Dedicated to @NewYorkDoll, @CamrynKissel, and NoraXSWest-AllenFam for the amazing support on my Arrow projects :)

"This is not the way our holiday trip was supposed to go," Thought Oliver, angrily as he trekked through the mountainous heaps of thick white snow that separated his landed private plane from the rest of the Russian town where Slade was said to have last been sighted.

This was going to be the very first holiday he got to spend with his baby girl, the daughter whom he'd never gotten (or would get) to know her father, yet here he was, walking through the numbingly cold winter air without the two people who he'd wanted so badly to spend his sparse time left with. Worst of all, he didn't even know if the Wilsons were going to hurt them, especially since he knew his kids well enough to know that they'd never cooperate with The Deathstrokes' plan.

I just wanted to show them, to show her, how much I care and this is what I get for trying to be a good dad! My kids getting kidnapped by my old enemy's criminal sons! And every moment that I have to spend without being one-hundred percent sure that they are completely safe is like getting stabbed in the chest again by Ra's sword... only worse, because instead of me getting hurt to protect my family, I was the one who put them in danger in the first place.

The freezing cold winter air seemed to threaten to shatter his powerful lungs with each strong step he took forward, his green parka pulled over his Christmas sweater as tightly as humanly possible.

Towering pine trees surrounded the quaint little town on the outskirts of the country, its dull welcome sign paying no attention to the odd residents that stayed within its shabby borders.

Yeah, I've lived in much worse places than here...

He walked into the quiet town's front entrance, his gloved right hand brushing against its brick exterior as he moved. They felt like defined steel due to the increasingly freezing temperature, yet Oliver somehow felt as though every piece of supposive scenery, every single brick, was somehow a clue as to where and what Slade was doing amongst such a strange crowd.

Maybe he got the wrong tip as to where his sons were before they were taken into Argus custody?

Various strangers walked past the vigilante, taking little notice of the American in their mix as they casually bought darkly grown raspberries and other small trinkets from overpriced shops that covered the small oval the locals liked to call their town's little city square. The whole place felt like a sort of community, only Oliver didn't have the time to make himself a part of it.

All I need to do is ask around for his name because with tracking as good as William's technology, there's no way Slade could've made much distance between when he last scanned the area and now.

"Я возьму три рыбы, пожалуйста," (I'll take three fish, please) stated Oliver, politely as he handed twenty American dollars worth of Russian ruble to a elderly woman who was frying up fish for the locals, her long gray hair tied up in a messy bun on top of her head.

William had certainly been right in suggesting that they bring large sums of both types of currency for locality convenience.

"конечно, сэр," (of course, sir) replied the kind woman as she folded three small, freshly fried trout into greasy paper to preserve their "nice" taste.

The fish smelled as awful as the leaking oil cans that lay on their side at the town's entrance, only at least they didn't claim to be edible.

Food is food, regardless of how it might taste.

Oliver had long since learned to never insult a native's country's food, either.

He looked around the market as he took a small bite of his slimy meal, searching for any indication of Slade's whereabouts.

I know he likes fish more than any other food because it brings back memories of his father-son camping trips with Joe. And if I was looking for William, I know that I'd want something that reminds me of him kept with me the whole journey.

It was a common fact that people don't tend to like others staring at them, which was an especially proven statement by the death glares the hardened vigilante received as he slowly moved through the large crowd of bystanders, his eyes staying keenly alert. People were avidly talking about various troubles and triumphs in their lives, asking one another about their days before paying for their designated items. It was a complete trap set for their pocket books, Oliver had learned that the hard way when he first came to Russia with Anatoly all those years ago.

Small kids ran back and forth throughout the street's wide circle, bouncing red rubber balls and hula hoops near their bodies, hoping to impress their fellow friends. One particularly little brunette-haired girl accidentally bumped into the back of Oliver's leg, almost sending the fish flying out of his hand if not for his incredibly trained reflexes as he stumbled slightly forward in surprise.

"Простите, сэр. Это был несчастный случай. Пожалуйста, не говори моей матери!" (I'm sorry, sir. It was an accident. Please don't tell my mother) cried the little girl as she quickly apologized for her clumsiness, tears of regret welling in her small green eyes.

Oliver just bent down next to her, a gentle smile covering his face as he handed her the remaining portions of fish.

"Я все равно поел Не волнуйся," (Don't worry, I was done eating, anyway. ) whispered Oliver, patting the little girl on the head before standing back up to return to his mission.

