Chapter Text
It was all so disorienting.
Brianna couldn't comprehend what was happening, her thoughts slipping through her grasp like water no matter how tightly she tried to hold onto them. One second she had been in line at Starbucks—warm lighting, the low hum of conversation, the smell of coffee and sugar and something vaguely burnt—and the next… this. Where was the Starbucks? Where were the people? How did she go from tiled floors and overpriced drinks to broken concrete and open sky? Did Uncle Lamb and Lizzie even know what happened to her? Would they see something on the news—an earthquake, a crater in the middle of New York—and come running from the hotel, panic-stricken and searching for her in the crowd?
Her chest tightened at the thought.
She sucked in a sharp breath, her lungs protesting as awareness came back in jagged, uneven pieces. Pain followed immediately behind it—dull and heavy, settling into her bones like it belonged there. Her head throbbed in time with her heartbeat, her limbs felt like they had been dropped from a ten-story building, and every small movement sent little sparks of discomfort shooting through her body.
“Okay,” she rasped weakly, though the word barely made it past her lips.
She pushed herself up on trembling elbows, wincing as a sharper pain flared along her side. Bits of debris shifted under her palms, gritty and uneven. Chunks of asphalt scraped against her skin, twisted pieces of metal jutted out at odd angles, and shattered glass caught the light like scattered diamonds. The world around her came into focus slowly.
Her heart started pounding.
“Okay, okay,” she muttered, dragging herself onto her knees, her hands shaking as she tried to steady herself. “Earthquake. Right. Earthquake. That's—this is—this is just… aftershock brain.”
Her voice sounded thin. Unconvincing.
Because earthquakes didn't make craters, at least not ones that looked like this one. No, this was something out of a freaking movie.
Her gaze dropped again, really taking it in this time—the jagged dip in the street, the way the ground had caved inward like something had slammed down from above. The edges were too sharp, too uneven, the damage too focused. And… was it smoking?
She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, trying to force her memories into some kind of order. She remembered leaving the hotel room, stepping quietly so she wouldn't wake Lizzie, who had been tangled in blankets and snoring loud enough to rival a chainsaw. She remembered Uncle Lamb sitting at the small table near the window, reading the book he had brought for their trip. She remembered the walk. The early morning air. The short line inside the shop. She remembered ordering and waiting for their drinks to be made. And then… her vision had blurred. The ground had started shaking. And then nothing at all.
What happened after? How did she get here?
Brianna swallowed hard, her throat dry. “Okay,” she whispered again, more urgently now, her fingers digging slightly into the broken ground beneath her. “Okay, think. Think. What would Uncle Lamb—”
She froze as a shadow passed over her.
It moved too smoothly to be debris, and too controlled to be something random. Brianna frowned, her confusion overriding her panic for just a second as she slowly tilted her head upward. Her breath caught in her throat at what she saw.
It was a figure—a man, she realized, as he got even closer to her—descending from the sky. Not falling, not dropping, but descending gracefully. It was so controlled, so effortless. Like gravity was optional and he had simply chosen to ignore it.
A red cape fluttered behind him, catching the light in a way that made it look almost unreal. The fabric moved like it had weight, like it responded to the air around it instead of just existing in it.
Brianna's eyes narrowed slightly as she squinted up at him, her brain scrambling to make sense of what she was seeing. Blue suit. Red boots. And then she saw it. Right there, emblazoned across his chest, was that unmistakable crest she heard her best friend tell her all about.
And just like that, Lizzie's voice came flooding back, as if they were sitting on her bed on the weekend and Lizzie had stolen the remote to her TV to put on her favourite TV show.
