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Chapter Text

Gotham was darker than Billy had ever seen it before. The buildings seemed old and grimy—as if they were all in need of new paint or an exorcism. There weren't many people out on the streets, but those who were looked even more run-down than usual. It made him feel strange, walking around this city as if he belonged here instead of being stuck in this city. He felt exposed, as though anyone could look right through him at any time. If that happened, what would they see?

Light filtered through the dirty windows of bars and storefronts, creating pools of dim yellow light across sidewalks filled with garbage bags. As Billy walked by them, stray dogs yipped behind wooden fences. His stomach rumbled for food, but there wasn't anything he recognized as edible in sight. The only other thing Billy saw was graffiti. All along the walls of buildings, someone had scribbled profane phrases about one another's mothers. Darkness was in every corner, wrapping its tendrils into every alley and street. The darkness remained even after he turned off the main road onto a quieter residential path. It didn't matter where he went; it followed him as if the city tried to swallow him up. The shadow cast over his life, turning everything gray and gloomy.

Everything was darker than Fawcett City. People wore black clothing with leather jackets and shapeless hoodies. Even their eyes appeared different somehow... harder, sharper. Maybe he didn't see things because there weren't nearly enough street lights for one place compared to another. The alleys were also more threatening, filled with shadows where monsters might lurk behind trash cans. A chill went up to his spine when he realized how easily someone could sneak up on him from behind. This whole place gave him chills.

He came here as the Captain, and Batman does not allow metas to operate within the city limits unless under his direct supervision. The Dark Knight doesn't trust other heroes or villains either, so he won't risk allowing Billy to appear uninvited among them. No, Billy's better off making himself unknown within Gotham City while keeping his identity secret. He was supposed to leave the city already, but there was a more significant issue keeping him from doing so.

Billy took a deep breath and stepped inside an alleyway, wanting to avoid the attention of passersby as long as possible. Then he started jogging, moving faster and trying to escape the main streets before anyone spotted him. His heart pounded in his chest, and sweat poured down his face as he moved further into Gotham.

Everything was unfamiliar to him. He was used to the bright sunlight and the welcome atmosphere of Fawcett City, where everyone seemed happy and friendly. There wasn't anything welcoming about this city... except maybe for its darkness. It made everything feel spooky even though there weren't any signs of ghosts or spirits anywhere. He hides, pressing himself against the brick walls, trying to blend into the shadows and away from the sight of gangs operating in Gotham's seedy underbelly. Billy had his fair share of run-ins with the gangs and criminals of Fawcett City, but Gotham was an entirely different monster. He felt exposed all over again but kept running anyway until he got lost in the maze-like buildings.

Finally, he stumbled upon a corner building that didn't look too dangerous, although most of these places looked like they'd been condemned.

Worse, he lost his voice after helping Batman with one of his villains in Gotham. He could not say the wizard's name and transform back into Captain Marvel afterward. That's why he needed help, to be able to regain his powers. But how did he find it? Where could he turn? How can he ask someone for aid without revealing his identity? Would he even survive in this dangerous, unfamiliar city?

He shuffled to a nearby bench and sat down, feeling defeated. A passing thug stopped at the end of the street, looking suspicious. Billy watched him walk closer. When the gang member was close enough, he jumped off the roof of the building next door and landed right behind Billy. The man crouched down beside him on the sidewalk before making eye contact with Billy. Then he reached out and grabbed the boy by the throat. "You're not from around here." His tone suggested that he already knew the answer.

Well, fuck.

Billy choked out some kind of response before the guy tightened his grip, even more, cutting Billy off from speaking. He struggled against the hands gripping his neck, trying to push the attacker away while fighting against choking himself. It didn't take long for Billy's air supply to start getting cut off. He gasped for breath as the thief's face got closer to his own—and then suddenly released a loud shout. It was almost as if a voice were coming through the thief's mouth instead.

A figure stood towering above Billy, dark obscured shadow as the thug was unconscious on the concrete. The figure was quite taller than Billy, a tall, imposing silhouette standing over him like a colossus. In his mind, Billy could just imagine the hooded cowl, the long dark cape, and the gravely, threatening expression that appeared to be hidden beneath it. He had to blink several times to confirm that what he saw wasn't real. The thought of Gotham's Avenger of the Night made a creeping chill become an icicle thrust deeply into his spine.

The person who had saved him from being strangled stared down at him with a gaze that felt icy cold yet comforting simultaneously.

"Are you quite alright, dear boy?" The voice had a distinct British accent which made Billy hesitate.

As the figure stepped into the light, Billy could see it wasn't the Dark Knight at all. The man was an older gentleman in a suit, still carrying the pipe in his hand before dropping it and wiping his hands with a handkerchief.

Billy nodded quickly before standing up and brushing off his clothes. He started backing away from this stranger he didn't recognize and found himself sitting back on the bench. He tried to speak, but no sound came from his mouth.

"Are you in danger? Do you need the police, young man?" The elegant British gentleman asked as he folded the handkerchief perfectly back into a diamond, albeit a slightly stained one after handling a dirty pipe. "You look terrified, child." The man smiled gently, making Billy feel safe even though there was a strange sensation of something not quite right about him. But then again, everyone around him looked weird too... Gotham was filled with weird- unique individuals.

Billy didn't know what to say because he physically couldn't say anything. He managed to breathe out some exasperated sighs and shake his head.

"What is your name, child?" the gentleman asked patiently as he took another puff from his pipe. Then he continued without waiting for an answer. "My apologies. I should have introduced myself first. My name is Alfred Pennyworth, butler to the Wayne family. What is yours?" He leaned against the building's wall while he spoke. He seemed like a friendly old man despite being dressed in a long black coat with a red bow tie.

Alfred sat down beside Billy on the bench like they were just having a casual conversation over coffee.

Billy attempted to speak, but no sound came from his mouth. Sputtering, he crossed his arms in a frustrated flourish and slumped into the bench.

"Are you perhaps mute? Have you lost your voice from screaming so much? No wonder—the streets are dangerous enough as it is," Mr. Pennyworth says as he puts the handkerchief back into his jacket pocket and pats Billy on the back comfortingly. "Would you like to come with me, for now? We'll find someone else who can help." Billy stared blankly at the older gentleman who had offered to be a friend. He wanted to go with this guy, to escape all this darkness and reach safety. He was suspicious, but he was also desperate. If worst comes to worst, he can always run away. He decided with a faint and hesitant nod of his head, a slight tremble betraying his nervous demeanor.

Mr. Pennyworth stood up straight as though expecting nothing less of him than to walk by his side. "Very good. Let's leave these unsavory surroundings behind us. This way, young man, if you please!" He led the young man out of the alleyway and onto the street. He didn't need to lead because Billy had already followed right along. The two walked together, as Alfred weaved through the alleyways with expert precision and elegant ease—leading Billy to a nice, clean black car parked a few buildings down from where they were standing.

Billy couldn't believe that there would be a fancy car like this in a place like Gotham City. It made everything seem like a dream even though it was very real. Billy got into the car as Mr. Pennyworth drove them to Wayne Manor, which seemed like it was miles away given how dark it looked outside compared to the brightly lit interior of the vehicle. After getting inside, Billy could see the many paintings hanging on the wall and framed photos and knick-knacks sitting around. He could tell there were children inside the manor and (most importantly) that they were treated well. Billy observed reminders that were taped onto the fridge as well as achievements and drawings. There were places with childish graffiti comparing their heights that weren't painted over. Billy's eyes traveled to a solemn-looking portrait of a boy and his family; it vaguely reminded him of those portraits presidents' have in a history book he read at the library. A large clock ticked away silently, filling the silence between him and his new friend.

Alfred stopped speaking for a moment before starting up again once he realized Billy wasn't listening to anything he was saying. "Come along, young man." He leads him through a number of hallways and stairs into a small room, which was nice but definitely smaller than the others within the mansion. It was the nicest room Billy had ever laid eyes on. He sat down on a comfortable leather chair with a warm fire blazing in the fireplace while Alfred went to work making some hot chocolate.

He came back carrying a steaming mug that smelled deliciously sweet and bitter. He also returned with a notepad and pen, "if you can write, can you please write your name?" Alfred asks gently as he puts down a napkin and the mug of hot chocolate on an end table near Billy. Then, taking out the notebook from his jacket pocket, he waits patiently until Billy is ready to give it a go.

Billy grabbed the notebook and pen from Mr. Pennyworth's hand and then leaned forward, setting himself against the soft cushions on the armrests of his chair. He quickly wrote in shaky handwriting 'Billy'. When he looked up, Mr. Pennyworth was staring at him intently. He set the pen and notebook aside and took the hot cup of cocoa. He drank the contents, relishing the taste.

After a while of writing in his notebook, Billy Batson beg an  to drop his head as his eyelids felt heavier and heavier. The warmth of the fireplace and the hot chocolate in his stomach warmed him right up and made him quite comfortable. He did not even realize it as Alfred draped a cozy and plush blanket over his body after he shuts off the fireplace.

Billy slumbers peacefully, leaving his problems for another day.

Chapter Text

When Billy opened his eyes again, he was lying on what looked like a couch inside Wayne Manor. The curtains were drawn closed, allowing only very little light into the room through the windows. A clock sat on a dresser beside a full bookshelf with numerous volumes stacked neatly within it. The fireplace was out, and no burning candles or lanterns were hanging from the walls, leaving the room somewhat bare. Instead of hot chocolate, however, it smelled strongly of peppermint tea with hints of cloves and other spices filling the air.

Carefully, Billy Batson folded the warm comforter and set it neatly on the couch before standing up to see if his clothes fit okay. They did. There wasn't anything too tight—a relief to him since he still needed to be able to run around in them to fight crime—whenever he got his voice back. He stood in front of a mirror near the door and observed himself in the reflection. His skin was pale, but he didn't look sickly, not as much as underfed at this point. He gave the mirror a sneer before sighing as he grabbed his pen and notebook and left the room to explore the mansion's interior.

Billy explored the many rooms surrounding the study until he discovered one which appeared empty. It felt lonely yet safe. It was almost like an abandoned ship waiting for someone else. It was a room hidden in the depths, something that looked untouched by anyone except perhaps Mr. Pennyworth, who may have even used it for storage purposes at some point. The young boy read over a faded metal plate next to the tall, dark oak double doors that depicted 'Private' engraved in an ornate, gothic font. Billy pushed open one of the doors with considerable effort, inspecting that this room was located somewhere on the middle floors of the manor, where it seemed most quiet, even though it would make sense for it to be on the top floor the size of Wayne Manor. The whole place was so big that Billy couldn't imagine how large it could get. It must be hundreds of thousands of square feet or more. Even knowing this made Billy feel small and insignificant compared to the rest of Gotham City. As such, this part of the house was ideal because it provided solitude and comfort without being too grandiose and ostentatious.

There were portraits of a family: a mother, a father, and a son. They were...happy people judging by their expressions, unlike what they'd seen in the portrait hanging in the study earlier.

Billy smiled wistfully; he wished he had parents to talk to. A flash of memory came to his mind as he remembered what his own parent's faces had looked like before he lost them. When he tried to recall specific features of his father or mother's face, the memories dissolved into nothingness, leaving only darkness behind. He wiped his eyes and began to move-

"What are you doing here?" A voice hissed behind him in a harsh and inquisitive tone. "Who are you? How did you get into this manor?"

Billy slowly turned around, sucking in his breath. He was met with a rather traumatic sight: a radiant white and sharp light gleamed into his vision, forcing him to squint to see past the blinding glare. He could make out what looked like a blade—a slightly curved and ridiculously sharp one, pointing directly into his face. It seemed to be about an inch away from piercing his skin, threatening to cut through him if only given enough time.

"Who are you?" The voice repeated intensely as it made its way into his ears. "What are you doing here?" The abrupt question caught Billy entirely off guard. His body shook as he tried desperately not to move, barely managing to stop himself from bolting away. A thrum of fear hummed inside his mind as his eyes focused upon the sword- a katana, mere inches from his face. As he stared at the hilt of the weapon, which resembled a Japanese symbol of good luck and fortune, he realised that he wasn't scared by the weapon itself but by the person holding it who had just asked him those questions.

"Answer me." The voice imposed in an imperative and intelligible manner as Billy's eyes adjusted to the light and found the sword's owner standing over him with the blade held firmly in both hands. He felt paralyzed with shock and dread at the presence looming over him. As his eyes looked over at his assailant, he could make out the face of a kid, not much older than Billy—in fact, they looked to be around the same age, or perhaps even younger due to his... petite stature.

The boy appeared South Asian, maybe even Middle-Eastern, though he could have been from somewhere else; his skin was dark and tanned, almost brown. His hair was short, spiky, and black, and the sharpness of his facial features was exaggerated by the deep, penetrating glare of his sharp teal eyes— Billy was unsure if they were blue or green.

Billy opened his mouth like a goldfish as only a heavy gasp escaped from his throat. Promptly, he closed his mouth again to prevent any further sounds from escaping his lips. He couldn't speak; no words came out. He can't say anything, not with the sword pointing at his face.

"What is your name?" The voice asked once again, this time more demanding and insistent in tone. The sword's point never wavered despite its owner being relatively young.

Billy shook his head while still staring up at him wide-eyed. He looked around and clutched his hand, remembering that he had brought the notebook and pen. With one shaky finger, he raised it to point at a page in the notebook with a slight wince. "My name," Billy answered silently—mouthing his words, pausing for a moment before continuing, "is Billy." The katana's blade suddenly lowered slightly as the boy approached the page where Billy pointed with his hand, apparently intrigued by what he read.

The boy glanced back at the blade as though debating whether or not the weapon should stay drawn but ultimately decided against drawing it fully and held the hilt down near his side instead of leaning upon it like some kind of cane or walking stick. As if waiting for an explanation or something, the sword-wielder watched Billy curiously from behind a curtain of jet black hair draped over his face. Billy looked over at his body—thin and malnourished, pale skin and dirty clothes barely concealed by a worn red hoodie and a frayed sweater he borrowed from Mr. Pennyworth.

"Billy?" The boy spoke with suspicion. "How did you trespass into my manor? Who do you work for?" He asked sharply in a questioning tone; his voice grew deeper and lower in volume when he got irritated. He also clutched the handle of his katana tightly to keep it in its scabbard, the saya, until needed.

Billy flinched in response, scrambling to grab the pen and notebook to write his reply as he backed away gradually from the dangerous boy. His eyes were still glazed over and unfocused, giving him difficulty reading, writing, or seeing clearly. With one shaky hand holding onto the notebook, he began writing with his other, slanting hand—the words seemed awkwardly jumbled together. "Mr. Pennyworth brought me here. I'm not from Gotham. He gave me these... clothes..." Billy struggled to get out each word correctly so he could answer as truthfully as possible. He wasn't sure if there was any point in answering this guy, but he was desperate to get out of the room and away from his would-be assailant.

The boy read carefully to everything Billy wrote before standing back up again and gripping the hilt tight before slowly pointing the blade towards the ground, letting it dangle loosely by his side. The boy stares at Billy intently before responding, "Why would Pennyworth bring strangers into our home? What is your goal?" The inquisitive look on the boy's face makes him seem like some kind of villainous interrogator instead of a mere kid—though he may be younger than Billy, he didn't act or talk like it whatsoever.

Billy swallowed nervously and gulped hard in fear. He took another moment to think about what to say next, and then the child quickly wrote down 'to live' with unsteady and clumsy handwriting. As his eyes focused on the blade's sharp edge, the young boy quivered in a panicked-induced state. He held his breath, waiting for an immediate response from his captor. He felt his heart race and his head spin as sweat poured profusely through his hair and forehead, dripping onto the tabletop below his hands. The poor boy pressed his back against a pedestal with an intricate porcelain vase decorated with cobalt blue mountains and peach blossoms. As Billy jerked backward, he unknowingly bumped against the stand with enough force that the vase began to topple.

Abruptly, a sound of crashing metal and broken porcelain rang across the room as though someone knocked over something large enough to shatter glass. Billy jerked upright upon hearing the noise, dropping the notebook and pen in shock. 

"Master Damian!" A shout rang across the room as Alfred Pennyworth rushed over to the shattered remains of the vase on the floor nearby. "Just a Ming." The butler stood as he looked towards the adolescent sword-wielder and Billy, still holding the katana at his side—a slight smirk on his lips and raised eyebrow indicating that his master had done that deliberately but not saying anything about it. The two boys remained frozen, staring at each other in mutual apprehension, unsure if they were now going to get killed or not by the other. They could only wait patiently until either one of them spoke first.

After a few tense seconds of silence, the boy with the sword spoke again: "What are you doing here?"

Alfred coughed slightly to get Damian's attention, "his name is William, and he is my guest." Alfred walked towards a broom closet to fetch a dustpan and brush while muttering under his breath. His voice seemed stern and rigid, almost annoyed as he grumbled about how he couldn't stand messes. When he returned, he glanced between Damian and the young visitor. "William, please refrain from entering these rooms. They belonged to the late Bruce Wayne's mother, Martha. She adored the arts," Mr. Pennyworth explained gently yet seriously before continuing in an assertive tone. "Master Damian, I would advise you not to swing your katana around when playing in this house, nor should you threaten people with it."

Damian merely nodded solemnly, an air of apathy hanging around him as he watched Billy curiously without much blinking. Billy did feel a little bad for breaking something so precious and expensive but was glad he didn't have to clean up after it. He also felt relieved that he wasn't about to be stabbed or cut into pieces by that sword or something equally horrific...at least not at that moment.

"Go on then. Have some tea." Alfred said serenely and went off towards the kitchen. As soon as the man stepped away from them, Damian slightly released the pressure on the katana—still gripping the handle tight—and pointed the blade's tip directly at the ground. He sheathed the katana into his saya quickly in one fluid motion before sitting in a chair in a relaxed position in front of the fireplace across the room, sliding one leg over the other. The child-size assassin crossed his arms across his chest, still staring straight ahead, completely calm and unmoving despite his eyes being slightly glazed over.

Billy squinted at Damian with confusion before shaking his head and following Alfred to the kitchen. The butler poured himself a cup full of steaming hot green tea from an antique teapot with a regal swan hand-painted on the porcelain. The boy gulped it down in several large sips; it smelled faintly of peppermint leaves, which helped quell his nerves a little while he sat beside Mr. Pennyworth's desk, trying not to fidget too much about having just been attacked by someone wielding a sword.

Mr. Pennyworth also seemed unconcerned, oblivious to what happened mere seconds ago and calmly sipping tea as though nothing had bothered him. He sighed heavily as he watched Billy drink his tea, watching him as if studying him for something, perhaps because Billy looked quite out-of-place for such a pleasant and well-mannered home as this. Billy pulled out his notebook and pen—which were now mostly dried up due to lack of liquid—and wrote down 'I'm sorry' in big messy letters—the words seeming childish yet sincere coming from someone who wasn't even twelve years old.

Alfred set his teacup on a coaster on top of his pristine desk as he turned towards Billy with his expressionless face still looking almost amused by the boy sitting there nervously scribbling on his pad with shaky hands. "Why don't you tell me why exactly I have the pleasure of your company?"

"Thank you for saving me from the bullies." The child wrote in a shaky scrawl, literate but unpracticed in penmanship, his words slanting awkwardly to one side across the page. "I want to go home..." He trailed off, seemingly at a loss for what else to write down next. 

"And where is your home?" Alfred asked inquisitively before continuing to sip the tea slowly and taking another long swig. 

"I-…" Billy debated with himself whether to share that he was from Fawcett or not, and the hesitation turned into a long stretch of silence. Alfred patiently awaited his answer before Billy hung his head in embarrassment, crimson splashing his cheeks as he continued to write. "It's- hard to explain."

His eyes glanced down at the kid's worn and dirty clothes before he nodded understandingly and added, "You're homeless, aren't you? Well, that's easily taken care of." A warm smile crossed his lips, and he put a gentle hand on Billy's shoulder. "The Master will be back soon, and we can arrange a home for you then," Mr. Pennyworth told him reassuringly while walking away again towards the kitchen after finishing his drink.

Billy fervently shook his head as shock spread across his features. He quickly wrote his response in large letters, "No! Please, no adoption. No foster care."

Alfred stopped midway through pouring himself more tea from an identical antique teapot which also looked like it belonged in a museum instead of being used daily—a little bit of steam curled up from the spout into the air. The butler turned around and looked directly at the child—at least as far as he could since he had his back to Billy. "Are you refusing to take the proposal, William?" The man said calmly yet firmly. "What do you suggest, then?"

Billy quickly flipped to a new page and pressed his pen, indenting the words to the page below, "a job, sir. Until I can go back home." He started writing down 'I need a job' on the following line beneath his previous note on how to get home. He paused for a moment and gulped hard before continuing with short jittery lines—"Please." He finished by crossing out the word please and replacing it with another word before pressing his thumb against the paper to make the ink dry in case he needed to use it later: "I can help you! I can try my best!" He wrote eagerly in big slanted letters across several pages of loose-lined paper, almost frantic in desperation despite being only ten years old.

Alfred glanced over at Billy, who was now holding onto one end of the notebook, tightly clutching the other end of it so tight that there were tiny creases in between where his fingers touched. Alfred felt a sense of dread wash over him as Billy's face became increasingly pale, and his expression grew more nervous as time passed. Even though this kid was not his responsibility, he wasn't about to let the boy leave the property without some sort of promise or agreement. Pennyworth closed his eyes slightly and replied carefully, trying to keep from speaking too much since he didn't know what might set the child off again if he said anything wrong or made matters worse than they already were...

"Very well then," Mr. Pennyworth replied in a calm yet firm voice after a few moments. He opened up a drawer beside his desk, pulled out an official-looking document, and handed it directly to the boy with a wave of his hand: "If you would, sign here, and you may start working at once."

Billy took the pen Mr. Pennyworth offered and signed at the bottom of the page alongside 'Billy.' He had difficulty holding it steady because of how hard he gripped it due to how tense he was holding back tears. Yet, despite all this, his signature was clear and legible enough for any judge in Gotham City to accept without question. Alfred warmly smiles while glancing down at his phone before standing up straight. The texting went back and forth before it concluded in the affirmative:

'I agree. Start training tomorrow morning. Go ahead and take care of the boy. Good luck!'

Mr. Pennyworth placed the phone back on his desk gently with one finger still pressed against it before turning around wholly—sighing deeply from exhaustion—and sat down slowly on his chair as he rubbed a bit more life back into his stiff legs. 

Billy felt relieved that he finally had something to do—somewhere to go—a place where he could feel comfortable again after spending most of his life being mistreated by people who should've been doing their best to help rather than hurt him as they did. He could hardly wait until tomorrow morning when he starts his new job! This might just be the first good thing that happened to him since he was trapped in this city. Gods, he evaded being tossed into a foster home or an orphanage in Gotham—an area rife with crime and criminals, seeping with depravity and violence and riddled with corrupt police officers and politicians...

Sure, Billy had to bite his pride and fake some waterworks to guilt-trip a butler into taking him in...but what choice did he have? He needed somewhere safe to stay and someone to look out for his interests. Most importantly, he needed food, shelter, and cash to find some way out of this hellhole called 'Gotham' before it killed him. And if he doesn't get those things soon, then all of these other problems won't matter anyway because dying alone in an alleyway would suck worse than having no parents!

"You may explore the manor and property except for the restricted rooms. Please, do not cause trouble. Lunch will be served approximately at noon," Mr. Pennyworth said calmly while pouring himself another cup full of tea from the antique teapot. "Would you care for any snacks?" Alfred offered kindly, reaching across his desk towards one of several trays filled with finger sandwiches, scones, chocolate bars, and more—

Billy shook his head. He hardly ate breakfast anyway. "When do you want me back?" Billy wrote in his notebook. He flipped to a fresh page in his pad when he ran out of space on previous ones as he continued to write down details about the house he now found himself in—especially where he wasn't allowed. "I'll help in whatever ways I can."

