Chapter Text
Two days after the post-Cadmus Justice League meeting, Billy is standing in the middle of a shiny new apartment with very big windows in both his Captain Marvel form and also a set of magically-made civilian clothes, which feels pretty weird but he’d figured would be more . . . he doesn’t know, dad-ly.
He’s really happy about the windows; they’re the really big floor-to-ceiling kind that take up most of the wall. He hopes Superboy will like them. Batman asked him what he’d want in a living space, and he’d figured good windows with a location that’d get a lot of light was a good start. And like, a kitchen big enough for both of them to be in at once, and nice comfy furniture. But mostly the windows.
Though Batman did get them some cool bean bag chairs for the living room when Billy asked, so that was really nice of him. The place is still pretty plain and empty, but it’s got good . . . bones? Is that what adults say about nice places without much stuff in them?
Billy thinks that’s what adults say, yeah.
The civilian clothes he’s a little more iffy on than the apartment, which is actually way nicer than the League really needed to spring for, but hopefully they’re okay. Billy doesn’t really know how to dress like a “dad” and doesn’t have any adult-sized civilian clothes anyway, so he kind of just let the magic handle it, and it came up with kind of an old-school Mr. Rogers look. He doesn’t know if that’s his fault or the magic’s, but he’s just gonna blame the magic if anyone asks. So he’s wearing slacks and a button-down sweater and freaking argyle socks, and also like . . . house slippers? Which is . . . a thing, he guesses.
Billy secretly thinks the magic kinda went more “grandpa” than “dad”, but he figures as long as Superboy doesn’t take one look at him and decide he’s totally lame it’ll be fine.
The apartment’s way bigger than he’d actually expected it to be, to be honest, and definitely bigger than they actually need, but he guesses Superboy kinda is a teenager, so he might want a lot of space anyway? Like, maybe that’s a thing? Billy’s not technically a teenager himself yet–he’s really only barely twelve, in fact–but he always hears that teenagers want more space and privacy and stuff. So yeah, Batman went pretty big here, but it’s fine, he figures.
Superboy’s supposed to be here any time now, and Billy’s not sure what to do with himself until he shows up. He’s only been here a couple of hours and nothing’s dirty or out of place, so it’s not like he can clean or tidy anything, and he already put away all the groceries and household supplies and other stuff that Batman had delivered, and the furniture was all already set up when he got here and he doesn’t wanna redecorate without asking Superboy’s opinion about the setup. The only thing to really do is to wait and worry about his sweater making him look like a nerd or a tryhard or something.
He really hopes Superboy doesn’t think he’s lame.
Billy looks around the apartment twice more, hopes the windows are big enough and are gonna get good enough sun for a Kryptonian baby/teenager, and then somebody knocks and he does not speed-of-Mercury his way to the door, because he’s patient and normal about this whole situation and also pretending to be a civilian right now. Well, like–not that anyone can see him right now, but still. It’s a habit thing. Like, a habit to establish, he means. He’s not used to having to hold back on using his powers as a civilian, because usually when he’s a civilian he doesn’t have his powers. That’s the whole thing with how his powers work.
He really needs to not accidentally use his powers when Superboy needs him to be normal in front of the PTA or something.
. . . is he gonna have to join the PTA, actually? Is that a thing he should do, once Superboy’s ready to start school and–
Somebody knocks again and Billy remembers that he has priorities right now and hurries over to the door at a totally normal, non-godly speed and opens it, and on the other side encounters Kid Flash’s parents with a restless-looking Kid Flash and a sour-looking Superboy hanging back a little ways behind them. He only recognizes them because Batman sent pictures over–because Batman is very paranoid like that–but he probably could’ve guessed anyway, because Kid Flash is near-to-vibrating with obvious impatience and Superboy is wearing an S-shield T-shirt. He has a backpack slung over his shoulder too, but it looks mostly empty.
Billy empathizes with the experience of getting dumped on a total stranger’s doorstep with nothing to his name but the clothes on his back and a half-full backpack, but tries not to dwell on it right now.
“Hi, please come in!” he greets as cheerfully as he can, trying to look as thoroughly “totally-not-a-superhero-but-definitely-an-adult-if-the-Justice-League-asks” as he can. It’s not like the Wests don’t know who they’re here to meet, but again: habits. Making them.
“. . . dude, is that, like . . . just how you dress when you’re not saving the world?” Kid Flash asks, eyeing him skeptically. “Seriously?”
“Oh, um, no, but I wasn’t really sure what to wear for this so I kinda just let the magic dress me?” Billy says, feeling wildly self-conscious. Oh no, Superboy is gonna think he’s lame, isn’t he. Shoot. Shit, even.
“There is literally no such thing as magic but sure, why not,” Kid Flash says dubiously.
“Wally,” Mrs. West says in exasperation. “Don't be rude, Captain Marvel is magic!”
“He is not magic, he's just like pandimensional or from a different reality or something!” Kid Flash protests indignantly.
“Wally!” Mrs. West hisses again.
