Flipping Through the Pages
Copyright© 2026 by Dragonpig
Chapter 49
The comic book store greeted him with the same impossible familiarity—shelves stretching beyond reason, the scent of paper and possibility thick in the air. But this time, Ultimate Bruce Wayne approached with purpose rather than curiosity.
Robert looked up from behind the counter, that knowing smile already spreading across his face as if he’d been expecting this exact moment. “Ah, Mr. Wayne. Welcome back. I had a feeling you’d return sooner rather than later.”
“Robert.” Bruce nodded, then paused, studying the man’s face carefully. “I know you’re more than you seem to be—and you seem to be quite a lot. I’m very curious about that, but I also know this: I feel like you and I are meeting for a reason.”
Robert chuckled softly, adjusting his glasses. “Well, maybe. So how can I help you, Mr. Wayne?”
Bruce moved closer to the counter, his voice taking on the intensity that once made criminals confess while being interrogated by the Batman. “Back on my Earth, in my universe, I was once a crime fighter called Batman. I did it for a couple of years, and I just realized that I don’t feel like I was doing as much good as I hoped. For every criminal I put in Arkham, they got out. I’ve met many versions of myself that told me the issue was because the system I was working within was corrupt, and I should’ve gotten rid of my no-kill rule. Which I totally disagree with, but the problem is this—I met a version of me whose belief in that rule got his world destroyed because of it. And I did not want to be that version of him.”
Robert listened intently, saying nothing, letting Bruce work through his thoughts.
“The problem with me is I still don’t want to cross that line, but that’s not my real problem anymore. I’ve come to the conclusion that I won’t ever kill, but I shouldn’t put myself in the situation of being a hero. At least not that kind of hero. I should leave it to those who are willing to make the hard choice.” Bruce’s voice grew darker. “But here’s my actual problem. I’ve met a version of me—younger and just as driven—and he made a statement about ‘making Batmen’ that disturbs me. I don’t know what he’s doing. I’ve set up a system of probes to search the multiverse to track him down. And I’m wondering—should I really be focused on him, or maybe continue with my questioning of who I truly am?”
Robert’s expression grew more serious, more thoughtful. “Maybe the answer is this: why can’t you do both? Find this other Bruce Wayne—this one who ‘makes Batmen,’ what do you call him?”
“Maybe ... the Batmaker?” Bruce said, testing the words. “Yeah, that sounds right. The Batmaker.”
“So continue looking for this Batmaker, and then once you find out exactly what he’s doing, you decide if you should interfere. But I’m pretty sure your real question is, are you getting back into the same situation you were in as Batman? If it comes down to you having to kill him. What are you going to do? How can you deal with someone that pretty much is a copy of you?”
Ultimate Bruce Wayne was quiet for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Exactly.”
Robert smiled again, moving toward one of the shelves. “Well, you are going to have to answer that question for yourself, but I found this great comic book you might want to read.”
“Are you sure this is the time for that?”
“There’s always time for a good read, young man.” Robert gestured toward the comfortable reading chair tucked between the towering stacks. “Have a seat over there in that chair. I’ll bring you some tea and I’ll bring you the book.”
Ultimate Bruce Wayne settled into the leather chair that creaked softly in welcome. Soon Robert appeared beside him with the familiar ritual, a steaming cup of Earl Grey placed gently on the side table, and a comic book with a familiar cover.
“Marvel,” Bruce noted, examining the simple but striking design. “The Blind Challenge.”
“Sometimes the most important battles are the ones we fight with ourselves,” Robert said quietly, then walked away, leaving Bruce alone with his tea and the comic.
Bruce opened to the first page and began to read.
Matt poured two glasses of whiskey in his Hell’s Kitchen apartment, the familiar ritual of hospitality giving him time to think. Julian sat on the couch, his white cane leaning against the arm, looking perfectly at ease in the space he’d visited dozens of times over the years.
