Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Billy had run away before. From social services, from the bullies who made his life hell, from the emptiness that followed him like a shadow. He’d run from the world. From himself.
But this time, it was different.
This time, he ran from home. Or what should’ve been.
The court had ruled in favour of his biological mother. It had all seemed like something out of a dream at first — the kind you wake up from reaching for, only to grasp at air. She had his eyes. He saw it right away. And she looked at him like she wanted to make things right. So Billy tried. He really did. He sat at her kitchen table every morning, forcing down cereal that wasn’t his favorite. He smiled through the quiet, answered her small talk with forced optimism, folded the laundry without being asked. They watched TV together — her shows. She laughed at all the wrong moments. He laughed just to keep her company.
But the walls of her house echoed. Every room felt like a reminder of something he was supposed to feel. Her hugs were tentative, hesitant, as though they belonged more to the ghost of a memory than the person standing in front of him. And when he finally gathered the courage to ask if he could visit Rosa, Victor, and the others—his real family—his mother had smiled, soft and sympathetic.
“We need to give this a real shot first, Billy,” she had said. “Let’s not go backwards.”
But backwards was the only direction that had ever felt right.
So, Billy ran.

He ran through the city as dusk melted into night, hoodie pulled over his head, sneakers pounding against concrete. He cut through alleys and across streets, ignoring the cold in his lungs, ignoring the ache in his legs. He didn’t call out with one magic word. Not yet. He didn’t want power. He didn’t want magic. He just wanted to get there—to home.
And finally, he did.
Billy stood across the street, hiding in the shadows like a trespasser outside the house he had once dared to believe was his forever. The porch light glowed softly, yellow and warm, as if daring him to step into it. His heart thudded in his chest, heavy and disoriented, the same way it had on the very first day he’d arrived here. The day he’d finally allowed himself to believe he belonged.
He looked through the window.

Victor and Rosa were at the dinner table, laughing. Tired laughter, worn around the edges — the kind that came from trying to hold it together. They were still trying.
But someone else sat in his chair.
A little boy. Maybe seven. Thin, hunched forward as if trying to make himself smaller. A plate of untouched spaghetti sat in front of him. Clutched tightly to his chest was a familiar plush — It was the Captain Marvel plush, the one Rosa had given him on his first birthday with them. He remembered unwrapping it, pretending he didn’t care, even though he’d clutched it every night that first year.
Now it was clutched by him.
The boy looked nervous, like he was trying to disappear behind a plate of untouched spaghetti. Mary walked into the room holding a stack of scrapbooks — the ones they made together, full of memories, real and messy and perfect.
He stared for so long his breath fogged against the cold glass. His chest twisted sharply with an ache he couldn’t name.
He remembered posing for those pictures with Freddy. Decorating the pages with Darla and Mary. Laughing with Pedro and Eugene. That scrapbook was him. Them.
Billy watched as she crossed the room toward the boy.
Her eyes flicked toward the window. She froze.
The scrapbooks slipped from her hands, hitting the floor with a heavy slap. Her mouth moved, and even though he couldn’t hear it, Billy knew. She had said his name.
“Billy…”

Panic shot through him.
He stepped back from the window like he’d been burned. He hadn’t even realized the ground beneath his feet had begun to tremble faintly, a low hum of power coiling around his boots. Grass withered where he stood. Streetlamps flickered, then burst overhead with an electric pop.
His breathing hitched.
The door flew open.
“Billy!” Mary’s voice cracked with something between disbelief and relief as she ran out, not even grabbing a jacket.
Then came the others.
Freddy, limping quickly out with his crutch. Darla barrelled past him with a cry of his name, arms outstretched like she was ready to tackle him in a hug. Pedro followed behind, eyes scanning Billy like he wasn’t sure if this was real or some cruel dream.
But Billy had already backed away, stumbling a few steps.
“No—don’t.” His voice splintered as it left his throat.
“Billy, wait!” Rosa called, breathless.
Victor came too, hands open at his sides like he wanted to fix it but didn’t know how.
On the porch behind them, the boy stood, confused and frightened, still clutching the plush as he poked out from behind Eugene’s leg
Billy tried to smile, but it broke under the weight of everything.
“I get it,” he said quietly, voice raw. “I left. He deserves a good home.”
Thunder rumbled in the clouds above at his words, deep and mournful.
Mary took another step forward, hands raised gently as if approaching a wounded animal.
“Billy, you belong here. That hasn’t changed.”
“Yes, it has.” His words cut through the cold like glass. “Everything has.”
His voice rose without him meaning to. “I tried. I tried to be what she needed. I tried to be good. And I thought maybe—maybe—I’d still have this. But I messed it all up. I ruined everything.”
“No,” Freddy snapped, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re our family, Billy. That’s never changed.”
“You haven’t messed anything up,” Darla said firmly, even as tears ran down her cheeks.
“I have!” Billy shouted, the wind answering him this time, surging around the house in sudden bursts. “I’ve been gone for three weeks and you already have someone new to replace me!”
“You’re not replaceable!” Pedro shouted back, “Sweetheart, that’s not what this is!” Rosa says, voice cracking.