“Sorry we’re late, Captain,” Mr. West says, wryly apologetic as he offers Billy a handshake. “Traffic was awful, you know how it gets this time of day.”
“Oh, no, I can’t actually drive,” Billy says, awkwardly returning the handshake and trying desperately to seem like a real responsible adult in front of the actual real responsible adults. Somehow it’s more intimidating than trying to convince Green Arrow or Flash that he’s a grown-up, but he’s never been trying to prove he was gonna be a good parent in front of experienced parents who’ve been taking care of the kid he’s about to be parenting before. Like, that’s a new experience, definitely. Very new. “I kinda just . . . fly everywhere . . . oh shoot, Superboy can't fly, do I need to learn how to drive? Shoot.”
“I know how to drive,” Superboy says, looking bemused.
“Oh thank the gods,” Billy says in relief, belatedly remembering to let go of Mr. West’s hand. That would’ve been kind of inconvenient. Or like, really inconvenient. No way Superboy’d want him carrying him everywhere all the time. Well, there’s the bus, but that’s not great for getting groceries or–
“Well, I think he’ll need an actual license first,” Mrs. West says skeptically. “And a car, I’d assume.”
“Oh yeah, hmmm, I'll put that on the to-do list once Batman forges all the paperwork for him and stuff,” Billy says, making a mental note to himself. Wow, the Wests are way better at this than him already. And he guesses they can just use the bus for now. Then he remembers what he should actually be prioritizing at the moment and immediately turns his full attention to Superboy with an encouraging smile. “Um! So, anyway! Hi, I'm Captain Marvel, it's nice to meet you, Superboy. What's your name? Nobody in the League knew when I asked. I mean, if that's not rude, I don't know if you want Kid Flash and his parents to know it or if you're even ready to tell me yet, sorry, maybe I shouldn't actually have asked.”
“. . . uh,” Superboy says, looking even more bemused. “It’s Superboy.”
“. . . oh, okay, so we're just starting totally from scratch here, huh,” Billy realizes, repressing a little wince.
“Very much so, yes,” Mrs. West says, looking resigned.
“You should definitely come in,” Billy decides, stepping back from the door. Kid Flash zips across the threshold and his parents follow. Superboy looks . . . wary, maybe. Mostly of him.
Billy can also empathize with that experience.
How many people has Superboy even met so far, he wonders? Like–the other genomorphs, obviously, but he’s known them all his life, and they’re probably pretty different than humans. And for all Billy knows, the only civilians he’s met are the Wests; he really only “knows” a bunch of people who were on duty doing the whole hero thing. He’s probably not used to meeting strangers in a random living room.
He’s definitely not, actually. Shit.
“Wanna take a look around?” Billy asks, trying to smile reassuringly without looking like either one of those too-pitying foster parents or one of the lying asshole ones who only bothers to behave for the social workers. Not that Superboy knows what either of those look like, but–still. That’s not the kind of first impression he wants to make here.
“No,” Superboy says.
. . . well, Billy also empathizes with that, honestly.
“Okay,” he says. “Um. Do you wanna come in anyway?”
“No,” Superboy repeats. Then he walks into the apartment and starts scanning the interior with an intent expression.
. . . yeah, okay, Billy thinks, and closes the door. Well, he can leave Superboy to his threat assessment, he figures, and then just go from there.
“So, um, thanks for bringing Superboy,” he says to the Wests, still trying to look like definitely a real adult and definitely not a twelve year-old who’s magically transformed into a reasonable facsimile of one. “I guess I could've picked him up but like, the car thing and all. Also I don't know if me showing up at your door would've been great for Kid Flash's secret identity? I mean, I could've worn civilian clothes for that too but sometimes there's lightning and–anyway! Thank you, it was really nice of you.”
“It’s no problem, Captain. We wanted to know Superboy got here alright anyway,” Mrs. West says, sparing Superboy a briefly concerned look. Mr. West sighs. Kid Flash looks uncomfortable, just for a moment, then zips over to Superboy and stands next to him again.
Are they friends, Billy wonders? He hopes so. Batman said Superboy and the sidekicks wanted to start a team of their own, so . . . hopefully they're friends, yeah. And Aqualad and Robin, too. And . . . well, he guesses Speedy isn't joining, from what he's heard, but maybe they can make friends too? Kids need friends, even when said friends are way older than them.
All of Billy's friends are adults, so he figures it'll be fine for Superboy's friends to be thirteen to sixteen years older than him. Heck, that's closer in age than Billy is to most of the League.
. . . though maybe it's kinda weird that all of Superboy's friends are older than him too? Like, even Robin’s thirteen now, right?
. . . . . . eh, whatever, it'll be fine.
“Um, what do you think?” Billy asks Superboy as the other keeps staring intently around the apartment, trying not to be pushy about it but really wanting to know. He hopes Superboy likes it.
“. . . the windows are really big,” Superboy observes after a moment, and Billy immediately brightens.
“Yeah!” he says excitedly. “I hope you like them, I thought bigger windows would be better! Since you're solar-powered and all.”
