Author's Note: Well, here it is, the conclusion to the first story in the Black and Red universe. I have two more stories completely planned that will cover all of Jason's arc and will be told from his POV, and a few to be told from Dick's POV that will follow another arc. The Black and Red world is too interesting to put away now, I've got to bring Tim and Damien into it after all ). I hope you all enjoy the end of Black and Red and will stick with me for other stories.

Chapter 11

I have to check on him one more time before going on patrol.

I push Dick's bedroom door open and peer in. His beside lamp is on and his laptop is open, but my brother's asleep. He lies on his side, snoring. As much as I'd love to slam him about it, I know my bro only snores when something's wrong. His lungs are still fucked.

I creep into the room and close his laptop before moving it onto his night stand. "Okay, bro, your turn." I grab a few pillows from the head of the bed and prop 'em up, then, very gently, I lift Dick under his arms and move him so that his upper body's on the pillows. The snoring stops almost immediately. He's got his blankets and sheets tangled around his legs and I sit on the end of the bed, sorting them out.

Dick's only been home a few days, but already this place is starting to go back to normal. I mean, Dickie sleeps most of the time, but just him being here changes the atmosphere. Bruce is Bruce again, Alfie is tutting again, and me… I don't know.

I smooth Dick's bed clothes, spread the sheet and blanket over him, and tuck them around his shoulders and chin.

"Mmm… Jay?"

I pause, and frown at him as he stares at me with those saucer eyes. "You're wearing your thermals."

"Yeah." I fidget.

"You and Bruce are going out tonight?" His voice is drained of energy and hoarse, but he manages to sound like he cares.

"Yeah." Don't know why I feel shy about it. It's like it's my first time going out with Bruce, when I was a nervous wreck, scared I'd screw up everything…and excited as hell to kick ass with Batman. But… it kinda is like it's my first time. It's been almost six weeks since I worked with Bruce, six weeks since my first kill, and two since my second. I'm not the little kid Bruce worked with anymore…

…and Brucie knows that. He was in denial after the pedo, but after Larusso, there's no ignoring it.

I choked on my dinner when he asked me if I wanted to patrol tonight.

After all that's happened, Batman wants Falcon to fly with him again. I can think of a million reasons why he wouldn't want me, and I know Bruce can think of them, too.

"Well, don't trip or do anything too stupid while I'm not there to catch ya, bro," Dick murmurs.

I snort and ruffle his gypsy curls, and he catches my hand before I can pull it away. His saucers are burning me with their intensity. "You're a good guy, Jay. You do what you do to help people. Don't feel bad about it."

I squeeze his hand, wondering if my eyes are as intense as his. I can't tell, because my vision's getting a little blurry. I feel like a chick on the rag around Dickie-bird lately, and I'm tired of wanting to cry. "Even when I shoot people?"

Dick doesn't blink and doesn't let go of my hand. "You didn't shoot a person."

"Wha…?"

"You shot a monster," Dick says. "He doesn't count."

"Are all criminals gonna be monsters, now?" I ask. "Are we changing our rules, crossing that line?" My voice is calm, but my insides are swimming in confusion and anger and grief and God knows what else; geez, I'm a walking pile of shit.

"No," Dick says; he finally turns the saucer beams off. "Because we'd become monsters, too. But…"

But he doesn't want me to feel bad.

I know. I work my hand out of his, and pat his shoulder through his blankets. "Go back to sleep, bro. You want me to let you know when we get back in?"

Dick nods, the set of his jaw tells me he wants to say more, but he doesn't. "Be safe, Jay."

"Goodnight, Dick."

I leave his room, making sure to keep the door open a crack. It ain't really necessary. Alfie's got one of those baby monitors set up in there and he keeps the receiver on him at all times. He can hear Dick from all over the house. Bruce might have one on him, too; in fact, I'd be surprised if he doesn't.

I make my way to the study and open the grandfather clock to access the Cave. It's colder down here than I remember. I haven't been down since the weather took a turn from chilly to cold, and the Bat Cave always feels like the Arctic in the winter. My thermal underwear covers my whole body and seals in heat, but damn Bruce. A little centralized heating wouldn't break the bank.