“Yes, I'm getting there! Patience, Bree. Superman is also exactly what you'd expect, he's the boy scout, he cares about justice and saving people, he's the last son of Krypton. And he does that really well, don't get me wrong, he is a great hero. I mean, he wouldn't be so loved and a founding member of the Justice League if he wasn't. But then they introduce Conner and he clearly doesn't know how to handle it. Which is fair, to an extent, anyone would be surprised by that, but he avoids Conner as much as he can and it's several episodes before Batman sits him down to have the Dad Talk with him and it's still not fully resolved after that. Don't give me that look, yes, okay, I do have a bit of something against this Superman but that's me. If you were in trouble and needed help, there really isn't anyone else you'd want to be there for you and have your back than Superman.”
Brianna's stomach dropped.
No. No, that wasn't —that wouldn't be—
Her brain refused to process the reality she was facing, slamming the brakes hard on the thought before it could fully form.
This couldn't be real. It couldn't be him. It just couldn't. There was no way—no way in hell—that this was actually happening to her right now.
I must have hit my head, Brianna thought desperately, clinging to the idea like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Yeah. That's it. I'm laying on the floor of Starbucks right now. Someone called an ambulance. I'm unconscious. This is just a dream. A really weird, very detailed dream seemingly inspired by her best friend's endless ramblings about her favourite TV show.
He landed at the edge of the crater with a soft thud, his red boots barely disturbing the dust around him. The impact should have been louder. He should have stumbled, or at least shifted under the force of it. But he didn't. He stood there like he belonged. Like he had done this a thousand times before.
His gaze swept across the destruction, sharp and assessing, taking in every detail in a way that made it clear he wasn't just looking—he was analyzing. And then his eyes landed on her. For a brief moment, something like surprise flickered across his face. Then it softened instantly, concern replacing it so quickly it almost made her chest ache.
“Brianna?” he said, her name leaving his lips with a note of disbelief.
Her eyes widened.
How does he know my name? Is this Lizzie's work? Is this some kind of prank? Did she hire a Superman cosplayer to make me freak out? Is there a camera somewhere? Am I on one of those stupid YouTube prank channels right now?
Her eyes darted around wildly, searching for wires, for a harness, for anything that would make this theory make sense. But there was nothing. No signs that this was a prank. No ropes or visible support. No explanation whatsoever to prove this was Lizzie's doing. He was just… there. Literally floating moments ago. Landing like gravity didn't matter. And looking at her like he knew her.
Oh God.
This wasn't some Superman cosplayer. This wasn't a stunt. She wasn't going to be filmed and put on YouTube for thousands to laugh at her reaction. This was freaking real.
Her vision blurred over.
“Superman?” she choked, the name tasting unreal on her tongue.
He moved closer, stepping down into the crater with careful precision, his attention fully on her now. “You know who I am,” he said, and there was something like cautious relief in his voice. “That's good. Do you remember how you got here?”
Her mind went blank. Because she didn't. She couldn't remember anything past the moment the ground started shaking and she blacked out. She couldn't explain why she wasn't standing in Starbucks anymore, waiting for her name to be called out by the barista as they slid her drinks across the counter. She couldn't explain how she ended up here—hurt, disoriented, in the middle of a crater that shouldn't even exist.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, her breathing turning shallow and uneven. “Oh my God, oh my God—”
“Hey,” Superman said gently, crouching slightly so he was closer to her level, his voice soft but steady. “You're safe. I need you to try and stay calm—”
“How can you be real?” she blurted out.
The question tore out of her before she could stop it, and Superman stilled, just looking at her.
Brianna scrambled backward, her hands slipping slightly on the debris as panic surged through her veins, fast and overwhelming. “You're not real, you're not real, you're not real—this is—this is some kind of concussion hallucination or—I hit my head or—I'm still in Starbucks or—” Her chest tightened painfully, each breath coming faster than the last. “But the crater—” she gasped, her voice shaking. “And the buildings—and you—”
His expression softened further, concern deepening in a way that felt genuine and grounding all at once. “It's alright, Brianna. Just breathe,” he said gently. “You've been through a traumatic event. Disorientation, confusion—those are normal responses. You're not in any danger.”
