A week earlier 

Flynn's P.O.V:

Midnights assassins followed Slade for miles. He'd managed to call for backup - some sketchy friends of his who he'd done business with back in the good old days. Back before everything went to shit.

The snow pelted down around us and for a while I felt nothing but numb. Cold numb, emotional numb, physical numb... I couldn't even decide at this point. All I knew was that I felt nothing and I wasn't exactly sure why. It was almost frightening, but then again i was used to it.

We eventually found a nearby village and rested for a few hours. The people were kind enough to lend us some places to sleep and food to eat. Im sure we looked strange — hundreds of children being lead by a tall, beefy looking man. But Deathstroke made it seem like he was helping a bunch of orphan refugees escape their abusive country or something. With the way we were dressed and the fact that we were children, I could see why people believed it.

I sat on the edge of my tiny mattress and downed the remains of my meal. It was a simple rice dish that the local chef had cooked up for us. He was a wise-looking asian man with a long beard and kind eyes. There was something about him that reminded me of one of my old sensais, only minus the sheer aggression that we were shown at midnight.

"Flynn," someone spoke suddenly.

They almost managed to startle me, and I realised I was so deep in thought that I had let my training go for a moment. I was usually extremely vigilant, but not today. Something was off, and I couldn't quite place it.

I glanced at the person and realized it was Luella, one of the female students. She was hawaiian in ethnicity and pretty hot, but i'd never really paid much attention to her until now.

"What's wrong?" I questioned, a hint of panic setting in.

But she didn't appear worried, instead fiddling with the end of her braid and saying, "Some of the others want to know when we're heading back to Gotham. They're... homesick. I guess I am too, truthfully."

I was a little surprised by the statement, but even more so by the fact that she had come to me, of all people.

"Have you asked Deathstroke?" I questioned. It seemed like a more appropriate idea.

She shook her head. Then she proceeded to lower herself down so that we were sitting across from each other, and she could speak quietly.

"We're all kind of afraid of him. They say you know him the best, so..." she gave a small shrug and looked away awkwardly.

The best? I know him the best? Since when?

But I supposed that I had spoken with him probably more than the entirety of Midnight students combined. Deathstroke had been above us in status all our lives — we were taught to keep our distance and only ever speak to him when spoken to first. It took me until now to realise that the others still thought that, even in times like this where authority had gone out the window.

"I'll speak to him for you," I replied with a nod. It felt weird to be able to say something like that, to be able to talk in a way that made me appear superior to them.

Luella nodded back, then flashed a small smile, which I had to admit would've earned a flirtatious joke from me under normal circumstances. But not today. No, too many things were on my mind these days. That old cocky jokester had vanished a while ago.

And so I took it upon myself to go find Deathstroke, to talk to him about his plans for our return to Gotham. Was he going to rebuild Midnight? Or some similar version of it? I had a lot of questions for him.

But the man practically laughed when I asked him. I was a little confused.

"I don't understand..." I muttered.

Deathstroke shook his head repeatedly and continued loading ammo into the many weapons that he'd managed to retrieve after our escape from the League.

"We're not going back to Gotham. Not yet, anyways. I have a job to see through. When backup arrives, we're heading North. You ever been to Russia, Owens?"

I didn't know how to reply to that, but something told me that this was to do with that woman Talia spoke about earlier.

"No..."

Deathstroke smiled. "Well, I have a very special lady I need to go and find. Thought I'd killed her already, but that bitch just never seems to die..."

There was a sinking feeling in my gut at his words.

"I don't understand. You want all of us to help you on this? Why? What it makes it so important?"

He finished loading one of the AK's and held it up to his eye, testing it's aim at random spots in the distance.

"You remember my daughter, don't you, Owens?" he replied vaguely.

Now I was really feeling worried.

"Let's just say that she is making it really hard for me to... rekindle our relationship, you know what I mean? So this little bit of information that dear Talia has given us will finally give her a good reason to come home."

Oh, God. Not this again.

"But I thought Talia said that this woman, Polina, was in Gotham..." I replied.

Deathstroke just smiled.