It only takes a minute to get Falcon's uniform on. It's second skin for me, though it's fitting a little loose in places. Guess Dick isn't the only person who lost weight while he was in the hospital. I start to leave the changing area, but catch a glimpse of Falcon in the mirror. I stop to admire him. Black and gold, a play on Robin's costume kinda. Where his costume is red on black, mine's black on black, but with the same gold hooks, buttons, belts and emblems. The original version of my costume had way more gold in it, but I got over that phase as quick as Robin got over the short pants and green boots. (Geez, that's what happens when you let an 8 year old have a say in his costume design.)

I come out of the changing room. Bruce is sitting at the computer, fingers steepled. I'd usually go stand behind him, but… I just feel like an intruder, like I can't join him until he invites me or something.

"Jason."

At the sound of my name, I do walk up to stand behind Bruce's chair. My hands go up to rest on the back of the leather seat and stop. I don't know if Bruce…

The chair spins around and I jump back. "Whoa!"

Bruce is dressed for a night on the rooftops, but the cowl's pulled back. I got half Bruce Wayne, half Batman staring at me. He looks good, freshly shaven, hair combed; much better than the homeless look he had going on for the past few weeks.

I squirm under his scrutiny.

"How are you feeling?" Bruce asks. He keeps staring at me, dissecting my reaction.

"Me?" Stupid, of course me. "Oh… good, I guess." I trace the gold "F" for Falcon on my breastbone with my index finger. Brucie and me haven't really talked much, not since Dick almost died, not since Dick came back to the manor. There's always a reason for us not to be in a room together for more than a few seconds.

We've become "hi" and "bye" people.

"Uh…" I shrug. "How are you feeling?"

Bruce frowns, his brow knitting as he seems to really take in that question. "Not well."

I blink and step closer. He doesn't look sick or hurt, but that never means anything. Bruce is good at hiding anything that can make him seem weak. "What's wrong? Are you sick? We shouldn't go out, if…"

Bruce is shaking his head. "I…" he trails off. "I did something, said something."

Now, I'm frowning. What the fuck? "Uh… okay? You hurt some lady's feelings?" Since when does Bruce care about what he says to his bimbos? He told one of them her fake boob was lopsided—wait, no; that was me.

"No." Bruce clears his throat. "Jase, I… I said something to you. I wasn't thinking, and I never should have said it."

I flash back to the hospital. Bruce looks like he's praying. Dickie looks like he's dying. And I'm watching pigeons through the window.

'Did Larusso suffer?'

"But it was true, what you said. You're glad that bastard hurt before he died," I say it with conviction, because I know I'm right. Bruce can't take that back and give me a lecture about right and wrong. He's fucking thrilled Larusso didn't get an easy way out after what he did to us. He tried to take Dick away, and he almost did, and he was punished.

I think that he still got off easy. He only hurt for a minute or so, Dick will hurt for a long time to come.

Bruce sighs, and looks a million years old for a minute. "Yes, it's true. He wanted to kill Dick; if you hadn't been there, he would have, and I take pleasure in knowing that he won't get away. He won't just be locked in Blackgate, getting three meals a day and talking to defense lawyers who might get him a deal and have him back on the streets in five years. It's normal, to feel like I do, but it doesn't make it right to share that with a child."

"I'm not a child!" I shout.

"You are," Bruce says. He stretches out a hand to me and I am so tempted to smack it out of my face. "I'm sorry, Jason. This is what I should have said to you. I should have said: you're a hero for protecting your brother, but I'm sorry that it was you there instead of me. Killing Larusso was not something that you should have had to do."

"Are saying you woulda done it? No, no you wouldna! And he'd be in jail, and like you said, probably out in five years! He shot Dick. God, Bruce, what if he died? He really, really almost died. Right there, on the floor. I couldn't make him stop bleeding and the doctors and nurses were all hiding and pissing themselves! The police came in first; the fuckin' police."

"Jason…" Bruce tries to cut me off, but no! I gotta fuckin' say this, 'cuz I ain't said it to anybody. It's all inside me, and I don't wanna be a walking shit pile anymore.

I back away from Bruce; I don't want him to touch me, not while I'm talking. My eyes are burning and I'm blinking like crazy to keep back tears. I can't start crying now, not in front of Bruce.

"I don't remember what happened the first time I shot the guy. I kinda woke up holding the gun, but the second time, I was there for it. I thought about Dick and the lady with the dead kid, and I wanted Larusso to pay, to die, and go away forever so he couldn't shoot up another hospital full of moms and kids."

