pulls the cowl back over and turns the lights built into the ears brightness up, “I can hardly see an inch past the bubble so far down.”

“You are heading up,” Diana explains as she passes Marvel the apparatus, then ties her lasso around. “You know how to surface, correct?” She asks, lasso tied and glowing from around his middle.

“Wha– yes of course I know how to surface, but I've never done it from this far down.” He rambles the truth, though now trying to untie the bind as his mouth continues on. “I mean I went diving with my folks for my moms birthday once but we never went further than seeing some reef and me getting the worst hair day of my life from the seawat–” Diana unceremoniously pushes the apparatus from Marvels hand to his mouth and secures it in one motion, tugging at where her lasso exits the bubble. With that, the unseen Storm is off and away with a shocked and possibly still truthfully mumbling Captain, off to the surface.

The bubble dissolves around Diana as Mera produces a luminescent streak of water beside them to make up for the lost vision, “I still can’t believe the seven seas are in this pickle because no one deigned to realize how disastrous this body swap was for everyone.” 

“I doubt this has been anything to consider among the many other horrible things that happen in our lives, I’ve only had to be in a different body twice.” 

“Huh, can’t recall anything like that for myself.” Mera muses, Diana sends a message on her communicator to Shayera. “My point exactly.” 

— — —

There is something uniquely embarrassing about bobbing in the open sea with a giant sea horse snickering and your soggy state, so Billy in perfectly within his rights to cross his arms and pout because there is no feasible way for him to swim all the way to where the other monsters are even if he knew all their precise locations. So he floats there, pouting, arms crossed, dealing with a snickering Storm and praying mentally for Poseidon to either drown him or give him a boost as he closes his eyes and really prays long and hard for the drowning or boost.

“Lost at sea Captain?” Okay, a boost works, and when he peeks one eye open to see Shayera he amusingly thinks that god's work in weird ways all the time.

“More like thrown overboard,” He grabs her extended hand and takes the help unto the Javelins ramp, tossing his end of the lasso down to Storm, who takes part of it in his mouth and swims back down.

So, Billy takes a seat inside the Javelin and catches up with Shayera, who says they're heading to the Watchtower first so he can dry off– yay – and get a change of typical Brucie clothes and head to a hospital in Gotham. He buckles up in his seat, then buckles up for the horrid next steps to his day that is changing clothes again, going to the doctor, and waiting longer and longer for some update on just how bad things might be from Bruce. I could be helping, he thinks, but no. I had to goof up and care when I’m oh-so fragile like I haven't spent most of the last half of my life being indestructible!  

He takes a breath, counts his inhale, exhales as he counts again, and cools his jets. Thanks Harley.

He just has to… talk to a normal doctor, say he had a heart attack at home, but he's totally fine now but still really needs to call this in and see a professional because… oh lordy, Batman is going to be on heart medicine after this. Oh Jove and Juno, Bruce is like 50!! How did he never—

Billy does his breathing again. No more heart attacks, no mo– oh, oh that's probably how Bruce didn’t know about this. All of his crazy “I have traveled all corners of the world learning all these super-ninja-jutsu methods to always stay perfectly calm and rational while training to hone my body into an instrument of justice!” mumbo-jumbo. That is certainly a very Batman sounding reason, very Brucian.

Billy almost killed Batman because he has anxiety. How Billy of himself, how Looney Toonsian levels of absurd.

Notes:

Billy's Loony Toonsian levels of absurd vs Bruces Magnificent Bastard Protagonist levels of absurd: FIGHT!

They are on two sides of the absurd spectrum and I adore it.

Also, love adding in as much fun tidbits and lovely little things I want like Storm. Adorable oversized Sea-horse used as an actual horse my beloved. Also, if you caught it, that arm spell is the arm spell used in Shazam and the Seven Magiclands! I knew that book would be good for more than angst! haha!

Chapter 46: Matters of a human heart; Billy

Summary:

Billy has his first proper doctors check-up since . . . since... lordy, someone take care of this kid!!

Notes:

Hate giving y'all what feels like filler, not including the fact this has sat in my docs for a while.

It is important! But it's in-between things and more... the vegetables on your plate as part of the overall story that is your dinner.

He briefly wonders if there are any heart problems in his family.

Probably likely, Uncle Eben had to take those pills all the time in all the memories Billy had of the guy and he had heard about his stroke before. Billy hopes he doesn't have to worry about that until he’s all white and old-looking like Ebenezer was. 

