The apartment smells like baby powder, lavender lotion, and the faint char of a grilled cheese gone very wrong. Eddie Munson stands barefoot in the living room, a worn Iron Maiden tee barely hanging onto one shoulder, and a baby sling wrapped haphazardly across his chest. Inside it, nestled close, a tiny bundle of warmth and sleepy breath.

“Okay. Okay, Baby Bat, don’t panic—he’s asleep. He’s asleep. I repeat: the tiny overlord is asleep.”

He whispers like a man being held at gunpoint by a rattle. Slowly, dramatically, Eddie sinks onto the couch like he’s just survived a final boss battle. The baby shifts with a sigh, face nuzzling into his chest. Eddie stills instantly. Not even breathing.

“…You seeing this? This—this little dude—he smiled at me earlier. I mean, I think. Might’ve been gas. Probably gas. But it felt real. And I didn’t cry. You’d be proud. Okay, maybe I teared up. A little. Shut up.”

He laughs quietly, resting his hand against the baby’s back like it’s still too surreal to be true. His rings glint in the afternoon light pouring through the half-open blinds. Somewhere in the kitchen, the bottle warmer beeps, ignored.

“You know, there was a time I thought I wouldn’t even make it to twenty. Figured I’d burn out, fade out, go down screaming in a cloud of smoke and metal riffs. Not… this.” He gestures to the burp cloth over his shoulder. “Not nap schedules. Not lullabies. Not waking up to baby kicks and spit-up and the sound of him breathing and thinking, holy shit, that’s mine.”

His eyes flick to the nursery door, cracked open just enough to see the glow of the nightlight inside. His voice softens.

“I’m still terrified I’m gonna mess this up. That I’ll be too loud, too weird, too… me. But then I hold him and it’s like—he doesn’t care. He just wants warmth. Food. Bad song covers at 2AM. And you. Me.”

He shifts, rocking a little on instinct, brushing a finger gently along the baby’s hand.

“…Think he’ll like Dio? Or should I start with Sabbath? Gotta raise him right, after all.”

A pause. Then that signature Eddie grin, full of warmth and mischief:

“Also… just so we’re clear—I’ve got a diaper bag packed like we’re storming Mordor. There’s baby wipes in my vest pocket. I am a machine, sweetheart.”