Bruce doesn't break his gaze away from me, and he's not trying to interrupt me anymore. He sits with his hands in his lap, solemn and calm; a damn Batman gaze, and I don't want Batman. I want Bruce… I want… I want my dad.

Not Dick's soccer dad, not my dead, loser of a father, but Bruce, the Bruce that taught me martial arts and how to ride a motorcycle. The one who gives one-armed man hugs and who looks like a deer in headlights when things get emotional. That Bruce.

"I was empty, Bruce. I was empty when I shot him. I'm empty when I think about it, and I don't know that it's bad to be empty, because I was right to kill him. Nothing will ever make me think that I wasn't right. I don't care what you say."

I'm starting to feel hot, to burn; I'm gonna need to hit something soon, to scream. I plop down on my ass right where I am, like a little kid ready for story time, crisscross applesauce. I gotta do something to pin my legs down, or I'll run out of here and do something ape-shit crazy.

I don't know my eyes are closed, or that I'm counting, until I sense someone standing in front of me. I know it's Bruce 'cuz I don't hear him move. I feel knees against mine. Bruce is sitting down on the floor, crisscross applesauce. I open my eyes, and growl as wetness seeps out and runs onto my cheeks. I said I didn't wanna cry in front of Bruce.

I rub at my eyes, my gloves scratch the skin around 'em, making it ache.

"I should have been there," Bruce says, his voice strong. His grip on my shoulders hurts, but I don't make a sound. "You two shouldn't have been there alone. When Alfred leaves, I'm supposed to take his place. I was supposed to be there."

My lips are trembling and I can't make them form words without it sounding funny. Bruce wants to blame himself? "You needed to sleep, Bruce. You needed to eat and take care of yourself. If you'd have been there…" God, if Bruce had been there, would he have been any good to me? The Bruce that woulda been in that room wasn't my Bruce. And I never seen a Not My Bruce fight before. He coulda been the one to get shot… Wait, is that what he wanted?

"You woulda jumped on the bullet. You think you shoulda got shot!"

Bruce's jaw sets and he says nothing.

"If you got shot, I'da still killed Larusso! Nobody messes with family, Bruce. Shit, isn't that why we do this?" I pull at my cape. "A scumbag killed your parents, a scumbag killed Dick's parents… my scumbag parents killed themselves. We're out there getting rid of scumbags because scumbags kill people other people love. Why should we care about a scumbag going out the same way he sends his victims? Why, Bruce? Cuz it makes us no better? Bullshit. Those cops know I shot Larusso dead after he was already down, and they're writing it up as self defense. They don't fuckin' care; they saw what he did. If the law makes exceptions, then why can't Batman?"

"If vigilantes start killing, then we'd lose police support. We'd go to jail just like the crooks," Bruce says.

"But the police at the hospital…"

"At the hospital, you were Jason Todd, son of Bruce Wayne, with a sick brother bleeding to death after being shot by a psychotic ex-con who'd already killed his ex-wife and hospital staff. How would they look pressing charges against you?" Bruce's eyes aren't as blue as Dickie-bird's, but they're still bright.

"But if they bring in Falcon, or Batman, for finally proving to be threats to the community because they aren't opposed to using lethal force? They're not going to worry about image," Bruce says.

"So, this is all about how good you look in public?"

"No, Jason. This is about our safety and our being allowed to continue doing our jobs as protectors of the city," Bruce says. "What you did as Jason Todd… you did nothing wrong, son. Nothing. You are the reason Dick is upstairs sleeping in his bed. But… intentionally killing someone, it hurts you inside. I don't want that for you. And looking at you now… you're not all right. Your school counselor wants you to take a leave of absence from school, to get a tutor. Your teachers agree."

"Fuck them," I say through gritted teeth.

"No," Bruce says and he shakes me. My eyes go wide as Dickie's saucers. "They're right. You need a break from them, from the mundane. Like we talked about earlier, you need an outlet. So, we're going out and you're going to work this out, while at the same time showing me that I can still trust you to do things our way."

Our way? It's "our" way, and not "his" way.

"I think maybe you need to know that you can still do things our way. It's been too long since you've been in costume and worked with me. I want you to remember how we do it and what we do it for. No more accidents," Bruce says.

I blink and cuss at feeling more tears coming. Shit, what do I gotta do to make it stop? I scrub at my eyes again. "You want me to go back to cuffing murdering scumbags and hoping they stay in jail and rot insteada being let out on 'good behavior'."

