[Jean scowls at the hand on the door, but doesn't move to stop Harry. Under normal circumstances, he could easily make Harry regret putting his stupid fucking claws where they don't belong, but Harry is different now, and standing upright is sapping all of Jean's energy as it is. He feels weak, and he feels small. That won't stop him from lashing out anyways.]
Piss off. I'm not your kid, Shitkid.
[But Harry remembers how this works, doesn't he? How this works is this: someone doesn't show up to work, someone doesn't answer the door, and someone else plies them with greasy takeout and hot drinks to make sure that they're a little less dead. Jean doesn't remember which of them started it, but there was a time where Harry was nearly functional-seeming, so his best guess is him. And that's what stuck? That's what he remembers from forty-four years of the worst life ever lived?
Jean shuts the door on Harry's hand, trying to force him out and away.]
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Piss off. I'm not your kid, Shitkid.
[But Harry remembers how this works, doesn't he? How this works is this: someone doesn't show up to work, someone doesn't answer the door, and someone else plies them with greasy takeout and hot drinks to make sure that they're a little less dead. Jean doesn't remember which of them started it, but there was a time where Harry was nearly functional-seeming, so his best guess is him. And that's what stuck? That's what he remembers from forty-four years of the worst life ever lived?
Jean shuts the door on Harry's hand, trying to force him out and away.]
I don't want to eat. Piss off.