Author's Note: Unless asked for, this will be the final chapter of Brick. It is told from Jason's POV and documents his feelings towards a solo patrol of the city with Bruce in his ear.

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Enjoy.

Brick 10

Jason

Tonight, I'm patrolling solo. It's not a big deal – I've done it a dozen times before when Bruce is out of town on business – but this is the first time he's running cave duties. Al's gone off to the motherland for his usual two weeks' vacation. Normally, if Al's away and Bruce is here, the big guy runs the show on the streets and I do the support piece back in the cave. He figures he's less likely to get a catastrophic injury than me, which is kind of insulting, but I get. I think we both feel nervous without Al's medical skills on tap. So, why he's got me running the streets while he sits on his ass in the command chair watching, is something I don't really get. Since I've got him in my ear all night, I tell him as much after dumping my bike in a nearby alleyway.

"So, why's the fourteen-year-old doing the wet work and the seasoned pro doing the armchair warrior stuff?" I ask scaling the Ace Chemical building with the ease of a guy who's climbed it a thousand times already. "Do you want a front row seat to see me fuck up your city or...?"

"You will do nothing of the sort. Alfred has often expressed how...extraordinary it is to watch you work on camera. This seems like a perfect opportunity to witness the spectacle for myself. Unless, you think yourself ill-equipped to handle the workload alone?" He says over the comm link. I smirk and roll my eyes.

"Keep your ass in that chair, big guy. I got this. You just watch, huh?" I tell him as I take a quick look around the city from the rooftop. I hear him chuckle softly in my left ear.

"I fully intend to."

The night starts out exactly as I want it to, with a decent warm-up. I stop a gang of four teen gangbangers from harassing a mother and her kids without breaking any bones. The big man says nothing at all. He doesn't tell me my technique was sloppy, or my footwork was awkward, or that my punches were telegraphed. I mean, none of that stuff applied just now, but he usually tears me a new one every time things get hot and heavy on the streets. Sometimes I earn the ball-breaking because sometimes I look for shortcuts in battle that he doesn't like. But tonight, I feel good and his lack of running commentary makes me feel even better.

The warm-up gives way to a better test of my abilities. There's a shoot-out in the Narrows between six members of the GCPD and at least twelve members of the Gotham Kings. Long story short, the GCPD are losing because they've been pinned down and cornered into a dead-end alley. The Kings are beginning to close in like sharks that smell blood in the water. It's all very desperate-looking stuff. The GCPD don't need more names for their memorial wall and the scum don't need a confidence boost. So, I first even the odds then destroy them in my favour. If there was ever a time Bruce would verbally rip me apart, it would be when I use house bricks to knock five of the Kings unconscious whilst circling above them on my grapnel line. But no reprimand comes over the airwaves. Nothing comes over the link at all.

I take that as encouragement and proceed to drop down from the sky and fight three of the Kings' remaining shooters hand-to-hand, making sure I'm way too close and in-their-face for them to use their pistols. They pop off a few shots in my general direction, but the accuracy is not there. If it was, they would have killed all six of the cops by now. Instead, they've only grazed one of them, and even that was luck instead of skill. As I deliver a boot to the face of the tenth King I've taken down in as many minutes, I'm pretty confident I'm all skill. That leaves two left that I can see. They both have guns trained on my head. I smile at them and what must be a ten-foot gap between us. No way are they hitting me from there, not with those lazy-ass stances. The kick will knock them both over.

"You can either surrender or I can make you surrender to law enforcement. My way involves losing your front teeth and the use of one or more of your limbs. If you run, I'll get mean and just break both legs. What's it going to be boys? Peace or war?" I shout to them over the wail of approaching sirens. Both guys, kids only a few years older than me, slowly put their weapons on the ground before sinking to their knees, hands atop their heads. I nod. "Smart move."

Three squad cars show up three minutes later and give the six officers more than enough back-up to arrest and cart away the dregs. I'm about to leave when one of the gang members I didn't render unconscious calls me over. He's a good-looking kid, around seventeen, with some pretty nice hair and an air of confidence around himself that reminds me of myself. But the handcuffs suit him. They'd never suit me. I smile at him.

"Listen dude, I'm flattered, but I'm really not into guys." I say, even though I know he isn't interested in me like that either. He rolls his eyes and smirks.

"You're funnier than the last time we ran into each other."

"I think I'd remember a guy with your jawline, dude. Looks like it could cut glass."

"You remember that brick I clocked you with?" He says to jar a really vague memory from a few months back.

I laugh out-loud. "You? You're brick guy? My boss said I beat the living shit out of you."

"You did. I was laid up for six weeks afterwards. What about you?"

"Two weeks. Took me that long to get the blood out of my gloves." I quip before giving him a quick peek of my still, mostly, pristine gloves. "Look sweet as hell though, huh?"