“You're Superman!” she nearly shouted, her voice cracking under the weight of it. “You're not supposed to be real!”
His brow furrowed slightly, but his tone didn't change. “Deep breaths,” he urged quietly. “Focus on my voice.”
“How do you know who I am?” she demanded, her vision swimming, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “Why are you saying my name like that?”
There was a brief pause as he looked at her with an almost devastated gleam in his eyes. And then he spoke softly, “Because I know you.”
And those four words made everything worse.
Brianna stared at him, her confusion spiking into something sharper, more frantic. “No,” she breathed, shaking her head. Her voice trembled violently now, the words barely holding together. “No, no, no—this is—this is insane. This is actually insane—” Her head started spinning, the edges of her vision darkening. “I'm not supposed to be here. I'm not—I don't belong here—”
The world began to narrow. Sounds dulled, muffled against her ears. Her vision got even more blurry. She could hardly make out anything anymore.
Superman moved quickly, closing the distance between them in an instant. His hands came to her shoulders, steady and firm, trying to keep her upright as her balance wavered. “Hey—stay with me.”
But Brianna could barely feel his touch. Everything around her was fading too quickly. She looked up at him and could barely make out that his lips were moving. She couldn't even hear what he was saying, not even muffled noises. Her senses were completely gone.
And then, just like that, everything went black.
“…vitals are stable.”
“…no visible internal damage…”
“…we'll know more after—”
The voices drifted in and out like she was underwater, distorted and distant, overlapping in a way that made it impossible to tell where one ended and the next began. Brianna groaned softly, her consciousness dragging itself upward through layers of thick, heavy fog. Every inch of her body felt weighted, like gravity had doubled while she was out. Her fingers twitched weakly against the sheets, and even that small movement felt like too much effort.
The first thing she noticed this time was the smell.
It was clean. Sterile.
It hit her all at once, sharp and familiar, and her stomach turned slightly. It reminded her of the time she had a lump removed from her neck—the fluorescent lights, the scratchy hospital sheets, the way everything had smelled like antiseptic and something faintly metallic. She remembered lying there afterward, groggy and confused, her parents sitting beside her bed trying to make bad jokes to lighten the mood while Lizzie snuck in snacks she definitely wasn't allowed to have.
Hospital, her brain supplied sluggishly. Great. Love that.
Her eyes fluttered open, lashes sticking for a second before lifting fully. A white ceiling came into view—too smooth, too perfect, almost artificial in how pristine it looked. There was a steady beep… beep… beep somewhere to her right, rhythmic and controlled. She became aware of a needle in her arm, taped down carefully, and a blanket draped over her body that was tucked in just a little too neatly to be anything but intentional.
“Of course there's a needle,” she mumbled under her breath, her voice rough and dry. “That's exactly what I wanted today.”
“You're awake.”
Brianna jolted.
The voice was unfamiliar.
Her head snapped toward the sound so quickly that pain flared behind her eyes, but she barely registered it. Her gaze locked onto the figures standing near the foot of the bed, and her stomach dropped so hard it felt like it hit the floor.
There were three people.
Superman stood closest, his posture straight but not rigid, his expression caught somewhere between concern and careful observation—like he wasn't sure whether approaching her would help or make things worse. The red of his cape stood out starkly against the otherwise muted, sterile room, grounding him in a way that made him feel too real.
To his right, was someone who made Brianna's breath catch in her throat. He wore a black cape and a cowl. And a bat sigil was stretched across the front of his suit.
Batman.
And just like that, Lizzie's voice came rushing back in full force, loud and impossible to ignore.
