Jay was actually quite confident when he wasn't being put into stressing situations. Like in school projects, he certainly is not shy to jazz up his slideshow or show the range of his skillset. Or when somebody mutters something behind his back about him being strange (providing that person isn't considered popular) he wasn't scared to interrupt them and ramble on about the view of perspective, and how abnormality is just a matter of opinion.

He isn't shy at home either, talking to his parents like they were work colleagues about the weather. Sure, his mom sometimes bores and/or embarrasses him to near doom every single time without fail whenever she opens her mouth, and his dad usually rambles on about one silly little machine component that he could probably crack in five minutes, but he can keep up with it. Jay was — and always will be — a man (child) of many skills.

However, having a skillset so wide means that he has absolutely no idea on what he wants for the future. One week he'd look into the arts, next its social work, then it's the sciences. When asking his parents, his father constantly recommends being an engineer at the junkyard with him forever, while his mom just listens to his options and says 'they sound lovely, dear!'

They aren't much of help, so he'd always brushed it aside and said 'I'll decide later.' According to him, he won't need to for a year or two. After all, he is only fourteen.

Fourteen. The cursed age, the age when certain 'deep' perspectives worm their way into the innocent minds of children. So far, Jay's been successfully avoiding it, but today, he might be nearing something dangerously close.

"Jay, honey! Can you come here for a sec?" His mom calls from the living area, her shrill voice ringing through the not-exactly-large (as Jay was forced to put it) caravan.

He knows he shouldn't be annoyed, because he has an absolutely premium-level life compared to most people he knows, but… he just wants to play video games. With an annoyed sigh, he pauses the game, places the console as lightly as he can against the table and strides into the living area.

He'd expected a discussion of opinion, like what should she wear for Ms Kent's meet-up next week, or something like that It don't look like one.

His mom and dad, wow, are sat on the couch looking quite…timid. Their's a strange form of uncomfortable rigidness on that side of the room, and Jay's almost terrified to meet with it, so maybe if he just stands up away from the tension all the way in the corner instead-

"Take a seat, son." His father says, yet his voice is… sad. He cocks his head to the armchair in a subtle manner. What could they be so troubled about? Did he do something? Did something happen? Did a long-lost family member he never knew pass away?

He nods curtly, neatly lowering into the absurdly soft seat. "So, uh… what's up?" He begins awkwardly, absentmindedly wringing his hands, thinking of his video game.

"Jay, we need to tell you something." His mom says, pushing herself upright on the blue couch. "A long time ago, me and your father made a promise to tell you something once you were fourteen. It was a very hard decision, and we want you to know that we love you."

"I love you guys, too." He replies with a small smile, because this just got, well… deep. If his parents look this guilty, and if they waited this long…

"You weren't born in a hospital. We don't even know where you were born." Edna laughs a little bitterly, a little uncomfortably. He furrows his eyebrows. That doesn't have to be bad…right? They could've been somewhere else, somewhere foreign, don't panic Jay-

"But we do know where we met you." He has memories with Ed and Edna from when he was four. 'Meeting' him any younger would've been a hell of a world lot more difficult. What are they getting at here? "We found you on our doorstep."

No. They have to be kidding here, right? Things were so straightforward, the looks, the personalities- why-

"It was a cold winter night. You had a note and key with you in your basket, all wrapped up against the cold." She continues, stopping to pull the mentioned items out of seemingly nowhere before leaning forward and pressing the objects into his now trembling hands.

He grabs the key first. It's an old thing, one that looks like it's straight out of a fairy movie. It's been maintained in great quality, thankfully, with each crook and crevice perfectly sparkling. It's heavy, pure iron, he supposes, thick and round and… oddly memorable. The metal design on the end is an abnormally nostalgic symbol, one that looks suspiciously like the Fritz Donnegan comic logo.

Then, he observes the note. Obvious to the eye, it's old and worn and torn in places, the paper gone flimsy over the years. It's an odd shade of dull pastel-pink, the edges sun-stained and crinkled. It seems like it's been tried to maintain, but it's paper, so he's not going to blame anyone. Building up the courage (and precision) to open the folded paper, he forces his eyes to skim the contents.