Alfred chuckled softly as he placed both hands on the surface of his desk, leaning forward slightly onto it with the top half of his body which brought his face closer to Billy's own before he looked him straight in the eye, giving him a gentle smile: "My dear boy, I tend to start prepping lunch around 1030 hours or 10:30 A.M. So you may explore, for now, meet with my staff, and familiarise yourself with our mansion and grounds. Feel free to roam through all areas except for certain restricted rooms. There are only two rules here. One: you must follow them without question. Two: You shall not go into places marked 'Private.' Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir." The child nodded solemnly before glancing down at the notebook in his hand—his pen was completely dry of ink and needed to be re-inked soon since time seemed to be of the essence. Noticing this, Alfred replaced the boy's pen with two new ones of his own—he had a collection of writing instruments ranging from fountain pens to ballpoint pens for every occasion—and gave it over for him to use while saying, "I am glad that we have agreed... Now have fun, William, and try not to cause trouble for the masters and mistresses of this house." 

Billy took hold of the proffered items and immediately got up to leave as he started walking towards one of the many doorways on the other side of the office—one leading outside as the others lead off to various parts within the manor. As he started to walk towards one of the hallways, someone stood in front of him, quickly blocking his way with their arms crossed. A large dog was by his side, growling softly towards Batson as he swallowed nervously.

Billy froze with his mouth agape with shock. He didn't expect anyone to get in his way right now, especially in such a quiet place like this where he expected no interruptions. It was the boy with the sword from earlier, Damian Wayne, standing there staring down at him. "I do not know your motive to manipulate Pennyworth into hiring you, but I shall find out. We will talk again," the boy threatened without even turning around before stepping aside and letting Billy pass through, after which he turned around and continued to glare at Billy's back as he walked past—the dog also began to follow close behind him and kept pace.

The young boy did his best to ignore them as he felt the fear rising inside his chest at being chased around the mansion; it was all too overwhelming, terrifying, and disheartening. But if that is how they wanted to play, then so be it—he could just run away from this place, but this was better than facing Gotham's residents, who would've attacked him the first chance they got...

When a tingling chill coursed down his back, Billy could feel Damian's eyes on him as he explored the different rooms to familiarize himself with the place and get a feel for its layout and design in preparation for starting work tomorrow morning. He saw a lot of dust and cobwebs in hard-to-reach corners or along shelves in some old bookshelves and cupboards scattered throughout the house; one looked broken and cracked. Numerous pictures were hanging about on walls of various sizes. At the same time, paintings adorned some of the interior doors, giving off a somewhat gloomy atmosphere as if it belonged to an older generation.

Billy glanced down at his notebook in his hand since it had gotten quiet once Damian left his sight. He wrote down a list of the magic users that he vaguely knew, 'Jason Blood, Zatanna, Dr. Fate, Klarion the Witchboy.' Batson wrote down 'John Constantine' before crossing it out multiple times; the man tricked him out of his power when they met—forgetting to write anything about him other than being someone Billy should avoid talking to.

Biting his lip, Billy frowned at who he could contact to remove the curse on him. It was probably magical, and he figured since he could not make a noise and it blocked most of his connection to the six gods and pseudo gods, he received the bulk of his power... But there was no way around this; he couldn't do that without revealing that he was Captain Marvel. Plus, these people weren't exactly friendly; if he tried to ask for their help, they'd turn him into a frog or just send him to another dimension. Zatanna might help him, but then the league would know his identity.

He glanced at the time: 8:32 A.M. He wanted to explore more areas, but Damian would indeed chase after him and tell Mr. Pennyworth if he did not return soon. He started walking through one of the hallways until he found himself outside with a beautiful view over Gotham City below, "Hmm," Billy murmured as he watched as hundreds of buildings filled with tall skyscrapers appeared on the horizon. They looked like glass mountains jutting up towards the heavens as he felt somewhat dizzy as he turned back towards the house while trying his best to focus his vision again.

There were many statues placed all along the walls inside the mansion too. The house's overall appearance was old-fashioned in style yet modern enough to be considered unique—it had that 'timeless' look that older homes usually have. This made sense given that it belonged to one of Gotham City's oldest families in addition to being an estate for several generations, which meant that its design and architecture reflected those values and traditions passed down through time. It wasn't rare for wealthy families living here to pass away and leave their houses to a younger generation. As young Batson walked among the gothic and chateau-style furnishings, he came across what seemed to be a hidden room: an extensive library behind a bookcase full of leather books lined by row upon row of shelves containing numerous encyclopedias, dictionaries, atlases, almanacs, travel guides, and more. There were also dozens of artworks hanging on walls, including paintings from famous artists such as Rembrandt, Rubens, Renoir, and Van Gogh...

His eye caught onto a section of books on Greek and Roman mythology where several pictures were drawn or painted about different gods. In one of the drawings, he could see Zeus sitting atop Mount Olympus overlooking the world while wielding a lightning bolt like a club or scepter with his right hand, the king of the Gods staring directly out the pages at Billy, who stood frozen in fear and awe with his mouth agape before backing up. The book fell from his hands with a thump as the lights began to flicker while the clouds drawn around Zeus' figure began to expand into dark skies that soon covered up the entire page, dripping out of the confines of the book.

Billy stopped dead in his tracks as the entire floor began to shake as if the ground beneath him had suddenly shifted. The shaking became stronger as he quickly backed into a corner, but nothing else fell off its place. The candle holders swung back and forth while everything was beginning to sway wildly back and forth—the candles started to burn brighter and hotter until they set the room ablaze and forced Billy to shield his eyes and face away from the growing firelight as smoke filled his nose making him cough. The smoke from the fire unfurls, creeping through every crack and crevice inside this old house, enveloping all it touches in a dense cloud smelling of ozone. Then it rolled and poured over towards the little boy who was still clutching onto the sides of the bookcase, trying desperately to escape from it without success.

A deep rumbling noise shakes the walls violently, accompanied by cracking sounds heard throughout the manor. Loud cracks are coming from outside now, along with thunder booms sounding as sparks of light flicker through the rotating storm clouds within the hidden library. Lightning begins to flash among them, illuminating the room for just an instant before plunging it into darkness again, only to reveal another burst of lightning filling the space before fading away. A flash of lightning flickered towards Billy, lighting up his body briefly before causing a terrible shock wave that knocked Billy off his feet and sent him rolling across the floor and slamming hard against a wall; he hit his head on one of the bookshelves nearby, knocking himself out cold on impact.

A brief flash of an ancient tablet with faded etchings on its surface glowed brightly before burning out, leaving behind nothing but black ash floating in mid-air. 

...

When light washed his vision, Billy found himself lying on his side on the library couch. He coughed and groaned as drool began to trickle from his mouth while rubbing his head. His whole body ached terribly—he could feel pain running through his entire frame as if it was made from lead.

"You drool in your sleep. Here." Damian said, snatching a clean white handkerchief from his pocket before handing it to Billy, who used it to wipe away some saliva dribbling out of his mouth. "You should be careful of your surroundings." He stated with a single raised brow. "I would not have expected someone to get a concussion from The Odyssey, but here you are." The boy added after taking hold of Billy by the chin with his left hand. The boy lifted the child, so they were eye to eye as he spoke, staring into Billy's eyes intently. He flicked a flashlight into Billy's eyes several times before putting it down beside them and examining his pupil, which was slightly dilated. Damian let go and stepped back, nodding approvingly at what he saw before turning around and walking towards one of the hallways on the other side of the library without even giving him another glance.

Billy felt somewhat dizzy when trying to stand upright, swaying on unsteady feet for a moment before catching himself on the nearest shelf with both hands for support until finally standing there, groaning quietly to himself while clutching onto a bookcase for help for a bit longer. He didn't want to make noise or move too much since the last thing he wanted right now was to draw Damian's attention again. The child peered at the bookshelves and furniture—finding out that all of it was still as pristine and normal as it had been. Had he hallucinated that event? There was no smoke filling this room nor any fire burning in sight. Clutching his head, the boy moved back towards the couch, resting until the dizziness had subsided; then, feeling better, Billy walked out of the library and found himself in the same hallway where he had located Damian earlier.

After glancing behind him and seeing nothing but hallways and doors—Billy decided against exploring further as it was already getting late in the morning. If he returned later than Alfred expected, it would not look good on him, especially if it wasn't his fault but due to something that happened because he wasn't careful enough with his surroundings. It would also be wise not to take chances if not necessary. He gave a tired exhale, running his fingers through his hair and feeling the fluttering of his beating heart along with every breath he took as a sense of anxiety filled his chest. He held his breath and slowly released it briefly before repeating the exercise. He gave an abrupt nod as he calmly walked toward the kitchen to meet up with Mr. Pennyworth.

Chapter Text

The sound of clattering pots from the nearby kitchen reached Billy's ears. Accompanied by the smell of fresh fruits and vegetables being cut and peeled, the child felt hungry after what seemed like years since he had last eaten breakfast—he was so eager to eat that he could almost taste some hot food and maybe even try some bacon. After Billy washed his hands, he aided the butler in thoroughly washing the russet potatoes they would be eating for lunch today before preparing them for cooking. He watched Alfred diligently as the butler sliced each potato with a cross a quarter-inch thick, ensuring no single slice missed its mark.

Retrieving his notebook off the counter, Billy tapped the main servant's arm as he scribbled out hastily, "could I try?"

"Certainly, my young charge," the man replied, turning around to face him with a warm smile on his lips. Alfred took hold of one of his potatoes and placed it in front of the boy on the cutting board, then put a chef's knife next to it to demonstrate how the head servant did it with precision. Billy followed suit and started slicing them carefully and cautiously, then going slightly faster before putting the potatoes on top of a baking pan. With a faint upturn quirk of his lip, the butler dipped a pastry brush into a small dish containing vegetable oil and glazed the surface of the potatoes with a thin coat. As the head servant pointed to a container filled with coarse salt, he practically told the young boy before him, "Sprinkle it sparingly, if you may, William."

Billy did so, carefully evenly distributing the salt over each slice without spilling too much of the ingredient from the brittle ceramic bottle. Once the boy and the butler covered all potatoes with a dusting of coarse grains, Alfred and Billy soon placed each pan onto the racks in the commercial oven, setting the temperature to 400°F and the timer for two hours. While this was happening, the young boy gazed upon the kitchen in awe—the room had enough space for ten people who were about twice his size while leaving ample floor area for them to work comfortably even when the place was fully crowded. Billy marveled at the crispy skin crackling as the potatoes baked as the oven doors closed. Alfred placed a step stool beside him near the stove top as he gestured for Billy to step on it. Cautiously, Billy made his way onto the step ladder and looked at the pans on top of the stove with wide eyes. He was unfamiliar with this equipment; the stoves lacked the electric coils or gas he was familiar with; instead, the cooking stove was a sleek, level top with glowing circles to indicate the surface was on. Frankly, the child was intimidated by the number of buttons on the controls panel nearby, and even though there was a picture posted above the knobs explaining what each button did—the boy couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by such technological advancement.

"Is this.... the future?" Billy mouthed as he gazed with astonished eyes, mesmerized by its futuristic design and technology.

Alfred shook his head slightly in response. "No, my boy. I'm afraid it's just modern-day kitchenware, nothing more than an induction coil beneath the cooktop. They are quite common in modern households."

Billy gulped as his excitement vanished instantly, wondering why everyone around him didn't share his amazement. But then again, all those people are used to seeing technology like this. 'This is normal to them—but not to me!' thought the boy as he climbed off the stool before turning to look at Alfred again. The older man smiled warmly at him before asking gently, "What do you think? Are you pleased with your work today?"

The boy nodded eagerly at Alfred's question, looking up at the elder with a smile befitting a little prince who has done something exceptionally well after completing some arduous task. His cheeks turned rosy red, and his chest puffed out proudly when Billy politely answered the butler with pride, writing the words confidently across his notebook, "Yes! Thank you for trusting me!"

A slight grin stretched across Alfred's face when he read the boy's words, "It's my pleasure to have you here to help with chores. You're a quick learner, William—I can tell from how you carefully followed my instructions. And I must say, you sliced each potato very cleanly." With that, the old man patted the child on his back before continuing in a quiet voice so only Billy could hear, "You remind me of.." The older man trailed off as he gazed upon the young boy beside him. A melancholy expression formed on the butler's lips as he remembered what happened almost a decade ago, feeling the heat of nostalgia fill his heart as it brought back memories long forgotten. "...a friend of mine," finished Alfred quietly as he blinked away the haze filling his eyes, forcing himself to remember it was not too late to start anew despite everything they had lost years ago.

"How did you meet?" The boy curiously scribbled the question messily on the paper; he wanted to know more about this mysterious person.

Alfred raised one eyebrow slightly before speaking; there was no need for this young boy to know about their first encounter at this moment. It would be better if this memory were kept buried for now and re-examined another day. Besides, Billy should concentrate on cooking rather than listening to stories from days past. That way, he wouldn't burn anything inside the oven by accident and risk ruining the food they've been preparing all morning. The butler stated without uttering a word—only slightly raising his eyebrows to show the concern hidden underneath his calm expression.

Billy felt a small stab of guilt poking at his heart as he watched the butler turn around slowly, placing a large saucepan on top of the stove next to him. The older gentleman turned his head slightly towards Billy as he requested, "Billy, can you please fetch the cans of Heinz Baked Beans in Tomato Sauce? They should be on the bottom shelf, do be careful." The boy nodded obediently, going through several cupboards before finding the right one quickly before opening the door and retrieving them from where they were tucked in tightly behind some canned fruit. When the boy handed the beans over to Alfred, who swiftly opened the cans up with his opener, he couldn't help but wonder what kind of life those two must have lived together and why it caused the old butler such sorrow when looking at the young boy beside him.

After handing the open container filled with beans onto the counter beside him, Alfred took a bottle of water out from another nearby cabinet and drank from it as the child stirred the beans within the saucepan with a wooden spoon. After inhaling deeply, the rich smell wafted into his nostrils, making Billy feel like eating one of these delicious baked beans right away, except that wasn't something allowed inside the house. A smile played across his face as he listened to the crackling sounds from the potatoes baking inside the oven; he hoped this dish would taste just as good as it looked on the outside—or even better than it appeared so far!

Once the beans had finished cooking to their desired softness, the butler and his apprentice poured them into four bowls while they waited to cool down a little more before serving them for lunch today. The timer on the jacket potatoes began to ring out after a few minutes, signaling that it was time to take them out of the oven. With a firm hand gripping the edge of the pan, Billy carefully removed each hot baking pan before glimpsing the golden brown crispy skin enveloping each potato's surface underneath. He saw how perfect the skin was all around every slice. The boy could almost hear the crunch as he imagined biting through it and savoring its flavor—the delightfully salty yet sweet taste bursting through his tongue and spreading throughout his entire mouth as if by magic. This meal was going to be an amazing one.

Alfred Pennyworth set the table as Billy watched and mimicked him before setting out plates, knives, spoons, and napkins. Curiously, Alfred Pennyworth placed margarine within the baked potato. He sprinkled bits of bacon, chives, and black pepper onto the potato in front of a seat at the middle dining table. Billy watched keenly and wrote notes into his scratch pad, scribbling that "maybe the person could not eat dairy." Most of the others had shredded cheese, chives, black pepper, and butter on top of the jacket potato and beans, and Canadian bacon on the side except one. Delicately topped with shredded cheese, chives, butter, and beans, Billy notes that perhaps this individual does not eat meat or has religious beliefs against eating pork products like bacon.

Billy hoped his stomach would stop grumbling as he stood as stoically as he could next to Alfred. He smiled gently at the boy before addressing the others seated at the table and starting to serve the food much more formally than when they were cooking together. "Today, we are celebrating my apprentice's first day working for this manor," said Alfred kindly as he addressed everyone present. "Lunch today is a simple meal consisting of baked potatoes stuffed with baked beans and toppings of your choice alongside a cup of tea." As usual, no one complained about their lunch; it was a simple dish but delicious nonetheless. "William has done his best work learning from me, and I am honored to have such an excellent young gentleman join our ranks."

Billy blushed at being complimented, attempting to keep his collected composure despite feeling delighted by what the older servant had just stated. It took everything the boy had in him to hide his excitement behind a smile after the older man praised him. After a brief hesitation, his gaze slid over the people seated at the table until his eyes stopped upon Damian, who sat directly across from him. He stared blankly for a moment at the boy, who returned Billy's stare with narrowed eyes while speaking softly to Alfred before continuing to eat his food without so much as glancing at Billy again afterward. Billy examined the teen opposite Damian: black hair, sharp, intelligent blue eyes with eye bags underneath thin eyebrows that slightly curled upward, and pale skin that seemed too smooth around the edges and showed no sign of acne whatsoever—a bit creepy. The other teens did not share similar features or appearances besides Damian's black hair. Perhaps the head of the household has a penchant for adopting children with black hair—a realization that Billy blanched silently to himself. However, he tried not to let anyone else notice his reaction.

Unfortunately for poor young Batson, the other teen seated at the table, a quiet yet observant girl with pitch-dark hair, dark navy eyes, and tanned skin, observed him. She blinked as she saw him staring back at her in curiosity before saying nothing but allowing her gaze to linger on him briefly before returning to eating her food quietly once more. Her facial expression never changed from this time onward, only observing every detail about everyone present, especially the new apprentice sitting next to Alfred.

"Ah, William," Alfred began as Billy focused his attention on his mentor, "this is Mistress Cassandra, Master Damian, and Master Timothy. When you acknowledge them, you must place the honorifics 'Mistress' or 'Master,' then their names, and occasionally, followed by their family name." The young apprentice hurriedly scrawls the information into his notebook with great care, writing down what Alfred just told him with all possible details included for future reference. He noticed how the mistress glanced at him from the corner of her eye for a moment, even when looking away, causing Billy to fidget while standing uncomfortably. His heart fluttered rapidly in his chest as he realized something was off; however, he couldn't pinpoint it exactly—perhaps he thought too hard about her eyes?

Billy quickly looked around the table to see any other differences between Damian and the other teens before Alfred led him to a separate room. A small round dining table sat in the middle with four chairs surrounding the table perfectly. Two plates of food sat opposite each other; that would be where Billy sat during meals for now. Beside one plate rested a knife and fork. At the same time, two cups filled with tea, along with several small containers having various food items like baked beans, shredded cheese, bacon, butter, ketchup, pickles, chives, black pepper, salt, and the flawed jacket potatoes that they made. Alfred Pennyworth sat on the seat opposite his apprentice, waiting for Billy to serve himself first. The boy gingerly picked up his fork and shoveled some baked beans onto his plate. It tasted as if it was still fresh, and steam drifted and diffused into the atmosphere.

As soon as he took his first bite, his face lit up brightly as he discovered how delicious this meal was. The smile grew across his lips with each mouthful until it eventually began to ache. Billy carefully bit into the crumbling skin around the potato's edge while enjoying the flavor of melted cheese seeping through its surface with each bite. As he chewed slowly to savor each taste, a hint of sweetness wafted into his senses, reminding him of cinnamon. He smiled warmly at his mentor, who grinned back at him.

"Do you enjoy the food?" asked Alfred with a slight wry grin forming beneath his mustache as he stared at young Batson over his half-full cup of tea.

Billy nodded as he swallowed down the food before him. "Thank you very much, Mr. Pennyworth," the boy wrote on his notepad. "I'm glad everyone likes my food." Billy smiled politely once more before finishing off the rest of his plate in no time and cleaning up after himself like always; there wasn't anything left on the dish to clean anyway. He placed the item with the knife and fork into the sink, washed them thoroughly, and dried them by hand afterward to ensure the cloth wiped the water away from their surfaces.

Alfred tilted his head to the side, noting how the boy avoided using the dishwasher as usual. A faintly curious expression formed on his face as he waited patiently for his apprentice's answer but was ultimately disappointed upon receiving only silence in return from young Batson as the boy looked somewhat embarrassed. He glanced at Billy with a scrutinizing brow before walking towards Billy and helping him with the dishes again. The older man carried out one full tray of plates into the kitchen. At the same time, Billy picked up another set of empty trays, which he placed inside the sink alongside several knives and spatulas used earlier today during lunch preparations. The head servant was adamant about explaining how to operate the dishwasher properly. They returned to the dining room and retrieved the dirty dishes on the table.

Billy followed closely behind Alfred, carrying two dishes, observing what his mentor did each time before copying him, albeit slightly clumsily, after watching Alfred perform these actions. He jotted down some notes onto his scratch pad and noticed Mistress Cassandra looking curiously at Billy once more—he hoped she wouldn't say anything else. This time, the mistress smiled at Billy and nodded quietly with her lips curled up in an amused smile.

"That's better," Alfred murmured happily as he saw that everything appeared spotless. After putting away the utensils and cleaning off the table, the two returned to the living room, where they took their seats next to each other as if nothing unusual had happened. Once settled, they enjoyed tea together to calm their nerves. Alfred's gaze focused on the impoverished and meager clothes Billy wore. In contrast, the young Batson stared back intently at his mentor's face as if trying to determine something within his eyes. Alfred cleared his throat and began speaking without glancing at his apprentice, who remained quiet. "Now that you are my apprentice, we will have regular training sessions for you to gain knowledge about this Manor and how things work here. First, we must get you a proper set of clothing suitable for your position." He rose from his chair slowly before taking his coat off its hanger hanging by the door. "Come with me, William. We shall head to the Fashion District, although it shall be a drive."

Billy silently stood while following Alfred with the same amount of caution he used when going out into the cold streets alone with only a thin sweater to protect himself against harsh weather conditions like rain or snow. The boy glanced curiously at his surroundings, tugging onto Alfred's black overcoat sleeves until the two reached the outside world blanketed by sunshine. They walked towards a gigantic garage which appeared quite old but still functional since many cars sat inside.

As soon as they stepped inside, Billy was taken aback by how well-kept the interior looked compared to what he expected to find. His mouth gaped wide as he witnessed rows upon row of luxurious cars, most expensive models, state-of-the-art electronics, leather upholstery, polished silver fittings, and plush carpeting everywhere, with no dust. After a moment of jaw-dropping awestruck, young Batson composed himself as he shook his head slightly. The disparity of wealth between him and Bruce Wayne was glaringly apparent. He read through books and newspaper clippings about famous billionaires such as Warren Buffet, Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, and others during his free time. He always felt disaffected by the stories about their incredible achievements on this planet despite being born rich and never having to worry about their next meal or paycheck. In contrast, for poor kids like him who grew up on the streets in poverty, these tales were nothing short of fictionalized accounts that would only inspire false hopes for some people who don't have the means or desire to achieve something great like the figures above did in real life.

Alfred continued walking toward an empty car parked in the middle of one of the garages. There were several different styles of vehicles to choose from: a two-seater sports car with a sleek design, a luxurious limousine with soft leather seats covered in dark brown velvet, and even a bulletproof tanker truck capable of transporting tons of supplies—a type of vehicle commonly used by law enforcement officials across America and abroad for decades now. Billy stared curiously at them until his eyes focused on one particular car. It was simple and compact yet still stylish, but its bright silver color caught his attention.

"This is a perfect choice," Alfred said as he approached the passenger side of the silver sedan and opened the door before stepping back aside and allowing his apprentice to get inside first so as not to damage the finish. Billy carefully went into the car, afraid that his breathing would sully the pristine interior since it appeared very clean despite the garage's exterior. Once inside, a slight shiver ran down young Batson's spine when he saw how many switches, buttons, and dials littered the dashboard, with every button seeming significant enough to turn on. He clipped the seatbelt around him once more before looking out the windshield, where a massive curved glass shield formed a protective wall against the elements surrounding the vehicle. The engine roared and whirred like a giant turbine as the headlights flickered on; soon after, the windows turned opaque to keep dust away while providing privacy from outside prying eyes.

After shifting the gears, Alfred slid behind the steering wheel and started driving towards their destination—Billy remained silent during the entire drive, just watching everything unfold within his new worldview. The boy furrowed his eyebrows to keep himself from rolling his eyes or giggling at the amount of stuff the Wayne's had. Not long after leaving the garage, they passed through an elaborate tunnel system that connected different parts of Gotham City beneath a huge elevated road filled with vehicles traveling at high speeds. After following this main artery of roads leading deeper into the heart of the city, a sudden change in scenery took place as the street began going uphill until they reached a point overlooking the buildings below and prominent skyscrapers that stood tall among the rest as if towering above everyone else in town.

