Billy BAT-SON, and his bad luck!

by Usernotfoundmin12

Summary:

He probably shouldn't have accepted that assignment. Very probably. But here he is, bleeding to death on the dark streets of Gotham. He gasps, the air burning his lungs as he leans weakly against an alley wall. “Shit...” he whispers, spitting blood onto the dirty pavement.

The battle had left him limp, and the use of Shazam's lightning had taken too heavy a toll on him. Now, blood seeps down his throat, clogging his lungs, and each exhalation is harder than the last.

“God... please...” he whispers, voice cracking, in a thread of desperation. He tries to scream Shazam, tries to transform, but his body is too weak to respond.

The darkness spreads, the city and the pain fades. In that last instant, before he sinks into unconsciousness, he feels a pair of strong arms encircling him. He can barely fight back before he passes out completely.

Or; Billy Batson falls into the hands of Batman. Will this preteen accept the care of the insultingly rich Bruce Wayne?

(o, I mix the personality of the Billy Batson in the movie with his personality in some of the DC, like, young justice and other series an this come out).

Notes:

First at all, Billy is 14 in this, i “combinated” the age he has in some series with the live acción movie. And i take too his actitude of the movie, i love it. But obviusly, i give him his good actitude based on the shows and a little for the comics.

To clarify, i dont read a lot of comics of DC. I just saw a couple of series and movies, and they were just a few, im not a great fan. So if theres any mistake, im sorry.

And last, English is not my first Language, sorry for any gramatical mistake too.

Chapter 1: This is Billy batson

Billy Batson considers his life to be... normal, more or less. If normal means living from place to place. Most of the time, he's like a bum. He gets thrown back into the foster care system again and again, but he always ends up on the run. It's not that he likes being alone. In fact, he hates it. But the system...the people in the system, the people who should be taking care of him, they don't.

And that makes it easier to live on the streets. He hates foster care. He can't stand it. Every new place is just another place that will let him down, another fake smile waiting to be belied by screams behind closed doors. He's spent his whole life in the damn system. The first days are always the same: “We're happy to have you, Billy,” they say. “You're going to be safe here,” they promise. But in the end, the facade always falls. It's not that he doesn't want a family. The thing is, he already has one, his mother, and he knows she's still there, somewhere, and that's the only hope that keeps him going. The only reason he keeps fighting.

He remembers how he started smoking. It was one of those foster couples. They offered him the cigarette as if it were the most normal thing in the world. He remembers the sensation of the smoke burning his lungs, the pressure in his chest, the tears and the burning itch in his throat. And their laughter echoing like cruel echoes in the room. He doesn't smoke much, but when the world gets too heavy, when everything feels out of control, that couple of puffs gives him some peace, even if it's temporary.

And, while we're on the personal side of things, with a single word, he becomes Captain Marvel, because he is pure of heart, according to a wizard of dubious hygiene. Being the captain is... a relief, he can be everything Billy Batson isn't, he can be nice, easygoing, even a little more of a jerk than usual. He can stand up for himself, he can be so much more, and in part, he hates it.

He hates it because in that way he can be more than Billy batson, the bum, be more and do good. But when he comes back to his reality, he wishes be Captain Marvel more than ever.

So, here he is, at Watchtower, with a cigarette in his hero form, and it seems a little inappropriate for him to smoke in this form, but, deep down, he doesn't mind too much.

“Smoking is not allowed here.” a cold and hard voice spoke to him from the shadows.

Billy recognized the voice immediately. Batman. He smiled at him with a spark of sarcasm. “Well, I'm outdoors, and I'm alone. So I guess you could let it go this time.”

Batman didnt respond immediately. He remained silent for a few moments, watching Billy with that intensity that only Batman knows how to have. Finally, he spoke again, his voice low and calculating. “I didn't know you smoked, Marvel.”

Captain Marvel shrugged, not losing the smile on his face. “Not that I really smoke that much. I just needed a little smoke tonight,” he replied, shaking the cigar between his fingers with a nonchalant air.

Batman didn't answer. Instead, he watched him silently, evaluating every word, every gesture. It seemed as if he was waiting for something more, something other than just a perfunctory response. But before he could say anything, a familiar voice interrupted the moment.

“Oh, by Superman, is Marvel smoking?!” Flash appeared out of nowhere, his voice full of surprise and a hint of amusement. Billy gave him a playful grin, more than willing to tease him a little.

Flash looked at Batman, raising an eyebrow. The Dark Knight simply gave him a nod, as if confirming that the scene was real.

“My God, this is so weird...” Flash muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “I owe Victor twenty bucks... hell.” And before Billy could say anything, the speedster was already disappearing, probably to tell the others.

Billy stood there, staring at the spot where Flash had disappeared. With a faint smile still on his face, he took one last look at Batman. But Batman was no longer there. He had retreated quietly, so discreetly that Billy didn't even realize at what point he had done so. Very Batman of him, as always.

 

---

 

He probably shouldn't have accepted that assignment. Very probably. But here he is, bleeding to death on the dark streets of Gotham.
He gasps, the air burning his lungs as he leans weakly against an alley wall. “Shit...” he whispers, spitting blood onto the dirty pavement.

The battle had left him limp, and the use of Shazam's lightning had taken too heavy a toll on him. Now, blood seeps down his throat, clogging his lungs, and each exhalation is harder than the last.

This isn't Fawcett it's Gotham and he doesn't know which way to go. Lights flicker in the distance, but they seem as unreachable to him as a dream. Darkness surrounds him, and his eyes, swollen from exertion and tears, can barely make out the shadows. He is alone. Alone in a city he doesn't even understand or know.He coughs, and the pain wrenches a groan from him. This time, the cough drags him to vomit blood “God... please...” he whispers, voice cracking, in a thread of desperation. He tries to scream Shazam, tries to transform, but all that comes out of his mouth are choked gasps, his body is too weak to respond

Black spots begin to obscure his vision. The sensation of fainting overcomes him. The darkness spreads, the city and the pain fades. He can no longer hold on. In that last instant, before he sinks into unconsciousness, he feels a pair of strong arms encircling him. He tries to flee, but can barely fight back before he passes out completely.

 

---

 

His mother is there, as always, perfect. She hums a song while she cooks some pancakes. The morning light streams through the window, illuminating his face softly, making everything seem unreal, as if he were in a dream. “Mhm, would you like some chocolate milk, Billy?” she asks, smiling with that tenderness that only she has.

Billy nods, a shy gesture, as he watches his mother with a mixture of fondness and nostalgia. She gives him a warm smile before turning her attention back to the pancakes. Finally, she serves him the pancakes with hot chocolate. Billy hurries to eat, eager. He feels like a kid again, as if time hasn't passed. 

His mom looks at him, surprised, but then laughs softly as she tousles his hair. “Well, Billy,” she says with a sparkle in her eyes, ”I'm going to get you a stuffed tiger this time.”

Billy frowns and pauses, looking confused at his mother. But before he can retort, she carries on as if it's nothing. She dresses the same way she did the last time he saw her. Something inside him wallows, but he can't help it, his voice rising above it all, filled with panic.

“No! I... I... I don't want it anymore!” he screams, his chest filling with an anxiety he can't control.

His mother looks at him in surprise, but only smiles sweetly “Oh, don't worry, Billy,” she says calmly, with such quiet confidence that it unnerves him. “I'll get it right this time. Come on.”

Billy feels trapped. Anxiety consumes him. “No!” he shouts, but his voice sounds weak and broken. Before he can say anything else, the sound of the scream dies away, replaced by an overwhelming silence. He jolts awake, gasping, his heart racing and sweat soaking his forehead. He is in a strange room, not his room or his kitchen, probably in a hospital. He is on a stretcher, covered in bandages, his body aching and enveloped in intense pain. His head is pounding, and when he puts his hand to his temple, the pain is so intense that he almost staggers.

His scream still echoes in his throat, burning like fire. His throat is scratchy, torn, as if he has been screaming for hours. Every attempt to breathe is painful, the burning sensation forcing him to gasp, unable to find comfort. It is as if the pain of sleep still haunts him, clinging to his body like a shadow.

