Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Alfred looked dubiously at the letter he had taken from the oldest of the safe house post office boxes that he regularly checked, even though it hadn't received anything in years now. It was in poor condition, the thin paper torn and crumpled and the blue and red airmail chevrons along the side faded unevenly. The letter had been delivered in a plastic bag with a boilerplate apology from the post office for its condition. He would guess it had gotten caught in the sorting machine or some similar fate, and then only discovered when the machine was cleaned or decommissioned.

On returning to the manor he took the letter out of its bag and straightened it carefully, noting that the letter had been addressed to one of Bruce’s earliest aliases, one he didn’t use any more. As he skimmed the words, he blinked and started over.

“Dear Will,

I hardly know how to start this. I’ve written this letter so often, and torn up each one, so I resolved this would be sent no matter how it turned out. Please don’t throw it away. I am sorry to write with news like this rather than coming to see you personally, but in my defense you are a most difficult man to find.

You knew me as Marilyn Olson when we met. I was working at a dig in Nepal where my supervising professor was a massive pig, and I was miserable because I’d broken up with my childhood sweetheart. You helped me stay sane that summer, Will, and I am grateful for that. I hope you found what you were looking for in Nanda Parbat after we parted.

I didn’t give you my real name then, and I’m starting to wonder if you gave me a false one too. I really do hope this letter reaches you soon, because I am carrying your child. Yes, I am sure it’s yours.

I’m not asking anything from you, my dear. I have reconciled with my boyfriend, or rather my fiancé now. We are getting married in a few weeks. He knows the child isn’t his, but he’s willing to raise the baby as his own if you don’t claim them. I am going to keep the child regardless, but we can work something out if you want to be part of his or her life.

I know you said you weren’t looking for children then or probably ever, and I thought we were so careful, but it still happened. So, Charles and I are giving you a choice. Write or come to me before the wedding and tell me you want to be in our child’s life and we will find a way to make that happen. If you choose not to reach out, C.C. and I will raise him or her as our own and never bother you again.

You have four weeks from the date on this letter to respond. Again, I apologize for telling you this way rather than in person, and for the short notice, but we aren’t in a good situation to travel right now. Please forgive me.

Sincerely,

Marilyn Ordway and C.C. Batson”

There were two signatures at the bottom of the letter, as well as an address and telephone number. Alfred was not himself a detective, but had lived with one, and had learned by the questions his ward asked to notice particular things. He quirked a half-smile at the name of Ms. Ordway's fiancé's name thinking with amusement that she must, all unknowingly, have a touch of fate on her to meet with two Bats in one summer.

The upper corner of the letter where the date was written had been torn off, but he recognized that particular type of paper: thin, with a pattern on the side to show that it was airmail, and designed as a single sheet that folded into an envelope. It was designed to be as lightweight as possible when letters that traveled by air were more expensive, had not been in use for quite some time; it had been old-fashioned and hard to get even at the date the letter had been written, plus he saw that there was a lighter stripe along the blue paper. The envelope had been partially bleached before being folded, as if it had been stored for a long time in a stack partly exposed to light. The address on the letter was American, but the watermark on the paper was French. Definitely signs of straitened financial resources to use old paper for important news. Or impulsiveness, if she ran out of good paper and then sent the letter on whatever was at hand. The canceled stamp also appeared to be American although it had been partially torn away, but the portion of the stamp that showed the year was still visible. The letter was over eleven years too late.

Alfred pinched the top of his nose in frustration,. Damien had only just begun to accept that Tim had a place at the Manor, or at least had been attacking the other boy less often and less violently. The child would absolutely not take well at all to a blood son of the Bat who was older than himself, even if it was by less than a year. And he was certain that a civilian child, without training, would surely have a hard time adjusting to an assassin for a brother. Perhaps a long mission with the Teen Titans would distract him while they got a room together and settled arrangements for the first few visits without him.

Alfred knew better than to think Bruce would not reach out to claim the child now, even though the window of opportunity was so long past. He tucked the letter back into its protective bag and resolved to do a little research on the child and his parents.

He did quirk a small half-smile at the appearance of Mr. Batson when he finally found images of the couple; Ms. Ordway definitely seemed to have a type. The amusement fell away from his face quickly, though as he learned more about her child's situation. The Batsons had died over two years ago, and young William had been rejected by his paternal uncle, winding up in foster care. And then, much like Jason, he had shuffled in and out of multiple homes with stretches in between where he had just gone missing. The child's grades were good in elementary school, taking a dive in the later part of fourth grade after his parents' accident, and then he dropped out except for intermittent stretches when he was with another foster home. The teachers described him as polite and intelligent; even in the patchy stretches of schooling in different districts, he saw several comments like "a pleasure to teach" and "works hard."

Alfred grew increasingly more grim as he went through the available records. The child’s first experience with foster care had apparently gone badly, with a complaint about abuse of his fellow foster siblings that was either not believed or hushed up. After that experience it appeared the child had run away from every home he had been placed with so far; the last one listed had reported him missing months ago. As Alfred was about to log out, he refreshed the CPS file one more time to check on the latest address and saw a new entry had been placed since he first opened it—the child had just been admitted into the Fawcett City General Hospital with injuries consistent with an attack. Alfred winced. They had to go and claim this child before he was released to foster care again. Bruce would have to rush a bit to take the boy as soon as possible, and wouldn't that be a whole new scandal. They would have to manage this very carefully, for William's sake. And of course they would not want to put the secret of the Mission on top of the stress of his new parentage.

A selfish part of his heart thought it might be nice to have a child at the manor who would not be going into the night life. He wondered how long they could give the boy before he found out on his own, or they were forced into revealing the secret.

Alfred took initiative to reach out to a detective agency the Waynes regularly used when they needed a cover story for finding things out they had discovered themselves. They promised to send someone over to Fawcett to start an investigation on the boy. If he was indeed a Wayne, this would need to be a clean process, as this child, unlike Damian, would have records in the U.S. for investigative reporters to find. They could not simply present him to the world with a story and dare people not to believe it.

And then he went to find his ward, to give him the news and hope he did not take the news too badly.

**

Billy sat down on his mattress with a fully-packed Tupperware of leftovers he’d brought back from the fridge in the Watchtower and closed his eyes as he took a deep whiff of the lasagna inside. He had already eaten a portion as Cap when it was fresh and so he definitely knew how good it was hot, but the calories Cap ate didn’t stick with Billy. Cap didn’t need to eat, or sleep, or do any of those things that Billy's human form did (though Marvel still enjoyed them. A lot!) But since the speedsters and Wonder Woman, who between them could devastate a cafeteria buffet all by themselves, had all been unexpectedly busy that night, there had been enough fresh-made food left over that everyone at the Watchtower had been pressed to take some home when they got off their shifts. Marvel put the container down on a rooftop, switched back to Billy, and ran straight home in the predawn light with a smile on his face.

Billy’s share, a single portion sized for Cap, was enough for three generous kid-size meals. Billy figured he could stretch it to four if the weather stayed cold. Humming happily with light from the sunrise on his face coming in through the window of his latest place, he pulled out the cup where he kept some individually-wrapped plastic spoons and forks he’d saved from other discarded leftovers. He peeled off the plastic from the clean utensils and dug in.

Billy sat back and groaned in bliss after the first bite, then ate ravenously. He finished the first portion he’d marked off and stared at the rest, hands toying with the lid. He could have more. It was right there. He scooped out another large bite and then put the lid back on, firmly telling himself he would need to keep it for later. Billy shoved the plastic box out of sight in the foam container he kept fresh foods. After a minute he opened it and went back for just one more extra bite.

This time, after he put the remaining leftovers back in the box, Billy went out. He knew if he stayed he would just go back and eat more, even though his stomach already hurt a little from how full he was.

Since he was covered for food for the next day, Billy decided to take a couple of hours to visit Tawney at the zoo before checking on his regulars who might let him earn a few dollars. And when he was crawling through the bushes to get back out through the hole in the zoo fence, he found a really nice marker lying on the ground. It had a wide tip he could use for writing on walls! Just the thing for making portals. He’d been meaning for a while to refresh the sigil for the portal between his room in the abandoned hotel to the campsite he also used in a disused branch of the subway.

Humming happily he tucked the pen away in his pocket. He had a wonderful half hour visiting his favorite exhibits, but cut short his visit when he saw a sketchy guy with a blue baseball cap notice him and then look around as if trying to find his parents. That was his signal to leave. Billy ducked through the reptile house and hid in the bathroom for a few minutes, then went around back to crawl out of the hole under the fence, intending to head off toward the neighborhood where he got most of his yard work jobs.

He made for the bushes that hid his access hole, then kept going – Blue Cap was leaning against the fence just at the end of the bushes. Billy wouldn’t be able to crawl through fast enough if the guy was actually after him.

Unfortunately, slipping away from one sketchy guy threw him right into the hands of another. He'd entirely missed that there was man smoking quietly right by the bush that covered Billy’s hole into the fence around the zoo, and he was not pleased to have a boy scramble into the back of his knees and knock him over. He yelled at Billy about the tear in his pants leg and demanded money for a replacement "Or I'll take it out of your hide, boy!"

Billy tried to offer the $3.82 he had in his pockets but that just seemed to make the man angrier, so he ran. The stitch in his side from running with a full stomach slowed him just enough for the fellow to grab him, and the beating he gave Billy for ruining his pants made Billy throw up everything he’d eaten for a week, it felt like; he couldn’t get his breath to call out the word to transform back into Captain Marvel and heal his injuries. After the man left, still cursing (he took the $3.82, too), Billy leaned against a wall in the alley with his eyes shut for a few minutes trying to muster the energy for the change. He didn’t even notice when he slipped into unconsciousness.

Billy opened his eyes blearily to a white ceiling and the smell of antiseptics. He blinked in confusion. He tried to sit up and immediately whined in discomfort as his ribs grated in his chest and his belly muscles spasmed. He turned his head to see that he was in a hospital bed. The walls had cartoon giraffes painted on them. Billy whined softly to himself in dismay. He needed to get out before CPS sent him to a new foster home. Also, he wanted to change into Cap and fix his ribs. They hurt so much!

Unfortunately for him, someone had noticed that he had woken up, and a nurse whisked into his room. A whirlwind checkup later, he had a fresh bandage on the shaved spot behind his ear where he apparently had three stitches (the spot felt tender under his fingers when he pressed against it gingerly, but not too bad). The nurse told Billy gently that he had bruised kidneys, a couple of broken ribs and two cracked ones, and a concussion.

The nurse helped him to the rest room after he declined a bedpan indignantly. It was much more difficult than he’d expected and his legs shook for a long time after the nurse tucked him back into bed and gave him a pain pill. He was going to have to wait a bit, he realized with resignation. He couldn’t change here in the room, and he wasn’t in good enough shape to run somewhere to change where no one could see. Billy let the pill drag him under into sleep.

Chapter Text

Alfred and Bruce scrambled to pull everything together to present their case for guardianship to the local agency that had Billy’s care in their trust, to make sure he didn’t fall through the cracks and get discharged to another foster home if they could prevent that.

Luckily, the letter with both signatures on it, the comment in the text about the names, along with the date on the late delivery notice, was enough to get them to authorize a DNA test. Bruce was even able to get them to authorize an expedited process by arguing that they would have to keep William in the hospital until they could find a place for him, which they acknowledged. Bruce had always found that even in agencies that were expressly for the purpose of helping people, it still helped to show a financial incentive to do things the desired way.

Bruce’s status as a registered foster parent in Gotham helped as well. Alfred was able to coordinate the site visit, with Alfred staying behind to manage that while Bruce went to handle things in Fawcett City. Which, after a grueling day of paperwork and interviews, eventually provided him with an escort to the hospital where the boy – his son! – was being treated for his injuries.

Through charm and force of personality he was able to get the social worker (with whom he was not in the least impressed) to provide a brief summary of William’s condition. He ground his teeth afterwards, nauseated at the thought of how close a call this had been. If someone hadn’t found the child in the alley and reported him so he could be brought to the hospital, who knew what would have happened? Bruce knew intimately how a beating felt, and how much it hurt the next day especially when left untreated. His son could have woken up cold and alone in an alley with injuries that would certainly hurt enough to make him feel like he was dying. Besides which, broken ribs could absolutely be life-threatening; if he’d woken alone and then fallen while trying to go for help, the child could have punctured a lung. He’d held a child with broken ribs before, and knew how bad it could get. Bruce had to forcibly yank his thoughts away from that spiral.

