Archive of Our Own

The changes were slow and subtle. You wouldn’t notice on the day to day, but Marvel was changing, slowly and surely. He was still the loveable, cheerful, positive little force of nature he’d always been, but at the same time…

He just seemed, Clark wasn’t entirely sure how to put it, grimmer? More brusque? A little less forgiving? At any rate, it was worrying. Maybe. Sort of. Just a little. It was probably nothing. Bruce was rubbing off on him--making him see things that weren’t really there. That being said, on the off chance Clark wasn’t imagining things, it would be a good idea to talk. Even if it was nothing, (and it probably was nothing), letting Marvel know Clark would be there to listen to him if anything ever did come up couldn’t hurt.

“Hey Marvel, are you…okay?”

“Yes?” Marvel blinked up at him, head cocked, brows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Ah, nothing, nothing. Just, you seem to have been…more serious lately. Just wanted to check in. Everything at home’s okay, right?”

“Yeah.” Marvel replied.

“You sure?”

“...Yeah.” Marvel dragged the word out. Side-eyeing Superman.

They stared at each other for an awkward beat.

“Sorry,” Superman blushed and ducked his head. “Guess I’ve just noticed you seem a bit less…bubbly, than when you first joined.” By Rao, this was awkward. He really really hoped he wasn’t coming off as a jackass. He liked Marvel, he really did, he was just a little worried that the things they’d seen over the years may have been getting to the cheerful Captain. Clark hoped that wasn’t the case, he really did, Marvel’s unending positivity, optimism and willingness to give second chances had been a source of grounding and uplifting hope to him. Even if the Captain’s naïveté had occasionally grated on even his nerves…the man’s unflappable good nature was reassuring. Clark didn’t want to think that the League was taking that away. And if the job was getting to him--or even if it was personal life stuff--Clark wanted to help.

“Ohh…that. Yeah, no man.” Marvel chuckled and shook his head, turning back to his food. “Guess I’m just growing up.”

“What?” Superman stared at him. He…supposed it had been a decade--give or take--since Marvel officially joined the League, but the Captain didn’t look as though he’d aged a day.

Marvel paused, staring blankly into the space directly in front of him, his forkful of pasta and sauce dangling from one hand. Superman was starting to get worried when a slow, creeping smile slithered across the demi-gods face.

“How old do you think I was when I joined the league Mr. Superman sir?” Marvel’s question was saccharine sweet. Superman felt the hairs on the back of his neck twitch. He hadn’t heard that particular address in years--not since those first few months Marvel had joined--but it was the sickly-sweet tone that was getting under Clark’s skin. Marvel did that sometimes, said or did things that made you think you had missed some joke. It drove Batman up the wall.

“Uh…twenty?” Clark hazarded. He supposed that was a safe enough guess. Marvel had looked older than that when he and the Captain had officially met, but he supposed you could never really tell with magic. That, and at seven feet tall, and broader than just about everyone else, Clark supposed there was an underlying assumption that someone that big had to be fully grown. It had certainly happened to Clark often enough in his late teens.

Marvel burst into laughter, then just as suddenly the barking cackle cut off.

“No.” Marvel declared cheerfully, with a big, shit-eating grin.

“Uh…”

“Tell you what,” Marvel fully turned to face him. “I’ll give you a week to try and guess how old I am, and if you can’t get it by then, I’ll tell you exactly when I was born.”

Clark was stunned. Marvel never talked about his personal life. Ever. It drove Bruce batty--well, battier--than usual. Honestly, it was common rumor in the League that he simply didn’t have a personal life, sad as that was.

“...O.K.” Clark agreed, still horribly off-kilter.

“Okay.” Marvel’s grin widened, fingers tapping on the table before he turned back to his food with a hum.

Superman drifted away, glancing back at the bright red hero once or twice before he left the cafeteria.

He needed to talk to Batman.

A week later a larger group of Leaguers--Superman and Marvel included--were coming back from an off-planet mission, they were all riding high from the success and adrenaline, everyone jovial and in a good mood. Flash mozied up to Marvel, standing on tip-toe and slinging an arm around the taller man’s shoulders.

