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Tim had expected this. He expected this an exceedingly long time ago... Though, this wasn't exactly the suit he saw himself wearing, this wasn't the mask. He expected himself to be wrapped in Kevlar and leather, not a nice mohair suit. He expected Red Robin to be taking this very literal fall, not Timothy Wayne. He expected pain and blood, not a bruise-less plummet.
Tim faintly scrunched his nose as he fell, the air rushing past his ears turned his world into a deafening silence, the only sound he could register was his own breath, falling into synchrony with the beat of his heart.
How'd I get here...? He could practically see the sigh in his own thought.
In the end though. He knew exactly what brought him here.
Tim had simply been attending the gala like a good CEO. Weaving through crowds of people while pointedly avoiding those he knew would drag him into a conversation about the 12th time missing, Bruce.
He had just spotted Selina snagging a purse when it all went to hell. Well- worse hell, that is. Joker decided to crash the party, probably trying to drag Batman out into a playdate.
"Oh, come on lovelies we need a volunteer to be our hostage!" The words came in snorts of laughter. No one was moving. Tim rolled his eyes. He had a better chance of surviving Joker than anyone else, other than perhaps Selina, but she had already disappeared.
So, two steps then twelve had him stood in front of the clown.
Joker wasn't giving the opportunity up, he grabbed Tim by the back of his jacket, and at some point, just let go.
So here Tim was, falling. Calm as ever. What was there to lose? Damian could have his dog, the boy probably would take better care of her than Tim could, though that was very much something he hated to admit. But other than the shepherd, Tim realized he wasn't really leaving much behind that wouldn't work itself without him.
His mind returned to the issue at hand after a few, rather long, seconds.
Falling.
Down...
Down...
Down some more...
He might have caught himself if there weren't half a thousand people watching on the street below. And if such a maneuver wouldn't immediately have Viki all over him...
He just shut his eyes and waited.
But a gentle arm looped around his waist. It was nothing like when Dick had caught him after his fight with Ra's, his body didn't jolt harshly to a stop or nearly snap in half with the change of direction. Instead, he was just pulled against a warm wall of muscle. Tim pressed his face closer, this was cozy, a lovely hug, he sort of wondered if he had hit the ground and this was the "sweet embrace of death" he kept hearing about.
"Hi Timmy!" A loud and bold voice called. His eyes snapped open as his fall began to slow considerably.
"What the fuck-?" Tim muttered it aloud when he saw the face of his supposed savior. It was Kon, same stupid-happy grin as always.
"You're welcome," Kon laughed as Tim tucked his arms tightly against him. Tired eyes shut all over again and pale face pressed down into warmth.
By then the rushing air had stopped. The noise was replaced by people bustling frantically around.
Someone touched his back. Tim ignored them; he had his safety.
God... Tim was tired. He was extremely tired... He could vaguely hear Kon talking, something about taking someone home.
Hmmm... Home... The blur of a journey that had him brought home came with the smell of caramel as it ended. Burning sugar. And something like coconut conditioner. Tim had opened his eyes just soon enough to have his face buried in a warm mess of auburn hair, warm and bright and with that coconut conditioner.
"Hey Bart..." Tim's voice was barely a whisper.
Had they slipped his mind somehow? Conner and Bart. How had he forgotten them that he would leave behind? Oh well, it hardly mattered. Because there they were, both holding him. Kon had an arm under his back and another under his legs, keeping him stable while Bart had his face planted firmly against Tim's chest. “Why’s the TV beeping?” He hummed quietly,
Bart responded with something, but it slipped Tim’s mind, all he could think was that it sounded wrong.
Very, very wrong.
.
.
.
Dick chewed the inside of his cheek. How many times was he going to be too late for his siblings, how many times was he going to fail to catch someone? As he leaned forward and set another flower in the fresh dirt, a hand settled on his shoulder, squeezing slowly. “I almost had him, Alfie…” Dick muttered, head lowered so far he thought he might touch the grass one of these days...