"You're right, Owens, she was. But I took care of that problem already. She was never my main concern; just a source of information."

So it appeared that there was another person on Deathstroke's hit list, then. Another woman, living in Russia. But what the fuck did that have to do with the rest of us? Why were we needed? Clearly, this woman had something to do with him and Sasha, no one else.

"So this is a family issue, then," I said, unable to stop myself from stating the obvious. "You're trying to get back at Sasha."

He began packing the guns into a large duffel bag. 

"Sasha and I have a complicated history. Our family is dysfunctional; therefore, I have a lot of unresolved business to attend to. You got a problem with that, Owens?"

I knew I couldn't speak the truth, what with him weighing twice as much as me and holding a bag full of weapons, and not to mention being a Div 10 master assassin.

But in all honesty I did have a problem with it. I was tired, and confused, and homesick after all these months stuck in the Tibetan mountains. I wanted to go home. I wanted to go back to Gotham. 

I was sick of all these fucking missions. I didn't want to be an assassin anymore. I didn't want to go around killing people anymore. I was getting bored of it. What was the point?

"No," I lied, running a hand through my hair out of nervous habit. "Just speaking on behalf of the others."

Deathstroke stood up and swung the duffel over his shoulder, patting my shoulder on his way out. 

For some reason, I felt sick to my stomach, though for reasons I didn't understand. This mission... this plan... I wanted no part in it. I wanted no part in any of this. The whole reason I'd broken Deathstroke out was so that he could lead us all back to Gotham. I'd promised the Midnight students that I would free them, that we could return home.

But it didn't seem like that was happening anymore.

To my own surprise, I turned around quite suddenly and spoke, "If I'm going to do this... if we're going to do this, I deserve to know why. What exactly are you planning?"

Deathstroke stopped walking and glanced at me over his shoulder.

"You want to know?"

I simply nodded, and so he turned around to face me, a glint of evilness in his narrowed eyes. As he told me exactly what was going to go down, my mind focused on conjuring up my own plan. My own escape. 

Because there was no way in hell I was sticking around to witness any of this. No, I was done being a slave. I was done being someone's weapon. I was going to get the fuck out of here as soon as I could.

---------------------------

Present day

Damian's P.O.V

I entered the Batcave dressed in my uniform, my hood tugged over my head and my katana in hand.

"I don't know what Todd told you, but I refuse to let him come," I announced, approaching my father's figure at the Batcomputer. 

"He stole my knives. Again. And he lost one of them in a criminal's body. Again."

Bruce didn't reply to my complaints, which wasn't a huge surprise. However, I quickly came to realize that he was intently focused on something in the numerous screens before him. He was furiously tapping away at the keyboard and pulling up files. He barely even acknowledged my existence.

Judging by the grim look on his face, I rolled my eyes, knowing something was most definitely wrong.

"What is it now?"

He pushed himself away from the computer, the chair rolling backwards as he stood up. There was something in his demeanor that told me this was bad. More than usual, that is. Bruce was a generally bitter person, but I could still determine when he was extra bitter.

And this was one of those moments.

"Get in the car," he ordered, pulling on his cowl.

I suspiciously moved to the passenger side and slid into the seat. Bruce got behind the wheel and started the engine. Within a few seconds we were speeding through the security gates and waterfall that separated the batcave from the outside world.

"What is going on?" I demanded, my voice harsh with concern.

Bruce stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched and his knuckles tight around the steering wheel.

"We need to talk, Damian."

Now I knew something was really wrong.

Frustrated by his vagueness, I said, "Then talk, father."

He remained silent as we continued down the road leading to the outskirts of Gotham. It was only once we'd reached the back alleyways of the Narrows that Bruce spoke.

"I've found something. It's about Sasha."

The way his eyes turned to meet mine told me everything that I needed to know.

This is bad news.

Bruce began, "I knew it was a mistake to let her in on our secret. On what we do. Unfortunately she found out during your kidnapping. I wasn't concerned at the time because I thought I knew everything about her. But I was wrong, Damian."

