NOTE: I've added another part between what were previously chapters three and four to add clarification to the story. It takes place in the past and it doesn't alter the overall plot, so it isn't 100% necessary to read it. But I would recommend to do so. Anyway, this one takes place where the previous chapter left off, with the wall exploding at the Wayne Gala. Enjoy.

Part V: Deathstroke

October, 2018

Wayne Manor - 7:40 pm EST

The boy was gone, and so was the rest of the west wall.

Three more roaring booms echoed across the room, leaving a chorus of high-pitched screams in their wake. The majority of Gotham's aristocracy had begun to flee, their champagne glasses shattering on the ballroom floor. Every bone in her body was telling her to follow suit—to leave and never look back. This wasn't her fight.

She had to remind herself that she wasn't a good person. She wasn't, when it came down to fact and reason. She'd stolen, lied, killed. That right there should have been reason enough to leave and let someone else handle the situation.

So why was she still here, with her hand inching closer and closer to the gun strapped to her leg?

She didn't know how she did it, but in the midst of chaos and destruction, she weighed out her options. Leaving meant keeping herself out of trouble, and these days self-preservation was most definitely her main priority. Leaving was the smart decision—the safe one. Staying there would draw attention to herself. God knew that was last thing she wanted.

Clenching her jaw, she turned in the direction of the door.

In the dark of the night, Gotham's crime peaks. It's something like a witching hour. The crooks come creeping out of their holes-in-the-wall and Gotham's worst come out to play. Tonight was no exception.

Batman could hear police sirens in every sector of the city. It seemed like a quiet night—as quiet as nights get in Gotham. Petty thieves, mobsters, drug dealers. He would let the GCPD have their fun.

It was something he'd learned over the years. In the beginning, he'd been so young, so naive about the whole thing that it made him cringe now to think about it. Now, he knew better. You can't save everyone. It was the painful truth. But the city was poisoned, imploding from the inside out, filled with criminal activity. He had to take care of the ones with the bigger costs.

So he learned to let the Gotham Police Department have their fun with small cases. The sirens had long since become a normal cacophony during his routine nights in the city.

The location that Alfred had sent him was on the other side of town. Alfred had cited a well-known jewel thief that had broken into the Jade Museum near the city border. He was less than a mile away when Alfred's name appeared on the monitor of the Batmobile.

"Master Bruce?" There was a slight shake in his voice that made the vigilante frown.

"Alfred, are you alright?"

The fact that he did not answer immediately did nothing for Batman's concern.

"Er...yes, Master Bruce, I am fine. I am inside the Cave. It is the others that I am worried about."

"Others?"

He heard Alfred gulp over the comm. "Your guests, sir."

The engine roared and revved as he made a sharp turn to go back in the direction he came. "What is the situation?"

"The grand ballroom no longer has a west wall, and I believe that there is a man with an orange and black mask entering."

The vigilante scowled. "Deathstroke."

"It would appear so."

"The others?"

"Master Dick is out of reach and Master Damian is...already here."

"Tell him not to do anything stupid."

"I believe it's a bit too late for that, Sir."

Age aside, Damian Wayne was not one to think before he acted.

As soon as he'd seen the first sign of trouble, he'd ran straight to the Cave and changed into his assassin's wear, blocking out Alfred's incessant pleas to get him to stay within the confines of the Cave, "where it was safe." He hated wearing such simple clothing with the knowledge that there was a suit with the most up-to-date technology waiting for him, locked up in a display case. It wasn't that he couldn't get to it—he had hacked into NORAD at the age of six. But the first time he'd asked to wear it, his father had responded sternly. You have to earn that suit, he'd said.

How had he not done so already? He was far beyond Grayson's simplistic training. He was the grandson of Ra's al Ghul, for God's sake. Did that not count for anything?

He shook his head. He didn't need some stupid suit. He would show his father that he was more than worthy of it.

The sound of his sharp blade echoed through the air as he unsheathed his katana and made his way back to the ballroom. Stealth was no longer a necessity, as the party guests already were much too preoccupied with fleeing the scene.

His eyes turned to slivers of bitterness as he recognized the man in the familiar orange and black mask. Deathstroke. The blood in his veins boiled with anger, the memories of his grandfather's killer resurfaced, the adrenaline shot through his body. With a vengeful yell, he charged.

Deathstroke's back was turned as Damian leapt into the air and brought his sword down on his opponent's head. On any other occasion, the blow would have landed fatally. But this man was no ordinary soldier. His honed reflexes kicked into gear just as the blade was about to reach him and he retaliated without hesitance.

"Boy," he seethed in recognition, his own blade now blocking Damian's.

They untangled their swords and circled each other with hateful eyes, daring the other to make the first move.

"You have some nerve showing up here, in my house."

Slade laughed cruelly. "This is not your house, Boy." At that remark, Damian lunged. Slade had anticipated the move and parried, the clash of their twin katana blades echoing across the now-empty ballroom.

"If you're here to wreak havoc on Gotham then you will find yourself utterly unsuccessful," Damian fumed, a grunt escaping him as he ducked to avoid decapitation.

"You mistake yourself," Slade countered. "Such petty things are below me."

Damian attacked, his sword landing a blow on Slade's arm, drawing first blood. A groan of pain escaped Slade's lips and the boy took this moment of weakness as an opportunity. He grunted and swung, hitting his opponent's head with the hilt of his katana.

Using all of his strength, he shoved a weakened Slade onto the ground and held his sharp blade centimeters away from his neck. "I'll ask one more time. Why are you here?"

Deathstroke used his free hand to remove his damaged mask. He smiled sickeningly, a trail of blood escaping the corner of his mouth. "To kill the Batman."

Damian's eyes widened for half of a second before he inched the blade closer to Slade's neck. "He's not here. You failed."

The chilling smile on Slade's face widened. "Did I?" Suddenly, a sharp pain registered in Damian's left leg. He'd been so distracted by the threat upon his father's life that he'd failed to notice Slade's free hand inching towards his sword. And now he had a deep diagonal cut across his left leg.

He stumbled backward, the stinging of the wound making his eyes water. Slade was now on his feet. Damian cursed to himself. He should have known that this formidable of an opponent wouldn't go down so easily.

Deathstroke grinned, the tip of his katana blade just shy of Damian's exposed throat. "Your father may be elsewhere, but I assure you—your death will be just as satisfying."

Maybe he should have listened to Alfred. Nonetheless, Damian Wayne was no stranger to the eminent threat of death. He narrowed his eyes. Do it, I dare you.

To his surprise, Deathstroke withdrew his sword. Damian tilted his head in confusion. What—

And then he saw Slade grab at his profusely-bleeding neck. A fatal wound to his carotid artery. He'd been...shot?

The Batman didn't use guns. Damian looked around for his savior.

The ballroom was empty.

Author's Notes:

It's been a few months, but here it is. Just in case my writing is too convoluted to follow, here's the gist of what happened: Kat "flees" the scene, Bruce is called to the other side of the city to catch a jewel thief (hmm, wonder who that might be), Damian disobeys Alfred and takes on Deathstroke—who says that he is in Gotham to kill the Batman—by himself, and before Deathstroke can kill Damian, someone shoots him (?).

Damian is one intense 12-year-old.

Hope you enjoyed. The next one will be up soon (hopefully). Oh, and leave a review, if you'd like. They help speed up the process ;)