This is it you guys. I'm seriously tearing up as I write this. I've been working on this for so long, since June, I can't believe that it's done. It's so sad!

I have to plan the sequel now, which should be fun. I need ideas! I have absolutely no plot at this point, so if there's something you want to see, I'm going to be a lot more flexible than I was with this one.

Enjoy the final chapter guys!

DISCLAIMER: It's the last disclaimer! :'( *sob, sob, waaaahhh* I can't do this.

It had been a normal day at the office. Bruce had arrived, been greeted by his employees, borne some small chat, and then shut himself up in his office to do some paperwork and avoid human interaction. Everything was going fine, up until the point where a man in a halloween mask burst in and calmly informed Bruce that he was here to kill him. That put a dampener on him morning.

The man leveled his gun at him and Bruce furiously tried to come up with a way to get out of this with his secret identity intact, because he would die first. He had Dick and Tim to think of now. If this guy could manage to get into his office with a gun and not set off any alarms, he would surely be smart enough to connect the dots.

He heard the soft whine of a motorcycle from the open window.

The man fired before Bruce could think. Bruce managed to dive out of the way before the bullet pierced the air where his head had been. The assassin's eye narrowed. He fired again in a heartbeat, and this time Bruce just wasn't quick enough. He managed to move so the bullet hit his shoulder and not his heart, but he knew he would not be so lucky again. Surprisingly, however, the man lowered the gun. Bruce figured out the reason a moment later, when a burning pain began traveling down his arm.

"I don't normally resort to poisons." The man said casually, like he was commenting on the weather. "But you're notoriously hard to kill, Mr. Wayne. A hit like that- you'll be dead within 10 minutes. A particularly obscure blend of poisons, one of my own concoctions."

The man's monologuing was cut short by the sound of running footsteps. A moment later, the door burst open- again- and Dick burst into the room, wearing a pair of sunglasses. He froze when he saw the man, who was once again aiming his gun at a Wayne, producing a pair of escrima sticks from nowhere. He looked across at Bruce and swore at the sight of the shoulder wound, now leaking some sort of fluid- an effect of the poison no doubt. "How did I not see this sooner?" He muttered, then turned to the man. "Seriously? Poison? You hate poison."

The man's eye widened as he inspected the new arrival. "Nightwing?" He sounded surprised. "I thought you were visiting family, not heroing. Although this does make tracking you down easier." Bruce felt a cold clutch of fear at those words. Why was this man looking for his son?

"I was." Nightwing answered casually, not even flinching. "Unfortunately, hearing that you were in town ruined the vacation a bit. And I wasn't about to let you kill Mr. Wayne, was I? Even if I did hope to avoid you."

The man relaxed and lowered his gun. "I'm hurt." He purred. "But I was expecting the Bat."

"He's not the one keeping tabs on you, is he? You didn't set off any alarms here- if I hadn't been tipped off, I wouldn't have known." Nightwing shot back. Bruce couldn't help but feel a bit proud and grateful- Dick was still protecting him, even if he was dying, too weak to stand up. One thing confused him- why was his son keeping tabs on this mystery villain?

"You've been checking up on me? I'm flattered." The man smirked. Nightwing rolled his eyes. "Cut the crap, Slade."

Oh. That explained things a bit. Bruce started. Wait, this was Slade? Why was a Titans villain in Gotham, trying (and succeeding) to kill him?

Dick's next question brought him back to the room. "What's it going to take for you not to kill Mr. Wayne?"

"What makes you think that I'd give up, especially when I'm minutes away from success?" Slade asked curiously.

Dick smirked. "I've done my research. Way back when you would change priorities if someone offered you something better. You wouldn't stand here talking for so long when you could make a clean getaway if you didn't want something from me. So, what?"

Slade eyed him. "I'm sure you can guess. You're quiet correct, if it had been Batman who had arrived, I would be gone already."

There was a long moment of silence. Nightwing and Slade locked eyes and seemed to be communicating silently. Bruce lay by his desk, clutching his shoulder, feeling the poison spreading and wondering what the heck was going on here.

Finally, Dick nodded. "Fine." He said quietly. "The antidote?" Slade produced a pill and tossed it to him. Nightwing caught it, face impassive, and moved forward to kneel by Bruce. Slade moved out of his way, watching his every move but not interfering.

Dick reached out a placed the pill in Bruce's mouth, watching to make sure he swallowed. "Call the Titans." He whispered in Romani so Slade couldn't hear. "They'll explain everything. Don't forget about the letters. And, I'm sorry." He swallowed, then stood up. Bruce watched in confusion. Sorry for what? What was going on?

Dick turned to face Slade. His escrima sticks had disappeared just as suddenly as he had produced them. He took a step forward and stood in front of Slade, undefended.

Slade raised the gun.

Bruce's eyes widened.

Dick didn't move.

A loud crack rang through the room as Slade hit Dick over the head with the butt of the gun. Nightwing dropped like a stone, but Slade caught him before he hit the ground, and the lifted him up, carrying him bridal style. Without a further glance in Bruce's direction, he stalked out of the room, still carrying Dick. Weak from the poison, Bruce was couldn't do anything to stop him. He managed to drag himself over to the window and saw Slade loading his son into a car, then getting in after him. The door shut and the car drove off as Bruce began to hear sirens.

A tear trickled down Bruce's cheek as he watched his son being kidnapped. Oh Dick, He thought, as police and paramedics began rushing into the room, What is going on? What does he want with you?

In Slade's newest hideout, Slade laid the unconscious hero on a bed made up with blue sheets, careful not to disturb the sunglasses shielding the young man's face. He put Nightwing's utility belt, minus the communicators, on a chair near the bed on top of a t-shirt and some pants. Then he left the room, turning out the lights as he went. The darkness crept forward and enveloped the figure on the bed, concealing him from view.

At long last, Slade had his apprentice back.

*Starts crying again*

Oh god, I can't believe I'm being so sappy about this...

The sequel will go up eventually. Probably not for a while, but, eventually. I'll probably post something on this story to let you all know.

REVIEW! It's the last chapter, c'mon people!