The Batmobile suddenly lurched to a stop, and my stomach dropped, though I had a feeling it wasn't from the car.

Bruce got out first and I followed.

"What are you saying..." I questioned, watching as he moved through the grimy street toward a shabby apartment complex.

Fire escapes lined the walls and he lifted his grapple gun to the sky. The hook shot through the air and latched onto a railing 30 feet up. While father flew to the top, I followed on foot, using parkour to manoeuvre up the fire escapes.

We reached the top floor. I didn't know what father was doing, but I assumed it was important in proving whatever it was he wanted to tell me. 

He went to slide the window open but it found it locked. I leaned against the railings and observed him as he stepped back and sent one foot to the glass, smashing it open.

"Subtle," I muttered, earning an irritated glare from him.

We quietly slid into the apartment and stayed hidden in the shadows. The only noise that could be heard was the soft pad of our boots on the floor. The rest was dead silent, in a sort of eerie way.

"No one's home," I deadpanned. "What are we doing here?"

But Bruce refused to answer me, instead making his way across the dark apartment. As we passed the kitchen I realized that the place was clearly abandoned. The cupboards were wide open and bare. Useless objects such as pots and pans had been strewn across the floor, and they clattered as I knocked them with my feet.

"This place was raided two days ago," Bruce finally spoke, giving me some clue to why the fuck we were here.

I examined the entirety of the place, taking in all its details. It had definitely been ransacked. A moldy couch had been upturned, a coffee table shattered with it's glassy counter top lying in pieces on the dirty carpet.

Photo frames had been ripped from the walls and pulled apart. Books had been torn up, too, with the obvious intent to find any hidden notes or files in its pages.

"This isn't uncommon for the Narrows, as you know," Bruce continued, kneeling down to observe some loose papers sprawled at his feet. 

"The entirety of this block is ruled by minor gangs associated with Two Face. They perform routine checkups on residents every week, stripping people of cash, making sure everyone's following the rules."

I glanced at him, waiting for him to hit me with the "but."

Bruce pulled out a flashlight and flicked it on. He sifted through the papers in his hands, shining the light across newspaper headlines and official-looking documents. 

"But this is different. I'm not certain who did this, or why."

There it is.

I was about to join him in investigating, but something else caught my eye. Bruce's light had reflected off something down the hall. It glimmered slightly, piquing my interest. I carefully made my way toward it with my body on high alert and my sword unsheathed.

And that was when I saw it.

Blood.

A little pool of it, maybe only two inches wide. With Bruce's light in the background, there was enough luminescence for me to make out the crimson fingerprints that painted the wall nearby.

There was a trail now. A number of red stains on the wooden parts of the floor, still not dry. They led down the hallway in small splotches. I concluded that they were from a dripping wound, somewhere in the legs or torso judging by their splash pattern.

Though the lighting grew dimmer, I could still see the blood growing thicker as I followed it. I  ended up in the bathroom, larger pools gathering on the white tiles.

Then I noticed a gash in the wall and the chipped sink. Some kind of struggle had taken place, it seemed. The mirror had also been shattered.

When I turned to my left, my eyes landed on the bathtub. The blood ended at it's base, though there was smears of it on the surrounding wall.

With my sword still firmly in hand, I reached for the shower curtain and prepared to pull it back. The blue material was rotten and in rags. Whoever had lived here clearly hadn't cared much for hygiene.

Then I yanked the curtain aside.

I shouldn't have been surprised by what I saw. It made enough sense, hence the trail of blood.

"Father," I spoke evenly, loud enough for him to come but not loud enough to cause a panic.

Bruce emerged behind me moments later.

I stepped aside so that he could see the dead body lying before me in the tub.

"I think we found a lead."

It was a woman. She looked to be middle aged, with light hair and pale skin. Her face was bloodied and her torso had been brutally stabbed in multiple places. There were two bullet wounds in her head, but judging by her other injuries and the blood leading down the corridor, it seemed that her killer had clearly had some fun with his victim beforehand.

Bruce leaned in to observe her, his face grim under the cowl.