“. . . did you use magic to make your windows bigger?” Superboy asks, looking confused.
“Oh, no, the apartment's brand-new, actually, the League just got it,” Billy explains, resisting the urge to go mess with the blinds. They're already as open as they can get; he’d just be fussing. “Batman asked me if I had any preferences, though, so I asked for big windows and someplace that'd get a lot of sun. He's gonna get bulletproof privacy glass put in next week, he said that was important. And I know we're already bulletproof, but I still thought it was thoughtful of him and I figure it can't hurt, so yeah.”
Superboy . . . blinks. Keeps looking at the windows for another long moment.
“. . . you got an apartment with big windows . . . on purpose?” he asks slowly. He seems to talk a little slow in general, but Billy figures he's pretty new to it, so that makes sense. Or maybe he just wants to take his time figuring stuff out. “Because of . . . me?”
“Yup!” Billy confirms eagerly. Superboy doesn't seem to hate the apartment, at least? He thinks Superboy doesn't hate the apartment, anyway. “Plus there's a balcony if the windows aren't enough sun, and it's close to the library and the community center, and there's a really nice park right down the street if you wanna go sometime. There's three bedrooms, do you wanna pick yours first? I don't really know what to do with the extra one but maybe we could turn it into a study or a game room or . . . well, something for whatever kind of thing you like to do, once you figure out what you like to do. I mean, I don't know if you know what you like to do yet or not, nobody was really too clear on what kind of stuff the G-gnomes showed you.”
Superboy stares blankly at him. Billy turns red in embarrassment.
“Um, sorry, I'm kinda rambling here, huh,” he realizes awkwardly, hiding his hands behind his back, then desperately tries to think of the dad-ly thing to do in this situation. “Do you want . . . a snack, maybe?”
“‘A snack’?” Superboy echoes, looking bewildered.
“I want a snack,” Kid Flash says.
“Wally,” Mr. West says in exasperation.
“Oh right, speedster, yeah, let's see what we've got!” Billy realizes, hurrying over to the kitchen at carefully-human speeds. “I haven't tried going grocery shopping yet but Batman had some stuff delivered this morning, sooooo . . . well I can't really cook, to be honest, I kind of don't technically need to eat unless I feel like it, so uh . . . maybe I can buy some cookbooks later and figure it out? Or something like that?”
He's definitely rambling again. Gods, Superboy is going to think he's so lame.
“I know how to cook,” Superboy says, and Billy lights up.
“Oh, awesome!” he says in relief. That’s way better than him trying to figure out cookbooks or YouTube tutorials or whatever. Batman did get them wifi, but still. “Then maybe you can teach me and we can do it together?”
“. . . you just said you don’t need to eat, though,” Superboy says with a frown.
“Oh, I mean, yeah, but food still tastes good,” Billy says reasonably. “And it’d be nice to eat together! We'd get to hang out a lot more!”
Superboy stares at him again. Billy represses the urge to fidget under the attention, not sure what he’s thinking.
“At least we’re leaving the kid with a decent person, even if the guy doesn’t eat,” Mr. West mutters to Mrs. West under his breath, and she huffs out a little assenting noise. Billy figures they probably think he can’t hear them, so doesn’t comment. Though Superboy frowns a little deeper. Well, Batman said he had super-hearing too, so . . .
Really, as long as they think he’s an adult, that’s his main worry, but it’s still a relief that the Wests don’t think he’s incompetent or anything yet.
Billy opens the pantry and peers into it, figuring that feeding Kid Flash will a) hopefully keep the Wests thinking he’s a real and responsible adult and b) make Superboy like him better, since he’s being nice to his friend. Billy should figure out, like, friend-visiting rules and sleepover rules and stuff for Superboy, he’s pretty sure. He’ll probably want to have them over sometimes, right? But he also probably doesn’t know how having friends over works, so it makes sense to explain the rules and stuff to him upfront.
At least, Billy thinks it does. Probably?
“Ooo, there’s chocolate chip cookies in here,” he realizes in delight, then makes a face as he also realizes–“And–ugh, oatmeal cookies, what the heck, Batman. Gross. But there's snack cakes! Do you guys like snack cakes?”
“I don't know,” Superboy says warily.
“Listen, does it have sugar? Then I'm good, I like everything,” Kid Flash says with speedster-metabolism practicality. “Like if you don't want the oatmeal cookies I'll eat the whole freaking bag of oatmeal cookies.”
“Oh good, that's–oh, what's your metabolism like, Superboy, do you know yet?” Billy asks curiously as he holds out the oatmeal cookies and they disappear in, unsurprisingly, a Flash. “Do you need more food than a human or less? I don't know if Kryptonians actually photosynthesize nutrition, is that a thing?”
“I, uh–don't know,” Superboy says, looking uncomfortable. “Sorry.”
“It's fine, we'll figure it out!” Billy says. They’ve got plenty of time to, after all. “Do you wanna try a snack cake, maybe?”
