Who are the six gods of Shazam?

He is the alter ego of Billy Batson, a boy who, by speaking the magic word "SHAZAM!" (acronym of six "immortal elders": Solomon, Hercules, Atlas, Zeus, Achilles, and Mercury ), is transformed into a costumed adult with the powers of superhuman strength, speed, flight, and other abilities.

Is Shazam Marvel or DC?

Shazam (/ʃəˈzæm/), also known as The Wizard or Wizard Shazam, is a fictional character appearing in American comic books published by Fawcett Comics and DC Comics , first appearing in Whiz Comics #2 (February, 1940) created by C.C. Beck and Bill Parker.

Who is the 7th Shazam?

After spending a decade in prison, C.C. returns to Philadelphia to find Billy at the Vazquezes' foster home. When he is attacked by Black Adam and the Seven Deadly Sins, Billy shares his Shazam powers with his father, making him the prophesied seventh and final member of the Shazam Family.

Is Shazam stronger than a God?

Fans had believed Shazam couldn't match the gods, but given he has a slight upgrade on their iconic powers , he may yet be able to free himself, once again proving that he's Earth's Mightiest Mortal.

Can Shazam beat Superman?

Even though Superman is often considered the most powerful character in the DC Universe, Shazam definitely comes close, and he can even beat the Man of Steel . And with a massive power upgrade, there's no question that Shazam can meet Superman blow for blow—despite the upgrade's terrible side effects.

Why does Black Adam say Shazam?

Black Adam and Shazam both get their powers from the same Council of Wizards, which explains why Teth-Adam says "Shazam!" to power up . Unlike Billy Batson, though, Black Adam draws his powers from the Egyptian gods: Shu, Heru, Amon, Zehuti, Aton, and Mehen.

Can Thor beat Shazam?

Shazam may be wise, but Thor is thousands of years old, and as the All-Father, has a far greater command of magic. As long as he doesn't overtax himself, he could easily outpace his opponent . On their own, both these noble heroes are capable of beating incredible forces.

Who are the six champions in Shazam?

The hero was the alter ego of 12-year-old orphan Billy Batson, who transformed into a crimefighter by saying the word “SHAZAM!,” which stands for the six mythological figures from which SHAZAM! derives his power: Solomon, Hercules, Atlas, Zeus, Achilles, and Mercury .

Who are the Egyptian gods in Shazam?

The wizard gives Teth-Adam the power to become the superhero the Mighty Adam by speaking the name "Shazam", an acronym for the Mighty Adam's powers: the stamina of Shu, the swiftness of Heru (Horus), the strength of Amon, the wisdom of Zehuti (Thoth), the power of Aton, and the courage of Mehen .

Who are the six gods of Black Adam?

The Gods That Gave Black Adam His Powers Similar to Billy Batson, Black Adam was gifted six powers by six different gods. These gods are of Egyptian origin, and are in direct correlation to the Greek gods of Shazam's. These gods are Shu, Horus, Amon, Zehuti, Aton, and Mehen.

Why are there six Shazams?

As it exists currently in the DC Universe, there are six members of the Shazam Family - Billy Batson's foster siblings - just like Parker's original team. While Bill Parker's idea to make Shazam six different characters fell through, it also foreshadowed the ongoing adventures of the Shazam Family.

The Third Son of Fate - LateVanillaBloom

Chapter Text

- - -

He remembered which number it was. #11. The eleventh foster family he had been placed in.

Every foster family either tossed him back after getting bored with him, or only kept him until realizing his troublesome behavior wasn’t worth the checks.

And after #10 ended in disaster, he hadn’t had much hope for the eleventh. Why was he such a bad kid? He was eight-and-a-half—he knew he should know better, like they all told him. Why couldn’t he just be good, like they wanted?

Maybe Mary was in a nice foster family. He couldn’t imagine her being a ‘bad kid’.

He tried to convince the caseworkers that she was alive, that she was somewhere out there, but they never listened. They never went looking. And when he tried to look for her, he was just being a ‘bad kid’ again.

He really tried to get along with the foster families, and not run away. He really did.

After all, each disappointing or straight up awful one he was placed in, meant she wasn’t with that particular family. It meant that no other foster kid was in that place.

But sometimes, it was all too much—and he would run. He never got too far, or got away for good—after all, he was just running ‘out’, and not ‘away’. Each time, he knew it was so selfish and wrong. He shouldn’t be disappointing his foster parents. He should be grateful. And in the really bad foster homes, the one good thing in his power to do was to make sure no other foster kid lived there—but he would fail at even that.

He had resolved after #10 gave him up, that he would finally make sure to be good for #11. To do everything right. But it all felt too wrong being there, so Billy had wanted out. Needed to get out.

So he did get out. But stupidly got caught at a soup kitchen—he had been cold and hungry, unsure of how to survive, and hadn’t realized they were on the lookout for runaway kids. He would avoid those next time.

But he didn’t get a next time. His foster parents hadn’t been so keen on their extra source of revenue running away—no Billy, no monthly checks for nasty stuff like the drinks and pills they liked so much.

So they stuck him in a dog collar—and it shocked him when he took steps too far from ‘his’ area. He felt really bad for the actual dogs stuck in collars like this. But if he was in this one, then this particular one couldn’t hurt any dogs. So that was a bright side at least. He really liked dogs.

He knew his foster parents had some control over his collar, but he didn’t know why they did it. Sometimes the shocks seemed random. Sometimes it came at times where he knew he hadn’t done anything wrong, hadn’t broken any of the ‘house rules’, but it still shocked him. Sometimes when he was sleeping.

It hurt worse when he wasn’t expecting it, so he tried to keep on guard.

Stayed up at night, bracing himself for any shocks. Pulling on the collar, wanting to take it off. But he already knew what would happen if he did. Didn’t want them to hurt him with their fists and kicks and slaps again. Didn’t want to be yelled at. For now, the collar kept them happy. So he kept it on. It was just so tiring to keep running, to keep trying to do what he wanted, to keep resisting. After all, wasn’t the system supposed to protect him? That’s what all the caseworkers said. Wasn’t he supposed to listen to his foster parents? Make them happy? Maybe if he was better at making them happy, they would keep him around longer.

Curled up on his thin bed mattress, fingers latched around the collar on his neck, he felt an insistent warmth at his side.

Tawny.

Tawny had been a gift from his parents—their last gift before leaving—and…and…

As he hugged the tiger close to his chest, holding in the warmth of the memories, he thought about his own life. His own parents.

Parents were supposed to love and protect. To keep safe and hug and kiss away any flus, say funny things and read stories and make yummy meals and teach things and be there no matter what you did wrong. That’s what his parents did, until they couldn’t anymore.

Until they died.

All the foster families he had been in. All the foster parents he had tried to please. ‘Parents’, they were called. A realization came over him.

Even if he was a ‘bad kid’, like he heard in the words of the adults around him, parents should act like… like parents . Like mothers and fathers.

But they didn’t. And that was…wrong.

Tawny almost seemed to warm in his arms in agreement.

It wasn’t right for Billy to be treated like this. It wasn’t good.

“Do good, and good will follow”, his parents whispered in his dreams.

But was staying in this house, letting this collar squeeze around his neck, really the “good” that they had wanted? The good that they had dreamed Billy would do someday?

It was good to obey parents.

But these people weren’t parents.

But… maybe it was still good for him to be here. So that no other foster kid would be here instead. That sounded good, right?

Tawny seemed less warm to the idea. He hugged the tiger tighter, trying to think of what to do.

Maybe…

Maybe he should run, for good this time. –FOR GOOD THIS TIME!

He could do good outside of this place. Help people somehow. Look for Mary. Help other kids, other people. And do good to anyone and everyone he ever met—like his parents did. The sort of good he could do out there, instead of “being good” by hiding away here.

Just “be good” seemed selfish. But “do good” would be action. It would help people. It would be worth it.

He would leave, Billy resolved. Tawny seemed in agreement, and Billy smiled into the comforting warm fur.

It took a few minutes of struggling, and imagining Tawny cheering him on, but he undid the collar. Tossed it to the other side of the room. Grabbed what little stuff he had that was his. Didn’t want to start this whole thing off by stealing, after all.

He snuck by his not-parents, passed out on the couch. Figured out the locks and ran for freedom.

The night air felt light, but full of opportunities.

“All right Tawny,” Billy smiled, “let’s go do good.”

They disappeared into the night as a world-weary wizard watched from his cave with interest.

- - -

He opened his eyes.

He must have fallen back asleep. His blankets were back, tucked around him. A Styrofoam cup with a straw, placed on the bedside table now within arms-reach. His heart frantically beat as he scanned the room—no Black Adam, thank goodness. But—there was still—his fingers scrabbled to his neck and the room around him seemed to lose its realness as he tried not to fall back into his memories and—

A warmness pulsed by his feet but it couldn’t break through the crumbling dam of emotions and shadows and—

“Billy!”

There was a voice—right there at the foot of his bed—who?

He refocused his eyes.

“Hullo Billy, old pal!”

Billy rubbed his eyes, dumbfounded.

At the foot of his bed, sat a tiger. A tiger in a striped, green tweed coat, matching hat, red tie and formal slacks, nonchalantly leaning on the side of the end of Billy’s bed.