“So, Batman, right. He's mostly what you'd expect, he's got the emo black cape and cowl thing going on, all broody and serious and never cracking a smile. But that's only part of it. He's actually kind of a great dad to Dick. I know, I know, you're shocked, but hear me out. He made sure there was gymnastics equipment at Wayne Manor for him and when he was clearly feeling neglected, he played basketball with him so they could spend time together. I mean, he clearly doesn't really know if he's doing it right but he's really trying and through everything he does, you can tell just how much he cares. Hell, he's even a better dad than Superman right out the gate and no, I'm not telling you why Superman was a dad, we're not there yet. This Batman has figured out the whole vigilante thing, he can work alone, he can work with Robin and as part of the Justice League. He obviously terrifies most of the League, probably everyone but the original team, but that's also kinda the point. He knows things, even if you don't always know how. He's always ten steps ahead. Also, if you ever met him, which is obviously impossible, but if you did, do not lie to him. Ever. He will know. He always knows.”
Brianna's pulse skyrocketed, which caused the monitor to practically malfunction.
Great. Fantastic. Love that for me.
The third person was a woman. She had blonde hair that framed her face in a really pretty way, falling in controlled waves that somehow still looked effortless. She wore black—leather jacket, form-fitting but practical—and there was a quiet strength in the way she carried herself, like she didn't need to prove anything to anyone because she already knew exactly what she was capable of. There was something sharp in her eyes, perceptive and steady, but it was balanced by a calmness that made her feel… safe. Or at least, safer than the other two.
“Black Canary is kind of like the den mother of the Team. She helps train them, since she obviously knows a lot about fighting people with super strength and the ability to fly and all that. And when they went through a really harrowing mission—and I'm talking really harrowing—it was Black Canary who talked to them all one by one to help them work through what had just happened to them. She's also dating or maybe married to Green Arrow and they're actually pretty cute. Black Canary is a total badass though, like I'm talking serious badass. Her only power is a sonic scream and yet she's still good enough to be in the Justice League. If there's anyone you want teaching you how to fight and be a better hero, it's probably Black Canary.”
Black Canary, Brianna remembered. Thank you, Lizzie.
For a split second, her brain tried to deny her new reality yet again. Tried to shove it all into the same box labeled hallucination and move on. But the details were too real to possibly ignore at this point.
Brianna stared at them, completely frozen, her fingers curling slightly into the blanket like she could anchor herself to something solid. “I passed out,” she said slowly, her voice hoarse and uncertain. “And now I'm hallucinating even more people.”
Black Canary exchanged a brief glance with Superman before stepping forward just enough to close some of the distance between them. Her posture was relaxed, but there was something intentional behind every movement, like she was carefully choosing how to present herself.
“You're not hallucinating,” Black Canary said gently, her voice calm and grounded.
She let out a faint, humorless hum, her head tilting slightly against the pillow. “Mm. That's exactly what hallucinations would say.”
“What is your name?”
Batman's voice cut through the room like a blade. It was direct and controlled, and there wasn't a single ounce of softness in it.
Brianna's gaze snapped to him instantly, her entire body tensing without her permission. Lizzie's words echoed aagain. He knows things, even if you don't always know how. He's always ten steps ahead.
Her heart pounded.
“Why should I tell you anything?” she shot back, more defensive than she intended, but she couldn't help it. There was something about him that made her feel exposed, like she was already being dissected without a single instrument in sight.
Superman stepped forward slightly, just enough to shift the energy in the room. His voice, when he spoke, was steady and reassuring in a way that almost made her believe him.
“Brianna,” he said gently, and the fact that he used her name made her stomach twist, “it's alright. We're not here to harm you. We're trying to understand what happened—to you, and at the site. But we can't do that without your cooperation.”
She swallowed hard.
Don't lie to Batman.
Her gaze flicked back to Batman before she exhaled shakily. “My name is Brianna Porter.”
Batman didn't blink. Didn't react in any way. Hell, he didn't even shift his posture.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
“Pittsburgh,” she replied automatically, the answer coming easier than everything else because at least that part was still hers.
“Do the names Echo or Sentry mean anything to you?” Batman continued what felt like an interrogation to her.
Her brows furrowed, confusion cutting through her fear for just a second. “No,” she said slowly. “Should they?”
That got a reaction.
