Tim is perfectly capable of walking. There is no good reason why he can't get himself from point A to point B without the intervention of the Red Hood.
Jason, however, is not taking requests today, and snapped at Tim to "hush." This is probably not the time to inform Jason that his grip around Tim's ribcage would be making it difficult for Tim to breathe if not for the cushioning effects of Damian's bright yellow cape and Jason's leather jacket. The majority of Tim's ruined costume had been abandoned in a puddle a few feet away.
"Nightwing's ETA is in eight minutes," the youngest reported quietly. "I assume that is plebian slang for imminently?"
"Give him at least four," Jason growled. "He's almost half-way across the city."
Jason shifted Tim in his arms, and hauled Damian close too as he glared at the unconscious clown swinging gently to and fro above the pool. There's a loop of Bat-cord wrapped around the Joker's ankle. "You have the stupidest plans ever, Baby Bird." Jason's just cranky that he can't give the monologue of the over-protective big brother to an unconscious villain. "Ever."
Tim protested, but just gets hushed again. It's hard to make one's self heard and respected, if one is soaked straight through and tucked under big brother's chin like a bedraggled kitten. Tim sneezed, and tried to pretend that it isn't a Disney-quality sound … it doesn't work.
Damian wrapped the cape tighter around Tim, and it's fifty-fifty whether that's meant to be comforting or an attempt to suffocate the older teen. "You did not have to let him drown you."
"I was not drowning. I was holding my breath!"
"For several minutes?" Damian sneered. "It's hard to tell whether this is new brain damage or just your general foolishness." Damian seemed reassured nonetheless, and shrugged Jason's arm like the highly trained warrior that he is. Ignoring Jason's pained sound, Damian ventured closer to the water in order to survey the Joker.
"There was a plan," Tim defended to Jason, only to get his hair stroked and be summarily dismissed as Jason tries to reach Damian without getting up. "There was. And back-up."
Ignoring him entirely now, Damian gazed speculatively at their prize. "I have been informed," he began, because that is how the little demon asks questions, "that it is traditional for 'normal' children to beat upon a stuffed object hanging from above while blindfolded during birthday celebrations. My source tells me that it is referred to as a pinata."
Tim closed his eyes. No.
"Father did not include such a game in my last birthday party."
No. Bruce had not, and there were reasons for that—good reasons that began with swords and ended with secret identities. Tim had a Pro/Con chart at home. And a powerpoint presentation.
"Now that's a crime, little brother," Jason drawled out from above Tim's head, and somehow got to his feet without putting Tim down. "Every kid needs the pinata experience." Tim's attempt at protest is muffled against Jason's chest, and Red Robin can feel the glee emanating from Damian's small form. "Now where did that crow bar roll off to?"
Tim could intervene. He probably should, but it's kind of nice to have them bonding over his honor—even if it wasn't completely necessary.
There's only about thirty seconds left anyway until Dick arrives to break up the Joker-bashing party.
"I think I kicked it that way," he managed to fling an arm outside of his cocoon briefly before Jason caught the offending limb more securely. "Aim for the knees, Robin, but don't forget the blindfold." He can occasionally be the cool older brother to the mini assassin too. "It's the rules."