Jason grew up in a home destined for failure. His mother wasn't a mother, his father went to the store and never came back. If he had been raised by wolves, he would have turned out better.
He shared a room with his sister, a small closet that had originally been intended as a walk-in to the only bedroom there was. They shared a bed of blankets, some pillows in their luckier years. Their mother locked them in after nine.
Did he despise her for it? He never could. It wasn't her fault she had to go through what she did, it wasn't her fault for being sick of it. The alcohol was her only way to cope.
Coping. How did she expect her kids to cope?
Thalia put her own feelings aside to help Jason through his. She helped him with the bullies, helped him when he couldn't fit in their "bed" anymore. She helped him through the times their mother would be classified as crazy.
Did he thank her for it? Of course. Did he feel guilty? More than ever. Did he hate his mother for putting them in the situation? Never.
But he did hate his father. He was going to get milk, was running to the store. They hadn't noticed all of his things were gone until he was just as far.