He was able to sweet talk himself into a brief visit at the hospital, and even with the experience of meeting Damien, it was a surprise to see his own face from the portrait in the hallway reproduced on another person. The boy looked small and uncomfortable, and he clearly neither liked nor trusted the social worker. Bruce saw how he opened like a flower to the kindness of the nurse, though, and his heart eased. Even though William had some of the same mannerisms as Jason had (he recognized the recoil from a stranger’s touch just in time to redirect the hand that he had started to reach out towards him) he seemed more upbeat and willing to keep an open mind.

By the time he left the hospital, it was too late in the day to do much more. He went to the hotel room that Alfred had booked and checked into it intending to head straight back to Gotham after having made the appearance on paper of staying in Fawcett City. Instead, he found his eldest son waiting in the room and glaring at him.

~~~

When Billy woke properly he lay in the dimness of the hospital room for a bit not thinking of anything while he waited to see whether the headache that was lurking on the edge of his consciousness was going to land on him or recede. After a while nothing had changed so he slipped off the bed, stiff because of the thick bandage compressing his chest. He poked around a bit to see if his clothes or shoes had been left anywhere in the room, but could not find anything. Billy scowled at the cheerful giraffes on the walls as he discovered and peeled off a piece of cotton taped to his arm and scratched the irritated skin underneath.

He took a moment to peek out the door, since it was already open a crack and he didn’t risk catching anyone’s attention by opening it. He was deeply disappointed to see that instead of a nice empty hallway like they showed in TV shows, or in the place he’d been to get his tonsils out before his parents died, this pediatrics ward was arranged with the rooms in a big square around the nurse’s desk area. All the doors were in easy constant view. Also, there was a police officer sitting at the desk talking to one of the nurses. Sneaking out was going to be problem. Billy withdrew with a scowl, clutching his hospital gown closer. Ugh, this was awful.

“I liked those pants. At least I didn’t take my backpack to the zoo,” he said glumly, pretty sure that everything he’d had on him was probably lost forever. He hadn’t even had a chance to try that new pen he’d found. And then, knees shaking much more than he’d like, he climbed back up on the bed and waited.

He squirmed a bit, bored, and picked at his nails. Billy knew better than to risk turning on the television with his head feeling the way it was. With nothing else to do he practiced writing the portal sigils in his mind. Not that he would get out of this room that way even if he’d had his nice new pen; if he vanished and there were weird symbols written on the wall? Nope, that was a great way to get his alter ego called in to solve the Mystery of the Vanishing Child and be asked to hunt himself down. Billy giggled softly at the thought and entertained himself for a bit thinking of ever more elaborate scenarios where Captain Marvel would be asked to find himself.

After a while he heard voices coming from outside his room. The first was a husky man’s voice that sounded like the remains left over after a million cigarettes, asking for William Batson’s room. Billy thought in some astonishment that the man sounded worse than Mr. Constantine. The other was a clipped and professional-sounding female voice responding with an offer to look into the room to see if Billy was awake. The woman, who he realized was the police officer who he’d seen earlier at the nurse’s station, poked her head around the door. She saw him staring blearily back, and then waved in a gray-haired man in a blue sweater vest and slacks.

A nurse came in with an irritated glance at both of them and asked them to wait while she checked Billy over, and asked him (in the way that was clearly an order rather than a request) whether he was ready for visitors.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said meekly. The sooner he got this over with the better. The nurse helped him work the controls on the bed so he could sit up without straining, gave him a cup of ice water with a bendy straw and pushed the call button into his hand. She then got him an ice pack to put on his ribs and checked if he needed more pain medication, which he promptly accepted. He could always blame anything he said on being loopy because of the pills. He hadn't liked this nurse immediately, but once she'd finished he knew they would be friends. Actions spoke louder than words.

“Thank you, Miss Olivia,” he said, remembering the name on the white board by the door where it had the name of his nurse written in blue ink. She smiled back at him. “You’re welcome, dear,” she said, and then told the others not to tire him out too much.

“Good afternoon, Billy,” his first visitor said hoarsely, blinking a little as he reached to turn on the light switch in the room without asking. Billy barely had time to squint before the light stabbed him in the eyes. The headache which had been lurking politely at the edges of his consciousness since he woke up immediately surged forward. He grit his teeth to keep in the noise that wanted to come out. Billy missed the man’s name in the process, but it wasn’t like it mattered; he did hear the part where the man was from CPS.

“Good afternoon,” he replied, doing his best not to show how unhappy he was to see the guy. Polite pleasant kids got better treatment, so by golly it was time to put on his sweet kid mask even though it had gotten less and less effective each time he’d run away. Billy was not particularly surprised at the jaded look he got in response.

The officer watched the guy take the chair by the bed and then went to bring in another from outside the door, and then asked for his account of the attack.

“Where’s Ms. Rodriguez,” he asked, since he hadn’t ever seen this guy before.

“She retired, and I’ve been assigned to take over her files.” That was said in a tone that clearly indicated that the man had no enthusiasm whatever for the task. “Now, are you up to telling us what happened, Billy?"

Billy sighed. He’d sort of liked Ms. Rodriguez even though she kept yelling at him about running out of foster homes that would take him. It wasn’t her fault hero work and foster kid weren’t things that went together well. OK, so sending him to that one home with the mega religious people, that WAS her fault, but he had made her mad.

Billy kept his story as simple as he could, that he’d bumped into someone and they got angry about it. The officer took out a tablet and helped him create a picture of the man, which luckily seemed to satisfy her because after that she took her tablet and went away, saying she would send the image to the police department so they could try and find him. She asked if he would feel comfortable identifying him in person if they did, separated by a glass barrier; of course he agreed. He wasn’t angry at the guy himself, but he didn’t want the man treating any other kid like this.

The social worker smiled down at his paperwork once the officer left. “I have some good news for you, Billy,” he said. “We have located a relative who has stepped forward and is offering to take you in.”

Billy sat up despite the deep twinge in his ribs, finally interested in what the man had to say. “It isn’t Uncle Ebenezer, is it?” Because he was never going back to that man’s house.

“No, Billy,” and the man finally made eye contact. “It’s your father.”

Billy gasped. “Dad’s alive? Where has he been? Is Mom with him?” The questions tumbled out of his mouth in a surge of excitement, just as quickly cut off by the response.

“No, your real father. Or biological father, that is.” The man had the nerve to frown at him as if he should have known.

Billy blinked. “What?”

The social worker looked down at his tablet, still making notes. “Your biological father stepped forward. We’re doing a home check now, and when you get discharged you will be assigned a new social worker for the transition.”

“Um, no, my dad is C.C. Batson. Everyone said how much I look like him.”

The case worker gave him an unimpressed look. “We got all the tests done, he’s your real father, Billy. I know you’ve had some trouble adjusting to your foster homes in the past,” Billy ground his teeth at the judgmental tone in that comment “and I expect you to do better this time. This isn’t going to be a temporary placement.” He looked down at the tablet again. “He’s waiting outside to meet you, if you’re ready.”

“What?”

“Your father. He’s outside. Shall I call him in?”

Billy knew his jaw was hanging open in shock and just did not care. His head hurt, his ribs and back hurt, and he was being lied to. This was such a terrible day. Then he gathered himself together. Obviously, this social worker just wanted to close out as many of Ms. Rodriguez's files as he could. Billy did not know what this man had done to make them think he was Billy’s father, or why he would come forward. Maybe Sivana had some plot? He hoped not, but just in case, he absolutely had to protect his identity. The social worker was looking at him in irritation, probably because he’d taken too long to respond, so he meekly lied “I’m ready…”

As soon as he said so, a tall man came into the room. He looked vaguely familiar, somehow. He was tall, with wide shoulders, dark-haired with a few strands of silver in the temples. He had suit on with a blue shirt, and a dark blue tie with a pattern of tiny birds on it. He looked a little like the pictures Billy had of his dad, which were slowly replacing his own memories as those faded with time.

“Thank you, Mr. Wayne, for coming all this way,” said the social worker. Billy cut eyes at him before remembering to stay in his Sweet Kid persona. Luckily the guy still had his eyes glued to the tablet and didn’t appear to notice.

Wayne? That name was familiar. Oh, right, that was the guy who provided the biggest share of funding for the Watchtower. Billy stared. What was a billionaire doing claiming Billy was his son? It didn’t make sense. Maybe he’d been tricked.

Mr. Wayne smiled at him and said “I’m really glad to meet you, Billy, I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances. How are you feeling?”

Billy took a minute to pull his jaw up off the floor and said “Fine,” a little faintly.

Mr. Wayne took the chair the officer had left behind and sat himself down in it. Billy eyed him warily, which the man definitely picked up on; the hand that had started to reach towards him fell smoothly back into his lap.

“I know this has been a lot, but if you’re not too tired I could answer some questions for you? I’m sure you are confused.” He looked at the social worker in some disapproval before his expression smoothed into something more hopeful.

Billy actually was tired. Exhausted, really. And the pills he’d taken hadn’t started doing anything at all for his headache yet. But he had to know.

“Why did you say you were my father?” And why, if you think you are my dad, didn’t you come two years ago, he didn’t ask.

Mr. Wayne seemed to hear the unspoken part anyway.

“I got a letter from your mother. Here’s a photocopy. The original is at Child Services. She sent it years ago before you were born, but it got stuck in the mail. I only just got it.”

Wayne fumbled a piece of paper out of his suit pocket and handed it over. Billy squinted at it. The writing on it looked like his mother’s, what he remembered of it, but this was proper loopy script and all fancy. And the shadows on the photocopy did make it look like it was copy of a torn page, though it also had weird uneven edges. He could only pick out a few words here and there but he was definitely not going to ask these people he didn’t trust to read it to him, not if this was supposed to be evidence for why he should believe them. He’d have to change into Cap to figure it out, or get Freddy to read it to him. Freddy had been complaining just last week about being forced to learn handwriting, this should be good practice. He looked back up again.

“Can I keep this?”

Mr. Wayne nodded with a small smile. “Of course. And I can show you the original when I get it back, if you want.” Billy did and he didn’t. If this really was a letter from his mother, it was something of hers when he has saved so very little of his parents. On the other hand, if it wasn’t real, he’d be going to someone’s house he didn’t trust. Not that he hadn’t before. Well, CPS seemed to believe the man’s story (he glanced at the unnamed social worker who seemed bored now) but they didn’t have the best track record of putting him into safe homes. Well, even if he had to go home with that guy (why did he seem familiar?) at least he knows how to make portals now. No one can keep him where he doesn’t want to be! That thought actually was what he needed to get off the stress spiral. He’d go with the flow, see what happened, and then duck out at the first opportunity.

At that point Olivia came in and said that Billy needed some rest, and he absolutely was willing to play the Tired card at this point. He was, actually, completely done with all this, and definitely wanted some time to figure out what he felt about all this. Billy smiled at the nurse and let her get him another pillow before she shoed his visitors out.

Chapter Text

“Another one, Bruce? Really? Did you think I wouldn’t find out just because he’s out of state? You cannot do this, Bruce, you have to find someone else this time. Damien…” Dick looked pained, and changed whatever he was going to say to “This is not a good time.”

Dick looked furious, but underneath Bruce thought he seemed almost frightened. Dick glared at him nearly vibrating with pent-up emotion and Bruce knew he had to deescalate this fast.

Bruce breathed out slowly, not quite sighing as he fought off a wave of exhaustion. He sat down in the desk chair, deliberately non-confrontational, and slowly reached out to pull his briefcase over and open it. Dick’s eyes flicked to follow the motion, irritated at the deflection.

“I know this is not the best time, but I don’t have a choice with this one, Dick.” Bruce got out another photocopy of the letter from his briefcase and held it out. Dick crossed his arms and glared back without looking down at the paper.

“I looked him up, you know. So yeah, I know he checks all your boxes. You still can’t add a kid to the Manor right now. Someone else has to take him.”

“I haven’t got a choice, Dick, bad timing or not. This isn’t an impulse, and it isn’t an adoption. Just read that, please?”

Dick glared some more before angrily snatching the paper and glancing at it to skim the contents. He blanched and stilled, rereading the text and flipping the page over to look at the copy of the other side of the letter. The tension in his body shifted into confusion for a moment, before he snapped his gaze up to glare even more aggressively than before.