Not from Batman—of course not from the guy standing there like a freaking statue—but from the others. A glance passed between Superman and Black Canary, subtle but loaded with something Brianna couldn't quite place. Concern? Confusion? Recognition?
It made her stomach twist.
“Can I go back to my hotel now?” she asked quickly, the words rushing out before she could stop them. “My uncle and my best friend are probably freaking out right now. Lizzie definitely thinks I got kidnapped or trampled on my way to Starbucks or—honestly, she'd assume aliens before anything else, so this isn't helping—”
“Not yet,” Batman said flatly.
Of course not.
Black Canary stepped closer, offering a small, reassuring smile that felt genuine in a way Brianna desperately needed right now. “Brianna, my name is Black Canary. But you can call me Dinah, if you'd like,” she said. “And I know this is overwhelming, but we need you to stay with us a little longer, alright?”
Brianna didn't answer right away. Her fingers tightened slightly in the blanket. Something was wrong. She could feel it. The way they were looking at her—like she was familiar and not at the same time. What weren't they telling her?
“You said those names like I'm supposed to know them,” she said slowly. “Like they matter. So what aren't you telling me?”
This time, it was Superman who spoke.
His voice was soft. “In this world… there was someone named Brianna Porter. And you... you look just like her.”
Her breath caught. “Was?”
Black Canary's expression shifted, just slightly, sympathy flickering across her features. “She was a young hero in training, a sidekick to Echo,” she explained gently. “She operated under the name Sentry.”
Brianna stared at the woman, her words not making any sense to her at all.
“That's not me,” she said immediately, shaking her head. “I'm not—I've never been—I don't even like cardio—”
“She died,” Superman said quietly.
Brianna froze, eyes widening a fraction. “What?”
“There was an incident,” Black Canary continued, her tone measured but kind. “About a year ago. She didn't survive.”
Her chest tightened painfully, her fingers going numb where they gripped the blanket.
There was another version of her. A version who fought with a superhero and trained to eventually become one and then she died. What happened to her?
Her thoughts spiraled, tripping over themselves.
Was she like me? Did she like the same things I do? Did she hate mornings as much as me? Did she have her own Lizzie? Did she have her versions of mom and dad? Did she have her own Uncle Lamb?
There were so many things she wanted to ask.
“And Echo?” Brianna asked faintly, her voice quieter now. “You mentioned that name too.”
Batman answered this time. “Quentin Myers,” he said. “He was the mentor of Sentry and your counterpart's uncle.”
Brianna's breath hitched.
This version of her didn't just have an uncle, but he was a superhero named Echo, who had apparently also been her mentor. How did Uncle Lamb even manage to talk her parents into letting her fight crime? Back in her own world, her mom would freak out if she ever went to her and asked such a thing. Hell, she would probably bar up her windows like she was some kind of prisoner just to keep her from leaving the house again.
“Was he also in the accident? Did he… die too?” Brianna asked.
“He was there,” Superman said. “But no, he didn't die.”
“Quentin retired from the League,” Black Canary explained. “It was after your counterpart passed. He… lost his way. We haven't seen him and haven't been in contact with him in a year.”
Silence settled over the room.
Brianna looked down at her hands, her thoughts racing too fast to keep up with. There was another version of me. She was a hero. She died. The people who loved her suffered. They mourned. And now I just… show up? Her stomach twisted. That's not going to go well.
Do I just tell them? She contemplated after a few minutes of silence stretched out. What was the alternative, really? Lie to Batman? As if.
“I don't remember any of that,” Brianna said slowly, lifting her gaze back to them. “Not because I hit my head or forgot or anything like that but because…” She trailed off, suddenly very aware of how insane this was going to sound out loud.
Batman's stare didn't waver. “Because what?”
She exhaled shakily.
Just say it.
“I'm from another universe,” she said, her voice quieter now, uncertain but firm. “One where you're all… fictional characters.”
Silence filled the room.
