Jason's methods of coping with pain have been secrets, per se. He's still like a normal person, yelling and redirecting focus a way from whatever hurts. His best way to handle pain, however, was always with a blunt and the CBD lotion he was graced by the gods in finding. He doesn't know what he would do without the soothing ointment.

Jason has been through hell and back. Literally. Beaten, bloodied, bruised, then finally given the satisfaction of death due to asphyxiation. Had Jason ever imagined dying at the age of fourteen at the hands of a madman? Hell no. But was he glad that his suffering was finally over? Absolutely.

There were some great things that came from those wretched pits: his strength, his muscles, another shot at life. But for as many good things came out of it, at least twice that came back to bite him in the ass. The worst of them, however, was the chronic pain.

He's seen doctors. He's tried going to physical therapy. He's tried using braces and mobility aids when he's alone in his apartment. None of it helped. But you did. It least there was somebody to lean on throughout his hellish journey.

It became almost like a ritual between you and Jason to hang in his apartment and smoke a bit to take the edge off. You'd come over, he'd roll a few joints, and you'd help massage his lotion into spots he couldn't reach.

But today? Your back was fucking killing you. No matter how you moved or sat, something ached and protested the position. Jason may not be the most outwardly caring of people, but he hates seeing you in the kind of pain you're experiencing.

"Come and lay down." It isn't a question as he pats his lap and encourages you to lay your stomach across it, its a request. From his mouth he takes his burning joint and stubs it on the ashtray on his coffee table.

"Don't play stupid, I know your back is aching again." So was his, for the record, but your comfort mattered more in the moment. He doesn't even consider 'no' as an answer as he warms up some of the lotion in his hands.