Chapter 436 Damien

Chapter 436 Damien
Damien - The Babies

A little cry cuts through the dark.

My eyes shift immediately toward the three bassinets lined up along the wall.

And trust me, I love those little cries.

I love every fucking sound these babies make.

The squeaks. The snuffles. The angry little grunts when they're being changed. The ridiculous noises they make while eating. Even the screaming that occasionally makes half the Verrath wing wonder whether someone is being murdered.

I love all of it.

They're alive.

They're healthy.

They're ours.

After watching healers pull them from Avery one by one, so fucking tiny that for several horrifying moments I wasn't sure any of them would survive, I'll happily listen to them scream for the next five hundred years.

But that doesn't mean I'm doing this shit alone.

I turn my head.

Ezra and Rowan are dead asleep.

They're sprawled across the enormous bed like two useless fucking corpses, enjoying the luxury of unconsciousness while I've been listening to three babies breathe for the last four hours.

Another little cry.

Nyx this time.

I recognize her now.

Which is fucking ridiculous.

They're only a few weeks old, yet somehow I already know which tiny Verrath is complaining based on the pitch.

I walk over to the bed.

Then I kick Ezra.

Hard enough that he rolls straight into Rowan.

Rowan grunts.

Ezra jerks awake.

I kick them again.

This time they both tumble over the edge of the mattress in a tangle of blankets, limbs and considerably less dignity than two of the most powerful demi-gods alive should possess.

"What the fuck?"

Ezra's shadows explode halfway up the wall.

Rowan comes upright looking ready to burn down the entire room, his hair sticking out in six different directions.

I grin.

"Wakey, wakey, little princesses. Your babies need you."

Another cry comes from the bassinets. Lilian.

Then another. Markus.

Rowan stares at me.

Then at the babies.

Then back at me.

His hands move irritably.

Why can't you do it?

I scoff.

"Excuse me?"

Ezra drags a hand down his face.

"You don't even sleep."

"That does not mean I do all the fucking work at night."

"You're awake anyway."

"That's irrelevant."

"It's extremely relevant."

"Fuck you."

Another cry.

Louder.

All three of our heads turn.

Instantly.

Markus squirms inside his bassinet, his little face scrunched in outrage while Lilian has apparently decided his complaint is valid and begins joining him.

I point.

"See? They're organizing."

Rowan climbs to his feet.

Ezra mutters something extremely disrespectful about me under his breath.

"I heard that."

"I intended you to."

I grin.

There's the council leader.

Tonight is the first night we've managed to convince Avery to sleep somewhere else.

She's across the hall in her old room, and I use the word convince generously.

She fought us.

Actually fought us.

She cried the first time we suggested it, which made all three of us immediately abandon the idea, because apparently we're fucking useless against one trembling lip from our wife.

But Avery is exhausted.

She's still recovering.

The birth took nearly everything out of her. The babies were small when they arrived, all three needing constant attention from the healers during those first days, and Avery hadn't exactly been in good condition herself.

They're doing better now.

Every week, they're gaining weight.

Their little cheeks are filling out. Their fingers don't look quite so impossibly delicate anymore. They eat constantly, sleep constantly and somehow produce an astonishing amount of laundry for three people who don't actually go anywhere.

Avery, however, insists on waking every time they do.

She'll stumble out of bed barely able to keep her eyes open because one of them made a sound.

She wants to feed them.

Hold them.

Change them.

Check them.

Count their fingers for the nine-hundredth fucking time.

She watches them sleep instead of sleeping herself.

So tonight we overruled her.

She cried.

We nearly folded.

Then Ezra reminded us that letting our wife exhaust herself because we're incapable of telling her no doesn't constitute taking care of her.

Annoyingly sensible bastard.

So Avery is across the hall with Kuro guarding her door, under strict instructions from Rowan to sleep.

And we're here.

Three grown men versus three newborns.

Should be simple.

It is not simple.

Markus begins screaming.

"Alright."

