Immortality…It's Just A Word

December 1939, overall, wasn't a great year for America. WWII had started and the Great Depression was in full swing. Yet, despite all of this, the citizens of Fawcett City were able to find hope in the form of their new protector: Captain Marvel. They watched in awe as he flew high in the sky, a cheerful grin on his face no matter what was going on.,

Sterling Morris, the owner of WHIZ Radio was counted among those that praised Captain Marvel for his heroic efforts. The fact that young Billy Batson seemed to be the only reporter that the hero would talk to was indeed a deciding factor in his offer of employment. The other reason, the more private reason, was because it was obvious that the boy was homeless and while Sterling couldn't help the hundreds of homeless children that overran the city he could help out Billy.

During the next few years things slowly, but surely, finally seemed to be getting better. The war was over and most of their boys had returned home in one piece. The banks and Wall Street were getting back on their feet and people could breathe in peace again.

Captain Marvel continued to fly above Fawcett, bringing a smile to everyone's face. Even though he was, and forever would be, grateful to the hero for everything that he had done Sterling often found himself thinking that he would gladly trade the radio station for even a hint of where Billy had gone. If it wasn't for the fact that he had disappeared immediately following an attack on the station Sterling wouldn't have been so worried. He had searched everywhere; the alley that Billy had slept in his first couple of nights on the streets and even the recently abandoned subway system but to no avail.

As time moved on so did Sterling but he never stopped searching; he offered small jobs to the children that loitered around the dying radio station, feeling only marginally better when he saw the large grins on their faces. Eventually, however, he took notice of one child that came everyday without fail. He had shockingly blonde hair with blue eyes and his name was Dudley H. Dudley.

It was March of 1955 before Sterling Morris ever saw Billy Batson again. The radio station had folded sometime before and he was getting on in years so Sterling didn't go out much. Dudley ran most of his errands for him and eagerly listened to all of Sterling's stories and teachings. He was thirteen now and had come a long way from the scrawny orphan Sterling had paid to sweep the floors.

It was raining the day Dudley came in, dragging a younger boy behind him. "I brought a friend for supper, Pa, I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," Sterling assured him as he turned to catch a glimpse of their guest. For just a moment time seemed to stop-Billy stood there, wearing a red sweater and jeans as he looked around in equal parts curiosity and confusion. His blue eyes locked with Sterling's but there was no sign of recognition.

"You've got a real nice apartment, mister," there was no denying that it was Billy-not after hearing him speak.

"Thank you," it physically hurt, not running to him and engulfing the child in a hug but he restrained himself. Billy, for some odd reason, didn't seem to remember him nor had he aged a day since their last meeting in 1942. Although, perhaps it wasn't so odd after all, Sterling mused as he noticed for the first time just how much Billy resembled Captain Marvel. Magic did strange things after all and so Sterling smiled, guiding both boys to wash their hands before eating.

In June of 1962 Sterling Morris was the last person to be buried in the Peaceful Grove cemetery. Dudley kept a stiff upper lip throughout the affair, shedding naught a single tear when the coffin was lowered into the ground. As soon as it was over he made a beeline for the trees, ignoring the few well-wishers as he easily caught up to the boy in the red sweater trying to slip away. "Easy," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise."

"I'm sorry," Billy sniffed. "But when I read the papers something told me to come; I don't know why. It's not like I knew him or anything."

Dudley looked down at Billy, remembering his father's final words as he whispered the truth. He thought of all the meals they had eaten together and how happy Billy had looked every night right before they finally fell asleep. "It's alright," Dudley said gently. "My name's Dudley, what's yours?"

"Billy. Billy Batson," he sniffed and wiped at his eyes and nose with the handkerchief Dudley had handed him.

"That's a very nice name," Dudley smiled. "Now the reason I wanted to talk to you was because some of the ladies at my father's church generously donated at least two dozen casseroles and pies and I was wondering if you would be willing to help me pass them out among some of the street kids."

Billy's eyes widened. "You really mean that, Mr. Dudley?"

"Of course I do," Dudley slowly placed a hand on Billy's shoulder, remembering just how nervous his friend always got when people tried to touch him. "So will you help me?"

"Of course I will," Billy nodded enthusiastically.

Dudley smiled as he grasped Billy's hand in his own. "My apartment's this way."

They walked through town in a companionable silence, both ignoring the dirty looks they (or more accurately, Billy, in his worn, dirty clothes) got. "Mr. Dudley?" Billy spoke up at last.

