Fawcett City, 13:45
Billy sat at his desk in his classroom, his math worksheets in front of him, pen in hand, and found himself completely unable to focus on anything but the passage of time.
Each time he tried to do one problem, he'd stare at the letters and numbers on the sheet of paper for a moment, then he'd lift his head, his gaze fixing on the big clock on the wall to check exactly how many seconds had passed.
Too much and yet not enough.
It was a quarter to two and he would be stuck in detention until three, which meant that there was no way he'd make it to the watchtower in time for monitor duty.
He'd be an hour late, maybe more.
Unless, well, unless he managed to sneak out.
He cast a furtive glance at Mr Jones sitting hunched over at the teacher's desk, a cup of coffee at his elbow.
Mr Jones was an elderly and notoriously grumpy teacher. Billy himself had gotten on his bad side when he'd fallen asleep during his biology lesson a few weeks ago. (To be fair, that too had been after a long night of fighting crime.)
Anyway, Mr Jones did not forgive and he didn't forget either.
Also, Billy couldn't just vanish. Pretending to need to use the bathroom and sneaking away would be pretty easy, but then what? He'd get to the watchtower in time, but Mr Jones would definitely notice he was gone, and he would most definitely tell Principal Pryce, which would only lead to Billy ending up in even bigger trouble than he was in already.
No, he couldn't do it.
Back when he had been living on the streets maybe, but now?
Now Uncle Dudley would get the blame, he'd be considered unfit to raise Billy and Billy would be taken away from his uncle. Back to a foster home.
He swallowed against the lump in his throat.
No, he'd really rather get chewed out by Batman than risk losing Uncle Dudley.
Watchtower, 14:00
Superman scanned the control room, letting his gaze traverse over the few members of the league who manned the screens. Someone was missing.
He frowned.
"Wasn't Captain Marvel supposed to be here today?"
"He couldn't make it on time; he's taking a later shift," Batman said matter-of-fact-ly. As usual, the part of his face that wasn't obscured by the cowl was completely unreadable. "He called in."
"Trouble?"
"A private matter apparently."
Not even a hint of emotion in his voice, not that that was anything new from Batman. Still, Superman had expected some reproach at least. The mission always comes first, surely there wasn't a single member in the whole league who hadn't gotten that lecture from Gotham's Dark Knight at one point or another. Including Superman himself.
"I take it you'll have a word with him later?" And he almost smirked saying it. He couldn't help it. It wasn't that he disliked Captain Marvel, he did like him. It was just that – lately – the other hero seemed to rub him the wrong way a lot. His bumbling adoration, his naiveté and constant optimism… Sometimes it was like being forced to watch a recording of a younger version of himself. As if Captain Marvel was purposefully parodying him. Except that he wasn't. He really was just that much of a boy scout – and so what if Superman actually missed the days when he had been the boy scout?
Batman, though, barely showed a reaction.
"It happens," he said, "he apologized."
"Since when are you so sympathetic?" It came out sharper than he had intended.
Batman looked him in the eye then, and even knowing that he had no x-ray vision, Superman felt like his friend was able to see right through him.
"Since when aren't you?"
Fawcett City, 14:04
Billy Batson let out a sigh of relief. He may not have been able to sneak away, and he might still be in trouble with the principal, but at least he'd managed to transform into the Captain and call up to the Watchtower to postpone his monitor duty.
Batman had even sounded surprisingly not-mad, just blank mixed with his usual level of general grumpiness, when he'd told him. That had definitely gone better than Billy had expected.
Somewhat cheered up, Billy climbed the stairs leading out of the basement and back to the school's first floor – he'd figured out early on that he needed a fairly secluded place to transform, otherwise the noise could alert other students or –even worse – teachers.
He'd reached the top of the stairs and was about to hurry down the hallway to get back to his classroom before anyone noticed that he had not in fact been anywhere near the boy's restroom when, suddenly a large hand grabbed his shoulder and yanked him aside.
"Care to tell me what you were doing down there, Billy?"
It was said directly into his ear, loud enough to leave it ringing. The words were accompanied by Mr Jones' sweet-smelling breath invading Billy's nose. He knew that smell back from when he used to live on the street. Many people sleeping in the subway stations Billy used to frequent had breaths like that. Alcohol.
It made Billy feel sad. He didn't like Mr Jones much – hardly anyone did (and that made him kinda sad too), but he'd heard that, many years ago, before Billy was even born, Mr Jones had lived in Gotham with his wife, and that, one night, his wife had been murdered. Some of the other kids said she'd been murdered by the Joker and that Mr Jones had gone insane because of it, but Billy didn't believe any of that. He knew Mr Jones was simply sad and bitter, and that the Joker hadn't even been around back then.