“You’ve been in twice this week, Mr. Wayne!” The old doctor comes in, with more enthusiasm and pep in his step than you’d expect from a Gothamite. Honestly, he looks cartoonish enough to be familiar to Fawcett– a big, white mustache that covered his mouth and seemed to move with his fairly evident grin. “Ticker got backed up back home?” He asks while reading the papers on his clipboard, “Sounds like a bad joke. Maybe that clown put something in the water again?” He muses to himself aloud, then shrugs with a happy hum and smile.

Okay, just a very rare sunny Gothamite. Billy clears his throat. The doctor asks about the situation while checking his pulse, holding his wrist, and looking at the clock on the wall.

It’s… probably a normal start to a check-up, but Billy hasn’t really gone to a doctor except for the times he’s broken something in his age-old foster homes or gotten his shots at the local pharmacy. It definitely shocks him when the stethoscope touches his chest and back, checking his heart and breathing. You forget a lot when it’s been a good six years since an actual check-up. Mentally, while making conversation in the self-confident and well-spoken way only a guy like Bruce Wayne probably talks, Billy adds the scheduling onto his list of things to do once he can, legally, emancipate himself. Not wearing big adult outfits he will probably never grow into as Billy Batson while trying to pretend being his own dad like he does to rent his apartment or his Uncle when he signs himself up for things that need legal documents he thanks Hermes and a veritable bunch of luck gods plus a prayer received from Hypnos that he stole those away from his Uncle’s study in the middle of the night. 

Fawcett was swell and let him get away with a lot so he could make his living but Billy just really wanted to walk in with the case Mr. Butler helped him build and tell a judge he wanted to be emancipated right that minute. And, yeah, sure. Mr. Butler was a criminal attorney and said it’d be faster to just send him on his way to get Uncle E on every petty charge he could, but Billy didn’t want some other fight with his uncle.

Uncle E was old, last he heard the man was sicker than an old dog, and a recluse. Much as Billy misses his old home, and wishes he had the anger he used to yell himself hoarse at the man, he just doesn’t. Getting it back wouldn’t make things better, he just wanted to move forward and not have to use his name anymore. 

And see a dentist. Jove and Juno , he wants to see a dentist. He’s been good as any kid can with his hygiene but the terror of Earth's Mightiest Mortal being done in by a cavity reaching a nerve or tooth abscess. That would be humiliating, and all because he couldn’t see a freaking dentist. He just counted himself lucky he didn’t have an issue with his wisdom teeth yet, those were gonna be horrible.

“Blood pressure is certainly a bit high here Mr. Wayne.” The doct– oh wait, his tag says Dr. McLacy. Dr. McLacy says as he undoes the weird balloon thing that had just been on his arm. “Any undue stresses lately? Maybe a new medication or other?”

Billy thinks, then talks like Bruce. “Well, other than what everyone knows from the tabloids–” Ugghh, shoot him now that sounded so sleazy. McLacy is laughing, ew. “That party gone sour freaked me out a few days back, but the docs had me on that uh, Pra-something or other.” sounding like a full-tilt idiot, per norm.

“Prazosin, that helped with that quack's forsaken gas getting you and the rest of those folks in a tizzy.” He picks up his clipboard and flips a few pages, “History goes plenty far, thanks to your old man's influence no doubt Mr. Wayne.” Ow, not exactly a topic to bring up McLacy…

“Got a few conditions on your mom's side, looks like it crept on ya’ now too but we’ll get that taken care of. I’ll send for some tests and ask you to wait here while I get some blood work ready, then we’ll talk about gett’n you on something to keep that ticker going.” The chipper aura of the man snapped to something serious as he pinned him with a look, even his mustache pointing down like the man was frowning. “No more racy rendezvous young man.”

Zeus, strike me down.

The man's very hairy smile returned with a loud ‘Ha!’ “No need to look so gobsmacked Mr. Wayne! I kid, I kid! That’s just something to be more careful of from here on out, at least until we know a bit more.”

Billy tugs a smile, appreciating the joke as Bruce and cringing as Dr. McLacy leaves with the clipboard. With the door closed, his shoulders lower a bit and his face goes neutral. “All the powers of gods and titans mixed with Shazam, yet my biggest use to not royally screw things over is to get a checkup.” He thinks, settling in to wait. Wait, wait, and wait some more. 