A talking tiger—Holey Moley!

The tiger grinned. “What, dontcha remember your old pal Tawny?”

Tawny! Tawny was alive. (He knew it!)

Billy grinned and tried to lean towards the tiger for a hug but Tawny beat him to it, gripping the boy in a side hug before gently pushing him to lay back down.

“Whoa, there, better be careful not to hurt yourself.”

“What happened? Have you always been alive?”, Billy tried to gush, but only a garble of sounds came out. He whined in sadness before a bout of coughing overtook him, spurred from the scratchiness of his throat.

Tawny grabbed the cup of water and offered it to Billy, who gratefully began to sip it. He didn’t think it was poisoned. Tawny wouldn’t let that happen to him.

“I’m not really sure what happened. I’m still Tawny, but…now I can do this! Pretty cool, right?” The tiger did a cartwheel, suit and all, in the middle of the room as Billy gazed in awe.

You can hear me?

“Of course I can, Billy—you are my human, after all.”

Billy didn’t doubt it for a second—magic was a funny thing.

As Tawny prattled on, hypothesizing as to why he was now sentient and, well, really alive, he pulled out a bamboo cane from somewhere and began to smoothly tap-dance around the hospital room.

Grinning, Tawny looked to Billy for approval. “Always wanted to do this!”

Inordinately thrilled by the sight of a sophisticated tiger tapdancing, Billy couldn’t help letting out some giggles, and his hands reflexively moved to cover his mouth but then he somehow brushed against the cool metal of the collar and the room spun out of reality again and—

Tawny stopped cavorting around the room, realizing the change falling over Billy’s face.

“Billy, I’m here. Don’t let the fear control you.”

Billy stared at nothingness.

Tawny took his large paws and placed them over Billy’s hands.

Soft, warm fur on his skin.

A warm voice rumbled. “You’ve done it before, Billy. You can do it again.”

But I can’t take it off. It won’t come off this time.

“Let the fear go, Billy. You’re strong enough to do this. And I’m here to help.”

Soft, warm fur on his skin. Reminding him of past smiles - “Take care of Mr. Tawny for us, Billy” – Always by his side – “Let’s go do good” – Keeping him in the moment if the past was too much – the only friend he had – and now he’s alive! and---

Billy blinked. Tawny?

The tiger smiled, meeting Billy’s eyes, and held out a paw for a fist bump. A paw bump? “Nice job, chum!”

Billy sheepishly returned the fist/paw bump. Sorry about that. You know.

Tawny nodded. He knew. He had been there. But now… he could do more to help.

He returned to his nonchalant pose, leaning on the side of the bed.

“Well, pal, looks like we’re in quite the pickle.”

You said it, Billy huffed.

“Yeah, I said it. Since you can’t. Which, I think, is the first thing we need to figure out.”

It’s sturdy. Won’t come off. Can’t feel any clip or anything I can tear or break. I think we should make a run for it, then try to find something to break it off.

“Hate to break it to you Billy-boy, but despite being on the mend, you’re in no condition to outsprint a flying whats-it.”

A flying whats-it? Billy inquired, amused.

“The big flying guy. In black. Not sure what his deal is. But I don’t think he’ll just let you walk out of here.”

Right, Black Adam. Well, Billy pondered, I don’t really know what his deal is either. He did almost kill me, but he also patched me up, mostly. He gestured to the collar. And if he didn’t want me to call down the magic, he could’ve just done me in already instead of resorting to this thing.

“True, that”, Tawny interjected. “He doesn’t seem like a Billy-murderer, or a Tawny-murderer, at least. He did get me a bath!”

Uh, What? Billy was going to have to ask about that later. Anyway. I know he has beef with the wizard, and I guess that includes me, but I don’t understand his weird comments; he made it sound like he wants me to be his kid? Billy threw up his hands in frustration. Like, what is even that??? But you’re right. I can’t outrun the guy. But if I could just get this stupid collar off, I could turn into Marvel and fly the heck out of here. Maybe after punching Black Adam for being a jerk.

Tawny purred. “Ah, violence. But, I propose a plan in the meantime. You will rest and get better, so you can run for more than a few steps without keeling over. I shall search for a way to get that thing off, which you can help in once you can, you know—” he gestured to the IV still attached to Billy’s arm “—actually get out of bed.”

Yeah, If he doesn’t just lock me up first.

“I believe we are already locked up, in the palace at least.”

Billy leaned forward and eyed the window, trying to peer between the blind slots to see if they were too high to escape through there. As if on cue, his chest ached. Right. So no climbing down a blanket rope (he’d always wanted to try that)—not yet, at least.

The collar had to go. Billy looked expectantly at Tawny. Well, can you go find me a… I don’t know, a hammer or something?

Tawny winced, picturing what that tool might do against the metal collar snug against Billy’s neck. “Maybe that wouldn’t be the best choice. But! Tact before claw. I—” Tawny adjusted his hat “—am going to go do what tigers do best!”

Billy fully sat up, pulling his legs close into a half-crisscross position, hiding evidence that the sudden movement caused his chest to ache again from reaching his face. What, he chortled, are we going to jump out the window? He’d also always wanted to try the blanket-parachute trick—he’d seen it before in movies and it looked absolutely epic.

“No, no. I am going to do something sneakier than that.” Tawny bounded over to the door and creaked it open as Billy picked up on the word emphasis and scowled. “Besides, I’m a tiger, so if we jumped, I would bounce, but you would splat.” He winked at Billy. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.” He closed the door behind him, leaving Billy alone in the room.

Immediately bored, and not wanting to space out and get all introspective again, Billy shook the water cup in his hands, now empty except for the ice jingling and shuffling in a pleasant distraction. Well, score one for Black Adam—that had been some pretty good water. And he could’ve poisoned it, but didn’t.

Right?

- - -

When Black Adam had returned with water for the boy, he had already fallen back asleep—and Adam had no desire to wake him and be the cause of further fits from fear. Receiving notification that his intelligence forces had information on the boy was a welcome development and a distraction he eagerly seized upon. He retired to a private room connected to his sleeping quarters. There, he had an array of high-end technology, computers, and monitors which cycled through Kahndaqi intelligence reports and surveillance, international reports, and databases of potential allies and threats, including a catalog of all known powered beings who operated on earth. Stalking over to the main grouping of monitors, Adam tapped several commands and pulled up the intelligence sent by his agents still stationed in America. He was now fairly used to navigating the incredible technology—he found his Wisdom helped him adapt quickly to this strange new world he had woken into—and once realizing the prevalence of advanced technology in this time, he had made sure Kahndaqi security had access to the best available in the name of protecting his people.

But now, he would use it to find out more about this child.

He pulled up the data, spread out across multiple monitors. A photo of the child, from several years ago at least, from the Fawcett City foster program database. A list of his previous foster homes, dates, and notes—and, what he was primarily looking for: his name.

William Joseph Batson.

A strong name, a good name. But he wanted to learn more. How had this child found himself under the wizard’s thumb? If his own experience was any indication, the wizard liked to pick his tools from those broken, discarded, or kept down by society. He scrolled through the notes from the files—all of which were incredibly vague and apparently disinterested in any sort of detail about who the boy actually was, what he was like. But he did find some interesting adjacent details.

The boy’s parents had died, when he was six. He had been tossed to-and-fro eleven foster homes until age eight-and-a-half—at which time he completely disappeared from the system. A runaway.

Why had he run? Why live on the uncaring streets? Was the wizard to blame? But according to his records, ‘Captain Marvel’ had not shown up until over 6 months later. He scoured the notes again, hoping to find more details.

A faint, cheery whistle sounded from somewhere behind him—he had left the doors to the rooms open, fearing nothing, and the sound echoed throughout the stone halls of the palace, bouncing off the walls and concealing its origin. Confused, Adam stalked out of the computer lab and his room and into the hallway, which was lined by large potted plants, but no one was in sight. A strange occurrence, but perhaps just a servant on his rounds.

He returned to his quarters and resumed reading, but not more than a few seconds had gone by before he heard a voice from the same, unknown origin.

“You should be ashamed. Kidnapping a kid and putting a collar on him. Awful stuff, chap.”

The voice was a cross between a whisper and a thought, almost similar to how Zehuti would dispense Wisdom, but Zehuti quickly informed him that he was not the source of the voice.

Rising from his chair, and entering his main room—empty—Adam chose to respond, hoping to pinpoint the voice. “Who are you? What is your purpose here?”

The voice was quiet a moment before responding. “Well, sonny, I’m your conscience, y’know! And as your conscience, I’m telling you to stop hurting the kid.”

Adam, frustrated as the voice echoed indeterminately, shot back. “I am not hurting him, I am helping him!” He stalked into the hallway, and again—empty.

This time the voice almost growled. “You’re no better than the last people—always controlling, and- and hurting Billy—”

Billy? “Billy?” Adam queried, interrupting the voice. It took a second for him to put the pieces together. The boy—William—perhaps also went by the name Billy? He walked back into his room, scanning every corner. “Who are you?”

“Hey-o, you know. ‘Always let your conscience be your guide!’ and all that—and you better get your act together, or—yipe!”

