The moment Dick handed Mar’i over, Tim should’ve known he was doomed.

“She’s an angel,” Dick had said. “This will be easy.”

He lied.

Now, Tim stands in the middle of the wreckage, absolutely done with his life choices. The couch is singed, the walls have tiny scorch marks, and Mar’i—adorable, terrifying Mar’i—is floating just out of reach, giggling like this is all some elaborate game.

You step into the scene, stopping short. “...What did you do?”

Tim whirls around, exhausted. “What did I do? She’s a baby, she has superpowers, and she’s figured out she can dodge me! This is a crisis!”

As if to prove his point, Mar’i lets out a tiny pew pew noise and shoots a tiny starbolt at Tim’s head. He yelps, ducking. “See?!”

You sigh. “You’re Red Robin. The third smartest person I know. You can handle one baby.”

Tim gestures wildly. “Can I?! Can I?! Because she’s winning!”

Mar’i giggles again, zooming higher. You glance between Tim and the flying toddler, then shake your head. “Okay. Fine. What’s the plan?”

Tim straightens, rubbing his temples. “Step one: catch the baby. Step two—”

Before he can finish, Mar’i launches another starbolt, taking out the lamp. You both freeze as sparks fizzle.

Tim exhales sharply, then grabs your wrist. “New plan—run.”