"Can you?" Bruce asks. "Once you cross that line, Jay, it's hard to come back. You're too young to play the line. If you can't do this, then Falcon is no more."

Falcon is no more. Weeks ago, I thought I could accept that from Bruce. I would cry and feel awful, but I thought it'd be what I deserved. But you know what, I can't accept it, I won't. Falcon is good. Falcon is a hero. Falcon is who I want to be; someone better than my lowlife parents, someone better than what the people who talk behind Bruce's back about me expect.

Falcon has to fly… but he's gonna fly different now.

"I can do it," I breathe. "I won't cross the line"—unless I really mean it.

I grunt in surprise as Bruce's arms close around me and I'm pulled to his chest. He holds me there for a long time. He doesn't rub my back or stroke my hair like Alfie, but he clutches me for dear life, like if he lets go I'll die—or he'll die.

"Don't let me ruin you, Jason. Don't let anyone ruin you," Bruce murmurs. "You're a good kid. Everything you do, every choice you make, comes from your heart. You're passionate and you love so hard it scares me."

I'm rigid in his arms, listening to this big man talk about me. It seems like he's talking about somebody else, to somebody else, 'cuz he can't mean me—but he does.

He still sees the world in me.

And of course I see the world in him, and in Dickie-bird, and in Alfred. That's a world I want to be in; that's a world that's gotta be made. And it can't be made with filth running around killing people and selling brain-frying murder games to kids, and raping little girls.

Batman knows this, but he's too good to do what needs to be done. Robin's too good. Superman's way too good. But Falcon? Falcon's good, but he flies different.

I hear the Riddler in my head.

'Knock them out and lock them up isn't going to satisfy you much longer.'

He was right. I wanna laugh. Old Eddie was right after all, but about the wrong thing. Knocking 'em out and locking em' up ain't gonna satisfy me, 'cuz the bastards get out. Eddie thought I'd turn crook, but I'm turning somethin' else.

Yeah, there is something dark inside me, dark and empty, a place I can go when I start doing what needs to be done.

Bruce lets me go, but puts his hand on top of my head. "Are we okay, Jason? Me and you?"

I nod and grin when Bruce cracks one of those smiles he only gives Dickie-bird. Maybe, just maybe this guy in front of me just might love me almost as much as he loves Dick. And if he does, I don't wanna mess that up by telling him what I decided.

I'm 13. I'll work with Batman and Robin and do things their way. 'Their' way, not 'our' way. When I'm old enough to go solo, I'll go my way. I'll be a different hero, and I'll make it right.

Bruce stands up and offers his hands down to me, to pull me up. I take them and he tugs me to my feet. I feel good standing next to him, like I'm home where I belong. My place is with this hero right now. He's my family.

And nobody hurts my family. Not even me.

I give Bruce's shoulder a soft punch and give my eyes one last wipe. I think the tears have stopped. I reach in my pocket for my domino mask, but before I can put it over my eyes, Bruce gives me a soul-searching stare.

I'm rooted to the floor, holding my mask in weak fingers. What is it, Bruce? What do you see? The world—a good guy—a hero—or a liar?

"Do you blame me, Jason? For what's happened, to Dick, to you?"

I laugh at him, relief flooding through me and making me dizzy. "No."

He tilts his head, still studying me. He knows something's not right; I can't lie to Batman… but I can omit the truth.

"Come on, partner. The street's have missed you." Bruce pulls the cowl over his face, and Batman is now in his place.

"Yeah?" I press my mask over my eyes, and Falcon says, "I missed them, too."

Batman ruffles my hair and we walk to the Batmobile. "Oh, and Falcon?"

"Yeah, Batman?"

"I'm allowing you to go on patrol, but I haven't forgotten that you're grounded. And since you missed a couple of weeks, you'll be starting your sentence over from scratch."

I stop walking, gaping at him as he passes me by continuing on to the car.

Well… fuck

Epilogue

On my 14thbirthday, Bruce lets me have a birthday party at the manor. All my friends show up; we eat cake, and dance, and swim and play video games. I get a lotta presents. Some I want, some I don't.

Thank you Dickie-bird for the pair of Superman socks that come with a note that says: So you can stop taking mine! Thank you Alfie for the dress shirt and tie—Not! And thank you, Bruce, for the surf board and new dirt bike, but that last gift?

You can take it back where you got it from.

I don't want a little brother.