158 hours before (7 days):
10 in the morning
Secret location

Damian's butt was starting to hurt.
Even though that might not be his main worry at the moment, his behind still constantly ached and it was getting on Damian's nerves.

Around two hours ago, as far as Damian could estimate from the gnawing hunger, the blue-haired man had left, going after Grayson. The thought left a sour taste in his mouth.
From what Damian had gathered so far, the man was working with a powerful partner.
The idea of that partner being his grandfather was gut wrenching, but it would only make sense. Damian had been kidnapped during one of the League's secret operations and even though assassins had been killed, Damian didn't doupt that his mother's side of the family was involved. That just left the question what they wanted from Grayson.

He wasn't foolish enough to think the League would let him be, after father had fought them off when mother had tried to take him back. Truth to be told, Damian didn't want to go back. It was not that he didn't love the fights, the training and the title of being the heir, but... with Grayson and father (and sadly Todd, Drake, Fatgirl and... well, Cain wasn't that bad), he had a family. Not just by blood, but he had started to respect the other bats, started to care for them in a way he hadn't known was possible. They had shown him he was not just a killing machine, but a human being.

Jesus, this brooding was making him soft. With a scowl, Damian tugged at the chains, a frustrated growl clawing its way out of his throat. He wondered how long he'd have to stay in this silence. It's not like he wasn't trained for this kind of situations, but when his mother had chained him to a chair and locked the door, at least he had known that she was watching him, that he was not alone (though at that time, the watchful eye of his mother was not all that reassuring).

Damian had to get out. It was not only that he was obviously in a really bad position, but if that guy managed to take Grayson captive (and that imbecile would be naive enough to believe Damian would be allowed to walk free if Grayson gave himself up), Damian also had to save him. Not to mention that he had to take down his captor and his captor's partner, especially since they had compromised their identities.

He wondered who that mysterious partner was. The man had always talked about one person, so maybe his grandfather himself, or his mother? Or maybe just one of their assassins. Or the League was acting behind the curtain, pulling all the strings in secret and the partner was someone else entirely.
The possibilities were endless.
Maybe Damian was just paranoid and the League of Assassins had nothing to do with this- though they probably did.

His head snapped up when the handle of the door was pushed down. Someone was coming. The blue-eyed man? His partner? Batman? Grayson?

The door opened without a sound and Damian narrowed his eyes as bright light filtered through the wooden door. His heartbeat picked up as he squinted, seeing the silhouette of a man in full body armour. The door opened fully and Damian could see the man clearly now, armour, weapons and mask.

He gasped, heart fluttering in his ribcage like an imprisoned bird, before a deep scowl covered his features. Of course, of all possible people, this man had to be the villain's partner.
"You," he growled, hatred dripping from every letter.

155 hours before:
1 pm
Somewhere

Dick awoke with a headache.
It wasn't really anything new, to be honest.
Groaning, Dick pushed himself in a sitting position, leaning on his hands. He blinked drowsily, his though jumbling inside his head. Where was he? The ground beneath him was soft and his fingers felt the warm fabric he had been sleeping on.
A bed? Whose bed?

A soft groan slipped from his lips as a wave of nausea slammed into him. What the hell had rendered him unconscious? Rubbing the back of his neck, he slowly placed his feet on the ground... and halted abruptly. These were not his clothes.
Instead of the jeans and shirt he had been wearing earlier, his legs were covered by white cotton PJ's.

Wait a second... had C undressed him?! That was disturbing on so many levels.
He would have to make sure Jason never knew of this, or he'd never let him live it down.

Heavy footsteps caught his attention. Someone was coming. Swiftly and quietly, Dick jumped out of the bed, crossed the room and pressed his back to the wall next to the door. He'd get out of here and find Damian.