Then Billy felt it.
Magic.
He looked down and saw sparks flicker along his fingertips — not golden bolts of power, but raw, unstable light, jittering like dying stars. He wasn’t transformed. He wasn’t Captain Marvel.
He wasn’t supposed to have magic like he was like this.
The ground under his feet split slightly. The wind howled louder. Above, the sky flashed crimson for a heartbeat — a pulse, a rift, like reality itself was reacting to the despair in the heart of its champion.
Billy stared in horror.
“I just wanted to come home,” he whispered. “But I can’t even do that without breaking things.”
He looked back at them — the people he loved more than anything.
“You can still be heroes. I know you can. Just… without me.”
Mary reached for him, but it was too late.
Billy lifted his head to the sky, tears mingling with the rain, voice cracking as he called, “SHAZAM!”
The bolt of lightning that struck him shook the block. For a second, daylight returned — white-hot and furious. When it cleared, Captain Marvel stood in his place, cape snapping in the wind, taller, stronger, but hunched with the same grief.

He looked down at the family he loved.
At Mary’s and Pedro's tears. Darla clutching Freddy’s sleeve. Victor holding Rosa’s hand. The new boy, now holding onto Eugene for dear life, head tucked into his chest.
Captain Marvel’s jaw trembled.
And then he turned.
With a crack of thunder and a burst of light, he launched into the sky, a comet of gold and pain tearing through the clouds.
The air shook.
A street sign collapsed. The porch lights blinked out. All around them, the wind died in a heartbeat, and the city went still.
Mary covered her mouth, unable to breathe through her sobs. Rosa’s knees buckled, and Victor caught her. Darla stared at the sky, whispering his name like it might bring him back.
Above, the sky wept.
And somewhere, far beyond the clouds, magic — old, vast, and fragile — began to fray.

Chapter Text

The Rock of Eternity welcomed Billy like a living heartbeat.
It was a place outside time — a realm of whispers and storms, of power older than memory. Between towering stone arches and floating platforms carved with glowing sigils, Billy stood alone beneath the throne of gods. The air was charged with magic, every breath he took laced with the weight of eternity.
But unlike the world he’d just left, the Rock didn’t ask questions. It didn’t offer platitudes. It simply was. Constant. Unchanging.
Here, at least, the silence made sense.
Then the gods appeared.

Not all at once — they rarely did — but in forms shaped by their essence. Solomon, wise and cloaked in golden light. Hercules, immense and watchful. Atlas, his presence heavy as mountains. Zeus, encased in thunderclouds. Achilles, poised and steady. Mercury, always moving, a blur of light and thought.
They formed a circle around Billy, but not to interrogate him. To guard him. To hold space for him.
Billy didn’t wait for questions. He met their eyes. “I’m not going back.”
A pause. A long one. Then Solomon spoke, his voice low and unwavering.
“Good.”
Billy blinked.

Zeus nodded, thunder flickering in his beard. “The world outside is not worthy of you right now.”
“You are not ready to carry their pain and your own,” Atlas said.
Achilles stepped forward, kneeling slightly — not to submit, but to level their gaze. “And you will not be punished for needing time to breathe.”
Billy’s throat tightened, but he forced himself to stand taller. “They didn’t do anything wrong. I just… don’t belong there anymore.”
“They let go too quickly,” Hercules growled, voice like boulders breaking. “You gave them your trust. And they told you to forget what mattered to you.”
“They made space at the table,” Billy said, bitter now. “For someone else. Someone better.”
“No one replaces you,” Mercury snapped. “The boy in your seat is not your enemy. But the people who made you feel like a stranger in your own home? They are not thinking with clarity. And you are not required to fix their mistake.”

Billy’s hands clenched into fists. “I didn’t want to hurt them. But I can’t go back. Not when I know I’ll just… break more things.”
“The magic agrees with you,” said Solomon. “It reacts to your pain because your pain is real. You are not losing control — the world simply doesn’t know how to hold the power you carry.”
Zeus stepped forward, lightning simmering beneath his skin. “Which is why you must lay low. Remain out of sight. Keep the mantle close, but quiet. The Champion may rest, for now.”
“I don’t want to be found,” Billy said, firmer now. “I don’t want them coming after me. I don’t want to be talked into going back.”
The words felt heavy, but solid. Real.
The gods nodded.
Solomon stepped closer, his expression gentle. “Then let us decide where you can go. Somewhere far enough to protect you from being found, but close enough that the magic can still breathe through you.”
“Somewhere you won’t be hunted, followed, or begged to return,” said Hercules. “You need time. And space.”

