Author's Note: Alfred is dealing with his own emotions as well as Jason's. Bruce is not the only one to feel responsible for the boy's bad actions. At the end of his rope, the old man finds their wayward son not quite as far gone as he feared. Enjoy.

Descent 3

Shackles

When the master of the household tells me to gauge his charge for signs of mental instability, I do not question the order or manner in which it is given. I am a servant, first and foremost, catering to every want and need of those I serve. However, the irony of such a request from a master who himself has too many psychological issues to name in one lifetime is not lost on me. I too bear mental scars from my time in the servitude of the Wayne family. After mending so many broken bones and shattered hearts, it cannot be avoided. With Jason, I fear he has been hurt and broken too many times to fix for any longer than a few weeks before an inevitable implosion. Regardless, I must endeavour to carry out my master's orders to the best of my ability. So I seek out our wayward ragamuffin and find him sat amongst the roses.

He is bruised and cut and very tired by recent events. He sits with his back propped against a low wall and his legs stretched out before him. With nothing but a pair of shorts to hide his blushes, the lad resembles a worn and forlorn doll mistreated by a zealous child as he sits staring up at the sky. I cannot help but feel this particular analogy is truer than I would dare admit, given Master Bruce's strained relationship with the boy. I note he has an unlit cigarette hanging out the corner of his mouth and seems to be chewing on it as I announce my presence with a clearing of the throat.

"I haven't caved, Al. I'm just chewing it. Nicotine patches make me want one more than if I just smoke the stupid things in the first place." The boy informs me without taking his eyes off the clouds above. The young man seems oblivious to the chaos he has just caused upstairs. I am however glad he is now acknowledging my presence and engaging me in conversation. For months before now, he has ignored me entirely, despite my efforts to mend burnt bridges. I sit down beside him.

"I did not believe you would surrender so tamely, Master Jason. How are your injuries faring?"

"I've had worse. He fill you in on the plan for the arms bust?" The boy says before proceeding to suck on his cancer stick like a lollypop. He knows I deplore such slovenly practices and I wonder if he is doing it deliberately.

"Master Bruce was kind enough to furnish me with the vague particulars of the operation, yes. Are you happy with what he requires?"

"Well, busting heads is probably my speciality so I'm fairly happy with the sketch." He turns to me, "I just fuck everything up, right?"

"I suppose it could be interpreted as that, yes." I respond without any kind of awkward pause, despite wondering if the lad is hinting at a wider picture with his statement. Jason nods, but looks so unhappy that I cannot help but briefly comb through his hair in a gesture of affection. My gesture is not met well. The boy narrows his eyes at me before getting to his feet and walking off without another word. There was a time when such displays were common and well-received between us. That is evidently no longer the case and I am left to rue my mistake alone.

I find him lounging on the sofa some two hours later, watching the idiot lantern and whatever passes for entertainment these days. He has prepared a poorly-made peanut butter and jelly sandwich and is lazily tearing it into pieces whilst occasionally dropping some of it into his mouth. He has yet to dress and seems even more apathetic than in the garden. Since I have completed my cleaning duties for the morning and attended to Master Bruce, I positioned myself at the side of the sofa and clear my throat.

"May I join you, young man?"

"I'm not getting up if you do." The boy informs me without bothering to glance in my direction. His current reclined position means he occupies all of the available space. I am unperturbed.

"I don't mind. Indulge me?"

"It's all crap, Al, you know that right? Just fat women and soaps." Jason says whilst raising his legs just high enough for me to squeeze into the gap created. I gratefully sit down and the lad brings his feet to rest in my lap.

"You seem not to mind."

"I'm just as white trash as they are, Al. You can't look down on your own kind, right? I'm many things, but I'm still not a hypocrite." The lad offers with a sigh. "And I can be trusted to do the job, so go back to Bruce and tell him I'm fine upstairs. You can stop trying to buddy up to me now." He adds with a perceptiveness I am all too aware of. However I am no longer concerned with the master's demands of subterfuge, but of the boy's obvious detachment from everything around him. It is not just upsetting for him, but me as well.

"Have I ever lied concerning the way I feel about you, Jason?" I ask to make his eyes finally leave the screen and fall on me. He frowns in uncertainty.

"I don't know. Probably."

"Do I not tell you when I find your conduct distasteful or befitting that of a gentleman? Do I not praise and scold you in equal measure, as any normal parent should?"

"You've never hit me, Al." The boy sneers in reference to my use of the word scold. "You're too much of a man to hit a kid like me. It's beneath you." He adds with slight traces of respect for my restraint as if it is not common. He has endured a terrible upbringing in this city…in this house. I cannot help but feel I am to blame for his current attitude. I admit the truth.

"I have wanted to, in recent times more than most. And I'm sorry to admit that I entertained such unsavoury fantasies. I hope you can forgive my weakness." I tell him sincerely, especially as I regard the handiwork of men who show no such morals covering his entire body. The boy shrugs his shoulders.

