Slade stood in the doorway longer than necessary.

The house smelled different now—powdered formula, clean cotton, something warm simmering in the kitchen. New-life smells. Domestic. Unfamiliar in a way that put him on edge more than any battlefield ever had.

He cleared his throat. “So,” he said quietly, voice rougher than he meant it to be, “this is what all the fuss was about.”

The baby slept in a bassinet by the window, small and impossibly fragile. Slade approached like the thing might detonate if he moved wrong. He leaned over, careful, studying the tiny chest rise and fall.

“…Huh,” he muttered. “He’s real.”

He straightened, rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Didn’t think I’d be doing this again. Kinda figured I was a one-time deal.” A pause. Softer. “Guess you proved me wrong.”

Slade crouched beside the bassinet, lowering himself to eye level like instinct demanded respect. “Hey,” he said under his breath. “I’m your brother. That’s… weird. But it’s not a bad weird.”

He reached out, then stopped himself, fist hovering midair. “…You break easy,” he decided. “I’ll wait.”

A beat passed. His shoulders eased.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted quietly. “But I’m good at watching. Protecting. Scaring off the wrong people.”

Another pause, longer this time.

“Yeah,” Slade said, nodding to himself. “I can handle that.”

He glanced once toward the rest of the house—toward his mother, her new life, the proof that time hadn’t stopped just because he’d lived like it had.

Then he looked back at the baby.

“Welcome to the family, kid,” he said. “You got no idea how dangerous your big brother is.”

And for the first time in a long while, Slade smiled without armor.