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There are a lot of things the Teen Titans know about Jett.
They know he hates being called short, even though he is, objectively, one of the shortest people in the room. They know he will eat almost anything if it is covered in hot sauce, but considers mushrooms a personal insult. They know he sleeps like the dead and has, on more than one occasion, slept through three separate alarms, a fire alarm, and Jason yelling his name from approximately three feet away.
They know he has a habit of stealing people's hoodies and then denying it while wearing them.
They know he sits in chairs incorrectly, sleeps diagonally across couches, and has an apparently personal vendetta against sitting normally. They know he collects piercings with the enthusiasm of a magpie collecting shiny objects. They know his phone is perpetually on three percent battery. They know he wears his glasses when he is tired, even though he insists they make him look stupid.
They know he is terrible at remembering dates. They know he hates filling out forms. They know he will listen to someone explain something verbally for twenty minutes and remember every detail, only to completely ignore the written instructions that came with it. They know he is always asking someone to repeat the address. They know he sometimes stares at a screen for a little too long before making a joke about how boring whatever is on it looks. They know he gets irrationally annoyed when people tell him to "just read the instructions."
They know he lies.
Not very well, either.
What they don't know is why. Not at first.
Because Jett has gotten very good at making it look like he simply doesn't care.
And if there is one thing Jett is exceptionally good at, it is making not caring look effortless.
The first time happens on a Tuesday.
Jason has spent the better part of an hour preparing the mission briefing.
This is, according to the Titans, already a bad sign.
Jason normally hates meetings. He hates sitting down. He hates PowerPoint presentations. He hates explaining things twice. Most importantly, he hates teenagers.
At least, that's what he claims.
So when Jason walks into the safehouse carrying a folder and announces, "Everyone sit down," five teenagers immediately know that something terrible has happened.
Lian drops onto the couch, PJ sits cross-legged on the floor, Eugene steals the armchair, Ezra sits on the coffee table despite being told approximately three hundred times not to.
Jett doesn't sit at all.
He leans against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed.
Jason puts a laptop on the coffee table.
"Okay. We've got a lead on the smuggling operation we've been tracking."
Jett's eyes glaze over.
Not obviously.
Not enough for Jason to catch.
But enough for Ezra to notice.
Jason opens the presentation.
A map fills the screen.
"Warehouse district. They've been moving product through these docks for approximately six weeks."
PJ leans forward.
"Which warehouse?"
Jason points.
"Building seventeen."
Jett nods.
Jason changes the slide.
"There's a loading entrance on the eastern side, an emergency exit on the north wall, and a secondary access point here."He points.
"That's where we're going in."
Everyone nods. Jett nods too.
Jason looks at him. "You got that?"
"Yep."
"Repeat it."
Jett blinks. "Uh."
Lian looks at him. Jason raises an eyebrow. Jett scratches the back of his neck.
"You're gonna explain it again."
"I shouldn't have to."
"I know."
Jason sighs.
"The loading entrance is on the east side."
"East."
"Emergency exit north."
"North."
"Secondary access here."
Jett points at the map.
"Got it."
Jason stares at him.
"Good."
Jett smiles.
The briefing continues.
Ten minutes later, Jason hands everyone a printed packet. Jett looks down at his. His stomach drops. t's a wall of text.
His brain catches on the first line.
Warehouse seventeen—
He gets as far as the next word.
Then the words seem to rearrange themselves.
Not literally. Not like magic. Just enough that his eyes have to jump back.
Warehouse seven—
No. Seventeen.
He tries again.
The letters seem too close together.
He squints.
Moves the paper farther away.
Then closer.
He can feel Ezra looking at him.
Jett immediately folds the paper in half.
"What's that for?" Lian asks.
"Paper airplane."
"You haven't made one."
"Working on it."
"You're supposed to read it."
"I already know what's in it."
"You didn't read it."
"I have eyes."
Lian rolls hers.
"Clearly."
Jett flips her off.
Jason clears his throat.
"Enough."
Jett stuffs the paper into his jacket.
He doesn't read it.
He memorizes what Jason said instead. That's how he usually does things. He remembers voices. Directions. Patterns. Things he can hear. Things he can see without needing to decode them. He can remember Jason saying north. He can remember Jason pointing. He can remember the shape of the warehouse on the map.