“Man, nothing like diverting a planet-destroying-disaster to make you realize any day could be your last! You up for cake? I want cake.”

“Oh yeah, sure! But that reminds me.” Marvel turned and grinned over at Superman. “Any last minute guesses on how old I am Supes?” he called.

“Nope.” Clark shrugged and shook his head. He’d exhausted all reasonable guesses days ago, and Batman had (very, very begrudgingly) admitted to having no clue either. At this point Clark’s money was on the Captain being thousands of years old, not unlike his nemesis Teth. Maybe the wizard Marvel had occasionally mentioned had kept him at the rock for training and only recently let the man back into reality to work and age.

“Welp.” Marvel rocked on his heels and clapped his hands. “My birthday was yesterday.”

“Really?!” Flash was bouncing on his toes. “Dude, congrats!! We gotta celebrate!!”

“Yeah, I guess we should. I am officially eighteen years old after all. It’s an important milestone, or so everyone keeps telling me.”

Superman’s world screeched to a halt. Flash froze, still smiling. Clark watched in a detached sort of shock as the horror slowly crept onto Barry’s face. He could hear a pin drop, everyone was staring. Everyone had heard. That made sense, their discussion hadn’t been quiet.

“So,” Marvel still had that shit-eating grin on his face, looking directly at Clark, “how old do you think I was when I joined up?”

Superman’s slowly rallying thoughts flatlined. How long had Marvel been in the League again? How old was he? Jon was sixteen, Jon was sixteen right now. Jon had been little when Marvel came onto the scene. A baby. They’d let a baby onto the League.

Flash let out a strangled squawk. Marvel turned his smile on the speedster.

“Statute of Limitations.” he finger-gunned, rapidly backing out of the room. “Have fun with that info my dudes!” and with that he whirled on his heel and fled. Distantly, Clark heard the Zeta-platform announcing his departure.

He collapsed into the nearest chair, head spinning.

Green Arrow suddenly burst into hysterical laughter.

“Oh that little shit!” he cackled. Black Canary smacked him over the back of his head.

Marvel had made himself scarce in the wake of his revelation, popping up only to take care of Fawcett’s localized problems and immediately disappearing after, never lingering long enough to get a bead on him. A wise decision, given Batman’s suddenly reawoken obsession with hunting down his identity. Infuriatingly, he was still fumbling in the dark. It made sense, Clark supposed. They had no idea what the kid--and he was a kid, no matter what the law said he was an eighteen year old child with Ra only knows who looking out for him, if anyone was at all--looked like out of costume, had no clue to his name. For all they knew, the--what even was he? A host? Vessel? Puppeteer?--human at Marvel’s core wasn’t even on planet. The magic community was tight-lipped on the best of days, but the minute they heard them name-drop Captain Marvel they shut down. Getting them to admit anything about the Champion of Magic--a title they’d only heard in the past few days--was like pulling teeth.

Which is why it was such a shock to see him on the six O’clock news.

Clark was sitting in with Batman, chatting about strategy in regards to Luthor’s latest scheme, when the small screen they’d dedicated to scanning for any hint of their AWOL colleague switched from internet conspiracy boards to a live feed.

“--arvel! Marvel! Captain Marvel!!” the slightly tinny voice of Fawcett’s Helen Fidelity filtered through the watchtower monitor. The footage was granier than usual--but that was to be expected, seeing as magic tended to interfere with more traditional technology. The camera jilted and jogged forward, blurring as it tried to focus in on Marvel. He turned, eyes flashing blue and glowing gold through the thin haze of static.

Marvel had once told Flash, when the speedster asked why he never showed up on security feed, that not frying nearby machines took considerable concentration on his part, and that some glitches couldn’t be helped. He’d also complained bitterly over the fact he’d needed to carve special protective ruins into his J.L. communicator or have it explode in his ear canal. That had been fairly alarming to hear, and Batman had hastily corrected the schedule to minimize Marvel’s time on monitor duty while they got Zatanna to carve ‘technoglyphs’ onto the Watchtower's vital equipment.

