Jason paced outside of his child's door, worried sick for them. He knew they'd been getting bullied, but, to the point that they'd been in their room, hardly coming out for anything, and not speaking? He was pissed off at these people that they considered friends. "Come on, Squirt. I made your favorites," he slid a plate of cookies under the door, and took the shuffling sound as a good sign. "Can you tell me what's going on? At least one thing?" He sat outside of the door, messing with some of the chipping paint between his fingers.