“. . . no,” Superboy says. Billy pauses, then takes a guess going off of Superboy’s “no”s so far and tosses him one of the strawberry shortcake-flavored ones. Superboy catches it, frowns at it, and then opens the wrapper and takes a testing bite.
“There’s more if you like it,” Billy says. “Otherwise there’s . . . ummmmm, swiss rolls and zebra cakes and . . . oatmeal creme pies, Batman, why. Kid Flash–”
“I got you, man,” Kid Flash says, immediately appearing beside him and snatching the box out of the pantry. “Ooo, brand-name. Nice.”
“I don’t think Batman knows how to shop generic,” Billy says, squinting doubtfully at the contents of the pantry.
Batman definitely does not know how to shop generic, actually.
Rich people are weird, Billy decides, then sets the swiss rolls and zebra cakes and rest of the strawberry shortcakes on the counter in case Kid Flash is still hungry or Superboy wants any of them and then closes the pantry. Batman’s just doing his best, he guesses. Though Billy hopes he knows how to coupon, if he’s always buying brand-name.
Well, he’s Batman. It’d be weirder if he didn’t know how to coupon, Billy figures.
It looks like Superboy ate all of his snack cake while Billy and Kid Flash were in the pantry, at least, which Billy hopes means he liked it. He doesn’t know how much real food Superboy’s had, but Batman’d said he should be fine eating solid stuff and not just whatever he’d been getting in his cloning pod. Though Billy’d still asked if they could get some bottled smoothies and protein shakes and stuff like that to keep in the fridge, just in case. He figures those might be easier for him to eat and digest, if it comes up. Or like, maybe appeal to him more, if nothing else?
Billy has no idea, honestly, he’s just doing his best here. The wisdom of Solomon is pretty useful but it’s not really, like, that much of a parenting guide.
He is not going to cut Superboy in half. Like, ever. Like he understands the point of that story but also it is an insane and incredibly freaky story and he is just not invoking it, ever. Just no way.
“If it’s alright, Captain, we should get going. We’ve got a bit of a drive to get home,” Mrs. West says, then sighs as Kid Flash empties the boxes of swiss rolls and zebra cakes in lightning-fast succession, though he leaves the strawberry shortcakes alone. Billy checks in the fridge and offers him a couple of the more filling smoothies–peanut butter and banana should be more filling, anyway, even with a speedster’s appetite. He steals those from convenience stores sometimes, when he can. He can’t be Captain Marvel all the time.
Well–maybe he could, he guesses. But he does miss being himself, sometimes.
“Thanks, man,” Kid Flash says eagerly, then immediately shotguns both smoothies.
“Wally,” Mr. West says in exasperation as Mrs. West sighs again. “Don’t eat Captain Marvel out of house and home.”
“It’s okay, we’ve got lots of food!” Billy promises cheerfully. “I know how hungry Flash gets, I bet it’s way worse when you still have growth spurts to get through.”
“It is so much worse,” Kid Flash mutters vehemently, eyeing the empty smoothie bottles in his hands accusingly. Billy gets him another peanut butter banana one on principle. He really doesn’t want Kid Flash to be too hungry. It’s . . . not a good feeling, being too hungry.
“We appreciate it, Captain, really, but we’ve got snacks and a cooler in the car,” Mrs. West says. “Wally will be fine.”
“Oh, good,” Billy says, relieved. Mr. and Mrs. West both give him strange, inscrutable looks, then glance back to Superboy. Billy wonders if he likes peanut butter banana smoothies. Though if he liked the snack cakes, there’s strawberry banana ones too, so that might be better? And strawberry kiwi, but that’s probably less filling. “Superboy, do you want a smoothie too?”
“No,” Superboy says. Billy pauses again, then gets him a strawberry banana one and tosses it over. Superboy catches it, eyes it, and then opens it and takes a sip.
Okay, Billy thinks he’s getting the hang of this. But also they should probably talk about how “no” needs to actually mean “no”. Like, for Superboy he’s sure it’s just like that phase when toddlers want to say “no” to everything no matter what, but it’s still important for him to understand. Billy doesn’t want to accidentally upset him or overstep because Superboy doesn’t know how to really say “no” to something.
Yeah, they definitely need to talk about that, he decides.
The Wests say goodbye to Superboy and him and then leave, and Billy super-speed sneaks Kid Flash the box of oatmeal bars he found in the cupboard on the way out the door because ew, Batman, why, and then it’s just him and Superboy, who’s still holding the empty snack cake wrapper and empty smoothie bottle and still wearing his mostly-empty backpack and frowning.
Billy shows him where the kitchen trash can and recycling bin both are, then tries to figure out where to go from there. House rules, maybe? Like, the basic ones, anyway. He’s been thinking about those really hard the past two days. He doesn’t want to be too controlling, because Superboy’s been nothing but controlled in his life, but also if they don’t have any rules, Superboy’s going to feel kind of lost, isn’t he? Or at least just not know what to do a lot, and that’d feel pretty bad too, Billy’s sure.