“And when exactly were you going to share this news?”

“I am going back to Gotham tonight, Dick. I’ve only just met Billy this afternoon, after spending all day with CPS and lawyers. Alfred has been dealing with Gotham’s end of things, and if you don’t have a voicemail from him already you should be getting a call soon. I haven’t been keeping things from you.”

A flicker of doubt crossed Dick’s face, just barely a microexpression, but clear as a billboard to Bruce’s eyes. Still, he looked back at his oldest son steadily knowing he had to ask him to take on another burden and hating it.

“Can you take Damien for a few days? I agree he’s not in the best state to accept another “Blood Son” right now.” Or ever, probably, but they’d deal with that when they could. “And Billy needs to have time to adjust as well. I was a big surprise to him; clearly his parents took the promise of silence seriously.”

Dick winced and looked the letter over again as he thought.

“All right. I’ve got something he can help with in Bludhaven. I’ll let him know.” He looked up again. "Is Tim home?

Bruce shook his head. “Tim is with the Kents, he'll be back Sunday. And thank you, Dick. I want to be the one to tell them both. Will you do that for me?”

Dick glowered, then half-shrugged. “I am happy to let you take that conversation, but don’t make me keep secrets from the kid any longer than you have to. How long will Billy be in the hospital?”

Bruce sighed again. “They’d have discharged him already if it weren’t for the custody issue. So whenever the paperwork is done. Tomorrow, probably.”

Dick nodded sharply. “I’ll pick Damien up from school tomorrow and call him out Friday. Let me know if you need Monday too, but I can’t stretch beyond that without telling him something.”

***

Billy spent an uncomfortable night trying to get into a position that would let him sleep. It was hard, with his body protesting every movement and his mind buzzing with speculations and plans. He checked again a couple of times since he couldn’t sleep more than an hour or two at a time but the police officer was replaced at shift change and remained over night. The second time he checked the officer saw him peek out and responded by moving his chair to sit right beside the door to Billy’s room.

He was just going to have to wait. He hoped it wouldn’t take long to get away from the new place. He had a shift at the Watchtower the following night, and he’d already missed several patrols.

He had breakfast, and then another exam, and his headache subsided just enough to watch a little TV until lunchtime. Then Mr. Wayne, the social worker, and Nurse Olivia all came back to get him ready to be discharged. Mr. Wayne brought bag with a change of clothes in it that were almost a perfect fit – a blue and gray button-down flannel shirt that he could put on himself over the binding on his ribs, a black zip-up hoodie to go over it, soft gray athletic pants, and white sneakers. The bag even had brand new boxers and socks still in the packaging. He fingered those for a minute before putting them on. New out of the package wasn’t something he was used to.

He stepped stiffly out of the bathroom after changing (the adults had left the main room, but he wanted the extra door) and saw that someone had left a plastic bag on the bed. Walking over, he saw to his surprise that it held his hat and the contents of his pockets – a piece of string, a baggie with some pieces of colored chalk (now rather more broken than they used to be), a tiny Swiss Army knife with the tweezers and toothpick missing, a nickel that had somehow not been taken with the rest of his money, a rock with a crystal in it that warmed up when he was being watched (mostly, it wasn’t 100% reliable, he thought it had something to do with the way he’d written the runes) and the really nice pen he’d found at the zoo. To his utter lack of surprise none of his original clothing had been returned.

The next hour or so was a whirlwind that landed him, exhausted already and uncomfortable under the seat belt that pressed in the wrong places, in a car headed for the small Fawcett airport. To his surprise, though, they went around the main terminal and through a gate. Mr. Wayne drove the car up to an airplane, helped Billy out, and handed the keys over to someone standing there. Billy stood staring at the plane. He’d never flown inside a little plane like this. He just barely remembered a few trips with his parents in the big airplanes where everyone had to sit in rows.

“Have you ever flown before?

Mr. Wayne slowly and carefully laid his hand on Billy’s shoulder, giving him a chance to move out from under if he wanted to. He did want to, but let the hand stay. He needed to seem like he was going along with this until he got his opportunity to escape.

“Only on the regular planes, when I was little,” he replied, hearing a little shake in his voice. He’d already decided that he would do this. It was already too late to back out now. Mr. Wayne made an encouraging nudge and said “There should be some drinks and snacks on the plane. It’s not a long flight to Gotham.”

Billy sighed and climbed the stairs stiffly and slid onto the seat that Mr. Wayne directed him to. It smelled like leather. Even though his ribs hurt a bit twisting to look out the window he watched Fawcett City disappear into the distance. It was very different from flying under his own power. No wind in his eyes or hair, and he didn’t have to fly backwards to look where he was coming from. It just felt wrong.

Mr. Wayne told him he could take the seat belt off and walk around if he wanted to, but he didn’t. And he didn’t have much appetite for the snacks either, though he did accept a Coke when he realized his eyes were getting heavy. He really ought to have slept longer at the hospital.

As promised the flight was not long. They were greeted at a small airstrip by an older man waiting by a black car, and Billy noticed the way Mr. Wayne smiled at him. This was someone important to the man.

“Billy, this is Alfred Pennyworth. He’s the family butler. Alfred, thank you for coming.”

“Always, Master Bruce.” He smiled down at Billy. “I am glad to see you, Master William.”

“Just Billy, sir,” he replied.

“Very well, Master Billy,” he replied, and helped Mr. Wayne sweep him into the car.

Once he was in the back seat with the adults in front he finally let himself freak out a little. This was absolutely nothing like his experience with other foster homes. The CPS agent hadn’t even come along to make sure he got there! Not that he wanted to see the man even one more minute, but still.

The arrival at the manor was even more disorienting, especially as he was given a tour of the common areas, and the crystal in his pocket never cooled once. Either the entire place was full of security cameras or it had gone wonky again, and he didn’t think it was wrong.

Not much longer, he kept telling himself. They have to send him to bed eventually, and then he could write his portal and get back home.

He was shown a room, “You can decorate it however you like, just let Alfred know.” He was shown a library, and a game room with lots of new video game equipment which he really wanted to be excited about except he wouldn’t be there long enough to enjoy them, and then Alfred redirected the tour to the breakfast room “We really use this for most of our meals except when the whole family is here”–Billy wondered how many there were when everyone was there, because the room and the table were not small).

Mr. Pennyworth pulled out some prepared food, small sandwiches in several flavors, with carrot sticks and a dipping sauce, and a fruit salad. Billy thanked him politely for the food even as he panicked a little over how much of it there was; thankfully, it seemed Mr. Wayne was expected to help eat it as he was also given a plate.

“Please just call me Alfred,” the man replied.

“OK, Mr. Alfred,” he replied.

Billy dipped a carrot stick in the sauce. It was delicious, and his stomach, tied up in anxious knots, vehemently advised him not to try anything else.

Alfred made some small gesture at Mr. Wayne, who finally, FINALLY said he looked tired and let Alfred take him back up to the bedroom. Billy barely paid any attention to the man as he pulled out a drawer with additional clothing “We’ll go shopping for something more to your taste soon,” and showed the toiletries neatly laid out on the dresser “If you like a different kind of toothpaste just ask, we have several,” until eventually Billy was able to reassure him that he was fine, just tired, and the man finally left.

Billy checked the room with his crystal, which reassured him that except for when he opened the window and looked out (second floor, nice brickwork, if his ribs didn’t hurt it would practically be a ladder to the ground) he was finally out of view.

The bathroom connected to the next bedroom, which was used by someone who wasn’t there but apparently liked purple a lot. And, thankfully, also had a SUPER messy and crowded closet. He decided to make his portal on the wall in the back, where it would be less likely to be noticed for a while — maybe even not until it faded on its own, and then went back to get under the covers of his ridiculously oversized bed. He waited tensely until he heard the nearly silent door open slightly. Suddenly regretting the decision he held his breath anticipating disaster until with intense relief he heard it close again. They were just checking that he was asleep, like lots of foster parents did. He made a silent gasp of relief and sprang through to the other room, closed the closet door, flicked on the light, and made his portal back home. He took a second to turn off the closet light before diving through.

Then, drained beyond belief, he was able FINALLY to turn into Cap again, and his hurts and weariness fell away.

Captain Marvel flung himself up into the sky to look over Fawcett City and just watch it for a moment before giving a whoop of joy and doing a quick pass over the city to check for trouble. That turned into an abbreviated patrol. He just barely made it up to the Watchtower in time for his shift but he needed to see that all was well first.

Chapter Text

The Watchtower shift was thankfully uneventful so Marvel had plenty of time to think about the last few days. He didn’t want to pull out the letter that was supposedly from his mother here, where everything was under surveillance, and he really wished he’d left enough time to read it before coming up.

A few things had changed since he was last up, and Cap looked thoughtfully at the posting board that Red Robin had made up to replace the previous roster. The Bats had shuffled things around again, and Nightwing, who often had the shift after Cap’s (at least his regular shift – Cap often picked up shifts for other heroes especially in the winter time when it got too cold to spend much time as Billy), had traded off with J’ones. He wondered what was going on in Gotham to distract them, but this kind of thing happened often enough. There wasn’t anything notable in the news, at least, and there weren’t any requests for assistance so he passed the shift over to his replacement with a smile and went home. There were no leftovers to take this time, very sad.

After he did another quick circuit of the city while the sun rose Cap changed back to Billy and ran to the room where he’d been staying before his trip to the hospital. He sighed in relief when he pried aside the board covering the window and saw everything still undisturbed. The spell to make passers-by overlook the entrance had worn off, of course, but somehow no one had stumbled onto his spot since whenever it had failed. He quickly scrambled through the entrance and renewed the sigils with the chalk in his pockets and then sat for a few minutes hugging Mr. Tawkey Tawney while he looked at the photo of his parents and waited to calm down. He’d been terribly distracted while working his shift, wishing he’d taken the time to check his things before going up, and the change back to Billy had really let him know how rattled he’d been.

“I need to take better care of you,” he said as he petted Tawney’s head. “I think you need to go down to the subway campsite, the runes aren’t disturbed as often so they last longer.” It was also a bit musty there, but better a smelly tiger than a missing one, right? He could check his books for ways to making things smell better.
Billy carefully packed his stuffed tiger into his backpack along with a couple of other things he planned to move, including the photo. His dad was really his dad, no matter what the social worker or that Bruce guy said. He could still hear the fond tones of his mother’s voice as she smiled and said “My smart boys” while she hugged Billy and his dad.

Billy scowled. He didn’t get much world news, and he’d long since figured out how skewed the information from the Watchtower was towards hero business, so he regularly spent time watching the (mostly agonizingly boring) regular news stations on the television in the Watchtower break room. It’s not like he got much news anywhere else, though, so he made sure to listen to at least a little of it.

He didn’t remember much news out of Gotham that wasn’t about Batman, his rogues, or the corruption there, but sometimes there was a story about some Wayne Enterprises tech innovation, and that often came along with a story about something ridiculous that Mr. Wayne had done recently. Even though the man had a tech company, that didn’t mean he was smart himself.

Nope, Billy shook his head. That man absolutely could not possibly be his father. Someone must have decided to play a prank on the man, and he’d believed it. Billy brightened. Yes, that must be it.

“What do you think, Tawney?” he asked his tiger, then bounced its head as if it were nodding. “Yeah, I thought so too.”

Billy put his full backpack down on the mattress, confident it would be safe for a few hours behind his privacy sigils. Then Billy checked the food in the foam box. The lasagna didn’t pass the sniff test, so he took it with him to throw away. He stared at the trash can sadly for a minute after he tipped it in. Such a waste, and he hadn’t even been able to keep the part he did manage to eat because it wound up on the ground in an alley. His stomach rumbled. He should had tried to have more last night than just the one carrot stick.

After another longing glance at the trash can, Billy changed into Marvel and did his patrol route. He was pleased and relieved to find it was pretty light, which was great, because on light days he got to talk to people. Some of them asked where he’d been, and he didn’t like to lie so he just said he’d been busy figuring out a problem. He’d missed his shift at the soup kitchen while he was in the hospital, so he dropped by to apologize. Luckily they had some work he could do in the kitchen moving a fryer so they could do some much needed deep cleaning, so he did feel better about being useful. And they understood that being a super hero sometimes meant you missed things.