"The Fashion District," explained Alfred as he pointed his hand toward several clothing shops situated between various restaurants along the sidewalk, some having storefronts and signs posted out front showing clothes for sale. He parked the car next to one such shop, Nordstrom, which seemed to be one of the biggest stores here since it was more significant than most other shops combined. "Now that we're here, you may have a look around."

Billy looked around curiously with his mouth slightly open as he noticed the mannequins dressed in extravagant dresses and suits inside each window displaying expensive purchasable clothing. In contrast, other plastic models were situated in different scenes as if performing a part of a play. He saw women wearing colorful and luxurious outfits walking back and forth while talking about fashion accessories held in their hands; some of these people walked towards or away from the entrances to nearby buildings where more clothes boutiques were. The boy smiled brightly before turning his head from the windows towards his mentor, who gave a quick nod of his head. Billy approached the entrance but stopped abruptly when his eyes met a security guard standing watch over the door. A slight frown appeared upon young Batson's face as he observed this unfamiliar figure staring directly ahead as if watching for intruders like him.

"Don't worry, William," Alfred said kindly, reading how nervous and uneasy his apprentice felt after observing this uninviting sight, "I won't let anything bad happen to you. They will not cause you any trouble."

The head servant gently led the boy towards a rack of suits and jackets hanging behind a glass display case outside the store. "You may try on whatever you like." He pushed the frame aside with one hand to reveal several clothes of different designs, colors, and materials—each piece looked comfortable yet fashionable. Despite the sensation of eyes on him, Billy ran his fingers along some clothes until he came across something which resembled a uniform, except it was for boys rather than adults. However, the fabric was still very sturdy and thick enough to keep someone warm in cold weather. After deciding which suit he liked most, he lifted it off the hanger by its shoulders; he brought it to a changing room, removed his old shirt and pants, and slipped into the new ones. It took no time before the garments molded themselves perfectly around his body. The two-piece outfit consisted of trousers and a jacket-style blazer made of leather. Both pieces fit snuggly around his slender form without causing discomfort even when running or fighting during battle situations. Billy gazed at himself through the mirror with an uncomfortable expression as his eyes widened at the price tag on his left shoulder: six hundred dollars! His mouth gaped open in disbelief as he heard Alfred's voice echoing inside his head, telling him Mr. Wayne would pay the bill since he started working in the mansion. He had never owned such expensive clothes in his entire life. Billy went out of the changing room to show Mr. Pennyworth his outfit, and the older man gave a small gesture of approval before commenting about how great it looked. At the same time, the youngster seemed somewhat embarrassed about the price tag but also relieved that Alfred was pleased with their appearance.

"Sir, this is too much money. I can't accept this." Billy again addressed his notepad after returning to his seat next to Alfred.

"No need for concern," replied his mentor with a slight smile. "It doesn't matter if it costs more to produce; all clothing items sold here are quality products that will last longer if properly taken care of."

Billy stared curiously at his new outfit while thinking they should've given him something cheaper like a t-shirt and sweatpants rather than having to buy such luxurious material at an exorbitant price. "How about a deal?" He jotted down impatiently, biting his lip with a nervous disposition. "I'll be fine if you buy those suits if you let me shop somewhere way cheaper. Do we have a deal?"

Alfred softly chuckled as he gazed at his apprentice with prideful admiration. Although the boy appeared unrefined from his past living conditions and appearance, he still possessed a unique character in which he displayed a maturity well beyond his years in particular ways. His personality grew by the day, and Alfred was sure he'd become a good friend over time despite being initially hesitant. This youth may come across as innocent but was far more complex than anyone could ever guess.

"Of course," Alfred answered kindly to young Batson's request to allow him to try another store first before heading to the tailor to pay for their purchases. "It's only fair."

***

After leaving Nordstrom behind, they walked past the Fashion District, passing several different boutiques that filled the area with even more expensive clothing stores. Soon after passing through this wealthy district, they came upon a lower-income part of town surrounded by tall buildings. They gave an alleyway full of garbage bags where some homeless men and women sat around drinking and smoking while using plastic cups and bottles as makeshift glasses. Most looked half starved and shabbily dressed, wearing clothes similar to what Billy wore at that moment—the boy noticed people glancing at him and the well-dressed butler behind him. He tried not to feel awkward when he saw everyone staring at him with contemptuous expressions since he didn't want Alfred to feel uncomfortable about his appearance. He walked briskly past the slums until he arrived at a more prominent building with several cars parked in front of it. A large sign read, 'Walmart' in fancy lettering, showing its presence in this particular neighborhood like a shining light in the darkness.

Billy watched how dozens of people walked towards Walmart, walking in with a list but almost certainly, buying more. As he walked inside with Alfred, Billy took a coupon booklet and carefully ripped out the coupons by folding them. The boy creased the ridges of the paper, folded it back and forth with ease, and ripped it with nimble hands.

He gently tugged Mr. Pennyworth's sleeve as he led the man toward the typical storefronts displaying everyday items such as groceries and cheap clothing; Billy took notice of these things without writing a single word onto his paper pad. Instead, the kid stared around curiously and observed many people going in and out of various shops, each carrying some shopping bags in one hand and walking confidently towards the next place. The young man walked towards the stand with coupons and discounts displayed near the entrance doors while holding hands with Alfred for safety purposes.

Alfred nodded approvingly after noticing the boy paying attention to details surrounding them rather than staring at other passersby with bored expressions. After looking through several coupon booklets until deciding on something relevant to their needs, the pair proceeded to the aisle for clothing marked 50 percent off, where dozens of colorful shirts lined against shelves that were neatly stacked full of assorted clothes. Most of the items on sale belonged in the boy's price range, but he decided it best not to purchase more than necessary if he left the city within a month or so.

With his eyes alight with excitement, Billy Batson began to toss a couple of red hoodies, sweaters, and cheap blue jeans into their cart, along with a few pairs of shoes made from durable leather or cloth material that could withstand hard work. His mind raced back to when they entered Nordstrom; the price still unsettled his stomach even though the boy had received permission from Mr. Pennyworth to make any purchases required by his new job duties. He felt uneasy about spending that amount of money, especially considering how he had never possessed a lot of funds during his childhood.

Curiously, the child glanced over at Alfred, who seemed eager to shop and was currently pushing a trolley loaded with items for him and Billy. The young boy silently snickered as he reintroduced the butler to the beautiful world of couponing—something Alfred once experienced in his younger years before joining Wayne Manor as a servant. As the two walked deeper inside the store, the older man remarked to the youth how people often bought things without checking prices, which cost them extra money. Alfred continued his reflections upon the worth.

The distinctive pair inspected the produce section, finding a few lovely pears in the hidden flaws and discoloration mines. It was not like the fruits that Alfred imports: pristine, unblemished, and so sweet that you'll be able to taste its genuine sweetness after a single bite. This pear is soft to the touch, smells excellent, and has lovely green skin with some faint spots that indicate it may ripen well within the next day. It was not perfect, but it was good enough and delicious too! Once he found something worthy of purchase, Billy jumped to grab the roll of plastic, leaving a long trail of bags when he ripped one off. The boy motioned to leap towards the green paper twist ties, but the butler grabbed a handful and handed it to the enthusiastic child. He placed the pears into a plastic bag and looked up at Mr. Pennyworth—a faint, charming smile appeared on the servant's face, which only deepened when Billy grinned back.

They made their way past other items toward the canned food aisle, where shelves full of processed goods lined against each wall. The boy took out several cans of soup while looking around for ingredients to cook a meal to warm themselves from the cold winter outside; Alfred scanned the shelf filled with dried noodles and rice, hoping to find a product suitable for preparing an edible dish.

Billy began filling the trolley with canned goods such as soups, tuna fish, and assorted seasonings and vegetables. His mind drifted away during his shopping expedition as he thought about deciding which foods would last him for a couple of days in Fawcett city. Sometimes, a bag of jerky would have to last him two weeks before he could get another one. If his money weren't long enough, canned salty beef stew with brown rice or peanut butter and jelly sandwich would do the trick since they were simple yet tasty meals that could keep hunger pangs away without breaking the bank.

Alfred nodded approvingly after seeing how much time the youngster was paying attention to the details surrounding them. It was nice to see how much more aware the kid was of common sense matters than others who usually behaved recklessly at stores like this. While most people rushed through buying whatever they wanted regardless of what they needed, Billy did not let his eyes wander off things worth picking up but instead chose wisely, which left Alfred curious about how someone so young knew so much about saving money. He pondered this question profoundly but decided not to ask, not wanting to appear ignorant about anything concerning this youth's life experiences so far.

After buying enough groceries and supplies, the boy and man proceeded towards the checkout counter, where a woman dressed in a black shirt and blue jeans waited for their orders behind a computer terminal. Alfred Pennyworth pulled out a plastic card from his pocket and placed it into a reader for payment. He was sure that he had enough funds for the purchases made today—after all, he wouldn't want his apprentice going hungry on his watch—and contently smiled while handing over his ID with no trouble whatsoever. The lady proceeded to ring them up with the machine before looking up at the two customers waiting to pay with several shopping carts filled to the brim with goods. Billy proceeded to hand the coupons to the cashier, who looked down upon him curiously before accepting the coupons after scanning the contents. She glanced back again at the adolescent boy and nodded politely after including his discount—it seemed she was impressed that he knew about couponing since very few children were interested in such a skill.

"Here you go," said the clerk as she handed the graceful butler the receipts for each purchase. He calculated the amount of savings the coupons brought, glancing at the paper sheets with great interest. "It appears our trip paid off this time." The British gentleman cleared his throat. "Congratulations, William. You have saved Master Bruce $71.38 by using your skills wisely."

"Isn't that amazing?" Billy inscribed with a wide grin and childishly sketched a rainbow and a sun peeking out behind mountains on his pad.

"May I remind you that Master Bruce is a billionaire," Alfred replied dryly with a slightly mischievous twinkle in his eye.

At this, Billy's bright blue eyes became dull. The upturn smile slowly relaxed into a perfectly straight line across his lips. The boy set his jaw firmly against any more banter. His hand paused in drawing his once delightful mood. Thus, William resorts to what children do when they experience displeasure; they pout. A slight crease formed between the young boy's brows while he furrowed them together while squinting at the butler in question. He writes his response with equally deadpan wit: "Billionaires are only good if they can pay for my allowance and college tuition so that I don't starve."

Alfred Pennyworth snorted before taking out one of the bags full of groceries and handing it over to the youth. He peered at the child with an inquisitive expression. A slight lift of his brow indicated a desire to ask a few questions about this mysterious boy he chose to take on. With a short nod from Mr. Pennyworth, Billy took the hefty bag of cans, tins, and boxes, setting off towards the exit doors without another word. It was late afternoon now, time to prepare dinner for the Waynes, as usual. The older man lifted the corners of his lips in a faint gesture as he watched his apprentice walk away, following the child as he inquired, "what do you plan to do with the canned food? We have plenty of food at the Manor."

William Batson stopped briefly near the entrance door and glanced back before looking up at Alfred with unwavering determination. He gave the butler a nod and motioned for the man to follow him as they walked past the dingy alleyways filled with trash and piles of debris littered here and there. He made his way through narrow side streets, where homeless people huddled close to each other to keep warm during this cold winter night. Billy gingerly began to take the heavy bag of canned foods and extra clothes into the street in front of a group of dirty men, women, and children who eyed him suspiciously because someone would enter their vicinity. In contrast, others looked on curiously in disbelief—some even yelled in anger that no one dared bother them in their territory. He gently laid out the bags of groceries, clothes, toothbrushes, deodorant, and shoes onto the ground and pushed them towards the crowd. "Please help yourself." He wrote on the paper and ripped it from his notepad before placing it beside the bags.

"What?" exclaimed one woman in surprise as she peered at William while squinting her eyes to look closely at this unusual sight; some elderly individuals and children were curious too. Empathy was rarely seen in Gotham city: a child so kind to strangers, especially those with such a terrible appearance. She dressed in ragged clothing with bare feet; her hair was greasy, long, tangled, and unkempt.

With a subtle nod and a brief glimpse of a smile, Billy turned and walked toward his mentor, tugging at Alfred's cufflinks so they could leave quickly. He knew how it felt—the distrust, the shame at having to rely upon handouts when everyone else can afford decent things. No matter what, he decided he wouldn't allow anyone or anything to stop him from doing what he had to do. As the pair exited the alleyway, they entered the posh streets of the fashion district near Wayne Manor, where wealthy people with more money than taste gathered for their shopping trips. Many fancy stores sell expensive items for a lot of cash, but none hold a candle next to a charity store offering discount prices for low-income families. The rest of the stroll back to the vehicle filled with silent contemplation.

Alfred sighed deeply and scratched his chin as if pondering something. He watched as the young boy placed the two bags, one after another, and handed them over to Mr. Pennyworth to load into the trunk of his car. "Billy," said Alfred quietly as his voice wavered slightly from concern and compassion; there seemed to be an extra pang within it that made Billy stare downwards in confusion. "Why did you give all these gifts to those people?"

William raised his head again to look at his teacher; he appeared concerned about this question while staring directly at Alfred with bright blue eyes that looked at him curiously, in which a few strands of unkempt hair hid part of his eyes. "Because I know how it feels." The boy mouthed words without saying them aloud—his face remained expressionless like a robot. He stared at the older man keenly before giving a tiny nod and closing his eyelids tightly. A tear slowly fell out of the corner of the youth's eye as he quickly headed for the passenger seat. After opening the door and getting inside, he stared blankly ahead after putting on his seatbelt. His fingers tapped on the leather seats rhythmically. William was quiet as he sat still for several minutes, lost in thought until he looked up again, catching Alfred gazing back at him from the rear-view mirror with concern. Billy knew that his current situation was temporary, a fleeting moment before he had to return to his life before.

In a place of neither light nor sound, a screen flashed with light and buzzing sounds as a message displayed:

Chapter Text

The soft sounds of gentle classical music drifted throughout the dimmed room full of expensive furniture. The girl sat by herself while reading a book under a lamp near her bed. She turned another page to continue her story, which brought an amused smile across her lips. She continued her attempt at reading aloud in a clear voice that carried through the night. It would have been better if she didn't bother; however, there wasn't anyone else to listen to except for her. No one could see or hear her unless they were nearby, but the young woman took pride in learning to speak better despite her difficulty because she felt it improved over time.

She read over a simple book, The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein, and let the words fill her head as they played out in her mind with perfect clarity and understanding. She read, tripping over her words and skipping quite a few pages along the way until suddenly something came out of nowhere—something unfamiliar and scary. Something appeared before the girl's eyes like a flash of lightning before quickly dissipating into nothingness. The girl leaped from her hidden balcony perch, landing hard on the floor below after making sure no one heard any loud noises before retreating to safety again to ponder what had just happened. She followed the shadow and the scurrying sounds leading towards the kitchen; they seemed to be moving away from where she was sitting. Her heart beat faster with anticipation of following them further.

She hears the clang of metal chopping into a vegetable or fruit; someone was preparing food in this mansion tonight. She moved slowly so as not to alert the intruder while silently creeping closer towards a dimly lit hallway covered by shadows. As the girl made her way down the long corridor, she discovered that the lights were switched off except for those near closed doors. At the end of the hall, she spotted faint light shining from behind a door, which attracted her attention more than anything else since she saw a small boy on top of a step stool chopping up pears while peeling apples into a large bowl next to him. The young woman stepped lightly upon the wooden floors; they creaked quietly beneath her feet without anyone noticing.

As she approached the lad, he lifted his gaze to stare directly into her eyes. He blushed in embarrassment at being caught and turned bright red looking at her beautiful face. His blue eyes glinted like sapphires as he watched her closely with curiosity. He placed the knife to the side next to the cutting board as he washed his hands and dried them on the towel. The small boy climbed off the step stool and went to retrieve his notepad and pen. She could see that he doodled on the margins of the pages, but he wasn't exceptionally gifted or talented. With a gentle smile, William began scribbling something on the paper, writing, "Mistress Cassandra, did I wake you?" He waited for an answer, hoping she would say something back to him, even if it were a simple yes or no response.

The girl stared blankly at the child who wrote notes about things that had nothing to do with himself; she felt uneasy inside despite knowing she should stay quiet and listen. She looked around cautiously before responding: "Very late for you." Her voice sounded strange as she spoke; she inaudibly muttered when there was silence. "Hungry?"

"Yes," wrote Billy Batson in surprise. The youth paused in thought as he listened carefully for any unusual sounds coming from outside through the open window, which allowed the moonlight to shine down onto the floor below. He frowned at the creeping chill Gotham nights brought. "I can't get to sleep." He quickly finished writing, tore out the note from his pad, and silently handed it over to the girl. He didn't have anyone else to talk to and needed company more than anything else right now. After seeing how scared this boy became during his brief interaction with him, the young woman took pity on him—she understood what he must have been feeling all too well in the past few years after moving into Wayne Manor.

Cass watched his body language with a discerning eye. It was not as if she suspected him of anything, but it was a skill she developed for survival—challenging to turn off. For instance, while watching someone move their fingers as they talk or smile, it's not that difficult to detect if they're nervous or uncomfortable. Cass recalled those times when her 'father' instructed her to read people so she could correctly gauge her emotional responses based on the situation without showing her true feelings. Her 'father' also taught her to kill. This skill is beneficial since no one in Gotham knows who Cassandra is except Alfred Pennyworth and the Bat family.

The girl sat down and faced William gently; she crossed her arms and tapped them against her lap before looking away towards the moonlit window. "There are... dangers in Gotham." She glanced back up, peering at him directly. "Like me." She mumbled these words as quietly as possible before returning her gaze forward again, as if ashamed for revealing herself to this strange child whose face told curiosity instead of fear or sadness like others. As much as he looked like a boy in appearance only, there were signs suggesting otherwise. His eyes betrayed a significant amount of wisdom for someone his age—there wasn't even an ounce of doubt on his mind, which meant he had endured hardships through life far more significant than any other ten-year-old his age would ever come across.

"Would you like some fruit, Mistress Cassandra?" Billy scratched on his notes with genuine concern etched upon his youthful face, hidden under tangled strands of dark black hair falling over his left eye. He held out the plate with apples and pears sliced neatly onto it. The young man leaned slightly towards the girl with a hopeful look in his deep blue eyes. Cass slowly moved her head to acknowledge the offering with her mouth pressed tightly closed to prevent a word from escaping. "Thank you."

While doing his morning rituals, Mr. Pennyworth hummed to classical music; today was Saturday—his day off to relax while enjoying coffee brewed by himself at the mansion's kitchen table while reading his newspaper. As the refined butler strolled into the dining room, dressed elegantly in a full dress suit, he noticed a large plate of freshly cut fruit sitting on the middle of the table. Some pieces had different thicknesses, while others were perfectly cut—indicating someone with masterful knife skills. There were apple slices shaped like bunnies, although some were misshapen, and one looked like the bunny was missing an ear.

As the old servant investigated the kitchen, he found it as spotless as he had left it after dinner. The culprit placed the chef's knife on a towel to dry—wash by hand while the dishes were inside the dishwasher. The placement of the plates was not perfect since the utensils and silverware weren't precisely aligned just right within the Tetris game of dishwashing.

Lifting his brow in amused curiosity, Alfred found the culprits sleeping on the old sofa, each curled up on opposite ends. William slept curled into himself without a blanket, while Cassandra had a small warm blanket tucked around her. He paused momentarily, pondering how they must have fallen asleep together during their nightly activities. The butler gave a small sigh as he went to retrieve a blanket for his young apprentice to use. While grabbing some folded clothes to sleep in, the butler glanced over at his young ward, who rested peacefully and breathed deeply; he also cleaned and closed the blinds before placing the blanket over William. As the servant did so, he spied brightly colored bandages around his ward's fingers—hot pink with pictures of Barbies. A soft snort betrayed the manservant's amusement.

Alfred Pennyworth stepped out of the living room quietly so as not to disturb them—both children fell asleep immediately after being wrapped in the warmth of blankets. The head manservant's eyes focused on the overflowing plate with apples and pears neatly sliced across it. Mr. Pennyworth smiled as he closed the doors gently behind him, leaving a note stating that he'd be gone for an entire day on an important task.

Billy awoke to sunlight shining through the living room window. He stood up to stretch his arms overhead while taking deep breaths and letting his body relax. As the child looked around, the boy found he had awakened alone without Cass on the couch. He shrugged and figured she had other things to do. It was still early in the morning since the time hadn't reached noon. William dressed in clean clothes and sat at the kitchen table, anticipating what breakfast might bring. When nothing arrived, Billy started picking up a piece of paper and read Alfred's note. "Dear Billy," the words said; they were placed delicately along one edge of the white stationery with penmanship done neatly with no misspellings or errors.

"Master Bruce Wayne has ordered me to go out today to help some people with their problems. You may explore the Manor and surrounding areas, but please be careful and let Master Damian, Master Tim, or Mistress Cassandra know where you are going."

He studied the paper carefully, rereading it once more to ensure he understood the message correctly before setting it aside for now and going to get ready. He pulled his hoodie off its hanger inside the closet before putting it on his back. He looked at the mirror and smirked, tilting his head to the side as he seemed like an average child—albeit petite and skinny. With a pair of sneakers, black socks, blue jeans, and a grey shirt underneath a sizeable red hoodie, he put all his belongings into his backpack before closing the bedroom door silently behind him. With a skip in his step, he started leaving for a day full of adventures in Gotham City.

First, he took a pair of headphones and plugged them into his old CD player; part of the plastic was slightly melted, bought from a garage sale. After putting the walkman into his hoodie pocket, Billy selected a specific theme song, a particular theme about a perfidious pink panther with slick fur while committing heists. It was perfect since he needed to remain inconspicuous while sneaking out of this mansion with only a backpack and a notepad tucked under his arm. The boy followed the long ornate hallways, using the furniture in the living room for cover to keep himself concealed. He passed by Cass, tiptoeing down the hallway adjacent to her bedroom; she stopped when she saw him on the way to the stairs leading downstairs. Her face had an expression of curiousness on it; then, her eyes softened upon noticing William's antics as he walked down the stairs carefully so he didn't make too much noise.

He crept past a hallway in full view of Damian, who was eating a plate of fruit, handing an apple slice to his dog as his eyebrows scrunched in confusion as Billy crouched past in rhythm to something only he could hear. Damian's eyes narrowed, and afterward, he blinked—slowly—as he took out his phone to text and continue feeding his animals some fruit.

Billy felt like a master thief sneaking around the Manor without being noticed. Even though he wore dark clothes and covered up his hoodie, he still seemed conspicuous due to how he carried a backpack—people would be able to spot that right away. Still, the boy smiled inside because he wanted to try things out first before ensuring everything went well.

When reaching the end of the hall, three doors led into different rooms: one into Bruce Wayne's office, another into a small bedroom where Alfred sometimes slept (but usually kept it empty), and lastly, into a bathroom with old but modern fixtures. He was looking for a servant's exit and found it behind a tall stack of boxes near a windowless door at the backside of the Manor. The entrance led outside through a secret tunnel; William held onto his notepad as he paced forward along an unpaved path. The tunnel was large enough for multiple cars to drive through—which hardly fazed the child. Bruce Wayne was a billionaire, and rich people—are weird. If the man was an extreme doomsday prepper, who was he to judge?

The tunnel had a door that led to a tiny shed surrounded by trees in a clearing by a stream. Once past this point, the only thing between the kid and freedom would be an electric fence running across the grounds; the wire was strung up so high on both sides that no person could easily climb over without assistance from ladders or equipment. Billy could almost smell the city's fresh air with the added fragrance of pollution.

"Where are you going?"

William stopped dead in his tracks upon hearing somebody's voice behind him. Wait. Didn't he have headphones on? He turned in surprise to see a teen standing near the exit wearing a long-sleeved grey jacket with one hand holding onto Billy's ratty headphones while staring at him with curiosity evident within his ice blue eyes. The boy held his hands to gesture around the large mansion, saying, "You're not supposed to leave without telling someone..." His expression was unreadable, yet something about this boy caught William's attention. 