The voice cut off. Seconds later, a cleaning servant walked by the doorway: in one hand, a dusting rag. In the other, a familiar object—the boy’s stuffed tiger. Catching sight of Adam’s stare, the servant stopped in his tracks and bowed low, addressing his ruler in Kahndaqi. “My padshāh!”

Adam gestured to the stuffed animal, responding in kind with the native language. “Where did you get that?” A few days ago, while the boy had still been unconscious, Adam had finally noticed how bedraggled and filthy the toy actually was. Not wanting to throw it out, having seen how the boy had clutched to it even as he was unaware of the world around him, he had ordered it to be washed and put back in the boy’s room once cleaned. Had it never been returned? Surely the servant had not stolen it.

A little confused, and greatly nervous, the servant responded: “My padshāh, I was dusting the hallway plant basins, and I saw this tucked behind the one there—” the man gestured behind him “—so I retrieved it, intent on bringing it to the esteemed head housekeeper as I was not sure where it properly belonged. My deepest apologies if I was not meant to do this.”

Adam didn’t need Zehuti to tell him the man was telling the truth, he could see it in his eyes. “It was no trespass. Here, I will take the toy. You may continue on.” The servant handed it over, bowed, and scurried away. Adam studied the stuffed tiger in his hands, lost in thought.

How had the toy gotten here? It had been cleaned, as ordered. Perhaps, it had fallen out of the clean washing as it was being carried down the hallway. Perhaps one of the palace staff’s children had grabbed it at some point, and abandoned it in play.

It was not a pressing issue. What concerned Adam at this point, was that he had no idea where that voice had come from.

It did not seem to want to harm him, at most, only warn him. In fact, it had almost seemed concerned for the boy. William, he had to remind himself. Or was it Billy, if the voice indeed possessed some greater knowledge? There was a familiar feeling, almost on the tip of his tongue, which spoke to the culprit of the voice being tied to magic. The feeling almost still seemed to permeate the room. There could be many an explanation: with magic, there could be a million possible causes; a messenger from the dead, from a powerful living mage, roaming mischievous or malevolent entities; it could even be merely a byproduct of Kahndaq itself: the country was known for many a strange sighting or experience, having thousands of years of magic buried deep within its sands. This mysterious voice should be investigated, especially should it reappear. But something else pricked within his mind also. Something the voice had said.

“You’re no better than the last people… always controlling… hurting Billy…”

Spirits, if this was indeed one, could have otherworldly knowledge about people they were tied to. Glimpses into their past. Could that statement be an insight into William’s past? Some secret, past history, found in no notes? He wanted to know more.

But first, to return this wayward tiger.

- - -

Billy was waiting for Tawny to return (and definitely did not doze off again) when the room exploded into a flurry of action.

Some guy came in (and he just looked like a doctor) and did a lot of hemming and hawing and poking and prodding, asking him to nod if it hurt here or there—and half of Billy wanted to yell at the guy to stop even if the words would’ve come out in complete gibberish, and the other half was waiting for the guy to actually tell him something useful, because, y’know, if he was actively dying or something he wanted to know.

Billy didn’t think he was, he actually was feeling pretty okay except for the achy chest and the feeling like he’d been laying here forever—but you never know. It’s not like he’d been to the doctor’s since… well, probably before his parents died. He was never with a foster family long enough for them to actually start thinking about long-term things, like setting up a doctor’s appointment. He shook himself out of the memories before he got sucked in. The doctor guy went around and removed the bandages from Billy’s chest to ‘air out’ the stitches (he caught a glimpse of some gnarly scars!) but the doctor seemed satisfied with however Billy was healing because he removed the stupid IV (finally!) and stuck a band-aid where it had been. Billy silently lamented the fact that it was just a boring brown band-aid.

And then Black Adam walked into the room and Billy definitely did not get spooked despite preparing himself for the inevitability of his reappearance. He had to stop doing that—as Cap, he’d faced down monsters and demons and all sorts of bad guys before. He might not have the courage of Achilles, but he should still have the courage of Billy. In the past, no concerned caseworker had ever swooped in to help him out when he was stuck with a horrible foster family, and there obviously was no one coming to help Billy here. He had to get out on his own. He had done it before, and he’d do it again.

Adam spoke to the doctor in some foreign tongue and Billy really wished he still had Cap’s language interpretation abilities because he hated not knowing what was going on around him. As they talked, something caught his eye—something was tucked under Adam’s arm, nearly hidden from sight.

Tawny!

You great big lummox, you got CAUGHT, didn’t you! Billy huffed in exasperation. Very ‘sneaky’, yeah, right.

Tawny didn’t respond, the coward. Once they got a moment alone, Billy was going to chew him out for not just finding a blasted hammer and sneaking it back to the room. He knew he should have tried climbing out the window while he had the chance.

Finishing his discussion with the doctor and dismissing him, Black Adam turned his attention to Billy, who froze for a breath before settling on a decided glare.

“Here. Your tiger seems to be a wanderer.” Billy snatched Tawny back, with special attention on maintaining his glare, when Adam proffered it to him. “My physician says you are healing well, but has recommended regular exercise to prevent further complications. One of the palace servants will accompany you on a short walk, once you have had something to eat. Are you hungry?”

Billy was indeed hungry. But the fact that this guy was asking him a question, when he literally could not talk because of him, made Billy do his best to make his frown even frown-ier, gesturing emphatically at the collar in derision.

“Ah, that won’t be a problem.” Black Adam seemed almost aloof to Billy making a scene, which almost made Billy blush from shame from acting out—no, no, maintain the glare!

As if on cue, a young maidservant entered the room, bowed, and set down a tray of food and a glass of water on the bedside table before handing something else off to Adam and leaving the room.

Adam pushed the bedside table so it hung over the hospital bed within reach of Billy and handed something towards him.

It was a small handheld chalkboard, about eight inches in length, and a small cloth bag of chalk.

Seriously?

Billy placed the chalkboard on the bed next to him, half incredulous that this guy expected him to communicate through a chalkboard. Like, come on dude!

Ignoring the delicious smells coming from the array of food which he refused to look at, Billy crossed his arms, hoping his glare was still intact as he stared Black Adam down. The food was probably loaded with some sort of mind-control chemicals or something evil. He’d heard all the stories from the other Leaguers, plus he himself had once dealt with a planet full of weird mind-control worms—caterpillars?—aliens? And Dr. Sivana had once tried to brainwash the city into not liking Chocos anymore (the dude hated Chocos for some reason, which baffled Billy). Bad guys always loved dabbling with mind-control stuff. And I am not playing your games, dude.

Black Adam met his eyes, his face still neutral. “The food is not poisoned, William.”

Billy couldn’t help it. He did a double-take and the glare probably dropped clean off his face in the process. Darn it. Why did he know that name? How??

From the gleam in Adam’s eyes, Billy knew his reaction had been noted and his battle plans were in disarray. The only thing he could do was grab the chalkboard and furious scribble out a sentence in the hopes of turning back the tide: [Not my name!]

He settled back, trying to reestablish the glare. It was technically true, he didn’t go by William—the name felt stiff and formal and too reminiscent of cold, official rooms where the name had no more meaning than a number.

Black Adam seemed unfazed. “Hmm. So you do go by Billy, then. Very well.”

Billy’s jaw dropped. His mind screamed confusion at the familiar name coming from the lips of this, this—this bad guy! WHAT. THE. HECK.

TAWNY, I SWEAR IF YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS, I WILL SELL YOU TO A ZOO!!!

- - -

The boy—Billy, he reminded himself—seemed utterly shocked and disturbed that Adam knew his name.

Perhaps that had been an oversight; names were powerful and personal. Perhaps he should have asked the boy directly and tried to have a conversation.

Well, a ‘conversation’ as well as one can have when one person has to use a chalkboard.

Billy seemed to have recovered from the shock and resumed his glare. It almost amused Adam—it reminded him when Gon or Hurut would have a childish spat from some slight and attempt to pout their way to victory. The unbidden memory then saddened him, and he tried to banish the image from his mind—usually, because of the gods’ blessings, he had more control over his mind and could prevent these emotional lapses, but it seemed that his mental dam for his now-ancient memories became weak in the presence of this boy.

The boy who continued to glare at him and made no move to touch the food in front of him despite the growling of a hungry stomach that Adam could hear from here.

Billy was far too thin. He needed to eat. And Adam had already overstepped his boundaries with the boy by springing the whole name debacle, so his presence wasn’t helping matters, nor would it encourage the boy to eat, he decided. He inclined his head in acknowledgement of the child.

“I shall be going for now. Once you have eaten, I shall send someone to escort you around the palace for a walk before nightfall.”

He left the room under fire from a continuous barrage of glares, reminding himself that patience would be necessary. And perhaps a reevaluation of his tactics.

- - -

Once he was finally alone in the room again, Billy set Tawny at the foot of the bed and continued to maintain the glare.

What is your deal?? You were supposed to help me escape, not tell the literal supervillain my NAME!

Tawny appeared back in full size and rubbed the fur at the back of his neck with a guilty grimace. “I didn’t mean to tell him. It just kinda slipped out.”

