Archive of Our Own ^beta

Many things have taken War by surprise in his life, but it takes a lot to shock him. Working as a Horseman, now as a Balance Keeper with the corrupted Council done away with, makes one almost immune to being completely taken off guard by the unexpected. Usually it's inconvenient or frustrating. Not truly shocking.

So it is very odd to the Horseman to be in a state of shock and awe for the last... He glances at the alarm clock next to the bed. 27 hours.

27 hours.

Ryen fell asleep only about an hour ago, despite making claims that he was going to "conk the fuck out" as soon as they left the hospital. War is impressed by his ability to stay awake, and their ability to know when he was drifting off and immediately start screaming. For such tiny lungs, they can certainly make their displeasure known.

Them being, of course, the baby resting on Ryen's chest. They're tiny, tinier than War expected but just about as delicate as he figured a human child would be. He could hold them in one hand. He doesn't, knowing that you have to support their neck at this age from the many, many books he read on the subject of babies, but he could .

Said books prepared him for a lot of things, but not... this.

Not for how this tiny little being who so far has done nothing but cry and sleep makes every protective instinct War has go into overdrive, or the way his heart clenches whenever he looks at Ryen and the child together.

Parenthood was not... a thing with the Nephilim. War and the others didn't actually know who their parents were. Children were all grouped together and watched over by whoever was injured or willing to sacrifice a battle to protect the young.

War understands why they did that logically, they were a conquering species and having family units took away too many fighters, but he has also spent only a little over a day with this child and he would do anything for them.

Ryen seems to be in a similar state of unmatched devotion, only putting the child down when War wants to hold them or when they need their diaper changed. He only laid down when War suggested it, apparently only noticing how tired he is after it's mentioned. Not surprising. Ryen has a habit of pushing back discomfort. It was a helpful trait when they were fighting for their lives (and, technically, War's honor), but now it causes the Horseman a lot of stress. It's hard for him to know when things are Too Much for a human, and Ryen's insistence he's fine makes it even more difficult.

It would be much easier if Ryen just listened to his own body.

War rolls his eyes at the thought, knowing that it’s hopelessly optimistic and maybe a little rude. He doesn't expect or particularly want Ryen to change, but it might benefit him. War can only do so much to protect him in that regard (and he finds it endlessly frustrating).

Ryen stirs a little, making the baby's face scrunch up in displeasure. Clearly, they're upset that their bed is moving.

War grimaces in response. Which is worse, trying to give the both of them a little more sleep by taking the baby and potentially doing it wrong , or letting him continue to hold their child and risk them waking each other up?

War would like to say he logics out the answer, but truthfully, he just wants to hold the baby. Ryen makes a bit of a face when War moves his arms, but doesn't wake up. The baby doesn't react to being moved aside from yawning (and War realizes that an expression can be so cute that it causes one’s heart to ache).

War always thought Ryen was small.

The baby puts that thought to shame, despite the fact that they're a fair bit chubbier than Ryen. Their skin is also much softer, which War thinks is both wonderful and terrible (who designed humans anyway? Their young are entirely helpless!).

War doesn't dare touch them with his prosthetic hand, fearing the clawed tips will harm them. Ryen clipped their nails when they got home, explaining that babies can scratch themselves and the wounds easily get infected. "My little sister did that," He said, casual despite the inherent vulnerability in mentioning the family he lost. "Babies have real sensitive skin too, that's why we got special soap."

War grimaced at the reminder. Ryen has been buying and skin testing a million and three different "baby lotions" for the last month. War can only hope that he's found one he likes, because his Nephilim sense of smell does him no favors with so many warring scents.

Plus, he likes the scent of his new child, as odd as that sounds. Having them and Ryen in close proximity is calming.

War's lips tilt into a grin when he realizes that his siblings will be very anxious the meet their newest family member. Lilith as well, probably, although War will try his best to keep them from her for as long as possible. His "mother" and his husband have a strangely cordial relationship, but they very rarely cross paths. Lilith respects how Ryen was able to manipulate their quest (including their deal with Samiel), while Ryen seems to be under the impression that Lilith can become "better". The Horsemen and Lilith are rarely in agreement, but they all think Ryen's hope is misplaced there.

But War has seen him do the impossible before.