"Yes, Billy?"

"I'm sorry about your father."

"Me too, Billy; me too."

In February of 1970 Dudley was arrested after being caught swindling Dr. Thaddeus Sivana out of ten thousand dollars. It wasn't until September 1978 that he was released from prison. He stopped long enough to collect his personal things from the guards then hurried back to Fawcett City. On the bus ride back all he could do, all he could think about was Billy. He could still see the heartbroken look on Billy's face when the judge read out the sentence before the guards took him away. He had spent the past eight years thinking about Billy, apologizing to him over and over in his mind, begging for forgiveness.

When the bus arrived in Fawcett Dudley was the first one off. He and his faded knapsack went to the bank first to withdraw what little money had had left. Next was the apartment building he had spent the best years of his life in. a logical voice in the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like his father pointed out that he was scared-scared of looking Billy in the eyes and seeing hurt…perhaps even hate.

Dudley told the voice to shut up-he was simply making sure that he had a place to take Billy; Somewhere safe with a roof over his head, food to eat and a bed to sleep on at night. The voice laughed but remained silent even when he managed to rent the exact same apartment he had lived in before he went to prison.

After stocking the cabinets and getting a part-time job as a janitor at one of the local elementary schools Dudley found himself heading towards the abandoned subway where Billy usually wound up. Even though Dudley knew that it was cruel he couldn't help but hope that Billy had forgotten that Dudley had abandoned him. The probability of that happening was very high but a small part of him couldn't help but worry that this would be the one time that Billy did remember. He was drawn out of his musings by a familiar sounding yelp of pain.

"Stop it!"

That was most definitely Billy's voice Dudley decided as he rounded the corner and that was indeed Billy, struggling in the grip of a huge, muscled gangbanger, complete with tattoos and piercings.

"We've told you before, kid; you walk through our alley you've got to pay."

"But I don't have any money," Billy protested.

"That's too bad for you," the gangbanger and his friends sniggered.

Dudley cleared his throat as he stepped forward, all eyes turning to him. "There you are, son; I was wondering what was taking you so long."

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm his uncle," Dudley pointed at Billy. "I've been…away and just got back yesterday. I only found my nephew this morning; he said he was just going to go grab his stuff and be right back. I got worried when he didn't show and though I'd come and see if I could find him. Looks like I was right to do so."

"This kid lives in an abandoned subway," the gangbanger scoffed. "You actually expect us to buy that story?"

Dudley sighed and looked at Billy. "I know you asked me not to tell anyone but it doesn't look like I have a choice; I just got out of prison yesterday," he explained. "I only learned of his situation a few days before I got out." He smiled menacingly, just like his cellmate had taught him.

The gangbangers eyed each other uneasily then the ringleader sat Billy down before disappearing. Billy coughed, desperately trying to regain some of the precious oxygen he had lost. Once he had stopped coughing he looked up at Dudley gratefully. "Thanks, mister, but why did you help me?"

Dudley looked at him-sadly taking note of the newfound wariness in Billy's eyes and the tension in his tiny body as he prepared to move at a moment's notice. "A long time ago I was in your position-homeless and bullied every day but one day a very kind man helped me. He gave me food and money and a place to sleep; all he wanted in return was for me to return the favor one day. That's why I helped you."

Billy considered Dudley's words then slowly nodded. "My name's Billy Batson. What's yours?"

"Dudley H. Dudley," he offered a hand to Billy who hesitated before accepting it. "I can understand if you don't trust me right now but I would like the opportunity to earn it; if that's all right with you."

Billy was quiet as he relinquished Dudley's hand and dusted himself off. "So how did you plan on earning my trust exactly?" he tried to sound nonchalant but the way he clenched his hands gave him away.

"Well for starters I really was in prison but for swindling-not anything violent or really evil."

"Stealing is wrong," Billy said automatically, flushing when Dudley chuckled.

"Yes it is," Dudley agreed. "Second-I could use some help unpacking. The landlord was nice enough to keep my things in storage and in return I'll make us both some lunch and see if any of my old clothes will fit you. How does that sound?"

"It sounds…good, Mr. Dudley. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Dudley held his hand out again, not hiding his pleased smile when Billy hesitantly took it. "My apartment's this way."

"So how's the chili; I didn't burn it, did i?"

"Nope!" Billy said cheerfully as he cleaned out his bowl.