Then there was an apartment fire, which was really exciting! He helped all the people who hadn’t already gotten out on the street, and a girl asked him to go back in for her puppy who had been locked in the bathroom because it wasn’t crate trained yet. He found it easily and even saw that the puppy had peed in the tub instead of on the floor like a very good boy. The puppy then jumped into his arms like it knew he was there for a rescue (instead of the ferret he had captured for a kid earlier that day, which had fought him like it was mad at the world and him in particular). He rubbed the soft brown ears while he flew the animal down to its owner and it licked his hand. He made sure to tell the girl how proud he was of her puppy, and they talked for a few minutes while the ambulance people treated the girl’s mother. When they let the girl’s mom go to take the next patient, Marvel left.

That was enough work for the day, he decided. He needed some Billy time. He went back to his room to pick up his backpack, since he’d be dropping that off in the subway after his chores. He had to walk there, because the portal that had already been getting glitchy last week before his accident had entirely stopped working and he had used up the nice pen on the portal out of Mr. Bruce’s house. On the way he stopped by the neighborhood where he usually picked up chores, and it was his lucky day! Miss Richardson was on her front step sweeping, and gladly passed the broom over to him when he offered to help. She groaned a little and rubbed her knees when she sat down so he was really happy he’d come this way.

“I haven’t seen you in a while, Billy, are you all right?” she asked.

“I’m fine Miss!” he chirped back. He’d missed her and his other regulars. He told her about the puppy from the apartment fire. It had been so very cute, and so good, and its ears were so very soft! He didn’t mention the part about rescuing it from the fire, of course.

Miss Richardson gave him five dollars, which was a bit much for just sweeping her steps and porch so he also cleaned the windows next to her front door, but then he thanked her and ran all the way over to the diner and ordered his favorite, eggs and toast with bacon. It was the cheapest thing on the menu except for the side of just toast, but it was also really good, and with $5 he didn’t have to scrounge for change to leave a tip. He tucked his backpack under the seat in a two-person booth and placed his tiger on the opposite seat so they could eat together.

As he was scraping up the last bit of strawberry jam from his plate with a crust from the toast, someone stepped up to his table. Billy lifted his head to see Mr. Pennyworth.

“Oh, um, Hi?” he said, blinking in surprise.

“I’m so very glad you’re all right, Master Billy. We have been looking for you.” Billy saw him pat his pocket as if to check for a wallet or phone, but didn’t pull it out. “May I sit with you?”

Billy glanced around the diner; Ms Sarah, the server on duty today was watching, probably because a man she didn’t recognize was at the booth with Billy, but everyone else there was a regular.

“Yeah, ok…?” He pushed away the plate he’d just finished, letting Ms. Sarah know he was done. She was on her way to the booth even as he did it, though, so he knew she had been planning on coming over anyway.

He hadn’t expected anyone to chase after him. None of the other foster parents did.

Mr. Pennyworth slid into the seat opposite, next to Mr. Tawney. The older man smiled very slightly as he picked up the tiger. Billy tensed. He could definitely get up out of the seat and run faster than an old man could, but that would mean abandoning his friend. But then the older man handed his tiger over the table. Billy set him aside, not breaking eye contact. It was already clear Mr. Tawney was important to him, and that was dangerous. He probably wouldn’t make it worse by doing what he really wanted, which was to pull out his backpack and put him up safely. But the older man looked sad, not angry.

“I am very sorry we did not ask if you had things you wanted to collect before we left, dear boy. We were told by the hospital staff that you had lost everything in the attack.”

Well, yes, of course Billy had told them that. It was never a good idea to let people know you had things. That just led to losing them.

“We would have brought to to find your things if you’d let me know,” the older man continued. He paused, as if to let Billy have a chance to reply. When he didn’t, Pennyworth continued, “So, Billy, how did you get here? It’s a long way from Gotham. We were worried.”

Oh. Um. He hadn’t had a lie prepared. “I hitchhiked,” he blurted out. That was a totally normal thing to do, right? People did it in movies all the time. The brief flash of horror that crossed Mr. Pennyworth’s face told him otherwise. Oh. Back up, people thought women were safer. He could pretend he’d driven in with Vicky, the homeless lady with tremors who told him stories about her time as an Army nurse when he carried her bags for her.

“The truck driver was really nice, she told me stories about Vietnam. She had to pull a guy who’d been shot out of a river once.”

Mr. Pennyworth paled a bit. Abort, abort, no more stories about the pretend truck driver.

“Master Billy, hitchhiking is exceptionally dangerous. Especially in Gotham. Could you promise me you won’t do that again?”

Ms. Cathy, who had started cleaning the table next to them gasped a little and switched her suspicious frown from Alfred to Billy. “He’s right, kiddo, that’s super dangerous. Who’s your friend here?”

Billy sighed. “He’s, um,” What was Mr. Pennyworth again? “He’s with my new foster family,” he told her, glumly. She relaxed a bit, and let Mr. Pennyworth pay for the meal even though Billy pulled out his $5 bill and offered it to her.

After the bill had been paid Mr. Pennyworth looked at him again with an eyebrow raised. Billy blinked back and the old man sighed.

“Hitchhiking is not safe, Master Billy,” he said again. “Please, promise me you won’t do that again?”

“Yes, sir,” he replied easily. After all, he hadn't really done it, so there wasn't any chance of him doing it again.

The older man seemed a little taken aback, which worried Billy a little. What was he missing? However after a brief pause Mr. Pennyworth looked past Billy towards the door and smiled just a little as Mr. Wayne came through the door and rushed up to their table, hair all in disarray and his eyes oddly intense.

“Master Bruce has arrived with the car. Shall we head home?”

Billy sighed. He’d been caught. This time. He’d just have to be more careful next time. He tucked his tiger under his arm, shouldered his backpack and let them usher him out to the car and back to the plane.

He put up with Mr. Pennyworth fussing over him all right, although he didn’t let the man change his bandages. The rib wrapping was still on him since he hadn’t had a chance to change but of course the one on the now-healed cut behind his ear was gone already.

The lecture on the Perils of Hitchhiking that followed from Mr. Wayne was awful. It included an actual slide show powerpoint on the big TV screen in the cabin, how did Mr. Wayne even find that on the drive from the diner to the airport? It took up the whole trip back including at least ten minutes after the plane stopped. Billy was about ready to jump out of a window. Eventually, though, Mr. Pennyworth made a small coughing noise and Mr. Wayne closed down his tablet with a hasty summary of the main point, which Mr. Pennyworth had already said in the cafe.

As they drove back to the Manor, Mr. Pennyworth said quietly, “We had been hoping to introduce you to some of Mr. Wayne’s other children and friends, but today has been quite long. I would understand if you are not up for that.”

“That’s OK, Sir.”

“You can call me Alfred, Master Billy.”

“OK, Mr. Pennyworth,” he replied, too annoyed and frustrated to comply, then winced. He hugged his tiger anxiously and hoped the two adults weren’t like the Wilsons, who kept calling him a little shit for being extra polite when he was angry.

Chapter Text

Alfred had done his best to encourage Bruce to stay in on the first night his newly discovered son was to stay at the Manor, but he recognized suppressed urgency and need for distraction when he saw it, so Alfred did not allow his displeasure to show at the man’s disappearance into the Cave. Just because the boy had retreated to his room for now did not mean his father should make himself inaccessible. At least Bruce had been reasonable enough to pour out his stress on the exercise equipment instead of going out into town. Or, more likely, back to Fawcett to take on the search for the boy's assailant. If it had not been for the unavoidable grind of paperwork he was sure there would have been a Batman sighting there.

His next task was to track down and speak to his second grandson to convey the news of the new arrival., before he heard about it from other sources and overreacted. Alfred did not anticipate that conversation would go well, so he started by calling the civilian burner phone that Jason had provided, knowing he might need to leave a message and wait a while. Jason surprised him by answering immediately.

“Dick said there was news,” he said in a tight voice after only one ring. “He wouldn’t say what it was, so it's one of two things and I bet I know which.”

Alfred sighed. Dick was not wrong to give Jason the heads up that something would happen, but he had wished to do this himself. It was very much like Jason to lash out once he heard the details.

“Please let me explain,” he said as soon as he could get a word in edgewise, heartened that the boy had not hung up already. It was not the worst time possible, though none would be good. “You already know this is news you will not want to hear,” he said gently, “but please hear me out before you ask questions or hang up.”

Angry silence on the line was not a promise, but he decided to take it as an answer.

“Bruce has found another biological child,” he said. Jason made a pained noise, acknowledging that he had immediately understood the implications. “The child’s parents have died. He was in foster care.”

A growl followed, and a noise in the background that sounded like a fist hitting a solid surface. “Jason, hear me out.”

“Fine, lay it on me,” Jason snarled.

Alfred explained about the letter, the delay, and the hospitalization, and the homelessness. Jason let him speak. When Alfred finished, Jason said “I’ll be there tomorrow night. I want to talk to the kid alone.”

Alfred winced. Bruce was probably not ready for whatever Jason had planned, but he chose to interpret this as an offer rather than a threat. “Thank you,” he replied.

“What’s the kid’s name?”

Alfred huffed slightly. “William. His parents were Marilyn and C.C. Batson.”

Another pause.

“You are shitting me.”

Alfred decided this was one occasion when he would not enforce the swear jar rule. He’d honestly expected worse to come from this call. “Absolutely not, my dear boy. I dread the moment when Stephanie and Tim hear the name. They will be utterly insufferable.”

“Fuck, yeah, I want to be there when you tell them.”

“They will all be informed on Sunday at dinner.” Alfred said as matter-of-factly as he could. Jason had been to a grand total of two Sunday dinners since returning to Gotham. At the first of those he’d gone pale, turned and left before the ones who didn’t live at the Manor had even arrived, and on the other he’d shouted at Bruce and left with Damien after not much more time than the first visit.

Another moment of silence on the line.

“I’ll think about it.” Jason ended the connection.

Alfred put the phone down with fingers that trembled slightly with adrenaline then patted a handkerchief over his face. That had gone far better than he’d expected, but he was still utterly drained. He gave himself a few minutes to prepare and drink a cup of tea, then check up on Bruce before returning to his duties.

A couple of hours later he went to check if Billy was willing to wake for something to eat since he’d taken so little of the snack laid by for their arrival, but Alfred found him gone. He called Bruce back upstairs and they searched the whole building together without success. On reviewing the cameras in the Manor he immediately noticed what he hadn’t at the time the initial tour had been given, that the boy had been subtly searching for the camera in every room he’d entered. They had, as a result, a number of very good clear images of the child looking straight into the lens. While useful to send to the others to aid in their search, it was unpromising. He found himself additionally unsurprised (albeit unpleasantly so) that he could not find how the child had left the property. But gone he certainly was. Alfred had to wonder if Mrs. Batson had been an assassin too; international trips for archaeological digs would be an excellent cover for certain kinds of missions.

The rest of the night was a blur of activity, fruitless searching and escalating worry. They called in Kane and Brown to help with the search. Alfred held off on alerting Dick since he’d already called off his shift at the Watchtower to keep Damien occupied and away from the Manor, though as the night wore on his resolve faltered. Oracle had a new search algorithm upload to try out and Jason actually cooperated with her to follow the leads in his part of the city, although he was even more quiet on the comms than usual.

And then, in the morning just after dawn in the Central time zone, Alfred got a call on the Manor land line from his man in Fawcett who was still doing some work on Billy’s history. Alfred recognized the area code of the number and picked up. After the man identified himself he gave the good news that he’d seen Billy. In Fawcett City.

“I'd thought you said you’d picked the kid up,” he added.

Alfred’s blood ran cold. How had a child Billy's age made it that far on his own? Was he on his own, or had he been taken?

“We did, but he went missing. Is he all right? Where did you see him? Is he alone or with someone else?”

The detective e-mailed a link to a map location. “I just saw him for a minute going around the corner of a building I was watching, and he wasn’t there when I tried to follow. I didn't get a good look but he's probably OK if he's that fast. The kid’s been staying at this derelict hotel. I checked it out before, you should see it in my report.” (Alfred’s other hand had already opened to the file where the report on the location had been submitted, what there was of it), “I didn’t find anything that looked like a kid’s stuff in any of the squats I was able to check there so I figured he just used it to change or something. I’m only here now checking on a lead for another case with a witness who lives nearby or I wouldn’t have seen him. I can search again if you like.”