He runs his thumb over the baby's cheek and hopes they'll never have to go through the things their parents did. They'll no doubt be dragged into kingdom politics, and War and his siblings are very excited for them to be old enough to choose a weapon (and, by extension, a mentor), but he will also do everything in his power to allow them a normal-ish human life.

"Ish" because it's hard to imagine them being completely average given that one of their parents is a Nephilim and the other is The Savior. Ryen still hates that name and the attention it garners him. He'd rather not be famous for, in his words, "fuckin’ survivin’ by the skin of my teeth," and some are less than excited that the human who saved the world isn't the typical hero.

Others are very happy that Ryen is who he is, and that makes him almost as uncomfortable as the ones who'd rather him dead. He stresses about being a role model a lot.

War doesn't really understand, but he tries to help. If only by providing them with opportunities to relax.

Especially now that they have a child.

War is aware, somewhat distantly, that the baby in his arms is not technically "his", and he also knows that Ryen would be furious to hear that vocalized. This child is theirs. Together, he says, dark eyes hard and determined. Together, he says, smiling softly as he threads his fingers through War's hair.

Together includes the baby now too, War supposes.

Technically they have a name on their birth certificate, but Ryen adores the Nephilim habit of allowing children to name themselves once they're old enough and allowing them to change it when it's outgrown. War agrees that is one of the few things Nephilim did correctly.

(Ryen calls his first name his deadname, and he tenses up whenever someone says it, even when he knows they're addressing someone else. His first name is an open wound, while War's is simply a name. Someone he used to be, maybe)

War wonders what their baby's first name will be and hopes that it won't ever become something painful. He has a lot of hopes for this child.

The sun rises too quickly, and War knows Ryen likes to be woken up by the sunlight, but for a moment he considers pulling the rarely used blackout curtains.

jHe should. Ryen deserves more sleep after the day they've had.

The way the light slowly crawls onto Ryen's face is distracting though, and

War wishes he had the words to articulate it. To do as Ryen has on several occasions and explain how gorgeous and wonderful and strong he is.

But he really can't. He just knows that he likes the way the pinkish sunlight reflects off Ryen's dark brown skin, and how peaceful he looks despite the sleep deprived, bruise-like circles under his eyes, and how everything about him is a testament to his survival (and War is so thankful he survived).

Ryen wakes up with a jerk, his hands flying to his chest. "Where's--" his eyes land on War and the baby, and the panic drains from his form. "Oh."

War snorts. "We're fine."

Ryen doesn't respond verbally, but the sleepy grin says enough. He sits up, leaning against the headboard. His hand twitches like he wants to reach for the baby, but he resists the urge. "You two look comfy."

"They didn't like you moving." He wants to shrug, but that would also bother them.

"What a baby ," he responds dramatically. "Jeez, kid," he says, mock exasperated as he reaches to cup their face. They're a few shades lighter than Ryen, while War is ridiculously pale in comparison to the both of them.

The baby's eyebrows pull together at Ryen's touch, but they don't quite wake up.

"I should make breakfast before this little monster wants to be fed again," Ryen says, looking extremely reluctant to do so.

"I can hold them." War says, eyes narrowing. "Go eat."

Ryen makes a show of debating it anyway, glancing between the door and the baby and his husband. " Fine ," he finally relents. He leans over to kiss War, careful of the newborn between them. "I love you." He moves down, kissing the baby's cheek. "I love you."

War is almost positive that the baby has no idea what those words mean, but the scene makes him smile anyway.

Ryen still has a limp has he walks out into the kitchen, and War feels the urge to offer assistance, but he knows Ryen would have none of it. He barely allowed the Horsemen to carry him around when he had fractured ribs and a terribly bruised right side.

He returns in less than fifteen minutes, too tired to do much more than a boxed pasta dinner. His hair is wet too, and given that War didn't hear the shower running, he assumes Ryen washed it in the sink. Something he generally hates doing, since he says it dries out his hair. Apparently his laziness has, for the time being, trumped his vanity.

"Pre-measured food is a fuckin godsend," Ryen says around a mouthful of vermicelli.

"The Maker had nothing to do with human ingenuity."

His eyes narrow in mock annoyance. “Always so literal,” he grumbles, glancing down at the baby. “I hope you inherit my sense of humor and not your--” He pauses. “How are we gonna do the name thing?”