"I'd move away from the wall," warned a voice from outside. Dick's eyes narrowed. It was the same man he had spoken to on the phone.
Dick's muscles seized suddenly, as a small voltage of electricity hit him. With a yelp, he leaped away from the wall.
He was more surprised than hurt, the voltage low enough not to cause any real pain.
A warning, he realized grimly, watching the door closely.
The second his captor open that door, he'd knock him over and escape. It wasn't a good plan, hell, it was no real plan at all, but Dick needed to find Damian, asap.

All his plans were nipped in the bud as the door was thrown open forcefully, Dick barely managing to avoid getting hit. He saw the man holding him captive.
Dick's back hit the wall with a thud.

Meanwhile:
Wayne Manor

Tim was tired. Physically, mentally, psychologically. Every form of exhaustion really.
Him, Jason, Babs and the team had searched for hours after figuring out Dick was gone. He hadn't answered his phone, nor his com and after watching the security tape of the mountain (sadly without tone), it had become obvious that he went to save Damian by himself. So the teens had searched high and low for their missing brothers, going back to the docks even, but they hadn't found anything, not one little clue. Bruce had finally send everyone home, though they had all protested, but hey, what can you do if Batman gives you an order, right? Barbara was staying at the Manor, too, not even Alfred could get her to change her mind.
Which lead to him being in the current situation: squashed between a heavily snoring Jason (Tim suspected Alfie had put something in his drink), the armrest of the couch he was sitting on, and Barbara's wheelchair, the girl's head resting on his shoulder. She was fast asleep, her glasses halfway down her nose. Cass and Steph were both sleeping in their rooms supstairs. Tim's eyes felt heavy, too, but he was fighting against whatever Alfred had spiked his drink with.

He tried to form a coherent thought, but it felt like walking through water, slow and sluggish and like something was pushing against him. His brain felt muddled, like it was drifting in cotton or something.
Damn it, whatever Alfred used, it was good.
But Tim would not lose a fight against his own body. Dick was out there, somewhere and so was Damian, the little brat.

He needed to find them... but sleep sounded good, too. But he could not rest now, not when... when what exactly? What was he thinking about again? Birds? Something about birds... Dick and Damian! He needed to... find... needed to sleep, he needed to sleep. No, he should get up, had to get up, but that ment moving and the couch was so comfy... But if he stayed, he'd fall asleep... what was so bad about that again? There was something... what... He could just close his eyes, just for a second. Just for a teeny tiny second... and then get back to whatever he had been thinking about.

Meanwhile:
Secret location:

Dick felt small. Smaller than he should feel. This man... he... Dick felt like he was thirteen again, trapped in the clutches of this monster. And it scared him. Not being back with him, but that Slade Wilson still had the same control over him he had back then. That Dick felt terrefied, not only for Damian, also for himself, the boy who had been terrorized by Deathstroke the Terminator for so long.
"Wha... what... but how, why?" He hated the way his voice shook. There was a dull ache in the back of his head. Deathstroke couldn't be here, there was just no way... Dick had thought he was safe. That he had finally gotten rid of people wanting to harm him. Tough luck.

The man looked him up and down and Dick swallowed hard, clenching his shaking hands. "What are you doing?" he hissed through clenched teeth. Wilson didn't do so much as twitch an eyebrow. "You should be very well aware of that, Grayson." His voice was calm as always, void of any emotions, there was no anger, no glee, no nothing. Dick hated it. He had never been able to read him, to understand what was going on inside his head. He could never foresee what the man wanted him to do. It had caused him a lot of painful hours.

Swallowing down a spiteful reply, he forced his body to calm down. Damian was still here somewhere and Deathstroke hadn't done much to hurt Dick yet. And where was Caster? Wasn't he supposed to be the main villain of this? Dick couldn't imagine Slade submitting to someone like the Joker's son. It didn't add up. "If this is about-" his response was interrupted by a gun pointed at his head. He hadn't even seen Slade move. The older man slowly peeled his mask off and Dick felt like someone had driven all air out of his lungs. It wasn't the first time he had seen the man's bare face, but it still came as a surprise how old he was. White hair framed a tan face and a white goatee completed the look. "I don't like disrespect, Grayson, you knew that. And still..."