He bounces his leg and has his head resting in his hand as he drums his fingers impatiently against his cheek. Diana is out with Mera and the bulk of Atlantis’s guard dealing with the monsters and locked-up criminals of former magic ages, everything from the first up until the ninth they’re in now. Bruce should be meeting back up with his family to figure out if anything went sideways at the Rock, Fate is dealing with the biggest magic migraine of the century trying to find sources of the interruption in magic flow and reseal things that got jarred loose with the rest of Justice League Dark. And Billy is here, waiting to be brought out to have blood drawn so Bruce has properly prescribed heart medicine for his amped-up blood pressure. 

“Apollo, if you are nice enough to listen, send a favor Bruce's way since he has to live with this afterward.” “Ha! Sure thing kid, I still owe ya for accidentally hitting you with an arrow.”

Billy winces at the memory, thank his gods he seems to be less affected by them even when he's powered down or else he would have had something worse than a flu when Apollo shot an arrow into his arm. Never interrupt an angry god was a well-learned lesson. He mentally clarifies to not just suddenly cure the guy, just give him better fighting chances, and just feels the room get warmer like the sun was shining through the ceiling and many floors of obstruction as his answer to not go too hard on the favor. At least Billy can do something helpful for someone, meanwhile, Bruce probably got his powers down easy after having plenty of talks with his patrons and has been doing an absolutely splendiferous job being Captain Marvel.

Dr. McLacy pops in, says to follow, so Billy stretches out that smile and does as he's told. Apparently, there's nothing better for the Champion of Magic to do.

Billy gives himself a mental slap, reminding himself that as long as he’s helping someone in a day it is a good day. And he’s helping, just not with a bunch of magic, bombastic super heroics, or investigative journalism.

Notes:

Billy self-loathing sprinkles? More common than you'd think. Neither of these dinguses have been keeping up with the news. They should take a peek though

Chapter 47: Walls are built- Door left open; Bruce & Mary

Summary:

The Marvel Family- including one intruder - search the Rock of Eternity for a hint as to the crisis at hand and uncover something sinister has already spread it's influence there

Notes:

Bigidi ba, digiti da, ping pong, hippy happy to-ta

It’s another call of Billy’s hero name that sends thunder down once more and turns the smaller teen in purple into the young adult hero, flying slightly above the ground with a sullen, mournful look.

The purple one immediately crashes into him for a hug, shocking him enough to float in a whole spin as he regulates and wraps his arms around her. “Yeah yeah Scout, I’m okay.”

“Fine my butt, you got super sad last time and you deserve a hug!” She declares, hugging him tighter as Mary Marvel gives her a pat on the shoulder to let the Lieutenant have a moment to breathe. It is met with a stuck out tongue and the joining of the larger green Marvel in the now group hug. Bruce just stands to the side as the gray one dusts himself off and lets out a whistle at how bad their surroundings work, “My turn to pop by Sargent Kent’s desk and fill him in on the demon attack right?”

“Yeah Chief, plus telling Ibis the park got charred to literal hell. He’d probably want to help with clean up.” Mary answers, Chief flies off with a slight scoff at the mentioned Ibis’s supposed ‘help’. 

“Ignore him,” Mary calls his attention back. “What on earth happened? First Arson Fiend the other day and now Sabbac is getting set loose to mess with us, something is going down.” She says matter-of-factly, giving him a pointed look. 

“Marvel thinks something left the Rock, something that has Blaze looking to keep us distracted or torment us as it seems.” The last part has his eyes wander to the Lieutenant, only slightly smiling with lingering falsity to appease his determined friends hugging him. “He wanted me to meet up with you all to investigate and I saw this happening on my way over, Sabbac clocked me the second he saw me.”

Mary sighed, “That sounds like Blaze and that checks. Sabbac has some connection with the Sins and he can tell if someone is vulnerable to them, something about the new hierarchy Blaze has been building with those guys while plotting to tear us apart. He’s a Hell Champion, and with Fiend as her human chaos causer Sabbac seems to have gotten a new role as the Sins enforcer.”

“Hence the new Sin-tection power,” The Lieutenant chimes in. “Probably saw the lack of purity of heart and figured out you had to be a fake. Happens to the best of us, calls me an envious bastard on the regular.” Bruce pointedly ignored the insulting tone, too aware that this is a family unit and he is the threatening outsider. 