Probably they should decide the rules together, Billy figures. Like–he’s taking care of Superboy, obviously, so he’ll be making the final call on most of them, but he doesn’t want to just decide things without taking anything about Superboy’s feelings or opinions into account. Like–no. He definitely doesn’t want to be that kind of guardian.
Definitely not, yeah.
That’s not the most important place to start, though, is it.
“Um, can we maybe sit for a bit?” Billy suggests, gesturing towards the bean bag chairs. They look comfier than the couch to him. Which is saying something, because the couch looks really comfy. “I wanna tell you something before you decide for sure if you wanna stay here. Well, there’s a few things we should talk about before you decide for sure, probably? But this one’s kinda the weirdest one.”
“. . . fine,” Superboy says warily, and they both sit on the bean bags. Superboy looks a little bewildered by them; Billy represses another wince. Maybe Cadmus didn’t teach him about bean bag chairs?
That sucks, if they didn’t.
Well, at least Superboy didn't say “no” this time. Although Billy hopes Superboy saying “fine” doesn't actually mean “no”, now that he's thinking of it, because that'd be–
Yeah, okay, Billy needs to not have to second-guess literally everything Superboy says, so they're definitely gonna have to have the “no” talk ASAP. Like, definitely.
“Okay, cool,” Billy says as he settles in carefully on his own bean bag, which is a little awkward because he’s about twice the size he was the last time he sat on one, but they’re pretty big chairs and he figures it out eventually. This is a weird conversation to have, definitely, but it’s not really . . . like, it’d be bad to lie to Superboy about this, even if he’s gonna keep lying to the Justice League, so . . . well, lying to his co-workers isn’t like lying to his kid, he thinks. Like–it’s definitely not. So . . . yeah. “Okay, so the thing is, uh, to be totally honest here I'm actually only like twelve years older than you, so I know this whole situation is a liiiiittle weird, but I think it'll be great! And I've really only been doing the superhero thing for a couple of years myself but I can definitely still help you with your powers and with learning how to get along with normal humans and that kind of stuff!”
Superboy stares at him in bemusement. Billy has to repress a wince again. Bemused staring is . . . not great, as a reaction. Though it could be worse, really.
“. . . wait, are you human?” Superboy asks with a slow frown. “You don't look human. You don't have pores or any variation in skin pigmentation and your face is perfectly symmetrical. And your irises don't have spokes.”
“Uh, well, technically I'm human but, uh, please don't tell anybody ‘cuz I reaaaaally don't wanna explain that to the Justice League,” Billy says, wincing after all, and then adds in a mutter, “At least not any time in the next six years, anyway.”
“Okay,” Superboy says, sounding skeptical. But he doesn’t sound mad or weirded out, so . . . that’s a good sign, right? Billy thinks that’s a good sign. Better than bemused staring, anyway. So–good! That’s good, that Superboy isn’t immediately freaked out by him only being twelve or walking straight out the door over it. Like, that’s a relief. So this is going great so far!
“. . . you’re really only twelve years older than me?” Superboy asks, his frown deepening a little as he looks Billy over. Billy grins sheepishly. He’d show him, obviously, but he’s pretty sure Batman’s surveilling the apartment at least a little bit while they settle in and he doesn’t want him seeing the lightning hit or anything like that, sooooo . . . yeah, no, not right now.
Anyway, if he’s being a dad he should be dad-shaped, right? Being dad-shaped is better! And like this he’s big enough to hug Superboy really good and maybe carry him around and stuff like that, and he knows most little kids like being carried, and . . . well, his dad always did that kind of stuff for him, so . . .
He just wants to be a good dad. His was . . . his was really great, and Superboy should get to have a great dad too.
“Um, yeah, but please don't tell anyone that either, the League would be so freaking weird about it,” Billy says, still feeling pretty sheepish.
“. . . sure,” Superboy says, still frowning a little himself. Billy beams at him. This is going really good, yeah! Well, Superboy’s gotta be used to weird age-related stuff, considering he’s technically a baby himself but also “old” enough to understand a lot more than a regular baby would be able to. So yeah, that’s pretty helpful, actually.
Awesome.
“Cool!” Billy says, beaming at him. He considers if the house rules conversation should be next, but probably the “no” conversation needs to come before that, but–
Actually, wait. Before any of that–
“So, um, what do you wanna do about your name?” he asks curiously, tilting his head. They need something to give Batman to put on Superboy’s civilian paperwork, obviously. Superboy–stills, then looks uncomfortable, and Billy tries not to frown.
“Do I have to be Marvel Boy now?” Superboy mutters, looking at the floor. Billy blinks, startled by the question.
“Well, I don’t think you have to,” he says, not quite sure how to approach the tight look on Superboy’s face. “I mean, you’re not magic, that might be confusing for people. But you can if you want?”
“. . . no,” Superboy says, not lifting his eyes from the floor. “Being Superboy is–fine.”