Shit. This boy was observant.

Billy quickly schooled his shock expression into one of angelic innocence as he rummaged through his backpack for his notepad and a pen so he could communicate. "Sorry, I forgot, Master Timothy." He didn't.
The young apprentice dipped his head in a false display of apology, scratching the side of his neck before writing on the pad and handing it to the teenager, who read the note carefully. After reading it thoroughly, he gave the paper and headphones back with a crooked smile on his face to William. The teen stared at the small boy before finally speaking up, looking back at the Manor again—as if considering whether to say more or keep it to himself. "I'm Tim Drake," he introduced, extending his hand once more—the other one still hidden under his jacket sleeve.

Billy's eyebrows rose as he shook Tim's hand, noticing how cold it was even though the teen was wearing a thick jacket. He examined him closely for any sign of a fake handshake that would lead the ten-year-old down a different path that might end in getting hurt. Billy had been in many similar situations throughout his life where people tried to fool him by being nice to his face while trying to take advantage of him in another way. The older boy nodded at William when he returned his hand to his lap while studying him intently, his blue eyes shining brightly within their sockets, giving off the appearance of intensity. "Nice to meet you again... I'm Billy." He wrote on the page before flipping it over.

Tim gave the boy a lopsided grin, "What are you doing out here, Billy?"

William paused briefly, staring into the distance and letting a breath through his nose, thinking about what this strange teen wanted from him since there wasn't anything obvious about this guy besides his baby blue eyes. He opened the journal and handed it to him so that Tim could read the note. He didn't look concerned, only drawing his attention as he read each line carefully. "Did you run away or something?"

Billy was taken aback by surprise; he didn't expect someone like Tim to care enough about someone he didn't know—a random stranger. The young apprentice quickly shook his head no in response before returning the notebook. His cheeks then turned red in embarrassment—he hated being seen as a kid who ran away from home. Billy tried not to feel too ashamed of how others would see him because of how things may end up in the future. The boy folded his arms, inaudibly saying, "No." He scratched his neck again, hiding his face with his hood while looking downwards.

Tim observed William with intense concern while studying every single aspect of him without blinking. It felt almost uncomfortable for William to be scrutinized by a teenager while wearing a hoodie, carrying a backpack slung over one shoulder, and holding a small piece of paper tightly in hand. After a few moments of silence, Tim smiled when he finally spoke up again after breaking eye contact. "Where are your parents? I can help you find them if you want," the older teen offered kindly, which caught Billy off guard momentarily before the ten-year-old became suspicious instead.

Billy looked at the ground between his sneakers as his heart raced faster than before due to this sudden kindness coming from Tim Drake. He tilted his head back upward and stared into those ice-blue eyes filled with genuine concern—something that didn't seem fake at all. He bit his lower lip gently; he was nervous about trusting this guy—but he couldn't stay here forever either. He needed to find a way to break whatever magic took his voice, and he lacked information about magic users within Gotham City limits. It wasn't safe to live there anymore. He sighed heavily. This stranger's kind offer seemed like a great idea.

"You'll have to promise not to tell Mr. Pennyworth, Master Damian, or Mistress Cassandra where I go..." Billy scratched out in small letters, looking down as he wrote on the paper while taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. The young boy glanced up again, squinting at Tim before looking away; Billy felt as though the boy could see right through him with just a single gaze. The older teen paused for a second, hesitating to ask him a question; then, with another glance, he asked, "Why?" His tone remained polite yet curious.

Billy started writing hesitantly: "Because they won't approve of my going outside alone."

Tim studied him keenly after reading what Billy wrote. "I don't think it will be an issue."

The child rolled his eyes slightly, shaking his head but feeling like he should keep quiet. "What? You're not going to snitch on me?" Billy scrawled with a dumbfounded expression on his face.

Tim laughed and shook his head as he put his hands on his waist with one foot lifted and crossed over the other—looking relaxed with his posture as if in control of everything around them. "Billy," he replies with a roll of his eyes, "you're not worth the effort to snitch on. Besides, I know how these things work... if you don't get caught, no big deal. If you get caught, well, you got into that mess. So, either way..." He shrugged his shoulders indifferently while stepping forward and looking down into Billy's eyes, "not my problem." He flashed a smile.

Billy bit his lips as he penned the following sentence, "Do you think you can get me to the library?"

"Sure," Tim replied quickly, staring at the boy from head to toe without hesitation. He stood there calmly for a few moments before pointing toward the library's location. "Come with me, kid. I'm going that direction anyway."

Billy smiled at the offer with great enthusiasm. He was still curious about this stranger. He held out his hand, offering it in the act of civility.

Tim blankly stared when he saw it. The boy let out a small sigh of annoyance, lowering his gaze slightly and pushing his hood up, running his hands through his short black hair while staring at William until finally taking the boy's offered hand and shaking it firmly—his cold hand now warm once more. They momentarily stood as they regarded each other briefly before parting for the library. Billy walked ahead as the backpack slung haphazardly over one shoulder as they talked. "Why are you going to the library?"

The young apprentice gave him a sly grin after he turned around with one eyebrow raised in surprise, as if saying, "You don't know?" The impertinent child mimed reading a book by opening and closing his palms on top, which caused Tim to laugh while shaking his head in amusement. "Why would you go to the library? There's nothing cool in there... Besides boring books."

Billy stopped dead again, glaring at Tim defensively. He pulled the notepad back out of his backpack slowly before looking down at the page and scribbling a messy note: "There is lots of cool stuff here! Like books, comic books..." He quickly looked up from the notebook before looking away and raising his hands excitedly before adding hastily, "...and computers!"

Tim smirked before breaking into laughter again. "Coolest things I've seen yet today," he said aloud while snorting from the absurdity. His mirth only increased as he imagined what kind of information this kid could have access to through the almighty power of the internet. After letting himself calm enough to talk usually, Tim continued to speak with him calmly while they were making their way across the street to the library. "So why do you like going to the library so much? It's just a place for old people."

"Not true!" Billy scrawled furiously before shoving the pad in front of his face to hide his response. He stared at his writing for a few moments before continuing to walk without another word, pretending to read something on the notepad to avoid answering further questions. They walked along quietly until Tim decided to try again after observing William, "Hey... come on, man... Are you okay?"

The ten-year-old felt terrible about keeping secrets after realizing that Tim had already given up trying to get answers—the older teen seemed more concerned about being friendly and getting to know more about this boy than discovering where he came from. The boy scratched his neck while walking; he couldn't keep doing this whenever the older teen wanted him to answer his question since it might raise suspicion later. He turned around when he reached the library steps. "Yes, fine," he answered timidly, mouthing the words soundlessly but feeling guilty about lying.

"I'm gonna go ahead," Tim announced as he made his way towards the doors leading inside the library.

Billy Batson tilted his head as he quickly scribbled out, "I thought you said libraries are for old people."

Tim quirked his lips into a smile at the observation while shaking his head slightly, "The manga section." He observed the kid see if any hint of irritation would surface at this remark. After witnessing a twitch in Billy's left eye, he responded with a shit-eating grin and continued, "We'll meet back here in two hours, okay?"

Billy nodded, giving him a small wave and heading inside with some trepidation. Tim then entered the library. The building was surprisingly empty. Most teenagers weren't too interested in reading books unless required for schoolwork—nothing was wrong with that. The young apprentice walked through the halls and passed a few kids sitting at desks. There wasn't anything that interesting to read about; all the kids seemed to be looking up information about their favorite video games or comic book characters while trying to impress one another while not having much success. Billy looked around to see if anyone was watching him. When he felt he wasn't observed, he went to one of the computers to use the internet while keeping an ear out for his friend Tim outside.

He began searching online to try and find any references to magic users within Gotham City limits, which was more complex than he had anticipated. Still, the more he searched for more knowledge about magical beings, the more questions came to mind. Billy knew even less about these people than he thought since he had no concrete answers to most things. He kept his eyes on the screen as he wrote down notes from his research as quickly as possible while letting out a sigh of frustration. Of course, magic users kept to themselves. The only one reasonably public was Zatanna, who was halfway around the world in Australia. As far as he could tell, there weren't others known for practicing magic publicly besides her and the Cap (but he wasn't available). 

Billy sorely missed the Wisdom of Solomon; however, the boy never would have guessed how many types of magic existed or what each type did. It would take him years of practice before learning the basics to start understanding anything that might help him break whatever spell was taking over his body. And so, Billy thought it would be a great idea to look up curses. Unfortunately for the young boy, there were so many curses to learn about that they wouldn't all fit into his notebook. Instead, he found himself being directed toward several sites explaining different curses—some were written by witches and wizards with vast experience in casting spells. At the same time, other pages included information and illustrations regarding more powerful magic users. 

There were different curses from other pantheons: Celtic, Egyptian, Greek... There seemed to be too much information; the apprentice did not have the funds or time to print or write the pages down. He looked at the clock on the desk to see if he should get going soon since he didn't want to keep Tim waiting longer than he already had. However, he decided to stay another few minutes to try and read through everything he could before leaving. The young boy sloppily scribbled into his notebook any curses that describe his inability to speak or connect with his pantheon powers. After reading several paragraphs about curses involving speech, Billy grew annoyed at trying to decipher the ancient writing inscribed onto scrolls of animal hide bound together in twine. "This is ridiculous," Billy muttered soundlessly under his breath as he continued reading about some curse using a tablet or one using poisonous snakes. He lacked the intuitive understanding of languages now that he had lost the Wisdom of Solomon.

He stared at the page before jotting a note. Billy took a deep breath and let it out slowly while concentrating on the paper and pen before scribbling a barely legible message:

"I'm starting to feel tired. I hope this doesn't mean that it will get worse..." He paused and considered what else to write: "...It might be related to whatever magic was done on me."

The boy kept searching pages until something caught his attention—a passage detailing curses from Egypt that involved poisons such as cobras, scorpions, centipedes, spiders, and vipers—which sounded similar to the description in his notes, except for the fact that these curses would not affect only the victim but also their families, friends, and loved ones. They'd have to watch over the afflicted and pray they didn't contract the same fate.

Billy began writing down all of the information he could find. In the middle of writing a paragraph, he abruptly paused as his eyes grew with astonishment. The more he contemplated the thought that struck him, the more his mouth gaped open without making a sound. His thoughts ran like a runaway train with no end or beginning. Billy shook his head vigorously before shutting his notebook.

He quickly stared at the timer on his computer: 5 minutes left before his access would end. Billy fumbled his mouse as he promptly opened a new tab and rushed to type in Twitter's web address into the search bar. With the speed of Mercury (a master procrastinator), he typed in his login information for Captain Marvel until he logged in (though it took multiple tries) and immediately searched the chats for any worried messages regarding the hero. It wasn't long until he found several messages—all from Cyborg. 

Cyborg: HEY YOU
Cyborg: WHERE THE HELL R U
Cyborg: DONT MAKE ME LOOK FOR U
Cyborg: found ur comm
Cap: dude im so sorry A LOT OF STUFF HAPPENED
Cyborg: Where R U
Cap: IM FINE
Cap: not in town cant tell u where i am im safe JUST TRUST ME ILL BE BACK PLEASE COVER FOR ME
Cyborg: ok fine but if something happens, tell me right away because im getting sick of worryin about u
Cyborg: u owe me so much for this-
Cyborg: Y THE FUK ARE U IN GOTHAM? B WILL-
Cap: lol cya

The kid hurriedly logged out of the browser before he could read Cyborg's reply, cleared the cookies from the browser, and shut down his session. The room became deathly silent except for the air conditioning system's hum and the fan on the ceiling as he slowly looked around the library while feeling like someone was watching him. The only other people were sitting at their desks with their heads buried in books—most likely researching for a paper. Billy didn't care if he was overreacting, so he scrambled to grab his notebook and notes, shoving them haphazardly into his backpack without bothering to put anything in order. He ran outside to see Tim waiting for him by the entrance. "Hey... where did you go?" asked the older teen, who had seemingly been reading some manga on a bench until the boy came rushing out after feeling like someone was watching him.

"I went on the computer," Billy scribbled down vaguely as he flaunted the notebook to Tim.

"Cool... what'd ya find?"

Billy glanced nervously around again, but nothing seemed amiss. Still, he continued writing in his small journal while holding back information about what he was researching. "Greek myths and stuff." He scribbled out on the page before Tim could ask any questions about it in an attempt not to let anything slip out that would cause suspicion since Billy wasn't supposed to be looking for magical beings—they're just a normal kid trying to survive. Besides, most of the stories are children's tales now, and there isn't much left of their ancient magic aside from mere legends.

Billy swallowed nervously as Tim's eyes narrowed with interest as they moved over the pages of his notebook with curiosity, finding a word underneath the page he was shown. The young boy felt Tim's glare into his soul without saying a comment in the intense lapse of silence. After hesitation, Tim flipped through several pages filled with depictions of ancient Greek, Egyptian cuneiform, and Latin in childish handwriting. Billy blanched and quickly tried to close up the book, tossing it back into his backpack with some force, causing both to make a loud thudding noise together in protest. A librarian glared at the two boys and shushed them before Billy bared his teeth in annoyance, huffing to hide the anger within his face.

Tim grinned sardonically at this reaction as he looked down at the young boy. "Alright, spill... what were you researching?" He then shrugged as if giving himself time to think while looking down at the boy for answers. "And how'd you learn so many languages? What other tricks do you have?"

Billy quailed under the intense scrutiny and stared back at him warily; his heartbeat raced faster and louder than usual until he had no choice but to respond to avoid being seen as suspicious. "I was researching curses and their different effects." After pausing, he wrote, "I read a lot about magic."

The older teen eyed Billy critically before grinning playfully, turning away from the library entrance. The apprentice followed him, holding his notebook tightly in one hand and carrying a small black bag containing his lunch. They walked silently through the courtyard until they arrived at the statue of the Roman god Janus, who faced each direction of Gotham City's brooks. Tim stopped beside a large tree near the water's edge, where several birds rested peacefully. "So I take it that you're learning a few new spells yourself," Tim muttered as he leaned against the trunk. Billy kept walking without responding, opening the top of his backpack and putting his lunch inside. He felt the heat of a piercing glare, presuming they were the sharp eyes of Tim Drake.

"Did something happen to you over the weekend?" asked Tim, watching the boy move around with his head bowed in concentration.

Billy exhaled slowly and let out an inaudible sigh, placing his hands in his pockets. He considered telling the truth or even making up some wild tale—though he didn't think Tim would believe him anyway; instead, he decided not to tell him anything since this might be better off being kept between himself and Cyborg for now. "No." He muttered wordlessly.

Tim laughed loudly to mask any doubt he felt while thinking about what to ask next. "You don't wanna talk about it?"

A curt shake of Billy's head was his reply.

The older teen knew he was getting nowhere with questioning the young boy, so he just dropped it as the young boy opened his lunchbox and started eating his food as though nothing had happened. Tim looked down at his meal with a frown as he couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed in how he treated Billy earlier. The young boy may have been quiet by nature but seemed like a genuinely good person despite everything. Maybe he shouldn't have pushed him for info so much... but he needed to know why Billy wanted him to stay silent regarding his situation. There's also another possibility of someone trying to hurt him, especially if it involved Gotham's resident rogues. Tim couldn't help not trying to unravel a mystery when he saw it before him, which is probably part of the reason he became Robin and ended up fighting alongside Batman. Tim mulled over these thoughts in silence as Billy ate his sandwich.

"Well then," said Tim with an inquisitive tone that sounded more annoyed than curious, "why are you researching curses?"

Billy simply shrugged and took a bite from his sandwich as he chewed on it slowly, staring intently into the distance. His face turned serious as he swallowed hard, having thought about this question for some time already since coming across some ancient texts concerning curses. After taking a breath to clear his throat, Billy began writing his answer. He held his pen tight and wrote in bold letters while considering whether or not to mention anything specific. He sighed softly and stared at the words before adding something else at the end of each sentence with less confidence. Finally, he scribbled the last line:

"I've been experiencing nightmares."

Tim paused at the response, cocking his head at Billy after reading what was written. It was barely legible, but he could still make out most of it without rereading it twice. The older teen narrowed his eyes at Billy with suspicion, knowing there was more to this story—a lot more—and decided to take it slow for now. "What kind of dreams?"

The younger boy didn't respond immediately and instead put the lid back on the top of his lunchbox before shrugging.

"You don't have to tell me if you're uncomfortable," replied Tim in a soft tone as he lowered his gaze from the tree where they were standing in front of Janus's statue to stare at the boy's expressionless face. A sense of dread washed over him as he realized that whatever happened might not be pleasant, so he changed his tactic by looking around him until his eyes rested upon several birds flying overhead. "Do these... nightmares happen every night?"

Billy shrugged again, keeping himself distant from this conversation while fidgeting with one hand on his bag. He had no choice but to keep this inside. He didn't trust Tim, not after he snooped through Billy's backpack when he asked him about it earlier, but maybe it was better to let things rest for now since he already felt guilty for lying to Tim and his family. Besides, Billy thought it'd be best to get answers elsewhere rather than involving others and potentially letting them in on the situation—he was outstanding, thank you.

It was then that Tim's stomach began to growl loudly enough to make both boys look at each other in surprise before grinning awkwardly. Billy rummaged through his backpack and handed Tim a plastic bag with slices of fresh fruit as a peace offering, along with some bottled water. After taking a drink, Tim smiled softly at him before taking a bite out of a slice of pineapple, causing Billy to chuckle softly at how some juice dribbled down his cheek. The younger boy handed Tim a napkin to wipe off any excess food from his face. Tim finished eating his lunch quietly, observing the birds above and listening to the rushing brook nearby.

The sound of the running stream seemed so peaceful and serene compared to the tension that filled the air just before the older teen spoke up again. "I'll tell ya one thing," said Tim in an oddly severe tone before glancing around them, "there are way more weird people here than I expected."

Billy cocked his head with curiosity, not knowing what Tim meant by "weird" people, as he turned to look around. Tim whispered harshly, dragging Billy's attention back towards Tim's face, which was contorted in deep concentration. "Don't look around. They don't believe we spotted them yet. Just listen to me and do exactly what I tell you to do... got it?"

Billy nodded quickly while noticing several pairs of eyes staring in their direction from behind bookshelves. He saw several women and men wearing gothic dresses or tight-fitting leather jackets—like those worn by rock stars—and dressed like punks with long hair dyed black with various piercings along the earlobes as tattoos covering their entire body. Each of them wore different masks with exaggerated features on their faces, ranging from clowns, monsters, ghouls, and even demons, and some drawn with permanent ink. The atmosphere was tense as they glared at the two boys with murderous intent, making Billy cringe slightly at the sudden realization that Tim might be right about this place being overrun with supervillains.

Tim kept his gaze locked on Billy's for a moment before looking away briefly to glance through the library windows and stare at the forest beyond. "I'm going to cause a distraction. You have to run. I'll be fine. You have to go."

Billy protested the last part, but when he saw how serious Tim looked in his calculating gaze and strained expression, he understood the severity of the situation and didn't argue further. Instead, he moved silently beside him, picking up whatever objects he could find to throw them toward anyone attacking Tim. He could only toss a rock by the bench, aiming it for one of the clown's legs; however, he failed since his aim was off and barely hit it even after hurling it towards it with all his strength. 

[ Trigger Warning for Death, Very Graphic Depictions of Violence, Violence, Murder, and Assault after this. Click here to Skip. ]

Tim brought out a metal rod that extended into a bo staff from his backpack pocket and struck one of the maniacs across the face hard enough to knock him back against a bookcase behind him with an audible crack, leaving behind a red mark across his cheekbone and forehead from the blow. Suddenly, Tim plummeted, losing his balance just as a knife swung over his head and flew past where he had been standing as though timed perfectly, hitting one of the men who had lunged at Tim. It landed in the eye socket of another villain who was screaming as blood pooled around his waist; he collapsed on top of the first man while both screamed in agony, holding their hands tightly over their eyes.

Tim took a quick step forward with ease and thrust his foot between two women's legs to trip them, so they fell onto their back together—knocking their heads into the marble Janus statue hard enough to create cracks. One managed to roll to avoid getting hurt before landing clumsily, tripping others like themselves, causing many to fall with their bladed weapons. Timothy Drake's eyes widened at Billy's frozen stance before propelling himself towards the young boy and pushing him with a firm hand. "Go!" The teen ordered, and Billy felt the spark of flight thrust him forward after he gained his footing. He quickly dashed for the courtyard exit, ensuring he didn't look back until he heard a thud of metal followed by footsteps stomping in pursuit of them through the trees in front of him.

Billy Batson felt fear and guilt for leaving Tim behind to fight these villains alone. His feet pounded the ground in a frantic rush as his breath became more labored with each passing moment, feeling the pain of his chest expanding with every rapid heartbeat. But there was no time to rest as the sounds of laughter grew louder, the metallic smell of blood filled his nostrils, and the scent of decay filled his nose as he ran. He was running toward a dark alleyway, dilapidated buildings looming overhead as he neared it. 

Something sharp stung his leg as he pushed himself further and sprinted harder than ever. He looked down to see that metal coils had stabbed into his thigh and that his clothes were ripped and torn in several places. He pulled the rusty metal out of his flesh as he climbed up the metal fence surrounding this building, hoping that Tim would find some way to escape from all of them while also trying not to think about how painful the injury was from the barbed wire.

After climbing over the wall, Billy landed on top of one of its bricks with his right foot, turning around just long enough to see a shadow on the side of the wall filled with graffiti. Billy seeped into a corner, hiding in the darkness so no one could spot him through the narrow opening. His heart began beating furiously against his ribs as he clenched his fists tight at thinking of Tim's fate if he failed to get away. With the sound of approaching footsteps closing behind him, he breathed softly through his mouth to stay calm. He could hear the manic giggling of someone chasing him as they stepped closer and closer to where he hid. The maniac was close—close enough for him to smell the foul odor of cigarettes coming from them. Billy glimpsed the horrible mask with a white face covered with red markings across its lips, but the black eye holes stared blankly at him. It wasn't until he saw something glimmering between the gaps of their fingers that caused him to realize what it was that scared him most: A machete, ready to plunge into the boy's throat. He instinctively held up his arms despite knowing his flesh could hardly withstand such an attack.

All Billy could think of was he was going to die in Gotham. No one will find him. His friends would be left questioning where he was. They'll never know how he died, which would sadden them even more. There was no way he'd let himself end like this. As the maniac took another step forward, Billy felt the pulsating dread in the pit of his stomach.

Suddenly, the hulking figure breathed out deeply, lowering the blade with a slight drop of sweat dripping off its chin, leaving a wet mark on its chest. Billy looked down with fear before glancing back to see its eyes filled with surprise and confusion. The jerky motion of the man's arms continued to propagate throughout his body with twitching nerves as he tried to maintain control while breathing heavily through his nose. His mouth slurred with speech; however, no words came forth as the staggering man gazed at him through the slit in the eyeholes of his mask.

The young boy watched the man's green orbs behind the darkness obfuscating the clown's expression, but the pupils looked odd to him. They're so large that the pupils seem to consume the entire iris. Something was wrong with him. His eyes focused on Billy's small frame and bleeding leg as he let out a shuddering breath, awareness seeping into his eyes as he took a step back. The knife remained in the hand of the masked villain, who tilted his head sideways and swallowed hard, looking confused. "What... am I...?" he mumbled hoarsely as he dropped the weapon, turning around to get far away from this boy, who seemed unharmed by whatever strange affliction had overtaken the madman.

Billy widened his eyes in confusion, mouth going slack as he heard a loud, sharp pop echo through the alleyway before falling over onto his bottom—a splatter of fine red mist speckled as droplets on his face and hair. A crimson-red flower bloomed in the middle of the clown's forehead, growing more extensive as it dripped a dark maroon liquid onto his hoodie. For a brief moment, the body stood still before it began to topple, threatening to fall upon the young boy as he hurriedly threw up his hands.

It did not fall.