A pause.
“Gotham,” Mercury said, the name flashing like a warning.
Billy looked up.
Zeus nodded. “A city beneath a cloak of shadow. Where metahumans are feared. Where power hides its face. No one will look for Captain Marvel there — because no one would expect a god to crawl into that kind of darkness.”
Billy was quiet for a moment, thinking of Mary’s tearful face. Darla’s cry. Rosa’s outstretched hand. All of them watching him vanish in a burst of thunder.
He forced himself not to imagine them looking for him. Not to imagine them hurting.
“I don’t want them to come looking for me,” he added, firmer now. “Because if they find me… I might go back. And I can’t. I can’t keep hurting them. I can’t keep hurting myself.”
Zeus stepped forward. “Then we will protect you.”
Billy looked up sharply.
Zeus continued, “You are not alone in this, Champion. Not anymore. You are our chosen — not because you are flawless, but because you are worthy.”
“You are ours,” Hercules rumbled. “And we take care of our own.”
“First,” said Solomon, “the League must be informed. Or rather—misinformed.”
Billy smirked faintly. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Divine diplomatic mission?”
Mercury grinned. “Exactly.”
A parchment shimmered into existence, floating in front of him. His fingers brushed the edge, and golden ink began writing itself.

To the Justice League — Notice of Interdimensional Deployment
Captain Marvel has been summoned beyond this realm to aid in the stabilization of a high-tier magical rift with implications across time and space. Estimated duration: Unknown. Mortal communication to be suspended indefinitely until containment is assured.
— By order of the Council of Eternity.

Billy stamped it with the seal, and the scroll burst into silver flame — gone.
“Will they believe it?” he asked.
“They will,” Solomon said. “You are ours to protect,” Atlas adds “Let no one challenge that.”
Billy looked up at him. For once, he didn’t feel like a child under judgment. He felt like a son being shielded. “Thank you. For not… trying to fix me.”
“You don’t need fixing,” said Achilles. “You need time.”
“And if the world forgets me?” Billy asked.
“They won’t,” Mercury said. “But even if they do… we won’t.”
The gods stepped back as the Rock of Eternity shifted around him — its corridors folding, its doors opening. He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to.
He knew who stood with him now.

Gotham welcomed him like a bruise.
The moment Billy stepped through the portal, the city wrapped around him — not like a blanket, but a shroud. Cold rain slicked the cracked sidewalks. Neon flickered like dying fireflies in the distance. Sirens wailed like broken lullabies.
He was in an alley between two rotting apartment buildings, paint peeling off walls like old scabs. Somewhere nearby, someone screamed. No one answered.
He tightened his hoodie and stepped out onto the street.
No lightning. No gods. Just his breath in the air and the hum of a city that never slept and never cared.
He was safe here.
Not because Gotham was kind — but because it was indifferent.
And sometimes, indifference was safer than love.

He didn’t know what came next. Not yet. But he knew what he’d left behind.
And for now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

For the past few weeks, Billy had been hopping between places—run-down shelters, forgotten rooftops, abandoned apartments with broken windows and broken locks. He stayed just long enough to rest, then moved on before anyone noticed. The gods, protective as ever, helped him sense when it wasn’t safe. Still, he hadn’t really slept in days.
And food? He was down to half a protein bar and two empty water bottles.
He kept moving. Partially because it was safer. Mostly because staying in one place too long made it easier to remember what he’d lost.
Tonight, his feet led him to an old warehouse by the river. Rusted panels, broken signage, one of the bay doors hanging crooked on its hinges. It looked abandoned. Emphasis on looked.
Billy circled the perimeter in the dark, slipping through a cracked side door. The interior was dim; shadows stretched long by the occasional security light flickering through grime-coated windows. He crept through the upper walkway, heart steady, eyes sharp.
But the second he reached the interior balcony and looked down… he froze.

