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Jason stares.
Just… stares, dumbstruck, at the kid standing in front of him.
The Replacement.
Except…
The Replacement is wearing pajamas that are at least a size too big, sleeves swallowing his hands, fabric hanging loose off narrow shoulders. His hair is a mess, sticking up in every direction like he’s been running his hands through it for hours. There are shadows under his eyes, deep, dark, unmistakable, to obvious for his age.
He looks—
Young.
Too young.
A pup.
Jason’s thoughts stutter, catch, then tangle completely.
…shit.
He’d come back with anger burning hot and sharp in his chest, something ugly and defensive curled tight in his ribs. He’d imagined a lot of things. Bigger. Older. Someone who had chosen this.
Not… this.
Not a sleep-deprived, half-dead-on-his-feet pup clutching a kitchen knife like it’s the only thing keeping him upright, looking like a strong wind could knock him over. Jesus, has this kid been eating?
Jason exhales slowly.
The kid smells like fear.
It’s faint under everything else, coffee, exhaustion, something that feels oddly familiar, but it’s there. Sharp enough that Jason’s instincts latch onto it immediately.
The kid’s grip on the knife tightens, and Jason doesn’t even think about it.
He softens.
Let's something instinctive slip out, a low, quiet coo, barely more than a hum, the kind meant to soothe, to reassure. It should work. It doesn’t. The kid flinches.
Jason stills.
Right. Not pack. Not safe. Stranger.
Jason shifts his weight, takes a careful step forward, slow enough to not startle but just trying to get closer to this poor pup.
The kid lets out the tiniest, most wounded little whine.
It’s quiet. Barely there, but it hits Jason like a punch to the chest.
Something in him melts.
“Oh, kid…” Jason breathes, voice dropping without meaning to, softer now, instinct bleeding through every syllable.
He steps further into the light.
And the kid—pup—just… freezes.
His mouth falls open slightly, eyes going wide as he takes Jason in fully. The scars. The hair. The eyes.
“Jason?”
It’s quiet. Disbelieving.
Then the kid shakes his head hard, like he’s trying to dislodge the thought.
“God,” he mutters, voice rough with exhaustion, “I didn’t think I was that tired, but I guess I was wrong. I need some coffee.”
And then he turns away.
Just turns his back on Jason, dismissing him like a trick of the mind.
Jason frowns.
Deeply. He is almost offended, but mostly something that feels like worry.
“…How much caffeine have you had today?” he asks, suspicion creeping in despite everything.
The kid shrugs, already reaching for the coffee machine again, like this is a completely normal interaction.
“I don’t know. Not enough if I am hallucinating, I guess.”
He yawns halfway through it, jaw cracking, eyes watering.
Jason’s frown deepens into something almost offended.
“Have you slept at all?”
A pause.
Then the kid shakes his head.
Jason goes very still.
That—no.
No, that will not do.
Pups need sleep. He knows that. It’s instinctual, something bone-deep and absolute. They need rest, warmth, safety. They need a nest and scenting and—
Jason moves before he fully thinks it through.
Fast.
Too fast for the kid to react properly.
One second, there’s space between them and the next Jason is right there, grabbing him, pulling him in close, one arm wrapping around his shoulders, the other coming up to steady his head.
At the same time, he rips off his patch.
The scent hits the room immediately.
Unfiltered. Strong. Omega.
Warmth floods the space, thick and heavy, wrapping around the pup like something tangible, telling the kid safe, calm, rest. It presses into his skin, into his lungs, something impossible to ignore.
The kid gasps.
“You’re not a hallucination?” he blurts, voice pitching up. “Jason—!”
“Shh,” Jason murmurs immediately, tightening his hold without even realizing it, one hand coming up to cradle the back of the kid’s head.
Too tired. Too wired. Too everything. This pup is carrying too much.
Jason frowns down at him, eyes catching on the shadows under his eyes again, the way he’s swaying slightly now that he’s this close.
“Easy,” he mutters, softer now. “Easy, pup. You’re exhausted.”
