Notes: Billy's POV, set during the Civil War when Billy is taken captive.
Billy doesn't know how he got here.
He doesn't know how he got into this tiny cell, nor the big mess that he assumes to be going on out there, still.
He assumes. Out there.
He can't tell.
How can he, when there are no windows in his cell. He hears nothing.
He doesn't know.
He really doesn't know how he got here.
It was only a few months ago that he was nothing more than a superhero geek, a scrawny fag who was constantly being shoved into lockers.
It was only a few months ago that he discovered he had powers, and now he was playing superhero.
He was the hero now.
As if he knew what he was doing.
But did he?
Was he really a hero?
He's only sixteen, still a kid, barely aware of his own responsibilities, and now he's in this big, big mess in a tiny, tiny cell.
Who's the hero now?
It's so cold in here and dry, and oh gods, so cold.
He desperately wants to go home to his annoying brothers who does nothing but bug him, and to his mom and her weird smelling tea that she'd give him to relax, but wouldn't help him at all since he'll be scrunching up his nose every he took a sip of the thing.
He used to be able to remember the scent of the said strange tea, but not anymore, because it was way too dry in the cell and smelled absolutely nothing.
He was losing count of how long he's been there (hours? days? weeks?), and now he was sure he was losing his mind as well.
He just wanted out, to be home to his mom 'cause Jesus it's so cold in here and dark, and dry andoh gods so dry and cold and he's only a kid, just a geek, a fag,
powerless, and nothing, and he wants out out out but he can't, he can't because—
"Billy, it's me."
Because it was only those three words, and the warm, caring eyes that he needed for him to be in control of himself again.
The sigh of relief and the words, "I'm busting you guys out of here" went unnoticed; he was too busy putting himself back together,
Remembering why he was there, why he can't give up and step out of all this,
Gluing the pieces back together in his head,
Whether he likes it or not (he does like it, he does) he is a superhero now,
"Billy?"
He finally looks up and locks eyes with the familiar, yet unfamiliar man in front of him.
With almost all the energy he's got, he grins, looking almost like a grimace, but it's a grin, and in a croaky, tired, yet powerful voice, he whispers back,
"About time."