So I wrote this a while ago for Rahndom on Tumblr.

They had all tried to console him, with words, assurances, touches, just like they tried to convince themselves,

"Don't worry we'll get him back."

"Everything's going to be okay, you'll see."

"Tim's strong son, he'll make it through."

But everything was just empty, empty words and empty promises. There was nothing to live for in a world where Timothy was not in it. The real Timothy, not this blank state; grey and lying in pearl white sheets in a room that dwarfed him.

He was close enough to touch, and yet Timothy; his Timothy, his Beloved wasn't there.

"He was thirteen when we took those."

"Pardon?"

Grayson had found him looking through a stack of Timothy's old photographs.

"He was thirteen," the elder man picked up the picture, smoothing a thumb over it wistfully, "He was thirteen, and the newbie Robin just out of training. Bruce had agreed to him spending the weekend down in Blüdhaven with me, we… we were just fooling around waiting for the pizza to arrive. I was teasing him about his camera. It seems so stupid now he's-" Damian broke, slammed his hands on the table, and snarled up at the man he calls mentor.

"He is not gone, he's just not! I won't let him be!" the sad look he gets for his outburst just makes the anger pool in his stomach further. "I will not accept this, and I cannot believe you, of all people, are resigning him to this fate." Damian voice was ice cold as he stormed out of the room, his intentions to take his anger out on the equipment downstairs.

Intentions that soon fade as he didn't know where he was.

He was obviously still in the manor, somewhere. A window told him he was facing the city; though, even at this distance, it looked meaner, dirtier and darker, like there was some shadow hanging over it.

And then - then he wasn't in the manor at all.

Damian was surrounded by people and lights. It was a cool Gotham evening, and the park was full of people bustling around trying to get to their places. Nobody spared a thought for a confused late teenager; either that or nobody could see him.

"Daddy?" a boy cried, and Damian would know that voice anywhere.

"Timothy…" he gasped just as his beloved's- mother? - was scolding him for making such a sound.

"No no, it's alright Tim; we'll just have to come tomorrow night, when daddy remembers his wallet." Damian felt his heart plunge as Timothy's eyes swelled with tears, and he could do nothing but watch.

"Bu- bu Daddy, Circus isn't here t'morwow!" a hand, still retaining some of its infant chubbiness, pointed to a sign that said "Haley's Circus: For One Night Only!" Why did that sound familiar?

The woman who must be Janet Drake huffed, "So we'll take you to the next circus in town, now stop fussing we're holding up this nice queue of people" She picked up the crying Tim, offering no comfort, merely moving her child out of the way, and setting him back down.

"Jackie? What a surprise seeing you here!" Damian's father's obnoxious Brucie voice bellowed out into the night. Even through his courteous behaviour Damian could tell that his father spared no love for the Drakes, and from Janet Drake's stiff twitch he could tell that she spared no love for 'Brucie' Wayne either.

"Oh, is it? Well we can't stay I'm afraid." Jack replied, running a hand through his already greying hair.

"What? Why ever not?"

"I forgot my wallet, silly old me, well, we shouldn't keep you have a good night Mr Wayne, c'mon Tim we really must be going."

"Nonsense, I'll pay for you, we wouldn't want young Timothy here to miss out now would we, and please it's Brucie." Bruce held out his hand and the Drakes took it hesitantly in turn.

He followed them inside the tent, and watched the show from the sidelines. It took him until the final act to realise where he knew the name from.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, may I introduce: THE FLYING GRAYSONS!" And at that the moment they fell Damian didn't know whether to be excited or heartbroken. (Excited because it worked, yet heartbroken because his beloved had to witness such a tragedy.)

Damian left the tent quickly after that, he didn't need to see the aftermath especially as he could do nothing but watch, though stepping out didn't lead him back into the open air, he was… in the manor again?

No it was too cold for the manor, too dark and grey. What made Damian differentiate it from a mausoleum to a home was the sever lack or crypts and a few settees dotted around the room.

"Now you call if you need anything dear." The voice of an English sounding woman came from up the stairs.

"Yes Mrs Wright." That must be Timothy. "Mrs Wright?" Timothy spoke in the same unsure voice that he did when he first agreed to go on a date with him. It was saddening to know that he had always had a reason to use it.

"Yes Tim?"

"Do you know when mommy and daddy are going to be home?"

"No dear, I'm sorry I don't."

"Oh, okay, I was just curious is all."

"I know dear, I'm sure they'll be home soon."

"Yeah."

Damian reached the room in time to see Timothy's crestfallen expression as he cried himself to sleep. The Drakes had better be glad that they were dead, because nobody makes his beloved cry without retribution.

Passing through Timothy's doorway took him outside and; on a boat? Oh. The boat. The boat on which Timothy agreed to marry him. Timothy had laughed as he braced himself against the head of the boat…

"Yeah! Titanic style! I've always wanted to do this." Timothy closed his eyes as the wind whistled through his hair.

