He's dangling from the monkey bars when he sees it happen. At first he's sure he's mistaken. They had, after all, just learned about kindness and how to play nice with others. Just on Monday, Mrs. Hawthorne had told them all, gathered tightly together on the brightly coloured carpet, that there was absolutely no reason to be unkind. That each and every one of them was important and special in their own way. That in their classroom they are Bucket Fillers, not Bucket Dippers, filling each other's buckets with kind words and actions.

Oliver's not sure what exactly is so special about himself, but days later the words are stuck in his brain like sticky glue, along with the image of blonde curly pigtails hovering over a keyboard.

He squints into the distance, trying to make out the figures on the grass, but the sun's shining warmly on his face and he can't quite make out what's going on. Whatever it is, he's not the only one to notice. Tommy's hanging upside down beside him and reaches over and pushes him impatiently, causing Oliver to swing back and forth.

"Did you see that?" Tommy cries indignantly, heaving himself up to grab the bars with his hands. "I think he pushed her! That is not okay!" He drops to the sand with a thud and takes off before Oliver can even let go.

Oliver lands softly in the sand below and follows Tommy into the field. When he gets there, Tommy's bent over a small figure on the grass. She's holding her knee, tears running down her cheeks. There's a big grass stain on her other knee along with a growing bruise.

"Are you okay?" Tommy asks, kneeling on the ground beside her. "Did you get hurt? Do you need a Band-Aid?" He moves her hands off her injury so he can take a closer look. She watches him carefully, wiping her face impatiently. Like she's embarrassed for crying or looking weak.

Oliver stands back, because Tommy is much better at this than he is. And Laurel Lance doesn't really like him anyways. Not since she was working on one of those really tricky hundred piece puzzles and Oliver had bumped into the table and messed it all up.

Laurel sniffles and shakes her head. "I'm- I'm okay, I think. My knee, it hurts though."

Tommy opens his mouth to respond, but stepping forward, Oliver blurts out, "Did somebody push you?"

Laurel cooly looks up at him and purses her lips. "Yes. He is so nasty. And he has nothing nice to say at all, he just- he-" and then her eyes are filling with tears again and Oliver stumbles back a step because apparently it's not just the pushing that's the problem.

Tommy is hovering and shushing Laurel, checking her over and helping her up, and as he watches, he thinks that maybe his friend actually likes Laurel. Likes her, likes her.

Which is just, you know, gross.

Girls are gross.

But still. They shouldn't be pushed down. And nobody should be saying mean things that make people cry. And as Oliver turns in a circle, surveying the playground, he swears he sees Slade Wilson, the new kid in their class, watching them with a slick smile on his face. Like he's happy Laurel is in tears.

Not okay.

Oliver's pretty sure that Slade is up to no good. Oliver's tried to make friends with him, because he's new and he talks differently than everyone else and he doesn't seem to have any other friends, but Slade has been nasty at every attempt. Oliver had given up and had asked his dad for advice in this tricky situation.

Robert Queen spent most of his time in the mahogany lined office that lay off the front entranceway of the Queen mansion. Oliver had knocked, because you always knocked while his dad was working. Barging in and interrupting what could be a major breakthrough was never acceptable, but this time he was waved in with a smile. Oliver clambered into the comfy chair across from his father's desk, the brown leather cool against his legs.

"Oliver. How was school today?" His dad had a booming kind of voice, one that was meant to be heard, but with Oliver it always took a softer tone. "What did you learn about?"

Oliver thought for a minute. What had he learned? "Well, I learned that if you want to make friends with Slade Wilson that you shouldn't invite him to play with your superheroes."

His dad hummed and leaned forward, his eyes on Oliver. "And why is that?"

"Well," Oliver said, drawing out the word as long as he could. "I've been trying to make friends with him forever and today I tried to play superheroes with him and he pretended like he wanted to play, but then he took the Batman and ripped one of his arms off."

Oliver looked at his hands, folded in his lap. He rubbed his thumb and pointer finger together, lashes down. To him, this inability to make a friend seemed like a failure. The Queen family always did their best to make everyone feel welcome. It had been drilled into him for as long as he could remember.

"Well, son, it seems as though this is something you can't force." Oliver looked up at his dad's words, unsure about what he meant. His father smiled softly at him as he spoke. "Some people don't want new friends. Some people are happier alone. And some people just need time to adjust to a new situation before they're able to feel comfortable enough to let somebody new in. It sounds like your classmate is dealing with a big change in his life and maybe he just needs some space to get used to his new environment."

Oliver had nodded, mulling over his dad's words. His dad was always right, he was the smartest person Oliver even knew, so he had taken his advice and retreated, thinking that maybe Slade just needed some time to adjust to his new school and all the new people.

But now, months later, he's pretty sure that Mrs. Hawthorne's talk on Monday about kindness had been meant for Slade and after this recess there's no way Oliver is going to let him push around any more kids on the playground.

This is his school, his playground. Not some new kid's boxing ring.