Below, the warehouse was not abandoned.
The floor had been cleared out and swept. Crates were stacked neatly in rows. A half-assembled bike sat on a table alongside gun-cleaning kits, scattered ammunition, and tactical gear.
“Crap.” he whispered.
He was already backing away when he heard Mercury’s voice, soft and persuasive.
“You haven’t eaten in two days.”
Billy paused.
“You’ve barely slept. The food here is fresh. The water’s clean. Take what you need, then leave.”
Achilles joined in. “It’s not dishonour to survive.”
Billy hesitated, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He hated this. Hated how desperate he felt. Hated how easy it was to slip back into habits he thought he’d outgrown.
But he was hungry. His legs ached. And the shadows beneath his eyes were getting darker.
“Fine,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “In and out.”

He crept down the stairs silently. The place was too organized for a gang hideout—too specific. The gear was clean, sorted by purpose. Someone lived here.
That didn’t make him feel better.
He found a bin near the back filled with folded clothes. Most were too big, but he snagged a dark hoodie, a beanie, and a threadbare wool blanket. He wrapped it tightly under his arm and headed toward a small kitchen.
The faucet squeaked, but cold water rushed out. Billy drank deep, refilled both of his bottles, then opened a mini fridge. Sandwiches. Apples. Bottled juice.
He grabbed what he could without emptying it, stuffing them carefully into his old backpack. He bit into one of the apples on instinct, closing his eyes.
His stomach hurt from eating too fast.
As he leaned against the counter, chewing mechanically, the guilt crept in.
“I haven’t had to do this in so long,” he whispered aloud to the gods. “Stealing. Hiding. I thought I was past all this.”
The apple suddenly tasted like ash in his mouth.
“I don’t feel… good. I don’t feel right.” He looked down at his hands, fingers shaking slightly. “If I keep doing stuff like this… am I still good? Am I still… pure of heart?”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Zeus spoke, low and certain. “You are surviving, Billy. Purity isn’t perfection. It’s intention.”
Solomon added, “Your heart hasn’t changed. You still feel sorrow for what necessity demands. That’s what keeps you good.”
“I feel dirty.”
“You feel human,” Achilles said gently.
Billy exhaled and rubbed at his eyes. The ache behind them wouldn’t go away. “Thanks,” he said softly.
Then the front door banged open.
Heavy footsteps. Raised voices.
“Don’t roll your shoulder like that, idiot. You’re bleeding again,” said the first—older, annoyed, full of gravel.
“You got us shot at,” came the reply, lighter and almost amused. “I’m allowed to complain.”
Billy’s stomach dropped.

Red Hood. Nightwing.

Out of every warehouse in Gotham…
He stayed low. Maybe they’d leave. Maybe they’d argue, patch up, and go.
But then Red Hood stopped cold. His voice sharpened.
“Someone’s been here.”
Nightwing scoffed. “Seriously? This again?”
“I remember where I put everything, *Dick*.” He growls, emphasising the last word
Billy crouched lower, squeezing into a tight space between two crates near the kitchen. He could feel the tension in the air shift.
“Okay, okay, didn’t realise i touched a nerve-” Nightwing starts but cut off by Redhood walking further into the room
“The fridge is open; taps been left on. Hoodie’s gone. I had a blanket, and now I don’t.”
“Wait, did you get a sidekick and not tell me?” Nightwing teased.
“Shut up.”
Billy gritted his teeth. He can run past them, surely?
He took one breath, then moved.
But he didn’t make it two steps before a hand grabbed the back of his hoodie and yanked him clean off the ground.
“Found you,” Red Hood said.
Billy flailed, kicking out instinctively. “Let me go! I’m not—! I didn’t—!”
He twisted in Red Hood’s grip, trying to break free, but he was still just a kid. Just Billy. And that thought hit him harder than the hands holding him—he was still a kid. A scared, tired, hungry kid trying not to cry in front of two vigilantes.
His chest hitched.

Red Hood was still holding him up when Nightwing stepped closer. He frowned, more curious than angry.
“Red. He’s a kid. You’re scaring him. Put him down.” He tutted, as if he was scolding Redhood and not Billy
“He’s faking it,” Red Hood snapped. “He got caught stealing, now he’s trying to guilt his way out of it.”
“I’m not!” Billy said, voice cracking. “I just—I didn’t have anywhere else to go—”
“Don’t start that with me kid, there’s a shit ton more of homeless shelters nowadays compared to when I was your age, you could’ve just-.”
“I can’t, they aren’t safe’” Billy yelled out, and the pain in his voice made Nightwing flinch.
Red Hood hesitated. He hadn’t expected that answer.
Nightwing stepped forward and gently pried Billy out of the others grip, letting him stand on the ground. “Hey. It’s okay. You’re okay.”
Billy didn’t move, not at first. He just wiped his face on the sleeve of the hoodie he’d stolen and muttered, “I wasn’t gonna take all of it. Just enough. I didn’t want to cause trouble. I just… I needed something.”