Billy doesn’t know if that’s either a real “no” or a real “fine”, for obvious reasons, but he figures they can work that out later. Hero names are easy to change, after all. And even a civilian name they can come up with a reason to change if they need to, obviously. And that one’s the real concern right now anyway, since Batman needs to finish the paperwork and also Billy just needs something not a hero name to call Superboy. And the team will too, he figures.
“Okay, cool, then you just need a real name!” Billy says firmly, smiling encouragingly at Superboy, who finally looks back up. He looks skeptical.
“You mean a civilian alias for that paperwork you were talking about?” he asks.
“Well, yeah, but also just for having?” Billy says with a shrug. “Like, so people can call you it.”
“People already call me Superboy,” Superboy says with a frown, folding his arms.
“Yeah, but when you're not Superboy and stuff,” Billy explains, because maybe Superboy doesn’t really understand that that’s a thing, considering his life experience so far and all. Which–why would he, after all? “Like, I'm not always Captain Marvel. Er. Although don't tell anyone that either, please, 'cause I think the Justice League kind of thinks I am? And like . . . I'd rather they all just keep thinking that, honestly, it's just way more convenient that way.”
“Uh . . . okay?” Superboy says, looking puzzled. “So I need an alias for . . . pretending to be a civilian, then.”
“Yeah,” Billy says, figuring “for when you are a civilian” might be a little too confusing right now. Baby steps, he figures. Like explaining the nuances of things on an age-appropriate timeline and all instead of just dumping it all on a kid who’s not ready for it all at once. “For when you’re off-duty, you know?”
“The only names I know already belong to other people,” Superboy says with a deepening frown, which makes sense, Billy thinks. Probably Cadmus didn’t upload too many unattached names into Superboy’s head, and for the past couple of days he’s probably only been hearing names that belong to the people he’s been meeting. “And I barely even know any last names at all.”
"Oh! Well, that one’s easy, your last name can be Batson," Billy tells him helpfully, smiling encouragingly at him again. At least that part’s easy, yeah. "I let Batman just make something up for the paperwork and stuff because I didn’t wanna tell him my real name, but Batson’s my last name, so it’d be nice if it was your last name too.”
". . . what?" Superboy asks in bemusement, just staring at him again. “Why are you telling me your real last name if you didn't even tell Batman?”
"I mean, it's your name too now," Billy says reasonably. "Of course I'm gonna tell you your name."
Superboy stares blankly at him.
". . . the fake one is 'Rocky Morgan', though," Billy supplies in the awkward-feeling silence, a little sheepish again. "My fake one, I mean. So your paperwork is all gonna say 'Morgan' too."
"'Rocky Morgan'?" Superboy repeats, wrinkling his nose.
"The last time Batman went undercover he told us all to call him 'Matches Malone' so I'm pretty sure I got off lucky," Billy says with a shrug. He doesn't really know where Batman gets his fake names, but maybe he just likes being creative?
". . . yeah, I think you did," Superboy agrees, making a face.
“Do you want some ideas for names?” Billy offers. Most kids don’t get to “legally” name themselves quite this way, so he feels like helping Superboy pick a good name is important. He wants him to have one he really likes. “I know a lot of them. Or we could look some up online? Batman got us a desktop and got you a laptop and a tablet, in case you need one for anything. Oh, and there’s phones, so we can keep in contact! I should grab you yours, actually, it’s . . . somewhere in the kitchen, I think.”
“‘Ideas’?” Superboy repeats, looking a little uncomfortable. “Like . . . what?”
“I just mean suggestions,” Billy promises, immediately distracted from the phone by Superboy’s apparent discomfort. The phone can wait. “You can pick any name you want, it’s up to you. I’m not gonna, like, veto you or anything.”
“. . . sure,” Superboy says. He still looks uncomfortable and Billy still can’t be sure he really means it, but . . . well, he just has to do his best, he guesses.
“You don’t have to decide right away, you can think it over for a bit,” he says. “But we at least need something to put on the paperwork. You can always change it later if you decide you don’t like it.”
“Whatever,” Superboy says, his mouth thinning. Billy thinks Cadmus was sort of terrible for not just giving him a name to begin with. Actually, no, Cadmus was really terrible for that.
“How about I just list some, and if you like any of them, you can just say?” he suggests.
“Whatever,” Superboy repeats, looking away. Well . . . it’s not a “no”, at least, so Billy figures they can try, and if Superboy gets annoyed or bored, they’ll just stop and try again later.
“Okay,” he says. “Um . . . let’s see, what are some good ones . . . David, Asher, Zachary, Parker, Otto, Levi . . . um . . .”
Superboy’s jaw tightens. Billy stops listing names and bites his tongue. Okay. The name thing is a sore spot, maybe. Or maybe Superboy just doesn’t like any of his suggestions and does think he’s lame, he guesses. That might also be, like . . . a thing.
“I’ll try to think of some more later,” Billy says, repressing a guilty wince and grasping desperately for a new topic. “Do you, uh . . . have any questions? Or anything like that?”
Probably he should’ve asked that sooner, come to think.