"I never guessed from the way you acted, Al. At least you only thought it. The big guy has socked me once or twice when I got carried away with things." He says as if trying to cheer me up, despite admitting Master Bruce is not always a model of restraint himself. I shake my head.

"I still feel awful for wanting to hurt a boy like you."

"Because I'm a street kid and former rent boy?" He smirks. I am not in a playful mood this morning. As I give my response, I become more and more emotional until I fear tears will surely fall if I stay any longer. All the pain and anguish of the last few months is beginning to surface.

"Because you have tried so hard to be everything he wants you to be. And because I feel closer to you than I do with him and Master Dick. You're my friend and I am ashamed I did nothing to defend you from his high standards and impossible expectations. I should've tried so much harder. I can never forgive myself. I…" I say before motioning for him to move his feet so I can leave. I cannot finish my sentence. I feel brittle inside as he regards me in stunned silence and need a few moments to compose myself before resuming duties. When he moves his feet, I stand up quickly. "I am sorry to have interrupted your programme. Please excuse me, Sir." I tell him, straightening the hem of my tailcoat before preparing to walk off towards the foyer. He grabs my wrist as I take a single step away from him.

"Alfred…" He says, using my full name for perhaps the first time in four or five years, "what he's done to me is not your fault. What I've become in this house, isn't your fault either." He tells me softly whilst getting to his feet. I cannot speak without fear of sobbing so I say nothing as the lad smiles at me in a way I have not seen in some while. He grips my shoulders and laughs. "You are, without any shadow of a doubt, the best man I have ever met in my entire life. You're the only reason I'm not dead or back on the street. Because with just him, suicide or a hardcore drug habit would be the only escapes. I've gone off the rails but it's because of him and me, not you and me or him and you. It's never you, Al. I'm sorry about stiffing you earlier; I thought you were trying to play me for him. Don't worry. Nothing you can do can make me hate you. Ever. I love you, you stupid old man." He hugs me without hesitation or false bravado and I numbly let him do so. "Hug me back, Al, or I'm going to think I've completely got it wrong here." He prompts me after a minute. I embrace him back, mindful of his injuries. I thought the boy had cut all emotional attachments. I was mistaken and gladly so.

I am a servant, but I am also a human being, something Master Bruce forgets. Jason understands this better than most, given he has also been treated in the same clinical manner. I squeeze my wayward youth tighter.

"I will inform everything is okay for the operation and that you are of sound mind." I say, encouraged enough by the lad's affection to risk combing through his hair again. This time there are no sour looks or distasteful reactions to be found.

"I know I've fucked it all up, Al. For him, for you, for everybody who depends on us out there, in the zoo. But I also know I can fix it, if he just lets me try. If I'm allowed to breathe, I will get the evidence we need and put the scumbags out of business. I promise you I can be good. I can." Jason tells me with sincerity, but no signs of cracking under the emotional strain of what he is saying. The lad is not moved or forced to tears often. Even to find the precipice of such a display is near impossible. The master has succeeded in carving a boy out of stone. It is a monstrous feat when the boy is a mere seventeen years old and far from maturity in anything except the weight of his hits. He is human and he needs someone to support him. Just like me. So far I have supported the master of this house to his exclusion and it has not paid dividends in any sense. Master Bruce has not supported me in return, something I expected of course, but am I still hurt by. With my oldest child currently indisposed, I will support Jason wholeheartedly. Because, regardless of the rift between us, however great or slight it may be, he will support me back.

"While Master Bruce is recovering from his injuries, it will just be you and me running the show on the operation. I will of course take his input and suggestions, but we will be on our own when the time comes. You'll be able to breathe so much oxygen you're liable to go light-headed." I tell him to earn a brief snigger for my efforts at a joke. He pushes away from me and grins.

"If you were…I'm going to say forty years younger, a chick and didn't have an antisocial son with attachment issues, I'd probably marry you Al, right on the spot and no questions asked. Since you met none of those essential criteria for Jason Todd's approval, you'll have to do with a chaste kiss instead." The lad declares before pecking me on the cheek, a gesture no other teenage boy I have ever known has thanked me with. His masculinity is absolute, despite his traumas on Gotham's streets. It only serves to remind me why I still love this boy when enough foul language and teenage angst has been flung in my direction to drown me. I incline my head.

"I suppose honesty is an admirable trait. Still, I had wished for twenty-five years younger instead of forty. Perhaps even thirty would have been nice."

"Forty is more than generous, Al. This is me we're talking about, not Golden boy."

"Alas, I suppose Master Dick is prone to outrageous lies. No matter. Shall we do some surveillance work on your dock for the time being?"

"Does it include vodka shots?"

"I could go as far as a one rum and coke and only if we are still working after ten in the evening. Fair deal?"

"Better than nothing. Let's go."