The Life Of Billy Batson | Shazam

Dreams

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Billy walked along the edge of the sidewalk, his hands buried in his pockets as he balanced on the stone curb. The sun shined through the clouds that peppered Fawcett City's skies, warming the cool air in patches.

The young boy hummed a wordless tune to himself as he walked, enjoying the sunny day. He turned a corner and skipped up the steps of an abandoned building, looking around before nudging the front door open. He shut it quickly behind him, cutting off the warmth of the sun.

The building was dark and musty, smelling of mildew and old fabric. The raven-haired child ignored the smell and walked up the rickety stairs leading up alongside the wall. He continued up until he reached the third floor, looking around at his, for lack of a better word, home.

There was a tattered mattress near the boarded-up window, a pair of thin blankets crumpled on its surface. Beside the bed was an old chest, missing a board in its lid, and beat up at its corners, but otherwise sturdy. Billy walked up to the chest and opened it, the wood creaking in protest.

He rummaged around in the chest for a moment before pulling out an old, leather-bound photo album. Billy ran his hand over the old material for a moment, taking in the scent.

Two weeks ago the boy had discovered that his mother and father's belongings, mainly this photo album and what was left of their bank account, had been left to him and only recently unveiled by the Fawcett City Orphanage.

He had somehow, thank the gods, managed to convince the people at the orphanage to give him the album and the number to the bank account without too many questions.

Since then Billy had spent his evenings looking through the album, running his fingers along the yellowing photos and trying to remember what his mother's singing or his father's laughter sounded like.

It had been so long since he thought hard about them, what with his new life as a superhero and even newer life with the Justice League. Recently, though, the young boy had begun to think of what his parents would think if they saw him now.

He was saving people- helping them. Would they be proud? He certainly hoped so. If they wouldn't be, Billy wasn't sure he'd be able to continue being a hero in good conscience.

The raven-haired boy shook the thought from his head as he sat down on the worn out mattress. He sighed and laid back, flipping through the book and smiling at the old pictures.

He did this for hours, making up stories in his mind to fit the situations in the photos. He heard laughter and speeches from his father and felt the warmth that he imagined would come from his mother's embrace.

Soon Billy found that it was hard to see the photos before him, looking out the window to see the sun setting over the horizon. He sighed at the sight, sitting up and stretching. The boy then stood and put the album back in his chest, closing the lid with a click.

Knowing he didn't have anything in the old building to eat, Billy ignored his stomach's rumbles in favor of laying down on the worn mattress and covering up with the old blankets. He sighed contently, thinking about the photos in the album. He smiled to himself, closing his eyes and drifting to sleep.

Billy woke to find himself in a white, empty space. Mist swirled around him and blocked his field of view. He furrowed his brow and looked around, confusion overtaking his features. "Hello?" he called out, a frown on his face as he swallowed thickly.