The Life Of Billy Batson | Shazam

Watchtower Movie Night

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Billy sat down on the old, worn down couch sitting in the living room of his abandoned apartment, scooching into the torn grey fabric with a plastic fork in one hand and a styrofoam cup of ramen in the other. 

He folded his legs beneath him, smiling to himself and the luck he'd had in managing to score a warm cup of ramen that evening.

A cold breeze blew through the cracks in the window, making the boy shy away from the cold and hug his food tighter to his body. It was September, which meant colder weather and the sun going down earlier. 

When he was little, he used to love cold weather- jumping in piles of leaves, playing in the snow, hot cocoa on a chilly night...

Now it just added another risk to his already dangerous life. It felt like he was always worrying about insulating his home or trying to find warm clothing and food- not fun when you lived on the streets.

The wind quieted down, allowing the 12-year-old to focus on the warm food still steaming in his hands. He smiled down at it, jabbing his fork into the noodles and bringing it to his mouth. 

A sudden rapping at the door made him flinch, grip tightening on the styrofoam cup as his fork fell into the mixture.

Billy furrowed his brow, staring at the door in confusion. There weren't many people living in this building, only an elderly man and a quiet younger man, and they never bothered him. 

Maybe someone was checking to see it the place was empty so they could crash there?

Billy set his cup of noodles down on the couch and slid off the edge, padding over quietly to the door to stare through a crack in the wall.

He could tell it was a man by the pants, which were all he could see through the crack, and what looked like a businessman at that- the pants looked pressed and clean. 

They were a dark fabric and fit the man nicely; so it was likely someone who could afford a tailored suit.

That didn't explain why this businessman was here though; this was the last place he'd think to see someone like this guy. Billy swallowed thickly and grabbed the door handle, creaking it open slowly and peeking through. 

"Uhm, I'm sorry, but this place is ta-" the words died on his mouth at the sight of Bruce standing in the doorway, eyebrow quirked.

"Mr. Wayne- what- what're you-" Billy stammered, opening the door wider and furrowing his brow in confusion. 

"I don' understand."

"Billy, how many times have I told you to call me Bruce?" the billionaire asked with a tilt of his head, coming inside the shabby apartment and closing the old door behind him.