Dick's face heated up with rage. How dare that monster talk about respect while using his younger brother against him. "What do you know about respect? " he growled, taking a daring step forward. Slade wouldn't shoot him, he was sure of it. The muzzle of the gun rested agains this forehead. "Where is Damian?" Slade's finger curled around the trigger and Dick's heart skipped a beat. Slade wouldn't shoot him. He stared into cold gray eyes. There was no sympathy in those steely orbs. Maybe Slade would shoot him. He didn't back down though. He needed to know where Damian was. He needed to make sure his baby brother was safe. The gun pressed harder into his skin. Dick didn't react. His eyes were as cold as Slade's.

With a low chuckle, Deathstroke removed the gun. "You've changed," he declared.

"Maybe." A person did change in five years. Slade's finger came too close to his face and Dick snapped his arm up, clamping his hand around the older man's wrist. "Don't," he warned. Slade's touches were like a double-edged blade. Dick learned that the hard way. One second soft and almost gentle, the next harsh and brutal. Dick had never been able to measure up if Slade would reward him or punish him. Dick's face twisted. Why was he still thinking like that? For some time, pleasing Slade had been... necessary. But Dick wasn't thirteen anymore. Pleasing Slade was not what he had to do. Not anymore. And he refused to do so again. "Slade, where is Damian?" His words were laced with ice, poised to kill. Dick's and Slade's past was a well-kept secret, as gruesome as it was, but Damian knew Slade, too. And Dick knew the merc hated his brother almost as much as he hated him. Maybe more. The assassin crossed his arms over his chest lazily. "He is alive."

He said alive, not well, not fine, not uninjured, just alive. But that's all Dick needed to know to let go of Slade's wrist. The man didn't give any sign of hurt, even though there was a clear bruise in the form of a handprint forming. It annoyed the vigilante to no end. Dick turned away. It was strange... that he knew Deathstroke wouldn't attack him. It was unable to predict any actions Slade might take in certain situations, anything detailed, but he hated to admit that he did know how Deathstroke works. He knew Slade wouldn't attack if Dick showed so openly he wouldn't fight. Turning his back on the enemy might sound suicidal to most, but Dick just knew there would be no lesson taught in attacking that way, there would be no justification and equality. So he pressed his lips into a thin line, back facing Deathstroke, arms crossed over his chest defiantly. "I want to see him."
"Soon."
"Now."
"No."
Dick scoffed. "Why? There's nothing left for us to talk about."
"Aren't you curious?" Slade wondered, arching two white eyebrows. Dick shook his head. Yes, he was curious as to why a mercenary like Deathstroke would willingly work with someone like Castor, who had obviously gone mad (he also wondered how that had happened), but like hell would he voice those thoughts. The image of his old friend popped into his head. What had happened to Castor to make him go... crazy? That couldn't be just because Dick had left, right?

"I know what I did," was all he said. And it's true. Castor had made it obvious that this was about revenge and Slade fit perfectly into the 'Revenge plans against Dick Grayson' category. "But let Damian go."
"No."
"Why?" Dick's heart constricted in his chest.
"Do you know what I want from you?"
Dick paused. Did he? If this was all about making him hurt, why the talk?
"Not sure," he answered truthfully. Why lie?
Instead of answering, Slade grasped Dick's arm tightly, pulling him out of the room. Dick let him. If he wanted to, he could have escaped the grip fairly easy, but Slade had treated him worse than this and he wanted to know where this was going. And he needed to find Damian.

They walked down a long, dimly lit hallway. Dick's heart was still racing, but he tried not to fidget too much in Slade's grip. If cooperation got him to Damian, he'd gladly let Slade do whatever he wanted. He was shoved into a large room, barely keeping himself from stumbling. With a scowl, he took in his surroundings. There was nothing in there. No furniture, no windows, not even a real door, it was a hole in the wall... what kind of room didn't have a door? Just white walls and a bare lightbulb.

