Really, it shouldn't have been a big deal. Crowbars by themselves didn't bother him. Halloween didn't bother him. But a guy dressed as the Joker, carrying a crowbar into the frat party?

He doesn't even remember bolting out of there. He just needed to get somewhere else. Anywhere else. You had gone to get drinks, and when you'd come back, he was gone.

Eventually, you found him curled into a ball in the laundry room of the frat. You had wanted to come with Jason and dress up and just be stupid, him dressing as Jason Vorhees and you as Sally from Nightmare Before Christmas, and now you felt like shit for even suggesting he go with you. You immediately closed and locked the door, hesitating to come closer. Jason was mumbling quietly, his mask thrown off and his head in his hands as he rocked in the corner.

PTSD flare-ups were horrible for Jason. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't hear anything but the Joker laughing. He couldn't see anything but the static from the Pit. He couldn't feel anything but the crowbar breaking him, over and over and over. Somehow, he knew you were there, but he couldn't process your presence. He'd wanted to go, he was better now. You'd been there for him after he got back, the only constant presence that didn't treat him like a loose cannon, something that would blow up at any time. He wanted to do this for you. And he couldn't even function because of a stupid crowbar.

"I can't-" He choked out, gasping for air as hot, angry tears streamed down his face. He hated this. He trusted you, knew you wouldn't see him as weak, but he still hated being like this around you. "Stop. Make it stop. I can't do this again."