SHAZAM!: The Word of Power #9

Billy is in a tree in the park in his pajamas, shaking and crying. It's cold, he's drained, and it's 2am.

He's not Superman, or the Flash, or anything like that. He's never been a hero. He'll never be a hero.

Unless the police did their job well, he killed someone. It's very possible he took a father from this world. This is all a stupid farce. He transforms long enough to get home.

He sits on the porch swing for an hour. Tears dry and he switches from freezing to numbness. The hour gets even hazier as the sky gets deeper. Victor pokes his head out.

"Hey, bud. You doin' alright? It's almost morning. You're kinda just sittin' in the dark out here."

"This was supposed to be my chance…" He's a statue.

"Clarification needed."

"This was my shot to be good... or better at least."

Victor kneels, bringing his huge stature down to meet Billy eye to eye, "You will be a good man, and you never get just one shot to be better. You don't become good, you choose every single day to do good. You're young, this is your chance to make mistakes and learn from them."

Billy searches within himself for a moment and locks eyes with his foster father, "I can't think of a way to argue or even mock that."

"Billy I've only known you for a few weeks, but I'm certain you'll think of a way to mock my advice about two minutes after I go back to bed," he heads inside, "Don't stay out here, you'll catch a cold."