The video feed cleared, the quick glimpse of--what Clark had come to realize over the past few days--Marvel’s unnerving nature vanishing as his mildly startled glance slid into a sly, mischievous grin. He smiled over at the newswoman, though his irises still seemed unnaturally bright and vividly blue through the screen. He’d paused in the middle of his clean-up left from battling the…cyclops? That looked like a cyclops in the background. One massive hunk of concrete balanced on his shoulder as he turned to talk.

“Hi Miss Fidelity! What can I do for you?”

“Any comment on the increased presence of your fellow Leaguer’s in Fawcett these past few days? And why you seem to be avoiding them?”

Marvel’s smile grew wider. His eyes crinkling at the edges.

“Oh I’ve been pulling a bit of a prank on the League.” The mystic hero admitted with a casual tilt of his head as he resumed loading rubble onto the industrial clean-up dump truck.

“Really?” the news-crew perked in interest.

“Yep.” Marvel leaned back. “Been years in the making. I was in it for the long-haul.” He nodded sagely, absolutely hamming it up, clearly reveling in his big reveal.

“Well don’t tease us Captain, what did you do?” The reporter was shaking with repressed laughter.

“Aw, now that’d be telling.” Marvel winked. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass them too much.”

The reporter visibly drooped. It was rare Marvel stopped for T.V. crews, having a strong preference for the local radio and newspapers.

“That being said,” Marvel added consolingly, “if I go missing in the next few days, then I’ve probably been kidnapped.”

“What?!” the camera jerked forward, zooming in on Marvel’s face and the microphone that had twitched closer to his smile.

“Yep.” Marvel nodded, waving to the clean-up crew as they flashed him thumbs-up. “If I were a gambling man I’d bet on Batman or Supes.” He offered one last cheeky grin before lifting off and zipping away, laughter echoing behind him.

“You heard it here folks!” the reporter whirled to face her cameraman. “Our local hero continues to live up to his reputation as a man of mystery and mischief!! Will this prank war continue? Fawcett’s Channel-Five will continue to investigate!!”

Clark stood up from the monitor-bank. Marvel was a dead man.

More to the point he was grounded.

The plan was simple. Stage a robbery, and corner Captain Marvel when he showed up. They’d already alerted the police and Bank employees to the ruse, and the security guards redirected the few patrons that showed up on a Tuesday afternoon with the excuse of an inspection being underway for the next few hours--yes, we’re terribly sorry for the inconvenience, please come back tomorrow. Everyone seemed to think this was a grand prank, and were happy enough to help, provided the entire thing was filmed and they were free to have interviews with the news station later. Batman was monitoring all social media linked to any of the conspirators to make sure nothing leaked, Canary and Green Arrow had rented a van and bought ski masks; and several other League members--clark and Diana included--were milling around the bank lobby dressed as civilians. Clark fiddled with the fake mustache glued to his lip.

“You look ridiculous.” Diana snaked, leaning on the check-signing counter.

“What? You don’t like it?” he grinned at her. She sighed and shook her head, rolling her eyes.

Canary and Arrow burst in, paint-ball guns waving.

Marvel eyed the police barricade surrounding the bank from his perch on a nearby roof. The police really didn’t seem too stressed out. He didn’t even see any swat vans, and several of the officers weren’t even wearing vests.

“This is totally a trap.” He sighed, leaning against the access hutch that was mostly obscuring him from view. He eyed the milling crowd for a moment more, then smirked, standing up. “Welp, let’s get this over with.”

Clark had been lying on the floor for nearly ten minutes, and there was definitely a crick in his neck. He was very glad he’d left his glasses back at his apartment. Captain Marvel was definitely taking his sweet time, most crimes in Fawcett--when he wasn’t out of the country or off planet on League business--he was on scene and resolving the issue in five.