‘Slipped out?’ Why were you even talking to him? Billy’s initial anger slipped into worry. Does he know about you? What if he decides to, I don’t know, lock you up and put you on display as a talking tiger circus act?

“No, no! He doesn’t know about me, per se. He thought his conscience was talking to him, I made sure of it.”

Billy’s jaw dropped again.

“You should really eat some of that food before it gets cold, it looks pretty good.”

It did look pretty good—a big bowl of some sort of soup, some soft, warm bread with butter, and some fruit—and Billy decided he could simultaneously eat and yell at Tawny (if the food really was mind-control contaminated it would all be Tawny’s fault anyway).

Hold on. Please tell me you did not try to go all Jiminy Cricket on this guy!

Tawny decidedly ignored Billy, electing to stare at the far wall, as Billy went to town on both slurping the soup and berating him.

Tawny! No, come ON! You can’t just try to do that. You weren’t even knighted by a Blue Fairy or anything. You gotta be licensed and stuff—there are rules to this sort of thing. Billy snorted in half-derision, half-acceptance of the fact of this new reality. Ok, new plan. I come up with the escape plans from now on. We’re not going to get out of here by having Adam grow a conscience.

Tawny harrumphed, arms crossed. “I still thought it was a good idea.”

Billy sighed. He wasn’t actually angry at Tawny, just disappointed that they hadn’t been able to make a quick escape. I know you tried your best, Tawny, so thanks.

Tawny gave a toothy smile in return, then brightened up as he remembered something. “Oh! Another thing. Black Adam has a bunch of computer thingies in his room. Maybe we could contact the Justice League?”

Billy almost choked on a piece of fruit. Ah, no. We’re not contacting the Justice League. I can’t compromise my identity any further. Also, I literally have no idea how I could contact them without my Justice League communicator. It’s not like I have Batman’s email or something.

Tawny duffed his hat. “Rats!”

Billy shrugged his shoulders as he finished up the last bits of food. He couldn’t let these initial setbacks discourage him—they would just have to get a little more creative, he guessed. He would have to really be on guard for opportunities, this wasn’t like escaping a one-story house in suburbia.

He’d barely put the licked-clean spoon back into the now-empty bowl when the door opened and someone entered. It was a short, older woman in a simple, dark brown cotton dress with white embroidery; the colors contrasting against her light brown skin and dark but graying hair. She had a sort of half-apron tied around her waist with all sorts of deep pockets full of unseen objects. She wasn’t short from being hunched over, but was just really, really short—just a head or two taller than Billy himself. She had a crinkly face which seemed more tough than old, lots of wrinkles where the corners of her lips were pulled into a hint of a smile, and her twinkling eyes seemed to squint at the same angle. The sight reminded him of Carrie, the old woman who hung out in the alley by the betting-parlor who always seemed to lose the blankets Cap or Billy got for her. The sharp pang of worry for those he would look out for back in Fawcett City was interrupted by the old woman’s introduction.

“Hello, little prince”, she spoke, in a hoarse but not unkind voice, thickened by a foreign accent. “I am Nakia, head matron. These are for you to put on, now.” She handed Billy a pile of clothes and a pair of sandals as he barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes at the unexpected honorific. That would probably be rude, and she seemed nice enough for now. But why was she calling him a prince? Just a weird cultural thing?

He examined the clothes he had been handed in noticeable disappointment. He was thankful for the chance to get out of this stupid hospital gown, but these weren’t the red sweater and jeans he had owned for so long, but instead appeared to be loose leggings and a tunic. (They weren’t even red, but a dark mahogany). Where were his perfectly fine, comfortably familiar old clothes? He really didn’t want to wear these.

The old woman seemed to read his thoughts, and her wrinkles stretched into a visible smile. “I burned the bad clothes.” She wrinkled her nose. “No good to wear.” As Billy stared in horror, she queried. “My English is O.K., yes?” Billy nodded, secretly crushed. It had taken him forever to earn enough money doing odd jobs to buy those at a garage sale—(he never liked to take free clothes from clothing drives; there were always other people who needed better clothes a whole lot more than him, he knew). And now they were just gone?

He wanted to glare at the sweet, evil old lady but couldn’t bring himself to do it. The elderly woman continued to smile. “Do you need my help?” Billy shook his head, so she went to the door. “I will wait outside the door. You knock if you need anything!” She closed the door behind her, but Tawny stood guard just in case anybody tried to barge in as Billy hopped out of bed with only the slightest of winces and shrugged the clothes on. It was actually pretty easy despite the achiness when he moved; he was suddenly glad at how loose the clothes were compared to his barely-fitting jeans.

Billy grabbed the stupid chalkboard, sticking the chalk bag in his pocket, scooped up Tawny, and opened the door where Nakia was waiting. She gave another crinkly smile and held out her hand like she wanted him to hold it but that was a bridge too far for his liking, so he clutched the chalkboard and Tawny to his chest with both hands, pointedly ignoring the hand. She slightly shrugged which Billy told himself shouldn’t make him feel bad as she began to walk down the hall, pacing herself until Billy would walk alongside her. As they walked, she pointed out some different rooms to which Billy nodded in acknowledgement, though he really wasn’t interested in random empty rooms and servant quarters, he wanted to know where the exits were! Finally, they went down a set of stairs, which Billy couldn’t help admiring as they were made of a dark, finely polished sort of stone. In fact, as they left the sort of ‘hospital wing’, which according to Nakia was a fairly new addition at the order of Black Adam, the style of the palace grew distinctly ancient. (And apparently, Billy picked up on, Black Adam was the sort of ruler of this country? He remembered the guy mentioning his home country of Kahndaq—Billy had no idea where the place actually was—but apparently he was the king or something now. Very weird.) Finally, Nakia led Billy to a set of double-doors that actually looked like some sort of exit, and his heart leaped in anticipation. She opened the doors and—Whoa. He walked through. Around him, was all sorts of greenery; small decorative trees, plants, and flowers which shone in the gleaming sunlight from the now-sunset. He thought he even heard running water. He walked down the stony path in front of him, momentarily distracted from thoughts of escape by the lovely sight, drinking in the sunlight after being inside for what felt like forever. As he scanned his surroundings, he grew a little disappointed. The garden was a large one, but enclosed by all four walls of the palace, as if someone had scooped out the little plot of land from the middle of the building. That Nakia hung back somewhat and let him explore the area further without getting too close, cemented the fact that there was no immediate escape from this area.

Silently sighing, but still encouraged by being surrounded by the natural beauty, he continued down the path. The sound of water falling grew louder. A waterfall? He turned the corner of the path around some larger bushes and saw the origin of the sounds: towards the center of the garden was a large ornamental pond, with a little bubbling fountain in the middle disturbing the water. The edge of the pond was surrounded by a bunch of reeds, tall grasses, and several water lilies dotted the murky water. Looking closer, his sandals squishing in the mud, he could see at least a foot in depth and thought he spotted the gleam of some fish.

As he peered in, standing at the water’s edge, a wild idea suddenly sprang into mind. He looked backwards, where Nakia was just rounding the corner to keep him in sight. His eyes met hers and she must have somehow had some idea of what he was about to do next because her eyes widened and she shrieked something in her own language.

Well, there was nothing for it.

As he jumped forward, still clutching the chalkboard to his chest, he felt Tawny wiggle out of his grip to the ground (what, was he afraid of a little water or something?)

*Ker-Splash*

- - -

As Teth Adam stood on the balcony attached to his room, drinking in the last rays of the sun, he noted movement below him: Nakia taking Billy through the palace garden. A fine choice for a walk; he knew he had made the right choice by having Nakia take charge of the boy. While technically the head matron of the wing of the palace Adam had upgraded as a hospital, she did not have so many duties nowadays and grew increasingly desperate for busy work despite her age. The hospital wing had been established as a place for those without help to turn to for medical attention, but now as his country was enjoying peace and increased prosperity, it was fairly empty these days. His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden cry from the garden. Refocusing his attention, Adam turned his eyes to Billy just in time to see the boy take a running leap into the fish pond!

By the gods, was the boy trying to drown himself?

In a blur, he flew over to the pond where Nakia was about to wade in—bless the old woman—and hovered over the water for a millisecond. The pond was no more than four feet deep, so either the boy was trying to keep himself underwater, or had succumbed to his injuries and could not stand to his feet. Diving in, careful not to dive onto the boy, he managed to grab underneath Billy’s arms despite the murkiness of the water and fly to the surface. Depositing the spluttering boy onto dry land, Adam landed at the shore himself as a worried Nakia fussed over the crazy boy and his soaking wet clothes.

Concerned, and angry that he didn’t know what had just happened, Adam placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder to turn him around to meet his eyes. Billy flinched a little as he was spun around, but Adam’s immediate concern was for answers, now.

“Were you trying to drown yourself?? Explain yourself, now!”

- - -

After jumping into the water, Billy used his arms to push himself downwards against his natural buoyancy, leaving the stupid chalkboard to drown. He had to be completely underwater for this to have a chance to work.

With one hand, he grabbed at the collar, as he continued to fight the buoyancy with the other.

C’mon, this had to work.

This thing used electronics, right? Electricity? He continued to pull at the collar, bubbles escaping in frustration. He knew electronic parts and water did not mix, so why wasn’t this blasted thing coming off? Was it water-proof?