“I know how that sounds,” she rushed on, words tumbling over each other. “I do, I swear. But I was in New York for Comic Con with my best friend and my uncle, and I left the hotel to get us some Starbucks and then there was this earthquake—or something like it—and I passed out and woke up in a crater in the middle of the street. And my best friend—Lizzie—she is obsessed with this show and, well, all of you. Like, obsessed obsessed. She's told me everything about it even though I've never actually watched it—” Her voice wavered slightly. “—which is really inconvenient right now, by the way.”
Black Canary's brows lifted slightly. Superman remained still, studying her carefully. And Batman—of course—didn't react at all.
“Explain,” Batman said.
Brianna let out a weak breath. “Okay. So. In my world, you exist in a lot of TV shows and movies and tons of comic books. Everything you've told me? Well, except for Sentry and Echo, I don't remember her ever mentioning those names to me. But everything else—those are all things my friend has talked about. I just… never paid enough attention to actually know details.”
Black Canary crossed her arms lightly. “You expect us to believe you come from a universe where our lives are entertainment?”
“I expect you to think I'm crazy,” Brianna admitted. “Which is completely fair. I would too.”
Batman stepped closer. Not aggressively. But enough to make her tense immediately and her pulse to spike on the monitor.
“Explain the crater,” he demanded.
“I can't!” she snapped, panic flaring again. “I told you everything I know! I was going to get Starbucks and then the ground exploded or something and now I'm here! I don't know what caused it!”
Silence stretched again, tension thick in the air.
Then Black Canary exhaled softly as she glanced at the others. “We can verify part of her story.”
Brianna blinked. “How?”
Superman glanced at Batman before answering. “A DNA analysis.”
She stared at each of them. “You're serious?”
Batman didn't hesitate. “If you are from another universe, your genetic structure will not be an exact match to the Brianna Porter native to this Earth.”
She let out a weak, humorless laugh, dragging a hand down her face. “Great. Multiversal identity crisis confirmed by a blood test. That's not terrifying at all.”
Black Canary stepped closer again, her voice gentler this time. “We'll need your permission to take a sample.”
Brianna hesitated.
Her eyes flicked between them—Superman's steady concern, Black Canary's quiet reassurance, Batman's unreadable stare. Seriously, how come he is so hard to read?
No good options here, she deduced.
Finally, she exhaled, and lifted her arm towards Black Canary to have her blood drawn. “Yeah. Sure. Go ahead. At this point, why not?”
The wait was unbearable.
Time stretched in a way that didn't feel natural, each second dragging itself forward just slowly enough to make her painfully aware of it. Brianna sat on the edge of the bed now, her legs swinging faintly over the side, the thin hospital blanket bunched in her hands as her fingers twisted the fabric over and over again. The IV had been removed after they took her blood, leaving behind a small ache in her arm and a piece of gauze taped neatly in place—proof that at least something about this situation followed normal rules. Everything else? Not so much.
Her thoughts wouldn't stop racing. They kept circling back to the same thing, over and over again, like her brain was trying to make sense of it and failing every single time.
There was another version of her. Not just someone with her name and looks. Not just some coincidence. It was really, truly, another version of herself. A version who had lived in this world, fought in this world, who had been trained in this world, and who had died in this world.
Brianna swallowed hard, her grip tightening on the blanket.
She died.
The words didn't sit right in her chest. They felt too heavy. Too final. Too personal for someone she had never met, but somehow was.
How did she die? Brianna's mind whispered, unable to stop. Was it quick? Did she suffer? Was she scared? Did she know it was coming? Did she die protecting someone? Her throat tightened. Did Echo watch it happen? If her uncle was there when the accident happened, like Superman confirmed, he must have watched her die, right? Did he blame himself for what happened to her? Did he—
The door slid open, interrupting her thoughts.
Brianna's head snapped up instantly, her entire body going tense as Batman, Superman, and Black Canary stepped back into the room. The shift in the air was immediate. Something in their expressions, in the way they carried themselves, confirmed it.
