Chapter Text
2:05 am, in the deserts of Khandaq
Captain Marvel is crouched under a rock formation, holding onto his heavily bleeding side. The wind is bringing echoes of distant thunder to his ears. But this is no ordinary storm. No, those are the powers of a man filled with rage.
And he is looking for him.
Billy curses himself for not bringing along his League communicator. But he'd been so tired and hungry when the wizard had asked him to come to Khandaq, the thought hadn't even crossed his mind.
The sound of thunder is getting closer and louder, making the Captain hold himself tighter. He'd been fighting and running away from Black Adam for almost an hour now and he feels his power slowly draining out of him. He's never felt this weak and powerless as the Captain, and it terrifies him.
“Come out little champion!” A deep voice booms above him, mocking and cruel. “You are only delaying your demise.”
Billy’s eyes fill with tears so he closes them tight. He covers his ears with his hands and wishes the world would just disappear.
And, just like magic, it does.
The freezing cold of the desert is gone. The tense electricity in the air is gone, replaced by an eerie stillness. When Billy opens his eyes, there is nothing to see, only endless darkness.
Billy gets up slowly, only now realizing he is no longer in the body of the Captain and all his wounds are gone. He has no idea where he is, and yet he feels strangely at peace in this strange place.
“Welcome, young champion.”
The voice that speaks behind him is familiar, and Billy turns around with a smile on his face. The wizard is standing in the black void, looking more grave and solemn than he's ever seen.
“You are losing this fight, young Billy.”
“Yeah, I kinda noticed.” Billy says with an awkward laugh, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck.
“This is no laughing matter!” The wizard scolds him, his voice echoing all around them. “This fight was meant to seal the false champion’s fate, not yours. But your heart is not strong enough to defeat him.”
“W-what do you mean?” Billy stammers. “Are you saying that I'm going to die?”
“You would have, had I not interfered.” The wizard shakes his head, frowning. “I see only one way to fix this.”
“How?” Billy takes a step forward, ready to agree to anything the wizard will say.
“You will not die, young Billy, but you will not remember until your heart gains the strength it needs. This way, he will not be able to find you.”
“Wait, what do you mean I won't rem-” Billy’s words are cut short by an explosion of light that forces him to shield his eyes.
“Good luck, Billy Batson!”
The light fades, along with the wizard’s voice, and Billy is left once again in darkness.
3:25 pm, somewhere in the middle of Kansas
The afternoon is warm and sunny, and Martha Kent is sitting in her living room, busy mending an old pair of jeans. Dusty is lying lazily in a sunbeam, watching her work.
But the peaceful moment is shattered by a boom of thunder so loud it rattles the whole house and makes the lights flicker with a strange electric hum.
Martha is on her feet in seconds, reaching for the shotgun she always keeps near the front door. Dusty is barking like mad and she has to fight him from going outside with her. Not before she figures out what happened.
There isn't a cloud in sight to explain a sudden thunderstorm. There's no car or people in sight, no genocidal aliens flying in the sky. No, the only thing amiss is a pale plume of smoke rising from the field by the house.
Martha takes a deep breath, cocks her gun, and heads toward the source of the smoke. It’s not too far and, when she finally reaches it, the sight that greets her almost makes her drop her gun.
A child is lying unconscious inside a small crater of dirt, his skin sickly pale and his jet-black hair an unruly mess. His clothes are torn and dirty, and if he wasn't so frail, he might even pass for a teenager.
Suddenly, it's like Martha is back to that night all those years ago when Jonathan and her had found their son, mysteriously fallen from the sky, just like this child.
A million questions are running through her mind as she stands there, dumbfounded. Who is this child? Where did he come from? Could he be from Krypton too? And, most importantly, is he friend or foe? Whatever the answers may be, she needs to call Clark.
She takes a step back, but immediately stops when the boy on the ground begins to stir. Icy blue eyes, just as striking as her son’s, are staring blankly at her.
“Please…” His voice is hoarse and weak, like he hasn't spoken in months. “Please… I don't want to die.”
His last word is barely above a whisper, and his eyes close as soon as he finishes his sentence. This sparks Martha into action, leaving her gun on the ground and stepping into the small crater. She bends down to pick up the boy and is alarmed by how light he is.
It's a short walk back to the house, and the boy doesn't even stir once. Martha kicks the door open and tries not to trip over Dusty, who’s running circles around her, as she walks to the living room. Once the boy is gently placed on the sofa and Dusty properly scolded for his attitude, Martha lets herself take a breath and wonders what the hell she’s even thinking.
She needs a plan, or she's going to freak out.
The first thing she does is go back to get her gun. At this point, anything could happen and she's not letting herself get caught defenseless. The second thing she does is go up to the attic and look through Clark’s old stuff, searching for some clothes that would fit the child. She finds a pair of sweatpants and a superman shirt Clark had bought her as a joke. She brings them downstairs and folds them on the coffee table, making sure the boy is still sleeping peacefully.
