“Ahhh, wake up, wake up,” Tim begs as he carries you away from Joker’s lair. He's not sure whether he's talking to you or himself at this point.

He’s half-running, half-walking. It’s not like he can exactly grapple across Gotham with an angel–well, ex-angel–in his arms. It was pretty obvious you'd fallen, gotten your wings taken. But you weren't found by Tim, or even a civilian. You were found by Joker. It was literally by a fluke that Tim found you. He was trying to gather intel and stumbled upon your bloodied body.

Okay. He's gotta fix this. Maybe he could call the Batmobile? Shoot, no, everyone else is off tonight. Oh, man, the way you looked at him, the fear, the pain… there had been nothing but bad things in store for you in Joker’s warehouse.

“Please don’t die,” he whispers, trying to slow his heart rate. Panicking would be no good for either of you. “You’re going to be alright. I hope.” He has to get back to the Batcave. Bruce, Dick, Jason–one of them would have to know what to do. This was... literally unprecedented.