"Good," Dudley nodded. "So how's school going?"

Billy made a face. "It's so boring," he whined. "Especially history; I mean its 1987, why do I need to know about stuff that happened in the '30s?"

Dudley managed to stifle his laugh but just barely. "So we can learn from our mistakes," he explained.

"That's what the Wisdom of Solomon said," Billy grumbled.

"Then it must be true," Dudley declared. "Seconds?"

"Always," Billy happily held his bowl out and Dudley obliged him.

At the sounds of sirens both looked up, a grim look spreading across Billy's face as Dudley nodded in resignation. "Stay safe and try not to stay out too late.'

"I'll do my best," Billy promised. "Shazam!"

It wasn't until 1993, after other superheroes began making their appearance, that Dudley began considering seeking outside help. Not remove Billy's…longevity (he highly doubted that anyone could take that away) but more along the lines of keeping an eye on him after Dudley was gone. He thought long and hard, wishing that he had access to the Wisdom of Solomon as well-it would make his life so much easier.

After a good deal of deliberation he decided to see about getting in touch with Batman and possibly Superman. He spent two days working on a brief, yet detailed letter that he addressed to Batman, care of Commissioner Gordon, and sent to the Gotham Police Department. Less than two weeks later Dudley walked into his living room to find Batman and Superman waiting for him.

"Mr. Dudley," Batman greeted him.

"Hello," Dudley was only slightly startled. One didn't spend thirty-something years raising a superhero without learning to expect the unexpected. "Thank you for coming."

"The contents of your letter were…unexpected," Batman paused before continuing to speak. "I'm not entirely sure why you contacted me; I'm not at all versed in magic."

Dudley snorted as he sat on the couch. "What I want, Batman, Superman, is for someone to take care of my nephew after I'm gone."

"He's Captain Marvel," Superman spoke up. "He can't take care of himself?"

"'Superheroes don't use their powers for selfish reasons,'" Dudley recited, having heard Billy say it on several occasions. "But the main problem is that his memory resets every few years and he forgets everything that's happened. I can't tell you how many times I've had to track him down and convince him to stay with me."

"Where does he go?" Superman was frowning now, having grasped the severity of the situation.

"One of the abandoned subways not far from here," Dudley held out an old photo album which Batman took. "He's been saying there off and on since the late '30s. No one else seems to notice though."

The superheroes didn't answer as they were too engrossed with the contents of the photo album. "He really hasn't aged," amazement filled the Man of Steel's voice.

Batman didn't say nothing but the slight widening of his eyes said enough.

"I've got more," Dudley gestured to the bookcase where a dozen photo albums rested. "They all tell the same story."

Batman finally looked up. "We'll keep an eye on him," he promised.

Superman nodded. "You have our word."

Dudley looked at them, his eyes full of gratitude. "Thank you."

It wasn't until January of 2005 that the superheroes had to keep their promise. Clark Kent attended Dudley's funeral, keeping an eye on the little boy hiding in the tree line. Once the service was over Clark headed straight towards Billy who regarded him warily but made no moves to run.

Clark knelt in front of the boy, wiping away the tears with his thumbs. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said quietly.

"Thanks, mister, but I didn't even know him."

Clark felt his heart break as he looked at Billy and he suddenly felt a strange kinship with Dudley. "My name is Clark, Kent but you might know me by a different name," he picked up a rock, crushing it to pieces.

"Wow," Billy breathed, his eyes growing wide.

"I know you have…obligations here but how would you like to come and live with me in Metropolis?"

"You mean it?"

"Of course I do," Clark smiled as he stood up, offering a hand which Billy eagerly took.

2017 was a difficult year for Clark. First his wife, Lois, passed away after a car accident then his parents died. Honestly, if it wasn't for Billy Clark was certain he would have already joined them.

Billy kept him grounded though; he was the only reason Clark bothered getting out of bed or making something to eat. He felt guilty at times; especially when Billy would stay up late watching movies with him or remind Clark to fix his tie so he looked presentable for work. Clark had tried to apologize once but Billy wouldn't hear of it.

"It's not your fault, Clark. If I…if I lost you I don't think I'd be any better." For just a moment Billy looked old and tired and Clark was suddenly grateful that Billy didn't remember all of the people that he had loved who were gone.

Despite all of the medical advances they had made by the year 2025 there was nothing that could be done to fix the damage Doomsday had done to Clark. The Kryptonian had grown tired of the sobs and heartfelt apologies on the Watchtower and had instead chosen to go home so he could spend his final hours with Billy.