“Please do,” said Alfred, firmly, as he messaged Bruce, Kate, Jason and Barbara about the update. “Find him, follow him once you have, and let me know where he goes. He got to Fawcett somehow, check whether there is an adult he might be traveling with.”

“Should I pick him up?” offered the man.

Alfred considered that for only a moment, then dismissed the thought. He knew how Jason would have reacted in a similar situation. Billy would surely think he was being kidnapped, and he could not add that stress to the child without good cause.

“No, but when you see him again let me know where and then follow to make sure he’s safe. Discreetly.”

The detective acknowledged that order cheerfully enough, which soothed Alfred’s feelings a little. Then he got himself into the plane to Fawcett while Bruce went the fast way through the Zeta tubes via the Watchtower, intending to check if Captain Marvel was still there to ask if he would help in the search, or call him in to help if he’d left already. Bruce was so out of sorts Alfred actually had to thrust a bag of civilian clothing at him to change into in case he found Billy before Alfred arrived with the plane.

As Alfred boarded, Oracle was able to find a camera that showed Billy approach the derelict hotel just as the detective had reported, and then come back the same way again some time later but wearing an overstuffed backpack and holding a plastic container. A different camera showed him throwing the container away into a bin at a nearby convenience station. She sent Alfred the footage as he was traveling to Fawcett to review. The cameras did not have good enough resolution to catch the boy’s expression but his body language was unhappy. Alfred wondered what had happened.

Alfred kept up with the search while on the flight. Batman sent a brief message that Marvel was not in the Watchtower, and that he’d left a message for him on his League communicator before going down to search for Billy in his city.

He touched back several more times, growing steadily more terse, that Marvel was still not responding and he had as of yet not seen Billy. Alfred attempted to remind and reassure him that this was not at all unusual; Bruce as himself and as Batman had on several occasions complained to Alfred that the Captain would often fail to answer messages for hours or days.

“Not everyone can manage their secret identities while being as accessible as you, sir,” he reminded his ward gently. “And did you not say he often goes to that magical place he calls the Rock? Perhaps the communicator does not work in that place.”

Some while later, as Alfred was getting the keys to the rental car at the airport the detective sent a message that he’d found the boy again entering a diner he was known to frequent. The man shared the location along with an assurance that he had eyes on the child through the window, he was unaccompanied, and Alfred would be called immediately if Billy left again or if anyone arrived to join him. Alfred closed his eyes briefly in relief. He looked at his phone and then decided to tell Oracle but not Bruce, not quite yet. The man was in a panic and would probably make Billy run again if he met him in that state.

He made a quick call to her civilian number as he put the diner’s address into the rental car’s GPS. She quickly agreed to keep an eye on things and wait until Alfred sent the signal that everything was OK before passing the information on to Bruce.

When Alfred parked the car he paused to look at the detective who was lingering in his own vehicle before he went in. The man acknowledged the glance unobtrusively, signaled that everything was still OK, and went back to watching. When he saw the boy eating alone at the diner with only his rather grubby plush tiger for company his heart very nearly broke. They hadn’t even asked if he’d had any treasures that needed to be collected before he went home with them; they should have been more careful. He pressed the button in his pocket to let Oracle know Bruce could be sent their location, then greeted the boy as gently as he could. He was pleased to see how protective the server was before Billy identified him. Apparently the boy did have a few adults in his life he could trust.

Alfred was glad, however, that Bruce had not yet arrived when the child introduced Alfred to the server as a foster parent. They would have to have a discussion about this misunderstanding. But not right now. He ushered Bruce and Billy back to the airport whereupon he was unfortunately kept busy coordinating changes to scheduled visits that had been canceled because the child had gone missing. He also had to step aside into the back of the plane away from Bruce's frantic safety lecture while he talked Dick down, for the fourth time, from coming back into Gotham. Damien was assuredly suspicious by now and contingency plans would need to be made for that as well.

Chapter Text

Billy quietly tucked his tiger into his backpack on the drive to the Manor, trying to keep the zipper from making enough noise to be heard over the engine of the car. As full as he’d packed the bag there wasn’t much room so Tawney’s head stuck out of the top, but he was reasonably secure. And Billy wanted to have his hands free. Mr. Wayne and Mr. Pennyworth hadn’t ACTED like they were super angry with him, but he’d found in several foster homes that sometimes it took a while to build. Especially if they needed to go have a few drinks first.

He couldn’t believe he had been caught so quickly. How had they even known where he was? Billy checked for his crystal, then realized that when he’d packed the bag he’d put it in with his other gear. He dug around until he found it and slipped it back into his pocket. It looked like he’d need it again soon. Ugh, he was too tired for this. He’d planned to go back and have a nap after he’d eaten. Just thinking about sleep made his eyes hurt. Billy sat up and pinched himself viciously. No sleep until he was in a safe place.

Mr. Pennyworth drove the car up to the front door and let them out, then he took the car away somewhere. Billy watched it leave and felt his shoulders sag a bit. He didn’t really want to be left alone with Mr. Wayne.

“You must be tired, Billy. We had intended to have you meet a couple members of the family, but we can postpone that if you need time,” Bruce said while ushering Billy in through the door. Billy didn’t have the willpower to handle being touched right now and slid away from the hand that tried to land on his shoulder.

“No, that’s fine,” he said quietly. Better to get it over with and find out what the family was like. He was so tired, though. He really ought to have taken a nap instead of that last patrol. It’s just that since Cap didn’t get tired, Billy forgot that he’d been tired before changing forms. Billy could be healed by the change from Billy to Cap and back again, but the transformation didn’t do anything for things like exhaustion, or hunger, or thirst. Maybe it would be safe to stay long enough to sleep this time. The bed had nice blankets, though it was way too soft.

He had to assume that letting himself think about bed was the reason he had gotten five or six steps into the entrance before he saw the visitor. Sitting on the stairs to the second floor was an absolutely enormous man in a leather jacket. He had a startlingly white lock in the front of his otherwise dark hair, and the man’s eyes were brilliantly green. Billy frowned as the light hit them oddly. Okayyyy…this was a family member, or a friend?

There was a zipped nylon bag on the steps beside him, but the stranger’s hands were held up and open as if to show they were empty before he gently dropped them to his knees. Despite the intentionally peaceful gesture and deliberately non-confrontational posture – he recognized some of the body language from when he was trying not to scare the warier street kids when he had to talk to them as Cap – Billy could feel the tension ratchet up.

Mr. Wayne had stopped in the middle of the entrance way. Billy glanced quickly up at Mr. Wayne’s face, but could not read the expression. He took a couple of quiet steps back and a little to the side so the man was between him and the guy on the stairs.

“Jason. It’s good to see you,” he said, and Billy could not read that tone either. It sounded...hopeful?

“I just came by to bring some stuff for the kid,” the man rumbled in reply, his voice even deeper than Mr. Wayne’s. Billy glanced at the bag sitting by his feet. It looked pretty full. ‘Some stuff’ was more like what he’d call ‘A whole lot.’

The man on the stairs—Jason—kept his eyes on Bruce as he said, “Billy, I heard you’ve been on the streets a while. I was, too, when I was about your age.” He jerked his chin toward the bag. “I brought a few things I would have liked after I moved in here that they probably haven’t thought to offer. Want to see?” He finally dropped his gaze to Billy as Mr. Wayne winced at the jab about his hospitality.

Mr. Wayne knew someone who had been homeless? What?

This was too much. He was too tired to deal with it all; focus on the immediate issue. Billy put himself together and stepped back out to look the man over, and see how he held himself. He was in Wayne’s house, and apparently welcome, even though he didn’t seem to like Mr. Wayne much. He glanced up at Mr. Wayne’s face again, which looked...pleased? And hopeful? Billy looked back at Jason, who was very still on the stairs and still holding his hands where they could be seen. OK, he was trying a little too hard, but fine. It didn’t seem like the guy was an immediate threat. And foster families got weird about kids refusing gifts sometimes.

“Yeah, you can show me,” he said, and stepped closer.

Jason opened the bag right there on the steps and pulled out a new box of granola bars, still in the plastic from the store. The nice chewy ones, with dried fruit and chocolate chips in them. A variety pack, even. He frowned at it thoughtfully. As if he was reading Billy’s mind, Jason said, “They’ll let you keep stuff in your room but only if it’s non-perishable.”

Jason flicked a glance at Bruce.

“Don’t show him the power point about food in bedrooms. He’s not stupid.”

Billy snorted, suddenly deciding he was OK with this guy. He stepped up to the bag which was lying open on the staircase at Jason’s feet and peered into it. He saw another box of granola bars, some peanut butter crackers along with a whole container of peanut butter, a couple of boxes of juice, a box of powder packets for putting flavor in water (ooh, and a Wonder Woman water bottle, nice!), as well as some bags of jerky. He could live for literally weeks on this, if he was careful. While his eyes scanned the stuff he said, “Mr. Wayne showed me one about hitchhiking. It was really long.”

Jason snorted.

“Blame Dick for that one.”

Billy glanced up. “Dick?”

Jason shot Bruce an irritated glare.

“You didn’t tell him shit, did you?”

“I was going to introduce him to the family gradually?”

Jason scowled, and Billy felt a little rumble of...something...coming through the ether. He glanced up at the man, whose eyes had gone even greener. Huh. Billy stepped back to look at Jason a little more carefully and there was definitely something weird about him, aside from the obvious tension. He’d have to have a peek at the guy’s aura when he wasn’t being watched, because it felt like there was something wrong coming off him. A curse, maybe?

Jason noticed his reaction immediately, though, and tucked down the...whatever it was. He grimaced apologetically at Billy. Ok, maybe not a curse, if he had some control over it. Still, something to watch out for.

“Me and Bruce have a thing, kid, nothing to do with you. Never gonna drag you into it. Want me to haul this up to your room for you? And give you a run down on the people living here, which dumbass over there should have prioritized over power points.” Jason jerked his chin over at Wayne.

Billy grinned at that. Yeah, just about anything was more important than power points. He nodded.

Mr. Wayne winced yet again, but didn’t protest.

Jason offered the pack of granola bars he was holding to Billy, who wavered just a moment between a) keeping his hands free and b) getting something immediately, and accepted. He could slide it up into his hoodie.

Jason nodded and zipped up the bag while Billy put the box away. As he was doing that Billy heard steps approaching from the other direction.

“Master Jason, it is good to see you, but please do restrain your language.”

Billy looked up to see Mr. Pennyworth coming in from the other side of the entrance hall. His voice was tart, but his expression warm. Mr. Pennyworth very clearly liked Jason.

“Yeah, I know, I’ll visit the swear jar before I go.”

“After dinner, I hope?”

Jason shook his head. “Nah, I just came by to drop this off and have a chat with short stuff here.”

He looked down at Billy. “You good with talking to me without those idiots around?”

Billy shrugged. He had his lightning, if he needed to use it.

“Yeah.”

“You want to lead or follow?”

Billy noticed the implication that Jason already knew where his room was, and jerked his chin up the stairs. “You first.”

Jason nodded back and glared for a moment at Mr. Wayne, who had taken a step forward.

“Alone, Bruce. You said.”

Mr. Wayne sighed.

“All right,” he replied. “Will you come by the office before you go?”

Jason glared back in a way that said “History here, Do Not Touch” to Billy and turned to stomp up the stairs. Mr. Wayne’s face fell as if the lack of response was a no. Billy stood on the stairs hesitating for a moment, then wiggled his fingers a little to feel the link to his lightning, just as a reassurance, before turning his back to walk up the stairs.

When they’d turned the corner at the top of the staircase, Billy following Jason (those long legs were not easy to follow, as tired as he was) Billy asked, “Why did you bring so much stuff?” Because honestly, if the food was a bribe, that first box of granola bars would have totally done the job. Any street kid would do a LOT for something like that.

Jason made a grumbling noise. “In a minute, kid.” He looked up and made an obscene gesture to one of the cameras in the hallway before looking back at Billy. Billy snorted and grinned back in annoyed solidarity, reassured and content to wait as long as it wasn’t too long.

On the way into the hallway with all the bedrooms, Jason pointed to a door on the wall that looked like a cabinet. “Laundry chute. Saturday is sheets day, even if they’ve only been used once. Alfred gets twitchy about people ‘sleeping in filth’ as he puts it. Regular laundry can go in any other day of the week.” He pointed to another door. “If you want to do your stuff yourself so you can keep an eye on it, there are machines in the last room by the stairs. Spare sheets and towels on the shelves. Ice machine there, too, just like a hotel.”