Instead, the body was held aloft by something unseen for several seconds until Billy saw a large hand on the body's shoulder turn slowly toward him while the other arm stretched out behind him, holding up the dead man's corpse before tossing it aside like an old rag doll with a violent swing and another sickening snap of bone and flesh. It fell heavily onto its back with a wet thud, twitching slightly where its arms and legs were folded together.

The figure had a blood-red helmet that covered their entire head and narrowed into slits on either side, exposing only their bright white eyes that flashed dangerously as they took one step forward, making eye contact with Billy. Their black leather jacket stretched across a tall, muscular frame as they stood taller than any human being should be capable of, easily towering over the boy at six feet or so, dressed in cargo pants and combat boots. They wore a chest harness lined with pouches of different sizes, filled to the brim with small weapons. A wide belt circled the waist containing a holster loaded with bullets, two pistols, and extra clips stuffed inside each pocket.

As the glowering stranger approached him, Billy quickly got off the ground and backed away, knowing it would be foolish to get within arm's reach of them. The boy started to hitch in his breathing, heart thumping rapidly against his ribcage as his hands shook uncontrollably; his fingers gripped tightly onto his sleeves in fear—something he didn't know he could do before this moment. His lips trembled as he opened his mouth to scream, yet no sound came out. The child held his breath as the menacing figure crouched down low enough for Billy to see a shadow cast on the concrete floor below, where their massive shoulders seemed ready to pounce and swallow him whole.

Billy's vision began to outline in black, hearing the rushing sound of blood flowing through veins while he struggled to draw air deep into his lungs from their depths. The boy staggered forward as he lost focus, feeling the burning sensation return and his dizziness as black spots formed behind his eyes like a screen flickering behind his eyelids. He tried desperately to stand but failed miserably, tumbling into the broad, intimidating body that blocked his path.

The creature caught him mid-fall without difficulty or care; they lifted Billy effortlessly and cradled him in their arms like an infant. "I've got you," they said in a husky tone that sent chills down his spine as the world went dark, losing consciousness as if a switch had been flipped.

[ summary if you skipped the Triggering Parts ]

Tim utilizes his martial arts mastery to act like a novice with great luck. A goon gets hurt, and Tim uses the statue of Janus to handle the other two goons. He pushes Billy which propels him to run into an alleyway where he is chased by some people in masks. Billy jumps a fence and gets hurt on the wire. He hides in the corner of a dark alley before a man in a joker mask (driven insane by the joker's gas) finds him. The man attempts to kill Billy before he is stopped by his awareness. He starts to realize what he will do before someone shoots him. Billy is so traumatized by this that he faints in the arms of the killer:

Red Hood.

Chapter Text

When Tim Drake regained his senses, the first thing he noticed was the loud ringing of bells over his head, a malicious cacophony of cackles filling his ears with malice and dread as he sat up with a start onto a metal slab with his heart pounding against the wall of his chest. It felt like someone was pushing his chest while forcing all air out. He had leather straps attached to steel chains around his wrists and ankles to keep him in place. The pain in his chest was from an intense pressure he could not decipher until he focused on his senses. It appeared that he was hanging by a slab of metal secured by a chain overhead—suspended several feet in the air. His muscles tensed when he heard more laughter coming closer, making his stomach twist into knots.

"Welcome back, little bird."

Tim turned around quickly at the sound of the voice, seeing nothing but darkness for several moments before light poured through an opening where two glowing eyes looked through. They were the pale color of radioactive waste, glinting and reflecting off his pupils as they watched him with amused contempt. Wincing at the sound of the familiar voice, Tim forced himself to ignore it and instead look beyond this terrible monster leering at him, focusing on something else that would be more productive—escaping from this hellish predicament.

The man gaged how high up he was from the ground since he had been hung from a ceiling by chains, which revealed that he was dangling about fifty feet above a concrete floor covered in debris like discarded wooden boxes and broken bottles. Foul-smelling liquid filled a large metal tank in one corner. As much as he tried to avoid thinking about what may happen to him, the stench of alcohol and cigarette smoke assaulted him, making him want to vomit while causing his stomach to churn painfully once again. Tim desperately pushed the thoughts away as he considered dislocating an arm to slip free of his restraints. Only to feel his hands tied tight enough that his fingers couldn't even curl into a fist; he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. He let out another pained grunt when he attempted to wriggle out of his constraints.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, birdie," said the voice, interrupting Tim's train of thought. The madman giggled softly, watching Tim struggle without remorse—like an animal in a lab. The door swung open with an exaggerated creak, revealing his captor's face—a hideous sight that made him want to cover his eyes and turn away from the smell and filth on their body. It was a facsimile of a clown. Pale white skin splattered with dark stains and smudged makeup—red lips pulled back into a grinning grimace over yellowed teeth with long and messy hair and matted green bangs hanging down across half of the man's bloodshot eyes—a facade for the rotten, decaying corpse beneath it. "You would fall, and then what? Broken before I even got to play with you."

Tim forced himself not to gag as he struggled against the leather straps around his wrists. He worked harder than ever before, feeling faintly ridiculous while knowing it would make no difference in getting himself unbound. The anxiety was building up inside him, although his logical side was trying to tell him that there was nothing they could do but wait; there was no point in exerting so much energy. Yet every instinct screamed otherwise: don't give them an inch; take away everything they have—even if that means death!

A sharp, piercing sound echoed throughout the concrete room as the clown dragged a large steel pipe through the floor with a clang followed by a metallic rasp. Tim winced when the heavy iron bashing the ground sent vibrations into the chains holding him above the tank, making the slab of metal sway slightly until finally settling again with another dull thud.

The clown started to giggle intensely once more, watching Tim struggle with his arms bound tightly behind his back and feet locked in place by shackles attached to his legs which caused even more significant discomfort since the chain ran through several pulleys and cogs and then onto the ceiling overhead—giving his captor control over his movements. "What say we go round two? I'm not one for sequels, but if I see Batsy's reaction? Then, why not?" He stated as he circled Timothy Drake with eyes gleaming with malice as he raised the pipe without much effort. "Oh, I do love pinatas! I wonder what kind of candy comes out, don't you?"

***

Billy Batson heard a loud noise from somewhere in front of him, causing him to snap awake and jump in fright before his eyes darted around his surroundings in confusion. The boy looked around, trying to figure out where the sound came from before his gaze fell on a masked person standing directly in front of him, still wearing the red helmet with only slits for eyeholes. He felt disoriented; the last thing he remembered was looking down at the dead clown lying face down next to Billy, whose corpse now lay sprawled across the ground at an odd angle with blood dripping everywhere—onto himself. Now, he was on a more comfortable mattress than he usually slept on in Fawcett City's homeless shelter while inside an abandoned building.

"Are you all right?" asked the murderer with the cool red helmet.

Billy responded with a punctual nod.

"Do you remember anything about how you got here or who I am? It might be better if I knew your name first," said his mysterious savior as they turned their head left and right to survey the room and its contents like some security check. "It is safe to assume that no one has come to get you yet."

Billy shook his head to clear it as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, staring up at them suspiciously as he took a moment to assess the situation. His body ached—especially his leg, which throbbed with sharp pain and several bruises—but everything seemed to work ordinarily other than those minor inconveniences. He blinked twice to confirm what he already knew—he wasn't dreaming. He attempted to stand but slipped back down onto his rear when the stranger caught him by the arm to help him up; Billy looked into his strange red mask for answers before glancing at the rest of him; the person was dressed in black clothing that resembled military garb; the person was taller than Billy, maybe six foot three and looked very built for a person of this stature. The boy noticed a black cape draped over one shoulder that appeared too large to be worn comfortably without any means to fasten it tightly around his chest. The man also wore leather gloves and boots similar to those worn by soldiers, although these were very worn-out looking. A long trench coat covered most of their upper body, leaving only their neck exposed with a round helmet tucked under the collar.

Billy was trying hard not to stare; after all, he had never seen anyone like this stranger.

"You can call me Red Hood." They said with an amused grin as they helped Billy sit upright on the edge of a bed while examining every inch of him for further injuries. "You're lucky you didn't break anything or die from blood loss." He added while rubbing his chin as if deep in thought. "I guess we don't have time to bring you back home, though, since it is getting late."

Billy shivered despite being wrapped in warm blankets to combat the chilly air blowing through broken windows in the room.

"Do you know where your parents are?" asked the masked figure with interest as he leaned against the wall and watched the boy closely with piercing eyes.

The boy opened his mouth and could not make a noise, no matter how hard he tried. He pointed at his throat to show that he was mute, unable to say a word, and yet still managed to convey that much, at least.

Red Hood raised their hands slowly before crossing them across each other at the wrists as they nodded once, taking the boy's silence as understanding before handing the boy a small notebook and pen they kept in their coat's pocket before moving to sit next to the boy on the mattress. "You might want to keep these in a safe place; you almost lost it," advised Red Hood with another curious look into Billy Batson's wide eyes.

"Did you kill that guy?" Billy wrote with enthusiasm—his handwriting awkwardly scrawled due to nervousness.

"Yep." Red Hood didn't even have the decency to deny it as they stood up quickly after grabbing his bag from under the bed and began putting items inside as they explained why they were there. "He's dangerous and would have hurt you, probably killed you if I hadn't stopped him when I did." They turned away from the bed, looking around the room before placing the bag on top of one of the rotted dressers, continuing, "Gotham is no place for children anymore. Especially Crime Alley."

They glanced back at the boy, who looked back at them with confusion and curiosity written all over his face. Billy peered at the bag as he saw various items: ammo, first aid kits, knives, spare clothes—and was that a bomb? Red Hood responded by blocking Billy's view of their bag and then shrugging in response to his pout.

"What are your pronouns?" Billy scribbled out a question in an attempt to lessen the tension. The masked person paused in thought before they responded.

"I go by he/him, but they/them is fine, I guess," Red Hood said simply before shrugging. "You may use whatever you'd like, though. I don't care."

Billy wrote down "He/They" next to "weird vigilante with cool helmet" before moving on with what felt essential or pressing to write about first; "Why are you here?"

Red Hood stared intently at the boy, noticing the intense stare and apparent fear behind it—not only with the boy being mute and in a stranger's home but also at the sight of a murderous criminal standing in front of them wearing an absurd costume and carrying weapons. "Because someone needs to take out the trash."

Billy furrowed his brow and frowned as if he was disappointed. "That's real edgy." He wrote without smiling.

"Well, that was more for shock value than anything else." They added after glancing away from Billy as he began writing again, adding several lines between each question mark until finally stopping, looking over the words, and making sure they were legible. Billy held up the notebook to show Red Hood the content while trying not to squint too much since the room still had quite a bit of dust floating around. The man gave the boy a thumbs-up before repositioning his book into his bag and then folded his arms in thought.

He pulled out his phone, texted a message, waited for a response, and read the statement. After a while, he muttered. "Well, I can't leave you here alone to fend for yourself." He looked at the bed next to him, which seemed very uncomfortable even though it looked sturdy enough but probably wasn't made for two people. "Can you move? We have to find your parents."

Billy nodded, getting off the mattress and onto his feet. However, it took some effort due to soreness and lack of sleep. He managed just fine without falling back down on the ground in pain—thankfully—and proceeded to follow Red Hood out of the old building, where a light rain began to fall heavily on them as they moved through an alleyway with buildings surrounding them like protective walls with narrow paths that ran between them with water dripping everywhere along with leaves littering the cracked pavement below their feet.

Noticing Billy's limp, Red Hood stopped walking before lifting the boy over one shoulder to support himself properly before carrying him to another dark alleyway closer to downtown Gotham City. The boy gripped tight against the man's shoulders when he felt strong arms holding him. A wave of relief washed over him as he clung tightly for dear life until they reached a neon red sign hanging above a rundown building that appeared abandoned due to several broken windows, graffiti scrawled upon the walls, and several pieces of furniture scattered throughout the entryway littered the entrance. The flickering street lamps revealed a sign of a lady with fishnet stockings flicking her leg up and down; the neon red cast a more sinister atmosphere over the building.

"Is this…" Billy started writing before pausing and trying again, "Are we going inside?"

Red Hood didn't answer immediately, instead glancing at Billy from the corner of his eye while taking deep breaths through his nose in anticipation before nodding to him in response. They turned around, headed into the building, walked down an old staircase towards a small landing halfway into the ground floor, and entered a dimly-lit corridor with boarded-up doors lining both sides. Red Hood paused to glance into each room carefully, looking for signs that someone may be hiding behind one of the many wooden slats but eventually came across what they were seeking: the faintest outline of people gathered together by a fire burning nearby that gave off glowing orange embers—which is strange because it was supposed to be nighttime outside and cold as hell, but here it was warm as if it were spring—and their voices could be heard clearly.

"This has got to stop," said a young woman as she sat near the fireplace on a dirty chair. Her hair had been pulled back into pigtails tied loosely. "I'm fuckin' tired. Anytime one of us goes missing, the pigs do nothing. Nothing." She glared at her fellow. The members were sitting with her against the far wall. "All because we're sex workers. What the fuck does our profession have to do with being criminals?!" Several other girls and boys in similar situations stared at the ground with regretful looks etched upon their faces.

The masked man glanced around before walking up to the group. "Hi, Mia. What happened?"

She rubbed her temples and then released a heavy sigh before glaring up at them through her long bangs that concealed half of her face while crossing her arms tightly across her chest. The others stopped talking when they noticed the newcomer. "Why did ya bring a kid here, Hood?" Mia asked pointedly as they looked down at Billy from over his shoulders. The boy continued writing frantically in his notebook, attempting to get out as much as possible about this situation. So he wouldn't forget any details or, even worse, accidentally leave anything important out.

"Hey, I didn't want to leave this kid alone here." Red Hood responded matter-of-factly with an irritated look on their face. They added after pausing for a moment to think more seriously. "He's not one of the cops or the mob, just a regular person who almost got killed by a clown." The masked man stated, trying to reassure the group and gain some support since most were sex workers and didn't feel safe within Gotham City despite living there for years. One girl raised her hand and stepped forward to speak next. She had shoulder-length hair pulled into a braid wrapped around her head that fell onto her back, showing off her green eyes.

She wore dark baggy clothes that covered her body except for her stomach, which had a piercing. "Riley is missing again," she said with worry as she looked at the man standing before them. "It's been three days now. We think it was one of their regular clients, but no one knows where they are or if they're okay."

The boy could hear everything they spoke and wrote down every word as best he could; however, all he wanted to do right then was go home and sleep like he never did before.

Red Hood took another deep breath before asking what happened to Riley; whether they'd seen anyone strange hanging around the area; anything suspicious; or any other relevant details. Mia stared at Red Hood with annoyance but helpfully listed the needed details. "Can you watch over him while I take care of this?" asked Red Hood after finishing with Mia's list of more information, looking up and scanning the group's faces, making sure everyone agreed and understood their role and duties during this time. The consorts nodded in response and moved aside to make room for Billy, who sat on his chair against a wall near the fireplace. He turned his head away from Red Hood when they noticed his expression that seemed too old for a ten-year-old kid—which must have shaken him very badly, considering how much writing he had done inside the abandoned building.

The vigilante sighed before making his way out of the door. He swung his bag over his shoulder and rushed towards his destination.

Billy looked at the people staring at him with concern written all across their faces before Red Hood slipped through the doorway.

"Hello, I'm Billy." He wrote on his notepad and showed the others, feeling proud that he managed to get some words down in front of strangers.

"You look exhausted," said the person wearing a long black robe covered in stars. Their makeup was a midnight sky blue with white circles painted upon each cheek to resemble an eclipse. Billy widened his eyes in wonder before nodding. "I'm Nyx. Nice to meet you, Billy." Nyx introduced themselves with a kind smile before extending one hand to shake his. The boy quickly grabbed it since it felt warm and soft, like velvet.

Nyx continued speaking. "Come along, then. You'll be safe here until he returns. It won't take long… or I hope it doesn't take him too long." They walked off toward the nearby park, where several lights shone brightly around the fountain's edge; however, no one stood there now except for them. No shadows danced across the ground, nor did any flowers grow from the dirt surrounding the well-kept lawns; everything seemed so perfect.

Billy glanced back at the abandoned building, wondering if it was safe to slip out of Crime Alley like this. Still, he followed behind Nyx in silence with his hands tucked into his pockets as they led the way through the empty streets filled with quietness and darkness that made him feel a bit scared but also comforted. They entered a massive courtyard with a garden maze containing various plants and bushes lined up against each wall. At the same time, colorful lanterns littered the paths and stairways leading inside and outside. Some parts were dimly lit due to being blocked by overgrown foliage, while others shined brightly enough to give Billy a headache after several steps inside.

They walked deeper inside, heading past an old wooden bench covered in moss near an enormous oak tree before stopping beside a rundown gazebo surrounded by white-painted stones covered in vines hanging down from it. Inside rested two marble statues holding swords standing guard above what appeared to be a throne built entirely out of wood. Several candles burned within large glass jars on top of it, along with books and artifacts lining shelves on all sides; these things had been crafted beautifully without a single blemish or scratch.

Billy was unaware there was a place like this within Gotham City until he met Nyx, who sat upon their seat looking forward into the distance, almost like the king or queen of some hidden kingdom. He knew from experience and observing the other that not everyone could see Nyx, which confirmed his suspicions. They noticed the boy's curious expression as they stood waiting for him to join them in front of the throne—a long table stood next to it to provide refreshments for guests at any time during his visit here. The ceiling was quite tall, with stars painted onto it, but it was dark, with no light coming from anywhere except for small glowing blue dots floating around Nyx.

"Billy," Nyx told him, closing the book in their hand as they leaned back against their throne—the small, unassuming chair was wrapped in shadows and stars covering most of its surface and decorated with gold leaf designs. "Come sit."

He slowly approached the person, unsure whether to come closer or further away since it looked very imposing and made him feel nervous after seeing the stone statues up close, even if they weren't alive. It was hard to tell how old they were; however, Billy guessed the early twenties because their face appeared mature beyond their age while also giving off a sort of magical air about themselves. He slowly sat across from them, trying to avoid staring too much at the glowy lights moving over their body, creating an eerie effect when he glanced upward.

Nyx gazed into the young boy's eyes before smiling gently and speaking again in their whimsical yet mysterious tone. "You are the Champion of Magic, yes? Tell me, what is your power?"

Billy stared blankly at Nyx for a few seconds before he held out his palm for them to look at. There, written faintly in cursive writing, was the name.

SHAZAM.

He opened his mouth, but still, no sound came from it. His voice felt trapped deep inside his throat, held captive by something else.

The one shrouded by night's veil finally smiled—revealing beautiful white teeth resembling pearls and glimmering moonlight—reached forward, gently grabbed his shoulder, and then pulled him closer and whispered directly into his ear.

"Ah, so you are cursed." They released their hold on him and folded their hands together. "Very well." Nyx reached into the pocket of their robe and took out an egg-shaped orb made of polished black rock. It absorbed the light around them until nothing remained except darkness within the gemstone. The boy couldn't help but stare as the person in front of them turned back into a shadow without any physical features or even hair color or clothing details visible. All they could see were glowing stars as bright as the sun.

"A stone to obfuscate," explained Nyx while turning the stone to examine it from different angles with fascination. "It is unique and will protect your magic, keeping it safe from others who wish to take it for themselves." They tilted their head and stared down at Billy's palm once more before opening their hand and handing him the small round object, which felt warm in his palm before he placed it inside his pocket.

"Do not eat in the land below nor sleep in its soil where seeds grow like trees in bloom, lest you will stay forever," Nyx spoke calmly yet sternly.

Billy gasped when a loud clap echoed through the air like thunder before they vanished completely, leaving him confused and in a stupor. He blinked a few times, looking around with uncertainty. He was in an abandoned building, sitting next to a fire by the escorts of the night and holding what looked like an egg-shaped stone wrapped in black cloth—so it was real? Magic was weird stuff—but if it was true, why did Nyx warn him about eating anything there? That must be important because the word 'death' kept coming up repeatedly—as though this wasn't enough for him to know already.

"Kid." A voice snapped him from his thoughts, "Hey, Kid!" A familiar voice said, "Suzi, I think the kid fell asleep."

He quickly opened his eyes to see an escort, Suzi, kneeling over him with concern written across her face. She had long black curls held back from her face, and her skin was a warm rosy tint of brown. She gently brushed aside his bangs to see a slight smile on his lips and a profound sleepiness in his eyes. His mind instantly woke and began remembering everything that had happened earlier in that very moment.

"Hey, sorry, kid," Suzi apologized before shaking her head at her partner, who just shrugged before turning their attention back towards Billy, "I guess you didn't want to wait here with strangers. How did you get into Crime Alley, anyway?"

Billy stretched out the stiffness of sleeping for several hours against the wall, stood up while keeping the stone safe within his pants pocket, and then replied while trying not to yawn. He took out his notepad and wrote, "I was running from a clown."

"Ah, Joker's gang. No one wants trouble from them. Especially not alone," remarked Suzi as she nodded with a sigh. "I guessed Red Hood saved you since he usually does." The young boy smiled again but quickly let it fall when he heard the words 'Red Hood.' This was something he needed to know more about him.

"Why does Red Hood kill?" Billy scribbled on his notepad to write the word without sounding rude. It felt weird to hear people say his name like they knew him or thought they should know him.

"Because his job is to bring justice through murder," responded Suzi matter-of-factly, even though her expression turned sympathetic upon seeing the frown on Billy's face. "Gotham isn't a city like Metropolis or Central City where bright heroes fight crime. We don't have cops and lawyers working together for justice. Those things are fine in a story, but we live in real life—where bad guys do what they want, and innocent bystanders can get hurt. Sometimes there aren't any other options left except for taking matters into our own hands to ensure everyone survives the night."

"Anyway…" She looked away uncomfortably before glancing back at Billy with kind eyes filled with pity.

"But don't you have Batman?" He asked while staring at her with concern written all over his face. "I read stories about him fighting the Joker and the rest of them with his cool gadgets, batarangs, and grappling hook—"

"Kid," sighed Suzi, "you aren't from here. Batman gave up on us. Sure, he patrols Gotham. But Crime Alley? That's another story." Suzi tapped her index finger against her chin as she glanced around carefully to see if anyone else was nearby listening in on their conversation.

Billy widened his eyes as he took out his pen and wrote her words down. "What do you mean?" He scrawls quickly on the paper, not even minding his terrible penmanship.

"We're considered criminals in his eyes." Her voice grew softer as she spoke, which made her sound even sadder. "You might not know it yet, but we take care of each other out here in the streets cuz everyone thinks we're animals. We’re stuck in the shit of society that can't change a thing. No one will save us and give us a second chance when they treat us like monsters. The only difference between criminals and law-abiding citizens is whether you can afford a lawyer."

Billy was stunned and silent after hearing all of that. It sounded like someone had been through something terrible and needed help badly enough to leave behind their old life. How could people let others get hurt or abused while also getting away with living lives of luxury without ever lifting a finger? "What about the cops? Do they help?" Billy quickly pens.

Suzi rolled her eyes with exasperation, "They won't lift a finger for us—unless you count throwing us into jail, where some of us would probably rather die than live. Besides, there aren't any good ones."

Billy furrows his eyebrows as he jots down, "Are there any good cops, though? Don't they swear to protect and serve?"

"Well, I'm not sure anyone believes that anymore," Suzi grumbled in a deeper voice as she stared at the ground in frustration. "Most days, we're just another statistic to the city. Look, I'll spell it out for you, Kid. Who do you think the police will care about more: a dead whore or a missing rich boy?" She turned back to look up at him and said more seriously, "That's why most of us are criminals. We've learned to fight fire with fire since the cops don't bother saving us from our flames."

Billy wrote down her words with passion and sadness while shaking his head with an expressionless face.

"Anyway, what's your story?" asked Suzi curiously while putting her hands together and staring intently at Billy. "You didn't come here to pickpocket someone, did you?"

Billy opened his mouth in shock as he firmly shook his head no, "I got lost, and then I was found by a butler. Then, he hired me, I think. We went to a gigantic mansion! It was huge!" He began writing on his notepad once again. After finishing several pages filled with descriptions of the house and its contents, including the long list of the many food dishes prepared for the dinner, he added one last sentence under everything written before adding an exclamation mark to the end.

