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Dick winces as he’s slammed against the wall, his head cracking on the brick. Klarion’s grating laugh echoes in his ears as his vision spins and he falls to his hands and knees. He can only barely hear the Witch Boy’s laughter being interrupted as he’s kicked square in the chest by the 200+ pounds of pure muscle and magic that is Captain Marvel, so there’s no small satisfaction in that. God he hates Klarion. So much. He hates fighting most Magic users but several bad run ins with the Witch Boy during his time with the Titans had only served to make Nightwing seriously second guess the ‘no killing’ rule.
“Are you alright?!” Captain Marvel calls back to him and Nightwing nods as he stumbles to his feet.
“Still here,” he confirms, grabbing his fallen escrima sticks. “Let’s beat this punk into submission.”
The Cap grins at him. “I like the way you think, Wing!”
At first, it seems like they’re actually going to win. Klarion is losing his footing, and his composure, making his spell work more dangerous with his lack of control. The spells are ausing more damage to the area around them and putting more people at risk. Even Nightwing can feel it starting to wear him down, and he knows he needs to find an opening, and act fast. For a moment, foolishly, the world narrows down to just himself… and Klarion. No civilians, no Captain Marvel-- just Dick Grayson and the Witch Boy. He activates the electricity of one of his escrima sticks, aims, and as soon as he has his moment, he throws it, hard. Klarion, distracted in his own glee at the chaos around him, doesn’t even notice. The stick hits him directly in the chest, the electricity bolting through him, and causing his muscles to seize, just as he casts one more errant spell… which hits Dick directly in the chest.
“Nightwing!” The Captain shouts as this time, instead of merely being shoved back a few feet, the spell actually flings him up, into the air, and then onto his back so hard that his vision and hearing cut out completely for several seconds.
When Dick does come to enough to vaguely tell what’s going on, Klarion has vanished in a puff of red smoke, presumably off to lick his own wounds, and Captain Marvel is heading his way. Dick’s head hurts bad, and as he shifts his breath catches as his chest aches. He can’t find his support, and his left shoulder is beginning to throb. When Cap arrives, kneeling down beside him, Dick manages to stutter out, “guess I’m really getting old if you’re this worried about me being knocked down, huh?”
“We need to get you somewhere safe,” Captain Marvel says, worrying at his lower lip beneath his teeth as he thinks, and thinks… and then lets out a defeated sigh. “I’m gonna bring you to my place, try not to pass out on the way.”
Dick nods, determined, and lets Captain Marvel carefully lift him up and about two seconds later, his world goes black.
When Dick finally comes to again, the first thing he notes is that whatever he’s lying on is… very much not comfortable. It feels kind of like the world’s worst mattress and when he cracks his eyes open with a groan, he notes that it is, in fact, what is probable the world’s worst mattress, complete with an old palette bedframe and a very abandoned looking apartment. Plaster peels from the walls, the floor is chipped and dirty, there are questionable stains between makeshift pieces of furniture, such as the bed he’s on now. With a groan he pushes into a sitting position, wincing. After a moment, he notices that someone has bandaged his wounds and, sitting on an ancient looking folding table, is a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol that he quickly takes advantage of. As he sips the water, he turns to take a look around the room.
Crates being used as dining chairs, the aforementioned horrible mattress atop a wooden pallet, a worn backpack and duffel bag, and, perhaps most eye catching, what appears to be a school project-- a diorama of the solar system. That’s not the only childlike touch-- there’s a fairly good but still distinctly youthful drawing taped to the non-functional fridge. A half built and definitely second-hand Lego set sits on the old folding table. A frayed stuffed animal sits beside the pallet bed. Dick feels his stomach churn, and he sets the water down, afraid if he consumes anymore he’ll vomit. He has no doubt that Captain Marvel took him here, and he’s fairly certain that the superhero lives here, which is bad enough but… the evidence all points to a child living here as well. Dick had picked up on the Captain’s more childlike mannerisms, but now it’s hitting him that those mannerisms come from habits as a dad. He has a kid to look after. And he’s apparently doing it here.