Jason made a quick sweep of the floor, Jason naming each of the people living in the rooms: Dick, Tim, Damien, Cass, and Steph, as well as pointing out the handful that were not in use. Billy noticed that one of the rooms right by Bruce’s master bedroom was on that list, while most of the rest of the unused rooms were at the far end of the hall after his own.

“Most of them are out of town for one thing or another right now. Steph, who has the connecting room with yours, doesn’t stay over often but she’s probably going to be here soon.”

“Do you have a room?”

Jason shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t stay here much. When I do I sleep over it’s in the other wing with Alfred. There are some guest rooms there, and you’ll see those in use a lot too.”

They made it back around to the door of the room Billy was using, which was standing open. Jason stood by the door waiting until the penny dropped and Billy waved him in.

Jason swept up the bag that he’d dropped by the door while he gave his mini-tour and dumped the contents onto the bedspread. When the last thing inside it didn’t fall out on its own he reached in and pulled out a roll of foam from the bottom of the bag – a foam camping pad. Billy cocked his head to the side and Jason noticed.

“In case the bed’s too soft, you can roll this out on a rug.”

Yeah, Billy had seen other homeless people use those. He’d also seen people steal them from each other, so he’d never tried to save up for one. Not when Marvel could pick up discarded mattresses and bring them to whatever room he was using. He eyed the pile suspiciously, nervous again.

“What do you want?”

Jason sat down on the bed with his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor for a minute.

“I helped look for you when you ran yesterday. Didn’t find you, obviously, but I found two other kids who’d run, and matched you well enough that I followed their trail. Neither of them was OK.” He clenched his jaw so hard Billy could see the muscles jump by his ear. He spoke towards the steel toes on his boots.

“Gotham’s more dangerous than Fawcett, kid, and you don’t know the streets here.” He held up a hand as Billy opened his mouth to say something, he wasn’t even sure what. Jason stared at him, those oddly vivid eyes intent.

“Bruce will never hurt you on purpose. He’s kind of an idiot, but he won’t try anything shady. And nobody will come into your room here unless you let them, so it’s safe to sleep here. Even Alfred, though he’ll probably explode if you don’t let him vacuum, especially if you leave crumbs on the floor.” He snorted. “Anyway, the doors and windows all lock. You know the chair under the doorknob trick, I’m sure? Won’t be needed, but if it helps you sleep better, do it. I can bring in a second chair so you can brace the bathroom door too. Anyway, this is so you don’t have to come out till you’re ready.” He waved at the stuff. “I can bring more when you run out.”

Billy stared at Jason. That was a lot of information at once, apparently all meant to make him more comfortable, and he still didn’t know what Jason was getting out of the deal. But there was something more important first.

“Were you able to help those kids? The ones you found?”

Jason looked down again. “One of them, yeah. She’s back home. The other one’s in the hospital now.”

He looked at Billy again, face serious. “I figure you won’t trust any of these nosy assholes further'n you can throw them for a while, and I wanted to make it easier for you to hole up in here until you feel better. You don’t want to go out in Gotham until you know the place better, kid. Especially while you’re hurt.”

Billy nodded. OK, that seemed a kind of generous “what’s in it for me,” that the guy didn't want to be pulled in to search for Billy. Not that he would be staying long, but...he glanced at the pile of high-quality stuff on the bed, all in original store packaging. He was so tired. And a portal didn’t take much energy to use after it was set up and linked, but it did take some. He’d need to sleep here at least a few hours.

Jason nodded sharply as if he’d heard Billy’s thoughts.

“OK then. Alfred will put a new lock on the door that locks from the inside, anytime you ask.”

Billy looked at the thick wooden door, with one of those old key holes that went all the way through the door so he could see the light from the hallway through it. Putting a new lock in would be a chore, and he wouldn’t be here long enough to make it worthwhile making permanent changes. Billy blinked at it.

“I don’t have the key anyway,” he said. Jason reached over to the bedside table and opened the drawer, pulling out a ring with four keys on it. “Two keys to each door, and they’re both here.” He dropped them onto the bedside table.

Billy nodded sharply. “OK,” he said. “I won’t go into Gotham until I know it better.”

“That’s all I’m asking for right now, kid. Any questions? Or do I bring in the second chair so you can get some sleep?”

Billy chose the chair, and after he’d wedged it in place and let Jason test the doors to make sure they were firm, he gobbled down one of the granola bars with apricot bits in it, grabbed a throw blanket from the chair, spread the camp pad out underneath the window, and finally let himself pass out.

Chapter Text

Billy woke up to a tapping on his door. He rolled onto his back and stretched, feeling much better. The tap came again, soft enough that if he’d been really deeply asleep he might not have heard it.

“Coming,” he said, voice a bit rough still with sleep. He moved the chair and unlocked the door and peeked through to see Mr. Pennyworth standing in the hallway with a tray in one hand.

“I apologize for waking you, Master Billy. I have some pain relievers and can help you remove the binding on your ribs. That was meant to be temporary, and should have been taken off the first evening. It’s not safe to leave on so long.”

Billy blinked. He had actually forgotten about the injuries. But right, normal kids didn’t heal that quickly. Also, now that he’d been reminded of it, the bandage around his chest was suddenly incredibly itchy and uncomfortable. Oh, but on the other hand, his bruising had gone away so if he let Alfred help that could be a problem. He frowned, wondering if he could claim to be a meta with healing powers. Slow ones, obviously. But maybe not. People didn’t always react well to metas, even harmless ones. Better just to take care of it himself.

“I’ll take it off myself,” he said.

“Very well, young sir.”

Billy nodded and started to back into the room, but stopped when Mr. Pennyworth raised his eyebrows.

“Are you not uncomfortable? I have brought some of the medication your doctors provided.” He gestured to the tray which held a small ceramic dish with a couple of white pills in it, next to a small-sized bottle of water. They did look like the ones from the hospital.

Billy grimaced. “I don’t really like that stuff, it makes my head feel funny.” Besides, he didn’t need them anyway, since he’d been healed, and he didn’t want to fake taking them. Come to think of it, he hadn’t taken the ones they’d left on the bedside table when he’d just arrived, either. They would definitely have noticed that, since the cup had been cleared away.

Mr. Pennyworth twitched his mouth a little in a way Billy couldn’t quite read. “Master Bruce doesn’t like them either, so I suppose you can go without if you truly do not wish to take them. But please do ask the moment you need any.”

Billy nodded his agreement, hand already on the door to close it.

Mr. Pennyworth asked, “Do you think you would be up to meeting with the social worker? She should be by in an hour or so.”

Billy sighed and let his shoulders slump. He supposed he would have to. He should have realized that there would be a visit. Oh. Right. And foster parents got really upset if he wasn’t there on a day the social worker came, even the ones who were happiest when he was out of the house for everything but meals and bedtime. No wonder they tried so hard to get him back immediately! That all made sense now. He still wondered how they’d gotten to him so fast, though. That had been weird.

“Yes, sir.”

“After you change, would you like to come downstairs for something to eat? I know Master Jason left you with some snacks, but perhaps something fresh would be welcome?”

Billy nodded. “Ok, thank you, sir.” He withdrew back into the room, dithered for a moment before deciding he could not comfortably change without locking the door again, but did that quietly. He took off the button-down shirt, peeled with some difficulty out of the chest wrap, and breathed deeply. Oh, that felt good. He was about to shrug the flannel shirt back on when he remembered Mr. Pennyworth had mentioned some other clothes in the drawers, so he went to look, hoping there was something red. And sighed, reluctantly picking the least offensive light gray. At least it was soft. The only thing that wasn’t a button-down was the undershirts.

Billy poked through a few more drawers, finding more underwear and socks and a few pairs of athletic pants. He changed into the fresh clothes, bundling up the dirty ones to put down the laundry chute later. He really, really missed his nice sturdy khaki pants with all the extra pockets.

As Mr. Pennyworth led him down to the breakfast room, pausing at the chute to ask if Billy needed help with his sheets; right, Jason had said they got changed regardless. He nodded reluctantly. Then Billy saw a flash of black and white fur rounding a corner ahead of them. He perked up.

“Do you have a cat?” he asked, trotting ahead to look into the hallway the animal had disappeared into. It was sitting in front of an open door leading into the library washing its black ears with white paws. There was a scar over its nose as if it had been in a fight with another cat, but that was old and well-healed. Billy immediately knelt down and waited to see whether the cat would be interested in making friends.

“Yes, that is Alfred the Cat,” Mr. Pennyworth replied. “He belongs to Master Bruce’s youngest, Damien. Damien is out of town this weekend but I am certain he would be happy to speak of his pets when he returns."

Billy smiled softly at Alfred, who continued to wash his ears as if he couldn’t be bothered. Billy knew better. All cats liked pets and scritches, they just didn’t always feel safe asking for them. It was all about looking safe. He shifted to sitting on his heels on the floor and waited patiently.

“Cats are great,” he said over his shoulder to Mr. Pennyworth. “I like tigers best. They’re my favorite exhibit at the zoo. The zoo In Fawcett city, of course. The tigers have just had cubs, and I named the dad tiger Tawkey Tawney after my friend. Not many people call him that, but I think it suits him.”

The only people who called the boy tiger at the zoo Tawkey Tawney were his friend Freddy and his foster-twin Mary, but that was still truthful. Two is not many. He wished he’d gone to see Freddy this morning instead of looking for work. He’d heard Mary had been moved to another foster home, and he wanted to know if Freddy had found out where she was now.

Alfred the Cat, apparently deciding he’d had enough time to examine Billy, walked up and sat down again just out of reach. Billy offered his hand to sniff, which the cat did, putting a little wet nose smudge on his finger tip. Billy said “Hi, Alfred. Do you like to be petted?”

“Ah, Master Billy, he does not usually permit himself to be touched...”

The cat stared at him for a moment and then sprawled on the floor as if inviting a belly rub. Billy smiled. He knew this trick. He scooched forward and extended a hand slowly, waiting for the strike, pulling his hand away before the claws met skin but left his hand out. Alfred the cat rolled back up again and stared another moment, then stepped forward and rubbed his head into Billy’s open palm. He allowed Billy to scratch under his chin for just a moment before backing up and trotting away, to sit and stare again at the other end of the corridor as if waiting for pursuit.

Billy stood, grinning, as the cat departed. He’d probably allow Billy to pet him next time. Cats were like that. “Is he the only cat here?”

Mr. Pennyworth nodded as they moved along again. “Master Damien fosters kittens sometimes, but there are none in the house right now. He has other pets as well. I believe Master Bruce is outside with Titus, as none of the boys are at home right now to exercise him.” Billy felt his shoulders relax. He’d been waiting for the man to come into the room, and as annoying as Mr. Pennyworth was sometimes, he wasn’t pretending to be Billy’s father. And he’d been wondering why he hadn’t seen anyone else using the other rooms on the hall. It was weird that he was the only one there right now.

“Is he Titus the Dog, or just Titus?”

Mr. Pennyworth smiled, and assured Billy that Titus was the only one of that name in the household. Billy nodded, and started telling Mr. Pennyworth about the other exhibits at the zoo. The snack Alfred had promised was cut fruit – cut up apple and banana slices and some strawberries. There was also a dish of carrots with the same dipping sauce he’d had the day before, and a plate with some different kinds of cheese. The chairs were too high for his legs, but they had rungs he could rest his feet on.

Billy found it a lot easier to eat this time, with only one grown-up in the room and a much smaller portion. He was able to get most of it down, more than he probably should have eaten at one time, but he didn’t get fresh fruit often as Billy (or even as Cap, really) and he wanted to savor it. Besides, cut apples and bananas didn’t stay good, you had to eat them right away, so he could eat them all without saving any for later. The yellow and white cheeses on the plate were good, though he didn’t recognize the taste of any of them, but the smelly one with weird greeny-blue veins in it was kind of nasty. Still, Mr. Pennyworth seemed pleased, and didn’t make him clear his plate when he got full and switched slowly from eating to picking at what was left.

Just as Mr. Pennyworth was asking if he was finished, Billy heard something that sounded like a dog barking. He turned to look in the direction the sound had come from.

“If you would like to see Titus, I believe Master Bruce has returned from their walk,” Mr. Pennyworth offered. “We still have a little time before Ms. Daphne comes to see you.”

Billy was immediately torn between the excitement of seeing a new dog and the daunting prospect of another social worker. But surely Ms. Daphne couldn’t be WORSE than Cigarette Guy from the hospital?

He trailed after Mr. Pennyworth out to a nearby room with big glass doors that opened onto a stone patio. Billy gaped. There wasn’t a back yard. There was, like, a back park. Mr. Wayne, dressed in a big gray wool coat, was climbing up some steps from the grass onto the patio with a large dog running up behind him. Billy barely looked at them, staring at the field and trees beyond the patio. There was a swing hanging from a tree branch, like the ones in children’s book illustrations. He didn’t know people actually did that.