'Dear Jay,

I'm sorry I'm not here for you, and I'm sorry your father isn't either. I hope you live a good life beyond this terrible circumstance. You will be amazing, no matter what, and I don't need to hear any sciences or statistics to know that. I don't care if you're only a newborn, you're a star.

My name is Libber, and you probably won't ever know that name. Maybe you should ask a Garmadon, or maybe Wu himself. I can't be there for you, only because I want you to live on. There are bad, evil people after me, and would've been after you if I had not made this choice, but I am sure lovely Ed and Edna will protect you.

Your father is a great man to me, and I have had to leave him for safety reasons, too. He might not remember you, neither you him, so he has written you into his will with a key. A key to a fortune, my child, use it wisely.

I have many regrets, and I will probably not live many minutes past this abandonment. I am sorry.

Yours perpetually,

Libber Gordon.'

Only when every single one of the ink splotches are perfectly and obsessively observed does he pick up the pictures that had fallen out of the folded parchment. Does he want to see? Does he want to see the woman that saved his life, cut him off from his father and yet none of it was any of her fault?

With a deep breath, the world stops spinning as much. His thoughts die down from a tornado to a mild storm, and the only thing he can think of is 'yes' above all else. Intensely eager now, he turns the laminated squares over.

His mom was pretty. So is his mom now, First Master he's gonna have to start to specify-

Her hair is big and blonde and curly and fluffy and just like Jay's, however obviously blonde. He finds himself ghosting over his own freckles with his fingers, the ones that are exactly the same as hers, obvious and characteristic and looking like an explosion went off on their faces. The obsession with the colour blue is apparently genetic, too.

He picks up what he hopes to be his father.

…And is met so flabbergasted he almost forgets to breathe.

Who's looking up at him, — smirking at him, even — is Cliff Gordon. As in, Cliff. Freaking. Gordon. As in Fritz Donnegan Cliff Gordon. As in famous celebrity and superstar millionaire Cliff Gordon. His idol.

"Wow." He musters out a little frazzled, items splayed across his lap while his (adopted) parents look down at him worryingly. "This is… just- wow."

"Jay, son…" his father starts, but he's wrong and also right, and he's so confident about it, too. How many times has he been called 'son' or 'baby' and never questioned it?

"No, no…" he waves his hand slowly, as if his gesticulation represents the speed of his mental activity. In this case, slow. "I… I don't know what to say."

"Just say what you're thinking, hon'. Don't overthink it." His mother says lovingly, on the brink of either sad or delighted tears. She leans forward and places her hand in his, squeezing briefly.

"This is… a lot." He'd just wanted to finish his story game so he could talk about it at school. He hates to sound spoiled, but there's always something in the way. "And- and I still love you guys the same. No- more even, you saved me, apparently." He blabbers out, gesturing to the note he's trying ever-so desperately not to rip between his fingers.

"Oh, Ed!" His mom squeals, overjoyed at just about everything, hand pressing over her mouth before wiping at her eyes. "Don't you hear? He loves us!"

"I told you, Edna, our boy's fantastic. I don't even need to write than one down!" He exclaims back, voice shakily as his eyes grow wet, too. He glances lovingly from his son to his wife, a small smile perking the corners of his wrinkly mouth.

Jay wants to make a witty comment, even just to lighten the mood, because this is so… sweet, but he holds his tongue. He'll let them have this one, no matter how awkward it is. Letting his mind fall astray, his thoughts fall back to reminisce on past memories.

All those years, the fourteen years he's been here, they've been… lying to him. Lies of omission are still lies, right? Maybe it was a coincidence they all looked the same. Maybe it was a coincidence Jay was just as interested in robotics as his father. Maybe it's a coincidence he has the emotional courage to cry at sappy movies with his mother.