"How often are you gonna be here?" Superboy asks, still looking away. Billy can’t really read what he can see of his face very well, but hopefully once they know each other better he'll get better at that kind of thing. Like, he’ll have to, right?
"Oh, like–pretty much whenever I'm not doing hero stuff or on any League missions," he says. He figures it’s important for Superboy to be able to find him easily, just in case. Especially to start. "I'll make sure and tell you if I'm ever gonna be gone overnight or anything like that, okay?”
Superboy . . . blinks. Looks back at him.
"You're going to live here?" he asks in confusion. Billy blinks too, tilting his head.
"Yeah," he says. "I mean, it wouldn't be very nice of me to just ditch you here all by yourself, would it?"
"I can take care of myself," Superboy says, his expression shuttering. Billy frowns.
"Well, sure, but that doesn't mean anybody's gonna make you," he says. Just because Superboy’s physically old enough to take care of himself doesn’t mean he’s not technically still a baby. He deserves to get taken care of and have somebody help him figure out, like . . . everything, pretty much. Civilian life and superhero stuff both.
That’s why Billy’s doing this, so . . . yeah.
“Why?” Superboy says.
“Because that’d be really mean,” Billy says. “And we’re the good guys, so we have to be the good guys.”
Superboy’s jaw tightens again, and then he folds his arms and looks away again too. He looks upset. Billy wishes he knew how to fix it. Like–even just a little bit. He knows sometimes that stuff just doesn’t “fix”, but . . . still. He’s trying to be a good dad here, so he feels like he should fix things like Superboy being upset.
Well–he guesses just letting him work through being upset is okay too, if it comes to it. For when things aren’t that easy to get distracted from. Billy would also have a lot to be upset about if he’d been made in a lab and told he was supposed to be somebody he’s not and gotten mind-controlled the first time he’d ever woken up for real. Like, that’s a really shit first day.
Superboy must feel really weird all the time, too. Cadmus probably didn’t really teach him how to be a kid or a teenager, since they were trying to make an adult Superman, so it’s no wonder he thinks they’re gonna make him take care of himself. Billy’s gonna have to help him learn how being a kid even works, he’s pretty sure.
Well, he can do that. And, well, Superboy’s friends can cover the “teenager” stuff, he guesses. Like, probably. Right?
. . . maybe he could find a couple of parenting books or something. A parenting book might be a good idea.
"I just don't get it," Superboy says after a long moment staring at the wall, tensing his folded arms. "What about when you have to get back to your real life? Like your . . . your job and your house and your . . . family. This is keeping you away from all that."
"Oh," Billy realizes, blinking at him in surprise. He guesses Superboy probably would expect him to have that kinda stuff, huh. He didn’t really think about it. "No, I don't really . . . have any of those, technically? I mean, I am human, I wasn't lying or anything, I just don't have a job or another house or anything like that. Actually the Justice League is paying for all of this, 'cause we were all talking about the best place for you to live and Superman asked if maybe I could take care of you, and I had to tell him I couldn't 'cause I didn't actually have anything to take care of you with, but Batman said the League could set up a stipend to pay for stuff and help me get a place and all that if I wanted to do it, sooooo . . ."
". . . Superman asked you to take care of me?" Superboy asks hesitantly, shifting in his bean bag and finally glancing back to him.
"Yeah," Billy confirms with a nod, a little relieved that Superboy’s looking at him again. Well–close to him, anyway. He’s not quite making eye contact, but that’s fine. "Well, him and Batman. Because my powers are kinda close to yours so I can help you train and stuff, but also Kryptonians are vulnerable to magic so if you've got any mind control triggers in your head that we missed I should be able to stop you without having to hurt you. Like I could restrain you until we could help you or until you could snap out of it on your own, I mean."
"Oh," Superboy says, blinking slowly. "I just figured somebody had some kryptonite somewhere in case something like that happened."
"No," Billy says, frowning at the thought. Geez, what kind of an awful dad would he be if he did that? He's seen what kryptonite does to Superman and it totally sucks. "Kryptonite hurts. I'm not gonna let anybody use kryptonite on you. Er–well, probably eventually a bad guy will when you're on a mission, that's kind of how those go, but we're definitely not gonna keep any here.”
"Why not?" Superboy asks, frowning back at him. "It's more efficient than actually fighting me. And I might injure you if I'm like that."
"Yeah," Billy says. "But also somebody bad could use it against you if they ever broke in and found it. And this is, um–well. This is your home now, so I don't think there should be things that could hurt you in it anyway."
Superboy stares blankly at him again. Billy tries not to fidget.
"There were lots of things that could hurt me in Cadmus," Superboy says, his face staying very, very blank in a way that Billy immediately hates.
"Well, this isn't Cadmus," Billy says firmly, trying to look as sincere and trustworthy and dad-ly as he knows how to. He had a really, really great dad. He can pay that forward. Superboy deserves a great dad too. "I'm taking care of you now, and I don't want kryptonite or anything like it around you. Ever."