Oliver had run out of bank-robber cliches to recite a good three minutes ago and was currently toeing the line of his usual ‘eat the (corrupt) rich!’ speeches.

The lobby door opened with a merry jingle. Marvel stood there, looking very put upon. Ollie froze mid-gesture.

“Seriously guys?” Marvel sighed.

“Hands up Marvel!!” Arrow snapped, pointing the empty paint-ball gun at the captain. “No funny business!”

“That’s real rich coming from you Arrow. What’s with the get-up?”

Clark flinched from where he was lying on the ground. Marvel seemed determined to knock them off balance. Clark at least wasn’t the only one thrown, Arrow was openly gaping

“What!? How--I-uh-I-mean--”

“Seriously guys, what are you doing?” Marvel cocked a hand on his hip, half-smiling. A smoke bomb burst against his back. “Hey--!”

Clark surged forward. They needed to end this fast, before Marvel--

His hand met only smoke. He could hear laughter echoing from behind him. He could also hear the humming hiss of Diana’s lasso, and the howl of wind as Captain Marvel escaped back out the door.

“Young man you get back here!” Clark yelled, tearing off the very cheap suit to reveal his costume underneath.

Marvel certainly led them on a merry chase. They managed not to break anything, or leave any craters anywhere, but it was a near thing. The good Captain seemed to find the entire thing hilarious: to be toying with them.

Or maybe, Clark thought bitterly as he went sprawling into a black-berry bush (it would be a nightmare to get the stains out later, he just knew it), he’s just playing. Clark supposed he couldn’t really blame him, if he were. He was starting to think Captain Marvel--whoever he was--had never had a childhood to begin with. Canary had muttered over it back at the Watchtower while their best investigators ran around like headless chickens trying to unearth a magically concealed identity. She’d talked about how Marvel must have been so worried about them discovering his age, how it must be such a load off his mind to finally admit to it; like a child leaping out of hiding once someone called ‘olly olly oxen free!’

Of course, it kinda seemed like the game might still be on, and Marvel appeared to be winning. Clark picked himself out of the bush just in time to see the Captain shred the net arrow Oliver had fired at him.

Clark jumped him from behind, locking his admittedly bigger colleague into a bear-hug.

“Stop struggling son! You’re not in trouble, we just want to talk!!”

“Oh you are so not my dad! Or the boss of me!!” Marvel kicked off the ground, twisting in midair and sending Clark sprawling once again. He glimpsed a wild grin and then Marvel was gone again. By now there were loose clumps of amused civilians, a couple news crews, and a scattering of very smug police milling through the park, taking photos and videos whenever the League or Marvel happened to run into them. Superman very determinedly ignored the latest cluster of civilians he’d stumbled across; he’d learned the hard way that Fawcettites delighted in misdirecting the Leaguers away from their local hero. News crews and reporters seemed very determined to waylay them regardless of whether or not Marvel was in their sights, so Clark was going to bet they were rooting for Marvel too. The boys in blue, on the other hand, were apparently in some strange, jovial sort of antagonistic and passive-aggressive relationship with Captain Marvel. Equally happy to chat with the Captain and point him out to the League in the same breath, only laughing when Marvel howled at them for being ‘snitches and sellouts.’

The chase eventually ended at the edge of the park with Diana’s lasso around Marvel ankle. He tripped with a yowl. Not that he hit the ground, Clark ducking underneath him and slinging him over his shoulder.

“Ooff.” Marvel grunted. “What am I? A bag of oats?”

“Was the chase really necessary?” Clark groused. He could feel twigs in his hair. Lois was doubtlessly going to laugh at him for letting a city-slicker get the best of him later.

“Ah c’mon Supes, you gotta let me have some fun with this. It’s been forever since I got to play tag.” Marvel’s tone was as light and jovial as ever, but the comment hit Clark in the gut like a wet cement truck.

“Yeah. We’re gonna have a talk about that.”

“Do we really have to?” Marvel sighed, sounding tired.

“‘Fraid so son.”

“Still not your kid. Heck, I’m not even a kid anymore.”