I clap my hands once.

"Assignments."

Ezra glares at me.

"Assignments?"

"You. Baby boy."

"Why?"

"Because he's loud and you're annoying."

"What does that have to do with—"

"Rowan, Lilian."

Rowan raises an eyebrow.

"I've got Nyx."

Ezra stares at me.

"You realize they're our children too. You don't actually command us."

"I'm military commander."

"Of the Institute."

"Babies are future Institute residents."

"That is not how jurisdiction works."

Our son screams louder.

Ezra immediately abandons the argument.

"Oh, alright, I'm coming."

I smile.

Pathetic.

Every last one of us.

Ezra reaches into the bassinet and carefully scoops him up, and the transformation is immediate.

His entire expression softens.

"What's wrong?"

The tiny boy screams directly into his father's face.

I bark out a laugh.

Ezra glares at me over the baby's head.

"He's hungry."

"You don't know that."

"I do."

Rowan lifts Lilian.

She quiets almost immediately.

Fucking traitor.

She settles against his chest, one tiny fist curled beneath her chin, and Rowan looks unbearably smug about it.

"Don't start."

He grins.

"She likes your warmth. That's cheating."

His eyebrow lifts.

I reach for our other daughter.

She's the smallest of the three.

Still.

Not by much anymore, but enough that I notice every time I hold her.

My hands look fucking enormous around her.

The first time a healer handed her to me, I nearly refused.

Not because I didn't want her.

Because I'd never been more afraid of anything in my entire life.

I kill Titans with these hands.

I break bones with them.

I wield swords and daggers and tear things apart with them.

Then someone put this tiny pink creature against my chest and expected me to somehow know how to touch her without breaking her.

Now?

"Come here, little menace."

I scoop her up easily.

She fusses.

"I know."

Another unhappy sound.

"I know. Your fathers are terribly neglectful."

Ezra looks at me.

"You're holding her."

"Not me. The other two."

Rowan silently laughs.

Then Nyx opens her mouth and starts rooting against my shirt.

"Ah."

I look down.

"Hungry."

Ezra gives me a pointed look.

We get bottles.

Avery has been feeding them herself whenever she can, but the healers have her supplementing because three babies apparently possess appetites designed specifically to destroy one tiny woman.

Within minutes, the room becomes quiet again.

Not silent.

Never silent anymore.

There's always something.

Little sucking noises.

Tiny breaths.

The creak of the rocking chair.

I settle into one with my daughter tucked against my arm, bottle tilted carefully while she drinks with a determination that makes me smile.

"Slow down."

She ignores me.

Obviously.

Verrath.

Across the room, Ezra sits on the edge of the bed feeding our son.

His hair is a disaster.

He's barely awake.

There's something profoundly satisfying about seeing the leader of the entire Institute sitting shirtless at three in the morning with a cloth thrown over one shoulder while a six-pound infant grips his finger.

Rowan sits beside him with our other daughter.

He looks down at her like he's witnessing fire for the first time.

He does that a lot.

All of us do.

Sometimes one of us will simply stop mid-conversation because a baby yawns.

Yesterday Markus sneezed and Ezra summoned me from fucking training to see if I thought it sounded normal.

It was a sneeze.

I told him that.

He told me to listen again.

Fucking idiot.

Nyx slows.

Her eyes are closing.

"No, no."

I tap the bottom of the bottle.

"You wanted it. Finish."

She takes another lazy mouthful.

"That's right."

Ezra looks over.

"You're negotiating with a newborn."

"She's receptive."

"She's asleep."

I glance down.

She is.

"Fuck."

Rowan's shoulders shake.

"Shut up."

He signs one-handed.

Didn't say anything.

"Your face did."

Then our son makes a strange noise.

All three of us freeze.

Ezra looks down.

"What was that?"

I listen.

The boy makes it again.

Rowan leans closer.

Ezra's eyes widen.

"Is he choking?"

I stand so quickly my daughter startles.