Suzi chuckled as she shook her head, ruffling the boy's hair. "You have quite the imagination, kid." Her voice took a turn towards pitying as she spoke. "No wonder you're running away like you're doing."

"Here." Billy wrote as he took out a small amount of money from a pocket within his pants and placed it into hers. The smile disappeared from her face when she looked down at it with disbelief.

"That's a lot." She gasped in surprise. "Kid, I don't want your pity. This is—"

"NOT PITY," interrupted Billy as he threw the crumpled note at her while lowering himself to the floor, which made him feel less uncomfortable than being so high up. He felt closer to her now that they were kneeling next to each other while sharing the same level ground instead of both looking up at each other awkwardly as he would usually do around strangers.

He continued to write on his notepad more seriously this time, "Take it. It'll help you and the others stay warm during these cold nights. Besides…I'll be fine."

Suzi bit her lip and only took half of the cash he offered, "Thanks, kid, but you can keep your change—and that was too much anyway." Suzi gave him another tight hug before letting go quickly and standing back up straight again. Her voice was stern yet kind all at once.

A loud cough came from behind them, making Suzi's head snap in the direction to see who dared interrupt their conversation. A tall, lean man wearing a red helmet stood behind them with his arms folded across his chest as if waiting for someone. Billy's eyes lit up in recognition as he looked toward Red Hood. He took a deep breath and began writing on his notepad as fast as his hand could move, "Red Hood!" Billy scribbled as soon as his pen touched the paper and added an exclamation mark.

"Hey there, Kid." The hooded vigilante turned away from watching over the street below to greet him with an inviting smile. "I got one more stop before I get you home. Is that okay?"

Billy nodded while glancing at Suzi with uncertainty. He knew what it meant to cross paths with this hero after reading so many stories about how he never took down any of his enemies alive. "Sure," he replied, which caused the anti-hero to chuckle as he helped the kid onto his back.

In a hushed whisper, Suzi quietly asked Red Hood, "Did you find Riley? Did you take care of him?"

The shadowy figure responded in a deep voice, "Yes."

Billy glanced at the two adults with suspicion, who were talking in a vague tone that sounded like they were discussing something important. After Suzi bid them goodbye, they walked in the same direction they had come. This time though, they went through several winding alleyways instead of taking a direct route. Eventually, they reached a quiet street lined by shabby houses and broken storefronts that looked more than ready for demolition and replacement. Billy was impressed because he didn't see or hear any police officers nearby, even when the people walking past were visibly armed.

"Let me help you walk for a bit, Kid," said Red Hood as he extended his right arm to offer Billy a hand as he got off the vigilante's back.

"I'm okay," replied Billy as he stretched out his legs while gripping Red Hood's jacket tightly. He peered around carefully as they made their way toward a corner building with its door wide open, revealing an empty entryway with no signage indicating what kind of business it might be. There were two heavily armed guards in front of the entrance. They peered at Billy with suspicion but quickly disregarded him as Red Hood handed some money to them without saying anything before leading him inside.

After passing through another doorway on the other side, the pair entered a large warehouse full of older hospital beds, IVs hooked up to half-naked patients, wheelchairs parked haphazardly against walls and on top of each other, crates filled with medical supplies, gurneys used for transporting injured victims, old computers and monitors covered in dust, and a large container for biohazardous material. All of these items almost completely hid some parts. There was also a handful of young men dressed in various scrubs who looked like they were working too hard. Their eyes darted between Red Hood and Billy, unsure who they should address first.

"I have the shipment." Red Hood spoke calmly as he took a couple of cases from the bag hanging from his shoulder and placed it on one of the nearby tables. "There's more I can get you tomorrow."

"Good work," the leader of the workers replied as he examined the box through his thick glasses while rubbing his temples as if he had a headache coming on. As he read over the labels, he began to mumble to himself, which made it sound like nonsense to anyone but him, "…Buprenorphine, methadone, naltrexone, and naloxone..."

Red Hood interrupted him by placing his hand on his shoulder, causing him to look at him in confusion, "Teddy, do you mind? You're bothering my guest with all this rambling."

"It's Dr. Theodore Schroeder, Mr. Red Hood—er...sir." The man immediately corrected himself when he noticed that Red Hood had ignored him entirely after speaking. There was an awkward silence filled only by the sound of labored breathing before Teddy finally continued again towards Billy, "The boxes contain medicine used for treating drug addiction and overdose victims here in our warehouse. As you can see, it's not exactly a legal operation. This is just a temporary stop-gap until we receive proper authorization for distributing natural treatment and care to those in need within Gotham City." His tone softened slightly as his expression became more relaxed, allowing him to be more pleasant. "Please forgive me; I am still recovering from a long night shift. Please keep this confidential."

"The kid's mute, so I doubt he'll snitch." Red Hood smiled back while looking into the distance behind Teddy with mild curiosity.

"Okay then," answered Teddy curtly before walking away toward one of the crates while checking off something on a clipboard he carried around while giving orders.

Billy looked puzzledly at Red Hood and the gurneys as the anti-hero explained, "basically, I supply them with funds and supplies, and they help me gather the wounded and injured throughout the city who would otherwise never get any sort of medical attention if left alone or treated by inexperienced people." He motioned to two men sitting together in wheelchairs in front of the other group members near him, who were busily moving beds from place to place.

"But how do you get the funds?" Billy wrote on the paper with a tilt of his head.

A prolonged silence followed—a memory of a large bag dripping a viscous, maroon liquid. "We should be done here, kid. Let's get home before your parents worry about where you are." Red Hood quickly changed the subject.

After taking Billy out through the warehouse door, they found themselves again on Gotham City's streets. There was no sign of the rain falling earlier in the day—the weather was nice enough that it didn't bother. Billy began to lag at some point—due to his leg or stamina. Red Hood noticed it, too, and paused to allow him to catch up to him while turning back to look at him from behind with a hint of concern.

"Are you okay? Do you want me to carry you back?" His hand gestured towards himself as he reached down toward him for assistance with an expressionless face.

Billy shook his head vigorously as he limped next to Red Hood, who quickly placed the small boy on his back again before continuing on their way as the hooded hero carried the kid along the city street. The young man only realized what had happened when they made another turn into a dimly lit alleyway between buildings after reaching an intersection filled with the bustling sounds of cars passing by each other. As they passed under a bridge overpass, Billy felt a cold gust of air rush past them—it must have been the water from above rushing in torrents nearby since there were several puddles of stagnant black water splashing onto the pavement in front of them. There was a small road in front of them with a black motorcycle parked in front of the entrance to one of the buildings that faced away from the roadside.

"Kid, I know you're tired, but you must hold onto me, so you don't fall off. Okay?" Red Hood stopped and gently set him on his feet before placing both hands on his shoulders and ensuring he would not collapse before sitting on his motorcycle. Billy nodded and got onto the seat, gripping tightly at Red Hood's jacket, keeping his balance while looking around at the streets behind them, which seemed deserted at this hour despite being close enough to the city's center that people should still be out at night.

"We'll be home soon," said Red Hood as he started the engine, revving it for a few seconds as if warming it up for a moment before reversing into traffic.

***

When they arrived at a nicely paved road with tall trees lining it on either side of the street—unlike in any city where buildings were packed together—Billy instantly recognized their surroundings. The giant mansion that Alfred brought him to when he first lost his voice in Gotham City had just become visible on top of one of the nearby hills through an opening between the trees and the thick fog coming from the brook far below. If he were less sleepy, he would've thought it was strange how Red Hood navigated the streets with an almost innate sense of direction without having ever been there before, much less seen the place. But Billy wasn't paying attention since he was half-asleep already after enduring so much trauma earlier. As a result, the kid did not comment on anything unusual about what happened.

They approached the front entrance to the estate along a long gravel path flanked by rows of hedges on either side while stopping in front of several tall columns leading up to a large iron gate—which opened automatically once Red Hood pressed down lightly on the button.

"Hello?" A frantic voice rang out from the speaker, causing Billy to look around. "Who is it?"

"It's me, Alfred." Red Hood murmured harshly.

"Oh, my- J-" Alfred Pennyworth started to say as Red Hood interrupted him.

"I brought the kid home," he quickly said.

"Please stay for tea or c-" Alfred responded before the line went dead. There was nothing but silence for a moment before the electronic lock on the iron gates clicked open with a loud click. A lone butler rushed out to see a young boy covered with a leather jacket sitting on the cold gravel walkway of the front porch. The older man gently placed his hand over his forehead and sighed as he walked toward Billy.

"Come on, William. Let's get you to bed."

***

The pendulum swung back again. Tim held firmly to the leather straps against the concrete slab beneath him as it made another round. He could feel the pressure from it each time it swung past the blindfolded clown wielding a metal pipe in the opposite direction—a loud metallic clang resounded through the space of the room as it swung into the air and made contact with the ground, sending sparks flying around wildly when they hit other objects in the enclosed area. When there was finally silence, he relaxed slightly, which caused his arms to become sore after being tightly squeezed by his grip on the steel beams that supported him on both sides while his feet dangled helplessly off the ground below him.

Tim closed his eyes slowly before taking a deep breath to calm himself down as the world was continuously swinging back and forth like a carousel ride—except this was no merry-go-round. Instead, he felt like he was strapped to a rocking boat on a carnival ride. Each sweep of the pendulum narrowly missed the clown's pipe several times until it finally managed to make contact with its target only once barely. Tim bites down on his teeth in pain as the pipe connected with one of his shins with a strong impact that hurt worse than anything he had ever experienced—as if someone were repeatedly poking his leg with a hot poker. His entire body flinched and shuddered at the unexpected sensation as Tim forced himself out of the last bindings. The clown lost his balance due to the momentum, allowing Tim to swing free on the previous cycle. He immediately fell onto his side and landed with an awkward thud on the floor. Still, unlike the other swings, the force behind the pendulum was not powerful enough to completely dislodge him from the restraints. However, it did loosen them up just enough for him to slip from the table without any trouble.

As Tim limped a few steps back, the laughing maniac's grin pulled back, pinned into a cruel sneer of malice. While the clown rose to his feet and moved toward Tim in slow motion, the blood drained from the deranged villain's face as his features contorted into fear, and his eyes grew wide in disbelief. Two shadows appeared glimmering in the moonlight through a hole in the ceiling above—and slowly descended upon him. The pair floated down on either side of his head and shoulders like vengeful spirits falling through the air, one with a flowing purple cape while the second was clad entirely in black armor with patchwork stitching. 

Chapter Text

Sunlight trickled in spotted patches through the curtains, over the windowsill, and across the bedroom floor toward Billy on morning sunbeams. The glow stretched like water pouring down a drain until it finally found dry land at the baseboards. 

Billy looked to the right, where a nightstand stood with a silver plate covered with a note placed neatly at the side. A napkin with silverware was set on the left side of the container. The letter read: I hope you are fine with cucumber sandwiches and a glass of orange juice. Please finish your breakfast, and I will be back with a guest. -Alfred.

Billy widened his mouth in a smile and began to devour his meal. Cucumber sandwiches tasted so good after eating nothing besides cold cereal and toast for months! They came together like little green pieces of heaven wrapped up in slices of bread with sweetened cream cheese spread between each piece. He ravenously took a large bite as juice flowed into his mouth; the subtle sweetness of the soft cream cheese combined with the fresh cucumber—he could swear there was a hint of fruit, perhaps strawberry. Billy’s mouth salivated at the blend of salted butter with the toast and crunch of the cucumber. After finishing the sandwich, he would lick the crumbs off each of his fingers and let out a great, satisfying burp.

Billy smiled again when he reached for another slice of cucumber sandwich and drank some orange juice. Once he finished it off, he took a deep breath and rolled onto his back in bed, stretching out his arms above him in excitement. Billy stacked the empty plates neatly on each other so Alfred could easily retrieve them. 

Billy felt nervousness creep along his spine, causing the hairs on his neck to stand, but he couldn’t figure out why he was so afraid. Probably nothing, he thought.

Tap. Tap. Click. Billy froze at the sound of the door creaking open, revealing a man who entered the bedroom pushing a wheelchair. Billy became alert at the sudden event. His heart beat wildly, and he struggled not to gasp aloud at the unexpected visitor. Instead, he watched intently as the man set the wheelchair beside Billy’s bed. Alfred Pennyworth entered behind him, placing his silver tray atop the dresser across from where Billy lay. He wore his black tailcoat over his white shirt and tie.

"Good morning, William," said Alfred in greeting. "This is Master Bruce Wayne, the previous CEO of Wayne Industries. He will be visiting you for a few minutes."

Instinctively, Billy pressed his back against the bed’s headboard. A wave of fear ran up his spine and caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. He wasn't sure why his body had this kind of reaction to a wealthy playboy billionaire, but being homeless had taught him to trust in his intuition when things were out of place or seemed off about someone. Billy looked up at the smiling handsome man dressed like a movie star.

Bruce Wayne offered him a friendly smile while extending one hand toward Billy, who stared at it hesitantly before taking it gently into his own. Bruce Wayne's icy blue eyes narrowed slightly for a millisecond as they examined every inch of Billy's face before releasing his hand and nodding reassuringly. His handshake was firm and solid. Bruce’s large frame was accentuated by his expensive black suit, tailored pants, and silk tie. With a soft gasp, Billy awkwardly flinched under the man’s watchful gaze.

The billionaire met Alfred’s eye, shifted slightly, and looked towards the door. Thus, the butler decided that Billy and Bruce needed to speak alone, momentarily stepping out of the room. But not before delivering a sharp, chastising look towards the Wayne Family’s heir.

"I'm pleased to meet you, William," Bruce said softly. "Alfred tells me you are mute, but there’s more to you, right?" The man took a step closer, curving an eyebrow toward the child.

Billy guffawed, voicing nothing but silence in response to the question. He gave a short nod of understanding for the man's inquisitive tone, though there seemed to be some other meaning behind those words that didn't quite hit home.

Bruce's eyes narrowed as he looked closer at the young boy's face as if he recognized him. This was strange, Billy thought. The urchin had never met the man before—not as himself. Too many questions were swirling around his head now, and Billy couldn't figure out why he was afraid. That familiar anxiety crept up his spine again, causing his skin to crawl in small waves up and down his arms. Billy wanted to speak up and ask what was happening, but the fear remained unbroken. As a boy living on the streets, it didn’t take much for him to become silent when confronted with an unfamiliar situation or person.

Bruce widened his eyes slightly at Billy in realization as he pulled out a chair at the table and sat down. Crossing his hands over his chest, he leaned forward and looked down at his new employee seated across from him. 

"William Joseph Batson."

Billy startled at the man's words, looking up into his calculating blue eyes with pinprick pupils as they scrutinized the young boy. Bruce’s gaze shifted from one of Billy’s eyes to the other as if deciding which one to focus upon before landing at a point in the middle of his forehead. 

A shiver crept up his spine as he pulled the blanket over his shoulders. To calm himself, he took a deep breath and tried to steady his rapid breathing. Why does a billionaire care about me? Billy thought as an intrusive thought popped up and threatened his composure. Is he going to-

"Why are you here in Gotham?” asked Bruce in a calm, rhetorical tone. “I've seen your face on the posters in Fawcett City. You’re a long way from home, William." The icy blue eyes pierced his soul, a floodlight revealing any shadows of deception. 

Billy's eyebrows raised while the blanket fell back on his lap, but he was still speechless at the mysterious billionaire playboy's sudden change in behavior. Then, he realized it was just another attempt to catch him off guard. Oh...he is sneaky. 

The boy quickly grabbed his notebook and pen from the nightstand drawer, pulled the blanket off his body, and scooted closer to the edge of the bed. He considered his options. Billy needed help figuring out why he was cursed, and this man could help him—or rather, his connections and assets could. Money can open up new opportunities and doors that a homeless orphan could not.

He finally looked down at his notes and attempted to write in his small notebook, trying his hardest not to draw too much attention toward his shaking hands.

"Yes," wrote Billy hesitantly after a moment of silence filled with awkward tension between the two.

"Is your mutism a physical or a psychological condition?" asked Bruce calmly.

Billy sat up straight. He considered lying to the philanthropist as he bit the inside of his cheek, holding his pen just above the page. Bruce was not talkative as a bead of sweat dripped from Billy’s brow and onto the page.  

"I think it's magic," he wrote as he glanced at Bruce's reaction. The man seems unfazed, as if considering magic as a legitimate reason, whereas most adults would have dismissed his answer. The man leaned forward in his chair as if that was an angle to consider. 

Billy quickly turned the page over, hoping Bruce wouldn't see his earlier writing. He continued to write without looking at him, only occasionally peeking up from underneath his eyebrows at the man across from him. The young hero recounted on the page before he paused to show Bruce what he had written with concern evident on his face. Lifting his head to peek at Bruce’s face, Billy frowned as the man’s expression still held its stoic intensity before turning to another page and scribbling a brief explanation.

"Cursed? By whom?" Bruce pressed on with a slight tilt of his head and an almost imperceptible furrowing of his brow.

Billy bit his lip, wondering if he should divulge the information. After a deafening stretch of solitude, the boy tilted his head slightly and relented—scrawling words before him, "No one will tell me anything...They said that whoever cursed me is powerful and something about going underground." 

"Underground?" Bruce inquired, raising an eyebrow before his pupils constricted in intense concentration. He scratched the side of his face absentmindedly.

"They said something about the land below, maybe the sewers." Billy wrote in half-truths. He wasn't telling Bruce Wayne about the underworld. 

"Why are you in Gotham, and how did you come here?" Bruce urged.

Billy paled slightly at the question—the pen shaking slightly in his grasp. He can’t say he took the Zeta tube to help Batman on a magical mission against Mordred. 

Think, Billy. His brain helpfully supplied.

"I took the bus," Billy recalled. "The ride back cost more than I thought, so I'm working for Alfred until I save enough money." He hoped Bruce would stop questioning him, but sadly, not yet.

"So, do you know anything else about your condition?" 

Billy shook his head slowly, no again. 

Bruce waited for an answer with more uncomfortable silence—letting the discomfort weigh heavily between them. Billy was more aware of the gaze on his face as his shaking hands tapped the pen against the journal—desperate for some stimulation. The child averted his gaze and examined the soft rug underneath as he squirmed on the edge of the bed. The taste of orange juice was wonderful before, but now it had a faint metallic aftertaste from biting his cheek.

A few minutes passed before Billy finally scrawled, "...nothing yet..."

After a while, Bruce answered softly, "Lad, I can't help you if you are not honest with me. I know you didn't take the bus—your clothes that Alfred washed are moth-bitten and in tatters. You said ‘the ride back,’ as if you didn’t know the fare until after you arrived in Gotham. If you need my help, I need you to tell me everything you remember from that day." He leaned back in his chair once more.

It wasn't that Billy had forgotten much about this particular event, but he was trying to hide the fact that he was Captain Marvel. At least for now, anyway, since there was no telling what would happen with this whole situation if Mr. Wayne knew who he was and who would want to kill him next. As the Champion of Magic with the power of several gods, it was a position that people would kill for. He also represented the Gods that lend their power to him; several of them have a long list of enemies. He had to keep up his charade of just being another ordinary kid.

"I don't want to lose my job," Billy confessed on paper. The only reason he was working for Mr. Wayne was to stay undercover long enough to figure out how he got cursed...so he could lift it.

Bruce hummed in thought before slowly standing from his chair and turning to leave the room, saying over his shoulder, "Go along, William. After you have been treated, we'll have time to speak further." After opening the door, he looked at the old man, politely waiting at the side with a trolley, before smiling politely, "Thank you, Alfred." 

He was about to walk through the doorway when he paused and glanced back briefly at Billy, "I hope… I can be someone you can trust one day." With that said Bruce opened the bedroom door and closed it behind him with an audible click of the knob, leaving Billy and Alfred again with nothing but silence filling the air.

Alfred entered the room quietly. The butler’s footsteps echoed in time, with the cart trailing in front of him as he moved around the room, putting away dishes from breakfast. Alfred cleared his throat and walked around the bed until he reached its other side.  He walked towards the edge of the mattress facing away from Billy and dressed the boy's wound. 

“Did Master Bruce scare you?” The butler asked with a slight frown and several worried creases on his forehead.

Billy looked up towards Alfred as the butler dabbed cotton balls with antiseptic on his leg. He winced slightly and quickly nodded, not wanting to be a bother to the old manservant.

The butler sighed as he deeply cleaned Billy’s wound with a surprising amount of precision and gentleness. “Master Bruce….is not the best at conveying his emotions. His worry may present itself in its…intense demeanor. I assure you, William, Master Bruce only wishes you are safe.”

Billy winced as the butler began to wrap the bandage around his leg, counting his breath so he wouldn’t have to dwell on the pain—contemplating the response.

After tossing the soiled bandages into a bin, Alfred didn't turn to face the young hero as he spoke softly without looking up, "...I will return soon to check on you and have some more tea, perhaps."

Alfred's shoes clicked against the floorboards as they faded into the distance. Billy perceived a low humming noise coming from far off inside the house, as if someone were working diligently or fixing something within one of the rooms. Then finally, all sounds ceased for good.

Another long period of uncomfortable silence filled the room and seemed to go on forever...or maybe just a moment longer than expected.

Billy sat silently staring out the window, wondering what would happen next, hoping Bruce Wayne would help lift this curse so he could finally leave the hellhole that was Gotham. His thoughts wandered to his home city of Fawcett City, thinking about how much he missed his friends and normalcy, wishing he never had to come there in the first place. That is until suddenly; Billy realized there might be more at stake right now besides lifting his curse. 

Suddenly, a loud knocking came on the bedroom door, accompanied by a loud metallic clanking as if something significant and hulking was just beyond the door. Billy’s head jolted towards the door—an image of flashing lights, dark blue uniforms, and guns drawn dashed across the child’s mind. Did the billionaire call the cops on him? Or worse, did he call CPS?

'How the hell can I leave?!' thought Billy. He stood up from the bed and stared with wide eyes as he heard the wooden floorboards creaking with every step of whatever was outside the door. Billy desperately looked around, shambling and limping towards the window to see if it would easily be opened. His fingers only brushed against the cool metal latch before he heard the loud pounding burst of a wooden door forced open.

The bright sunlight framed the man’s intimidating presence—broad shoulders, dark flowing cape, sleek body armor, and tall stature. He stepped inside with heavy footfalls, crushing chipped pieces of wood underneath his boots. He nudged the door aside with his foot without flinching as his gaze met the young child.

Billy watched the tall figure walk towards him with his hand on his belt. What would Batman say once he discovered what this boy was and that he was, in fact, Captain Marvel? He could lose his job. He could be placed back into Foster Care. Billy looked around for anything he could use as a weapon but saw nothing except the notebook in his hand, which he raised over his head to throw at the man as he held his breath, trying desperately not to panic while awaiting Batman's next move. 

The knight in obsidian armor stopped several feet from the kid, standing still, just staring at him. There was no anger, nor did he look like he wanted to hurt him. Instead, there seemed to be an almost sympathetic sadness on his features, which was understandable since Batman always had a soft spot for children.

"I'm sorry," whispered the masked vigilante gently, "for scaring you." He held his hands up as Billy limped near the window, hurriedly unlatching the lock so he could escape down the balcony, but then Billy stopped short after hearing those words; they weren't empty apologies—they felt genuine. 

"Lad," The Dark Knight spoke with a voice that carried a hint of kindness within it—a gentle tone similar to one used by a concerned friend rather than a menacing foe— "please get away from the window. I want to talk." The man spoke in a deep baritone as he crouched to get the notebook Billy had tossed at him before placing it carefully back on the table.

Billy pulled back his lips in a sneer with eyes wide and furrowed eyebrows as he accused silently, "you're going to call the CPS." He clutched the knob of the window handle tightly as he slowly turned towards the door, ready for Batman to rush forward and try and pull him off balance. His muscles tensed for an all-out fight if needed or run for his life.

Batman sighed. Then, everything changed when Batman removed his cowl, revealing his true identity underneath it all. Bruce Fucking Wayne.