He pulled at the collar with both hands, desperate, and something—someone—suddenly plucked him from the water as Billy nearly choked on water from the surprise.

Next thing he knew, he was being nearly smothered by Nakia before being whirled around to face—Black Adam!

Strike two for Billy!

“Were you trying to drown yourself?? Explain yourself, now!”

Crap. Can’t let him know I was trying to get the collar off. Maybe the collar did get damaged from the water, but just needs a little more force to get off. If he knew he might replace it.

He tried to say “Uhh…” to stall for time, but as he heard his own garbled voice, he couldn’t help but smirk. He didn’t have the chalkboard, so he couldn’t answer. He shrugged in an exaggerated motion, reveling in the moment.

Unamused, Black Adam swiped the somehow half-floating chalkboard from the pond and pushed it into Billy’s hands, clearly not going anywhere until Billy gave an answer. Drat it!

Feigning defeat, he shoved the chalkboard under his arm as he pulled the bag of chalk out of his pocket and grabbed a piece. It crumbled into a chalky mud as he tried to write on the board, so Billy made a good show of spreading the noncompliant chalky mess around the board with his fingers in an attempt to write out his short but sweet message as he used up multiple pieces of the soaking chalk. He grinned sarcastically as he proudly thrust the message on the board to Black Adam, which read in large, messy letters:

[Wanted a fish!]

- - -

Holding the wet chalkboard, Adam could only stare at Billy.

What kind of wild gremlin child was this?

Right, he should say something.

“Don’t… do that. The fish aren’t meant for catching.”

He ignored his Wisdom yelling at him for the weak reprimand. He knew he should give a more forceful reply, but he was just so baffled by what the boy had done. Why jump into the pond? He sighed.

“Nakia, have Billy clean up and call back Doctor Intef to check him over.” The boy frowned a little, probably at the mention of his name, but grabbed his surprisingly still-clean stuffed tiger from the bank of the pond and willingly walked back into the palace with her. Or perhaps it was unwillingly, but Nakia had one of her hands tightly on the boy’s shoulder, as if to steer him away from any future shenanigans. As they walked indoors, Adam saw Billy’s free hand reach up and tug at the collar at his neck, and something clicked.

He had been trying to get the collar off.

He hadn’t wanted to keep the child mute forever. He had hoped he could build enough trust with Billy that he could actually trust the boy enough to remove it without him immediately running back into the clutches of the wizard, but it was clear that said trust could never be built while the collar was in play, nor while the boy was rendered mute. He would have to find a creative solution, it seemed.

- - -

After getting to take a lovely warm shower and receiving some new clothes (this set was also mahogany, and not red, sadly), Billy had to see the doctor again—who looked decidedly annoyed this time. Apparently, it wasn’t a good thing to be jumping into fish ponds with still-healing wounds, and now he had to take some extra medicine to prevent infection. Oops.

But finally, after enduring a third lecture in broken English from Nakia, she had ushered him down an especially-luxurious corridor, all the way down, and stopped at a set of double-doors to the right of the corridor’s dead end. This was what would be his room, apparently. The floor was lushly decorated with a soft white carpet, and several different spotted furs adorned the wood-paneled walls (something he was sure Tawny growled discreetly at). In one corner, there was a sitting table with ornate, cushioned armchairs gathered round it. In the middle-back of the room was a four-post bed with a dark wooden frame, with a thick mattress and piled with all sorts of blankets and pillows—and it definitely was the biggest bed Billy had ever seen! Right beside it, was a small bedside table covered in a long, lacy-white cloth with a lamp on top. He ran over to the side of the bed, relishing the softness of the carpet under his bare feet. By the side of the bed was a new pair of sandals (unless his old ones had been fished out of the pond and cleaned) and thankfully, also a step-stool—because he didn’t think he would’ve been able to climb into the giant bed by himself otherwise. And he wasn’t going to admit it, but he was really tired and felt especially achy. Once he climbed up, he saw something on top of the bed. It was a small whiteboard, with a magnetized dry-erase marker. Nakia supplied a smile and an explanation.

“A little more waterproof, in case you catch fish again.”

Right. Billy suddenly felt guilty. Clearly, Nakia had been put in charge of him, and he had made a whole mess of things under her watch. Was she going to get in trouble? Be punished or something because of him? Uncapping the marker, he wrote out [Sorry for trouble].

Nakia continued to smile, but he sensed it grew a little—he wasn’t sure, sad? “Do not worry, little prince. My little Aken gave more trouble than you.” She turned towards the door behind her. “Now, no trouble. Please sleep.” She left the lamp on the bedside table on but turned the main light off, closing the door behind her with a click. And then there was another click.

Right. It wasn’t so much ‘don’t get into trouble’ as it was ‘you won’t be able to get in trouble because you’re locked in now.’ Still, he hopped down from the bed and tried the door on principle (yep, locked) and examined the room more closely as Tawny provided commentary.

“You really should get some sleep. Fishing is hard work.”

Half-smothered by the heavy fabric curtains he couldn’t fully push aside, Billy tried to open the window. Locked as well. Yeah, I’m sure you’d know, Mr. ‘I’m-scared-of-pond-water’.

Tawny huffed dramatically. “I’m not scared of ponds, I had just had a bath, thank you very much. At least one of us was being sensible, ‘Fish boy’.”

Billy walked out of the adjacent bathroom. It was a nice, clean bathroom, but had no windows or large-enough vents to crawl through. I was being sensible! My plan made sense! Of course Black Adam had to be annoying and make this stupid thing water-proof. How was I supposed to know that?

Disappointed in the lack of escape options, he crawled back onto the bed with a huff of his own. What we need is a hammer, I’m telling you.

Tawny yawned. “Just hush up and get some sleep, ‘Aquaman’.” He curled up within reach of Billy, back into a mere stuffed animal.

Stretching from the edge of the bed, Billy dimmed the lamp’s light to a minimum—the room felt too… empty fully lit, but he didn’t want the room to feel dark, either.

Be quiet yourself, ‘Jiminy’.

- - -

He hadn’t wanted to fall asleep. Just… to rest his eyes a little—and the room had been a little cold, so he had pulled the covers up. But the bed had been so soft and warm, and with a weary body and full stomach, he had fallen asleep within minutes without meaning to, snuggling with his stuffed animal deep under the layers of blankets.

But, as he had naturally tossed and turned in his sleep, something suddenly startled him awake with a flash of fear. His hands flew to his neck—the collar had shifted and was uncomfortably digging into his neck from his sleeping position. Nearly smothered in blankets, he struggled to sit up, eyes blinking rapidly from the blur of sleep. Where was he? This wasn’t home. This wasn’t safe.

The blankets, covering up to his waist, suddenly felt like they were constricting him like a python. He wriggled out, pulling his knees to his chest, feeling the blast of the temperature contrast from the cold room. He didn’t want to be here. He hugged himself closer into a ball, then stiffened as he felt the collar again with the movement. He had been so stupid. Why had he fallen asleep? He could get shocked any second. He should know better. Of course he would be punished.

He pulled at the collar desperately. It wasn’t like before. Before, he chose, he triumphed—he had escaped. But now he couldn’t pull it off, couldn’t escape, couldn’t make that choice—he was stuck, stuck, stuck all over again. He couldn’t do it again. Not again.

The first time the shocks had come, there was no warning. No escape. Once the collar started hurting him, he had tried to pull it off—but they wouldn’t let him. He backed up, tripping and falling backwards, away from their reach. But he couldn’t crawl away from the shocks, they kept following him. But all he could do was keep backing up, looking desperately for relief, arms raised as if to guard against the pain—but he couldn’t block the shocks, and they still hit him anyway. He kept backing up, crying—he wanted to be good, he wanted to be good—but he still needed to learn his lesson, to be punished for being bad, they said.

He pulled and flailed and blocked and crawled but it just kept whirling around him in a wheel of shame and awfulness and pain and all he could do was cry and hope it would end like it once did.

Had it ever ended?

- - -

A muffled crash broke Teth Adam out of his sleep. With the gods’ blessings, ‘sleep’ was more of a reverie or deep meditation than actual unconsciousness. Immediately aware, he reviewed where the sound had come from. The room next door, where he had had Nakia prepare a bedroom for Billy, since he had wanted to stay relatively close to the boy in case of any problems.

He wondered if perhaps the boy was an early riser. But no, it was still very late, so it seemed unlikely. More probable that it was an attempted escape. Silently, he rose and entered the hallway. He didn’t think Billy could escape, but worried that the boy might harm himself in the process by accident. Stopping by the boy’s door, he reached to turn the button lock and—was that—crying?

His wisdom warned him. Was he equipped to handle a child crying from possibly homesickness? Or really, any cause? No. But he had to make sure the child was unharmed.

He opened the door, the faint light from the hallway streaming into the dark bedroom.

Huddled in the corner made by where the bed met the bedside table was a distraught little boy. A corner of a lacy tablecloth was clutched in one of his hands; scattered on the floor by him was the lamp, now deposed and broken. Adam moved toward the boy quickly, fearing injuries. He kneeled on one knee in front of Billy, but the boy did not seem to see him. He was staring past—through—Adam, other hand scrabbling at his collar, almost assuredly scratching himself in the process, whimpering at some unseen enemy.