The door to the room opens slowly, and Billy barely has the strength to look up. The figure entering is calm, serious. An older man, dressed in a dark suit and with impeccable composure. A butler, from what he can gather from his appearance, though his brain is still slow to process it all. The man is carrying a tray of food, but Billy's stomach is too heavy to think about eating anything now.

“You...?” Billy tries to speak, but the word comes out as a pitiful, barely audible whisper. His body doesn't respond as it should. His mouth feels dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, and with the sensation of being numb.

The butler stops when he hears Billy's faint voice. His eyes, deep but gentle, watch him for a moment, as if he understands something beyond the words that can't come out of his throat. “Good morning, I'm Alfred” says the man with unflappable calm ”Mr. Bruce's butler. I'll inform him you're awake.”

Billy blinks slowly, unable to fully process what he just heard, he looks at him, blinking slowly, trying to process the words. “Bruce...?” he repeats, his voice barely audible, full of uncertainty. His head is pounding, as if the mere act of thinking is too much for him right now.

“Mr. Wayne,” Alfred explains in a patient tone, but the explanation doesn't clarify much for Billy. Who the hell is Bruce Wayne? The name tells him nothing, and the mention of “Mr.” only makes it sound more intimidating.

His eyes move around the room, registering the details slowly: the opulent surroundings, the furniture that looks too expensive to be real, the thick curtains blocking out the daylight. He's definitely not in a hospital, or anywhere familiar.

“Rest for now,” Alfred adds, his tone firm but not harsh. Then, with a softer touch, he asks, “What's your name, if I may know?”

Billy feels a lump in his throat, but manages to answer between gasps. “I'm... Billy. Billy Batson.” His voice is barely a trickle, and the last word makes him cough loudly, a gut-wrenching sound that shakes him to the bone.
Alfred sets the tray aside and rushes over, patting his back gently as Billy struggles to catch his breath. “Take it easy,” the butler says with a warmth that surprises Billy. “Take it easy.”

Billy finally regains control of his breathing, his chest still burning, but at least he can speak a little better. Before he could ask another question, the door opens again, and this time, a tall, imposing figure enters the room.

The man strides forward, his face partially visible in the dim light of the room. He wears an expensive suit, but his posture has an unmistakable authority, a mixture of confidence and stiffness. Billy looks at him with narrowed eyes, trying not to look as lost as he feels.

“How are you feeling?” asks Bruce Wayne, his voice deep but not aggressive.

Billy takes a moment to process the question, then shrugs with a wry grimace. “Like I got in a fight with a train...and the train won,” he mutters, his tone raspy but with a tinge of sarcasm he can't help.

Bruce doesn't smile, but there's a faint glint of recognition in his eyes, as if he understands the answer perfectly. He moves a little closer, stopping at the foot of the bed. “We found you passed out in an alley in Gotham. It wasn't a safe place for a guy like you.”
Billy frowns at the words, sarcasm returning to his faint voice. “I didn't know Gotham had safe places.”

Alfred stifles a faint smile, but Bruce remains serious. “You're right,” he admits, tilting his head slightly. “But you're in one now.”

Billy doesn't know whether to believe him. Everything about this man screams control and authority, and it makes him a little nervous. But he's too exhausted to argue, so he just nods slowly, letting the weight of his body sink him into the bed.

“Rest” Bruce says, his tone softer this time. “There'll be time for questions later.”

And with that, the man disappears along with Alfred, although Alfred says goodbye. After a few moments, he gets out of bed, hissing in pain as soon as he steps out of it, but he holds on and disconnects the wires while biting his lip, there are two windows, but they are locked.

So he decides to go to the front door, inhales, opening the door while holding his breath, releasing it when it is open, stepping out and closing it gently. 

The hallway he finds himself in seems endless, its walls adorned with antique portraits and furniture that looks like something out of a museum. Every step he takes feels like an echo too loud in the absolute silence. His heart pounds in his chest, not only from the exertion, but from the fear of being discovered.

When he reaches the end of the corridor, a fork stops him. He looks both ways, undecided. He has no idea which way to go, but opts for the right, following his instinct. He has barely gone a few meters when he hears a noise behind him.

He freezes.

“What are you doing?”

The voice is young, cold, and comes from behind him. Billy slowly turns around, coming face to face with a boy shorter than him. He's wearing a dark uniform with green and yellow accents, and his posture is rigid, as if he's ready to strike at any moment.

“Uh... What?” Billy tries to sound casual, but his nervous tone gives him away.

The boy looks at him with narrowed eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “You're running away” he states, his tone full of disdain.

Billy holds up his hands in a gesture of innocence. “I wouldn't say 'running away.' More like...stretching my legs.”

The young man raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “You don't look like you're in any condition to do anything but go back to bed. But I guess idiots never listen to reason.”

Billy frowns at the comment. “And who are you, exactly, the security guard for this place?”

“Damian Wayne,” the boy replies, his tone curt and full of pride. “And you're trespassing in my home. So I suggest you go back the way you came before I charge you like the bag of bones you look like.”

Billy blinks, surprised by the boy's attitude, and also by the name. Wayne. Sure, Alfred mentioned that name before, but it doesn't quite connect. “Your house?” Billy repeats, trying to buy some time.

“Yeah, my house,” Damian replies, taking a step closer. “And I don't think my father gave you permission to wander around here like you're some lost tourist.”

Billy holds up his hands in a gesture of innocence. “I wouldn't say 'running away.' More like...stretching my legs.”

Damian stares at him, and for a moment it looks like he's going to insist. But then his expression changes, a small spark of curiosity replacing his usual coldness. “You're weird,” he finally says. “But if you're really trying to escape, good luck. This mansion has more cameras and security traps than you can imagine, so your attempt to be stealthy really doesn't do much good.”

Before Billy can respond, Damian turns with a sharp movement and walks away, as if it's not worth further discussion. Billy watches him, confused, but shrugs it off as unimportant.

He moves forward at a brisk pace, ignoring the pain spreading from his legs to his chest. He finds a set of stairs leading down to the second floor and descends them with difficulty, each step a pang that threatens to knock him down, but he refuses to give in. Reaching the lobby, he sees the large front doors. Billy rushes toward them, but his hands barely touch the handles when a firm voice stops him.  

“Don't.”  

Billy freezes and slowly turns around. There stands the fucking Bruce Wayne, his imposing figure illuminated by the dim light of the lobby. Beside him, Alfred watches with a calm but alert expression. Beyond, Billy catches a glimpse of another man and the boy, Damian approaching from the far ends of the lobby.  

“What the hell do you want from me?” asks Billy, his voice cracking between frustration and despair. His gaze travels between the figures, searching for a way out that now seems impossible.  

“We don't want anything,” Bruce says, his tone controlled but with a touch of sternness. “We just want to help you.”  

Billy backs away, sticking to the doors. “I don't need help, I don't even know who you are!”  

The man next to damian steps forward, hands raised in a sign of peace. “Look, Billy, we understand. You're scared, confused. But walking out now isn't the smartest thing to do.”  

Damian crosses his arms, rolling his eyes, interrupting the other man “You're hurt, and walking out would be a suicidal act. But if you want to try your luck, go ahead.”  

Bruce shoots a glare at Damian, causing the boy to fall silent. Then he turns his attention back to Billy. “You don't have to trust us yet. But at least trust that we won't hurt you. No one here wants to hurt you.”  

Billy stands still, his body shaking from both exhaustion and tension. He looks at each of them, and sees only expressions of concern and exhaustion.  

Finally, Bruce steps forward, stopping at a respectful distance. “We won't force you to stay, Billy. But if you walk through those doors, you'll be on your own again. And believe me, that's not something you want right now.”  

Billy clenches his jaw, struggling with his instinct to run and the logic he knows makes sense. He lowers his gaze to his hands, still shaking, and finally removes it from the handles. “This doesn't mean I trust you,” she mutters, her voice raspy and full of resistance.  

