John was sick and tired of being locked inside a room for a year. The room he was living in was large and he ran about and did acrobatics a lot. As well as train with Slade, but it wasn't fun. Everything he did was exhausting. Over the course of the year he's learned many things. 1) Don't disobey Slade. 

He learned this when Slade had told him to call him "Master". John immediately said no. No one was his master. His brother always told him to be his best advocate. Slade immediately hit the fact to call him master into the boy's brain. Never again did John contradict him.

2) Don't ask for anything.

The last time he asked to go outside Slade, had once again, mentally tortured him. Filling his mind with brutal thoughts, telling the boy his awful opinions. Calling him Circus Freak, Gypsy Trash, Insignificant Scum, and others. 

3) Don't complain.

Complaining gained the worst punishment besides disobeying Slade. John knew this because one day after a long training work out, cardio, kicking simulations, punching simulations, gymnastics, acrobatics, etc. He said that he was really tired. Before he could dodge Slade pummeled him over the head with a-well John wasn't sure what it was, but it hurt. Hurt a lot.

He had become accustomed of this life-style. Although, he missed his brother, family, and old life immensely. Slade had told him Dick had died. When John asked how, Slade simply knocked the boy out. John still wanted to know, but what did it matter? Now, it only meant he was truly alone.

Besides his longing for family, he missed the outside. He had always loved the outdoors, the grass. Trees, flowers, animals. He loved it all, but Slade hadn't let him out of the strange place they were in for that whole year. John felt trapped. Probably because he was.

"Specter!" Slade's voice snapped John out of his musings. The six year old immediately stood from his spot on the sleeping bag. Specter was the only thing Slade would call him now. John had no idea what the name meant, but he did hear his brother say it one time... He can't remember it now. "We're going to begin your next training lesson. Understood?"

John sighed softly, "Yes, master."

Slade smirked to himself under the mask, "Come." Slade opened the door that lead to the outer rooms of the building they were in. John quickly followed behind his guardian. John was scared of Slade. Terrified actually. This man showed John things he wouldn't forget. What scared John even more was that he was becoming numb to living here. He felt like he was going through the motions. But what comforted him in a strange way was that every time Slade beat him or murdered someone in front of him John still cried. So John knew he was still a real person. Not a puppet.

John promised to himself then and there. That he would never be Slade's puppet. He would escape this. He was raised by a good family. He knew what Slade was doing was wrong. And when he was older, stronger. He would put this man in jail.

***Batbreak***

John walked into a room on the east side of the building. The room was, from what he noticed, blank. The walls, like every other room in the house, were a pale grey. The floor was concrete, covered in miscellaneous dirt and rubble. There were a few crates and boxes in the room along with a small table and chair. Slade motioned to the chair and John took it as his way of saying 'sit down'. So, John sat.

Slade put a blank sheet of paper in front of John along with a #2 pencil. John looked questionably up at him, while Slade looked expectantly down at him. What was he expecting him to do? Draw?

"How much math do you know, Specter?" Slade asked gazing threateningly above said boy.

His parents had taught him some basic adding and subtraction, as well as some multiplication. And he vaguely remember Dick telling him division was the opposite of multiplication. But he couldn't remember anything else. John bit his lip. Which earned a smack at the back of his head. Note to self: Slade hates you biting your lip, John thought.

"I know how to-"

Slade interrupted, "Don't tell me the question was rhetorical." John didn't bother asking what that word meant, "Show me. Show me how to add five plus ten." John drew out a ten then put a five underneath, the subtraction sign to the side, and solved. Fifteen. Slade nodded, "One hundred plus one hundred eighty five." John solved. "Okay, subtract twenty eight from fifty."

John did so. "Your handwriting needs work. Multiply nine times ten." 90. "Fifteen times twenty four." He got the answer. "Divide eighty by two."

John paused. He thought about what he remembered Dick saying last year before everything happened. The opposite of multiplication... Well two can be multiplied by forty to get eighty. So is forty the answer? John put forty down on the paper. "I don't see any work. Explain to me how you got that, Specter." Slade demanded.