Gods.

He had seen this before. When he had liberated his country, many of its oppressors had seen fit to abuse the children they held in slavery. Most of the children, as he had swiftly dispatched their oppressors, had cheered and celebrated being set free. But some had been unable to weather the cruelty, and despite being free had continued to drown in reliving the horrible events. Some had seemed fine, before falling back into the awful memories. As padshāh, he had his court devote countless resources to helping these children regain some semblance of closure and comfort. All he had personally been able to do was bring swift justice to those who had hurt them; he had not been suited to be the one to pick up the pieces.

And now, he was seeing a similar thing before him. A child lost in memory. His Wisdom was at a loss as to what to do. He softly called the boy’s name, hoping its familiarity would shake him out of the self-inflicted trance. “Billy, Billy.”

Nothing.

He tentatively reached out to put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, but the second his hand touched Billy it seemed to trigger something: the boy squirmed away, kicking against the floor as if he were trying to back away further despite already being sequestered in the corner, letting out a wordless sob as tears streamed down his now-averted face, an arm raised against an unseen foe—still, Adam could tell, not seeing him there, but someone else.

Now what? The boy was completely weeping at this point. Adam was at a loss, as was his Wisdom, but he reached out again, hoping he could at least move the child out of the dangerous minefield of broken glass scattered around him, when—

A noise to his left, movement—blankets rustling—an intruder?

He barely clambered to his feet when a roar sounded as a blur bowled him over to the ground, dazed—what had the strength to--? He raised his head.

Now between him and Billy, teeth bared, eyes flaring, loomed a massive tiger. Its claws dug into the floor, gouging it easily, as a threatening roar escaped its fearsome mouth as it spoke—or rather, thundered.

“GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

- - -

Plunged out of hibernation by a thud and a subsequent crash, Tawny immediately tried to sit up to assess the situation, hoping Billy hadn’t tripped trying to use the stepladder.

But he was stuck under the blankets still.

Struggling, he tried to find his way out as he reached out to Billy through their bond to see if he was alright (and could get these durn blankets off him!). But no response. Just a frantic static, punctuated with blips of fearful pleas—~I’ll be good, I’ll be good, please~—and Tawny’s heart quivered in anger at what he realized Billy was reliving. He needed Tawny now, and here he was, failing his responsibility as a tiger, trapped under some stupid blankets. His rage rose as he clawed at the blankets in desperation, though he paused momentarily at the sound of the door being opened—maybe help had arrived?

But no—Tawny heard the person’s voice—it was Black Adam. Of course there was no help in this place. He renewed the struggle, still thoroughly trapped, not knowing what was happening to his Billy, when he suddenly heard him cry out in pain and Tawny’s whole being raged and he felt something inside him tear and stretch and grow as a pent-up roar exploded from his lungs—and he lunged and suddenly found his claws and strength matched his righteous indignation. In one smooth motion, he burst from the constricting fabric, cutting through it like soft butter, and half-leapt, half-rammed at the form of Black Adam standing to his feet beside the bed, his force throwing the man several yards away onto his back.

Standing on all four legs as his scarily-large claws dug into the floor beneath him felt weirdly unfamiliar, yet right, as he made sure he was positioned between his Billy and the villain. His inner thoughts broke through into a full roar.

“GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

- - -

As the massive tiger yelled at him, Adam finally put it all together. The same mysterious voice, the protectiveness over the boy, the stuffed tiger—the boy had some sort of…animal familiar? If it was truly one, it was unlike one Adam had ever seen or heard of. This time, he cut his Wisdom off from hypothesizing about the animal’s true nature. Clearly, it had some sort of spiritual and magical bond as the boy’s protector and had assumed he had been hurting the boy. He slowly raised himself into a sitting position as the tiger’s hackles lifted in warning, so Adam made no attempt to stand or make any move reminiscent of a potential attack.

“Tiger, I was merely trying to help the boy. I did not attack Billy.”

The oversized animal growled, fur and sinews rippling with tension. “LIAR!”

Adam tried again. “I have seen this before. In the children of my people as I rescued them from a living nightmare.” He gestured to Billy, who had curled in on himself, still not yet fully aware of the events transpiring around him. “Unseeing reality, yet reliving horrors magnified in their own mind. You and this boy have some sort of spiritual connection, so you must know, then—” Adam raised his voice with natural indignation: “WHO. HURT. HIM.”

The tiger stared, unyielding—then bowed his head, as if taking a second to collect itself. Raising his head once more, the tiger spat his next words with a venom of incredulity.

“You want to know? You want to know who hurt Billy?” The tiger slowly began to step forward, gnashing his teeth, as Adam stayed seated, silent, waiting for answers.

“You don’t realize, do you? How much worse you’re making everything. We were fine on our own, until you came along and hurt Billy and slapped a collar on him—just like the last place! Just like every other adult, you say you’re helping Billy, but you’re not, you’re just as bad as the rest of them!”

A silence permeated the room, punctuated only by the panting of an angry tiger a mere three feet away now, as Adam sifted through the revelation. As realization began to dawn, he forced himself to ask for clarification—for confirmation of the dread fact.

“His last foster family…hurt him?...collared him?”

The tiger stood still, bristling with anger, meeting him eye to eye.

“Like an animal. Just. Like. You.”

Adam felt his body chill over, frozen by the depth of the revelations. He stood unsteadily to his feet, shaken in spirit and body. He had hurt this child in more ways he could have even imagined—instead of rescuing him, he had subjected the boy once more to his worst nightmares.

“I…No.”

How could he had done such a thing…and…his mind shifted, focused—and how could they have done such a thing?

As Adam stood, still frozen, unsure what to do now, the tiger before him met his eyes with one last sorrowful glare and bounded over to Billy. Adam did not think he had blinked, but one moment the animal was a massive tiger, and the next, there was a stuffed tiger yet again nestled within Billy’s arms. The boy was still softly whimpering, but as Adam watched, the tiger’s presence seemed to somewhat calm the boy, whose glassy-eyed stare was broken up with a series of blinks.

Now somewhat aware, confused by his surroundings, the boy turned his head and caught sight of Adam, illuminated by the light pouring through the door from the hallway. He stiffened in surprise, and an indecisive Adam was stuck between two options: either make a paltry attempt to comfort the boy, something which would likely just make things worse (and felt horribly out of place given Adam’s abject hypocrisy had just been revealed)—or…

The flurried footsteps of Nakia echoing down the hallway settled his decision. She would be a much more welcome presence, if any. Breaking his eyes away from the boy’s suspicious and surprised gaze, Adam stepped back into the hallway to intercept the worried woman. Using but a few words, he explained the situation: the boy had experienced a nightmare, required comforting—and perhaps something to eat and drink—and there was some broken glass that needed to be cleaned up. He himself had a very pressing engagement to see to. Striding past the old woman, he ignored her unsparing, judgmental stare. He knew she was judging him for leaving at such a moment, without adequate explanation. But he didn’t want to talk. He had long ago relegated himself to the fact that he would never be a ‘comforting’ figure. But he was much better at other things.

Like dealing swift justice to those who had it coming.

- - -

Thankfully, Nakia had been the first of the servants to get to the scene. With her padshāh’s approval, she had secured a temporary room by the beginning of the corridor, and, at the sound of what almost seemed to be a roar, she had flown out of bed as fast as her joints could allow. Stepping into the hallway, she had assessed what she could (unfortunately, without an angle to see into the bedroom): from the noise, some sort of altercation seemed to be transpiring within the little prince’s room—an intruder?—and she almost ran towards the bedroom herself, when she heard Teth-Adam’s voice, and knew he would keep the boy safe if that were the case.

Doing the next best thing, she instead hurried in the opposite direction to head off any other curious servants. One of the head maids had made it there first, almost barreling into Nakia, followed close behind by one of the night guards, and Nakia quickly stationed them at the corridor entrance to prevent anyone from coming any further, assuring the guard that the padshāh had it handled—the last thing needed was for any gossip-seeking servants to get caught up in whatever mess this was.

Of course he would have it handled, they all knew…but…she wanted to make sure the little prince was alright. And if Teth Adam got fussy about her prying into his personal business, well, he shouldn’t have dubbed her as the prince’s caretaker.

Turning back, she rushed down the hallway to the half-ajar double doors, and in turn almost barreled into Adam himself. He quickly explained the situation to her—and then left. She looked after him for a beat as he strode past. That gleam in his eyes, focused in anticipation—she had seen it before, and knew it would not bode well for whoever found themselves on the receiving end. Whatever he had gone to do, whatever justice he sought to extract, she knew his very action as padshāh made it appropriate, necessary. But she still was disappointed in his judgement—there was a time and place for such things, and the responsibility of caring for a child—especially one in need of comfort—should always come first. At that thought, she hurried into the dark room, pushing open both doors to their fullest to let in the most light.

She took in the scene, and her heart softened. Dodging the scattered bits of glass from the broken lamp, she slowly walked over to the child, who was making a hesitant attempt to stand to his feet.