Bruce nods, his expression unperturbed. “Understood.”  

The man steps forward, with a slight reassuring smile. “How about we get you to a more comfortable room? Maybe some tea will help you feel better.”  

Billy doesn't respond, but allows Bruce and the others to guide him back. As he goes along, the weight of the situation begins to sink on him. He's not sure he's made the right decision, but for now, it's the only thing he can do.  

Finally, they reach the living room, and Billy can't stop his jaw from tensing. The place is a monument to obscene wealth: high ceilings, crystal chandeliers, furniture that looks too expensive to even touch, and gold accents that reflect the light almost insultingly. It was larger and more opulent than he had ever seen in his life. It was almost as if it was designed to insult him

“Fuck, you're fucking rich, huh?” blurts out Billy, with a sneer tinged with resentment as he shoots a glare at Bruce.

Bruce doesn't respond. His face remains as unperturbed as ever, but Alfred, beside him, raises an eyebrow disapprovingly.

“Please, young Batson, moderate your language,” interjects the butler in his firm but polite tone.

Billy averts his gaze, frowning even more. 
 
The sound is clear and infectious, and it comes from the black-haired man next to Damian, who looks about to double over with laughter.

“Bat-son?” he repeats between laughs, barely able to breathe. “God, this is fate, isn't it? Black hair, blue eyes... Bat-son, this is too perfect.”

Billy feels his frown deepen so much that his face hurts. He looks at the man with a mixture of bewilderment and annoyance. “And you...you're who exactly?”

The man struggles to hold back one last laugh before straightening up and extending a hand toward him, still with an amused smile. “I'm Dick. Dick Grayson. Nice to meet you, Billy Bat-son,” he says, putting emphasis on the name as he lets out a restrained laugh.

Billy ignores the outstretched hand and shoots him a murderous glare. “Yeah, well, at least my name's not 'Dick'. It's a... curious name.”

Dick's smile disappears for a moment, and Damian gives a small smile from across the room. “I kind of like him,” Damian comments ”He's got guts, I can give him that”

Dick rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, muttering to himself. “Actually, it's Richard. But that's beside the point.”

Billy crosses his arms as well, keeping his gaze fixed on Dick for a second before letting out a snort. “So what, are you all family or something? Because honestly, you guys are giving me cult vibes.”

Damian raises an eyebrow, while Alfred makes a gesture to disguise a smile. Bruce, as usual, shows no reaction, watching Billy as if patiently waiting for him to drain his energy.

“Something like that,” Dick finally replies with a shrug, regaining his smile. “But don't worry, we don't have memberships or dues.”

Billy doesn't respond, he simply casts another disdainful glance at his surroundings, as if he can't stand being surrounded by so much wealth. “Right, because you clearly don't need any more money” he mutters sarcastically before plopping down in an armchair, ignoring the pain in his body.

“Do you always have to complain about everything?” says Damian in a dry, but not unchallenged tone.

Billy turns his head toward him, frowning. “Do you always have to be an arrogant brat?”

Before things can escalate, Dick steps forward, placing a hand on Damian's shoulder to rein him in. “Guys, calm down. This isn't a contest of who can be the most headstrong.”

Damian snorts, but says nothing more. Billy, for his part, seems to be evaluating his options. His gaze sweeps around the living room, pausing for a moment at the front door.

“You know what, I don't need this,” Billy says, jumping to his feet. The twinge of pain in his body makes him stagger for a second, but he steadies himself. “Thanks for...I don't know, whatever you're trying to do here, but I'm outta here.”

Bruce, who has been watching silently from a corner, steps forward. His voice is calm, but laden with authority. “Billy, I don't think this is a good idea. You're hurt and-”

“So what?, I don't need to be taken care of. I can handle myself, just like I always have,” Billy cuts him off, moving toward the door with determination.

Before he can get there, Dick steps in his way, holding up his hands in a gesture of calm. “Hold on, Billy. You don't have to do it this way. No one here is against you. We just want to help you.”

Billy looks at him suspiciously. “Help me, sure. As if you guys understand anything about my life. I'm just another problem for a bunch of bored rich people.”

“Hey, easy,” Dick says, keeping his tone relaxed. “I know it seems strange, but we're not here to judge you or impose anything on you. We just want to make sure you're okay.”

Billy tries to dodge him, but Dick keeps blocking his way with fluid movements, as if anticipating every attempt. “Let me out,” Billy demands, his frustration growing.

“If you really wanted to leave, you would have done it by now,” Bruce says from behind him, moving slowly forward. His voice is firm, but not aggressive. “What you're looking for isn't out there, Billy. Whatever it is that's tormenting you, you won't solve it by running away.”

Billy pauses, his jaw clenched. “What do you know about what I need?”

Before Bruce can respond, Damian lets out a low chuckle. “Don't be dramatic. If you want to leave so badly, go ahead. But you don't last five minutes before you get into more trouble.”

Billy turns to Damian with an expression of disbelief and fury. “And what do you know about what I've been through?”

Damian smirks, but Dick intervenes before the situation deteriorates further. “Billy, look,” he says, lowering his voice. “I know you don't trust us, and I don't blame you. But at least give us a chance. You don't have to stay forever. Just... one day. If after that you want to leave, no one will stop you.”

Billy squints, looking at Dick, then Bruce and finally Damian. Everything inside him tells him he should leave, that trusting them is a mistake. But something about Dick's sincerity makes him hesitate.

“One day,” he finally says, his tone defiant. “That's all you've got.”

Bruce nods with a slight nod. “One day is enough.”

“Maybe a tea will help soften their outlook,” he says calmly.

Billy watches the tea on the table with disinterest before letting out a heavy sigh. His eyes roam the group in front of him, pausing for a moment on each face. Finally, he stands up somewhat awkwardly, a twinge of pain coursing through his body.

“Where's the bathroom?” he asks, his tone curt.

Alfred, always impeccable in his response, points with one hand down a hallway. “Down the corridor, first door on the right.”

Billy nods without further ado and heads toward the indicated spot, feeling everyone's stares on his back. When he reaches the bathroom, he closes the door tightly and leans against it, letting out a long sigh.

“Okay, Billy, calm down,” he mutters to himself, bringing a hand to his face. “You just need to get out of here and get on with your life.”

He closed his eyes and, in a barely audible whisper, uttered:

“Shazam...”

He waited, holding his breath. Nothing-not a spark, not a sound, not the slightest sensation of energy coursing through his body.

He tried again, this time a little louder, though it was still a mumble:

“Shazam.”

The silence of the bathroom seemed to mock him. Fear began to seep into the crevices of his mind. He straightened up, hands clenched into fists, and tried once more, this time with a hint of urgency in his tone:

“Shazam!”

Nothing.

Billy hit the edge of the sink with both hands, the noise echoing in the small space. His frustration and fear mingled in a suffocating sensation. He gritted his teeth and, now desperate, turned toward the ceiling as if expecting the thunder to answer his call.

“SHAZAM!”

The echo of his shout filled the bathroom, but the power still did not manifest. Billy gasped, feeling a lump in his throat. Something was wrong, terribly wrong.

A knock on the door made him gasp.

“Hey, Batson!” It was Dick's voice, clearly concerned. “Are you all right in there? I heard a scream.”

Billy swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure. “I'm fine. I just...slipped,” he improvised, hoping Dick would believe his excuse.

“Sure...” replied Dick, though his tone made it clear he wasn't convinced. “Open the door, will you? Just to make sure you didn't break something.”

Billy stared at the door, his thoughts racing a mile a minute. There was no point in staying locked in any longer; his little experiment had failed. He took a deep breath and turned the deadbolt, opening the door slowly.

Dick stood right in front of him, with a look of mixed curiosity and concern. “What happened, really, are you sure you're okay?”

Billy sidestepped him, walking into the hallway without answering right away. “I'm fine,” he said at last, his tone dry, though his stiff posture betrayed otherwise.

