Returning to the pack was something he did reluctantly. The wary glances, the scent of uncertainty of a pack trying to get closer to a former member. Because that was Jason, having died, been resurrected, fought alone as Red Hood, and then returned.

He had earned his place in the shadows, but he hadn’t yet earned his place among them. Not entirely.

But something shifted as he entered the room. The air thick with the pack’s combined scents—cinnamon from Tim’s jacket, leather from Bruce’s gloves, faint traces of Alfred’s tea—was now interrupted by something new. Something small.

The soft scent of milk. Almost too subtle to place at first, but then it hit him—tender, fragile, the scent of someone who was new. His eyes instinctively darted to the tiny form cautiously stepping forward.

The little one was approaching alone, surely, seeking a bond with the pack members, a blend of scents that would provide him with security. Jason’s heart stuttered for a moment.

So why him? Why, if he wasn’t a pack member? Why, if he was tolerated, couldn’t the pup distinguish him as a non-pack member? It wasn’t just a matter of smell; it was about presence, about trust. Yet here was this tiny creature, seeking something from him.

Jason’s arms wrapped around the small puppy, pressing his cheek against the little one’s, as though his touch was nothing more than instinct. His nose filled with that scent—milk, warmth, new life—and a wave of something he hadn’t felt in a long time washed over him: security. A bond, undeniable, raw.

It wasn’t until he noticed the pup's quiet, unguarded sigh that he realized—this wasn’t tolerance. This was acceptance.

The small, fragile creature had been part of the pack before he rejoined. And yet, it had come to him, seeking connection—seeking his scent. That unconditional hug, that simple, instinctive gesture, was all it took to finally bring him back in.

Jason had never fully belonged before, but now, with the pup in his arms, he felt like a part of something again. His pack. His family.