Dick feels a brief spike of anger at the revelation, though he takes a breath and swiftly pushes it back down, reminding himself that not everyone chooses their situations. But… surely Captain Marvel knows that if he even hinted at living in a place like this, especially with a kid, that Batman would help? Hell, any of the heroes would. Green Arrow and Batman have money to spare, and the others would all open their own homes to Captain Marvel if he would only ask, or find something, anything better than this.
He doesn’t have too much longer to thing about it, though, because then the door to the apartment is open, and Captain Marvel is standing there, eyes wide with surprise.
“Oh good,” the Captain says after a moment, sighing with relief. “You’re awake.”
Before Nightwing’s foggy brain can catch up with his mouth, he blurts out, “you have a child.”
The Cap stands there for a long long moment, staring at him, his mouth slightly agape as he processes what Dick just said and then he looks at the half built legos, the stuffed animal, the diorama… and groans, running a hand down his face. “You know what, yeah, that’s an unfortunately reasonable conclusion,” Captain Marvel grumbles.
“So then where…?” Dick begins, glancing at the doors leading into other rooms. There’s no movement, no sign of another living human aside from the pair of them, but he’s still struggling to come to any other conclusion. There is nothing else that makes sense, and so he turns back to Captain Marvel, who looks less than certain about this whole thing, and then finally, something in him seems to cave as he turns back to look at Dick.
“... I’m the child,” Captain Marvel says, and Dick’s first thought is that he means that he's… childlike? Which fits, Captain Marvel is kind of a fun, goofy guy but before he can ask further the Cap continues, “... just…. Let me show you.”
In a quiet, almost shy voice, Captain Marvel says one word— “Shazam.”
Dick is forced to turn away as a bright flash of light surrounds him, shielding his eyes with his arm, squinting, and when the light fades he looks up, expecting to see the Cap standing with a random child or something and instead, standing where the once formidable man once was, is… a boy. A boy who Dick figures can’t be any older than ten at the absolute most. A boy in a worn hoodie and ratty jeans and sneakers with far too many holes in them, a beanie pulled over his messy hair. Dick’s entire chest lurches. He had read the signs somewhat right— a child does live here. But all evidence points to one thing… Captain Marvel is that child.
If Dick didn’t have to deal with alien and magic shenanigans on a daily basis he might not believe his own eyes, his own mind, his detective instincts. But as it is, he knows what he’s seeing. He knows that the signs now point in one clear direction. The superhero and Justice League member known as Captain Marvel… is secretly just a child. His words weren’t some kind of metaphor. They were literal. Dick feels like his chest is being crushed. He’s… so small. He’s too skinny. He seems to be completely on his own. Dick has to set the glass of water down before it slips from his grip as he slowly walks up to him, and kneels in front of him. He has to resist the urge to pull him into a tight hug and never let go. He wonders if this is how Bruce felt, back on that fateful day at Haly’s Circus when Dick’s entire life changed.
“What’s your real name?” Dick asks, softly, and the boy pauses, wary. Before he can think better of it, Dick reaches up and removes his domino mask, watching as the boy’s eyes widen in surprise. Dick smiles and holds out a hand to shake. “I’ll start. Hi, I’m Dick Grayson.”
The boy looks at him, a little uncertain, wary, and Dick feels his heart break a bit. With the Captain Marvel persona and look having fallen away, the kid who remains is much less trusting. It’s clear he’s afraid, not necessarily of Dick, but just… in general. A scared street kid who has learned that so few people can be trusted.
But ultimately, he reaches his hand out and shakes Dick’s. “Billy,” he says softly, “I’m Billy Batson.”
Dick smiles before he releases his hand and then stands fully, wincing when his head aches again. “So, Billy, you uh… live here all by yourself?”
Billy shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking at his feet, taking a deep breath. “Yeah. …don’t tell the League. That I— that I live like this. That Captain Marvel is just some ratty street kid.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” Dick says earnestly.
Billy’s expression is torn between skepticism and hope. A part of him clearly wants to believe Dick, but there’s no doubt a small voice in the back of his head reminding him how cruel people can be. But it’s too late to take anything back now, so he just nods.