Dick wasn't fooled. He walked after him, keeping a relaxed pace but with his eyes fixed on the boy. “Look, I understand this is all weird for you, but if you need to talk...or yell less, you can do it without locking yourself in a bathroom.”

Billy glared at him, but didn't respond. He just wanted to get away from that mansion, from all that opulence, and now from a Dick who seemed too nosy. What bothered him most, however, was something he couldn't share: his connection to the ray seemed to have disappeared, and he didn't know why.

Billy leaned against the bathroom door, his shoulders tense as he tried to calm his breathing. But he couldn't. The feeling of emptiness, of disconnection from something that had become his anchor, consumed him. He closed his eyes tightly, as if that could block out reality.

On the other side of the door, Dick frowned. “Kid? Are you okay?”

Silence was his only response.

Billy clicked his tongue, frustrated. Barely a murmur escaped his lips, laden with irony and desperation, “I need a cigarette.”

But his words did not go unnoticed.

“What did you just say?” asked Dick, disbelief in his voice.

Billy looked up, meeting the reflection of his own face in the mirror. He looked tired, more so than he should, with dark circles under his eyes marking his pale skin. “Isn't that what grown-ups do when everything goes to hell?” he spat, crossing his arms as he tried to hide the trembling in his hands.

Dick looked at him with a mixture of surprise and seriousness. “First of all, no. Second, where did you get that from? And third...you're not even of age.”

Billy shrugged, though his movements were stiff, tense. “Who cares, none of this matters anyway.”

Not after this, not after his horrible discovery. And for a second, he wished this was a dream too.

Chapter 2: Felines, who understands them?

Notes:

Probably no one is interested? But there's tomorrow, and then there's my birthday - how quickly time flies!
(If you were notified with an actualization, sorry, is just me, I change the date to 02/05 ha)

Billy wasn't lying when he said he needed a cigarette. Saying it was easier than doing it, especially when his powers seemed to have faded and he was stuck in a luxury mansion with millionaire people.

Not that the situation was all that unpleasant, really. Billy didn't want to admit it, but... it wasn't that bad. And just the same, he could take the opportunity to take something of value and sell it, it's not like these rich people were going to notice anything missing.

He shook his head, trying to focus and follow Dick (ha, Dick) Grayson. Even though the guy kept babbling, Billy wasn't even trying to listen. He walked behind him, sore and tired, until they reached a room. 

Billy gave Dick a small smile, raising an eyebrow. "What, now they're going to keep me locked up in here? What happened to all that talk about wanting to help me?"

Dick scowled at him, giving an indignant shout "What, of course we would not-!"

"Calm down, Dick, I'm just messing with you," Billy said with a smirk, enjoying the man's annoyed expression.

"Anyway, Bat-son," Dick continued, his smile forced, and Billy stuck his tongue out at him in response. "This is your new room. We can get your stuff after you get some rest."

Billy shrugged. "I don't have anything...I....My stuff burned a few…days ago."

It was a lie, of course. But who was going to find out? It wasn't the worst lie he'd ever told. It's not like he wanted them to know he only had two pairs of change of clothes and some dirty, worn-out blankets. No thanks.

Dick stopped looking at him with irritation and watched him with a mixture of pity and understanding. Billy hated that look. That "poor lost boy" look. 

Without thinking, he pushed Dick out of the room. "Well, you know, I'm a big boy. I can get to know my room on my own. I'm exhausted, so...goodbye, Dickhead."

Dick's indignant shout was heard from behind the door, but Billy didn't mind in the least. He was finally alone. In a huge room. Too big for him. Too empty.

Before, even if the people around him were dangerous, at least he'd had company. Now there was only silence. A lonely, horrible silence.

It was then that he heard the knock on the window. A sound that made him jump, but he quickly calmed down. It couldn't be anyone. He was on the second floor. No one human could knock on that window, unless... they weren't human.

Snorting in annoyance, he walked over to the window. He flung it open, and his face lit up at the sight of the little feline.  "Tawky Tawny!" he exclaimed with a grin. The cat meowed and jumped toward him, landing softly on his shoulder.

Billy petted the cat's head, relieved. "How did you know I was here?" he muttered, then laughed at himself. "Well, you're magic. Stupid question."

Tawky Tawny purred, as if agreeing with him. Billy sighed, relieved, at least he still had his feline companion. He carefully lifted him off his shoulder and pulled him closer to the bed, placing him next to him.

"Hey, buddy," Billy murmured, stroking the cat's soft mane. "Something's going on with my powers, do you know anything about that?"

Tawky Tawny meowed disapprovingly and shook his head, making some gestures with his paws that Billy could barely understand. The boy let out a bitter laugh. "Sorry, buddy. Without Solomon here... I guess I'm a little useless at understanding you."

The feline growled in irritation before raising a paw and pressing against his chest.

Billy frowned. "My chest?"

Another meow, this time more gruff. Definitely a "no." Tawky Tawny pressed his chest again, more insistent. Billy tilted his head, with a lopsided grin. "Oh, I see, is that some kind of metaphor? My heart? Are my powers connected to my heart or something?"

The cat meowed with satisfaction.

Billy clicked his tongue. "Pff, I was just guessing." He plopped down on the bed with his arms outstretched. "Although...it doesn't make sense. How's my heart supposed to-?"

"I choose you, Billy Batson, because you are pure of heart, the only worthy champion."

Solomon's words echoed in his head. Billy grimaced and averted his gaze, fiddling with the laces of his sweatshirt. "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

Tawky Tawny merely licked a paw.

Billy frowned. "Hey, for the record, I'm still good at heart. I help people, you know?"

The cat continued to lick his paw, seemingly indifferent.

Billy sighed and covered his eyes with one arm. "...Good. Maybe not so good."

If he thought about it, maybe he'd tricked some cops and locked them up, maybe he'd stolen food, maybe he'd taken money that wasn't his, and maybe he'd taken a replica of a batboomerang from one of his buddies at the orphanage, which he then sold.

Maybe…

Billy let out a frustrated groan as he sunk his face into the bed. When he finally looked up, he saw the feline looking down at him with an expression that almost resembled a smile.

"Well, okay, maybe... I haven't been that pure of heart," Billy admitted reluctantly. "But that's never been a problem before!"

The cat let out another meow, and Billy frowned. "You know, if I could speak 'cat,' I'd understand your meowing, but all I get is that, most likely, you're making fun of me."

This time, the cat let out a happy meow that, most likely, meant a 'yes'

Billy lay there for a few minutes, deep in thought. Was that it? Had he failed as a champion?

 Was he worth so little...?

He shook his head and sat up with a jolt, which brought a groan and a shudder to his aching body. He grunted before turning to Tawky Tawny, who was lying comfortably beside him.

"Hey, I've been thinking about it for a few minutes, but..." he said, pausing before continuing. "Why can't you talk? I remember you talking or shapeshifting. Not that I want you to shapeshift, but talking would be a little better."

Tawky Tawny gave little meow, and Billy sighed "I don't know why I'm asking, it's not like you're really going to tell me, or talk"

 

---

Twenty-four hours had passed since Captain Marvel's last appearance. Although his unpredictable nature, with his constant coming and going, always with a smile, were not usually a cause for concern, there was one thing he always did: answer his communicator.

Now, no message had been answered.

When Bruce attempted to track the communicator's signal, a task that took hours due to the location protection measures he had implemented, he discovered it was in Gotham. Upon investigating, he found it abandoned near the alley where he had found the boy, Billy.

The communicator also had traces of blood on it. And that was worrying - could Marvel bleed? Bruce had always thought he was some kind of god, similar to Diana. Maybe he wasn't so indestructible.

Or maybe it happen to Marvel something worse.

"Batman here," he said over the communicator. "I found Captain Marvel's communicator with traces of blood on it. If any of you saw it the day before yesterday, report it. Batman out."

Notes:

Blatant spam, haha. (Pass on this if you wish, no obligation whatsoever!)
I recently dared to post my art, if you wish to support me, you can look me up on TikTok; usernotfoundmi00.
Thanks for reading, Bye!