That's enough.
It has to be.
The mission goes fine. Mostly.
Jett takes the wrong hallway.
Jason catches him by the back of his jacket.
"Where are you going?"
"North."
"This is south."
Jett freezes.
He looks at the hallway.
Then at Jason.
"Right."
Jason stares.
"You know what north means, right?"
"Yes."
"Then why did you go south?"
"I don't know."
Jason sighs.
"Just stick with Ezra."
Jett's face burns.
"Yeah, yeah."
He walks away.
Ezra follows.
After a moment, Ezra quietly says
"You okay?"
"Fine."
"You went the wrong way."
"I know."
"Jason wasn't mad."
"I know."
"You look mad."
"I'm not."
Ezra studies him. Jett smiles.
"Stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm stupid."
Ezra's expression changes immediately."I don't think you're stupid."
Jett looks away.
"Whatever."
They continue.
Ezra doesn't bring it up again.
Neither does anyone else.
As far as they are concerned, Jett just wasn't paying attention.
And Jett prefers that explanation.
It's easier.
The second time happens at a diner.
It's after patrol. They're tired, bruised, hungry, and Jason has made the fatal mistake of letting five teenagers vote on where to eat. The result is a greasy twenty-four-hour diner that has definitely violated at least three health codes.
Jett loves it.
"Look at this place."
Lian wrinkles her nose. "It smells like old fries."
"Exactly."
"That's not a compliment."
"It is to me."
They pile into a booth. Jett sits beside Ezra. Again.
Nobody comments.
Mostly.
Lian looks at them. Then looks at PJ. PJ shakes his head. Don't. She smiles. Fine.
The waitress brings menus. Everyone opens theirs. Jett does too.
He stares.
There are columns.
Prices.
Descriptions.
Words.
Too many words. He traces one line with his finger.
Chicken sandwich. Easy. He gets that.
Then underneath:
grilled chicken breast, caramelized onions, roasted red peppers, arugula, chipotle aioli—
The words blur together. He skips ahead.
burger.
Easy. He can read that.
Mostly.
Then the toppings. He gives up.
"Jason."
Jason looks up from his menu. "What?"
"What're you getting?"
"Steak."
"Cool."
"You have your own menu."
"I know."
"Then read it."
Jett's smile twitches. "I was asking what you were getting."
Jason narrows his eyes.
"Okay."
Jett looks at Ezra.
"You?"
Ezra tells him. Jett nods. Lian tells him hers. PJ tells him his. Eugene tells him he's getting fries. Jett closes the menu.
"I'll have the same thing."
Ezra looks at him.
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
"You don't know what I'm getting."
"Yes I do."
"No, you don't."
"A burger."
Ezra smiles. "Yeah."
Jett relaxes.
"See?"
The waitress comes. Everyone orders. When it gets to Jett, he gives Ezra's order.
Exactly.
Except for one thing.
The waitress asks:
"Cheese?"
Jett freezes.
Ezra answers.
"Yeah."
"And onions?"
"No."
Jett nods.
"Yeah."
Ezra looks at him.
Jett realizes.
"No onions."
The waitress smiles.
"Got it."
She leaves.
Jett exhales.
Ezra watches him.
"You okay?"
"Yeah."
"You hate onions."
"I know."
"You just said yes."
"I was distracted."
Ezra shrugs. "Okay."
Jett smiles. "Thanks."
The food comes. Jett eats happily.
Nobody mentions it again.
But later, when everyone is paying, Jason slides the receipt across the table.
"Split it."
Jett stares. His heart sinks.
The numbers are manageable.
Numbers aren't the problem.
The problem is the tiny print beside them.
He knows he's supposed to calculate something. He can do that.
But the words make his head ache.
"How much?" Jason points.
"Your meal."
Jett squints. "Uh."
Jason looks over.
"Jett."
"What?"
"You ordered the burger."
"Yeah."
"It's right there."
Jett looks at the receipt.
He can't find it.
Not because it isn't there.
Because everything is too close together.
"I know."
Jason waits.
Jett pulls out his wallet.
He puts down twenty dollars.