"Man, if you didn't have the skills to back up that mouth of yours, you'd get eaten alive."

"Yeah, well, you obviously didn't learn anything from last time otherwise you wouldn't be trying to get yourself framed up as a cop killer. Are you just dumb or...?"

"Turns out it's a lot harder to leave a gang than to join it. You're lucky you're only in a gang of two. When it gets beyond a thousand, things get a little...complicated."

"What do you want from me, dude? You want me to put in a good word or just listen to your life story like I care?" I say. He shrugs.

"I've only spoken to you for like a minute and I already know you're not the sort of guy to do either of those things. I just wanted to say that I'm glad you talked me out of trying to shoot you. You're one of the good guys."

"Yeah, well, you're still going downtown for a leisurely game of 'drop the soap' in the showers at Gotham County. If you do your time and maybe try to turn over a new leaf, then we'll talk shop. Until then, I'm out." I leave him to his fate and don't feel the slightest bit sorry for him or his crappy life. Make your bed and lie in it, asshole. Once I'm back on the rooftops, I make contact with my one spectator. "Are you going to say anything about what you're seeing tonight? I know for a fact you're not cool with half the stuff I've done already."

"I thought the debrief could wait until you returned. I do not want my remarks to adversely affect your performance."

"I don't want to wait. What did I do wrong, big guy? Tell me, please?"

"House bricks, Robin? Really?" He says in a way I want to argue with but can't because he's right. I suck my teeth and nod.

"Yeah, I should've used projectiles...or gas...or smoke. Sorry, big guy."

"May I ask why you used bricks to begin with? Is it due to the fact it was that gang that caused your head-injury all those months ago?"

"Yeah. Petty, huh? Kind of 'tit-for-tat' bullshit."

"You're better than that. Don't stoop to their level. It is beneath you. Okay?"

"Yeah, I hear you. Anything else?"

"The use of prison rape as a quip. There is no need to say such a thing. You, of all people, know the psychological harm such a violation can cause another human being. Again, I think it is beneath you."

I smirk. "Not behind me?"

"Please Jason, don't joke. It... upsets me to think of you in such a situation." I hear the genuine concern in his voice and know my past is starting to bum him out in a big way, now we're clicking better as people. So I dial it back.

"Okay, Boss-man. No more, I promise. Where do you want me to go next?"

"Police scanners indicate a raid is being prepared on a brothel that features victims of human trafficking. It is in the Bowery, east of Markham Street. Kindly lend them a hand with the traffickers."

"I'm on it."

The raid runs like clockwork and the results are as sweet as a nut. Eighteen rescued women, twelve arrested traffickers, no runners, no casualties and no mistakes whatsoever. I didn't even move from the damn rooftop the boys in blue were so efficient and on their game. "Are you impressed?" Bruce asks over the comm link. I smile and nod.

"They are drilled. That was so smooth it almost gave me a hardon."

"I don't need to know. There are incoming reports of a large-scale fight breaking out in Park Row. Would you please turn your attentions westward now?"

"I'm already moving, big man."

This time, I'm a lot more heavily involved in the action, which I like. I count forty guys whaling on each other like there's no tomorrow and quickly jump into the mosh pit of human punchbags for some technique practice. I start low, sweeping legs behind the knee and mid-calf. I stomp at least ten groins in my follow-up to the sweep once they're eagle-spread on the ground. That takes them so far out of commission, they become trip-hazards instead of actual threats. Then I move past the belt-line for fast-punch combinations. I go for two left straights and a right hook on the first guy and then add in an initial feint before stringing alternative body punches onto the end of the combo with the next five guys. The last body punch always drops them hard enough that they struggle to breathe. After that, I graduate to the fun stuff: soft tissue.

Throat, eyes and, to a lesser extent, nose. I would go for the solar plexus but like to work in neat sections when I'm drilling techniques like these. The next batch of practice dummies get their throats punched and their eyes gouged before I deliver the coup de grace by breaking their noses in at least two places. I make sure I don't apply too much force to the punch on their throats or get too happy with the eye-gouging. Incapacitate, not maim. I got the memo like a thousand times. I'm cool with mercy, even if they don't deserve it. Fifteen minutes, and roughly one-hundred-and-twenty-five strikes later, I'm the last man standing. The fight is over. Nobody wins. No need to call the cops out for this one. Everybody learnt a lesson about fisticuffs in public – don't fucking do it. Most of them will get up and hobble away in another five or ten minutes. The ones who don't will get hauled away by their friends in this little turf spat. But no-one's crossing the boundary lines for the rest of the night.

"I feel good, big guy. Where next?"

"Home. It's gone one."

