Gotham's sky at night is a paradox. From the streets below, it looks dirty, choked by light pollution, industrial smoke, and the ever-present threat of chaos. But from above—from certain rooftops—it becomes almost beautiful. Cold, but vast. Sad, but honest. And tonight, Dick had decided we were going to enjoy Gotham. No costumes. No comms. No Bruce. Just two guys, two jackets, two hesitant smiles, and a bag full of cream-filled donuts stuffed into what looked suspiciously like a stylish messenger bag. — So, Villeneuve, afraid of heights? he called as he climbed a rusty fire escape. — Dude, I spent fifteen years flying across ice with knives strapped to my feet. I survived spinning falls, Russian judges, and The Nutcracker soundtrack on an endless loop. I've seen worse. He laughed, and the sound echoed off the brick walls. — Come on. I'm gonna show you one of my favorite spots. ⸻ The rooftop overlooked an old Art Deco movie theater that had been abandoned for years. The sign still flickered weakly, like a heartbeat too faint to stay awake. Dick sat on the ledge, his legs dangling over the void as if gravity had never really applied to him. — This theater, he murmured, is where Bruce brought me after my first real fight. He wanted to show me that Gotham wasn't just blood and sirens. That even here, there was history. Dreams. I sat beside him. The wind was cold, but I had my hood up. My skin silently thanked me. — Do you think it's actually possible to love this city? I asked. He shrugged. — You can love its flaws. Its cracks. And what you find inside them. Like... donuts at three in the morning and an interdimensional teenager who looks way too serious all the time. I tossed a donut at him. He caught it effortlessly. — Do you always talk like that? You sound like a poem badly translated from Italian. — Hey! I've got style. You've got a Quebec accent. — That's not an accent. It's a superpower, I corrected with dignity. He burst out laughing. — You know, I'm glad you showed up. Bruce will never admit it, but you shook something loose in him. He needed someone to remind him that rules can be broken. And that sometimes life throws people at you who have absolutely nothing to do with your original plan... but somehow help you move forward anyway. I stayed quiet. His words settled somewhere beneath my ribs. ⸻ We climbed down and he led me to an old warehouse that had been converted into a café-bar for insomniacs. At that hour, the only customers were two students, a biker couple, and an elderly poet asleep in the corner. Perfect. We took a table near a large window. Dick ordered some kind of suspicious herbal tea. I got apple juice. (No coffee. No non-British black tea. My brain chemistry remains a diva.) Dick stirred his drink slowly. — So, Dale... what do you want? I looked at him. — You mean in this world? — Yeah. Gotham's ugly, but it belongs to you now too. So what do you want to do here? I thought about it. For a long time. — I don't want to just survive. I've been doing that my whole life. I want to... live. Find something to love here. Someone, maybe. I want to feel like I have the right to exist without constantly having to justify it. He nodded. — You do have that right. — Yeah. But this world takes it away from you pretty fast if you're not armed. He raised his glass. — Then we arm ourselves. Together. I clinked my glass against his. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Outside, Gotham kept moving. Cars passed. Sirens wailed in the distance. Somewhere, somebody was probably getting mugged. Some things never changed. ⸻ Around midnight, we took a bus. Yeah. An actual bus. Like two normal guys. On the ride back to the Manor, under the dim overhead lights and between sharp turns, Dick suddenly asked: — If you hadn't been catapulted here, what would you have become? I thought about it. — A gold medal. He laughed. — That's not a profession. — Fine. A skating coach for kids. Or maybe... just a good person. A completely insane person, maybe. Or just another ordinary person among millions. Dick smiled. — You've still got time. And maybe you haven't changed as much as you think. And in that moment, I didn't see a vigilante. Not an acrobat. Not the first Robin. Just a guy. A brother. ⸻ That night, I went to bed with a strange feeling in my chest. As if Gotham, despite its shadows and filthy alleyways, had opened up a little patch of sky for me. And in that small corner of it, I wasn't a cosmic mistake. I was just... Dale. And maybe that was enough.

Gotham without the mask