“Are you hurt, my love?” A soft shake, no—eyes downcast on the mess surrounding him. He leaned back down, and Nakia could almost see the thought forming in his mind—he felt he had to clean up the mess.

“No, no. Don’t worry. Not your fault, little prince.” She stepped forward, still keeping her movements slow and unsurprising, but intent on intercepting the child before he accidentally cut himself. “Someone else will clean up.”

The child immediately stopped his motion before straightening his stance, finally looking right at Nakia. His eyes were swollen with tears, his face still red and streaked with evidence of prior crying, his stuffed tiger haphazardly flopped over one arm. Nakia wanted to scoop the child up in her arms and smother him with hugs until he smiled—the poor child was likely underweight enough for her to do so despite her own diminutive stature—but she knew such a trust for that had to be earned for one who had—she now realized—seen too much of the world, such as this one. Such as her Aken.

Settling, she bent down instead, grabbing the child’s forgotten sandals from where they stood out from under the bed, shaking any potential glass off before setting them back down in front of him. She held out her hand. “Would you like some hot chocolate?”

The tearful face was stony and betrayed no response, as if it would hurt to feel anything, any emotion, yet his all-too-little hand slipped into hers.

- - -

As she gently guided the silent child to the kitchens, she gave a flurry of whispered orders behind his back: she sent someone to clean the room; someone else to grab the boy’s whiteboard and marker; and gave strict orders for no one else to enter the kitchen unless she allowed it.

Finally in the servant kitchen, she led the boy to take a seat at the servant’s table by one of the stoves and began preparing some hot chocolate. A rich, chocolatey scent soon filled the air, with hints of spices flowing around the kitchen. As she quietly prepared the drink, she kept a hidden attention on the child. He simply sat at the table quietly, running his thumbs over the fur of his stuffed animal, staring at something yet nothing, not responding or reacting to the few simple comments Nakia attempted in the emotive sense, let alone using his board to write out a response. Her mind hummed with worry.

With the hot chocolate finished—a recipe of her own design, honed by years of experience with her children and then grandchildren—she placed a steaming mug in front of him, before taking a seat at the table beside him with a mug of her own.

Relying on experience, she opted to wait for the child to make the first move. Despite the alluring, sweet and spicy scent of hot chocolate before his nose, there was still no break in his stony yet blank facial expressions. Still lost in thought—no good thoughts, no doubt. Minutes passed into over half-an-hour, and Nakia knew she had to reevaluate her strategy. This was not healthy; the child had to be broken out of his depressive catatonia—without breaking what little trust had been previously established. What to do? Her Aken always liked silence during one of his moments, and would take some time to collect himself before engaging with others, but that approach seemed to be failing Nakia in this moment.

She shouldn’t have assumed the same thing would work. Perhaps a different approach? Softly, she tried to ply the child with simple questions, comments—slowly sharing innocent staff gossip and humorous stories, watching the further minutes tick by, hot chocolate now stone cold—still no reactions, no smile, no responses, no engagement.

She had one last idea. It had the potential of backfiring greatly. But…it might just be worth the risk. Slowly getting up from the chair, she walked over to the kitchen exit—where, unsurprisingly, one of the servants was oh-so-dutifully sweeping the outside hallway—one which had undoubtedly been swept dozens of times in the past hour in order to retain the chance of scooping up potential gossip. Nakia inwardly sighed. Unashamed gossips, the whole lot of them. But she called the woman over and shared her new orders. Returning to the kitchen, she waited, and set about whipping up a fresh batch of hot chocolate. It would certainly be needed.

Not more than three minutes later—half the palace staff had been up, anyway—a strange procession began to traipse into the kitchen. Some still rubbing their eyes, some bouncing, wide awake, at the promise of hot chocolate, no less than fifteen children, ages varying from four to fourteen, hopped, skipped, or stumbled into the now-bustling kitchen. Immediately the kids set to work; some hopped into the free chairs, some opted to go under the table, and some began an impromptu game of tag, racing about the room. A few of the more daring souls took the seats by the despondent little boy or stood nearby, most aware of the fact that this was the ‘little prince’ that they had heard so many whispered rumors about lately, with a couple of the more observant staring, unsure at why he seemed so weirdly out of it.

Nakia quickly served the additional portions of hot chocolate and set out some crackers as well, before retreating away, back to the stovetop to guard it from any accidents, as the excited group of babbling children surged around the table full of goodies. She intently watched the results, ready to pull the plug should things go wrong. Laughter filled the room; after all, what a strange and wonderful day it was, to be able to have Nakia’s famed hot chocolate and snacks in the middle of the night, past any reasonable bedtime—it was like a special sleepover but without any sleep!

One little girl, no more than six, had managed to snag one of the chairs at the table and was standing on top of it, next to the little prince’s own chair. Her face framed by dark, open curls and a dimpled smile, she greedily stuffed crackers into her mouth until she seemed to notice something wrong. As all the other children continued to enjoy their hot chocolate and crackers, the little prince had sat there, unmoving, not touching his own hot chocolate, nor having taken any crackers. Standing on her chair, stretching over the table, the little girl grabbed a small handful of crackers and in turn deposited the bunch on the tablecloth directly in front of the prince. Still, no movement.

Tilting her head to the side, the little girl seemed to recognize the redness, bleary eyes, and evidence of tears on the boy’s face; a universal sign requiring no translation. Stretching once more, she grabbed another handful of crackers, and this time, sat clumsily down on her chair, reaching over for the little prince’s hand.

Nakia held her breath.

The little girl grabbed the boy’s right hand, pressing into it a smushed handful of crackers. “Don’t cry, please! Here are some crackers!” She heard the little girl plead in Kahndaqi, a reflection of the boy’s silent sorrow now on her face, as her hands swung his, trying to help his limp hand keep a hold on the crackers.

The boy blinked, and turned his head, confusion now rippling across his face—but he did not pull his hand away. Nakia saw him stare at the girl, meeting her eyes, unsure, before his own eyes shone with a sort of recognition. The little girl patted his hand, smiling, and he returned the smile—a small one, but a smile nonetheless—before looking down at the mess of crackers in his hands. The little girl nodded in encouragement, pushing his hand up and closer, and, taking his other hand, the little prince pushed one of the crackers into his mouth.

The little girl laughed in delight. “More, more!”

Not recognizing the meaning, but the sentiment, he gave a small nod, still showing his hint of a smile to the girl, and continued to eat, now turning his head around and taking stock of his surroundings as if they were brand new. Once he had finished the handful of crackers, he was drawn in by the now unignorable scent of hot chocolate permeating the kitchen atmosphere and reached for his mug, which had been re-filled with fresh hot chocolate minutes before. He took the tiniest sip, before taking another, and another—only stopping for a breath of air.

Taking note of the newly energized prince, one of the boys to his left leaned forward and began to excitedly babble in Kahndaqi, asking if the prince was truly from America as had been rumored, and if there truly were clowns just running around, as he had overheard his parents say. Aware that a question had been directed at him, but not knowing Kahndaqi, the little prince grabbed the whiteboard in front of him, and wrote out: [English?]. Each stared at each other in confusion, realizing the language barrier, before the other boy motioned for the whiteboard, which was obliged. Wiping the word off with his hand, the Kahndaqi boy simply drew out a three-by-three grid. The little prince looked on, confused, before the other boy drew an “X” in one of the boxes. The prince’s eyes glowed with recognition and delight, and in turn took the marker and drew an “O”.

Nakia turned back to the stovetop and couldn’t help but smile. Having the palace staff send down their young children had been a risky move—she hadn’t wanted to overwhelm the child—but it seemed he desperately needed the comfort and feeling of safety that came from being around those his own age, rather than adults. And with children, a language barrier was less of an issue than one might think. Though she would have to talk with Adam about getting the child some Kahndaqi lessons—while some western languages had inevitably trickled through Kahndaq through the years due to the previous influx of mercenaries, weapons dealers, and general opportunity-seekers, not many native Kahndaqis were proficient in English. She refocused her efforts on completing another batch of hot chocolate. Such matters would have to wait for better days, and for now she was content to bask in the presence of happy children, temporarily distracted from the worries of the world.

- - -

As time ticked by, minutes into hours, to the arrival of early morning, some of the palace staff hovered by the kitchen entrance, waiting to pick up their kids, but not wanting to cross the threshold and risk Nakia’s wrath. Once Nakia had stopped the flow of hot chocolate an hour earlier, fearing that the children might get sick from too much sugar, the central hub of activity had moved from the table to a relatively clear corner of the kitchen, where the children were entertaining each other by passing around the whiteboard and sketching out different pictures, giggling at the more humorous attempts.

At the sight of their parents, the kids began to filter out, each waving goodbye to the little prince—and Nakia’s heart warmed when he also waved back. The little girl, who had been leaning against Billy and playing with his stuffed tiger, was the last to leave—and ambushed the boy with a hug before running back to her mother.

Knowing that the ‘sleepover’ was coming to an end with the dawn, Nakia had set about making some scrambled eggs, which she finished and set on the table right as the room grew quiet again. Not wanting the silence to last for fear of a lapse, she beckoned the child over to the table. “Would you like some scrambled eggs?” She took a seat of her own, glad to get off her weary legs.

