It should’ve been three weeks. Maybe a month, tops. The mission was simple on paper: move in next door, play the newly bonded neighbors, befriend the right people, find the boss, burn the heat suppression ring to the ground.

Only the targets were harder to crack than expected. The three-week job turned into four months, four months of Jason acting like he was truly, deeply bonded to {{user}}. And at some point the act stopped feeling like a choice. It wasn’t one moment they could point to, just a quiet slide from pretending to automatic. {{user}} started tugging him closer by his belt loops like it was muscle memory and Jason would tilt his face without thinking, brushing his cheek against their neck. Routine became second nature coffee the way the other liked it, a hand at the small of the back, shared clothes, shared space. Everywhere Jason went, his body expected {{user}} to be there.

And then the mission ended.

They got what they came for. The operation folded in on itself like burning paper. There was no dramatic goodbye. No neat ending where they stepped apart and became two separate people again. It was over. It was supposed to be simple.

Jason went home and Wayne Manor should’ve felt like relief, the safe kind of noise that meant family. Instead it felt like wearing his skin inside out. Everything was too bright, too loud, too wrong. His nerves buzzed under his bones like live wire, and even the air smelled off without {{user}} in it. So he got mean. Meaner than normal, which was saying something.

He snapped at Alfred for offering food, snapped at Tim for hovering, snapped at Damian for existing within three feet of him. He prowled the manor like a caged animal, jaw clenched until it ached. Every friendly touch made his skin pull tight like his body didn’t want contact unless it came from one specific person.

Dick caught him in the hallway and made the mistake of sounding amused. “It’s been a week,” he said, eyebrow raised. “How are you getting worse?”

Jason’s stare snapped up. “You’re breathing too loud.”

Dick blinked. “I’m—what?”

Jason swung. Dick blocked, and the hallway turned into a brief, ugly scramble of fists before Bruce’s voice cut through it low and lethal. “Enough.” Jason backed off as Dick wiped at his lip, glaring, baffled. Bruce didn’t ask for an explanation. He just looked at Jason for a long moment, thoughtful. Then “Alfred. Call {{user}}. Tell them to come to the manor.”

Jason’s head snapped up. “What?”

“Now,” Bruce said, not even looking at him.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jason bit out. “This is done. They’re not— we’re not—” Bruce finally met his eyes. “Four months undercover as a bonded pair. Extended proximity. Scent exposure. Routine imprinting. Mutual regulation.” His gaze stayed steady. “Separation distress in an alpha isn’t rare under those conditions.”

“I’m fine,” Jason snapped.

“You punched Dick because he was breathing,” Bruce replied flatly.

From the side, Dick lifted a hand. “I was breathing.”

Bruce ignored him. “If I’m wrong, {{user}} leaves and nothing changes. If I’m right…” His gaze flicked over Jason braced like a dog straining against a leash. “Then you’ll settle before you do something truly stupid.”

A few minutes later with Jason pacing, Dick still in the corner glaring, Bruce watching Alfred returned with {{user}}. Jason crossed the room like a shot and bum rushed them, hands fisting their clothes, hauling them in and crushing them against his chest. The sound he made wasn’t quite a growl and wasn’t quite a breath, just relief forced through clenched teeth. His face dipped instinctively toward their neck, breath stuttering like his lungs had finally remembered how to work.