"I wish I could fix you," Billy said sadly as he played with a Rubik cube, a gift from Robin for his birthday.

"I know," Clark coughed. "I wish I could stay with you forever too."

"Forever's a long time," Billy looked up, his eyes sharp.

"Would you like to live forever?" Clark had avoided this conversation for the past twenty years but he could put it off no longer.

Billy considered the question then shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "I wouldn't want to watch everyone I care about die. If they could live forever too then sure but if not…" his voice trailed off.

"I'm so sorry," Clark weakly pulled Billy into his arms, tears trickling down his cheeks. "I'm sorry I can't stay with you, Billy."

"It's not your fault," Billy sniffed. They sat in silence for a several minutes before Billy spoke again. "Clark?"

"Yes, Billy?"

"I don't think I'll remember you tomorrow."

Clark closed his eyes and hugged Billy tighter. "No I don't think you will," he agreed.

In September of 2105 Whitey Murphy and his wife Betty became the foster parents of young Billy Batson. "He's a difficult child," the social worker told them. "He's run away from every home he's been placed in and as soon as he's brought back he starts making up stories that they're abusing him. Trust me on this; you don't want him."

But Whitey and Betty persisted and soon Billy was standing in their living room, looking around nervously as he clutched the worn out straps on his Superman backpack so tight his knuckles turned white. He was short and pale with messy black hair and startling blue eyes. His blue jeans were worn with badly patched holes and his red sweater was two sizes too big.

"Hi, Billy," Betty smiled as she crossed the room and knelt in front of him. "My name's Betty and that's my husband Whitey over there. I know you're scared but we're very happy that you've come to live with us."

Billy gave her a shaky smile as he quietly said, "HI."

"Would you like to see your room?" Betty rose, extending a hand.

Billy hesitated before taking the offered appendage. "Yes, ma'am."

"Well, aren't you polite?" Betty giggled.

Whitey watched with a smile as Billy slowly began to relax as Betty gave him a tour of the house, taking special care to mention that if he ever needed anything to simply let them know. Billy nodded shyly, a small smile peeking across his face.

Dinner was only slightly louder than normal; Billy was far more interested in devouring everything in sight than answering their questions. Betty and Whitey exchanged sad looks over Billy's head, both thinking that no child should be that excited to see food or that eager to gulp it down.

Two weeks after Billy's arrival was when the nightmares started. Almost every single night they woke to the sound of screams echoing through the house. The few nights he didn't wake up screaming Whitey checked on him only to find the boy in tears.

"I don't remember what I dreamed about, only that I was happy and then…I wasn't," was the only explained a confused Billy could offer.

The nightmares didn't really get any better but once Billy realized they weren't going to hurt him he started to relax around them-he smiled and laughed, flinches slowly becoming less obvious when they tried to touch him. His bedroom was starting to look less like a guest room and more like it belonged to a ten-year-old boy.

Despite how well things seemed to be going Whitey couldn't seem to shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen. Billy wasn't helping; he had become withdrawn, reverting to how he had been when he had first moved in. Nothing they did seemed to help, either. Whitey's bad feeling didn't go away-it only intensified.

It was a beautiful fall morning when Billy hugged them both before leaving for school. He waved from the bus before it pulled away. It wasn't until that night, when Whitey got home from work and discovered that all of Billy's things were gone that they realized the horrible truth: Billy wasn't coming home, ever.

Life moved for the Murphy's and they eventually took in two more children, Mary and Freddy and adopted them. However, they never once forgot Billy and often gazed his picture which hung next to their other children's.

Whitey and Betty were well into their seventies when, on a lovely spring day, they decided to take a stroll through downtown Fawcett. As they walked they reminisced about their life, Betty pointing at familiar spots as Whitey tried to remember why they were special. They had just reached the intersection of 3rd and Folly's Lane when they saw him. Billy, racing a child his age, ran past them, yelling a hasty apology as he did so.

Betty grabbed Whitey's arm. "Was that…" she didn't finish her sentence.

"There's nothing more we can do for him," regret laced his words. "At least we know he's all right."

"True," Betty agreed.

The two continued on in silence, both silently hoping that Billy would find someone that could stay with him forever.

It was the year 2279 when Klarion finally decided to meet some of his fellow immortals. Vandal Savage was out of the question for so many reasons. Jason Blood wasn't so bad but he was far too broody for Klarion's' taste. There were others of course but they were all either brooding or downright psychotic; all but one that is.