"We need to check the Rock and do an inventory,” He says, regarding the whole group in lack of Chief to relay this same objective too. “Whatever is missing is what we have to worry about then we can plan around the threat. Whatever searching we have to do I am going to need an escort, I don’t know your threats like any of you do and I can easily overlook what isn’t clearly missing.”

Mary nods, “One of us will stick with you.” She turns to the group, “Once Chief gets back we’ll head to the Rock an–”

“Ibis is such a buzzkill, man can’t ev–” Chief dashed in, catching himself leaning on Scout's shoulder as he bemoaned about this Ibis character. “Congrats Chief, it's your dream come true. One on one time with Batman.” Mary cocked a thumb at him with a much too mischievous smile, and Bruce briefly remembers all the insisting that Mary is his twin. Assessing the number of apparent Marvel there, it would be a wonder to have any one of them old enough to vote. He tries very hard not to think about that.

— — —

“I don’t remember a subway being the entrance to the Rock of Eternity.” Bruce comments, though shuts up quickly at the sight of the General phasing through the sealed off entrance after drawing the same lightning symbol as on their chests onto the metal surface, displacing a layer of grime to make the mark. Mary shrugs, “It’s the less fun one and I don’t feel like teaching you how to fly through time.”

If I had a nickel for every new question these kids raise…

He passes through it, ignoring the odd feel of moving through metal as if it were just dense fog, and runs with the rest of the Marvels down the lantern lit stairway to a platform. The Lieutenant, who had flown ahead, slotted a golden coin into a rusted turnstile before hovering over in a motion similar to jumping it. “Summoning practice.” He explains cooly, floating near the platform's edge as an oddly futuristic train peals in from the tracks with a deafening horn. Sleek and black with planetary iconography detailed on its exterior, molding open like soft clay right in front of them as an entrance to a dimly lit traincar. 

The sudden jump of speed once they're all inside has him grip the side of a seat to keep his bearings as the temperature seems to drop, Scout's voiced comment about her motion sickness freezing the air as the General comfortingly pats her shoulder. The train lurches to its stop as the side tears open once more to an ancient train station with multiple other trains of varying design and mural-like map of various other “Lands”. Once more, Bruce keeps his mouth firmly shut as Mary takes charge and dirents everyone to different search areas.

“First off, we will be meeting in the throne room after our searches to go over what we found, whistle if you find anything and need assistance dealing with it.” She took a spot on one of the two stairways framing the muraled map, placing herself on a podium as she took what he assumes to be her natural role as leader in these sorts of situations.

“Scout, run to the top and make sure nothing’s interfered with the remains of the Big Bang, work your way down to the memorial hall and make sure nothings wandering around out of their places up there.” Scout listens to her orders, nodding along, before running off in a purple and golden blur to begin. 

“General, you and the Lieutenant head to the center and make sure Sin, Terror and Wickedness are still in their amber. Work your way through the other encased prisoners and then down through the bottom half of the Rock. ” The two m– the possible boy and definite boy share a high five before running and flying off to their destination.

“Chief and Batman, you both will be checking the door room, make sure the dangerous ones are sealed and double check the safe ones for any possibility of a new threat coming from them. Focus on the alternate dimensions and doorways to Hell, if Blaze is betting she's betting on one of her own.” She points to herself, “I’ll scope out the situation at the Monsterlands. If the Queen of Hearts or Prime got out again I’ll report back and get that dummy to tell me what he's seen recently.”

Once more– plenty to question, none of the desire to do so. The Gray one instead hooks an arm to his and leads him down some halls to a part of the Rock that seems to have an infinitely tall ceiling, full of floating and built in doors of all types and sizes. The Chief plucks a binder with half its thickness seeming to come from the many sticky notes and additions wedged between the pages. There is something worrying about the juvenile handwriting on the front for a title and the back of the binder hardly visible with the wall of glittery stickers taking up space the inspirational quote stickers don’t.

Chief flips the cover and tilts the pages into Bruce's sight, “How do you wanna start Mr. Batman sir?” Wonder who rubbed off on who. “I went through all these doors myself and, if that good ol’ Solomon's wisdom serves me right, that was a good four thousand seven hundred and sixty-seven doors of sizes great and small! Pretty cool, huh?”

