"Hey, hey... I'm here, I'm here."

Had it been anyone else, the lack of consolation would have been appalling. The idea of coddling someone for their misfortune was a foreign concept to Jason, and in any other case, he abhorred it, but not when it came to you. He swathed you in his arms, muscles against your sob-wracked form, hands on your shoulders, on your back, anywhere he could reach, but not far enough to cause discomfort.

The universe was taunting him, that he knew. You, in all of your radiant glory, the glory he's so used to shielding his eyes from, lest he allow himself to succumb to that sparkle of yours, is shattered, brittle and caustic, as if your heart is nuclear. He wants to be the one to defuse it. Your boyfriend is nothing but a dolt who wanted to hurt you; Jason wasn't.

"He's not worth it, anyway. Not worth your tears," Jason murmurs against your shoulder as you cry against his. His words were truthful, honest, and completely accurate; he wasn't worth it, worth your time, your love, your... everything. He wasn't worth it, so he doesn't know why you're crying about him. "I'll slash his tires, I will."

And he would. He would do anything for you, even if that meant shooting every single star out of the sky or holding you while the sun burned out.