His mom sounded like a good person, a great person, even. He just wants to know more, but… what she said. 'Ask a Garmadon or maybe even Wu himself,' what is that even supposed to mean? Who's Wu? He's heard of Garmadon, a big, ugly warlord on a long-lost island who is very much real, husband to Koko Garmadon and father to Lloyd Garmadon.

He doesn't want to even lay eyes on any member of that family. They're unsettling, even for Jay. But if he doesn't… his mother's tale will go untold, and everyone deserves to be heard. She said there were bad people trying to kill her, meaning she probably didn't even get to say anything beyond his abandonment note.

Come to think of it, why would the Garmadons know about her murder? If they have something to do with it Jay'll have heads- (maybe just strands of hair when it comes to Garmadon, actually, maybe he'll just rip a few of their hairs out and blame it as an accident).

What his father said, 'our boy'. Does it matter who he was born into? It surely shouldn't, right? The upbringing is what matters, and like he's been thinking for the past fourteen years of his life, that they're his mom and dad, maybe it doesn't have to change.

Thoughts smack him in the face like a whirlwind, yet it's shocking. Electrifying, even, to know all of this stunning information. Each and every individual thought is like a lightning strike latching onto him. It's too much, that's what.

"Jay, honey? Are you alright?" Edna asks carefully once she's stopped joyfully crying, trying to make eye-contact with her son who's absentmindedly staring into the distance, small tears rolling slowly down his cheeks.

"Son?" Ed questions, noticing the concern.

Jay can't stop himself. He breaks into hysterical tears, sniffling and sobbing like a small child. His shoulders shake and he digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, leaning into his mother's warm embrace without a care for anything else.

At some point Edna had pulled him to the couch to squeeze him between her and her husband, just letting him cry and take it all in. They'd known this was bound to happen. Mostly because it's Jay, who cries at Disney movies without fail every single time even though he knows the endings off by heart. Otherwise because it's a lot to take in, that's all.

He cries for being overwhelmed. He cries for being confused. He cries for the lies. He cries for his mom and her passing. He cries for his adoptive parents having to keep this secret for so long. He cries because he didn't want this. He wanted these parents to be real because they were perfect, and if he wasn't theirs, then Jay wasn't as perfect as he'd thought he was.

Still good, but not as good as he could be. That's a good mindset to have, right? Maybe he needed to be humbled.

After a countless amount measurement of time, Jay finally spoke again. "Sorry for freaking out, I guess I was just sad about my mo- well, Libber dying." He tries to sound sincere, to sound mature, because he is a high-and-mighty fourteen year-old, but he ends up sounding like a lost little kid.

"We're upset about it too, son. She told us she wouldn't last long." His father admits, rubbing his son's back. A bout of silence ensues again, but it's not sad again like last time.

It's almost relieved, relieved to have each other. "This doesn't change anything- well, maybe except the apparent fortune I've just inherited, but I think nothing should change as in our dynamic. You've been my parents my whole life, which is basically the same as anyone else's biological parents, so I don't think it alters anything. We should still live the same way." Jay declares, a mix if pride and determination splayed across his face.

"What do you mean?" His father, his real father says.

"I mean that I'm not going anywhere to find them or change anything about how I act or about my life. I like this one that I have now. I don't things you guys should change, either, that's only if you want to, though-"

"Darn right, son! Quit your yappin', be confident!" Ed interrupts, face equally prideful. Edna beams from behind Jay.

Now that the whole adopted conundrum is over, and that he's absolutely one-hundred-percent sure nothing will change, the thought of his video game struck the back of his mind. Skylor won't be happy if he makes another false promise.

Glancing at the clock, he sees that if he hurries, he can probably still finish the game before his parents tell him it's bedtime (he's a respectful and obedient child, after all). Quickly standing up, he points awkwardly to the direction of his room with his thumb.

"I'm gonna go finish my game, is that okay?"

"Of course, dear. I'll call you when dinner's ready!"

"Thanks, ma!"

Throwing himself down in his gaming chair, only one thought hits him.

His real parents are in the room over, not six feet under or in fancy mansions. Jay belongs right there where he is, in the junkyard, with his amazing parents, dreading the upcoming end of spring break.