He had never before looked so beautiful.

It was that beauty, that reminder that Timothy was his for the taking that gave Damian the strength to do it.

He boldly strode up behind his beloved and gently hugged him and rested his head on Timothy's shoulder and whispered,

"Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne; will you marry me?"

Damian watches as his other self, his memory, catches Timothy as his knees buckle. He remembers the exact feeling of relief, elation and excitement he had when Timothy finally breathed, "Yes."

He turns his back on it. He is not here to watch and revel in old memories, but to find his beloved and take him home.

Three doors, and two mundane breakfasts, later and it's night. He's in a penthouse apartment; and thankfully still in Gotham. There is a television on in another room; he doesn't need to see it to know what is going on.

"We have some breaking news, it is reported that Bruce Wayne's recently adopted son Jason Todd had been killed in a terrorist attack in Ethiopia. More on this after the Break."

The faint sobbing he heard was enough for him to turn away from the sound and find the nearest door to go through.

He was in a restaurant this time, an upmarket Chinese cuisine restaurant… Mr So's he does believe, and there they are, sitting at what was to become their normal table, eating chow mein. Damian could tell it was their first date from his determined face and Timothy's uncertain shifting, as though any minute someone was going to jump out and laugh "Got you!"

Damian would have liked to believe that he had salvaged his reputation with Timothy by this point, but he knows that's wishful thinking. Timothy probably only went on the date with him because he told Grayson that he was serious about this and wondered if he could provide a list of what to do and what not to do in Timothy's presence and Grayson told Timothy.

Well, Damian was pretty sure Grayson would have said something about mending relationships and how much it would mean to everyone if they would get on better.

Timothy probably didn't even call it a date.

Most probably it was a meeting, or just a family dinner, it wasn't until the fourth or fifth time Damian asked him to dinner did Timothy ask,

"Are… are we going out or something?"

To which he replied, "Do you want to be going out? It would please me greatly."

"I… Yes, I think I do" His voice was so small but his smile was so big that Damian couldn't help but smile with him.

But that was not this memory, and perhaps he would see it later on in his search, but for now he walked out of the restaurant, and into Titans Tower.

Damian growled low and deep as he witnessed Todd's brutal attack on Timothy. At one point he tried to interfere, he tried to catch Todd's hand before it could strike his beloved. He failed. The arm passed straight through him, and hit Timothy on the cheek.

Damian expected there to be some sort of feeling, some sort of shiver or nausea that came with being walked through; but there wasn't. He was merely a spectre here, which made finding his beloved all that more difficult. How could he react with someone who can't see him?

Damian ran for the door, hoping for a happy or quiet memory where he could sit and think about how he was going to get timothy back, but he got no such thing.

He was in the Cave. He was in the Cave watching his ten year old, obnoxious and prideful self severely injure Timothy, whilst spitting insults and untruths. It was painful, to the point where he couldn't help but cry out,

"No, you idiot, do you not have eyes?! Can you not see what you are doing?"

The world shook.

It lasted mere seconds, but it seemed to only happen to him. The memory played out as though nothing happened.

Timothy extends his hands in a truce, a gesture of friendship, of brotherhood; and Damian hits, and he falls.

Perhaps the sound of the case crashing drowned out that of his heart breaking, because Damian knows that this is the most defining moment in their relationship. This is the break of trust, the moment that made Damian's life a misery as he tried, but failed, to court Timothy for three years before conceding to Grayson.

And his beloved had all the right in the world to be furious and sceptical and evasive; it hurt to watch Timothy lying in a pool of his own blood, barely breathing.

It must have been torture to live through.

Damian screamed, mostly at his own stupidity, his unfounded jealousy and pride that led to the insults and mocking. He screamed and cried for what he had done.

He screamed and the world changed.

He was no longer in the cave, but flashing though memories at an alarming rate; perhaps he was close to finding Timothy.

When, all of a sudden, it stops.

He's in a field. No. A garden. The Drake's garden.

And Timothy is running around, sheet tied around his neck as a cape, with a bear that he presumes is Robin. Timothy is laughing as he kicks imaginary villains, jumping over hidden obstacles and looking for clues in the grass.

And then he's looking directly at Damian, a bright smile on his face.

"You're the intruder; he said you'd be coming." Tim says, skipping towards him. Then, grabbing his hand, Tim pulled Damian towards the house. "Come on slowpoke. He said I had to show you the Path."

"The Path, what's the Path?"

"The Path to him." Tim replied as he pulled Damian up a flight of stairs and into a corridor. "This is where he keeps his special memories… the ones that shaped him. He's somewhere in here and he's expecting you." The young Timothy was gone; all that remained was his Robin-bear, which squeaked as it hit the floor.

Naturally, Damian strode to the end of the corridor to begin his search, as Timothy would most likely be there.

When he opened the door he found no such thing. It was a funeral. His Beloved was young, perhaps twelve, thirteen; obviously it was his mother's.