John gulped hoping he was right, "Well, master, I was told by my brother that division is the opposite of division. So, if two times forty equals eighty then eighty divided by two equals forty. Right?"

"Is it right?"

John grew worried, tensing immediately, "I-I don't know. I'm sorry, master!"

A soft chuckled came from under Deathstroke's mask, "You never cease to amuse me, Specter. You are correct. What you need to work on is being sure of yourself, although I do appreciate you wanting to appease me. You also need to work on handwriting."

"Why?" At realizing what he said John quickly elaborated, "I-I mean why do I need to? You seem to read it perfectly fine."

"You need everyone to be able to read it perfectly. Write in different languages, you-"

"I can write in Romanian!" John burst out suddenly. He realized his mistake. He blatantly interrupted Slade! Oh he was going to be-

"I see... Show me." Slade demanded.

Not hesitating John flipped the paper over and began writing a sentence. Slade simply waited to see if his apprentice could write in his home language. Slade now wanted to see what language this boy could speak. He had gone all over the world. Slade definitely chose the right boy. When searching for an apprentice Slade had looked all over. Including at John's older brother, Richard Grayson. The older boy had a unique set of skills. Slade was set on Richard until he found out the ten year old had a younger sibling. Slade began investigating John finding he had the same skills as Richard except less developed, since he was younger. Bu that was the glory of it all. Richard would've been hard to convince to stay with Slade, John was impressionable. Younger, it says the younger they are the easier it is to learn things. Slade could make John a genius. That was his plan. 

John finished his sentence, as Slade snatched the paper away. On the paper in practiced handwriting was the sentence, 'A fost un an din moment ce am scris în limba română, aşa că ar putea fi un pic ruginit.' (Translation: It has been a year since I've written in the Romanian language, so it might be a little rusty.) Slade was almost surprised at how his Romanian writing seemed better then his English, but he wasn't completely. It was probably the first language he learned.

So to test his theory, Slade said, "Desigur spectrului. Să vedem cât de bine poţi vorbi limba respectivă. Răspunsul în cazul în care aţi înţeles." (T:Of course the specter. Let's see how well you can speak that language. Answer if you understand.)

John smirked and responded fluently, "Este prima limbă pe care am învăţat. De fapt, vorbesc, de obicei, în somnul meu folosind această limbă. Desigur, am înţeles. Când familia mea a fost în viaţă am vorbit în această limbă, uneori. Ma bucur ca tu stii asta. Pot sa vorbesc cu tine în această limbă prea?" (It is the first language I learned. In fact, usually talk in my sleep using this language. Of course, I understand. When my family was alive I spoke in this language, sometimes. I'm glad you know it. Can I talk with you in this language too?) 

Unsurprisingly, his Romanian sounded more fluent than English. Slade moved onto the next language he figured the boy would've learned, "Вы понимаете?" (Russian: Do you understand?"

John smiled slightly, but he didn't miss that Slade ignored his question. He responded, "Да. Но, я не так хорошо говорил." (R:Yes. But, I am not as well spoken.)

"Давайте посмотрим, если это правда. Ответить на этот вопрос; как вы узнали этот язык?" Slade spoke, eyeing the boy closely. (Let's see if it's true. Answer this question; How did you learn this language?)

John paused for a moment collecting his thoughts before responding roughly, "Мой брат научил меня. Но он не знал много, и он не имел шанс научить меня больше." (My brother taught me. But he did not know much and didn't have the chance to teach me more.)

"Anymore languages you know?" Slade asked in normal English. 

John tugged on a strand of his hair, "I know some of French, a little Chinese from a clown, and some Spanish from one of our circus visits."

"明白了。那你不会介意 Si j'ai tester vos compétences? Muéstrame cuánto sabes." (Chinese Simplified: I see. Then you won't mind... French: If I test your skills? Spanish: Show me how much you know.)