He glanced at Slade. "Where are we?" Ignoring his question, Slade pressed a button on his gauntlet, passing Dick as he walked to the opposite wall. Dick just watched him. "What are we doing here? I want to see Damian."

"Is asking questions all you can do?" Dick glared at him. Slade sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. It was strange, being back in one room with the man. Dick wished he were anywhere but here. It made him nauseous. The last time he had been this close to Slade... it still gave him goose bumps. He had been thirteen back then, naïve and heroic. Stupid.
He gulped. This situation stirred up unpleasant memories. "I'm not here to play games, Slade. What do you want from me?"

"He doesn't want anything from you." Dick hadn't even heard C enter. It still came as a shock, seeing his childhood friend and Deathstroke the Terminator in one room. Castor moved closer. "You are mine, Dick, always have been and always will be. Deathstroke is just... an accomplice. We help each other, you see. He helped me kidnap you and I helped him with this science experiment shit. I heard you took in one of our pet projects?"

Dick narrowed his eyes. So those missing kids had really grown on their responsibility. But that they knew about Kayla was concerning. Had they watched Jason? Had they put a tracker on the girl? Maybe they had even bugged the manor. Or... or Jason rescuing Kayla had been part of their plan all along, which was a whole new level of terrifying. Dick swallowed hard, drying his sweating hands on his pants. "If it's me you want, why kidnap Damian?" It was driving him mad; no one had answered him that one simple question. Castor shrugged, gesturing towards Slade. "No idea. He wanted him. Said something about the League of Assassins and birthrights? Don't really care." At that, Dick's head snapped up, eyes boring into Slade's single one. "This is not just about me," he whispered, dread weighting him down like lead. "This is about the Demon's Head. About Ra's." His legs were weak and felt like jelly. This wasn't just some stupid vendetta, this was about power. If Slade killed Damian and managed to take over the League... Gotham would be in for a whole new freak show. Damn it all to hell.

He gulped down the lump in his throat and glanced at the two villains. There was something in Deathstroke's eye... something dangerous. He was glaring at C. Dick knew what would happen a millisecond before Slade slashed his sword at Castor's head. The two young adults jumped back, Dick out of reflex and Castor to stay alive. Dick's heart was beating in his throat, eyes blown wide and watching intensely as Slade left Castor no room to speak, to ask what the hell was going on. What in the- so Dick had been right all along, Castor just functioned as a means to an end. To kidnap Dick and Damian. Dick was trapped in a stupor, unable to do so much as follow every movement with his eyes. Castor was undoubtedly inferior. The sudden attack, no weapons and little room to move made it impossible for Castor to counterattack and it was no surprise when Slade went for the killing blow. Dick didn't know why, he honestly couldn't say if his body acted before his brain or the other way around, but then he was crashing into Slade, both their bodies slamming into the ground and Dick had trouble processing what he was doing; he had just saved Castor's life. Maybe because he didn't see a maniac kidnapper in that split second his body had decided to move on its own, but a young boy that had fought off bullies and helped him cope. He had seen his friend. His eyes locked with Castor's for a short moment and then the other man was gone, bolting through the door-like hole in the wall.

The adrenaline was bleeding out of Dick and he slumped back to the ground, eyes closed and breathing hard. What had he done? He didn't move as he heard Slade push himself off the floor. He didn't open his eyes as a hand gripped his biceps in a bruising grasp. He didn't object as he was forcefully hauled to his feet. He didn't shiver as Slade sneered into his ear, "I tried being nice, Grayson, but if you insist on making this harder than it has to be, I'll return the favor. Let's go see your brother now, that's what you've been begging for the whole time, isn't it? And if you tell him why he is here, why you are here or what happened five years ago, I'll kill him and I'll make you watch." A pause. "I think we should wait for your other siblings to arrive before letting the cat out of the bag, wouldn't you agree?" Dick didn't cry as he was dragged away, his arm aching under the merciless grip Slade had on him.