Chapter 3: Older than me? I don’t think so.

Notes:

I want to clarify something, my version of (in appareance, just a little) Billy is also somewhat based on "Superman/Shazam: The Return of Black Adam."

Happy valentine too ;)

He doesn't know at what point he fell asleep, but he did. When he wakes up, the clock next to his bed reads 12 A.M. 

Although he didn't get much sleep, his body feels much more relaxed than before. He gets up sleepily; Tawky Tawny is gone, and the open window indicates that he has left, probably to do something more interesting.

He shrugs and sits on the bed, feeling definitely bored. The only way to entertain himself is to leave the room or jump out the window. It's nighttime, so the second option sounds much better.

So he makes up his mind and goes out. No sooner does he take a step out of the room than a scream escapes his throat as he is pushed against a nearby wall. When his anxiety subsides, he realizes that the one who has hit him is the dark-haired boy, Damien, with a murderous look that seems to pierce him.

Damien looks at him with an expression so intense it seems to pierce him.

"I....?" stammers Billy, trying to take a step back, but that minimal movement only seems to infuriate the boy even more.

"What do you really want?" says Damien bluntly, his voice hard and determined "Father allow you to stay here, but I know your kind."

Billy frowns, confused yet irritated. "Ah, what kind are you talking about?" he growls, taking a step forward that knocks Damien back.

The dark-haired boy crosses his arms haughtily and replies in a firm voice, "You want to replace me, dont you?"

A tense silence settles between the two as Billy, still perplexed, frowns even more. "Replace you...?" he mutters, letting the word echo in his mind.

Suddenly, Damien kicks the ground hard and, with an angry look, says "Don't lie! You want to be Robin, don't you? Well, I won't let you."

The words hit Billy like a slap in the face; the words “You want to be Robin” rumbles in his head over and over again, each repetition more strident than the last.

Then, he understands.

"For fuck's sake Superman, you are Robin?!" he sputters, pointing at the boy, who unhesitatingly slaps his hand.

"Don't play dumb, everyone who adopts father knows I'm Robin" replies Damien disdainfully.

Billy, incredulous, raises his voice "And that millionaire is Batman?!" he shouts, but Damien hisses at him to shut up.

The atmosphere is charged with tension as the boy, his eyes full of pent-up anger, exclaims, "Tell me! Why do you want to take Robin's mantle away from me!"

The fury in Damien's gaze increases with every second, and Billy feels his own emotions fluctuate between confusion and amusement. Finally, Billy snorts out a nervous laugh and says "Do you think... I want to be Robin?" he chuckles "God kid..."

Damien rudely interrupts him "I'm older than you!"

Billy gives him a wry smile "Sure, how old are you?"

Silence again as Damien hesitates for a moment. Then, in a low voice, he mutters "twelve."

Billy arches an eyebrow and can't help but let out a laugh. "My God, you scared me enough, you little devil!" he scoffs, as Damien frowns, clearly not finding the comment funny.

The dark-haired man, maintaining a serious tone, asks haltingly, "And you, supposedly older boy, how old are you?"

With a smug, confident smile, Billy replies, "Fourteen."

Damien stares at him and, with a tone that mixes astonishment and mockery, replies, "That's only two year older than me."

Billy laughs again, but adds with some mischief, "But is still older."

Damien rolls his eyes, and as the tension momentarily dissipates, Billy continues; "Hey...were you an idiot earlier because you thought I was going to try to replace you?" The question, laden with irony, slips into the air despite the obviousness in the answer.

The boy shrugs and nods, though his gesture seems forced, as if admitting it would be humiliating for him.

"Pff, kid," Billy scoffs, resting a hand on Damien's shoulder, "I don't want... to have anything to do with Robin, I don't... like anything to do with heroes" Liar. "I'm... just a coward, you know, so don't worry because no one will steal Robin from you."

Liar, liar, liar

Damien seems to relax with those words, and Billy feels that, at least for an instant, something annoying has disappeared. However, a new feeling begins to grow.

"Well, I hope you stop being a jerk," Billy says, shrugging his shoulders with a mixture of resignation and amusement. "So, your dad's Batman?!"

The question echoes in the air, and before Billy can continue, Damien silences him again, angrily.

 

---

 

"Captain Marvel, respond." Superman's voice echoed in the room, firm but with a tinge of concern. He had been one of many who had tried to contact the captain, but each attempt went unanswered. Not even the messages were read.

Then, Batman's voice reached the Watchtower.

"Batman here," he announced in a low tone. "I found Captain Marvel's communicator. There are traces of blood. If any of you saw him two days ago, report it immediately. Batman out."

The message landed like a bucket of cold water. The room fell into a tense silence as the heroes exchanged glances.

"How is it possible...?" muttered Flash, breaking the silence. "I thought Marvel had no weaknesses!"

Wonder Woman crossed her arms, her expression hardening. "The children of Zeus aren't easy to take down, but..." She paused for a moment, assessing the possibilities. "If they attacked his power source, or if he went up against someone of his own caliber, things could get complicated."

Green Lantern nodded with a frown. "But we're talking about someone with magic, right?"

Diana nodded. "That's most likely."

"Which means," Green Lantern continued, "that it could have been anything... and we won't know until we have more information, but-"

"But one of our strongest fellow heroes has fallen," Batman interrupted, emerging from the shadows.

The others were silent. The gravity in their words was undeniable.

"Or maybe," Batman continued, his tone imposing, "Marvel hurt someone."

He turned to one of the computers and, with a few commands, projected a recording onto the main screen.

"I did some searching before I came," he explained, not taking his eyes off the image. "Several recent recordings and reports show the Captain causing destruction."

The images spoke for themselves. On the screen, Shazam appeared reducing buildings to rubble. Not in Metropolis, not in Gotham, but in different countries, where local heroes had been forced to intervene.

Those present watched the footage in disbelief. Flash folded his arms, shaking his head. "That doesn't make sense. That's not their style. Marvel sometimes even cried when he stepped on a Butterfly."

"The clear question here is," Batman said, his gaze sharp as a razor, "why?"

And clearly, no one had an answer for that.

Notes:

Sorry if this is slightly out of character on Damien's part.
But I think I handled it a bit well.

I know Billy can come across as a bit unfriendly, but I also love that in his Captain Marvel form he talks a lot, so clearly Billy is like that too.
I think the only thing about the movie that I didn't like (the live action) is Billy being too much of an outsider to Captain Marvel. I hope I'm not doing that too ;(.

Not my favorite chapter!!!, but for the sake of advancing the plot, I had to do it, sorry in advance for any mistakes in translation.

Chapter 4: Entre ojos azules y cabello negro.

Notes:

English is not my first language
I also started classes recently so I'll probably be busy for a while longer to be able to update this and my other stories.

Any advice? Don't post too many stories at once, sometimes I get my ideas mixed up🥲

Surprisingly enough (and he barely believes it himself, which is kind of ironic), Damian—if he remembered the boy’s name right—was a lot less insufferable after that little ambush.

Damian refused to answer any questions about Batman once he realized that he would have revealed to Billy that he was Robin and Bruce Wayne was Batman.

Who were the other heroes?

“And this is Alfred, the cat,” Damian said, interrupting his thoughts.

Billy looked at the black feline with small white spots. He wondered if he should pet it; he tried to reach out a hand, but the cat growled at him. He decided not to tempt fate and avoid a scratch.

“Don’t worry, Alfred isn’t always friendly to new people,” Damian commented with a shrug.

“Are you trying to comfort me because the cat doesn’t like me?” Billy mocked, and Damian shot him a dirty look.

“No, why are you wearing the same clothes as yesterday?” The dark-haired boy gave a smug smile. “Don’t you have any more?”

Billy rolled his eyes. “I don’t have as much as a stuck-up rich kid like you,” he replied, pointing at him.

“Too bad, don’t think I’ll lend you any of my clothes.”

“Who would want a kid’s clothes?!”

“I’m not a kid!”

“You’re twelve”

“And you’re only fourteen!”