“Are you comfortable with dogs, Master Billy?” asked Mr. Pennyworth, concern in his voice, and Billy realized he’d come to a complete stop and was blocking the door. Billy nodded. He was always up for meeting dogs. He’d seen the front yard from the window of his room, that enormous stretch of land leading up to the main gate, but this was the back of the house and it was...even bigger. He couldn’t even see any houses beyond the trees behind the back fence. It was practically a forest.

“Yes, sir,” he said, a little breathlessly, and yanked his eyes over to Mr. Wayne, who had come all the way up on the patio.

Mr. Wayne told a very large dog romping around him to sit, then clipped a leash onto his collar before waving to Mr. Pennyworth to open the door. The dog sitting at his feet was absolutely enormous, but Billy saw that its face looked friendly and its ears were perked in interest. Billy went over and held out his hand for the dog to sniff. Mr. Pennyworth followed after with a windbreaker he had pulled from somewhere.

“I believe this should fit you,” he said as he offered it, spread out as if to let Billy slide his arms in.

“It’s not really that cold,” he replied, just in time for a gust of wind to cut through his shirt, even though he had put an undershirt on. He was fine, really, he’d been colder. But the jacket was right there. Billy sighed reluctantly and held out his hand to take it. At least he could put it on himself without help, he wasn’t a kindergartner. Mr. Pennyworth hesitated a moment then handed it over for Billy to slip into.

After that Mr. Pennyworth retreated back into the house and closed the door behind him, leaving him alone with Mr. Wayne and Titus, who were both looking at him intently.

Billy waved a little, unsure what he was supposed to be doing.

“Hello, Billy. I hope you slept well?”

Billy nodded, shifting all his attention on the dog.

“Hello, Titus,” Billy said to the dog, who licked the finger he was sniffing – it was the one Alfred has put his nose on – and wagged his tail, though he remained sitting. Billy reached out to stroke his back, keeping his hand away from the dog’s head. That could wait until he knew Billy better. The brown fur was a little coarse, but warm and well groomed. None came off on his hand. He looked up.

“Why isn’t he getting up?”

“I told him to sit. Here, Titus, shake hands,” Mr. Wayne said. Titus lifted a paw and Billy gladly shook it.

“Good dog,” he said in delight. Titus made a dog-grin back, mouth open and tongue out.

“Do you have a ball or anything so we can play?” Billy asked, mood lifting again.

Titus clearly recognized the word and made a joyful bark, hind legs quivering as he struggled to stay in the sit position. Mr. Wayne smiled.

“He’s already had an hour of that, but he can have a couple more throws. I’ll throw the ball for you, you shouldn’t move your arms that much yet.” but he unclipped the leash and reached into a pocket to pull out a ball-thrower and a tennis ball. Titus’ tail wagged faster and he made an eager noise.

Billy ruffled Titus’s fur.

“I’m OK,” he said, trying to reach for the ball, but Mr. Wayne threw it anyway, saying “Fetch!” as he did. Titus jumped to run after the ball. Billy frowned at him while his face was turned away looking at the ball. But he watched the dog run after the ball, and Titus brought it back to him, so he took the slimy ball from the dog’s mouth and threw it himself. It didn’t go nearly as far as when Mr. Wayne threw it, but Titus seemed happy to chase it anyway.

Mr. Wayne frowned at him. “Billy, your doctor said not to reach or move too much.”

Billy flushed. He’d already forgotten he was supposed to be injured, again. Mr Wayne called Tutus back and they went inside.

Mr. Pennyworth was there to take their coats. Mr. Wayne put his into the other man’s arms as if it was the most natural thing to do, but Billy looked around first to see if there was somewhere to hang up the one he was using. It would have made sense to have a row of hooks for coats next to these big doors for people to grab one on their way out. Or, alternately, for him to nip down to grab one before he left through the portal again. But he didn’t see anything like that. He reluctantly pulled off the jacket and handed it over. Mr. Pennyworth smiled as he took the coats away, saying “Ms. Daphne Smith has arrived, Master Bruce. She is waiting in the drawing room.”

Billy was a little disappointed that the drawing room didn’t have any art supplies he could see. Or even really any place to use them. The furniture was way too fancy. But at least in this room there were some colors. He grabbed a red pillow to hold while they talked.

The next hour or so was a blur. The social worker seemed OK for a social worker, although Billy definitely noticed how polite she was to Mr. Wayne. Of course she asked the same questions that all of them asked, and did the tour of the place. She pulled him aside by himself to look into Billy’s bedroom. He flushed in embarrassment that he hadn’t tidied up the pile of Jason’s goodies or put away the pad he’d slept on, but Ms. Daphne just nodded and didn’t comment. She asked a few more questions about his clothes, and which members of the household he’d met, and a few other things.

And then as they walked back to the room they’d met her in she asked the question he’d been waiting for, the one they always asked, and which he didn’t really want to answer.

“How are you feeling, Billy?” she asked.

Billy kept down a long-suffering sigh with great effort, giving her the answer he knew she was looking for.

“I’m fine, it seems nice here.”

She stopped in the hallway and looked at him seriously.

“Do you feel safe with the people here?”

Billy shrugged uncomfortably. “They mostly seem nice. I like Jason. But there’s a bunch of them I haven’t met yet.”

Ms. Daphne nodded, and handed him a card.

“I’ll take that as a Not Yet. I know it can be overwhelming dealing with so many changes at once, but before you consider running again, or if you feel uncomfortable, would you please call me?”

Billy shrugged again, uncomfortably. He was actually a bit surprised Mr. Wayne had admitted to the social worker that he was gone.

“I haven’t seen any phones here, though?”

Ms. Daphne smiled. “There is one in the kitchen, and another in the main entrance, and a third in the drawing room though that one is in a cabinet behind the picture of the ducks. Mr. Wayne also said he would be giving you a cell phone of your own.” She looked at him, and the cheerful smile that she’d worn all along dropped a little.

“This is a good place, Billy. I know Mr. Wayne and his family well. Please give them a chance.”

She ushered him back into the drawing room, where Mr. Wayne immediately stood from where he was sitting. Ms. Daphne shook his hand, said something about a pediatrician visit that Billy didn’t pay much attention to since he was staring at the cabinet with the ducks on it and wondering why someone would put a phone into a cabinet. She waved at Billy as Mr. Pennyworth guided her out.

Chapter Text

After Ms. Daphne left, Billy went back upstairs to his room and flopped down on his bedroll to stare at the ceiling for a few minutes, mind blank. She’d been nice, but social workers...ugh.

After a while be couldn’t stand being lazy any longer and busied himself with tidying the room. He cleared a drawer in the dresser for Jason’s things and began to transfer the pile from the bed to the drawer, neatly organizing them so he knew exactly what was there. As he did so his discomfort grew. It was too much. He’d have to write a thank-you note for these. Mom always said he should write real notes and not just say thank you, even when the present was something awful like the things Uncle Ebenezer would give. He scowled. Mom and Dad had tried to pretend that Uncle Ebenezer just didn’t know how to get things for kids, but Billy knew in his heart that no one could possibly give gifts that dreadful without meaning to.

He paused a moment, remembering the bag full of plain white socks he got one time, and thought reluctantly that one might have been ok this last birthday. But not when he was five.

He looked at the filled drawer uncomfortably. He felt he’d earned that first box of granola bars, but not the rest of all this stuff. It was really too much, but it also wasn’t polite to return a gift. But probably Jason could use it to help other homeless kids. He nodded to himself decisively. He’d take the first box back to Fawcett City, the one Jason had put into his hands and he’d answered questions for. The rest of this would stay here. Especially since he wasn’t going to use the food to hole up in the room and heal, like Jason wanted. If he wasn’t earning his side of the deal, he didn’t get to have the reward for it.

Should he even be putting it away, or should he pack it back up in the duffle? He had picked a bag of dried apples back up out of the drawer and was frowning thoughtfully at it when Mr. Pennyworth cleared his throat gently. Billy looked over to the open door, irritated again at the Master business, but he didn’t protest. He’d be leaving soon anyway.

“Master Billy, would this be a good time to help with your sheets?”

Billy nodded, guiltily glancing aside at the messy pile of pillows and blankets on the pad by the window. He really should tidy up properly before he left. Mr. Pennyworth put down a set of clean sheets on the dresser top and looked at him keenly.

“None of that, young sir. I imagine these beds are larger than you are used to, and you should do what makes you comfortable. I am glad to help, and you have already started well by putting away Jason’s gifts.”

Under Mr. Pennyworth’s direction, Billy did almost none of the work to pull off the old bed sheets or put the new ones on, as the older man was determined not to let him stretch or bend too much. As they looked in (respectively) frustration and satisfaction at the tidy remade bed, Alfred bundled up the pile of used linens into his arms. “I shall have to show you how to do a proper hospital corner soon. It is always best to be prepared in case a fitted sheet is not available.”

Then he glanced aside at Billy’s things, still piled next to his pillows. “I cannot help but notice that Mr. Tawney could also use a little freshening up.”

Billy found himself stepping in front of his tiger protectively, even though the older man’s arms were full and there was no chance of him grabbing anything without warning.

“I can do it myself, sir, Jason said there were washing machines at the end of the hall.”

Mr. Pennyworth nodded. “Indeed there are, however I have found that stuffies sometimes need a little extra care and I would not want your friend to be damaged. Please do let me help when you are ready to try?”

Billy glanced at his tiger. On the one hand, he was definitely getting a bit gray around the ears and paws. On the other, a dirty tiger was better than a missing one. On the third...well, he had offered.

But no, Billy would be leaving soon. He didn’t want to take advantage.

“Oh no, sir, you already have a lot to do today with all the sheets.”

Mr. Pennyworth smiled at him. “The sheets are done by a service. If you change your mind about Mr. Tawney please do let me know. Dinner will be in two hours, and one of Master Wayne’s friends will be coming to meet you.”

Billy must have looked alarmed, because Mr. Pennyworth was quick to offer a reassuring clarification, “She is very nearly family, Master Billy. But if you are not up to it, I can let Master Bruce and Miss Gordon know?”

Billy shook his head. “No, sir, that’s OK,” he said.

Mr. Pennyworth hesitated a moment, then said “Master Bruce is in his office, if you wish to see him before dinner. I could show you the way.”

“Thank you, sir,” he replied. He heard the hint, but didn’t want to go. Mr. Pennyworth hesitated another moment and then left with the sheets.

Billy was itching to get back to Fawcett City, but he did really want to spend a little time to wash his clothes. He would have about enough time before dinner. And the food here was really good. He could go back to Fawcett afterward, even if it did mean meeting another family friend.

He wished rather anxiously that he hadn’t left his communicator in the subway campsite, though. It had been a few days now since he’d checked his messages, and even though he didn’t have a Watchtower shift for another couple days, he expected that something had probably come up in his absence. Besides, with the missed patrols he was sure someone had reached out to check on him. But...he really could wait a few more hours for laundry and food. He felt a little guilty about using Mr. Wayne’s stuff like that, though, especially since he wasn’t really the man’s son.

Which reminded him. He needed to bring that copy of the letter over to Freddie’s and see if he could help Billy read it. Or he could read it himself as Cap, but any excuse to get together with Freddie was good. Besides, his friend was probably also mad at him for disappearing, and the letter would help with that. Ugh, there was just too much to do as both Billy and Cap! It was kind of a shame sometimes they couldn’t actually be two people.

Billy remembered the house had a library, then, and decided it might be nice to have a book to read while the machine ran. He glanced into the laundry room on his way and saw there was a chair to sit in, next to the table for folding clothes. Good, he could definitely bring a book back. Billy carefully followed what he remembered of the maze of passages, only making one wrong turn along the way, and smiled up at the bookshelves. The library room had a bunch of nice couches and chairs as well as a great big desk. Gosh, he’d forgotten to ask Mr. Alfred about stuff to write on for a note. He shrugged and went to look at the books. He would ask about that when he saw him at dinner time. It would be rude to poke through the desks looking for something, but he had been given permission to read the books.

It took a few minutes of looking around before he found anything interesting, but he made his way back to his room with a photography book about India that had absolutely begged to be selected when it opened to a two-page image of a tiger with cubs. He put it down on the table in the laundry room then brought his things over from the room and loaded in his clothes.

After a moment’s consideration he threw in Mr. Tawney’s jacket and pants along with his own stuff. The fur that had been protected by the clothes was a totally different color, and he frowned at that. Maybe he really did need to take Mr. Pennyworth’s offer. But no, there wasn’t time. He compromised by doing a little spot-cleaning with the liquid soap at the sink, and leaving Mr. Tawney to dry on the rack next to the machines. Then he glanced around to see if there was a step stool to stand on while he folded laundry, was pleased to see one, and dragged it over to be ready when the machine finished.

