Dirk: Solve it.

Your mind blazes through infinite options - knowledge of game mechanics, the tools available, the way those tools intersect. The web of interlinking mechanical pieces, widgets, machines, devices that can move a man across universes.

You know then, if you're going to be the one to solve this, it's gonna be a callback - it always is. That elusive sickness that underscored your words when you sent the head of a Brobot to Jake, that you then felt again as you looked upon the inside of the transportalizer, and again when Robin took the sword through your neck during the final fight... Maybe it's not a great sign that when everything's gone pear-shaped, you're thinking about decapitation.

You're not moving your severed head across universes, you're not tracking your bro Lil' Cal across all of canon. For all your bluster, none of the tools you know do shit against a strong wind, or protect the people endangered by it.

You're fucked.