Dick takes one more moment to take in their surroundings, and swallows roughly. God. Squatting like this must be rough. He wonders how Billy gets food, and what exactly he’s eating at the moment… or if he’s eating. The thought makes Dick’s stomach churn and before he can stop himself he says, “why don’t we go get something to eat? My treat.”
Billy gives his suit a once over and raises an eyebrow and Dick chuckles. “I have some stuff in one of Bats’s hundreds of safehouses nearby. Come on. We can get whatever you’d like.”
One short stop later and then they’re sitting in a little 24 hour diner in Philadelphia proper, and even in his jeans and t-shirt, Dick somehow still feels far too bougie sitting across from Billy. Dick is wearing expensive Levi Jeans and a soft, 100% cotton t-shirt that cost more than any reasonable t-shirts should cost. Billy’s clothes look second or even third hand and the kid is currently plowing through a big stack of pancakes and side plate full of bacon as Dick sips his burnt black coffee to beat back some of his fatigue.
Slowly, very slowly, Dick begins to get a little bit of information from Billy. It’s like pulling teeth, but he learns that his parents are dead, and the rest of his family is out of the picture. That Billy has bounced between bad foster home after bad foster home, been dragged into holding cells for shoplifting and trespassing more times than he can count and has a bone deep hatred for the Foster System and a deep distrust of the police. That’s something Dick has heard before. He can almost hear a young Jason telling the exact same stories as Billy and it makes him want to cry. How many kids end up like them, abandoned and alone and betrayed by the systems meant to help, only to still try and be heroes anyway? Dick knows the answer is far too many.
So maybe that is what spurs him to say, “you should come with me. Back to Blüdhaven.”
Billy pauses between scraping the last crumbs off his plate, brow furrowed. “But who will protect Fawcett, and Phillie?”
Dick wants to shout that the police should be doing that. Not a ten year old kid. But he knows from experience that won’t go over well, especially coming from the guy who started his hero career at the big age of eight.
“I’ll tell B Cap’s taking a vacation, nursing his wounds after the fight. He’ll get someone on it. Please, at least let me get you a warm bed, some decent clothes, and a few good meals. Just for long enough to figure out something long term.”
Billy considers this for a long moment and then, slowly, softly. “Okay. But I want to bring my stuff with.”
After Billy’s painfully light bag is packed, they head for the Amtrak station. Plane tickets are expensive and Dick is in really no condition to drive safely, so the train it is. Billy mostly naps, curled around his bag defensively as he leans against the window. After texting Batman to cover for Captain Marvel, Dick dozes off a few times but never truly falls asleep. He’s awake as they pull into his city, the familiar Maine chill settling over the train and fogging the windows as the dark brick buildings of Blüdhaven rise above them. He gently shakes Billy awake and the boy grumbles before tossing his bag over his shoulder. He also, to Dick’s surprise, sleepily wrap his little hand around the older man’s. Dick holds it gently, afraid that if he holds too tight or too loose, Billy will pull away.
From the Amtrak station they hop on the metro and minutes later Dick is leading Billy up the steps and into his apartment. It’s got three bedrooms— a guest room, the master, and one he’s converted into his ‘case space’, an office made specifically to do work as Nightwing. Dick helps Billy get set up in the guest room, but when he turns away, Billy grabs his hand again, hesitant. And Dick can’t find it in himself to push him away, letting the kid trail after him as he heads to the kitchen to put together a simple dinner of boxed mac n’ cheese, Billy tucked into his side as he pets Haley, Dick’s adorable three legged pitbull mix. He recognizes that this might be the first time in a very long time that the kid has had any kind of physical affection, and he doesn’t dare to deny him now. Or likely ever.
As Dick cooks, he notices Billy interacting more, answering his questions more honestly and openly as his suspicion from earlier begins to fall away once he realizes that Dick genuinely means well. He’s clearly sleepy, but the longer Dick interacts with him over mac n cheese with little hot dog pieces in it, the more he sees the facade fall away to reveal a bright, gentle, happy ten year old with a healthy dose of sarcasm as well, and no small amount of wit, much to Dick’s delight. At some point, as they sit on the couch watching a movie, Billy falls against Dick’s side and falls asleep, Haley lying on the couch beside him, her head on Billy's lap as she snores.