"Keep it."
Jason looks at the bill.
"You don't need to overpay."
"Whatever." He gets up. "I'll be outside."
Ezra follows him.
Outside, the cold air hits Jett's face.
Ezra leans against the wall.
"You okay?"
"Why does everyone keep asking me that?"
"Because you keep looking like you're about to bite someone's head off."
"I'm hungry."
"You just ate."
"I'm emotionally hungry."
Ezra laughs.
Jett smiles.
Problem solved.
As far as everyone knows.
The third time happens over a text message.
Which is ironic.
Because Jett is exceptionally good at texting.
He can send six messages in under ten seconds. He can communicate entirely in reaction images. He can type an insult while running. He once managed to send a coherent paragraph while hanging upside down from a fire escape. But sometimes reading a text is different from writing one.
It is late.
The group chat is active.
PJ has sent a photograph of something he built. Lian has sent three increasingly violent emojis. Eugene is arguing with her.
Ezra sends:
you guys coming tomorrow?
Jett types:
yeah
Ezra:
what time?
Jett stares.
He knows the answer is somewhere in the previous messages.
He scrolls.
There.
Tomorrow.
Two o'clock.
Or three?
He scrolls again.
Someone said two.
Someone else said three.
He scrolls.
His eyes jump between lines.
He gets irritated.
He types:
whenever
Ezra:
that's not a time
Jett:
yes it is
Ezra:
it's really not
Jett:
2
Ezra:
okay
Jett puts his phone down.
Five minutes later, Ezra messages again.
you sure?
Jett frowns.
yes
okay
Jett stares at the word.
Something about the conversation feels wrong.
Not because Ezra is annoyed.
Because Jett is.
He doesn't know why. He just knows he wants to throw his phone across the room.
Instead, he locks it.
The next day, Jett arrives at three.
Everyone is already there.
Lian looks at him.
"You're late."
"No, I'm not."
"You said two."
Jett's stomach drops. "I said two?"
"Yeah."
"I thought you said three."
"I didn't."
Jett looks around. "Whatever."
Ezra walks over. "It's okay."
"I'm not stupid."
"I didn't say you were."
"You were thinking it."
"No."
"Everyone thinks it."
Ezra pauses.
Jett realizes he said too much. He turns away.
"Forget it."
Ezra doesn't.
But he lets him walk away.
That evening, Jett is lying on the couch. Ezra sits on the floor.
"You know," Ezra says, "you can ask me."
Jett looks up. "For what?"
"If you don't understand something."
"I understand things."
"I know."
"Then why?"
"Because sometimes I don't understand things either."
Jett snorts. "You're bad at math."
"Exactly."
"That's different."
"How?"
Jett doesn't answer.
Ezra looks at him.
Jett stares at the ceiling.
"I just don't like people explaining things to me."
"Why?"
"Because they make it sound easy."
Ezra is quiet. Jett closes his eyes.
"Like I'm an idiot because I don't get it immediately."
Ezra's voice is soft. "I don't think you're an idiot."
Jett swallows. "I know."
He doesn't. Not really.
But he wants to.
The fourth time is the one that causes the most trouble.
Jason has a rule.
No one goes on patrol without updated emergency information.
It is sensible.
It is responsible.
It is also Jett's personal nightmare.
"Everyone fills this out."
Jason drops a stack of forms onto the table.
Jett stares at them. "No."
Jason looks at him.
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"I'll simply refuse."
"Then you're not patrolling."
Jett stares.
Jason stares back.
Lian takes a pen.
PJ takes a pen.
Eugene takes a pen.
Ezra takes a pen.
Jett doesn't.
Jason points at him.
"Pen."
Jett grabs one.
He looks at the first box.
FULL LEGAL NAME
His stomach twists. He knows his name.
Of course he knows his name.
He writes it.
The next box.
DATE OF BIRTH
Easy.
He writes it.
ADDRESS
Not easy.
He stares.
The letters seem to shift.
He starts writing.
Stops.
Erases.
Writes again.
The line is crooked.
He moves on.
EMERGENCY CONTACT
His hand stops.
Jason glances over.
"You good?"
"Yep."
"You're on that question for two minutes."
"I'm thinking."
