Barbara visibly has to process that—a world where she doesn't exist. Or does (a Barbara Gordon does), but Batgirl doesn't exist—no Batgirl. No Batgirls comes swiftly next, looking toward Steph and Cass, as the one goofs off and the other is quietly pleased, even in her seriousness. Of course. No Genesis Domino.

There's the press of brows upwards at his words as he oddly starts to tell her what the multiverse is and how it works. Like somehow he thinks she needs to be told it. (When he was the one who said he'd known of it but never interacted with it.) "I know. My world is well-versed in the multiverse, both the theoretical and the actual part, remember?"

Though, he might not. Their conversation hadn't exactly clung to any specific rails. But it's normal in their world. Well, it's not normal. But also nothing like impossible. Or an earth-shattering epiphany. It's another problem to solve. It's a large bit of the reason why che central around them isn't full of panicked voices, but mostly serious faces, who are dedicated to trying to plan as well as they can for the absolute unknown on the otherside of whatever this labyrinth will be.

"That isn't going to stop me from asking. You're the one who said your Barbara was doing something you knew I absolutely wasn't. You can't expect me not to ask, if you're going to say things like that."