Her heart started pounding.
“Well?” she asked, her voice tight despite her attempt to sound casual.
Superman was the one who spoke, his tone gentle but steady, like he was choosing his words carefully. “Your DNA doesn't match this world's Brianna Porter.”
Her chest tightened, and that last bit of doubt—however small—crumbled.
“So…” she said slowly, forcing the words out past the dryness in her throat, “I'm telling the truth.”
Batman gave a single, sharp nod. “You are not native to this Earth.”
Brianna let out a shaky breath, running a hand through her hair, her fingers catching slightly on tangles she hadn't even noticed forming. “Cool,” she muttered, her voice hollow. “Cool, cool, cool. Love that for me.”
But even as she said it, her thoughts were already spiraling somewhere else.
Uncle Lamb. Lizzie. Mom and dad.
Her chest ached, sharp and overwhelming. Everyone she loved had no idea where she was. There was no explanation. No warning. She was just… gone. Ripped from their lives and brought into this strange new world she knew nothing about.
Lizzie would be losing her mind right now. She'd probably already assumed the worst—kidnapping, accident, something dramatic and awful like alien abduction. And Uncle Lamb… he'd try to stay calm, she knew he would, but he'd be worried too. Calling her phone. Checking with hotel staff and every person he saw at Starbucks. Maybe even talking to the police by now.
And her parents…
Oh God.
Would Uncle Lamb have called her parents by now? Would they blame him for what happened? Would they be on the next flight to New York to start looking for her? Or did they not even know yet?
Brianna blinked rapidly, forcing those thoughts back before they could fully take hold, her chest rising and falling unevenly.
Don't go there. Not yet. You'll lose it, she told herself. Just keep it together, Bree. You can do this.
Black Canary exchanged a glance with the others, something unspoken passing between them before she looked back at Brianna. “There's more,” she said.
Her fingers tightened in the blanket again. “What?”
Batman's voice was colder this time. More direct. “We believe someone may have brought you here.”
A chill crept down her spine.
Of course they did.
Because why wouldn't she be the center of something insane like this?
This is literally one of those plots Lizzie talks about. A normal random girl, pulled into something bigger than herself by someone with a plan.
“Sometimes the main character isn't special at first,” Lizzie's voice echoed in her head. “They become important because someone else decides they are.”
Brianna swallowed thickly. Great. So I'm not just in the show—I'm in the plot. No, I am the plot.
She felt sick.
“Who?” Brianna asked, even though part of her already knew the answer.
Superman didn't hesitate. “Quentin Myers.”
Her brows furrowed immediately. “But… why would he bring me here?”
Black Canary stepped in this time, her tone measured but laced with something softer—understanding, maybe. “He hasn't handled your counterpart's death well,” she explained. “Quentin hasn't been part of the Justice League since it happened. He stepped away from everything a year ago—his role as Echo, the League, all of it.”
Brianna's chest tightened again. He's been alone in his grief for that long?
“We believe,” Black Canary continued carefully, “that his grief may have driven him to build something… experimental. A device capable of reaching beyond this universe to bring a version of Brianna Porter back into his life again.”
Brianna stared at her, the implications sinking in slowly, piece by piece. “So he brought me here to—what—replace her?”
Batman nodded once. “That is the most logical conclusion.”
Brianna let out a hollow laugh. “Yeah. Because that's a totally normal, healthy way to deal with grief.”
I'm not her. I don't know him. I don't have her memories. I can't just… step into her life like nothing happened. And yet, to him, would it even matter if I was different?
“So… what happens now?” she asked, looking between them. “Can you help me get home?”
Black Canary stepped a little closer, her expression softening. “We're going to do everything we can to get you back to your world,” she assured her. “But first, we need to find Quentin. If he's the one who brought you here, he may be the only one who can reverse it.”
Brianna's stomach dropped.