That is, of course, when the panic begins to set in, because it has been far too long since he’s cared for a child and Billy is very, very different than Damian was. Either way, he finds himself scrambling for his phone without thinking and sending a message to Bruce.
Dickie: B. B I need help.
He’s only half expecting a response at all, but he gets one, to his surprise.
B. Wayne: What’s wrong?
Dickie: I seem to have inherited your propensity for adopting random children.
Dickie: And now I’m realizing I’m not as prepared for this as I thought.
Dickie: Dad, this kid is nothing like Damian and I have no idea what to do.
B. Wayne: On my way.
… Dick definitely wasn’t expecting that. He figures that he must’ve triggered something by calling Bruce ‘Dad’. No changing it now, though, so he just settles into the couch, eyes fixed on the glowing TV screen, Billy tucked against him, fast asleep, and keeps his ears on the door. An hour later, there’s a soft knock, and Haley looks up with a little *woof*. Dick goes to stand, but hesitates, and at the last moment scoops Billy into his arms and rests him against his side, on his hip, before he opens the door. Haley trails behind them, tail wagging. Bruce stands there, eyebrows raising at the sight of the boy.
The only thing Dick can manage is a soft, strangled little, “help.”
Bruce looks at him, surprised and fond in equal measure as he steps into the apartment, and his calloused hand comes up to brush some of Billy’s hair back. Unconsciously, the boy leans into the touch. Dick’s heart melts a bit.
“You should put him to bed properly so we can talk without waking him,” Bruce says as he takes off his shoes and coat.
Dick nods, feeling stupid for not thinking of it sooner, and darts back to the bedroom and carefully tucks Billy into bed. Haley jumps onto the end of the bed with him, curling up, and promptly falling back asleep. The boy doesn’t wake-- he barely stirs as Dick tucks the blankets around him and presses a little kiss to his forehead before returning to Bruce.
They sit in silence for a moment as Dick tried to figure out a way to explain things without giving away Billy’s identity as Captain Marvel, his hands twitching in his lap. Bruce both saves him and somehow makes it worse all at once by asking, “is he yours?”
It takes Dick a moment to realize that Bruce’s detective skills have brought him to the completely wrong conclusion, which is rare, but the implication that Billy is his biological son brings some amount of panic.
“No! God, no! … no. No he’s not mine, like mine.” Dick pauses for a moment as he works to get his story straight. “After Captain Marvel and I retreated from Klarion,” he begins slowly, “we took shelter in an abandoned apartment and found the boy there, alone. He has nothing, Bruce, and the State has failed him repeatedly. Cap wasn’t in a place to take in a kid—“ being said kid— “but I was. So…. Here we are.”
“Here we are,” Bruce repeats, and then chuckles softly. “Maybe you really have gained my propensity for taking in unfortunate children.”
Dick can’t help but smile in return, letting Bruce reach out to take his hand. It took years for their relationship to get back to this point, for Dick to stop feeling betrayed by so many things that went wrong, for him to fully see Bruce as his father figure again. But he’s glad they’re back to that point, and he lets Bruce pull him into a hug.
“I know you’re worried, chum,” Bruce begins slowly, softly, his chest rumbling beneath his ear, “but you did wonderfully with Damian. My only advice to you is to not overthink this. You can do this.”
“I think this kid is Magic— does that change that?” Dick asks hesitantly, and Bruce pulls away just enough to see his face.
“No,” he says steadily. “Just that you might need to keep Zatanna on speed dial.”
“Not Constantine?” Dick jokes, feeling some weight lift from his shoulders, and he laughs at the face Bruce pulls.
They sit and chat for a while, Dick half curled into Bruce’s side like he’s a kid again, and it makes him feel lighter than he has in a long time. It makes him feel like maybe, somehow, he can do this. That he can finally give Billy the life he deserves.