The last thing she does is go to the kitchen and start preparing a meal. She spends a little while simply wondering what to do. In the end, she makes homemade chicken noodle soup. It’s what Clark always begged her to do when he was sick as a kid. She also bakes an apple pie while she’s at it, because why the heck not?
It’s well past five, once she’s done with everything; dishes stored away and food cooling on the counter, when the boy on the sofa starts to stir. It's like he's having a nightmare, his body twisting and turning and his face scrunched up in fear. Martha wastes no time waking him, gently shaking the child’s shoulder.
He wakes with a jolt, looking wildly around without really seeing anything. When his eyes finally focus on her, he freezes, like a deer in the headlights.
“W-what… Where am I?” He asks weakly, clumsily trying to sit up.
“Careful, careful…” Martha shushes the child, helping him into a sitting position. “Don’t try to get up too fast sweetheart.”
He looks at her, those piercing blue eyes filled with worry and fear, and she feels her heart break a little. “You're in Kansas, on my farm. My name is Martha Kent and I found you unconscious in one of my fields.”
“What!” The boy exclaims, suddenly wide awake. “What am I doing all the way in Kansas!? What’s going on!?”
“I don't know…” Martha says truthfully. “But what I do have is a warm meal and a good ear to listen. So what do you say we try to figure this thing out together?”
In the end, she finds out the boy doesn't have any more answers than she does. His name is Billy Batson and he’s an orphan living in Fawcett city. If the date of birth he gave her is right, he would be fifteen years old in two months. And the last thing he remembers is being ten and getting on a subway to get away from the cold of the streets.
“Well, looks like we got a real mystery on our hands.” Martha says as she takes her last bite of apple pie.
“I'm sorry.” Billy mumbles, averting his eyes.
Martha scoffs and reaches over the table to ruffle his hair. “Now that's just ridiculous, you ain't got nothing to be sorry for. In fact, you've been a real darling, answering all my questions.”
The boy blushes bright red and offers her a crooked smile. “You've been really nice too, miss Kent. Not many people would make dinner for a random kid they found in their yard.”
“Good thing I'm not most people then.” Martha winks and gets up, grabbing the plates on the table and bringing them to the sink.
“I can help clean up!” Billy offers immediately, getting up from his chair.
“Nah, what you need is to get all that dirt off of your face.” Martha makes a vague gesture toward her face and then points at the stairs in the hallway. “Bathroom’s upstairs and there are some clean clothes for you on the coffee table. Now off you go, shoo!”
“Yes ma'am!” Billy says with a smile and a lazy salute, leaving the kitchen to go do what he'd been asked.
He's in the shower for more than half an hour, and Martha winces at the thought of her water bill. But, once the boy comes out of the shower and joins her in the living room, looking shy but incredibly happy, she forgets all about it.
She pats the sofa, inviting him to join her. “You can sleep in my son’s old bedroom tonight. It might be a bit dusty, but it's clean.”
Billy’s eyes go wide and he shakes his head. “You don't need to do that, I could just sleep here on the couch.”
“Shush now.” Martha says playfully. “No refusing hospitality under my roof.”
“But I just…I don't…” Billy starts then stops, a frown on his face. “Why? Why are you helping me without a second thought?”
“I’ll be honest with you, Billy. You remind me of my son an awful lot.” Martha sighs, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “He's older now, in a relationship and living in the big city. He visits a lot, but this big house is starting to feel real lonely sometimes.”
Billy stays quiet for a while, simply looking at her. “I get it.” He whispers, eyes shining. “I know what it's like to feel all alone.”
And Martha can't help it, really. She throws her arms around Billy, hugging him tightly. The boy tenses in her hold, and she immediately regrets her impulsive act. She starts to let go, an apology at the tip of her tongue. But, before she can fully retreat, Billy is pulling her against him, hugging her just as tightly.
The hug is quickly broken by Billy, but it still warmed Martha to her core. She hadn't realized just how alone she'd felt recently.
“Would you like to, hum…” Billy is blushing furiously, staring intently at his feet. “Would you mind telling me about your son?”
Martha gladly does. She tells Billy stories about all the trouble Clark got into. About all the way he loved to help people, minus the superpowers part, obviously. She even talks about Jonathan too.
It's well past midnight when Martha realizes Billy has fallen asleep during one of her stories. She gathers the boy into her arms, pleased with herself as she notices he's slightly heavier, and brings him up the stairs. It's a tedious task despite the boy’s lighter weight, her arms burning, knees hurting and her breath itching as she finally reaches the top floor of the house.
It's a harsh reminder that she isn't as young as she used to be.
She tucks Billy into Clark's bed, and the rush of memories and emotions it brings makes her slightly dizzy. The similarities between this boy and her son are baffling. She slowly makes her way to her own bedroom, feeling exhausted. Today has been an absolute roller coaster of emotions and she's looking forward to a good night’s sleep.
She settles into bed, the warm duvet having never felt so comfortable. Dusty settles himself at her feet with a huff and she smiles, feeling contempt as she lets her eyes close.
…
Shit… she forgot to call Clark.