"My Gods..." Billy thought as he stared at the man with the most powerful face in the world—the face that belonged to the greatest detective in the world. It all made sense after the fact. How was he so blind? He WORKED with him! How did he not know? It was a sad realization because he wanted nothing more than to take hold of Bruce’s shoulders and shake some answers out of him— After staring long enough into those penetrating blue eyes, he looked down at the boy's hand wrapped around the wooden window ledge with such sadness in their depths it made Billy shiver despite how warm it was inside.

The Dark Knight rose from kneeling on the floor, took several steps forward, and closed the distance between himself and the young hero before sitting again next to Billy. They were silent as Billy looked intently into his eyes, trying to find something he could trust, wordlessly mouthing, "What do you want?”

The Dark Knight softly replied, "Captain Marvel." He was, after all, a brilliant detective. Lip reading was included in his repertoire.

Billy narrowed his eyes and continued to stare at Bruce, waiting for him to say more, but instead, the man reached out and held out his hand, saying, "I know. Please, William, let's talk."

Billy held up a finger. He almost tossed the journal open, creasing its binding as he promptly etched in large jagged letters, "You cannot tell anyone that I’m Cap," he gave Batman a moment to read his words as the man lifted his eyebrows just a fraction. The kid wasn't scared of him—he was more curious about what would happen now since he had seen Bruce Wayne's true face underneath that mask. There was no point in hiding anymore, especially not from someone who seemed genuine in wanting to help. He still didn't want to reveal everything, but at least the man wanted to listen.

"I can keep the League from knowing, but my family will find out eventually." His voice mellowed, almost a hushed whisper.

Billy frowned as he scribbled, "Fine. But they can’t tell anyone else." Then, he paused briefly before penning, "I'm going to go back to Fawcett."

Bruce looked away and thought momentarily before answering with a deep sigh, "Alright, then." It sounded like a reluctant answer, but that was good enough. They both knew that nothing was stopping the young hero from returning home.

"Did Cyborg tell you?" Billy asked as Bruce closed the window now that Billy was safely inside the bedroom.

The Dark Knight grimaced slightly at this question, making him look even more severe than usual. "He stubbornly refused to answer," answered Batman. "Now," he added with a note of seriousness, "I'd better explain a few things before you leave us here, William..."

"Billy." The young boy clarified in large letters as he shoved the notebook into Bruce's face.

Tim Drake sat alone in a dimly lit room with his eyes fixed upon his cell phone screen as he read through the message he had received from Alfred moments ago. He rubbed his forehead and sighed quietly before leaning back against his bed and gazing at the IVs connected to his arms before replying to Alfred, "I see...Yes, yes, I understand your point. I'll get some rest. Okay, I'm not going to drink coffee tonight. Promise." Timothy Drake snuck a look at his instant coffee on his bedside table before rolling over and turning off his phone.

He had some work, but his brain focused on the drywall’s texture instead. He hyper-focused on the swirls, following each curl as it led to another intersecting curve. Tim ran a finger over the plaster, partially from boredom and curiosity about how it would feel. 

Pushing himself up from the bed, the young CEO decided he should make some coffee to prepare for the presentation at work tomorrow. He takes a packet of instant coffee and pours the powdery substance into his chipped mug. Without measuring, Tim pours hot water from his thermos into his mug and stirs it with a plastic spoon he kept from takeout.

A knock on the door caused the young man to sit in alarm on the edge of his mattress. Who could be knocking on the front door?

To his surprise, it was Alfred Pennyworth. His butler held out a steaming cup of hot chocolate for the young man to drink. Tim nodded with appreciation toward the man.

Alfred scrutinized the half cup of coffee sitting at Tim's bedside while frowning softly at him before saying, "You really should take better care of yourself than this. It isn't good for you."

Tim took the mug from Alfred before quickly gulping down the contents and picking up his cell phone again—flipping it open to view the touchscreens. He began typing furiously with one hand holding the cell phone while using the other to sip his hot chocolate as he replied to a text.

Mogwai: Father told Batson his secret. He's in the Batcave. If he so much touches my-

HoodedCringe: Batson?

Mogwai: The homeless child Pennyworth brought in a week ago.

HoodedCringe: heh. congrats on getting replaced

Mogwai: I will kill you, Todd!

HoodedCringe: ur welcome, kid

OverlyCaffienated: cringe

HoodedCringe: oh shut the fuck up, kissass

OverlyCaffienated: /cringe/

HoodedCringe: get a hobby

OverlyCaffienated: /sadge

Tim huffed in a long-suffering manner after finishing his texting exchange and threw his cell phone in his pocket as he put on his shoes. "Alfred, can you help me down to the Batcave? I need to make sure Damian doesn't kill Billy." As the butler dropped his gaze and his lips creased into a deep frown, Tim paused as he realized what he had said, causing him to wince slightly, "I know Dami had changed from who he was when he got here. But, I can't help but remember that night in the Batcave." The young man reached over and pulled a long woolen cloak around him as Alfred helped him into his armor.

Billy gazed at the detailed, large—not just extensive, expansive—list in front of him on a large bulletin board. In the middle was a large printed picture of his face next to Captain Marvel with red marker connections drawn between their names while black ink lines connected smaller printouts with details about them written below each name. His eyes fell upon one such list titled 'Sightings.' It showed an array of times and dates where he has been spotted throughout Gotham City all in a row, including this past week, during which it seemed Batman made more than one visit to his home in Fawcett City. Billy looked over the surveillance images, the map showing sightings across Gotham's outskirts, and the notes were taken after they had happened.

More interesting was the picture of his father, C. C. Batson, next to his superhero persona. The words underneath were stated as follows: Reanimation?? Reincarnation? Shapeshifter? 

An excerpt: I have long suspected that the true identity of Captain Marvel is C. C. Batson. The appearance is uncanny; however, my suspicions have yet to be confirmed. Every lead seems to take me in circles. The more I study, the more it evades me. C.C. Batson is dead, yet… could it be some entity that borrowed his form?

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he felt overwhelmed by the information thrown at him. Bruce bluffed. He had no idea Billy was Captain Marvel. Billy gave away his biggest secret due to an assumption—an expectation that Batman already knew.

He sighed softly to himself again, trying to keep his face neutral so Bat—Bruce wouldn't talk to him. He glanced at Bruce, who was at the Bat Computer, searching for ways to cure his curse, and he felt a twinge in his chest when he remembered the guilt of deceiving his fellow League Members. If he was honest, Billy might have kept up the ruse until he was legally an adult or possibly even a little longer.

"Batson." A confident voice declared behind him with a deriding demeanor, emphasizing his last name uniquely.

Billy spun around to meet Robin's wide white lenses with an expressionless face as he raised one brow slightly. "What do you want?" he mouthed flatly. 

Robin jammed a finger into Billy's chest and shoved him hard, causing the boy to stumble back, catching himself on the desk, "you are Captain Marvel, but I'm Batman's partner, and you are nothing but a beggar Pennyworth brought in," he spat out like venom from his mouth, causing Billy's eyes to widen in shock. The two stood facing each other, staring each other down.

Billy's eye twitched, perhaps it was from all the life-threatening situations he had been in over these past weeks, or maybe it was because this kid dared to call him by that moniker. As the moment drew out, they both became increasingly agitated, waiting for the other to make the first move.

"But that's why Good is hard. Bad is easy." A memory rang through the young orphan's head.

Billy inhaled deeply and exhaled, closing his eyes as he chose to take whatever hit was coming. He was expecting the mean right hook of Robin to meet his cheek. But instead of feeling the pain and blossoming bruise, he felt only air rush against the side of his head.

As he opened his eyes, Billy found that Damian stood there with a sharp smirk, muttering something about passing, "Tt- I see why you are Captain Marvel. Remember, I will not hesitate to take you down if necessary."

Despite the hostility behind them, Billy couldn't help but feel a sense of respect for the young vigilante’s words. He knew that Robin meant what he said and was a force to be reckoned with.

Billy nodded toward Robin, yet there was a spark of defiance in his glare as he scribbled down a note and tossed it at the other boy, "I won't push my luck. But I won't let anyone talk down to me, either. Not even you, Robin."

The two stood there for a moment longer, their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. And then, as if on cue, they both backed down, the tension dissipating between them. 

"Good," Robin said, his smirk turning into a slight grin as he pulled out his cell phone and began texting away again, not bothering to look up from his screen, "because Father and I will stop your curse before someone else gets hurt."

Billy placed a hand on the side of his hip as he tilted his head and exaggeratedly lifted an eyebrow to ask why he was not joining.

"You are injured," Bruce replied in his grave, solemn tone sweeping into the conversation. "And you lost your ability to access your power. Billy, you will stay with Alfred while Robin and I search for leads."

Billy huffed in disappointment but accepted his fate with a slight grumble. The Dark Knight continued, "We must consider that the one that cursed you—whoever they might be—is more powerful than we imagined, stronger than anything we have ever faced. We do not know who is behind it yet. So keep a close eye on yourself until we figure things out. For now, do nothing unless it's vital." He spoke calmly and evenly as he sat on a leather chair nearby. "Now go rest," he instructed sternly as he looked towards Billy and Robin, adding as if by an afterthought, "and don't fight," as he reached down to pick up his coffee mug to take another sip of the bitter liquid inside. 

In his deep, commanding voice, Batman spoke again, "Damian, it's time for patrol." He didn’t offer pleasantries or small talk as Damian followed him with a simple  "Yes, Father."

Billy smiled mischievously at Damian's back, slipping something taped onto it before turning his gaze back to the entrance. The young boy snickered quietly before slinking to find Alfred and Red Robin waiting near the Cave's entrance.

"You're fine!" Tim chirped while he ruffled the boy's hair. 

Billy responded with a chuckle and a side-eye to the inconspicuous note taped to Damian's back. The hilarious message on his back read: "I'm secretly a unicorn."

Tim gave a painfully slow dramatic blink as he read the note on Damian's back, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "A unicorn, huh?" he said, a sly grin spreading across his face. "I always knew there was something mystical about him."

Alfred, standing stoically next to Tim, let out a small chuckle. "I'll make sure to add 'unicorn' to Master Damian's list of titles, along with 'heir to the Wayne fortune and vigilante extraordinaire.'"

Billy couldn't contain his laughter at the thought of Damian parading around with a unicorn label on his back, and he snorted so loudly that he had to cover his mouth to avoid getting caught. The three of them stood there, stifling their giggles as they imagined the look on Damian's face when he finally discovered the note.

"I fear for your life, Billy Batson," Tim said, shaking his head in mock disapproval. "If Damian catches you, he might send you to the Shadow Realm for this prank."

Billy chuckled nervously, knowing that Tim wasn't entirely joking. Damian had a fierce temper and didn't take kindly to being the butt of anyone's jokes. But Billy couldn't resist the opportunity to prank the usually stoic and serious Damian, and he felt that the young Wayne would eventually see the humor in it.

"Hey, it's all in good fun," Billy speedily scribbled in his journal, still grinning from ear to ear. "Besides, I think it's good to remind Damian that even the world's greatest detective can have a sense of humor."

Alfred nodded in agreement, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Indeed, William. Sometimes a little fun is necessary, even in danger."

Tim rolled his eyes, but his smile belied his amusement. "Well, let's hope Damian sees it that way. Otherwise, you might be in for a very long and painful night." Just then, his phone started to play The Family Jewels by MARINA AND THE DIAMONDS. "Well, I better go finish my work. See you later." He smirked as he turned on his heel and limped down the hall to get some work done for Wayne Industries.

Billy turned to Alfred with a mischievous grin, writing with purposeful, neat handwriting—a first. "Alfred, can we explore the Cave? I promise to be good." Alfred raised an eyebrow but smiled nonetheless, "Very well, William. I shall accompany you on your explorations, but I must insist that we do not disturb any of Master Bruce's more delicate equipment."

Billy's eyes lit up at the prospect of exploring the Batcave, already planning all the secret passageways and hidden rooms he wanted to investigate. He eagerly followed Alfred as he approached the equipment to pack all the needed supplies.

Chapter Text

A faint echo filled the cavern as light pierced the darkness. As the area illuminated, it revealed the shimmering surface of the cave: Flawed prisms of rock, sculpted by gravity's pull, resembled white quills. Droplets slid down stalactites, depositing sediment below.

Curious, Billy held out his finger to one, imagining the scene from Sleeping Beauty where Aurora pricked her finger. He immediately snatched his hands back as a pinch of pain and a red dot appeared on his index finger.

Billy cursed his intrusive thoughts.

Alfred noticed his young apprentice. He reached into the backpack to retrieve his first-aid kit. Approaching the child slowly, he extended his hands so Billy could see them. The butler held antiseptic spray, Neosporin, and a few bandages.

"William, are you allergic to latex, perchance?"

The boy shook his head. His curly hair fell into his eyes.

The butler quickly cleaned his wound, put a thin dab of Neosporin on it, and gently wrapped a band-aid on the kid's finger.

A sharp noise pierced the quiet, its chime as jarring as a siren's call. Alfred fumbled for it in his coat, his typical poise giving way to unexpected awkwardness—his complexion paling as he answered the call.

"We must make haste, William!" Alfred's usually collected, and even tone now carried a note of anxiety. He hoisted Billy up with a speed that contradicted his composed exterior, urgency driving them onward as the phone's map flickered like a beacon through the winding cavern.

The butler's sudden change in demeanor piqued Billy's curiosity. Something serious must have happened if the emergency phone had rung, breaking the tense silence of their exploration. He cast a sidelong glance at Alfred, trying to gauge the severity of the situation from the older man's expression.

"The rails, just ahead!" Alfred exclaimed as his heart thundered in his chest. The sudden revelation snapped Billy back to their urgent reality.

Their headlamps cast frantic, dancing beams across the craggy terrain as Alfred bounded forward, Billy tucked securely under one arm and his phone clutched tightly in the other. The erratic light show bounced and swayed with each of Alfred's determined strides, illuminating fleeting glimpses of hope in the form of metal tracks glinting in the darkness.

The headlamps unveiled a vast, desolate cave where rusted, crumbling rails snaked out into the shadowy embrace of a massive sinkhole, its edges jagged and treacherous. A narrow beam of twilight pierced a gap large enough for a person. It revealed a field of lush, emerald blades rising to their thighs and a glimpse of corroded metal hidden beneath.

Alfred exhaled a weary sigh, his face etched with dismay as he carefully set Billy down. He took off the backpack and placed his phone in his pocket. Then, the butler lifted the kid and secured him with both arms. He pressed his back firmly against the rough cavern wall, inching along to avoid the precarious drop of the sinkhole. "We will be fine, William," he assured, his voice steady despite the faint tremor of the earth beneath them.

Billy couldn't help but wonder if this was one of those times when adults resorted to lying for his sake and keeping a brave face amid danger. He pondered the weight of Alfred's words, torn between trusting him and knowing how complex the world is.

Alfred cradled Billy in his arms, navigating the constricted path until they reached a daunting obstacle. A yawning chasm stretched before them, with only a slender ledge leading out. Jagged metal bars jutted from the rock face, their rusted fingers beckoning ominously. Alfred set the boy down, his heart racing as he realized what must be done.

"You will be okay, William. I will be right behind you."

It was a lie but a hopeful one.

Billy teetered on the edge. The gaping blackness below sent shivers down his spine. He glanced back at Alfred, who nodded encouragingly despite the fear evident in his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Billy summoned every ounce of courage. In that moment, he felt a spark of the hero within, a glimpse of the power that lay dormant. Like a bolt of lightning finding its mark, Billy launched himself across the gap.

He leapt.

Time seemed to slow as Billy soared through the air.

Billy flailed, arms windmilling wildly.

For a heart-stopping moment,

it seemed he wouldn't make it.

….

….

At the last second,

his fingers snagged the corroded railing,

its jagged surface biting into his palm like a cluster of needles.

Grunting effortlessly, he hauled himself up, scraping his knees as he clambered onto solid ground. He stumbled toward the exit, panting heavily. Suddenly, more rumbling and shaking echoed through the cavern, then faded to nothing. He whirled around just in time to see Alfred jump effortlessly across the chasm. Together, they staggered onto a grassy patch where rusty tracks stretched into the distance.

Billy hesitated on the tracks, his gaze darting around despite the stinging pinpricks of red on his palms from the rusty railing. He absently wiped his hands on his jeans, leaving faint smears of blood, as he took in their surroundings with wide-eyed curiosity. Meanwhile, Alfred bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. His chest heaved as he gulped in the air, still shaken from their narrow escape.

The cave behind them shuddered violently, sending tremors through the ground beneath their feet. A deep, ominous hum echoed through the tunnel, growing louder with each passing second. The vibrations intensified, causing loose pebbles and dust to rain from the ceiling. Alfred's face contorted with worry, his eyes darting back toward the darkness they'd just escaped. His growing concern was palpable, radiating off him in waves as he shouted to Billy, urging him to move faster along the tracks. The air seemed to thicken with tension as the sounds of pursuit drew ever closer, promising danger if they lingered too long.

And then.

A shrill, piercing screech permeated the atmosphere. It was a grating, relentless noise reminiscent of a blend between a boiling kettle's hiss and amplifier feedback at a rock show. Alfred and Billy recoiled, startled by the sudden ear-splitting racket as they stood stock-still. An otherworldly emerald glow sliced through the dark tunnel entrance. The ground quaked as if the maw of the underworld was rising to engulf them. 

Thuds and discordant murmurs echo across the cavern as tiny stones smash against the surrounding walls with crisp, arid snaps. Without warning, the ground beneath the hollow starts to squeak and moan as if an enormous entity is dragging itself through the opening. A surge of sinister force commenced gushing from the den once again. The gradual, grating tone began to vibrate as it intensified—Billy realized it wasn't a whistle but a multitude of voices shrieking in harmony. The spine-chilling wail continued to approach until a massive form erupted from the gloom of the murky entrance and materialized into view, exposing a looming silhouette in the faint teal light.

As if birthed from the bowels of Hell, a sleek, metallic beast broke through the chasm, tearing apart the veil of darkness that shrouded the cave. A futuristic rail locomotive emerged, its aerodynamic form gleaming with a malevolent, toxic luster. Its lights blazed like the eyes of Medusa, slit-like and paralyzing to those fooled enough to gaze upon them. Sparks flew as the wheels screamed and screeched against the rails, a cacophony of tortured metal echoing throughout the cavern.

The train's approach was relentless, thundering towards Billy with the ferocity of a wild, untamable beast. Its speed was blinding, a blur of silver and red that seemed to distort the very fabric of reality as it hurtled through the cave. The air was filled with the acrid smell of burning metal and a faint, ghostly wail that seemed to emanate from the very depths of the train itself.

Alfred's eyes widened in horror as he registered the imminent danger. Time seemed to slow as his body sprang into action, adrenaline coursing through his veins like liquid fire. With a surge of desperate strength, he lunged towards Billy, his arms outstretched as if to shield the boy from the monstrous apparition bearing down upon them.

As Alfred's hands connected with Billy's shoulder, the world around them seemed to warp and shudder, a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations assaulting their senses. The train's whistle was now a deafening scream, a cacophony of anguish and despair that threatened to tear apart the very fabric of their beings.

With a final, Herculean effort, Alfred heaved them both out of the train's path, their bodies colliding with the cold, unforgiving stone of the cavern floor. The air around them was thick with the stench of scorched earth and the acrid tang of metal as the bullet train hurtled past them, a single hair's length from their shaking bodies.

For a moment, the world was plunged into darkness, the train's sinister glow fading into the cave's murky depths. The echo of its haunting wail lingered in the air, a chilling reminder of the malevolent force that had nearly claimed their lives. Shaken, Alfred and Billy lay there, chests heaving as they struggled to catch their breath, the enormity of their near brush with death settling heavily upon them.

Alfred sighed as he leaned against Billy for support, shaking his head slowly to clear it from the lingering aftereffects of shock. He closed his eyes, trying desperately to collect his thoughts while the ringing in his ears gradually faded. "Are you all right?"

Billy opened his mouth before nodding rapidly, swallowing nervously after spitting several gobs of saliva onto the ground. After breathing deeply, he trembled slightly and shivered uncontrollably. Alfred couldn't help but notice how pale the boy looked and gently grabbed him by the arm. "On your feet, William." Alfred urged briskly. "You will be fine."

Billy nodded again and rubbed his arms where they met the dirt.

After a few more moments, Alfred got to his feet with some effort. As soon as they were both standing upright again, he helped Billy steady himself so he wouldn't fall over from dizziness or disorientation.

They heard the train's wheels screeching as it slowed to a stop. The metallic wail, a shrill pitch that pierced through the eardrums and lingered for several moments, finally fell silent. The banshee's wail also became faint, leaving only a hollow ringing behind.

The train stopped directly next to them, its headlight illuminating the spot they were once on. The conductor stepped out: a large cowboy hat slipped over the silhouette of his face, a glowing purple chasm where his eyes should be. The man cupped his hands over the other as he lit a cigarette, a stream of purple smoke wrapped around the figure. "Your fare?" the man grumbled in a smooth, gruff voice. "Trains don't run for free."

Billy frantically tugged at Alfred's sleeve, his heart pounding. Alfred's eyes had glazed over, vacant and unseeing, his mouth working silently as if trying to form words. A chill ran down Billy's spine as he realized his friend was slipping away, drawn inexorably toward the ominous train.

The air grew thick and oppressive, making it hard to breathe. Billy's fingers trembled as he gripped Alfred tighter, desperate to keep him from taking another step. But Alfred's body moved as if controlled by unseen strings, inching closer to the waiting locomotive. The purple-eyed conductor's gaze bore into them, hungry and expectant, as wisps of otherworldly smoke curled around their feet like grasping tendrils.

Alfred reached into his pocket, pulling out a ten-dollar bill as he looked at the conductor.

The man grumbled a bit before correcting, "Coin."

Alfred nodded, wavering slightly as if sleepwalking. He took out two quarters and handed them to the conductor.

The conductor took the coin, flipping it one after the other into the machine. After the coin was put into the machine, gears turned, and a slot popped up with a small gold ticket. He took it out and handed it to Alfred, who glanced casually at it before putting it away carefully in his pocket.

"Thank you, sir," Alfred replied.

"You're welcome," the conductor said before handing Alfred his ticket. Alfred nodded and, in the same swaying daze as the others, walked down the aisle to his seat.

Billy frantically searched for a coin, patting his pockets with trembling hands, but all he could find was a smooth, dark stone. His heart sank as he realized he had nothing else to offer. To his surprise, the conductor's eyes widened in recognition when he held out the rock.

"Well, I'll be. What is this?" The conductor drawled, his gravelly voice low and measured. He leaned closer, squinting at the obsidian-like object in Billy's palm. The man's tone contained a mixture of curiosity and something that sounded almost like reverence. "I haven't seen one of these in a long, long time," he murmured, more to himself than to Billy.

Billy held it up higher to pay for his passage.

"I only' cept coin, boy," the man drawled. His accent was as thick as molasses. He grinned, and Billy caught a glimpse of a broad smile that stretched across his face, reminiscent of a skeleton's ghastly grin. "I reckon you'll have to stay on t'other side, less'n you got somethin' else hidin' in them pockets."

Billy's face fell, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He looked absolutely crushed. His hopes of crossing dashed in an instant. But just as he was about to turn away, the conductor reached out his gnarled hand. The man reached behind Billy's ear with a flourish that belied his weathered appearance. To Billy's astonishment, the conductor produced not one but two gleaming coins, seemingly out of thin air.

"Seems like you got friends in high places."

He tilted his head, the brim of an unseen hat casting a deeper shadow across his already obscured features. With a calloused hand, he turned the coins over, examining them with the practiced eye of someone who'd seen more than his fair share of currency come and go. "Reckon it's been a spell since anyone's tried to pay their way with one o' these beauties."

The glowing purple eyes from beneath the hat squinted at the young boy, who bravely met his gaze. A faint, otherworldly light emanated from those eerie orbs, casting an ethereal glow on the conductor's shadowed face. To his credit, the boy didn't flinch or look away, his eyes steady and unflinching in the face of the supernatural.

"You're not supp'sed to be here," the conductor drawled, his voice a low rumble that seemed to reverberate through the air, "but I can overlook it."

