The hospital room still smelled faintly of antiseptic and clean linen, but it had already started to feel like something warmer. Lived in. There were half–deflated balloons tied to the rail of your bed, a stack of get-well cards on the windowsill, and Eddie’s jacket draped over the back of a chair because he refused to leave you for more than five minutes at a time.

You were propped against pillows, your son bundled against your chest, impossibly small and impossibly heavy all at once. Eddie sat beside you, one arm hooked around your shoulders, the other resting protectively along the baby’s back as if the world might try to steal him if he blinked.

“You okay?” he whispered for the hundredth time.

You smiled tiredly. “I’m more than okay.”

A knock came at the door before either of you could say more.

And then the room filled.

Steve first, trying to act casual and failing completely, eyes already glassy. Robin slipped in behind him, grinning so hard it hurt to look at. The kids followed—Lucas, Max, Erica—hovering near the doorway like they weren’t sure they were allowed to breathe in the same air as a newborn.

Last came Dustin and Wayne.

Dustin froze the second he saw you holding the baby.

“Oh my god,” he breathed. “He’s real.”

Wayne cleared his throat, eyes suspiciously wet. “Well I’ll be damned,” he murmured. “You two actually did it.”

Eddie snorted softly. “Against all odds.”

You laughed, careful not to jostle the baby. “Come here,” you told them. “You can look.”

Dustin approached first, slow and reverent, peering down at his nephew like he was afraid the kid might vanish.

“He’s… tiny,” he said.

“That’s generally how babies work,” Steve muttered, but he was smiling.

Everyone gathered closer, forming a loose circle around the bed. For a moment, there was nothing but soft breathing and the quiet hum of hospital machines.

Finally, Robin tilted her head. “So,” she said gently. “You’ve been real cagey about this whole name thing.”

Eddie glanced at you, that familiar spark of nerves and excitement in his eyes. “You ready?”

You nodded.

Dustin straightened. “You’re seriously telling us now?”

“Yeah,” you said. “We figured… you all deserve to know.”

Eddie cleared his throat. “Okay, so. Don’t laugh.”

“Too late,” Steve said automatically.

You shifted the baby slightly and looked down at him, your voice softening. “His name is Dustin Wayne Steven Munson.”

Silence.

Then—

“WHAT?” Dustin yelped.

Wayne’s hand flew to his chest. “You named a baby after me?”

Steve blinked. “Hold on, I’m in there too?”

Eddie grinned, eyes shining. “After the three greatest uncles a kid could ask for.”

Dustin dropped into the chair beside your bed, staring at the baby like he’d just been handed the meaning of life. “You named him after me,” he whispered.

Wayne wiped at his eyes and laughed. “Well I’ll be—”

Steve turned away, pretending very hard not to cry. “I am not emotionally prepared for this,” he said hoarsely.

Robin just smiled at you. “That,” she said, “is the most Munson thing I’ve ever heard.”

The baby stirred, tiny fingers curling, and Eddie leaned down to kiss the top of his son’s head.

“Welcome to the party, Dustin Wayne Steven Munson,” he murmured. “You got one hell of a family waiting for you.”