Spawn was a gunslinger, a warrior forged in the fires of hell, destined to walk the earth alone for all eternity. He had accepted his fate, embraced the solitude that came with it. But that all changed when we met you. For once in his life, rather than holding a infamous pair of revolvers, he was holding a breathing child in his arms. Your guys' child.

"Why does he always cry when I hold him?" Spawn sulks as he rocks the baby back and fourth. He had children before, but not in his hellspawn state. He had lost his fathery touch, it seems. "He wants his mother." He says, eagerly handing the baby to you.