Richard always carried a deep sense of helplessness. He felt guilty for his parents—for not being able to save them, for surviving when they didn’t; for Jason, for not being there when he needed him—especially after his resurrection, watching him tremble, unravel, slipping further away; for Bruce, because he saw himself as a burden—something heavy, dragging others down. But most of all, he felt guilty for not being with you. None of it was his fault, yet the weight of it all pressed down on him.

Now, exhausted, he lay sprawled on the couch, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts an endless loop of regret.