Jacob knew he was probably going to have to see a psychiatrist, in fact, it was what was going through his head during the last half of rather private funeral service. He wasn't really even sure how he got to be standing there, the last hours, days, seemed like a blur. Even before that, nothing really seemed important enough to remember.<br/><br/>He wasn't even grieving, he was sure he was supposed to be, but he wasn't. Maybe he was a sociopath. That thought had crossed his mind, though he could call up the checklist for that disorder with ease, and aside from a complete absence of grief, he didn't fit the profile. He felt worse that he wasn't grieving than anything else. He knew that the grief was irrelevant one way or the other. Gramps, was dead, and even though he'd waited through the funeral service, it was the burial that held the most meaning for Jacob. The ultimate box.<br/><br/>Jase was easy enough to read. Anger, at James, for not showing up. Jacob was good at reading people, his brothers especially, but that didn't really come into it. He didn't feel that anger, but he understood it. He was the thinker, after all, an overthinker, maybe. Maybe he'd just killed the chance for grief because he couldn't rage against the universe, it was just the universe, and life was an extremely brief phase of matter between incredibly long periods of death.<br/><br/>---<br/><br/>Jacob pulled up to the curb on his bike, killing the smooth well-tuned engine. He caught the tail-end of Jase speaking inside, as he walked up, seeing James in the doorway. There was a dynamic he didn't want to get in the middle of.  He slid past James, leaving his keys on the side-table inside the door, before walking out into living room. He didn't care to say anything to either of them at the moment. James was, well, more his speed he supposed, but on the other hand, Jase was so capable of righteous indignation that Jacob had never bothered to fight him on it.