“Debatable.”

“A good battle little brother.” Diana snipped, looping the lasso more firmly around Marvel’s ankles.

“Oh, were we fighting?”

She glared at him, he grinned back at her.

“Hey Marvel!” a civilian called, a small cluster of them rounding the cluster of trees and bushes.

“I told you Superman was going to kidnap me!” Marvel called from where he’d been slung over the kryptonian’s shoulder.

“You need us to call the army?” One of the bystanders called, eyes never leaving their phone, intent on filming the entire scene.

“Nah I’m fine. But on the off chance I’m not, I leave everything to Mr. Tawny!!”

“Do we need to call your parents?” Clark questioned quietly, careful to face away from the cameras.

“You’re welcome to try, but they’ve been pushing up daisies for a few years now.” Marvel murmured back.

“...What of this…Mr. Tawny?” Diana hazarded. Marvel laughed.

“He’s sweet, but I don’t wanna bug him with this. ‘Sides, I don’t think he has a phone.”

“Superman!! Wonder Woman!!” Ms. Fidelity came bolting out from around the corner, her Cameraman trotting behind her. “Any comment on today’s events?!”

“League business.” Wonder Woman immediately declared.

“No comment.” Clark nodded, lifting off the ground.

“It’s been nice knowing you all!” Marvel called as they flew away.

Marvel was sitting cross-legged on a couch in one of the Watchtower’s smaller break rooms. Canary had given him a cup of coco. Most of the founding members were there, forming a loose semi-circle of sitting and lounging hero’s.

“So…” Flash drawled awkwardly, “are you just, like, stuck like that?”

“Stuck like what?” Marvel hummed, blowing on his coco.

“Ya know, all big and,” he gestured toward Marvel’s hulking red form, “muscly.”

“No.” Marvel admitted. “I have a mortal form.”

“How did this even happen to you?” Canary asked from where she was leaning on the couch arm.

“Wizard did it.” Captain Marvel smiled at her. She raised a brow at him. “I’m serious.” he added. “Honest. He ran me over with a magic train and everything.”

“Ran you over with a--?!?” She jerked up into a fighting stance.

“Aw chillax, I’m fine.” He rolled his eyes and took a sip. “You should of seen how he used to get people to the Rock of Eternity; sucked up by storms, swallowed by dragons, heck, a couple of them got kidnapped by griffons. My recruitment was real tame, all things considered.”

“Are you…are you dead?” Flash whimpered, looking increasingly terrified. Marvel snorted.

“Can’t be Champion if I’m dead.”

“What exactly did this…wizard…do to you?” Batman grumbled.

“Snatched me off the street, gave me the basic run-down on my powers then zapped me full of Lightning and divine voices. Then he died. Still shows up in my dreams though.”

“The wizard gave you schizophrenia?” Arrow piped up.

“No. The Wizard gave me a direct line to my patrons so eight-year-old me wouldn’t set anything on fire by mistake.”

“Okay,” Green arrow pinched the bridge of his nose, “I’m getting real tired of calling this dude wizard, are you going to tell us his name or--?”

“Don’t want to.”

“Son--” Clark started. Marvel raised a hand.

“Allow me to clarify. I don’t want to be struck by lightning right now.”

“What?”

“Would you guys relax?!” Marvel snapped, rolling his eyes. He took another gulp of coco. “This is magic, normal rules don’t apply. The Lightning is harmless. I use it to transform and get places real fast. It doesn’t even blow up anything unless I want it to. Or…if it’s, like, super advanced tech. And we’re on the Watchtower, so…” he trailed off, letting them fill in the blanks on the dangers of magic lightning on a space station.

“We have glyphs on all the important equipment.” Zatanna pointed out. She’d come sweeping in when word reached her they’d actually caught Marvel. She seemed content enough to stay out of it so long as they ‘didn’t piss off the most dangerous magic-man in existence.’

“Your glyphs strong enough to stand up to raw Magic? Eternity’s Magic?”

“...Good point.”

