Nothing in his over two decades of mental training could ever prepare him for something like this. He just stared, mouth slightly open.
Jason pushed him aside. Jason. Of all people.
His brother practically had to pull from Bruce's shoulders, so their father's knees wouldn't hit the ground. His big, rough, scarred hands pressed his dad's head to his shoulder, as he did his best to rise up, carrying both of their weights.
He just stared. The adrenaline of the fight left, as slight trembles shook his own shoulders.
He lifted a hand towards the pair.
And Jason pushed it away with the nastiest glare he had ever addressed him. Ever.
He tried again when his brother walked himself and his dad to the door. This time, Jason lifted his arm as he passed his side. He bent it, as of carrying a shield, as a guard, as a knight; and pressed it's side against Dick's chest.
Not even a "move". Not a grunt. Not a sound for him. Nothing. He just... Pushed. And kept moving away.
The last word he had directed to him had been his name. "Richard". As a warning. "Richard", as a "Stop it". "Richard", as a "That's enough". As a "There's lines you should not cross". As a "You will regret it"... He is. God. He is regretting it.
He saw the moment his words had broken his dad's heart. But the anger overcame his love, and he kept on going. He heard his voice rise until he was the only sound in the manor. Rise, louder and louder, until his screams were the only thing he himself could hear.
"Richard". The hand on his shoulder tried to anchor him, to bring him back, to remind him of himself. He shook it off.
Jason was supposed to be on his side. So he turned to tell him so. And so he yelled at his little brother. He had agreed with him. Bruce was wrong. How dare Jason look at him with such surprise, with such shock. With so much hurt. Everyone agrees with him. They are all tired, so fucking tired. Bruce is so tiring. Everything he does is tiring. Everyone agrees with him.
He decided to ignore the green on his brother's eyes. That anger that shouldn't be directed to him. It was Bruce's fault. It was Bruce's! He turned back to keep letting it all out on Bruce's face-
Empty blue eyes stared back as tears ran on pale skin.
Bruce looked down. Then up. His lips pulled as if he attempted to smile. He stared at him while his cheeks kept wetting themselves in sorrow.
No shine. His eyes looked dead. He tried to take a step to the front... And it was horrible.
It looked as if gravity suddenly weighed him down.
His shoulders slumped forward, head dipping down as soon as his lifted feet touched ground. And then those strong, powerful knees gave way.
Like a ragdoll.
And Jason had him on his arms.
Jason. Of all people.
Of all people, HE was glaring at him, an arm lifted between them, avoiding him to reach.
He wanted to laugh.
But his strength had left along his father's.
He had taken his father's.
The study felt cold. Way too quiet. Blue empty eyes and tears and betrayal. He lifted a hand, clutching his shirt right above his heart.
Pressure. Guilt.
He couldn't close his eyes. Blue empty eyes stared at him in the back of his mind. The light on the other side of his eyelids engraving the silhouette of his father's body losing against the heaviness of the pain. Pain he had inflicted. Pain he had wished to inflict. So he stared at the emptiness until his eyes burned, screaming for him to blink.
He wanted to cry.
But his will had left along his father's...
He had taken his father's.
