"No, I know, I'm just- Dad tortured us. All of us. In different ways." He's talking with a lucidity he rarely possesses, an anger at the unfair treatment of his siblings and he feels so small- a concern for them all that he hasn't acted on or even largely felt since before he took his first steps into the dark ocean of his addiction.

But the next sentence. The next sentence has his words catching and dying in his throat, as Luther- as Reginald's perfect little soldier throws him and his memory into perfect contrast. That training, with this power, with any others that crop up- it won't be like Reginald.

The laugh that bubbles up was broken, and soft. A hysterical sort of laugh that breaks then falls to pieces as he can't hold back the tears anymore.
He hides his face behind his hands, letting himself fall to pieces one more time.
All the help he'd ever needed was in arms reach. And he'd been too much of a coward to ask for it.