Oliver narrows his eyes at Slade, sending mental daggers in his direction. Slade's eyes meet his, staring darkly and Oliver can't help but shiver. There is nothing good in the other boy. Somehow Oliver can sense it.

But then Slade's looking away, eyes moving from Oliver, Laurel, and Tommy and over to the sandbox, where two girls giggle as they dump sand on each other's legs. There is a decidedly different look there - like a hungry tiger watching it's dinner.

Instinctively Oliver takes a step towards the sandbox, an unfamiliar swooping feeling beating in his chest, but then the bell rings and the girls leap up. They brush sand off themselves and skip towards the doors, arms linked, blonde and brown ponytails swinging side by side. He watches them pass right in front of Slade, who's just leaning against the red brick walls, one foot propped behind him, arms crossed over his chest. Slade's eyes follow the girls until they're inside.

More and more kids pass in front of Slade as Tommy and Laurel are forgotten and Oliver tries to get to Slade, to tell him that he better stay away from those two girls in the sandbox, that they are absolutely off limits. He feels it so strongly, like nothing he's ever felt before. If Slade Wilson even lays a finger on Felicity Smoak's ponytail, Oliver's pretty confident he's going to lose that finger.

When he gets to where he last saw Slade he's gone, and Oliver is left with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he heads inside with the rest of the crowd.

Inside the classroom is chaos, just like after every other recess. Mrs. Hawthorne helps Laurel bandage her knee in the corner by her desk, while Tommy supervises. Oliver sits by his hook to change into his inside shoes and when he stands up a large hand shoves him in the back and he goes face first into the wall.

"You better watch out, Kid."

There's no mistaking that voice. He can feel Slade's presence hovering behind him, a threatening presence that causes Oliver to freeze. He's never had to deal with a bully before and while he might have felt brave staring him down across the playground, the larger boy standing right behind him is a different story. Oliver curls his fingers around the straps of his backpack and takes a deep breath. His heart beats fast in his chest. Their hook area is pretty secluded, behind a row of shelving, so he knows their teacher can't see what's happening. His mind races, trying to think of the best solution.

"Hey! You leave him alone!"

The tiny voice comes from behind him and Oliver knows in an instant who it belongs to. He closes his eyes for a moment. His heart seems to jump in his chest. He feels Slade take a step away from breathing down his neck and Oliver turns as well.

Felicity Smoak stands in front of Slade, her tiny hands balled into fists, staring him down like she isn't a whole head smaller than he is and he couldn't just swipe out his hand and knock her out of the way. There's a whole lot of anger in her face and Oliver takes a deep breath, a warmth enveloping his chest at this girl coming to his defence.

Felicity doesn't pay him any attention, really. She evenly meets Slade's gaze and Oliver watches as her eyes narrow in anger. She's not scared of him at all.

Slade chuckles and the sound gives Oliver the creeps. "And why should I do that?" he asks. He takes a step forward, towering over top of her. Oliver is frozen, unsure of what his next move should be.

Felicity opens her mouth to retort but the wind chimes ring, the signal for everyone to meet Mrs. Hawthorne at the carpet.

"Saved by the bell," Slade says in a low voice, "Felicity."

Oliver sees a shiver run through Felicity's body and he can't help but mirror it. There's something in the way Slade says her name that is just wrong.

Felicity doesn't back down though, and Slade slinks around her, giving her one last dirty look over his shoulder as he walks away. Her eyes follow him until he's gone and then they snap back to meet Oliver's gaze.

Her eyes are very blue, but different than his own. She swallows hard and bites her bottom lip. He presses his lips together, offers her a small smile. They stand and stare at each other, eyes connected by some invisible magic, until Felicity blinks and looks away.

"Thanks," Oliver says quietly. "For saying something."

She gives him a tiny smile. "You're welcome. There's something about that guy that I just don't like. I don't know what it is, but I tried to be his friend when he came, because I try to be everyone's friend, but he has some mean things to say and he uses some rude words!"

Her voice had been tremulous at first but has strengthened as she rambles. Her blue eyes open wide in shock at the thought of someone using such rude words. "They're words that my mom definitely doesn't like because sometimes I hear them on TV and one time I asked her what the word bitch meant and she turned this funny purple colour so I'm pretty sure it's a bad word. I would have looked it up on the computer, 'cause I'm good at things like that, but I don't want my mom to-"

Mrs. Hawthorne interrupts her lengthy response by calling them both to the carpet. Felicity abruptly stops talking and her cheeks turn a little bit pink. Oliver's not sure he followed Felicity's rambling train of thought, but he feels this warm sensation in his chest as he smiles at her, his dark thoughts banished for now by her cheery voice. He grabs her hand, without thinking anything of it, and tugs her to follow him to join the rest of the class.

And if Slade eyes them both when they sit together, and if Oliver moves closer to Felicity in warning, well, it's all apart of the job.

He didn't see it coming, but Oliver's pretty sure he's just become the unofficial Kindergarten Detective. And the most important part of this job is now Operation: Protect Felicity Smoak.