Billy looked right into Mr Jones' dark eyes, narrowed and accusing, and, although he hated doing it, he lied. "I heard something... and I thought it came from the basement, sir, I just went to look what it was."
"And what was it you heard?" Mr Jones sneered. "Never mind, I don't care. You, young man, will come with me right now, and I will personally see to it that you won't leave this building until you have solved each and every one of your math problems correctly, even if it takes all night."
Watchtower, 15:00
Superman drummed his fingers against the console impatiently.
"He still hasn't shown up," he said to no one in particular.
Batman, who just happened to be within earshot, turned to look at him.
"Your mood wouldn't have anything to do with this, would it?"
He pressed a button and the front page of one of the larger tabloids appeared on the screen in front of him.
Superman didn't even have to look at it to know what the headline read.
Man of Steel getting rusty?!
Captain Marvel has to come to Superman's rescue!
And right beneath it a photo of him – battered and only semi-conscious - being carried to safety by the bashful Captain. He didn't know when the picture had been taken or by whom, for that matter. He didn't really care. All he knew was that he could have written a better article than that in his sleep. Heck, a trained monkey could have done a better job than that "reporter".
"No, it wouldn't," he told Batman.
"If you say so."
Superman was about to reply when he was interrupted by a voice inside his head.
Batman, Superman, can you hear me?
One look at Batman told him that he, too, was getting the telepathic message.
Yes, go ahead, J'onn, he thought.
There was a pause, almost long enough to make Superman wonder if the connection had been severed, then J'onn's voice was audible again, unusually hesitant, as if he was struggling to find the right words.
We have a situation in Fawcett City.
Watchtower, 16:02
After the impromptu meeting had been concluded, without Captain Marvel, who apparently was still caught up in his "private matter", Superman couldn't shake that feeling. The feeling of having been tainted somehow, just by hearing about the gruesome details of what the Fawcett City police had discovered. The world, too, seemed to have changed within the last hour; it had grown darker, twisted. It felt a lot less like a place worth protecting.
No.
Superman pushed the thought away; this wasn't who he was, and humanity as a whole was not to blame for the death of 12-year-old Gregory Gomez. The murder had been the deed of a single disturbed individual, an individual they would find and bring to justice.
Green Arrow, Black canary and Batman were already on their way to Fawcett City to start the investigation.
Superman, though, wanted to have a word with Captain Marvel.
Watchtower, 18:33
Captain Marvel arrived at the Watchtower four hours later than he had planned. Well, at least he'd made it through detention, plus, spring break was only a few days away, then he'd have two whole weeks off. If the league wanted him to, he could take monitor duty every night during the holidays. Hopefully, it'd be enough to make it up to them.
Determined and optimistic, Cap rounded a corner and almost bumped right into Superman, who stood in the middle of the corridor, arms folded, as imposing as only the world's greatest hero could be.
Captain Marvel took a step back.
"You're late," Superman said. "Private matters taken care of?"
He knew he was blushing, he could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, no matter how much he tried to stop it.
"I'm sorry, sir, I really am." And no matter how much he didn't want to, he still remembered the events of the previous day. "Are you feeling—"
"I'm fine," Superman cut him off. "You don't read the paper, do you?"
"I… well," There was something withering about the way the older hero looked at him. Captain Marvel averted his eyes. "No, I don't."
"You didn't miss much today, but they'll run a story tomorrow." He paused, took a deep breath. "About something that happened in your city."
Only then, when Superman finally uncrossed his arms, did Captain Marvel notice the small square of paper in the other man's hand. Superman held it out to him. He took it automatically.
It was a photo.
A boy in a sun-bleached green T-shirt grinned at him, his dark shoulder-length hair tousled roguishly, eyes glinting with mischief.
"He was murdered, his eyes were cut out, his mutilated body dumped in the trash..."
The words seemed to come from somewhere far away, a distant star.
Superman was still talking, his voice slowly becoming a low buzz that joined the chaos of white noise building in Billy's ears.
He couldn't process what was being said to him; couldn't understand what was expected from him.
Couldn't think.
He could only stare at the picture of the dead boy.
They'd played soccer in the street together. They didn't have a ball so they'd used empty cans. They'd slept in the same run-down building.
Greg.
Greg had shown Billy where to get those cheap shirts.
Greg had shared his food with Billy sometimes.
Greg had been his friend.
Greg had been murdered.