John sighed, realizing Slade had just mixed the three languages. He decided to show off his best first. "我在中文比其他两种语言更好. Bien que, je suis un peu qualifié en français." He paused for a moment collecting his thoughts. It's been a while since he use Spanish, "No estoy muy bien en español sin embargo." (Chinese Simplified: I'm better at Chinese than the other two languages. French: Although, I am somewhat qualified in French. Spanish: I'm not very good in Spanish though.)

Slade nodded. This boy was further along than he had initially anticipated. No matter, it'll only make training in academics easier. "Can you write in any of these languages beside Romanian?"

John began, "I can write in Chinese a little and some in French. Spanish, sort of. And in Russian I'm almost as good as my Romanian."

"Good. How well can you read English?"

John hesitated. He looked down at his shirt in shame, "I can't read that well... My brother was teaching me, but..."

Before he could continue he felt a pain erupt in his diaphragm. All the wind was knocked out of him. He slumped onto the table gasping in pain. Slade had punched him, but why? What had he done? 

"Don't mumble. And I asked for an answer not a reason why. You are dismissed, we'll begin physical training in three hours." With that Slade walked briskly out of the room. John looked at what door he walked out of. That was the door that led outside. He wasn't allowed anywhere near that door.

He stayed in the same position hunched over the table for a few more seconds. The throb from the hit was still there, but not as profound. Okay, mumbling, also a no, no. John climbed up onto his feet. His thin legs felt like collapsing, but being the stubborn six year he was kept on walking. When he reached his basement (yeah, his basement. He lives there) he slumped down on the sleeping bag. 

He remembered when sleeping bags were just for camp outs. Or sleeping outside for his family. His former family. Right, they were all dead. John could believe his parents were dead. It'd been a year and he'd seen them die. It still haunted his dreams. But Richard Grayson. His brother? No, he couldn't. John never trusted Slade. His brother couldn't have died from a silly car accident. This was his brother. His brother. Not really his brother anymore dead or not. Slade claimed that John was his now. So, did that mean he had no family left?

Yes, yes it did.

Then why did he feel so hopeful? Was it wrong? No, it wasn't. He was going to get out someday. He was going to find his brother. Whether Dick was buried in a grave or still smiling with the living. John was going to find him.

***Batbreak***

Meanwhile in Gotham City, Wayne Manor:

Dick felt incredible. His first month as Robin The Boy Wonder had flown by. And boy was it hectic! Bruce and himself beat up baddies, talked with Jim Gordon, he was beaten to a pulp, Bats fired him, he became a spy, now everything was back to the same. Well... not really. When he was working for Shrike he heard some weird stuff... stuff about a guy named Slade. Stuff about this baddie taking up an apprentice.

Dick didn't even know who Slade was, or who he had taken on. Batman had said he'd work on that, which relieved him to no end. He was already dealing with school and being Robin, so having Bats or Bruce take some work off his shoulders helped a lot.

He and Bruce had bonded over the past year. He knew most of Bruce's secrets and Bruce knew all of his in return. That hadn't bothered him. Bruce was very understanding when t came to his past life. In fact, Bruce was planning on fostering both Grayson boys, but apparently the younger passed away in a car accident. Right after he was adopted, on the way to his guardian's home the car spun put leaving both dead. Dick was devastated, he still was. He had hoped that after all the crap CPS put them thru they would find each other in the end, but nope life had to be cruel. Who hated him so much?

Besides that everything was going dandy. Dick felt happy again. Even though he missed his family so much.

A knock on the door snapped Dick put of his musings, "Hey chum. Alfred's almost done with dinner. Ready to come down?"

Dick responded stretching his muscles, "Sure Bruce. Just thinking..."

"About your family," Bruce finished. At the confirmation nod from Dick, Bruce put a hand on his ward's shoulder, "Would you like to take on last look at your brother's case? I was searching thru my files and I noticed something odd."

Dick looked in his guardian's gaze. His eyes showing renewed hope and determination, "Show me."

***

OH SNAP!

What did Bruce notice I wonder...🎪🚗💥