"No way! Last time I checked it was barely after eleven!"

"You have been in almost continuous motion for close to six hours. It is time to call it a night. From what I can see, Commissioner Gordon and his police force have the city under firm control. You are now surplus to requirement, not because you are not useful, but because you have been useful enough tonight. Understand?"

My hands are desperate to ball themselves back into fists and continue the fight. My whole body is screaming out for a bigger challenge, a tougher ask. But it's been that way since I first graduated to the mantle. I've been bred for war and programmed to love combat. He didn't mean to make me this way. It just happened. My anger made it happen. Sometimes It's hard to switch off the instincts. It's why he's struggled to control me in the past, and why I've struggled to control myself. But now, everything's cool. Everything is balanced – inside. My hands go limp. I nod my head.

"I understand. I'll be home in twenty."

I get back to the cave quickly enough to surprise him. When I move up from the vehicle park to where he's stood in the command centre, I see it. He's smiling. Not like normal people. Normal people make sure you know they're happy. They smile big. Bruce smiles small. Like, almost not smiling at all. It means he's really stoked with you. It means I did a good job tonight. It makes me grin back.

"Alfred was right. That was...a pleasure." He informs me as I take off my mask to look him in the eye. "The incidents we discussed aside, you were everything I expected you to be out there. I hope you are proud of yourself."

"Honestly, that's no different than I throw down every night. I wasn't aiming to impress you or anything, just get the job done."

"I know. That is probably what impresses me most, that your default setting is, for most part, very reassuring to me. You are safe without being meek and heavy-handed without bordering on sadistic. It was not always that way."

"I know. And, I'm sorry for how I used to be. I get I went too far and got a little too into what I was doing. But I'm good now. I feel great."

"I am very glad to hear it. Please dress over to the medical bay."

It feels weird, having Bruce play Al in this scenario. Even though he wears the same latex gloves as Al to do the prodding, and acts in the same professional manner, it feels weird to have him touch me like this. It might be the fingers. Al's got these long, pianist digits, the kind you think surgeons and doctors need to do those delicate operations. When he touches me, I don't feel threatened. Bruce is another story. He's got thick-ass fingers that literally feel like steel cable when they wrap around a hand or a wrist. Every time he touches me, even like just to squeeze my shoulder, I get terrified he's going to snap something. The word 'powerful' is too weak to describe Bruce, as crazy as that sounds.

Now he's got them clamped down on my left shoulder while asking me to do a few rotations with my arm. He wants to check nothing's torn or tender. I do it gingerly, but not because I'm scared. I do it because it smarts a little. For the first time I'm not scared of him breaking something. I feel okay with him doing this. And that's what's weird to me, how at ease I am. He nods in satisfaction. He repeats it on my other shoulder. A dozen checks later sees me granted a clean bill of health.

"Do you feel I have neglected any area that could yield problems in future?" He asks me, moving to take off his gloves.

"Yeah, I got this niggle between my shoulder blades? Could you maybe see if I've pulled something or not?" I say. He frowns.

"Lean forward slightly and I'll check."

I lean forward at the waist and he snakes his massive arm underneath my armpit and up the centre of my back, feeling for a problem I just made-up. When he adjusts his position to let his other arm join in the search on my back, I lean forward until my cheek is on his shoulder and both my arms are halfway around his back. I hear him smirk when he realises I've duped him into hugging me. He pats my back appreciatively.

"Very clever." He says.

"Thanks." I reply, thanking him for way more than just his last comment. I don't love many people. After losing so many people in my life I can't. But I love Al and... for the last few months at least, I love Bruce too. I get why Dick loves him so much, even after all the shitty things he's done to the guy. He could've handled my concussion differently. He could've treated me the same when I got my marbles back and kept the status quo. But he didn't. He made a real effort to make me feel better about myself. He gave me options I never knew were on the table before. More important than that, he let me catch my breath. This is the first time since I started being Robin that I had time to think and plan ahead of the next kick. I don't feel like a homage to Golden Boy anymore. I just feel like me, and that being myself is enough for him. It's so much more relaxing. Hug the Batman kind of relaxing.

"You're more than welcome." He says, quicker than I thought he would. He pushes me away and I let him. Six seconds. That's enough. He claps me on the shoulder. "Go shower. Then, come upstairs. I've got a... surprise of sorts for you."

When I get upstairs in the library, there isn't a prostitute waiting for me, or even a just Playboy and a a tub of hand cream. Instead, there's just Bruce, with nothing in his hands. I shrug my shoulders.

"Is the surprise there's no surprise?" I check with half-a-sigh. He smirks.

"I would not be so cruel." He walks towards me until we're almost nose to nose. "Hold out your hand please." I do as I'm told and hold out my hand, palm up. Maybe this is where I finally give him a hand job. Thankfully, before I can actually think about what that would look like, he puts an airline ticket and what looks like a museum stub in my hand. I look at them both.