Nightwing looked down at him, really looked. “What’s your name?”
Billy hesitated. Then: “Will.”
Nightwing nodded, smirking slightly at the hesitation. “Okay, Will. You’re not in trouble. But you are gonna tell us what’s going on.”
Red Hood crossed his arms and scoffed lightly, but with less anger than he started with. “You believe him?”
Nightwing sighed. “I noticed him the second we walked in, Red. I just figured you were following in B’s footsteps and picked up some stray you didn’t tell me about.”
“I would never dress my sidekick like that,” Red Hood muttered, but his tone had softened.
Billy stood small between them, pack clutched to his chest, heart still racing.
Nightwing crouched slightly, speaking in that easy, calm way Billy had only ever heard older brothers use.
“Alright, Will. Just breathe. Nobody’s gonna hurt you. We just want to understand what’s going on, okay? Where are you staying? Is someone looking for you?”
Billy tensed.

“I’m fine,” he said too fast. “I’m just on my own. I don’t need help.”
Red Hood raised a sceptical brow behind the helmet. “You smell like you just took a bath in a sewer and eating out of a fridge that doesn’t belong to you. That screams not fine.”
“I said I’m fine!” Billy’s voice cracked again. He didn’t mean for it to. His hands tightened around the straps of his backpack, knuckles white.
Nightwing exchanged a glance with Red Hood. Then he crouched lower, voice softer now.
“Okay. Then how about you just tell us your full name? So we know who we’re talking to.”
Billy’s pulse kicked hard. “It’s—It’s just Will.”
“Are you positive it’s just ‘Will’?” Nightwing responds, a gentle warning
Billy backed up a step.
Red Hood leaned forward slightly. “Look, kid. You might’ve picked the worst stash spot in Gotham to hit. So you better be honest, or we start running your face through GCPD facial recog.”
That did it.
The panic broke through.
Billy’s breathing went shallow. The walls felt too close, their shadows too sharp. Every survival instinct screamed at him to run, but his legs wouldn’t move. They were still looking at him, asking questions, pressing in—

“He’s unravelling.”
It was Solomon’s voice now, calm but alert.
“He cannot be cornered like this. Not yet.”
And then, Zeus’s voice—sharp, absolute.
“Protect him.”

The lightning hit the warehouse like a divine hammer.
A bolt cracked through the sky outside with no warning, slamming into the rooftop with a deafening BOOM. The entire building shuddered. Sparks danced from the overhead lights, and then—darkness. The power cut instantly, plunging the space into pitch black.
Nightwing shot up. “What the hell—?”
Red Hood had a gun out already, scanning the shadows. “That was too close—was that targeted?”
Neither of them noticed the way the air crackled at Billy’s fingertips—faint, golden traces dancing over his palms like static.
He didn’t say anything.
Didn’t think.
He ran.

The gods gave him speed—not full divine strength, but just enough. His body moved like the wind, footsteps near-silent as he darted past the crates, through the pitch-black rows of gear and supplies. He moved like instinct, like myth, like something not meant to be seen.
By the time Red Hood turned toward the motion, Billy was already through the side door and gone into the night.
“Shit,” Red Hood snapped. “Did you see that?”
“I heard it,” Nightwing muttered, already chasing. “He’s fast.”
“Too fast,” Red Hood said as they burst out into the alley.
The rain had started—cold and sudden, the streets now slick underfoot. Billy was nowhere in sight, the only trace of him the swinging chain on the side gate and the fading sound of retreating steps.
“You think he’s meta?” Nightwing asked, glancing sideways.
Red Hood shook his head, holstering his gun. “No. Just a desperate kid who knows how to run when it counts. Probably hopped rooftops since he was ten.”
“Still.” Nightwing looked up toward the roof, where smoke curled from the fresh lightning scar. “That bolt was weird. Not just a lucky hit.”
“You think it hit because of him?”
Nightwing shrugged, still watching the shadows. “It’s Gotham. Weird happens.”
Red Hood scowled beneath the helmet. “And now we’ve got a kid with no name, no home, who runs like he’s part shadow.”
“And he still has one of your hoodies.”
Red Hood groaned. “Unforgivable.”
Nightwing smirked slightly. “We’ll find him.”

A few rooftops away, Billy crouched behind a water tower, chest heaving, rain soaking through every layer of clothing. The stolen blanket was half-unrolled in his pack. The apple he’d half-finished lay forgotten.
He felt the last flickers of power retreat from his limbs, the gods pulling back.
“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice shaking.
Zeus’s reply came like distant thunder: “Always.”
And in the quiet that followed, Billy curled up in the shadows, cold and tired—but free.
For now.