"благодарю вас," (thank you) called the girl as she happily skipped back towards her mother, the stranger's fish still grasped thankfully in her right hand.

Only a few years ago, Oliver would've never thought he'd be the type of man to share such a moment with a child. More or less, help them the right way.

Everything changes when you have a kid of your own.

"Mind telling me what you're doing in Russia, Kid?" Questioned a familiar voice from behind the hero, his Australian accent carrying his authoritative tone with perfect execution.

As Oliver swiftly turned around, he was met with the worn face of his old friend, Slade Wilson.

He was dressed in a long black trench coat paired with a matching black eyepatch, its thin strap wrapping loosely around his graying hair. His face wore a skeptically intrigued expression that reminded Oliver clearly of the many other times the two men had "run" into one another throughout the years.

Yeah, that time on Lian Yu with Thea was really fun, especially the part where he almost snapped my neck.

"We need to get to a safe location, first," responded Oliver, his eyes watching the entire crowd of bystanders as both men walked to a table near the edge of the marketplace.

The former enemies sat down in two of the pull out metal chairs, the seats' legs screeching loudly against the concrete ground as they looked across the table at one another.

"Is this one of those times when you ask me for another favor?" Inquired Slade, his black-gloved fingers tapping the top of the table, expectantly.

Slade was a very patient man when it was necessary, though he did not take kindly to minor interruptions during operations.

"Yes, but it's more than that. It's about your sons, Slade," answered Oliver, his blue eyes seemingly watching the stronger man with caution.

You never want to use a trigger word when it comes to the once-mirakuru induced soldier because despite not having such a lust for blood, he could still kill his prey in a heartbeat if necessary.

Slade didn't say a word, his voice seemingly lost in the endless tangle of a chest everyone called a heart. For so long had he been searching for the two most important things in his life. The very people who gave his tragedy and hidden misery a means of eventual escape one day. Something other than Shado to love. His sons.

"My boys, you found them both? You found Grant?" Asked Slade, his booming voice now only a whisper of its former self as he gazed intently into Oliver's eyes.

Never in his life had he gotten the chance to meet his second-born child, to see his happy smile like he'd seen Joe's before his own mistakes corrupted the young boy's mind.

"Yes, we've located Joe and Grant," answered Oliver, a look of honesty covering his scruffy face.

Having a kid hate you? Yeah, that was definitely a concept that had crossed the Archer's mind in the last several days.

Since the first moment I saved William from Damian Darhk, I only ever wanted him to be happy because he deserved the very best things in life. They both do.

Slade ran his hand over his mouth, his fingertips brushing against the thick black beard that covered the lower section of his face.

"Are they okay?" Continued Slade, a look of extreme anticipation covering his stern face.

Not many people could give Oliver Queen a run for his money on hiding their emotions, though Slade did a pretty decent job at trying.

"They're alright, but my kids aren't going to be if we don't get to them soon," replied Oliver, a slight hint of impatience ringing throughout his voice.

It's not that he didn't want to answer all of Slade's questions and help him reconnect with his sons (That's what we were trying to do in the first place) but right now, all he could think about was the possible pain his kids might be suffering as he and Slade sat in shabby metal chairs just talking to one another.

"You mean Joe caught both of them, right?" Confirmed Slade, his eyes narrowed tightly as he awaited Oliver's correction.

"I'm sorry, Slade, but Grant's in on Joe's plan, too," stated Oliver, sympathetically.

He didn't want to imagine what it must've felt like to have not one, but two children follow in his villainous footsteps. A concept that had frequently overtaken the Green Arrow's nightmares during some of the worst moments of his life.

Slade sighed a heavy breath, letting a flood of regret wash over his strong body like the rushing wind against a rocky mountain's peak.

"Okay, Kid, well I guess it's time for us to team up like old times," reasoned Slade, determinedly.

"I guess so," nodded Oliver as both men pushed themselves out of their chairs.

One thought still seemed to linger prominently throughout the hero's mind as he watched Slade grab his black trench coat from the back of the rusted seat.

Once we find the kids, and we will find the kids, I need to make sure they're safe before I help Slade deal with his sons because we both have too many different priorities as to what we care about going into his fight. But right now, he's the best help I can get considering the rest of the team's back at Star City. Plus, who knows what stupid rules the Monitor has about involving more people in this supposive family trip...

"Teammates?" Confirmed Oliver as he extended out his bruised hand for the former Deathstroke.

"Teammates," agreed Slade as he shook Oliver's hand firmly, both men's grasp equal in strength.

You tried to hurt the wrong family, Joe.