“How are you doing that with your voice.” Hal whispered. Everyone else ignored him. They’d known Marvel for years and were used to the way he could put that odd important-feeling emphasis on his words without changing his tone.

“Well then…” Flash stood up, clapping his hands. “...let’s, let’s go somewhere you can, uh, change.”

“What, like, right now?”

“Unless you’re planning on running again.” Batman growled.

“No sir.” Marvel shrank in on himself. “Figured you’d just hunt me down again.”

“Hmm.”

Canary had her hands folded as if in prayer in front of her mouth. Clark had his own fingers pressed against his lips. He could see Batman mentally calculating something--and if Clark were a betting man he’d put good money on the legalities of adult-adoption, or at the very least how many of Alfred’s finger sandwiches it would take to get some actual meat on the scrawny kids bones. Maybe they were over-reacting, but there was something disturbing about seeing the seven foot tall wall of muscle that was Marvel vanish and be replaced by a five foot four, gangly-limbed teenager.

“What?” Marvel asked. Hands on his hips. At least his clothes were clean. Old and clearly well-worn, but clean.

“Why are you so small?!” Flash yelped, gesturing wildly.

“Well I was homeless for a couple years.” Clark felt his stomach bottom out as his colleague scratched at his chin. “That probably stunted my growth some.”

“You were what.” Canary growled.

“Fucking hell kid.” Green Arrow muttered, looking--well--green.

“What? I’m fine. Got an apartment and a job and everything.”

“How.” Batman demanded.

“I got Marvel to pose as my dad when I was, like, nine. Signed a bunch of paperwork giving permission for me to work over at Wiz Radio. Pulled the same trick with my landlord.”

“You’re Wiz Kid?!” Clark yelled.

“Aw, supes, you been following my work? I’m flattered.” Clark blushed. Wiz Kid was a bit of a media cryptid, and Perry had been trying to poach them from Morris for years. Not that Clark could particularly blame his boss, Wiz always had the hottest scoop when it came to scandal, crime, war-front correspondence and the truly bizarre. Mr. Morris had been very loud in declaring the mysterious broadcaster Wiz Kid as their source for just about everything. The guy was apparently capable of getting in anywhere. All his stories and interviews focused on the humanitarian aspects, the nasty fallouts of careless higher-ups, the human cost to war. Finding out Captain Marvel was, in fact, that news jockey, might be just as shocking as finding out he was a kid.

“Your boss sent an actual kid into war zones!?!” Clark suddenly realized, his thoughts snapping out of their professional spiral.

“Yeah, no. Mr. Morris hates when I do that. Not that he can stop me.” He shrugged with a smile. “Pretty sure he thinks I’m part fae at this point. Not having to pay for air-fare probably helps though.”

“Really?” Barry sighed. The kid shrugged.

“It’s Fawcett. Weirder things have happened.”

“I’m still not cool with the war-zone thing.”

“I’d like to point out all the things you guys have asked me to do. Pretty sure red-kryptonite Superman is more dangerous than any mortal war-zone.” Clark flinched when the kid hooked a thumb at him.

“Any other terrifying tidbits about your life you wanna drop on us?” Barry sighed, pinching his nose.

“Uuuhhh…nah, I won’t waste your time with the sob-story.”

“Sob-story. What sob-story?” Clark demanded. He knew that tone, that was the tone Marvel used when he was trying to laugh off some large-scale magical disaster that had taken him off-planet (or off-reality) unexpectedly. A lot of those involved human-eating demons.

“Nothing.” The kid declared too quickly.

“You may as well tell us now.” Batman growled. “You won’t be leaving today without giving us your name.”

Marvel eyed the Bat warily. For a split second, Clark thought he might make a run for it, but in the end he just exhaled, long and slow as his shoulders slumped.

“Fine.” He sighed. “But can we have this conversation…not here?” He gestured to the woods they’d flown to after Zetaing to Kansas. “I’m not having this conversation without more coco.”