"Glamorous Ambler, Pennsylvania, huh? Do they have coke and hooker parties there too? And I guess this is my stub for free drinks at its most amazing nightspot, 'the Stoogeum'? What the hell's a stooge..." Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. The Stoogeum? The place that holds more than a hundred thousand pieces of Three Stooges memorabilia? My version of comedy Mecca? The place I've wanted to visit since I was nine and broke living in Bludhaven? Holy shit. I can't even...wowee. Jackpot.

"Can I assume that a three-night stay and a private guided tour of the museum is something you would be interested in partaking in?" The big guy says even though we both know I can barely hear him right now. I just keep looking at the tickets.

"You're really taking me? Mr Marx-Brothers-Until-I-Die is really taking me to pay homage to the greatest comedians who ever lived?"

"Don't rub any more salt in the wound than is necessary. This already hurts enough. Are you coming?"

"Maybe a little. I mean, it's not that exciting..."

"I meant to the museum. You knew that."

"This is the most awesome thing you've ever done. Thank you so, so much, Bruce. I really...I really appreciate you doing this for me. I can't wait."

"No hug for this?"

"Hell, no. I gave you a real one down in the cave. One now would feel really cheap by comparison." Even though I sound light, I'm serious about the hugging. I don't even give Al more than one or two a week, and sometimes I regret dishing out the second one. I'm actually starting to think that I hurt Bruce a little, by not showing him much physical affection before the brick. Since I got a little more cosy with him, he seems warmer. More human. But that still doesn't make him normal.

"Fair enough. As indicated on the airline ticket, we leave tomorrow afternoon. I suggest you get some sleep so you can pack adequately in the morning. Goodnight, Jason."

I grab his wrist before he can get more than two steps away. I scoff. "You think I'm done with you?" He knows what this means. Yeah, yeah, grin away, big guy, by all means. Jason Todd wants a story. The fourteen-year-old tough guy wants you to read him some dusty old book by some dead guy, laugh it up. "Can we finish that one about the guy with the aging picture by that Irish fag?"

"It is called 'the Picture of Dorian Gray' and is by Oscar Wilde, one of the most lauded poets and writers of the nineteenth century. His sexuality is wholly irrelevant in this context."

"But I remembered it, and his nationality. I have to get points for that, right?"

"Perhaps a little. Will you indulge me and wear clothes tonight?"

"Nope. I can't...I can't sleep with clothes on." I tell him. This is the first time I've admitted to anyone that wearing clothes to bed is something I really can't do if I want a decent night's shut-eye. I'm not ready to open the closet on the childhood trauma that sparked it but being able to tell someone is good enough for now. The big man nods.

"Very well. Remind me to pack a sleeping mask for the hotel room." He says to turn it into a joke I appreciate. We both smile. It's a good feeling.

Ten minutes later, I'm buck under the sheets and Bruce is sat on top of the sheets with his book. We pick up after Dorian gets back from travelling the highways and byways of human depravity and roll from there. It takes me all of six minutes to decide it's okay for me to cuddle into his side and let his hand run through my hair. This is as close to being absolutely happy as I have ever been. This is the safest I have ever felt with another human being, my folks included. And all because of a fucking brick. What a world. What a fucked-up and beautiful world. I let my eyes close and my mind to drift a little.

"Lying on the floor was a dead man, in evening dress, with a knife in his heart. He was withered, wrinkled and loathsome of visage. It was not till they had examined the rings that they recognised who it was." The big man says. I wait to hear more but get nothing else. I open my eyes and push away from him.

"That's it? That's the end?" I check. Bruce nods and closes the book.

"That's the end."

"That story sucked. Strike off the reading list. And whatever else he wrote. Don't like him." I say, sticking my arms above my head to stretch out my spine. The big man smirks.

"I expected as much. He is...not to everyone's tastes. Who would you like to hear next?"

"Whoever wrote Frankenstein. I like Frankenstein movies."

"Mary Shelly it is then."

"A chick? A girl wrote Frankenstein? Kudos to her, huh?"

"She was a woman when she wrote it, not a girl. Frankenstein the book is markedly different to Frankenstein the film. You may not find it to your tastes either."

"I'll give it a whirl, just to check. I'm ready to call it a night. Wake me up in the morning? Otherwise we'll miss the flight."

"Certainly." He says hauling his fat ass off my bed and ambling towards the door like some enormous bear. I settle down into the mattress and close my eyes as he hovers by the light switch. There's a click and then his usual farewell. "Goodnight, Jason."

I give up a yawn, and then something much bigger to show him I care. "Goodnight, Dad."