"Okay."
Jason walks away.
Jett stares at the box.
He doesn't want to write anything.
Not because he doesn't know.
Because there isn't anyone he wants to put down.
Not really.
He eventually writes Jason's name.
Then scratches it out.
Writes it again.
Then scratches it out.
Ezra notices. "Need help?"
"No."
"Okay."
Ezra goes back to his own form.
Jett stares at his.
His vision burns.
He presses his pen harder.
The paper tears.
"Fuck."
Everyone looks up.
"I'm fine."
Jason walks over.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"You ripped the form."
"It was a bad form."
Jason looks at the paper. Then at Jett.
"Do you need another?"
"No."
"Jett."
"No."
The room goes quiet.
Jason steps back.
"Okay."
Jett hates himself for the relief that follows.
He finishes the form.
Barely.
He hands it over.
Jason looks at it.
Some answers are crossed out.
Some letters are written backward.
Several words are spelled differently each time they appear.
Jason assumes Jett was rushing He doesn't mention it.
Neither does anyone else.
Later, Ezra finds Jett outside.
"You okay?"
"Fine."
"You've said that a lot today."
"Maybe people should stop asking."
Ezra sits beside him. Jett looks at his hands.
"You ever hate paperwork?"
"Yes."
"Good."
"Why?"
"Because it's evil."
Ezra smiles. "Definitely."
Jett leans against the wall.
"I hate when people watch me write."
Ezra looks over.
"Why?"
"Because."
"Because?"
"Because I don't like it."
Ezra nods. "Okay."
Jett looks at him.
"That's it?"
"Yeah."
"You aren't going to ask?"
"You'll tell me if you want."
Jett's chest hurts. He looks away.
"You're weird."
"Yeah."
The fifth time is during a mission.
And this time, Jett almost gets hurt.
They are infiltrating an abandoned research facility.
Jason has given everyone specific instructions.
"Red doors are restricted."
"Blue doors are safe."
"Yellow means emergency access."
Jett nods.
Easy.
Colors.
He can do colors.
They split up.
Jett and Ezra head down one corridor.
They reach a door.
It has a sign.
Jett looks at it.
There are too many words.
He catches the first.
AUTHORIZED—
Then the next.
Something about personnel.
Then—
He can't make sense of the rest.
But there is a red symbol.
So he stops.
Ezra looks over.
"What's wrong?"
"Door's restricted."
Ezra checks. "Yeah."
They turn.
A few minutes later, they find another door.
This one has a sign.
Jett reads the first word.
EMERGENCY—
He stops.
Emergency access.
Yellow.
Except the sign is old.
The paint is faded.
The lighting is terrible.
Jett sees the color as orange.
Maybe yellow.
He hesitates.
Ezra opens it.
The alarm goes off.
Everything happens at once.
Red lights.
Sirens.
Footsteps.
Jason shouting through comms.
"Abort! Get out!"
Jett freezes.
Ezra grabs him.
"Move!"
They run.
They barely escape.
Outside, Jason is furious.
"What happened?"
"Door."
"I told you not to open any doors marked emergency."
"It wasn't marked emergency."
Jason points at the sign.
"It literally says emergency."
Jett looks.
The word swims.
"Oh."
Jason's frustration spikes.
"You need to pay attention."
Jett's face goes blank. "I was."
"No, you weren't."
"I was."
"You almost got yourself trapped."
"I know."
"Then why didn't you read the sign?"
Jett goes silent.
Jason exhales. "Jett."
"I said I know."
He turns away.
Ezra follows him.
"Hey."
Jett keeps walking.
"Jett."
"What?"
"You okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You're angry."
"I'm not."
"You are."
Jett stops.
His hands shake.
"I can read."
Ezra blinks.
"I didn't say you couldn't."
"But everyone thinks it."
"Nobody thinks that."
Jett looks away.
"Whatever."
Ezra doesn't know what to say.
So he doesn't.
That night, Jett doesn't sleep.
He lies on the couch at the safehouse.
His eyes are open.
His phone rests on his chest.
The screen is dark.
He thinks about the sign.
He thinks about the form.
The receipt.
The text messages.
The briefing.
He thinks about all the times people have laughed when he asked what something said.