“Alright.” Batman relented, voice gentling. Clark fought the urge to snort. Bruce was a massive softie, whether he admitted it or not. The fact that one of their colleagues had been a child this entire time and Bruce hadn’t known, had doubtlessly won the young man major brownie points via retroactive guilt. It had probably upped his rank in Bruce’s mental list of most dangerous people in existence too, but that was something to worry about another day.

“Cool. Can Mr. Tawny come too?”

“Who is Mr. Tawny?” Diana asked.

“Glad you asked. He’s right behind you.” They whirled around to see a tiger about the size of a cow sitting in the middle of the woods. It didn’t seem particularly impressed by them, standing up and stalking past them directly to Marvel. He smiled and wrapped his arms around the tiger’s giant head. “Hey buddy, you worried about me?”

The tiger huffed.

“Not feeling too talkative today?” Marvel laughed. The tiger stuck its tongue out.

Back on the watchtower, with the Captain snuggled into the curve of the alarmingly large tiger, hot coco in hand, he gave a very brief run-down of his life. Every sentence out of his mouth slowly cranked up Clarks horror.

Billy Batson had been through hell long before the Lord of the Rock had ever sent him there to fight in his name. Betrayed by the people who should have been looking out for him; an uncle who stole everything from him, a system that threw him from one shitty home to another, and neither noticed nor cared when he’d finally disappeared through the cracks and onto the streets. Crowds upon crowds who must have seen him and done nothing. It was little wonder he’d thrown himself headfirst into the role of Captain Marvel, eager to prove himself to the one person who appeared to give a damn. It was so much more surprising that such a harsh life hadn’t carved out an angry, bitter kid ready to burn the world down. How was Marvel--how was Billy--so nice?!?

At the end of his story Diana stood up, turned on her heel, and began marching out of the room.

“Diana?” Clark called after her, a little confused.

“I am going to have a discussion with this uncle of yours.” She declared, never breaking stride.

“What?!” Billy yelped from the couch, jerking upright and scrambling over the tiger to snag the Amazon’s arm. “You really don’t have to do that.”

“This injustice cannot stand.”

“The courts decided my case years ago. Seriously, he’s not worth the trouble!”

“How did he even manage this.” Batman muttered, glaring at a projection of…was that a will? Clark did a double take. Had he just hacked some Fawcett lawyers office to get that? Was this how he kept solving all of his cases as Batman?!

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. Look, it sucked when it happened, but I’m fine. Shit happens, that’s just life.”

“Billy, it’s really…not.” Canary glared at him from the couch.

“Look, it doesn’t matter. I’m eighteen. I’ve been eighteen for, like, two weeks now. I’m legally allowed to make my own decisions now.” he let go of Diana to fully turn and face them again, hands spread in emphasis. “You can’t stop me.”

Months had passed. Captain Marvel came and went as he pleased, though these days he stuck to Fawcett more often than not. Batman had finally strong-armed him into taking a few college courses, and it ate up a fair bit of the time he’d used to devote to things like monitor duty. The Champion still made time to stop by though, which gave the rest of the League ample opportunity to check in on him. Like now for example.

Clark glared at Captain Marvel. The Captain glared right back, thoroughly unimpressed by the man of steel.

“Change back.”

“No.”

“For Rao’s sake!! I can’t scold you when you’re taller than me!!” Clark threw up his hands. Marvel smirked, very pointedly leaning down to address him.

“I know.” He chirped. “That’s the point.” The big red cheese immediately whirled on his heel and strode off, thoroughly satisfied with himself and leaving Superman stewing in his wake. Clark waited until Marvel was closer to the center of the room before pointing at him and yelling at the top of his lungs.

“Dogpile on Marvel!!” The champion of magic had enough time to throw one startled look over his shoulder before he was tackled by most of the room. Clark crossed his arms with a smug smile of his own.

“Get off of me!!” Marvel yowled from under the mass of bodies.

“Not until you eat a sandwich and take a nap young man.” Batman snipped from where he’d perched himself on top of his colleagues.

“This is why I don’t leave Fawcett!!”