They looked like they were about to lunge at each other when someone pulled them apart by placing a hand on both of their faces.

“Hey, brats, I want to sleep,” a deep voice growled. Billy slapped the intruder’s hand away.

“This is none of your business, Todd,” Damian growled.

The black-haired man with white streaks frowned. “It’s none of my business?” ‘Todd’ crossed his arms. “If B decides to give you another little brother, that’s my business.”

“And you are?” Billy looked him up and down.

“Jason Todd,” the man replied with a lopsided grin.

Damian stepped in, crossing his arms. “You shouldn’t be here, Todd..”

“Relax, you little demon,” Jason replied. “I just came to see the new tenant Birdie told me about.”

Billy felt the tension in the room rise. “Well, nice to meet you, Jason,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m Billy.”

“I know,” Jason replied, his gaze piercing. “Watch your back in this house. You never know who might be watching.”

With those words, Jason turned and walked out of the room, leaving Billy and Damian in an awkward silence.

“You’re all so weird,” Billy muttered, he wanted to meet Batman, but he didn’t expect him to be Batman, a little disappointing to be honest.

“And you’re the one to talk.”

“Shh..” Billy hushed, making a shushing gesture. “I hear a small, annoying voice.”

“Do you have brain damage?” Damian growled, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh..there it is again.”

Damian frowned angrily, and Billy just shrugged. “Hey you know..respect your elders-“

.

“He started it!” Damian growled, pointing accusingly at Billy.

“That’s a lie!” Billy retorted, pressing the ice pack against his cheek. Damian’s blow hadn’t been serious, but it was enough to hurt.

Alfred sighed, exasperated, as he handed another ice pack to Damian. “It doesn’t matter who did it, you two shouldn’t be hitting each other,” he said firmly, but without losing his usual composure.

Billy shrugged. Truth be told, he didn't mind fighting Damian too much; the kid was unbearable. However, he wouldn't be in this situation if he could help it.

Still, there was something that was nagging at him.

Ever since he arrived at Wayne Manor, he hadn't stopped thinking about the possibility of using Batman's technology to find his mother.

He didn't want to be an intruder. He respected Batman, he really did. But if there was a chance, no matter how small, he couldn't pass it up.

 

---

 

“Lucky B!” Jason scoffs as he takes a sip of coffee. “Dark hair, blue eyes, and a little sarcastic… seems like a requirement to get into the family.”

Dick sighs, crossing his arms. “What worries me is that Damian could be jealous.”

“Oh, he is jealous,” Jason replies with amusement, leaning against the counter with a smirk.

Dick glares at him. “You’re not helping, Jason.”

“What are brothers for?” Jason retorts, patting him on the back before returning to his coffee.

“He reminds me a little of you,” Dick says, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. “I know I wasn’t the best… half-brother you could have at the time, but it makes me think of when you first got here. Untrusting, always on the defensive, and honestly, too thin for your own good.”

Jason rolls his eyes, but doesn’t refute anything. Instead, he crosses his arms and leans back against the table. “Give him a few months and he’ll get used to it.”

“Hmm.”

“So there will be three Robins now?”

Dick shrugs. “I don’t think so. The kid doesn’t look like he wants to be Robin, or cares much about associating with us.”

Jason lets out a dry laugh. “That sounds familiar.”

Dick nods with a lopsided smile. “Yeah… he does look a bit like Damian too.”

Notes:

I'm so sorry this is sooo short, but I felt bad about myself for not posting more of this story ;(.

Don't take Jason seriously, he's a fool who enjoys annoying others.

I really want both of them (Damian and Billy) to basically have the attitude of the kids they are, so I made them annoying each other haha.

Don't get comfortable with these chapters...I promise there will be angst very soon ;D

Chapter 5: Its me, Billy.

Notes:

English is not my first language, I regret any mistakes.

Billy didn't expect that waking up after a good night's sleep would mean finding a spoiled brat standing in front of him, that signature smirk plastered across his face.

He rubs his eyes in annoyance, trying to shake off the last traces of sleep. "What do you want, creepy kid?"

Damian frowns at the nickname, clearly irritated, but doesn't respond. Instead, he whips a hand out from behind his back… and with it—

His notebook?!

Billy bolts upright, anger immediately replacing any trace of sleepiness. "What are you doing with my notebook?!" he growls furiously, taking a step toward him.

Damian ignores him completely, calmly flipping through a page. "Are you looking for your mom?" he asks bluntly, not bothering to look up.

Billy freezes. "What's that to you?"

Damian shrugs. “You know, after so many name mistakes, wouldn't you want help?”

“Why would I want help from a nine-year-old?”

“Stop that!” Damian complains. “Drake helped me find your mother yesterday. You… couldn't find her because she changed her name to her maiden name.” He says, passing him the notebook along with a piece of paper.

There it is, an address.

“It's far from here, but…”

As soon as he hears Damian's voice, Billy throws himself into his red jacket without a second thought. His fingers tremble as he pulls it up to his collar, and as soon as the paper with the address is safely in his pocket, he runs for the mansion door, ignoring any voices behind him.

He rushes out, his lungs burning with excitement more than exertion. His body aches, every step reminding him that he's still recovering, but none of that matters. Not now. Not when he's so close.

He runs with everything he has, the wind in his face, his heart pounding, and his eyes fixed on the address written in rough but legible handwriting. It's still far away, but he keeps moving forward. He can't. He doesn't want to.

He's almost there. He's close. And for the first time in a long time, he feels like he's running toward something... not running away from everything.

 

---

 

When he arrives, it's a rough, dirty, and barely pleasing building. He checks the paper several times to make sure it's the right building. With his heart in his mouth and inches from the door where his mother lives, he summons all the willpower he can and knocks.

The wait feels like an eternity. Billy clutches the crumpled paper between his sweaty fingers, feeling his heart pounding so hard it feels like it's about to burst through his chest.

For a second, he wants to run. To flee before anyone opens it. Before the answer to everything he's been searching for reaches him.

But he doesn't.

The door creaks open, and a woman appears. Her hair is tied haphazardly, she's wearing a baggy T-shirt, and she has a tired look. Billy recognizes her eyes immediately. They're his. They're the ones he remembers seeing when he was younger.

She blinks. "Can I help you?"

For a moment, Billy doesn't know what to say. Everything sticks in his throat. Until, almost in a whisper, he manages to say:

"It's me. Billy."

The woman remains silent. She looks at him. She examines him from head to toe, as if trying to decipher whether what she's seeing is real or just a ghost from the past.

"Billy..." she repeats, and there's something strange in her voice. It's not surprise. It's not excitement. It's... discomfort.

And in that moment, he feels the weight of all the years of searching fall on his shoulders.

"I'm sorry I missed you that day, but I was looking for you," he says, his voice almost breaking. “For years.”

She looks away. She sighs. And then she says it, carefully, as if the words were a burden:

“Billy… I didn’t lose you,” his mother replies, but there’s no sadness in her eyes. “When I saw you with those people… I thought it was for the best. I was seventeen, alone. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted them to take care of you better than I could.”

Billy feels as if the floor has fallen away from under him. The image he’d built in his head, that fantasy where his mother was looking for him, where she loved him, where she’d lost him by accident… crumbles.

“So… you didn’t look for me?” he asks. Not with anger. Just with a pain so great it barely comes out in a whisper.

She looks into his eyes. “No.”

Billy nods slowly. He presses his lips together. He wants to scream, to cry, to disappear. But instead, he just takes a step back.

“I just wanted to know you were okay,” he murmurs. “That was all.”

And he leaves.

Without looking back.

 

---

 

He walks alone through the streets of Fawcett, with the strange feeling of being in a familiar place that no longer feels like his own. After days of staring alone at the endless hallways of a Gotham mansion, the city seems almost alien.

He has nowhere else to go. And though a part of him thinks about returning to that family—the Waynes—he doesn't know if he'd fit in, if he truly belongs there.

Why go back?

He sighs, resigned. The sun is almost setting, tinting the sky orange and letting the cold settle into his aching bones. Everything hurts: his body, his head, his chest. But still, he makes a decision.