Find him? The guy who hadn't been seen in a year? The guy who had apparently disappeared off the grid completely? The guy who had built something capable of breaking reality itself? Yeah, no pressure.
Her thoughts spiraled again.
Lizzie had talked about this too. Characters who vanish, go rogue, become impossible to track. It never ends quickly. It's never easy to find them, if they are found at all.
Her shoulders sagged slightly.
“Great,” Brianna huffed, dragging a hand down her face. “So you have to find someone who hasn't been seen in a year. Sounds about right with my luck.”
“We'll find him,” Black Canary said, her confidence steady, unwavering in a way that almost made Brianna want to believe her. “Until then, you'll remain here. For your safety.”
Brianna frowned slightly. “My safety?”
“And the safety of others,” Black Canary added.
“Someone else?” she asked, confusion creeping in. “What, like, I'll hurt them?”
“It's a precaution,” Black Canary said calmly. “We don't fully understand how your… condition might affect you or others.”
Her confusion deepened. “My condition—?”
“Your physiology has changed,” Batman interjected. “Or rather, it is behaving differently in this environment.”
She stared at him. “What?”
Black Canary hesitated for a fraction of a second before saying it. “Your powers.”
Brianna blinked. “I'm sorry, my what?”
Batman didn't waver. “Your blood analysis revealed markers consistent with the metahuman abilities documented in this world's Brianna Porter.”
Brianna let out a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking her head. “That's impossible. I don't have powers. My world doesn't have powers. That stuff only exists in movies and TV shows and comic books—”
“Which aligns with your earlier claim,” Batman said evenly.
Black Canary tilted her head slightly, thinking. “It's possible your abilities were dormant,” she said. “If your world doesn't support metahuman expression the same way ours does, they may never have manifested. But here…”
“They could be active,” Superman finished.
Brianna stared at them, her thoughts spinning all over again. Dormant powers activated by appearing in a completely different universe? That sounds like something Lizzie would absolutely eat up and later rant to me about.
“There are multiple possibilities,” Batman continued. “You may have always had these abilities without knowing. You may have inherited them through whatever mechanism brought you here. Or they may be reacting to environmental differences between our worlds.”
“We won't know for certain,” Black Canary added, “until we conduct further testing. Or speak to Quentin.”
Brianna pressed her lips together, her fingers curling slightly against the blanket again.
Powers? Me? No. No, that doesn't—
Her brain tried to reject it outright, but another part of her—the part that had woken up in a crater, that had seen Superman literally descend from the sky—that part wasn't so sure anymore.
“Just out of curiosity,” she said slowly, her voice quieter now, “what kind of powers did… the other me have?”
“Sentry had the ability to generate both mental and physical shields,” Superman explained, his tone gentle but clear. “She could create barriers—protective constructs capable of withstanding significant force. She often used them to defend others.”
Brianna blinked as she processed this information.
Shields. Protection. Not destruction, not chaos, but defense. That's… actually kind of nice.
Her mind drifted again, unbidden.
Did she save people? Did she stand in front of danger and block it? Was she brave? Did she die protecting someone with her shield?
“Huh,” she murmured.
Her gaze dropped to her hands, turning them over slowly like she expected to see something different about them now. They looked the same. Felt the same. But apparently they weren't the same.
So now I'm in another universe, possibly have powers I don't understand, and the only way home is a grieving man who might see me as a replacement for someone I've never been.
She let out a quiet, breathless laugh.
“Yeah,” she muttered. “This is… this is totally fine.”
Silence settled over the room again, heavy but not entirely uncomfortable this time.
Brianna looked up at them, then back down at her hands.
I just wanted coffee. And now I'm stuck in a world that isn't mine, tied to a story I don't even really understand, and now I'm possibly becoming something I would never have believed was real.
Her fingers curled slightly, like she was testing something she couldn't see.
If I really have powers, she thought, her throat going dry. What else is going to change?
The thought lingered, heavy and unanswered, as the reality of everything finally began to settle in.