I assaulted @vellaphoria with the notion of how fun a sort of goofy Frog Princess situation with Dick would be. I needed to scratch the itch.
Tim dropped into a roll as a bolt of energy shot overhead. Somewhere above him, Nightwing was hanging onto a drain pipe, primed for a jump. Their assailant–a teenage girl in what looked like a navy uniform with a red bow at her white-collared neck–was firing wildly from a brass sceptre in the shape of a cobra. They'd been looking into an evening of sudden disappearances Downtown and found this delight.
"Hold still," she commanded, lifting her arm to fire off some shots at Dick as he leapt above her, spinning through the air to land just a metre or so behind her.
Providing a distraction, Tim sprinted towards the girl in a wide arc, calling, "What's that thing do anyway?"
"What?" She spun back towards Dick who had drawn his escrima sticks. They sparked in the damp air, lighting his face in a mask of pure menace. Tim pushed off his left leg, darting in the other direction to draw fire. They were closing in on her.
"I mean–eep!," Tim yelled as a shot flew by his ear. "I mean, is it like a blown to pieces situation or more of a 'hijinks ensue' type thing?"
She was unimpressed. "Hijinks? I'm a serious mage from one of the most reputa–"
"Hey, you ever think about what the difference is between a mage, and a wizard, a warlock and a witch?" Tim asked, narrowly avoiding another blast with some hip work he was rather proud of.
Her full lips pulled back into a snarl. "Doesn't he shut up?" she demanded of Dick.
Dick chuckled. "He's actually the quiet one."
Dick was within touching distance of her now. One jab of those sticks would put her out for the count. At least they hoped. As she turned, blonde hair whipping to target Tim again, Dick rushed her. In her haste to face him, she left her arm with the sceptre exposed. Tim caught it in an iron grip, grimacing as shot after shot was fired uselessly at the sky, just millimetres from his face.
"Nighty night," Dick said, pressing the stick to the girl's low back as she struggled like a wild thing. She folded immediately, eyes rolling up in her head. But, as Tim quickly observed, there were two issues.
One, her finger frozen with the charge to the sceptre's fire mechanism. And two, how she folded like a marionette at the knees, her back dropping down towards the grimy concrete and the sceptre firing directly over her head as Tim fell forwards on top of her.
"Ouch," Tim grumbled, rubbing at his eyes to get the motes of green-yellow light out of them. "You okay, Nightwing?" he asked as he rocked back on his haunches.
"Of course," Dick answered, voice cracking a little. Must have been the strain, or the weather. It was so miserably damp.
Tim nodded and leaned forward again to make a cursory check of the girl's pulse. All fine, of course. He glanced up finally. But where he expected to see Dick, there was only empty space. No, not empty. A Nightwing suit–one devoid of Nightwing. Ah. Mostly. There was something.
"Uh..."
"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" asked Dick, who was, presently, a little green frog.
Tim didn't want to be speechless–he wanted to comfort Dick, naturally. He tried to telegraph as much to his mouth without success.
"Is it bad? It's bad, isn't it? You can be honest." The frog swallowed, its throat bubbling then deflating again.
"Hijinks ensue..." Tim muttered and dragged a hand down his face.