It was a lovely summer afternoon when Klarion (with Teekl perched on his shoulders) made himself comfortable on the roof of one of Fawcett's many abandoned buildings. He didn't have long to wait; within minutes Captain Marvel landed on the roof.

"Greetings, Klarion. Is there anything I can help you with?" the man was polite and friendly with an air of innocence about him that was virtually unheard in this day and age, let along in someone as old as he was.

Klarion shrugged. "I was just passing through and thought I'd stop and say hello."

Captain Marvel blinked then grinned. "It's nice to meet you," he sat next to Klarion. "It's always nice to meet a fellow magic user who isn't trying to kill me."

Klarion looked at him in confusion. It had been a little bit over a century ago but did Captain Marvel truly not remember Klarion's short-lived (and very unsuccessful) stint as a criminal? The two of them had even fought on a few occasions.

"You're thinking about one of my predecessors," Captain Marvel explained after Klarion voiced his question. "I've only been Captain Marvel for a few months but apparently the wizard makes us all look alike for some reason."

Klarion raised an eyebrow but decided not to comment. "Sorry for troubling you then," he made a move to stand up but was stopped by Captain Marvel.

"Please stay," Captain Marvel blurted out then looked embarrassed. "I mean you don't treat me like I'm a nuisance or stupid like everyone else does. I understand that I'm still needed but I don't get why the wizard didn't help me fit in better."

Klarion looked at the confused and hurt magic user for along moment before answering, "Because you wouldn't be Captain Marvel otherwise."

"What's this?" Klarion help up a faded red photo album with a handmade lightning bolt stitched on the front.

Billy shrugged, giving it a quick glance before returning his attention to his schoolwork. "I don't know; I've always had it though."

Klarion rolled his eyes then began flipping through it. He and Billy had been living together for a little over sixty years and it never ceased to amaze him just how much Billy's magic kept the child from noticing things, like the framed pictures on the wall that showcased the both of them throughout the decades. The truly astounding thing, however, was how much nobody else noticed.

Billy's magic, Klarion suspected, was an almost sentient being. It protected Billy-not allowing him to remember all of the people he had lost, yet allowed only those that cared about him to realize the truth. Klarion's own magic (and his own semi-immortality) were most likely the only reasons why Billy remembered him, albeit vaguely.

"Anything interesting?" Billy lifted his head enough to ask.

"No, not a thing," Klarion forced himself to lie as he flipped through the photos-each one of Billy and one of his many loved ones. The last photo, the one of him and Billy with Teekl curled up in Billy's lap, caused tears to well up in Klarion's eyes; tears which were quickly blinked away before Billy could notice.

A few protective spells later and the photo album was carefully placed in a magic box along with a stack of yellowed letters, each one written by someone who had once been close to Billy. The oldest one was from a Dudley H. Dudley and was the one Billy read the most; it was usually late at night and he would wake up in tears the next morning.

2456 had only been in swing for a few days when Michael Carter fell off a bridge. It was a dare; walk the railing of an old bridge without falling or chickening out. Desperate to fit in and possibly make some friends Michael had eagerly accepted.

"I've got you," strong arms encircled Michael.

Michael looked up at his rescuer. "Captain Marvel?" he gasped.

"The one and only," the hero said cheerfully as he placed Michael on the ground. "That was a very dangerous stunt," he said seriously, folding his arms and frowning.

"I know," Michael looked at the ground sheepishly. "I just wanted to be popular; is that so wrong?"

Captain Marvel smiled. "No there's nothing wrong with wanting friends but if they don't like the real you then they're not worth it. There's no point in dying just so everyone'll like you for fifteen minutes."

"That's easy for you to say," Michael snapped. "You're a superhero; everyone loves you."

"No they don't," for a second Captain Marvel looked angry. "I'm tolerated at best. For the most part thought, I'm treated like a child. Very few people are actually grateful when I save them; most of them treat me like a stupid child or insult me to my face. Do you know how hard it is save people who despise you?"

Michael looked up at the superhero. "They why bother?"

Captain Marvel let out a heavy sigh. "Because it's the right thing to do."

"He really hasn't aged a day," Michael sounded slightly awed as stared at Billy. "I thought I just hadn't notice but…" his voice trailed off.

Klarion snorted as he plopped down on the couch next to him. "What part of immortal didn't you get?"