He didn't think he'd be in this situation again. Standing in front of a door. Hesitating. Even more so now that he knows what to expect on the other side.

He takes a deep breath. And forces himself to raise his hand.

"Welcome, Young Billy," says the butler, Alfred, without judgment, just a soft voice and a warm gaze. "I'll make you something hot."

Notes:

It's been a while! But the long weekend gave me time to update my stories ;)

It's not my favorite chapter, but I wanted to move forward with this part. I didn't know how to make it really work, so I did what I could. The anxiety is coming soon, friends!

Chapter 6: Say it loud, ¡Shazam!

Notes:

Wow, its been a while. A loong loong time. English is not my first Language. Sorry for any mistakes!

Dick's footsteps echoed loudly in the room, a rapid pace that betrayed his frustration. He paced back and forth, as if unable to stay still, his gaze fixed on Billy, who stood with his arms crossed, fighting to control a trembling lip.

The soup Alfred had made for him had barely been touched by Billy, slowly cooling as the footsteps echoed.

The others had left. Damian had peeked up the stairs before fleeing upstairs. Another man, also with black hair and blue eyes (Billy wonders why there are so many with black hair and blue eyes), who looked a bit older than him, stalked past, probably preferring anything else than to be there. And 'Todd' barely even stalked past.

In the end, it was just the three of them left: Dick, Alfred, and him.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Dick's voice came out reproachfully, but also with urgency. "Running away like that? Knowing you're hurt? You could have hurt yourself even more."

Billy wanted to respond, to explain, but he barely managed to open his mouth.

"No!" Dick interrupted him firmly, "We're being nice to you, giving you your space, giving you time to adjust... and the first thing you do is run away?"

Before the tension could grow any further, a deep, measured, and calm voice interrupted Dick.

"Master Dick," Alfred said with his usual serenity, placing a hand on Dick's shoulder. "Patience is an art that isn't always easily mastered, but it's far more powerful than anger. There's no need to be so harsh."

Dick let out a heavy sigh, as if those words anchored him to reason, although his brow remained furrowed in annoyance.

Billy took advantage of that respite to speak, with a mixture of pain and defiance in his voice.

“So what? Did you think giving me a few nice words and ‘playing family’ would be enough to make me throw myself into your arms? To make me suddenly want to be another Robin or whatever it is you do?” He pointed accusingly at Dick. “I don’t need you. I didn’t need you when I was living on the streets, and I don’t need you now.”

The silence grew thick, heavy, like a slab crushing the air between them.

Dick took a step forward. “So why did you come back?”

Billy felt his chest tighten. Tears stung his eyes, and breathing became difficult. He tried to breathe, wanted to say something, but all that came out was a lump in his throat.

“Well,” he finally murmured, his voice breaking, his pride shattered, “if they didn't want me here, they could have said so from the start. And I would have found another hole in the street to live in.” Without waiting any longer, he turned on his heels and started up the stairs, his steps quick and determined, tears burning in his eyes.

.

“Are we really sure what Marvel is?” Wonder Woman questions, arms crossed. “This isn't the first time they've controlled one of us, or pretended to be one of us.” She points to the screen, where the supposed Captain Marvel is destroying buildings. “Can we really say Marvel is doing this?”

The room falls silent, everyone looking at each other as they analyze the video.

“Even if you're right,” Batman finally speaks. “Our duty is to go see why and what's going on.” The image enlarges, paused among the ruins of the city. “Mind control, copycat, or the real Marvel, we must stop this now.”

.

Billy sobs, locked in the bathroom.

“I… I left you.”

His mother’s words echo, like a cruel sword digging deeper and deeper into his chest. He rummages in his pockets and finds the small compass that Oh Mother had won for him so long ago.

What good is it now? He hiccups between sobs.

“I didn’t want to find you.”

What good was it to keep this stupid compass all these years? It was just a gift without love, without affection. From her, from his mother. From the one who left him because she wanted to, not by accident.

Perhaps that’s what hurts the most.

“What good is…” he gasps, hyperventilating through his tears, “being good at heart?” He sobs. “For what purpose?”

He buries his face in his hands, seeking solace within himself. He doesn't even have Tawky Tawny to keep him company. He doesn't have Solomon, and he doesn't have Captain Marvel either.

He has nothing, absolutely nothing.

He grits his teeth, glaring at the compass before throwing it onto the bathroom floor. A crunch is heard, indicating that the compass has broken.

He doesn't care. He doesn't want it back either.

He…he doesn't-

He wishes things were different. He wishes he'd never run into the Waynes. Never spoken to Damian, to Dick, to any of them. Lived in blissful ignorance while he continued searching for his mom.

Things were so much simpler.

But of course, that's not how his life works.

"Of course not, young Billy," whispers that voice, that old and wise voice. "But every hero finds something to fight for. Even in their worst moments."

"Solomon?" he asks, his voice cracking, looking up into nothingness. Sometimes he forgets that Solomon can't be seen; he's just standing next to him with his voice. "I thought I'd lost you!"

A laugh is his answer. "Of course not, young Billy, but almost."

"What? Why?" he asks uneasily.

The world around him fractures, the gold falling like tiny stars around him. He sees a clock on one of the bathroom walls, changing to the symbols he already knows.

“You’ll know soon enough, young Billy, just wait a little longer,” Solomon says. The boy quickly wipes his face as best he can with his sweatshirt.

He stands up slowly, heading for the bathroom door, which is shining brightly, almost breaking. He presses his lips into a line before reaching for the doorknob.

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

“Of course I am,” he answers confidently. He has nothing to go back to. Not really. The door slowly opens, and there, along with a sigh of relief from Billy, is the Rock of Eternity.

“I wouldn’t be so relieved.” As quickly as Solomon utters those words, the floor beneath Billy cracks, causing him to flee straight to the entrance of the Rock of Eternity.

“What…” he gasps, trying to catch his breath, “what’s going on?” He looks around, and the place looks... very ruined. More so than it already was.

“Without our champion, the Rock of Eternity has been vulnerable, Billy Batson.”

Billy frowns. “It wasn't because I wanted to! My powers stopped working strangely.”

“I know that, Young Billy,” and if Billy could, he'd frown even more at Solomon. “Something's attacking the champion. Someone really smart. Without the champion, everything falls apart.”

“Oh,” Billy says, pacing in circles. “Black Adam, I suppose? He's the only one I can think of.”

“No,” Solomon replies tersely. “Unfortunately, Young Billy, it's not Black Adam. It's Sabbac.”

Billy is silent for a few seconds, before shouting, “Sabbac?!”

“I know you don't know who that is, Billy.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “At least I try to pretend I do.” He rebuts, “Who is this Sabbac, anyway?”

Silence returns, and Billy knows it’s bad news when it’s Solomon who remains silent. He opens his mouth to insist, but the ground shakes. Billy’s eyes perceive a dark shadow surrounding the core of the Rock of Eternity.

“Solomon,” he whispers, backing away as best he can as the world shakes. “Solomon!”

“Shazam, kid,” Solomon replies, “Say Shazam.”

“It won’t work!” Billy retorts, terrified.

“It will,” Solomon insists. “If you want to get out alive, you have to trust that it will work.”

Dust begins to fall, along with pieces of pebbles as the Rock of Eternity begins to fracture. “Sha-!” He barely utters, nervously.

He clenches his hands into fists, and although he’s scared, he finally utters the phrase: “Shazam!”

Notes:

I wanted to do a slightly longer update with more progress, as an apology for updating and then disappearing for 3,000 years haha.
Has Billy transformed into Shazam? Who is Sabbac? Find out in the next episode! (I hope to release it soon 😭)

And I know Dick's a bit of an idiot here. However, for me, I know Dick is slightly temperamental; sometimes he can say things he doesn't really mean to say them that way. Why would a sympathetic character? Let him screw up and then fix his mistake (or try to).

Chapter 7

Notes:

English isn't my first language. Sorry for any mistakes or confusion. The translator often messes up the meaning of things ;(

“Shazam!”

