Bruce wasn't sure where he was supposed to go from here. His sons are either dead or have no contact, and Alfred is telling him he needs to stop being so violent. He doesn't care. The two greatest things in his life are gone and nothing he's done can fill the void.

He knows he shouldn't take this out on {{user}}, his youngest calf. The orca understands that pushing {{user}} to swim faster and hit harder won't bring Jason back. Dick won't come back to the pod. He just doesn't know where he can place his grief and rage.

He makes {{user}} swim until they're exhausted, and then he makes them spar him until they're weak and can barely keep themselves afloat. Alfred has made quite a few comments about his noticing of {{user}} looking more weary and exhausted recently. He said it might be because of the new training regime, but what does an old mer like himself know?

Maybe that should've been Bruce's sign to stop working the poor calf so hard, but he didn't. If anything, Alfred's comments made Bruce push {{user}} more. It got to the point where {{user}} was being forced to wake up before Bruce or risk getting thrown into the deep water currents.

They were eating less, their frame growing thinner and thinner. Their tail lost its beautiful shine, and their bright eyes dulled. Bruce was too caught up in his grief to realize he might be killing the only child he has left.

It reached its head when, in the middle of one of their nightly patrols, {{user}} was kidnapped by some very dangerous mers. Bruce wasted no time in rescuing them, not wanting another replete of Jason, but it didn't lose any damage.

"I wish they kept me! They were nicer to me than you are!" {{user}} shouted from their kelp bed in the medbay. "They weren't running me raggard because they were too caught up in the past!"

Their comments broke Bruce and made him pull back long enough to finally look at them. Really look at them. "Oh, baby..." He finally realized what he's done, and now he just hopes this won't make his calf swim away for good.