"No. Fuck. Wait."

Then—

Our son burps.

Loudly.

Silence.

I stare at him.

Rowan stares at him.

Ezra stares at him.

The baby looks extraordinarily pleased with himself.

I start laughing.

Ezra's face falls.

"Oh, fuck off."

"Terrifying."

"I thought—"

"The mighty Ezra Verrath, defeated by gas."

"You jumped up too."

"I was protecting my daughter from your panic."

"You're such an asshole."

"Yet somehow Avery married me."

"She also married me."

Rowan raises his hand.

"And him."

I sigh.

"She has questionable judgment."

We change them next.

Which is where everything goes to shit.

Rowan takes the first.

Easy.

Done.

I take the second.

Also easy.

Ezra gets our son.

Thirty seconds later—

"Fuck!"

I turn.

Ezra is standing beside the changing table staring down in disbelief.

There's a wet streak across his stomach.

I stare.

Rowan stares.

Ezra slowly looks at us.

Neither of us survives.

I laugh so hard I nearly wake both girls.

Rowan has to brace himself against the dresser, completely silent but shaking from head to toe.

"Not one fucking word."

That only makes it worse.

"You've been pissed on."

"I noticed."

"Your heir has claimed you."

"Damien."

"I'm proud of him."

"Damien."

"Excellent range too."

A pillow comes flying at my head.

I duck.

"Violence in front of the children?"

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

He mutters as he cleans himself off.

Eventually, somehow, we have three clean, fed, sleepy babies.

Rowan takes one.

Ezra takes another.

I hold the third.

We don't put them down immediately.

None of us mentions it.

We simply sit there.

The room is dim, illuminated only by the low fire and moonlight through the windows.

Lilian is asleep against my bare chest now.

I feel every breath.

Every tiny rise.

Every tiny fall.

Alive.

Healthy.

Growing.

My throat tightens.

"Do you ever think about how close we came?"

The laughter disappears.

Ezra looks down at our son.

"Every day."

Rowan's hand stills against Lilian's back.

We don't need to clarify.

Avery.

The babies.

All four of them.

For a few horrible minutes, we almost lost everything before we'd even had the chance to understand what we'd been given.

I look down at this tiny girl sleeping against me.

Rowan looks toward the door.

Then signs.

Think she's asleep?

"She fucking better be."

Ezra smiles.

"Should we check?"

I immediately stand.

Ezra laughs quietly.

"You didn't even hesitate."

"Shut up."

We put the babies back into their bassinets first.

Carefully.

Slowly.

Our son stretches, fists curling beside his face.

One daughter makes a little squeak.

The other doesn't stir at all.

Then we cross the hallway.

Kuro lifts his giant head when we approach Avery's door.

I put a finger against my lips.

He stares at me.

"Don't judge me."

The fox lowers his head again.

I open the door just enough to look inside.

Moonlight spills across the bed.

Avery is asleep.

Really asleep.

Curled on her side among the pillows, golden hair everywhere, one hand tucked beneath her cheek.

Color has finally started coming back into her face these past few weeks.

She's still too thin.

Still recovering.

But she looks peaceful.

Ezra appears over my shoulder.

Rowan over his.

Three fucking idiots standing in a doorway staring at their sleeping wife.

"She's okay," Ezra whispers.

"I know."

Nobody moves.

Finally Rowan nudges us backward.

Right.

Babies.

We return to our room.

Three bassinets.

Three tiny sleeping bodies.

And three chairs dragged directly beside them because apparently none of us has any intention of returning to bed now.

Ezra drops into one.

Rowan takes another.

I sit between them.

"You know," Ezra murmurs, "for someone who complained about doing all the work, you're still awake."

I look at him.

"I don't sleep."

He smiles.

A tiny sound comes from one of the bassinets.

All three of us lean forward at exactly the same time.

Nothing.

Just a sigh.

We slowly sit back.

I shake my head.

We're fucking doomed.

And gods, I've never been happier about anything in my life.