The ground beneath him twists and cracks until dust mingles with the earth, and from the smoke, a child emerges.

Coughing, Billy falls to his knees, clutching his stomach tightly. Solomon was right. Something is attacking his Captain Marvel form, his magic, because he barely uttered the words that should have transformed him, and he feels incredibly dizzy.

His mouth tastes of iron, of blood, he supposes, but it could be many things. He staggers as he tries to crawl across the floor, collapsing like a dead weight.

He's not in Fawcett. He's in Gotham, with its cold, sinister streets. He wants to scream for help, but he doesn't know if it will help or make things worse. He only knows that a dark shadow is approaching, and that the world is going black.

 

---

 

“Attacks have been reported by the former superhero, Captain Marvel. The Justice League has declined to comment, but it has been theorized that Marvel has switched sides. The citizens of Fawcett are terrified that their once beloved hero might harm them….”

---

“Billy Batson,” they whisper, and if Billy could, he’d punch him. But since Solomon is just a voice in his head, there’s no point in trying.

“Solomon…?” he says slowly. He feels like he’s been run over by a truck. Everything is dark, probably because his eyes are closed. Although he tries to open them, they seem to have been glued shut.

There’s a short pause before Solomon speaks, “Oh, young Billy. This is much worse than I thought.”

The boy groans, trying to open his eyes again. “What…?” he stammers.

“Remember what Tawky Tawny told you?”

Billy shrugs. “Huh? That I’m not good at heart anymore?”

“Well, that’s not really what he meant,” Solomon mutters. “It’s not that you’ve stopped being good at heart. It’s that you need to start believing you are.”

Billy mocks “Look, Solomon, you might think this is crazy, but I have pretty high self-esteem, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I wouldn’t say the same,” Solomon replies, and if Billy could, he’d roll his eyes. “A champion can have his moments of weakness, young Batson. But he can’t get stuck. You should start working on your problems. With that confidence, Sabbac won’t have so much power over you, and you’ll be back…”

“Will I be able to transform again?”

“You’ll be Captain Marvel again, Billy…”

“Batson!” Someone yell, a little too close for his liking. And as if by magic (probably, who knows) his eyes finally open. Beside him is Damian, with his usual pleasant expression.

“Oh,” he says, noticing the bandages on his abdomen, “what happened?”

Damian raises an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you know?” He points at him. “You’re the one who ran away and then ended up in the street in a pool of blood. Again.”

Billy squints for a moment, wondering if it would be wise to hit Damian. “I lost my memory.”

“Liar,” Damian says, rolling his eyes. “Dad wanted to talk to you, but you woke up too late.”

“Oh.”

“Why didn’t you go with your mother?” Damian asks, and Billy tells himself he has to be kind.

“She wasn’t there when I went to her house,” he murmurs. “I’ll go another day.”

Damian raises an eyebrow, and he simply looks away. The door to what he now recognizes as his supposed room opens, revealing a dark-haired man with a white streak. Jason, if his memory serves him right.

“Hey kid, you’ve been sleeping in too long. Shall we go outside?”

Notes:

Ugh. I didn't notice I hadn't updated since July! I'm so sorry. And I'm sorry it's so, so short. But I really didn't want to leave it unupdated. :(

This chapter is very lazy, as usual. Anyway, classes are finally over, so I'll start working on this fic. 🧑‍💻

Chapter 8: Shout until they hear you

Notes:

English is not my first language. Sorry for any mistakes.

Apparently (according to Dr. Damian, though he probably just repeated what he hear about the diagnosis), Billy miraculously didn't have injuries serious enough to prevent him from walking. But as a precaution, it was recommended that he must use a wheelchair for at least two days after waking up.

To Billy, frankly, it seemed like a stupid idea. But since he could barely move a muscle without pain all over, he decided that resigning himself and accepting his fate was the wisest course of action.

Now, if he could avoid being around this Jason Todd guy, his life would be happier.

"Billy Batson, right?" Todd began, and Billy responded with a shrug. "The old man likes to adopt problem kids, huh?"

"I don't want to be adopted by him," he muttered. "The only amazing thing about this place is that he's Batman. Nothing more."

Todd just chuckled. They walked through the Wayne Manor gardens. As you might expect, it wasn't a small place. It exudes elegance and is well-maintained, though it's clear it's not a busy place.

"It's good I'm visiting. I know Damian's demon isn't always friendly."

Billy snorts. "I guess it runs in the family."

"Yeah, I guess you and Damian get along," Todd teases, ignoring him. "I'm not sentimental, if that's what you're going for," he says, finally stopping in front of a couple of flowers. They're red, some fresh, some wilted. "But since Dick's too busy to give you your therapy session, I'm obliged to be here. Tim got lucky..." he muttered the last part, almost vengefully.

Billy frowned. "Why don't you spare me the trouble? If you don't care, I care even less."

Todd looked at him for a second before bursting out laughing. "Phew, I hope I wasn't that unbearable when I was a kid, but probably I was." The man crouched down. “Look, kid, what I’m trying to say is, I understand what you’re going through. Most people here understand. Even the old man, though he’s worse than me at talking.”

Billy avoided looking at him. So what? He still didn’t want anything to do with him.

“Damian said you went to see your mother.”

That little—

“Why didn’t you go back to her?” And there it was, the question he hated.

Billy clenched his fists. “She didn’t want me back,” he answered. Anyway, it didn’t matter. At least it would get him to leave him alone.

Todd was silent for a moment. “Oh,” was the first thing he said. He scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, it happens sometimes. But you know your history with her doesn’t define you, right?”

“Yeah.” No.

“You don’t sound very convinced.”

The kid rolled his eyes. “What’s it to you?”

Todd shrugged. “Again, I don’t really care, kid. But I’m not a complete idiot who won’t try to help you.”

“You were right when you said Dick was a better talker than you,” Billy said, crossing his arms. “I think even Damian is more decent.”

Todd pretended to be offended, putting a hand to his heart. “Oh, that hurts. But you can’t said that I didn’t warned you.”

 

---

 

Finally, he can stop using that stupid wheelchair. He hasn't been alone, watched by cameras monitoring him just in case (at least that's what Damian told him), so he's barely had time to try to talk to Solomon or see if his powers are working again.

So, when he's finally alone, he feels like he can't breathe. What if his powers never return? What was the point of Solomon telling him he has no control over himself?

He stares at himself in the bathroom mirror, his heart pounding. He has darker circles under his eyes than before, greasy hair, and a tired look. Solomon is right. He's broken. He's barely the Billy he used to be.

Why couldn't things stay the way they were? Why did they have to change? He clenches his hands around the sink. Would even saying the word help? Would it finally work this time?

It's so silent he could go crazy.

“A champion can have his moments of weakness, young Batson. But he can’t stagnate.”

He’d always been stagnant; it wasn’t a problem before. Why now?

“Shazam!” he shouted, and it echoed loudly. Electricity coursed through him, and for a moment, he swore a lightning bolt had struck him. But he was still there, in the bathroom. Being Billy Batson, the orphan, the abandoned one

“Learn to overcome it, and when you do, only then, young Batson, will you be Captain Marvel again.”

He gritted his teeth. “Shazam!” he repeated. No matter what, he would be Captain Marvel again; nothing else mattered.

“Shazam!” he shouted again. Only to be met with supplicant silence and his weary reflection.

Breaking that silence, a bolt of lightning struck.

 

Notes:

An early Christmas present, more like an apology for the slow updates lol.

Since there were two updates in one month, the Ao3 curse will probably get me, just in case.

There will probably (just probably) be a third update, but I'm not promising anything :(

Pd: I know Billy is being dramatic about the wheelchair, even though he only used it for two days and barely went out because he's an annoying kid going through his emo phase lmfao

Notes:

I love billy batson with all my soul, and more his anguish. I don't speak English, so if there are any mistakes, I'm sorry.
I love billy living with the Batfamily! It's one of my favorite themes :D
See you later!