Bruce looked between the eager for approval smile of Chief and the first page of the binder in his hands, a heavily revised table of contents with continuations. “I think we should split top and bottom, you go high and I go low.” The Chiefs smile went a tad awkward as he pressed the binder into his hands, “Yeah fair, I know this place better than you so you just, uh, start outside and work your way in layer by layer? Simplest way to do it I think.”

“Sure,” Bruce accepts the binder and flips to the outlined ‘Dangerous Doors’

— — —

The gargantuan snake eye flicked to him, piercing him with a look like it was ready to devour him or rip him apart at the slightest provocation. It belonged to the leftmost head of the trinity of evil that was Sin, Terror, and Wickedness– The last of those three being the very head staring the blue Marvel down, as if imagining how tasty a deputized defender of Eternity would taste. Terror, the middle head, had its head posed in the amber directly facing the entrance to its prison Freddy had come through. Sin was a tad less creepy, in the fact he wasn't staring in any direction. Just a frozen roar as its cluster of scaly to slimy tentacles trashed in escape, the other two seemingly just glaring down their imprisoners forever instead of making some display of power. The eyes still moved. Unblinking as he and Pedro surveyed for cracks or fallen fragments that point to it wriggling itself free, maybe even faults in the cleverly named Moral-Line of its prison.

Blue stone, with the faintest hints of a sheen like stardust, for the upper half– and red, scorched stone for its lower. The point where one mountain from heaven and another from hell met and clashed with enough force to paralyze the giant demonic prisoner that was left at the Rock of Eternity’s center. There wasn’t separation in the stone, Freddy concluded, and no slips into the amber Pedro could discern. Just a chimera of dragon, falcon and octopus stuck as it had been for years and should stay for the rest of time. If not? They’d just kick its semi-aquatic butt back in and crush it with another mountain. Not like it's ever been hard for any of them to pick one up.

“Was it… did it always go bad like this?” Pedro’s tentative voice wormed its way into the air, way too meek for the wall of muscle his adult Marvel form always found itself as and still to meek for the big guy Freddy knew was under all the glamour. He hummed, wondering what he was referring to.

“All this,” He picked the gilded lining of his cape. “When Billy goes, is it this bad?”

“No, it– not really. I mean, not like this has ever happened.” Freddy really had to think about that. “The longest Billy wasn’t himself is when Mr. Mind got him hurling insults at me and Mary trying to break us all up, and that was only like, a minute.”

He gets why Pedro is asking, the last few days had been nuts to see happen. Suddenly the news has stories you’d see over a month or two happening in one week, places are going up in smoke and people are dying, there's the threat of a possible demonic apocalypse or something similar, and your friend isn’t even in his body and he’s probably the only other person you know to ask what the hell is happening. Freddy sure didn’t like it– the last few days seemed to get people in a bigger tizzy than normal. He’d certainly broken up more fights than he was used to and wrestled a demon into the portal some wannabe sorcerer opened up for them for a boon, and Pedro seemed shaken after that whole ghost fiasco with the Bryers after school. 

It briefly comes to him that this is Pedro’s– well, everyone other than him and the twins– first Big Deal . He’d only been placed with the Vasquez's about a year and a half ago, they’d had powers for just a little under that since when he shared his with them. They’d all been… after hours heroes for the best descriptor. Rosa and Vic insisted on an actual curfew and rules about how dangerous their heroics could get before they left it to him to deal with Billy and Mary, it was a fight to not have all the same rules with the paper-thin defense of experience. None of them had really played a part in a crisis situation. Oh, Vic and Rosa are going to kill me.  

He can blame Billy, this was his idea. Or Batman. Batman could use an earful from a scolding mother, that would work. Rosa can put the fear of god into Batman, it would probably work out. Yeah.

“Well, we're learning. This is a learning opportunity.” Freddy tries to keep the optimism going. “I mean, you're going to actually be eighteen soon, could join your own hero groups if you wanted after high school and whatnot. This is like… a trial run with real stakes?”

Pedro is silent as they mosey their way out of Sin, Terror and Wickedness’ cell to scan the outlying rooms that have other imprisoned villains of the Wizards past in all sorts of fun ways. Like mirrors and statues.

“I don’t know if I want to do this after high school.” Pedro mumbles, “You say the Titans are nice but… I don’t want to be a hero forever.” Freddy listens, a little shocked at the sudden confession.

