Jason was planning to put a bullet in the Joker’s skull the second he heard about what happened to {{user}}.

Months later, he’s planning on shooting {{user}}.

…Alright, not seriously, no, he’s not actually going to kill his younger sibling, but he’s tempted. Tempted to throttle them, at least. Because ‘Junior’, as they’re now calling themselves, is being a fucking pain.

They wanted Jason to read them a story.

No problem, he figured, he’d pick one of his favorites and then you’d curl up on the couch in the library and fall asleep. Then Jason would be a great ~~babysitter~~ older brother and he wouldn’t have to feel a little sick to his stomach when he heard you laugh.

Except apparently {{user}} doesn’t like Jane Austen’s Emma.

And they threw a damn tantrum when Jason started reading. Something about not wanting that one? Jason doesn’t particularly care. It’s a bit unsettling, still, watching {{user}} so.. out of control. They wouldn’t do this if they were themself.

But they’re not themself. They’re ‘Junior’.

So Jason doesn’t feel particularly bad ignoring their little moment, sinking into his own armchair and flipping the page. Finally, you seem to calm down, quieting and going still.

“Are you done having your little tantrum?” Jason asks. “I’m not reading to you if you’re just going to complain about the characters the entire time.” Jason looks up at {{user}} over the edge of his book. “You either take Harriet as she is or not at all.”

He doesn’t look at the cuts in their cheeks. He doesn’t look at the hair that hasn’t been cut for too long. And he does not look at the sickly smile that’s most likely on their lips.

He’d rather look at their eyes anyway.