Damian quickly left the mourners to their grieving, he felt as though he was trespassing.

It would be easier to attack the amount of doors he had to check in a methodical manner, so he began working back towards the staircase.

Each door gave him an insight into his beloved that he had never truly appreciated before, and some made him feel so guilty, a knot formed in his stomach.

How could he have been so stupid when he first came to Gotham? How could he not see how beautiful and alone Timothy was from the beginning?

Five funerals later, Damian felt more alone than ever. The pain in his stomach jumped to his throat as the next door opened onto the roofs of Gotham, and a tiny Timothy perilously navigating them in gale force winds, an expensive camera around his neck and a determined look on his face.

At least when they got home Damian would not be short of conversation starters.

Damian could tell how the memories were sorted. First by emotion; Sad happy, excited, then by chronology. He was now in Timothy's happy memories, and currently he was watching Tim put on his Robin uniform for the first time.

It fitted him well.

Not just the custom making of the suit, but the role, the responsibility.

Timothy was made for it.

The next door made Damian blush so red that you wouldn't be able to tell the difference between him and a tomato.

It was their wedding night.

Their lovemaking was so gentle, so sweet, that, in just watching the memory of it, Damian felt like an intruder.

But he still remembers the feeling, the butterflies in his stomach as they slowly undressed, the intensity of their love as they kissed, the rush of lust as he was in his Beloved and the sweetness of his Beloved in him.

In reality it was how their love making (they never just fucked) always felt; Damian quickly shut the door, before the sights, sounds and smells could turn the primal need in his stomach into something more.

Another room and another emotion: hate, anger uncertainty? Damian couldn't quite place it but Timothy definitely wasn't happy anymore.

Damian flinched as his ten year old self fell to the floor after being punched, he deserved it, his cocky self not knowing how deeply his words truly cut, but seeing it from another angle was weird to say the least.

The memory aches, especially now, knowing how much losing Robin hurts. And then, to have Grayson, your brother, spit your own sanity in your face; most would have given up and given in.

But no, not his Timothy, his strong, determined Beloved. He came out stronger and more beautiful than ever.

He must apologise for his own behaviour, Damian had forgotten this moment; but it hurt Timothy a lot more than he could ever have known.

As he re-enters the corridor, the small Timothy is back, bear in hand and looking up at him expectantly.

"He is ready to see you now" he says before putting his thumb in his mouth and pointing to yet another door.

"Wait" Damian says, with far more excitement than should be possible, "my Timothy?"

Tiny Tim nods, before removing his thumb, "Though you should be warned, you may not like what you see."

The world moved around him, and he was through the door.

The room was cold and damp; a drip could be heard through the absolute silence.

Then a scream pierced the veil of quiet, and a small light came on in the centre of the room.

"Tsk, tsk, Timothy, did you really think that would work?" Ra's was all too close, too predatory around his husband, who was hanging precariously from chained wrists attached to the ceiling so that only his toes brushed the ground, he was going to kill his grandfather for this. "Hummmm? Did you not know we would discover your deception? We have sources too you know, you are not the only one with a global information web." Ra's stabbed him and Timothy screamed again.

When they had gotten him home, Timothy was a mangled mess. They could count twenty six separate stab wounds, the skin on his back had been completely removed by repeated whippings and his skin was blistering from being scolded by boiling water.

Ra's had tortured him for weeks.

Ra's was torturing him still.

"Surly you cannot be that much of an idiot, Detective. Just tell me where they are and I will let you go."

Damian was pleased when his beloved gave a curt shake of his head and spat in his grandfather's face. To his surprise though, his grandfather laughed.

"Very well Timothy, you shall come to regret that decision." Ra's said as he left the room, the promise of more torture making a smile shine on his face.

Damian waited fifty seconds before rushing from his hiding place in the shadows.

"Timothy, beloved." His hands find a face, his thumbs trace cheek bones and his lips kiss a forehead.

"D-Damian?" Timothy looks up at him his eyes dead and listless, with a final kiss he reached up to try to pick the locks on the shackles. "I don't understand, how are you here?" Timothy's voice was raspy from all the screaming.

"I'm here to bring you back with me," He says, finally unlocking the first shackle.

"Back? But, Ra's-" Timothy starts but Damian cuts him off.

"Grandfather is not real beloved, nothing here is real, we are in your memories."

"What?" the disbelief was evident in his voice. "No, Ra's kidnapped me so he could learn the names of all the currently active superheroes. I'm sure it's real."

"Yes he did beloved, and you did not crack, we got you back. You're currently at home in the manor, but you won't wake up, so I'm here to make you wake up."

"How… how do I do that?"

Damian smiled, "Think only of me and hold onto me tight, I've been given a way out."

Tim did just that, Damian stared deep into his beloved's eyes as he soothed a hand through Timothy's hair.

"Ekat su emoh."