The washer and dryer were really fancy, nothing at all like the ones at the laundromat that worked on quarters, but he figured out all the buttons and lights eventually. And then he lost himself in the book’s glorious images of India. The colorful spices looked amazing, and some of them seemed vaguely familiar, as if Cap had had them before. He’d have to think about this book after the change and check. Somewhere along the line, Alfred the Cat appeared on his lap; he paused for a moment once he he realized he was petting the soft fur. He switched to scratching Alfred’s ear and grinned down.

“Sneaky little guy, aren’t you,” he said, delighted. The cat just presented the other side of his head and Billy gave a good scratch under that ear, then went back to petting the cat as he leafed through the book, glancing up occasionally to check the countdown timer on the machines.

About 15 minutes to the end of the dryer cycle Alfred laid his head down, made a few muffins with sheathed paws, and closed his eyes. Billy sighed. It was really nice sitting in the big soft chair with a sleepy cat purring in his lap.

“Yo, Damien,” said someone loudly, “I thought you were in Bludhaven this weekend, did you finish early?”

Alfred bolted from his lap and slid under the cabinet that held the laundry supplies. Billy grimaced in irritation, rubbing the spot on his thigh where Alfred’s back claws had dug in (he was pretty sure they’d drawn blood) as he turned to see who had frightened the cat. A blonde teenager in a purple hoodie stood in the doorway to the laundry room, eyebrows raised.

“I’m not Damien,” he said, at the same time she said “Oh, you’re not Damien.” They stared at each other for a second. Then the dryer buzzer went off and Billy hopped off the chair to go pull his laundry out of the machine and dump it on the table. He stumbled a little since one of his feet had gone to sleep a little bit while he sat cross-legged.

“I’m Billy,” he said. He wiggled his foot to encourage it to wake up properly. “Who are you?” Just because she had on purple and was in this house didn’t mean she was automatically the kid who lived in the room next to his. Likely, but he wasn’t going to assume, not with as many people as seemed to be in this house.

“Oh, you’re the new kid, the one who went missing” she said, face clearing, then looking interested. “Sorry, you look a lot like Damien. And Alfred doesn’t like anyone but him. How did you get him to sit on your lap?”

Billy shrugged uncomfortably as he dragged over the stool he’d found and started folding a shirt. “He chose to. Cats are like that.” He stared at her, waiting.

“Oh, sorry. I’m Steph, I have the room next to yours.”

Billy nodded, “I saw you really like purple,” he said, and glanced over at where Alfred was hiding. It seemed pretty likely he wouldn’t leave until they both left the room, as skittish as he was. And from Alfred the Person’s reaction, this was typical. It probably wasn’t anything personal Alfred the Cat had against Stephanie. Probably. She seemed like a loud sort of person. Which wasn’t bad, necessarily, just scary for cats.

Steph watched him fold for a moment and then settled into the chair he’d just left. She glanced at the book he’d been reading, which was currently back on the section about tigers. She flipped a few pages forward and back in the book. Billy gritted his teeth as he continued to fold his laundry – the 6 remaining red shirts from the dozen he’d bought, his other pair of khaki pants that didn’t have as many pockets as the one he’d lost, and his other odds and ends.

“Soooo...how’d you meet Bruce?” she asked, still seeming to look at the book, though he could tell her eyes were on him.

“I was mugged, and he came to the hospital and got me,” Billy replied. He left out the letter, not wanting to really get into details with someone he didn’t really know. But she was in the next room over and he shared a bathroom, so he didn’t want to make an older foster-sister angry with him by entirely refusing to answer.

“Huh. Yeah, that tracks. It’s like him.”

Billy paused his folding. “Really? How?”

She grinned. “He likes to adopt kids. There’s, like, five of you now?”

Billy frowned, thinking of the hallway and the number of rooms, and the word “you.”

“Aren’t you one of his kids?”

“I’m not really adopted, I just stay here a lot. My mom’s still alive. And Damien isn’t adopted either, he’s Bruce’s ‘Blood Son’ and he’ll make sure you know it.”

She made finger quotes and changed her accent, so he knew she was repeating someone else’s words. Damien’s, he assumed.

Billy sighed a little. Yeah, just like the other foster homes he’d been in. The biological kid always made sure the foster kids knew their place. At least he had forewarning.

“Thanks for letting me know.”

Stephanie grinned. “Anytime. Well,” she said, jumping up and dusting off her hands on her shirt, “Lemme help you do those last things. Alfred wants us down for dinner.”

Billy reluctantly let her share the last of his folding and help him carry the pile of clothes back to his room, unwilling to make a fuss even though he didn’t like anyone touching his stuff, and followed her down to the dining room after.

As they arrived, Mr. Wayne walked through the other door to the dining room along with a red-haired woman in a wheelchair. The room smelled like fresh-baked bread and roasted meat, and Billy paused for a moment just to breathe. He was suddenly a lot less conflicted about his decision to stay for dinner.

Ms. Gordon took the spot next to Mr. Wayne that was obviously for her, because the chair was missing at that place setting. Billy was going to sit next to her but Steph slid into that spot first, leaving Billy the last empty place next to Mr. Wayne. He sat with some reluctance, hoping no one noticed the hesitation after he changed course.

Mr. Wayne introduced Ms. Barbara Gordon to Billy as Mr. Pennyworth came in with a trolley and started placing dishes onto the table. As he reached past Billy to put down a bowl of sliced carrots with some kind of sweet-smelling glaze on them, he murmured “This meal is family-style. You may dish up as much or as little as you wish.”

Billy nodded, a little relieved, but he decided he would wait anyway to see how much everyone else put on their plates before he dished up for himself.

Since Billy was watching, he saw Mr. Pennyworth place a small additional cup at Mr. Wayne's place. Billy smelled a whiff of coffee as Mr. Wayne looked at it with disappointment, and heard Mr. Pennyworth murmur “This is the last. Three days in a row is enough.”

After Mr. Pennyworth unloaded the trolley he vanished back through the kitchen door and everyone else picked up serving spoons and passed plates to each other. Billy figured Mr. Pennyworth must eat with the rest of the staff. Rich people houses had staff, right?

Ms. Gordon smiled at Billy as she started to butter a roll, and said “I hope you’re settling in all right now? I know this must be a big change for you.”

Billy shrugged a little, then remembered his manners. “Yes, ma’am. And I’m OK.” he glanced aside a little at Mr. Wayne, who seemed content to watch them interact.

Ms. Gordon nodded. “I hope it won’t be too overwhelming for you, meeting everyone at once tomorrow.” Billy noticed her gaze move to Mr. Wayne and cool a bit. The man made a small noise Billy couldn’t really interpret, so Billy just shook his head as he dipped a forkful of sliced beef into gravy.

“No, ma’am. I’m used to it,” he said. “I’ve been in lots of foster homes, and most of them had lots of kids.”

Maybe he actually *should* stay long enough for the dinner tomorrow. Because if ‘everyone’ was coming to meet him, they would definitely look for him harder if he wasn’t there. On the other hand, if he met everyone and they weren’t awful, it would make him feel bad to just ditch them after. And he absolutely had to go back to Fawcett City. He’d missed so many patrols! And shifts at the shelter! There was someone probably being mugged right now, and what if Mr. Mind or Sivana was causing trouble?

He chewed his beef, which was peppery and tender and absolutely the best he’d ever had. Mr. Wayne’s cook made amazing food. He wondered when he’d meet the rest of the household. They might be able to tell him a little more about what the other kids were like.

He glanced over at Stephanie who had loaded her plate like a challenge where the goal was to get as much stuff in one space without it sliding off. There wasn’t so much as a quarter inch of plate still visible by the time she was done dishing up, and Billy was a little in awe of the artistry of it. She must do gymnastics or something if that’s how she usually ate, because she didn’t seem to have an ounce of fat on her. She saw him looking and grinned at him.

“Do you like India, photography, or animals?” Stephanie said indistinctly, with her mouth half-full of potatoes.

Ms. Gordon smacked her on the arm, and she said (after swallowing) “Sorry,” and repeated the question more clearly, adding (apparently for context, for the others) “I saw you borrowed one of Damien’s books.”

“Mostly the animals,” he replied, wondering if Damien would be angry if he knew someone else had been touching his things. Hopefully not, since the book was in the library and not in his room.

“And I guess they like you back, huh?” she said, nodding as if the answer was expected.

He shrugged, and Stephanie said in response to the inquiring looks the others sent her way, “Alfred was in his lap when I went up to get him.”

That raised eyebrows on both the adults.

“He never comes when I call,” Steph added, pouting in an exaggerated way to show she didn’t really care.

Billy thought she kind of did. He shrugged. “Cats come when they feel like it. Not when they’re called.”

Barbara smiled, her delight a little out of proportion to his comments. “Good to know someone in this house understands that,” and nudged Mr. Wayne, who just made a humming noise of agreement in response.

“I heard you went back to Fawcett City to get your tiger?” Barbara interjected. “Any of us would have helped get him for you.”

Billy hunched his shoulders a little. So everyone Mr. Wayne knew had been told about that. Well, they had said “everyone” had been looking for him. He wasn’t about to make excuses for going back to where he belonged, but he still wondered how they’d found him so fast.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Were you looking for me too? I didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

Ms. Gordon nodded seriously. “I was, and I’m glad you were found safely.” She smiled at him in a way he supposed was intended to be reassuring, and added “I’ll have to get you my phone number. If you need help or just want to get away because the idiots here get to be too much, just call me. I work at the library and you can hang out with me if you need some quiet time.”

Billy nodded, looking again at Mr. Wayne. He’d been so upset earlier, but he seemed pretty calm about it now. Well, more like he was exhausted, really. But he lifted his eyes from the empty coffee cup he still held in his hand and nodded in approval, so apparently this was one of those kind of family friends.

Billy cautiously started a conversation about movies with Ms. Gordon, with Steph jumping in to brawl with them both about the relative value of adventure stories over mysteries, and books in general over movies. Billy had just made a comment about how adventures and mysteries could be the same thing, like the Indiana Jones stories, “Although he was a terrible archaeologist, my parents both said he really just stole things. I didn’t see the movies until after, at a foster home.”

Billy poked at his beef, frowning. He hadn’t, actually, technically, really watched the movies. But one of the kids at a foster place had liked them and had them running in the background every day while Billy did his chores and the other kid’s chores too, until he left. He’d also sort-of watched a bunch of other movies that way, but only the Indiana Jones ones were repeated.

Steph pulled out her phone and brightly asked, “What are their names, I’ll look them up?” She very clearly ignored an elbow in her side from Barbara, but Billy answered anyway.

Steph’s face did something complicated and she snickered. Then winced as Mr. Wayne glared and Barbara elbowed her again, vigorously enough that Billy could tell it really must have hurt, but carried on, grinning with clear delight. “So, you're a son of the bat, huh?

Billy narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. Something weird was going on here, and he didn’t like it.

“Batson is a perfectly good last name. What’s yours?” She’d said she wasn’t adopted, he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be Wayne, but he had an answer ready for that anyway if it was.

“Brown,” she said, still grinning. Billy crossed his arms.

“My mom said Batson comes from the name Bartholomew, and is over a thousand years old. People got names from their relatives back then. And what they did, too, it wasn’t always what name their father had. Or what they looked like. So if you had two people named John in a village and they both had a dad named Peter, then maybe one would be Peterson but then the other would be Smith, or Farmer, or whatever, because of what their job was. Like, Wain meant wagon, so someone who made wagons might be named Wainwright, and names got shortened so maybe they might be called Wayne instead. And if two people named John in a village looked different, then one might be John Black because he had black hair, and the other one John Brown because he had brown hair. Or maybe because he was really tan. Anyway, you shouldn’t make fun of a name because someone hundreds of years ago picked it.”

He realized how sharp his tone was and looked warily at Mr. Wayne, afraid he’d gone too far, but the man’s face was neutral. No, his eyebrows were lifted a little. Billy thought he might be amused. Billy asked, stiffly, “May I be excused, please?”

Mr. Wayne nodded his permission. “Of course, Billy.” His gaze turned to rest more heavily on Steph, and he wondered what was going on with that, but he was too aggravated to think about it.

Billy left the room. As soon as he was out the door he ran up to the bedroom he was using, where his bag was still lying empty on the chair where he'd left it. He pulled out the box of granola bars and stuffed that into it followed by the pile of his clean folded laundry, which thankfully took up a little less space than when he’d had it jammed in earlier. Billy pulled off the ugly shirt he was wearing and swapped it for one of his red ones. He decided to keep the pants, though, since he only had the one other pair, and also the underwear. It wasn't like anyone else could use them. He tucked Tawkey Tawney under his arm, ignoring the lingering dampness in his fur as he slipped into the next-door room where he angrily activated the portal in Steph’s closet and went immediately to the subway camp site, seething all the way.