He paused, tilting his head slightly as if considering something. "Jus' this one time, y'hear? And you oughta keep that tucked away. I only require the one." He placed the extra drachma into Billy's hand.

The small boy looked at the coin and the rock and placed both in his jeans pockets. The hoodie's pocket, he figured, would quickly lose it.

Billy tugged the conductor's threadbare sleeve. The otherworldly figure was gaunt, as skeletal as Billy during his hungriest, coldest winters on the streets.

The kid's lips moved silently, forming the words, "What's your name?"

"Mute, huh? The name's Charon," the conductor rasped, his voice like dry leaves rustling in an autumn breeze. He tilted his head, regarding Billy, with a mixture of curiosity and something that might have been sympathy. "Don't worry, kid. Sometimes silence speaks louder than words ever could, especially in a place like this." He passed over the ticket and carefully guided Billy along the passageway to a seat facing Alfred.

Passengers murmured about reunions and unfinished business, their voices a mix of hope and concern (a chorus of regrets and hopes). Conversations floated by - missed chances, fond memories, and regrets. Alfred's refined voice cut through, tinged with sadness as he repeatedly mentioned Thomas and Martha Wayne, speaking the names with reverence, hinting at a profound connection.

Billy attempted to catch Alfred's attention by snapping his fingers. The old butler's gaze remained unfocused, lost in some distant memory or thought.

"You shouldn't do that," Alfred mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. Clouded with confusion, his eyes briefly met Billy's before darting away again. "Master Bruce would disapprove of such behavior. It's not befitting a young gentleman." The butler's words trailed off, leaving Billy wondering if Alfred was speaking to him or to some phantom from his past.

The food cart went down the aisle, its wheels squeaking softly against the carpeted floor. As it drew near, Alfred stirred from his daydream, his eyes focusing on the array of refreshments. With a slight tremor, he requested a cup of tea. The attendant nodded, pouring the steaming liquid into a delicate porcelain cup.

Just as Alfred reached for the saucer, Billy's hand shot out, giving the cart a forceful shove. The teacup teetered precariously before toppling over, its contents cascading onto the plush carpet. A good portion of the scalding liquid splashed onto Alfred's trousers and shirt, eliciting a sharp gasp from the elderly butler.

The sudden shock of hot tea against his skin jolted Alfred back to full awareness. His eyes cleared, darting between the spreading stain on the carpet and the damp patches on his clothing. The fog of confusion that had shrouded him moments before dissipated, replaced by a look of startled comprehension as he took in his surroundings with newfound clarity.

"A train?" Alfred asked, his voice tinged with absolute surprise and a hint of disbelief.

After pointing at the food cart, Billy nodded furiously, crossing his arms in an "X" fashion. His face scrunched in concentration, and he hoped Alfred would understand this impromptu charade.

Billy seriously wished he had his notebook with him. It would have made communication so much easier. Frustration flickered across his features as he continued his silent pantomime.

"You're not hungry?"

At this, Billy sighed heavily, though, of course, no sound came out. His shoulders slumped dramatically, and he rolled his eyes in exasperation, trying to convey his exasperation through body language alone.

Alfred chuckled, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "It's all in jest, William."

The butler took a napkin to wipe off some liquid on his clothing, dabbing at the dark stains that had begun to set in. As he continued his efforts, a realization dawned on his face. "Ah, I see. No food or drink, is that it?"

Billy's face lit up instantly. He broke into a wide, relieved grin and nodded enthusiastically, grateful that Alfred had finally understood his silent message.

"It's strange, though," Alfred mused, his brow furrowing slightly as he glanced around the compartment. "I am feeling quite a bit peckish and parched." He said, trailing off, his voice tinged with confusion and growing concern. His hand absently reached for his stomach as if to confirm the hunger he was experiencing.

Billy furrowed his eyebrows, a mix of confusion and concern etching itself across his youthful features. He glanced at Alfred, trying to convey his puzzlement at the situation.

They began to notice subtle peculiarities about the train that sent a shiver of unease down their spines. Billy's eyes darted around, a flicker of recognition passing over his face. He seemed to know precisely where they were, but his shoulders slumped in resignation, aware that he couldn't communicate this knowledge to Alfred. Though Alfred couldn't read lips, he was adept at interpreting body language and piecing together the nuances of a situation.

His gaze swept across the compartment, taking in details he hadn't noticed before. The other passengers were dressed in an array of formal attire, their clothing styles spanning different eras and cultures. It was as if they had stepped out of various points in history, assembled here in this strange carriage.

Alfred's attention shifted to the window, and his breath caught in his throat. The scenery outside appeared on an endless loop, the same trees, hills, and structures passing by repeatedly in a hypnotic cycle. He blinked hard, convinced his eyes were playing tricks on him, but the unnerving pattern persisted. The realization settled over him like a heavy fog, leaving him disquieting about their circumstances.

Suddenly, the automatic announcer's crisp, robotic voice crackled through the train's speakers, "Now approaching Dead Central."

If they had any questions about where they were going, this certainly answered them.

Billy's eyes widened as he peered out the window, taking in the bustling platform coming into view. The lines of waiting commuters stretched far along the platform, a sea of people eager to board.

As he observed the scene, a memory flickered in Billy's mind. He had been to Tokyo once before, though under very different circumstances. It had been during a mission as Captain Marvel, his superhero alter ego. The recollection brought a slight smile to his face, tinged with nostalgia and excitement. He wondered how this visit would compare to the Shibuya Crossing.

It was worse.

The platform was packed with spirits waiting to board to their respective afterlives. Long, winding queues of ghosts stretched as far as the eye could see, each clutching their afterlife tickets and peering anxiously at the arrival board. Spectral attendants in crisp uniforms floated about, directing traffic and answering questions from confused souls.

Ethereal billboards flickered overhead, advertising exclusive packages for premium afterlife experiences. "Skip the line!" one proclaimed in glowing letters. "VIP access to the Elysian Fields!" boasted another. A translucent kiosk nearby offered last-minute reservations for popular activities in the great beyond - everything from cloud-surfing lessons to meetings with long-lost loved ones required advance booking.

Billy's face scrunched up as if he'd bitten into a particularly sour lemon, his furrowed brow and scowling lip in disgust as he gaped at the gaudy sign advertising Nirvana. The neon-bright letters pulsed and shimmered, promising "Instant Enlightenment!" and "Karma Cleansing Guaranteed!"

"Well," the butler stated with impeccable British restraint, his eyebrow arching ever so slightly, "I daresay this is not quite the one I had envisioned. It appears the hereafter has become rather... commercialized." He adjusted his bow tie, a hint of sardonic amusement coloring his crisp tone. "One wonders if there might be a queue for tea with the Almighty or perhaps a fast-pass option for the pearly gates."

At the mention of tea, Alfred licked his lips as Billy watched intently, and the manservant's eyes were drawn to a long stream of water. A shimmering, ethereal river flowed lazily near the "VIP Access to Elysian Fields" stall, its waters an impossibly clear blue that seemed to glow from within. A solitary security guard, looking rather bored and out of place in his crisp uniform, stood sentinel at the entrance. A name tag was on his suit, Theseus. He idly twirled a velvet rope between his fingers, occasionally glancing at the river with a mixture of longing and resignation. The stall was adorned with golden lettering and promised "Express Entry to Paradise!" in flashy, holographic script that changed colors every few seconds.

Billy nervously fingered the stone in his pocket, then pulled it out, praying Nyx was right. Everything hinged on this small object. He gripped it, palm sweating, silently willing it to shield them from the guard's view. His eyes flicked between the stone and the guard, seeking signs the magic was working.

It turned out it shielded him, but not Alfred.

"Name?" The guard had a thick Grecian accent, speaking English as he looked at his screen.

The butler shed his former identity like a serpent, discarding its skin and embracing the persona of a legendary Athenian statesman. He exuded an aura of charisma and sophistication, honed through years of clandestine operations. With a disarming smile that could sway nations, he effortlessly provided a moniker guaranteed to unlock the gates of paradise.

His voice, a blend of authority and nonchalance, resonated with the confidence of a man who had dined with kings and outmaneuvered empires. Ancient Greek flowed from his lips in crisp, authentic tones, each word a testament to his mastery of deception. He declared his assumed identity with the ease of being accustomed to moving between worlds, his aristocratic bearing as natural as breathing.

The name he chose carried the weight of history - a brilliant strategist, a master of reinvention, a chimera of Athens, Sparta, and Persia. As he spoke, he embodied the essence of that infamous figure, radiating the charisma that had once swayed assemblies and seduced allies and enemies alike.

"Ἀλκιβιάδης Ἀθηναῖος." (Alcibiades of Athens)

The guard's eyes narrowed, scrutinizing Alfred's face as the holographic script flashed a dizzying array of colors above them. The air seemed to thicken, charged with an electric tension that made the hairs on Billy's invisible neck stand on end. Time stretched like taffy, each second an eternity as they waited for the guard's response.

Alfred stood unflinching, a bastion of composure in the swirling madness of the afterlife's antechamber. His impeccable suit remained crisp despite the oppressive heat, not a bead of sweat marring his forehead. He met the guard's gaze with the unwavering confidence of a man who had stared down far more intimidating foes.

The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring, until finally, the guard's stern expression cracked. A hint of reverence seeped into his voice as he nodded, "Χαῖρε, ἡ ἡσυχία καὶ εὐδαιμονία τῶν Ἠλυσίων πεδίων σε δέχοιτο." (Rejoice, may the peace and bliss of the Elysian fields receive you.)

Billy's jaw dropped, his eyes widening to saucers.

The guard's words hung in the air, a proclamation that sent ripples of shock through the assembled souls. Billy's gaze darted between Alfred and the imposing figure at the gates, trying to reconcile the unassuming butler with the legendary name that had just been uttered.

The shimmering barrier beyond the guard seemed to pulse with newfound intensity as if responding to Alfred's counterfeit identity. Motes of golden light danced in the air, swirling around them like fireflies caught in a gentle breeze. The oppressive heat gave way to a calm, refreshing sensation that washed over Billy's skin, hinting at the wonders that awaited in Elysium.

As Alfred – or Alcibiades – stepped forward, the ground beneath their feet seemed to tremble in reverence. Billy took the opportunity to slip in beside him.

Billy's eyes widened with wonder as he pocketed his stone, slipping out of the night that covered him once he followed Mr. Pennyworth deep into the heart of Elysium. The ethereal landscape unfolded before them, a paradise beyond mortal imagination. Crystal-clear water cascaded from exquisitely carved white marble fountains, their gentle splashing a soothing melody in the air. Lush vineyards stretched as far as the eye could see, their vines heavy with clusters of plump, succulent grapes that seemed to glisten in the soft, otherworldly light.

The faded sun cast a dreamlike glow over the realm, its muted rays caressing the branches of trees laden with ripe pomegranates and plums. The fruit hung tantalizingly close, their vibrant colors starkly contrasting the ethereal surroundings. The sweet fragrance of nectar and ambrosia wafted through the air, mingling with the earthy scent of fertile soil and blooming flowers.

Alfred Pennyworth, shaking off the guise of Alcibiades, reverted to his usual demeanor as the ever-loyal manservant. His weathered face relaxed, the lines of worry easing as he took in the serene beauty around them. Like a man possessed by an unquenchable thirst, he trudged towards the iridescent river of Lethe.

His feet dragged through the soft, otherworldly soil, each step bringing him closer to the mythical waters that promised sweet oblivion. The weight of countless memories and regrets seemed to press down upon his shoulders, driving him forward with a desperate urgency. As he approached, the gentle lapping of the river's surface beckoned to him, its siren song of forgetfulness growing ever more irresistible.

But before Alfred could take a sip to quench his thirst, Billy leaped in front of him, blocking his path. The young boy's face was a mask of urgency, his eyes darting around the seemingly peaceful paradise. Though unable to speak due to his curse, Billy's body language spoke volumes. His muscles were taut, his posture alert, and his expression was genuine fear and worry.

Alfred pushed past his apprentice and approached the river with an unsettling intensity. His steps were heavy, reluctant yet inevitable. At the edge, he paused, hand hovering over the water as if drawn by an invisible force. His jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the surface with longing and dread. Billy sensed the weight of this moment on Alfred.

Alfred approached the water frantically, falling to his knees on the soft earth. His usually impeccable appearance disheveled, he plunged a trembling hand into the cool river. Instant relief washed over him as the water enveloped his skin.

The boy's eyes were wide with alarm, his head shaking frantically from side to side.

A rustle from the branches above caught Billy's attention just as Alfred approached the water. The figure leaped from atop an ancient plum tree, landing beside Alfred and the river with catlike grace. The newcomer straightened, revealing himself as a seasoned man with clever eyes and a salt-and-pepper beard. His skin was tanned and leathery from years of exposure to the sun and sea, and his muscular frame spoke of a lifetime of physical challenges.

Odysseus advances, his bearing commanding reverence. "This stream," he begins deliberately, his tone a gentle rumble of faraway storms, "transports more than mere liquid. It conveys the obliteration of self."

He gazes intently at Alfred, perceiving the desperation in his expression. "Countless souls have drank from these waters, pursuing relief, only to forfeit all that shapes their essence. Their passions, their sorrows, all swept into nothingness. Is oblivion what you yearn for, my friend?" His inquiry lingers, affording Alfred—and the audience—a moment to contemplate the genuine price of sipping from Lethe's flow.

Alfred shook off the trance, withdrawing his hand from the stream as he battled an overwhelming thirst. The air around them seemed to thicken, pressing down on his chest like an invisible weight. Each labored breath was a struggle, his lungs burning for relief. The shimmering waters of the Lethe beckoned, promising a sweet release from the crushing pressure.

But Alfred's eyes hardened with resolve. Years of service had forged an iron will within him, tempered by the fires of duty and discipline. His fingers twitched, longing to reach for the river, but he clenched them into fists at his sides. The loyal butler stood firm, a testament to his unwavering commitment.

Billy watched Alfred's internal struggle with a mix of concern and curiosity. The young hero's brow furrowed as he realized he felt none of the overwhelming compulsion that seemed to grip his companion. The air around him felt cool and crisp, free from the suffocating weight that burdened Alfred.

Puzzled, Billy's gaze darted between Alfred and the enticing waters. He had assumed his knowledge of the realm of Hades had somehow protected him, but that theory crumbled as he considered Alfred's abilities. Indeed, the butler was well-versed in such lore, given the Wayne's vast library.

A chill ran down Billy's spine as a troubling thought took root.

What if he was dead?

His hand subconsciously moved to the pocket of his left jeans, where he had slipped the rock. He gawked at Alfred again when he became aware of another pair of eyes on him.

Odysseus's voice cut through the tension, his words laced with centuries of hard-earned wisdom. "The river's pull affects each soul differently," he explained, his piercing gaze fixed on Billy. "Some are drawn to its waters like moths to a flame, while others..." He paused, studying the young hero with renewed interest. "Others may find themselves beyond its reach."

A sinking sensation gripped Billy's gut upon hearing those words.

"What are strangers like you doing in the Elysian fields?" Odysseus asked, his voice carrying a hint of challenge beneath its casual tone. He deliberately sank his teeth into a ripe plum, its juices glistening on his lips as he locked eyes with Alfred. The butler's stoic demeanor wavered momentarily, his nails digging deeper into his palms, leaving crescent-shaped marks on his pale skin.

The air around them seemed to thicken with tension, and the Elysian fields' ethereal beauty provided a stark contrast to the unease that permeated the scene. Ghostly whispers of long-dead heroes drifted on the breeze, mingling with the sweet scent of otherworldly flowers that bloomed in impossible hues.

Odysseus, his scarred face etched with the wisdom of countless adventures, casually tossed the plum pit aside. It landed with a soft thud in the lush grass, disturbing a cluster of luminescent butterflies that took flight in a shimmering cloud. His piercing gaze never left Alfred as he waited for a response, his fingers absently tracing the sword's hilt at his side – a subtle reminder of his legendary prowess.

The tension between the two men crackled like static electricity, palpable enough that even Billy, standing a few feet away, could feel it raising the hairs on his neck. The young hero's eyes darted between Odysseus and Alfred, his hand unconsciously tightening around the mysterious rock in his pocket as he braced himself for whatever might come next.

"I'm afraid we find ourselves in a rather dire circumstance, attempting to navigate our way out of this most inhospitable realm," Alfred articulated, his cultured British accent tinged with a hint of weariness. The butler's typically impeccable composure was slightly frayed at the edges, his voice carrying a hoarse quality that betrayed the toll their ordeal had taken. Despite the circumstances, he maintained his air of dignified propriety, determined to uphold his duties even in the face of otherworldly peril.

"Leaving Hades?" Odysseus found that to be quite amusing, much to the reactions of the other two. His deep, rumbling chuckle echoed through the beautiful paradise and reverberating through the seemingly fresh air. The Greek hero's weathered face cracked into a wry smile, his eyes glinting with mirth and battle-hardened resolve.

Billy and Alfred exchanged uneasy glances, their faces illuminated by the ethereal glow of the facsimile of life around them. The false sun pressed down on them, causing beads of sweat to form on their brows and trickle down their necks. The sickly perfect stench of plum assaulted their nostrils, a constant reminder of the surreal plane they were desperately trying to escape.

"I'm afraid I fail to see the humor in our predicament, sir," Alfred remarked, his distinct British accent cutting through the ominous ambient sounds of distant wails and grinding stone. The butler's usually immaculate appearance was disheveled, his suit singed and torn in places, yet he maintained an air of dignified determination.

Still in his youthful form, Billy fidgeted nervously, his fingers tracing the outline of the mysterious rock in his pocket. The boy's eyes darted around, taking in the nightmarish landscape of jutting rocks and rivers of fire. He opened his mouth to speak but hesitated, knowing that no sound would come forth.

Odysseus stepped forward, his leather sandals crunching on the ash-covered ground. He placed a calloused hand on Billy's shoulder, his touch both reassuring and firm. "Young one," he said, his voice carrying the weight of countless adventures, "I have traversed these shadowy depths before. The path out is treacherous but not impossible. However, I require a favor."

Billy's eyes widened as Odysseus's weathered face creased with sorrow, the ancient hero's gaze drifting to the ashen horizon. The air around them seemed to thicken with unspoken grief, the distant wails of tortured souls providing a haunting backdrop to their conversation.

"My family," Odysseus began, his voice cracking with emotion. "They reside in the Asphodel Fields, a realm of gray monotony. For nearly three millennia, I've been denied even a glimpse of their faces." He clenched his fist, knuckles white with frustration. I know not if they've sipped from the waters of Lethe, forgetting all we once shared."

Alfred stepped forward, his ordinarily stoic demeanor softening. "Sir, the pain of separation is a burden no man should bear for so long," he croaked before coughing a bit.

Feeling the weight of Odysseus's anguish, Billy fought the urge to cry. Instead, he placed a comforting hand on the hero's arm. He met the hero's gaze, filled with determination.

Odysseus's eyes lit up with a glimmer of hope. He reached into the folds of his tunic and produced a delicate wreath woven from shimmering, ethereal flowers. "This wreath," he explained, "crafted from the blooms of Elysium itself. If you could deliver it to my family, it would bring me peace knowing they have a piece of paradise."

The wreath seemed to pulse with an otherworldly light, its petals dancing with memories of a lifelong past. Billy and Alfred exchanged a look of silent agreement before turning back to Odysseus.

"We would be honored to undertake this quest," Alfred whispered solemnly, bowing his head in respect.

Billy nodded enthusiastically, his blue eyes shining with the promise of adventure.

The atmosphere sizzled with fresh resolve as Odysseus gingerly passed the sacred wreath to them. The legendary hero guided the unlikely pair through Hades' labyrinthine corridors, their footsteps echoing in the eerie stillness.

"Tell me, noble companions, how fares the world above since last I gazed upon its shores?" Odysseus inquired, his eyes gleaming with curiosity as he led Alfred and Billy through the shadowy passages of Hades. His weathered face bore the marks of countless trials, yet a spark of wanderlust still danced in his gaze. "Has Helios' chariot brought wondrous changes to the lands of mortals?"

Alfred, his voice rough and gravelly from their otherworldly journey, opened his mouth to respond but struggled to speak without risking a coughing fit.

Then, Billy, his eyes sparkling with determination, began an animated game of charades to convey his message. His hands fluttered like birds, and his body twisted and turned as he mimed scenes from the modern world.

He pointed to invisible skyscrapers, pretended to drive a car, and even mimicked taking a call from a cell phone. His efforts were valiant, if not entirely successful, before Odysseus, his eyes creasing with amusement, chuckled warmly. The legendary hero reached into the folds of his tunic and produced a stack of crisp papyrus and a sleek pen, handing them to the eager boy with a knowing wink.

"There are these incredible buildings called skyscrapers!" Billy enthusiastically wrote, his pen flying across the papyrus. "They're like massive towers that stretch up into the clouds, taller than mountains! Some towers are hundreds of floors high with countless gleaming windows. People work and live inside, and from the top, the city sprawls below like a vast map—a sight as glorious as Olympus itself!"

Odysseus's face darkened as he read Billy's words, his eyes distant. "I chased glory once, lad. Seventeen years at sea, fighting monsters and avoiding gods. Some quests are best avoided. A hero's worth isn't in scaling heights, but knowing which mountains matter." He gripped Billy's shoulder, his voice soft. From an old wanderer—some battles leave deeper scars than blades."

At last, they reached the boundary separating Elysium's lush, verdant paradise from the dreary expanse of the Asphodel Fields. The stark contrast between the two realms was jarring like day and night colliding at an impossible horizon. On one side, the air shimmered with golden light and the sweet scent of nectar, while on the other, a gray mist hung low over colorless meadows, stretching endlessly into the gloom.

Billy's breath caught in his throat as he gazed upon the exit's guardians. "Holy moly," he mouthed, eyes wide as dinner plates.

The Bull of Minos and Theseus blocked their path, an unlikely pair. The beast's flaring nostrils released steam in the stale air. The Minotaur loomed, its massive form clad in intricate Greek armor. A bronze breastplate covered its chest, etched with epic scenes. Leather straps secured vambraces on its arms, while a metal skirt hung from its waist. Its bull-like head bore a horned helmet, and its hooves gleamed in bronze shoes, reflecting the underworld's dim light.

Theseus stood vigilant, his muscular frame clad in battle gear, not his previous monkey suit. His bronze breastplate, etched with past triumphs, gleamed dimly. A plumed Corinthian helmet crowned his head, while scarred arms bore leather vambraces. A short sword hung ready at his hip. His awe-inspiring appearance hinted at the perilous journey ahead.

Alfred swallowed hard, losing his voice. "I say, this is quite the pickle." The atmosphere thickened, weighing heavily on their shoulders. The wreath in Billy's hands seemed to pulse more urgently as if sensing its impending journey to the fields of Asphodel.

As the tension mounted, a sudden commotion drew their attention. Odysseus, ever the cunning strategist, had vanished from their midst. The group's eyes darted around frantically, searching for any sign of the wily Greek hero.

"Where has Odysseus disappeared to?" Alfred muttered, his refined British accent tinged with concern.

Billy clutched the wreath tighter, its ethereal glow casting eerie shadows across his young face. "He wouldn't just abandon us, would he?" Billy thought.

But abandon them he had, in true Odysseus fashion. The legendary trickster had slipped away unnoticed. As Alfred and Billy found themselves unwittingly cast as decoys, facing down the imposing figures of Theseus and the Minotaur, Odysseus was undoubtedly scheming his next move.

"It seems we have found the culprits," Asterius stated as his massive nostrils flared, his massive bovine head swiveling to fix the intruders with a baleful glare. His hooves scraped against the stone floor, reverberating an ominous echo through the cavernous chamber.

"Intruders and imposters most foul!" Theseus bellowed, his voice echoing through the chamber with the authority of a legendary hero. His hand instinctively gripped the hilt of his sword, muscles tensing as he prepared for battle. "You dare to trespass in the realm of Hades and masquerade as heroes? By the gods, I, Theseus, swear you shall answer for this transgression!"

"Billy, run," Alfred whispered urgently as he stepped before the young boy.