“You don’t get it, man,” Julian said, accepting the glass Matt offered. “You’re not blind like I’m blind. You’re what we call in the blind community a ‘super blink.’”
Matt settled into his chair, the familiar defensiveness rising in his chest. “Julian, come on. We’ve been through this—”
“No, we haven’t.” Julian’s interruption was gentle but firm. “You walk into a room with that radar sense of yours, and you know exactly where everyone is standing. You know what they look like, how they’re breathing, whether they’re attracted to you or disgusted by you. I walk into a room and hope I’m facing the right direction when someone talks to me.”
The words hung in the air between them. Matt wanted to argue, to point out all the ways his blindness had shaped him, all the struggles he’d overcome. But something in Julian’s tone stopped him.
“You think you understand our world,” Julian continued, “but you’ve never actually lived in it. Not really. Not without your Daredevil advantages.”
Matt took a sip of his whiskey, buying time. “What are you saying?”
Julian leaned forward, his voice taking on that tone of intention Matt had learned to recognize over their friendship. “I’m saying turn it off. One week. No radar, no enhanced senses, no superhero cheat codes. Just you, your cane, and whatever social graces you think you have.”
“That’s ridiculous—”
“Is it?” Julian’s smile was audible. “You’re always going on about how blindness doesn’t define you, how you’ve proven that disability isn’t a limitation. So prove it. Show me that Matt Murdock—not Daredevil, just Matt—can navigate the world the way I do every single day.”
Matt opened his mouth to refuse, then closed it. The challenge hung between them like a dare from childhood, impossible to back down from without losing face.
“Fine,” he said finally. “One week.”
Julian raised his glass. “Let’s see what you’ve got, my dog.”
They clinked glasses, and Matt wondered what he’d just agreed to.
Three days later, Matt sat alone at the bar in Forlini’s, nursing a gin and tonic and trying to ignore the disorienting fog that had become his world. Without his heightened senses, the familiar restaurant felt alien and hostile. Conversations blurred together into meaningless noise, and he found himself constantly second-guessing whether someone was talking to him.
“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”
The voice was warm, feminine, coming from somewhere to his left. Matt turned toward it, hoping he was facing the speaker.
“No, please, sit down.”
“Thank you.” The soft thud of a glass being set down. “I’m Sarah.”
“Matt.” He extended his hand. Her fingers found his—warm, soft, with a firm handshake.
“I’ve seen you here before,” she said. “You’re a lawyer, right? I work at the courthouse. Administrative stuff, mostly.”
Matt felt a flutter of hope. She was engaging with him, not talking around him or over him the way some people did. “That’s right. Criminal defense, mostly. Though I do some pro bono civil work.”
“That must be rewarding. Fighting for people who can’t fight for themselves.”
They talked easily for the better part of an hour. Sarah was intelligent, funny, with a quick wit that kept Matt engaged in ways he hadn’t expected. She asked about his work, his interests, even made gentle jokes about the fact that he was drinking gin and tonic while sitting alone at a bar on a Tuesday night.
“I should get going,” she said eventually. “Early meeting tomorrow. But this was really nice.”
“It was,” Matt agreed, and meant it. “Maybe I’ll see you here again sometime.”
“I’d like that.”
After she left, Matt sat alone, wondering what his friend Julian was talking about. Maybe Julian was wrong. Maybe being truly blind wasn’t as challenging as he’d said.
Then he heard Sarah’s voice from across the room, talking to someone at another table.
“That guy I was just talking to? The blind one? It’s so inspiring, you know? The way he just lives his life normally, doesn’t let it stop him.”
A male voice responded, lower, harder to make out. Matt strained to listen without his enhanced hearing.
“ ... don’t know how you can ... makes me uncomfortable ... probably why he’s alone...”
Matt couldn’t catch all of it, but the tone was clear enough. Dismissive. Uncomfortable. Like Matt was something to be pitied at best, avoided at worst.
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