Chapter Text
Tim could kick himself for being so careless as to not request backup. Sure, explaining why he'd need it in the first place would be a bitch and he sure as hell wouldn't tell any of the bats the actual truth but he'd come up with a lie, surely. And honestly, fuck his pride because this is so much worse than being sussed out by Batman for the next however long.
Turning another corner Tim catches a hint of red shining beneath the dim light of a flickering streetlamp. Hastily he corrects his course, boots slithering over the rain-slick pavement as he's turning around to sprint down the street instead of turning right like he'd been planning on.
Jetblack hair sticks to his face in inky rivers, the heavy rainfall not having let up for the past two hours and while Tim has only been running like a maniac for maybe 30 minutes, it's still been enough time exposed to the wet that he is soaked top to bottom. If all his focus wasn't needed on navigating the Narrows, he'd hear the squelching of the accumulated rainwater in his boots.
Tim feels his lungs start to squeeze uncomfortably, his tempo decreasing due to the fucking cement blocks his legs are turning into. Tim's not an idiot, he knows that while his endurance should be up to par with his, he also knows that down in the streets he's a lost sheep while he is the shepherd guiding Tim exactly where he wants him to be.
That point is proven once more when the sound of metal on metal clashes through the otherwise quiet night, right behind Tim. He curses beneath his breath, that only seems to become harder to acquire. It's like oxygen evades him even though it's technically all around him. He just can't catch his damn breath.
Getting up on a rooftop is his only chance and while Tim knows this, the fact isn't helping in the slightest. He's shorter, slimmer, lighter, more agile, in the air Tim has all the advantages to get the fuck away from him. But that doesn't help the fact that when he was methodically chased down into the streets and tried desperately to get back onto a roof again, his grapple was shot out of his damn hand!
So what exactly is he supposed to do? Tim rounds another streetcorner, almost slips on a pile of papers that was carelessly forgotten by some mail-person, but catches himself just before his face makes contact with the grimy asphalt. The rain clouds his view so he can only really see what's a few feet in front of him but still Tim is sure there's another fire escape at the side of the building to his left.
The first one he'd tried to climb ended with a bullet only just grazing his cheek. However it's not like Tim has much of a choice here, he needs to get onto the rooftops and without a grapple this might just be his best chance. So Tim sprints for the fire escape, since the ladder isn't down he jumps up, gripping onto the slick grating for dear life, gloved fingers slipping.
Footsteps disrupting a puddle right behind Tim have him collecting his last strength to heave himself up the grating. He doesn't stop for a single breath, panting audibly as he hurries up the stairs fast enough to lose his footing a few times but never bad enough that he'd stumble. Out of his periphery he catches a glint of red beneath him, his heartrate spikes into unhealthy territory as Tim takes the final step and finally, finally makes it onto a rooftop.
Only for the world to come to a screeching halt around him when he is met with red red red.
Lifeless white lenses gleam at Tim, embedded in that featureless helmet painted in a palette of warning. The weathered leather jacket covers the red bat on an armored chest only barely while the twin guns strapped to the man's muscular thighs as well as the crowbar and katanas protruding over his shoulders explain his business wordlessly.
Red Hood.
If Tim was to describe him in one word, he'd say danger. And dangerous is exactly what the second Robin looks like as he towers over Tim while the latter still pants for air. He's been chasing Tim the entire time so how come Tim is barely keeping himself from putting his hands on his knees to steady himself while Hood looks entirely unbothered, like he hasn't exhausted himself at all?
They're frozen in time like this for what feels like an eternity, none dare to make the first move, to give their next move away by something as trivial as looking the wrong way. Even blinking at the wrong time could mean Game Over.
"Boo."
A single word cutting through the mechanical voice modulator, barely audible over the thundering rain, catches Tim entirely off-guard. He makes a step backwards, his boot slips off the ledge of the roof he forgot was ending here, losing his balance the last thing Tim sees before he falls is red.