All the times teachers told him to slow down.
All the times adults had sighed.
Just read it.
It's right there.
Sound it out.
Pay attention.
You're not even trying.
He has spent years learning how to make it look like he isn't trying.
Because trying and failing hurts more.
It happens accidentally.
Of course it does.
Nothing important ever happens deliberately with the Teen Titans.
They're sitting around Jason's safehouse after a long day.
Jett is on the couch.
Ezra is beside him.
Lian is painting her nails.
PJ is working on a gadget.
Eugene is eating chips.
Jason is sorting paperwork.
He slides a document toward Jett.
"Sign here."
Jett takes it.
He looks down.
Jason waits.
Jett doesn't move.
A few seconds pass.
Then ten.
Jason looks up.
"Jett?"
"Yeah."
"Sign it."
"Yeah."
He still doesn't.
His eyes remain fixed on the paper.
Ezra notices.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
Jett picks up the pen.
He puts it down.
Picks it up.
Puts it down again.
Jason frowns.
"Do you not understand what it says?"
"I understand."
"Then sign it."
Jett's face reddens.
"I said I understand."
Jason pauses.
Something about his voice is wrong.
Not angry.
Embarrassed.
Scared.
Jason looks at the paper.
Then back at Jett.
"Okay."
Jett swallows.
Jason doesn't push.
Instead, he turns the paper toward himself.
"Want me to read it?"
"No."
The answer is immediate.
Too immediate.
Jason stops.
"Okay."
Jett looks down.
His eyes shine.
"I can read."
Nobody speaks.
"I can."
Jason's expression softens.
"I know."
Jett shakes his head.
"No, you don't."
Ezra reaches over.
He doesn't touch him.
Just rests his hand palm-up on the couch between them.
An invitation.
Jett stares at it.
Jason asks quietly:
"What's going on?"
Jett's mouth opens.
Closes.
Opens again.
"I..."
He looks at the paper.
"I don't know why it's like this."
"Like what?"
"The words."
Silence.
Jett's fingers curl into the fabric of his hoodie.
"They move."
Lian stops painting her nails.
PJ stops working.
Eugene puts his chips down.
Ezra's expression changes.
Jett keeps talking because if he stops now, he'll never start again.
"They don't actually move. I know they don't. It's just..."
He swallows.
"Sometimes I look at something and I know what it's supposed to say, but I can't make it stay still long enough to read it."
Nobody interrupts.
"Sometimes letters get mixed up."
His voice is getting smaller.
"Sometimes I read the same sentence five times and still don't know what it says."
Jason's eyes widen slightly.
Jett laughs nervously. "I've gotten really good at guessing."
Ezra's heart sinks.
"That's why you ask what the signs say."
Jett looks at him. "Sometimes."
"That's why you memorize the briefings."
"Sometimes."
"That's why you always ask us what time we're meeting."
Jett nods.
Lian whispers:
"That's why you hate menus."
Jett looks down.
"Yeah."
PJ puts his tablet away.
"And the paperwork."
"Yeah."
Eugene's voice is soft.
"Is it dyslexia?"
Jett freezes.
He doesn't answer.
He doesn't have to.
Jason looks at him.
"Has anyone helped you with it?"
Jett laughs.
"No."
The laugh cracks.
"Why would they?"
Something in Jason's chest breaks.
"Jett."
"I've had teachers tell me I'm lazy."
Nobody speaks.
"Teachers told me I wasn't trying."
His eyes are wet now.
"One said I was making excuses."
Jason's jaw tightens.
Jett wipes his face quickly.
"I figured if everyone thought I was stupid anyway, I might as well act like I don't care."
Ezra's hand moves.
This time, Jett takes it.
Hard.
"I don't want you guys to think I'm stupid."
Ezra looks at him.
"Jett."
He squeezes his hand.
"I think you're one of the smartest people I know."
Jett's mouth trembles.
"You almost got us killed yesterday."
"I know."
"You still figured out the security system before PJ did."
PJ raises a hand.
"Truth."
Jett laughs weakly.
Lian smiles.
"You can memorize an entire patrol route after hearing it once."
Eugene adds:
"You remember everyone's birthdays."
