Thomas Kaplan grows up in a family that loves him, a family he doesn't have to fight for space in. He gets screened for ADHD at a pretty young age, gets put into classes with teachers that know how to handle that, who are patient and who see the potential in him.
He doesn't blow up a school. He thrives. He has a bit of trouble keeping friends, but that ends up fitting with the attitude he cultivates by the time he gets to high school. He's got a few close friends, but his inability to really keep his mouth shut in the face of bullshit means he's not the most popular kid around. He likes to get into fights because it's a way to not be bored (because it's a way to stand up for kids without coming off as some good doer).
His powers show up in the middle of a gym class. The speed, that is. Suddenly his social schedule is a lot emptier, but the running is worth it. He explores the city in bursts of speed that dazzle him, leave him laughing. The explosions come later, luckily somewhere a little less public ("Sorry about my phone, mom. I must have dropped it somewhere").
When Iron Lad comes calling, he has to fight back the excitement. He's no fanboy, but who doesn't want to be a superhero, secretly? He doesn't need to think about it. He says yes immediately.
He loves it. He argues with Eli and teases Teddy and only whines a little at having to take on Mercury as a codename. He gets the whole 'mirroring the avengers' thing but Quicksilver doesn't really fit their theme anyway so why does he have to go with such a lame codename?
"And who are you? Speed?" sneers the the girl in the cathedral.
He smirks. "Yes."
Billy Shepherd struggles.
He's a quiet child. It's a learned behaviour. Being quiet is best. He learns that his parents don't take well to being interrupted. So he learns to read young and borrows books from the library by the backpack-load. Matilda is a favourite. She gets a special place on his shelf, a battered copy he finds for 25 cents at a garage sale.
Comics come later. He remembers the first time he sees the Avengers on TV. All he can do is stare. They fly around and help people! That's amazing! They don't help everyone, though. This is a lesson that hurts.
He doesn't make friends easily, weird as he is. Always cutting himself off just as he's about to speak. He hates school, likes the knowledge but struggles with the classes, and the elbows in the hallways don't help. He keeps his head down, swallows his words. Lets his comics grow dust, under his bed. He doesn't believe in heroes anymore. Not the ones with capes, at least. Matilda had to rescue herself, and Ms. Honey too.
He starts getting headaches. They're painful, but the worst part of them is that he swears he can see things moving out of the corners of his eyes.
He overheard his parents one night, his mother confessing that she thinks there's something wrong with him.
"If he turns out to be a fag, I wouldn't be surprised," spits his father.
Billy's stomach clenches. He thinks about how his eyes linger on the frames of his classmates, skipping over the curves of the girls, catching on the planes of the boys. It feels dangerous. Just like his voice, he does his best to swallow it down.
The day Billy gets caught kissing a classmate is the first time his dad hits him. He looks as shocked as Billy feels, but there's no apology. Billy feels off balance. He knew his father hated things about him, but he never bothered to tally up all the pieces. He hadn't realized that everything his father hated about him added up to a whole. Every piece of him.
That's also the night that Billy catches the things moving at the edges of his vision, and realizes that it's him doing the moving. He sends various books and school supplies flying around the room, awash in blue fire. He smiles, and everything tumbles down again.
He doesn't talk about it. Not the boys. Not the powers. He hardly says a word for almost a year. Not talking doesn't stop the hate in the halls and his home. In fact, it seems to make people even angrier. Billy rides out the bruises and feels something in him hollowing out. With every hit, the emptiness grows.
There's nothing special about the day where everything changes. He can't remember what he does to make his father shove him, but he hits the wall behind him and something explodes behind his eyelids.
"Stop," he says.
He does.
Everything does. The clocks stop. The power goes out. His father is frozen a few feet from him, his mother over by the table has stopped breathing.
The phone doesn't have a dial tone, but he mutters 'please' and is able to call 911.
"Something's happened." His voice sounds strange. Hoarse. Unknown. "Send help."
They are reluctant to call it murder. His parents aren't technically dead. They just haven't found a way to make them start breathing again. The police are relieved when a juvenile detention faculty offers to take him. The have experience with cases like this, after all.
Billy doesn't open his mouth for any of it.