The kid is already starting to go limp in his arms, body betraying him now that the adrenaline is fading, Jason’s pheromones sinking in deeper with every breath.
He’s so responsive.
Too responsive.
Jason’s nose wrinkles faintly.
“Have you even been around an omega before?” he mutters under his breath. The kid should have more of a resistance built if one of his parents is an omega.
Whatever. Doesn’t matter.
The kid’s eyes are slipping shut.
Jason adjusts his grip automatically, pulling him closer, tucking him in against his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It feels like the most natural thing in the world.
“Where’s your room?” he asks, glancing toward the doorway, already thinking ahead.
A nest.
He needs a nest.
The thought comes sharp and sudden, digging into his brain with urgency. Safe place. Soft. Warm. Somewhere to put the pup down where he can rest properly. Somewhere that Jason can ensure is safe and warm and soft, perfect for such a perfect pup.
The kid makes a vague noise, something unintelligible, head tipping forward until it presses into Jason’s shoulder.
Not helpful.
Jason clicks his tongue softly, shifting his hold.
“Yeah, kid, I’m gonna need a bit more than that,” he murmurs.
The kid is fully asleep now.
Out cold.
Jason exhales, something in him settling at the weight in his arms, at the quiet, steady breathing against his collarbone.
Safe.
Good.
Jason steps out into the hallway.
The manor is too big.
Too many doors. Too many empty spaces. Nothing smells right, nothing smells like the pup’s room should smell. There’s no clear den, no obvious place to go.
Jason’s skin starts to itch.
Wrong.
This is wrong.
No nest. No pack. No clear territory.
The instinct digs in deeper.
Fix it.
Jason pivots. Guest room. It’ll do.
He pushes the door open with his shoulder and steps inside, eyes scanning quickly before he moves.
The bed is too high. Too exposed. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Jason sets the kid down for exactly two minutes, though it feels an awful lot longer than that, long enough to strip the sheets off the bed in quick, efficient movements. The mattress gets dragged onto the floor, shoved into the corner where at least two walls can block out space, making it feel smaller, safer.
Better.
Not enough.
Jason disappears into the bathroom, comes back with armfuls of towels, anything soft, anything that can be layered. He builds quickly, movements almost frantic now, guided more by instinct than thought.
Layer. Shape. Adjust.
A nest.
It’s not perfect.
But it’s good enough. Later, when the pup has rested a bit more, Jason can move them somewhere else and make a more perfect nest.
Jason scoops the kid back up, far more careful this time, and settles him right into the center of it. Adjusts him without thinking, tilts his head, tucks his limbs in, makes sure he’s supported on all sides.
The kid sighs in his sleep.
Melts further into the fabric.
Jason’s chest tightens.
Good.
Safe.
His pup is safe.
Jason lowers himself down into the nest with him, curling around him instinctively, one arm draped protectively over his middle, pulling him close.
The itch eases.
Finally.
The kid, his pup, his mind supplies without permission, shifts slightly, pressing closer on instinct, seeking warmth.
Jason hums softly, nosing into his hair, breathing in. The kid doesn’t really smell like anything; he smells like pack, but not enough like Jason. As Pack Omega, Jason should be imprinted all over this pup.
He leans in, presses his face briefly to the side of the kid’s neck, scenting him properly this time. Once. Twice. Again, just to be sure.
Mine.
The thought is quiet and certain. This pup is his, and Jason will keep him.
Jason exhales, tension bleeding out of him all at once.
There was something he needed to do.
Something important.
He frowns faintly, trying to grasp at it, but it slips through his fingers like water.
…later.
It can wait.
The pup shifts again, a soft sound leaving him, and Jason immediately tightens his hold, pressing him closer, letting his scent deepen, wrap tighter.
Safe. Sleep. Calm.
Jason’s eyes start to drift shut.
Yeah.
This is right.
He presses one last, lingering scent into the kid’s hair, then settles fully, body relaxing for the first time since he set foot in the manor.
Whatever it was—
It wasn’t more important than this.
Jason falls asleep with his pup tucked safely against his chest.