PJ says:
"You know how to take apart my equipment without breaking anything."
Jason crosses his arms.
"You beat me at chess."
Jett looks at him.
"Twice."
"Three times."
"Three."
Jason nods.
"Three."
Jett's eyes fill.
"That doesn't mean I'm smart."
Jason's expression becomes very serious.
"No."
He steps closer.
"It means you're smart in ways people didn't bother learning how to recognize."
Jett looks down.
A tear falls onto the paper.
He wipes it away.
"That's cheesy."
"Yeah. Well Im old like that"
"Really cheesy."
"Shut up."
Jett laughs.
Then he starts crying.
Quietly at first.
He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
Ezra's arm goes around him.
"For what?"
"I don't know."
"You don't have to apologize."
Jett leans into him.
His shoulders shake.
Lian gets up.
She wraps a blanket around Jett.
Eugene brings over his plushie.
"Here."
Jett laughs through his tears.
"What am I supposed to do with that?"
"Emotional support."
"That's stupid."
"You're holding it."
Jett looks down.
He is.
He hugs it against his chest.
Jason takes the paper from him.
"You don't have to sign anything tonight."
Jett looks up.
"But—"
"No."
Jason folds the document.
"We'll figure this out."
"We?"
Jason looks at him.
"Yeah."
Jett's face crumples.
"Why?"
Jason seems genuinely confused.
"Because we care."
Lian smiles.
"Again with that."
"Still true."
PJ nods.
"Obviously."
Eugene reaches over and pats Jett's knee.
Ezra's arm remains around his shoulders.
Jett looks around the room.
He sees all of them.
Nobody looks annoyed.
Nobody looks disappointed.
Nobody looks like they think he's stupid.
They just look like they want to help.
That might be the strangest part.
He doesn't know what to do with kindness that isn't conditional.
"So..."
Jett sniffles.
"What happens now?"
Jason shrugs.
"Now?"
He picks up the folder.
"Now we make things easier."
Jett blinks.
"How?"
"Audio briefings."
PJ raises his hand.
"I can make those."
"Digital versions with adjustable formatting," PJ continues.
"Cool."
"Menus?" Lian asks.
"I'll read them."
"You absolutely will not," .
"I absolutely will."
"You're terrible at reading."
"Shut up."
Eugene raises his hand.
"I can be the paperwork guy."
Jett laughs.
"What does that even mean?"
"I'll help."
"You're still a kid."
"So are you."
"Fair."
Ezra squeezes his shoulder.
"And you can always ask me."
Jett looks at him.
"Always?"
"Always."
Jett's eyes flick down to their hands.
Their fingers are still intertwined.
He doesn't let go.
"Okay."
The word comes out small.
But it is certain.
Okay.
Later, everyone goes to sleep.
The safehouse is quiet.
Jason is in the kitchen.
PJ and Eugene are asleep on the floor.
Lian has claimed the armchair.
Ezra is still on the couch.
Jett is curled beside him, half buried beneath a blanket.
He has a tablet in his lap.
PJ has changed the display settings.
Larger text.
More spacing.
A dark background.
Jett looks at it.
The words are easier.
Not easy.
But easier.
He reads the first sentence.
Then the second.
He stops.
"Ezra?"
"Hm?"
"Can you read this?"
Ezra doesn't hesitate.
"Yeah."
Jett shows him.
Ezra reads it aloud.
Jett follows along.
When he finishes, Jett looks at the screen.
Then at Ezra.
"I knew most of that."
"I know."
"I just needed it slower."
"I know."
Jett smiles.
A little embarrassed.
A little relieved.
"Thanks."
Ezra smiles.
"Anytime."
Jett leans against him.
Outside, rain taps against the windows.
Inside, nobody tells him to try harder.
Nobody tells him to pay attention.
Nobody tells him that the words are easy.
They simply make the words easier to reach.
And perhaps that is what Jett needed all along.
Not someone to teach him how to be less difficult.
Not someone to tell him to try harder.
Not someone to pretend the problem didn't exist.
Just someone willing to sit beside him and say:
Take your time.
I'll wait.
You don't have to pretend with me.
And for the first time in a long time, Jett doesn't feel stupid for needing someone to wait.