Superboy stares at him. His expression is really complicated-looking and Billy doesn't understand it, so he just keeps trying to look as dad-ly as possible. Hopefully that'll help, or at least won't hurt.
". . . what about your family, though?" Superboy asks after a long moment, flicking his eyes away uncomfortably. Billy really hopes he's doing this right. "Or do you, uh, not have one of those either?"
"Um," Billy says. "Well, I have the worst uncle in the world who I really hope is rotting in prison somewhere by now, but otherwise it's just you."
"What?" Superboy frowns again, looking confused. "What's just me?"
"Uh . . . my family?" Billy replies, a little embarrassed. He hasn't actually had any family that he could still want to be around in . . . well, a really long time now, so it feels sort of weird to say it, but it is true. Dubiously-legally true, given all the fake paperwork Batman’s been putting together, but still true.
Superboy gives him the blank stare yet again. Billy feels like a moron, but–well, he's not gonna take it back. Even if Superboy thinks he's presuming too much too quick or something, which admittedly he kinda is, Billy also can't imagine how awful it'd be hearing someone call you their family and then say they weren't really or hadn't actually meant it or just . . . whatever.
Superboy might not even care if he did, but . . .
Well. Billy would care. So he's not gonna.
Ever.
“I don’t know what names are good,” Superboy says finally, his voice stiff. “Or sound good. I never even heard music before Kid Flash was–I just don’t know what sounds are good. Or whatever.”
“It doesn’t matter if it’s ‘good’,” Billy says, wondering both why Superboy cares so much about his name “sounding” good and also why Cadmus is apparently the worst. They never even played music for him? What, at all? He makes an immediate mental note to figure out how to set up the wireless speakers Batman had delivered and, like, Spotify or Pandora or something. “You just have to like it.”
“Oh,” Superboy says, just barely frowning again. “Are you . . . sure?”
“Yeah,” Billy says firmly. “I’m definitely sure.”
“Oh,” Superboy says again, then looks down at his feet. Billy feels bad for him and promises himself that he’s going to make, like, a million different playlists for him the first chance he gets. Just like a lot of different stuff, so Superboy can figure out what he likes.
“Do you still want suggestions?” he asks. “I promise I won’t pick anything that sounds bad.”
“. . . fine,” Superboy says, still looking at his feet. It’s not a resounding “yes” or anything, but it’s not a “no”, Billy’s pretty sure, and he does want to help Superboy pick a good name, so . . . it’s probably okay to try again, he thinks.
“Okay,” he says, trying to think of something really good and not just random stuff this time. Like–names are important, and Superboy obviously cares about what other people are gonna think of what he picks, so . . .
Superboy keeps not looking at him. Billy tries not to worry about it. Maybe Superboy just doesn’t like looking at people at all. He didn’t make eye contact with Kid Flash’s parents while they were here either, and barely even with Kid Flash. Which makes sense, he guesses, because why would someone used to telepathic communication really feel a need to look at anyone’s face, anyway? Superboy probably doesn’t have the . . . like, the instinct or whatever. Right?
Well, it’s fine if he doesn’t, Billy figures. Either he’ll learn it or he’ll just not like it, and neither of those options are a big deal or anything. The name thing and coming up with rules and stuff and helping Superboy feel comfortable are all way more important right now.
"Um . . . actually, my mom's name was Marilyn," Billy suggests a little shyly as an old idea occurs to him. It’s been a while since he really thought about it, honestly, and he didn’t think about it the past couple of days either because he’d just assumed Superboy already had a name, but . . . "So you could be 'Lynn', maybe? If that's not too weird? I used to think that if I ever had a kid I'd name them after my mom, 'cuz my dad's name was Clarence and that's pretty old-fashioned, though I guess if you were a girl you could've just been 'Claire', so . . . well, maybe Clarence could be your middle name, actually? If you like it, I mean.”
Superboy . . . pauses. Frowns at the floor.
"Why would you name me that?" he asks skeptically. "You might have an actual kid someday and want to use it for them."
"I have an actual kid right now," Billy replies reasonably. "Why wouldn't I use it for you?”
Superboy sits very, very still, and doesn't say anything. Billy starts worrying that maybe that was weird or too much and maybe he's already the worst dad ever and maybe now Superboy thinks he's weird and too much and the worst dad ever and is just gonna get up and go straight back to Kid Flash's house and never even talk to him again or–
"I count as an actual kid to you?" Superboy asks, his voice completely neutral.
Oh, Billy realizes.
Man, he's dumb sometimes.
"Yeah," he says firmly. "You definitely count."
". . . okay," Superboy says, looking at the wall. "'Lynn' works."
"Awesome," Billy says, smiling at him as wide as he thinks he can get away with. He doesn't want to look fake or like he's trying too hard or to be overwhelming or anything like that. He just wants to make it obvious that he's happy right now. "Nice to meet you, Lynn Clarence Batson."
"Nice to meet you too," Superboy says–Lynn says–glancing sidelong at him just a little bit hesitantly. "Um . . . Dad."
Billy grins.
Okay. Not the worst dad ever after all, then.