"Shut up," Bruce deadpans immediately, and it's neither companionable nor cruel, just... detached, because he isn't interested in dissecting whatever the hell is going on, there. Maybe he doesn't recognize him - and that would be fine, except that his luck never holds out quite that long. Shira and the bartender are twittering in an impressed way, ooing and aaing over the damage dealt. (It's just that kind of a club.) He asks if her boss will be pissed, and she just laughs.

It's all surreal. Bruce moves back and jimmies Tim's handcuffs off (magic). Once he establishes that the wounds on his torso are superficial, he hauls him up, familiar enough with the effects of that particular toxin to know he'll be disoriented for a while and nauseous later but otherwise fine. "You're done for tonight," he informs him, right back to the soft-spoken tone he used earlier, and doesn't make eye contact. Behind them, Shira kicks the ring leader in the back of the head when he groans, and he falls back into unconsciousness.