“I like helping. I like feeling good like this, like how I want to be. But forever? I don’t, have a reason. No push like you.” He can see him cringe at his words, shame and uncertainty mixing in his face, pacing further into the Rock with his brow furrowed in thought.

“Mary never had a push into this,” He says. “She just liked helping too. And if the only reason I was a hero is what pushed me into this, then that reason died years back with a taser to the face.” Freddy bumps his older brother's shoulder with his own, urging him to cheer up.

“You wanna lay back and stay independent, that's awesome, just know you can always help with your family. That’s what we're all here for. To help together.” Pedro grins.

— — —

“Hey Dum-Dum,” Mary gives a mock salute to the boat-doll, who chatters its jaw in some semblance of speech that one the less sounds like reverent knocking on wood. “Anything I should know about before flying out?” The Dummy thinks, narrowing its wooden eyes at her with much to think eyelids sliding and scratching over the wood as its expression narrows. It clatters a funny little line on Prime being a pain in the rear end and sits down with its feet kicked up on the side, knowing Mary will just as well fly over herself rather than bother him with a boat trip. 

“Thank you, Mr. Dummy!” There is a creaking sound as the doll smiles ever so slightly. 

There's a resounding boom of the doors to the Prison of Eternity slamming and bouncing back off the inner walls when Mary shoves through them, creaking on their ancient hinges as they inch closer back into their previous place as she zips to every occupied cell. Sliding the peep holes open on each, she makes sure everyone is in their proper spot.

“Queen of Hearts,” She slams the slider back into place before a playing card could take her eye out. “Mr. Atom's disembodied head,” The robot beeps and buzzes at her with the remaining parts of his head, lacking the voice box he normally has built in the neck or chest part of his fully formed body he's currently lacking. “Goat-Man.” He bleats at her, biting at a piece of yarn to keep up his knitting pattern.

Prime is just as temperamental as ever, trying to stab her eyes out from the brief opening, like he still has his super hearing despite the red sun literally floating in the ceiling of his room keeping him in check. But, unfortunately, he looks as okay as ever. Still under the same vague , Eternal curse everyone in this whole Magicland is stuck with until they are allowed to kick the bucket. ‘Remain in good health and standing Eternal until the day the Worm turns,’  ‘Stay as Eternally pristine as thy crown, so long as you vie for the power you claim with it.’  ‘Remain as you were on the day of your crime, Eternal as thy name from the mouths of others.’

All hocus pocus-y and mean but, looking at the rap sheets they all have, seems only as inhumane as like… standard solitary confinement seems inhumane. She’ll weigh giving genocidal maniacs and psychopaths interactive time with each other another day, maybe when one of them isn’t possibly causing issues after escaping.

“Jeepers?” She flicks her gaze around the visible bots of the cell, not much of a blindspot for a giant bat monster to hide in. No blindspot big enough for him at all, actually, so her heart drops into her stomach. “Jeepers?” She calls into the cell again, “Mr. Heebie Jeebie, you in here?” There's a soft cry, like a wail mixed with glass against a chalkboard made for mice. Carefully, expressing a warrior's caution with the grace of Selene and Minerva’s tactical experience, she unlatches the door and pushes forward to meet a small obstacle.

It takes a small shove, but the powerless, almost shrunken form of Jeepers flips over from the way it had been painfully splain out against its cell door. “What in–” Mary breathes, crouching down to survey the imprisoned monster for injuries or oddities. She couldn’t see anything on the surface level, no bones seemed broken either, so she looked beyond it, seeking out an answer with Minerva’s other gifts. The idea rewarded her, seeing how Jeepers very life force seemed to be sapped from his body, disappearing into the air like a cloud of smoke under Mary’s vision. Dying despite Eternity keeping it alive. 

“Blasted Champion!” A voice yelled, shrill as only the Wicked Witches could be, but with her own cry of pain that echoed with Jeepers. 

Someone was leaching on Eternity.

— — —

Mary flew through the train station and rushed for the meeting spot, passing Freddy and Pedro as they flew from the lower depths of the Rock. “Woah hey,” Freddy grabbed her by the bracer. “What's wrong? Can we help?”

“We need the Wizard, something’s wrong!” Was all she gave them as she wrenched her hand away and rushed for the throne room, the other two in close pursuit.

Notes:

I am going to throw my laptop into the void, prepare for trouble that was once doubled my friends

Notes:

Tumblr; https://www.tumblr.com/im-not-buying-it-ether