The little prince nodded, grabbing his whiteboard and marker before he hopped into a chair at the table—the chair he chose, she couldn’t help but notice, being right next to hers. Taking it as a sign she could press further, she spooned out a large helping of eggs and a piece of toast for him before asking a quiet question. “Are you doing okay?”

He nodded, scooping some eggs with his fork into his mouth, before grabbing his whiteboard and writing: [Where did they go?] – she noted the marker was looking a bit worn; she’d have to start carrying around some spares in her apron pockets.

“Your new friends? They have school!” She picked up on the unasked question. “They wanted to stay longer. Would have. But all kids have school, now.” He nodded again, and resumed eating, and she knew the answer had at least comforted him. She ventured a question of her own.

“Do you like school?”

He paused his eating, and she worried she had pressed too far. But he picked up the whiteboard again and wrote: [I don’t know. Not really done school.]

Now what did that mean? She needed more details. “When did you last go to school?”

He seemed hesitant to answer. “It’s okay,” she supplied. He picked up the marker.

[Like 2 years? Didn’t go much as foster kid anyway.]

Displeasure spread across her face involuntarily before she could hide it, and she could tell he noticed.

“Not mad at you,” she clarified, “You should have school too; I will get school for you, soon.”

“If you would like,” she added, to not sound too forceful (but she was definitely going to get this boy some schooling).

The child seemed to weigh her words, before writing out: [Maybe.]

- - -

She let the child finish his eggs in peace as she chopped up some fruit into a bowl—he looked far too pale to have been eating properly. Setting the bowl on the table, she sat back down as silence dwelled. At least this time, the silence was a healthy one, and didn’t feel wrong, so she was content to let it settle. She was mulling over what steps she should take once breakfast was done, when the little prince surprised her by reaching for the whiteboard unprompted.

[Thanks for hot chocolate,] he wrote, before erasing the last two words and adding [friends], then [company]. He looked right at Nakia, giving the same hint of a smile, before replacing the last word one more time: [yummy food].

She smiled in return. “You are very welcome.”

She wasn’t expecting the child to feel the need to continue writing, but didn’t dare interrupt as he labored once more over the whiteboard, writing in small letters: [Thanks. It was like good memories.]

Like good memories…

“What did it remind you of?”

This answer was short. [Family.]

Ah, the chance for insight. Insight from the child’s heart that no report possessed. Insight she could in turn use to help him. Should she press the chance?

“Could you tell me about them?”

A pause, and a downward squint she knew was a last-ditch attempt to hold back tears. Too far, Nakia, she chided herself. She handed the hardly-touched bowl of fruit to the boy.

“Can I tell you about my family instead?” He nodded, grabbing the bowl, grateful for the shift in attention. Skipping over the many sordid details, she recounted a vague tale of her family members—her beautiful mother, and her strong father with a very ticklish beard (she skipped the part where they died tragically amid retaliation raids during the uprisings); how she had borne a bubbly child herself, whose cooking skills outshone her own (a baby who had been initially…unwanted, given the circ*mstances—but one look at her beautiful baby girl and she had realized she could never blame any previous pain on such an innocent creature). And that child, in turn, once grown, had managed to carve out a lovely family of her own (amid the evils of the land—a miracle in its own right), and given Nakia multiple, lovely grandchildren: Abram, Dina, and the littlest—Aken. She shook her head, reminiscing.

“My Aken, always gave so much trouble. Even when he was little—once, when he was eight, he managed to tie the tails of two rats together—and oh the chaos!” She looked over to the child sitting next to her—who surprisingly, was listening rather intently.

“How old are you now, little prince?” He held out both hands. Ten. He still looked too little for his age, yet his eyes seemed to speak that he was a much older soul.

“Ten! Heavens. My little Aken is little no longer—he is twice that age, now.” She hesitated, feeling moved to share a further glimpse into her life but not wanting to reveal too much heartbreak.

“My Aken is no longer so little, but I am still there for him. He…he has not had a…happy life. Troubles, bad people, hurt him. But he is getting better, now. Every few days, I go to visit. And I make him hot chocolate, and tell him stories to try and make him smile, and somedays, the good days, he will smile and hug me back.” She blinked back the tears, before looking the boy straight in the eyes.

“I tell you this, little prince, because I do not know what troubles you have seen. I don’t presume to know. But if you ever need to share your troubles, or just some hot chocolate, or stories, or even a hug, please know I am here, for anything.”

The little prince looked at her, eyes concentrated with some sort of unreadable emotion.

- - -

The past few hours had been a daze. He knew he had been having a nightmare of sorts, before Tawny brought him out of it, but then everything else had been a blur of movement and lights and voices which he just tried to shut out—and then he had suddenly found himself being patted on the hand, by a little girl he didn’t know yet his mind shouted at the familiarity, at the memories he once had, as he and Mary would play and look out for each other in that way twins do best; her hand in his. And then the next few moments had been yet another blur, but a happy one this time—of playing games, and laughing, and feeling safe in a way he hadn’t felt safe as himself for a while, he realized.

And as the moment had faded, he finally realized who had concerted the effort—keeping to herself, never asserting her presence and authority over him or any of the other kids—Nakia, he remembered. Nakia, he realized—who actually felt safe to be around (a buzz of warmth told him that Tawny seconded the motion).

And the whole time in the kitchen had felt like such a memory, like one he had, or maybe one he should have had more of, that he wanted to talk about his family. He wanted to make the wisps of memory real by telling someone about his mother’s breathy kisses into his rumpled hair, his father’s strong hugs that would shield him from everything else, the warmth of his sister’s hand in his and that she couldn’t be gone, she had to be out there somewhere, he knew it. But then he realized that he couldn’t actually tell anyone anything because he couldn’t talk—and the whiteboard felt so paltry, small, and insufficient to try and describe his family with it, his broken, lovely, family, and the tears had threatened to return and—

And then Nakia hadn’t pressed, hadn’t demanded answers or gotten angry, like the caseworkers would, but moved on. And shared about her own family. And amid the flitting stories and snapshots he could tell that there was something broken in her story too, in what she shared and what she purposefully did not share; the way her hoarse voice graveled further, her eyes glistening with undropped tears—she had been hurt, those she loved had been hurt.

And then she had promised him hot chocolate, stories, and hugs should he need it, want it. And amidst the daze of that past day, Billy didn’t know exactly what he needed, other than to go back home to Fawcett City, and he wasn’t even sure of what he wanted, if maybe there were certain things he should want that he hadn’t yet realized. But looking at the sad but strong old woman, decades of wrinkles worn into her face from both weeping and smiles, he knew he wanted to do something, anything, for her.

So, he half-leapt off his chair towards the woman.

And hugged her.

Because the one thing, the one want, which had been constant in his own heart for quite some time, was wanting to do good. And who said he could stop doing good just because he had been kidnapped to a foreign country?

- - -

The hug had been quick, with barely enough time to reciprocate, but Nakia would cherish the moment for the rest of her life. Her heart was full, because of the empathy of the sweet little prince, but Nakia knew she couldn’t let his outreach distract from the reality that the boy himself was in desperate need of a support system.

When he had pulled away from the hug, a little abashed, he had quickly grabbed his whiteboard and pestered Nakia into letting him help her clean the admittedly messy kitchen space. And it was really no place for a prince to help with the cleaning, but one look at his pleading eyes, blue as the windswept desert skies, and Nakia knew she would have no little trouble saying ‘no’ to them from now on.

Once the kitchen was sparkling once more, and the little prince now yawning near-continuously, Nakia plucked the mop from his sleepy grasp and managed to coax the half-asleep boy back to his bedroom with the promise that she would tell the story of how her Aken had once jumped onto a crocodile’s back for a dare when he was just thirteen.

The glass had been cleaned up, the room looked pristine, and the child was so exhausted from everything—he was still recovering from injuries, after all—that he climbed into the bed with no hesitation. Pulling up one of the available armchairs to the side of the bed—my, these things were comfortable—Nakia spun her story, basking in the comfort of happy memories as the little prince’s eyes finally drooped to a close. Nakia tapered off her story, not wanting to wake the boy, but after a few moments of silence his eyes shot open and his body stiffened, a bit dazed, scanning the room.

“I am here, little prince. Want more stories?”

He nodded, relief etched across his face. He sank back down into the mattress, then a second later turned and grabbed the whiteboard laying beside him, writing on it for a moment before turning the board to Nakia to read.

[Call me Billy please. Not a prince.]

Well, maybe he hadn’t been before, but he was undeniably now a prince per his adoption by Teth Adam. But Nakia knew it would be detrimental to press the point at this time.

She smiled. “Very well, Billy.” He returned a sleepy little smile.

Leaning back into the comfort of the armchair, she continued weaving her stories, noting with pleasure how quickly the boy fell asleep again; a peaceful expression on his face as he was curled up towards her, as if leaning into her words, his constant tiger companion peeking out from beneath the blanket’s edge. Continuing to speak, not wanting to break the spell of sleep prematurely once more, she rummaged through her apron pockets before pulling out some crocheting materials. Perhaps she could crochet a little sweater for his tiger friend. Maybe a red one, she mused.

- - -

The Third Son of Fate - LateVanillaBloom - Shazam! (2024)

Chapter Text

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