"I know what it means," Michael rolled his eyes. "I mean, you're immortal too but for some reason it's always jarring when I see him."

"It's his magic," Klarion said quietly. "I should warn you, he's having trouble remembering who you are."

"Thank you for telling me," Michael choked out.

"Honestly, I'm surprised he's remembered you this long-you've known each other for six years. I think that's a new record for him."

"That doesn't make it hurt any less though."

"No," Klarion said after a moment. "I suppose it doesn't."

In December of 2475 Booster Gold aka Michael Carter arrived at the home of Klarion and Billy Batson bearing Christmas presents. Skeets, his robotic pal and sidekick, hovered in the air behind him, offering sarcastic remarks about his yellow turtleneck.

"Christmas isn't for another two weeks," while the words were teasing the serious look on Klarion's face said otherwise.

"Ted invited me to his place for Christmas so I thought I'd come early," Michael explained. "Is something wrong?" he craned his neck to look past Klarion and inwardly relaxed when he saw Billy sitting on the couch.

Klarion looked at Billy as well then stepped outside, closing the door behind him. "My facial hair is coming in," he hissed.

Michael blinked. "Okay," he drew the word out. "Do you want me to teach you how to shave? Because I'm still taking facial hair suppressants so I haven't learned that particular skill yet."

"Idiots," Klarion grumbled. "My immortality is waning-not only is my facial hair coming in but it's taking longer to heal. I'll be dead within a century."

Michael paled. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Klarion hesitated. "Actually there is something you can do."

Two hours later Michael and Skeets emerged from the time portal in Klarion's living room. "Here you go," he held out a sword.

Klarion grasped the hilt and looked sadly at Michael. "I know you don't agree with me but this is for the best."

"How is murder the best option?" Michael did his best not to yell even though his vision was getting blurry.

Klarion sighed and put a comforting hand on Michael's shoulder. "He's my best friend and has been for almost two hundred years. This wasn't an easy decision for me but it's the kindest thing I can do for him. If we don't do this now there's no guarantee that he will find someone able to willing to do this in the future."

"I guess," Michael muttered.

"Michael, he's been protecting this world for over five hundred years; if anyone deserves to be at peace it's him. Besides, do you really want him to live forever? To outlive everyone and everything?"

"No," Michael admitted after thinking it over.

Klarion nodded as he turned towards Billy's room. "I will be returning to my people after this is over and I suspect you will not be returning to this time period."

"No," Michael shook his head. "No, I won't."

"I suspected as much," Klarion smiled. "He's very proud of you, you know as am I. Pretending to be a fame seeker and then using the money to help people in need is a brilliant strategy."

"Can we just get this over with?" Michael demanded. He really didn't want to start crying if he could help it.

After knocking and gaining permission they entered Billy's room. The boy in question was curled up in his bed, holding his photo album and letters. "Hey, guys," he said dully.

"Hey, Billy," Michael's smile was slightly stained as he noticed just how tired his friend looked.

"Do you mind if I take a nap before dinner?"

"Not at all," Klarion smiled as he cast a sleeping spell on the boy. "Have good dreams, Billy." As soon as Billy was asleep Klarion raised the Flashing Blade and drove it into his chest. Billy's body spasmed then turned to dust. "Be at peace, my old friend," he whispered.

"Goodbye," Michael whispered then he and Skeets went through the time portal, never to return.

Billy woke to the sound of his alarm clock which he hastily silenced. He yawned loudly as he stretched before reluctantly getting out of bed.

"Billy, breakfast is ready," Dudley called.

"Coming!" Billy exchanged his pajamas for a new red sweater and blue jeans then headed straight for the kitchen. "Morning, Gramps."

"Good morning, Billy," Sterling lowered his newspaper long enough to greet the boy then went back to readng.

"I made pancakes," Dudley placed a plate in front of Billy as he sat down.

"Oh boy," Billy grinned before attacking with vigor.

"That reminds me," Sterling set his newspaper down. "Clark called; he and Lois are going to visit his parents this weekend and they wanted to invite you to go with them."

"Can I?" Billy turned eager eyes to Dudley who nodded. "Yay!"

Once he was done with breakfast Billy grabbed his things and took off for school. Along the way he waved to everyone he knew including Whitey whose wife, Billy, taught history at Billy's school. It was one of his favorite classes and she always had interesting stories to tell.

All in all, it was a perfect day.

THE END