The next morning, I woke up with a migraine and the persistent feeling that I was trapped inside a terrible fanfiction written at 3 a.m. by an insomniac teenager. But no—Gotham was very real. Wayne Manor too. And this new body, this deeper voice that didn't belong to me, even more so. I was Dale. Dale Villeneuve. And I was about to meet the other bats. It was Alfred who came to get me. He appeared in the doorway, silent as a ninja in a tuxedo, and simply said: — Master Dale, Master Bruce is waiting for you in the East sitting room. I blinked. — East... like the compass? Because I used to do figure skating, not orienteering. A faint smile formed on his wrinkled but dignified face. He looked like the kind of man who might have served as a butler for the Queen, James Bond, and the Vatican—all while having the skill level of a military surgeon. Which, knowing a little of Alfred's backstory, probably wasn't far from the truth. — I would be happy to escort you, if you wish. The East sitting room was enormous, filled with paintings that were probably worth more than everything I had ever owned combined. Three young men were waiting there. Bruce stood beside the fireplace, arms crossed. I recognized all of them. Of course I did. In my world, they're fictional characters I'd seen hundreds of times on Tumblr, in comics, and in animated movies. I might not have been the biggest fan, but I still watched the occasional film and flipped through my uncle's old comics. Dick Grayson, the first Robin. The eldest. The one with the warmest smile and the most stability. He greeted me with an easy grin. Jason Todd, the one who came back from the dead. The classic bad boy. Leaning against the wall, arms folded, expression closed off. And Tim Drake, the brain. The kind of guy who could probably hack the Pentagon with a smartwatch. He was already watching me like he was trying to dissect me with his eyes. Dick was the first to step forward. — Hey! I heard you're the new guy. Dale, right? I'm Dick. I shook his hand. He had a gymnast's grip and the look of someone who genuinely wanted to be kind. — Yeah. Dale Villeneuve. Formerly Dalphée, figure skater, and apparently... reincarnated. Slightly against my will. Jason raised an eyebrow. — Reincarnated? Seriously? Is this a joke? I shrugged. — If you've got a better explanation for why I woke up in some guy's body in Gotham when I was supposed to be in Montreal for a competition, I'm all ears. Tim finally spoke, his voice calm and measured. — You claim to come from another universe. One where all of us are... fictional? — Yep. I've seen your lives in comics. Shows. Even in Lego form. I've read Death in the Family, and I know what happened to Jason. Jason stiffened. He shot Bruce a dark look, who merely sighed. — You told him about my death the moment he walked in? — He already knew, Bruce replied. He knew more about us than anyone should. Even things I've never revealed. Dick turned to me, a little tense. — So... you know what happens to each of us too? What... what we become? A chill ran down my spine. I almost said that in some versions he becomes Batman. In others, he dies tragically. But instead I said: — I know versions. Possibilities. Nothing is fixed here. This world is alive. And I have no intention of predicting anything. The DC multiverse is way too big for me to say exactly which version of the world I'm in anyway. Silence. Then Jason laughed. A short, sharp laugh. — Wow. So we've got a multidimensional albino kid showing up in the middle of an existential crisis who knows everything about us. Fantastic. Alfred broke the tension by appearing with perfectly prepared tea. He handed me a porcelain cup. — Earl Grey, Master Dale. Will that suit you? — If you have maple syrup, I'll marry you. He smiled. Bruce raised an eyebrow. — He's joking, Alfred said calmly. — I think I'm joking, I added quickly. Probably. They all watched me for a long moment. I was the newcomer. The anomaly. The Robin who hadn't asked for any of this, who didn't know how to fight, who had never thrown a Batarang—but who knew everyone's secrets. And that's dangerous. Because I didn't grow up in the streets or in some detective academy. I come from a world where they're fictional heroes. And for all their strength, I also know what they can become. Icons. Monsters. Martyrs. When the meeting ended, Bruce walked with me down the hallway. — You handled that well. — I haven't had a Batarang thrown at my head yet, so I guess so. He stopped. His gaze softened slightly. — Dale... I know all this is brutal. But if you want to stay here, you'll need to train. Learn. Defend yourself. — And what if I don't want to become a vigilante? I asked. He paused. — Then you stay. Safe. Under my protection. I hesitated. Then I murmured: — I've seen enough universes where you die young, Bruce. I'd rather live in the one where you survive long enough to lecture me. He didn't answer. But in his eyes, I saw something new flicker. Maybe, deep down, I was exactly the kind of unpredictable mess he hadn't expected. And maybe... he liked that.

The Bats and the Butler