"They interrogated her before killing her," I concluded, judging by the blood trails. "Whoever these people were, they wanted something."

Father knew this. Of course he knew this, he'd been the one to bring me here, even if he hadn't discovered this woman's body yet.

"Her name was Polina Volkova," Bruce finally spoke, flicking the flashlight across her body.

He turned to me, the white slits in his cowl meeting my eyes. "She was the last remaining relative of Sasha's mother."

It felt like a brick had hit me square in the stomach.

Mother?

"How do you know this?" I demanded, my body frozen. I tried to maintain a level head, to not freak out by the magnitude of his words.

Bruce took a step back. "Do you remember the night we fought Slade and freed Sasha from Midnight?"

I just nodded.

Bruce flicked off the flashlight. "That was one of the rare moments Sasha had been sighted in public. There had only been three previous ones; one in Gotham, two in Russia."

"I did my research well before we took her in. There was hardly anything on her, but when you dig deep enough, you can find anything. Katya Volkova was her mother's name, and Polina was her aunt. They were the daughters of a Russian mobster, Vladimir Volkova."

I waited for my father to get somewhere with the story, and he did.

"Slade did business with Vladimir before Sasha was born. He took interest in Katya, but then he left, and nine months later Katya removed herself from the gang and headed out of town."

I joined the dots immediately and stated, "Sasha was conceived during this time, then."

Bruce nodded. "There's no records of what occurred after this until four years later, when Slade was sighted in Russia again. Police found a dead body in Polina's old home. Her husband had been shot by a gun that witnesses say matched the one Slade was carrying. Polina was nowhere to be found."

"Why would he murder Polina's husband?" I questioned.

"There are records stating that Katya rejoined the gang at this time," Bruce said. "She clearly knew Slade was coming for her, so she hid Sasha with her sister and ran back to her father for protection. My guess is that Slade planned to use Polina as leverage, but discovered Sasha and took off with her instead."

My shock was replaced with a mixture of anger and confusion now. He knew so much, while the rest of us had been sitting in the dark, completely unaware. While Sasha had been completely unaware.

"And you didn't think to tell me all this?" I spat, shoving my sword in his direction. "You didn't think to tell Sasha this?"

Bruce's gloved fingers met the tip of my blade and he guided it away from him. "Damian, calm down."

I reluctantly allowed him to speak, though I was still seething with fury and preparing to attack at any given moment.

"Polina was seen living in Gotham shortly after her husbands murder. Right here, in this apartment. She followed Slade. Why else would Sasha's aunt spend ten years in a place like this?"

Confusion still filled my head.

"So why is she dead then?"

But then I lowered my sword as the realization washed over me. 

"So you're saying..."

Bruce nodded grimly before I could even finish. 

"Slade did this," he spoke darkly. "He knew Polina was alive. He knew she had information on Katya."

"The interrogation..." I muttered, thinking back to the ransacked living room. "But that would mean Katya has been in hiding all this time. That would mean Slade had no idea about her or Polina until now."

Bruce nodded again. "He's found a source, or rather a source has found him. Last we heard, he was still locked away at the League. That can only mean--."

"Talia," I interupted, a lump forming in my throat. "Talia did this. She knows everything, always has. I bet you my life that she told him. Probably did it to save her own skin, too."

More realizations began to fill my head. Sasha was home right now, unprotected. If Slade was planning on striking soon, I had to get back to her. I had to protect her.

"We need to leave," I told Bruce.

He knelt down to the body once more and pulled out a small vile, taking samples of Polina's blood for further examination.

"You go. There's evidence to be collected before Two-face's men get here."

And so I did, sliding my sword back into it's holster and making my way to the apartment window before disappearing into the night.

yoooo whats up everybody i finally updated again!!

sorry for being so inconsistent on posting i'm really trying but life is hella busy at the moment so i've had to slowly edit chapters whenever i get a sliver of free time (which is not often). however the story is reaching it's climax soon and we're slowly coming up to the main action event so please stay tuned i PROMISE it's worth it!

also flynn's redemption arc do be looking kinda interesting doe... wonder what might happen there ;)