War raises his eyebrows. “The what?”

“Like. Not their name. What is your name gonna be?”

That clarified absolutely nothing. War stays silent, allowing Ryen to gather his thoughts. He takes another bite of pasta as he does so, that little divot appearing between his eyes as he thinks it over. “Okay,” he says, “Can I be papa? And then, you could be like, dad, or daddy, or father. Father sounds so serious though.”  

Oh.

That name thing. War looks to the baby, still asleep. They certainly can’t just refer to him as War, once they learn how to speak. He figures they still have a little bit of time before that becomes an issue, but Ryen is the type to keep asking until he gets a definite answer. He likes to plan things (a little too much, some would argue).

“Dad or daddy is fine,” he decides, agreeing that father would be too serious. He’s already the serious one in this relationship.

Ryen’s voice softens as he repeats to the baby, “I hope you inherit my sense of humor instead of your dad’s. Because papa’s a fuckin’ riot.”

War covers his laughter with a snort. “They’ll inherit your cursing too, if you keep that up.”

Ryen has a pretty smile, even when its wicked and teasing. “Like you don’t swear. ‘Sides, I’ll start watching my language when the kid starts talking.” He puts his plate down to lean over and kiss the baby, making a theatrical “mwah” sound.

He falls silent for a moment afterwards, simply gazing at them affectionately. “I didn’t know I could love someone as much as I do this little runt. No offense, of course. I do love you too.”

“How could I be offended you love our child?” That’s ridiculous to even imply.

Ryen makes a face, clearly embarrassed. “ Gay .” Is all he says, a blush spreading across his cheeks. He covers his mouth with a hand and glances away, repeating, “Our child.” He says it like he still can’t believe it, that they have a baby.

War agrees its still a little surreal, despite the fact they had almost ten months to get used to the idea. It’s just something War never considered a possibility for himself. Adding onto his family, or just getting married in the first place. But Ryen is very convincing when he wants something, and War likes indulging him and his human customs.

Ryen gets over his embarrassment long enough to finish off his breakfast, abandoning the plate and fork on his bedside table. Afterwards he turns a suspicious eye on the baby, asking quietly, “You think I can actually take a shower or would that be pressing my luck?”

“I can watch them for more than fifteen minutes.”

“They’ll wanna eat when they wake up. I wasn’t doubting your parenting skills.”

He makes a good point. War signs “I don’t know,” with his prosthetic, still too worried about waking the baby to shrug.

Ryen sighs. “Wanna watch Netflix or something?”

“No romcoms.” With his hormones the way they are, War has had to deal with way too many tears while watching romcoms. It’s not Ryen’s fault, really, but its distressing to say the least.

His husband laughs in response, muffling the sound with one hand as the other grabs the remote. “How many episodes do you think we can get through before they wake up?”

War honestly has no idea. “Three?” He guesses.

He nods, “I’m betting on like. One and a half.”

(they’re both wrong, and the baby only makes it to the thirty minute mark of a forty minute episode before waking up. Ryen is only too happy to take them back into his arms, shushing them with a smile on his face that makes War weak. That must be another reason why nephilim didn’t have families. War can’t imagine not doing everything in his power to protect them, both of them.)

“Hey, you wanna try?” Ryen asks, bringing War out of his thoughts. He holds out the bottle, smiling encouragingly. “Promise this isn’t an excuse to make you do chores either.”

War rolls his eyes. “It’s not a chore.” Then he pauses, looking down at the baby. “Are you certain I should be…?” He flexes his prosthetic, clinking the clawed tips against one another. They’re so small. What if he hurts them?

Ryen clearly understands his line of thought, but doesn’t agree with it in the slightest. “You’re not gonna hurt them. I have faith in you. They have faith in you. You should too.”  He says, his tone leaving no room for arguments.

War takes the bottle, and Ryen very carefully gives the baby to him as well. “You’ll be fine.” He says, “Goodness knows you read enough first time parent books.” He glances disdainfully at said pile of books, all neatly stacked on the floor.

“I was the youngest.” War responds. Ryen is right, getting a hungry newborn to eat is fairly simple, but War doesn’t feel the need to voice that thought.

“Speaking of…” He says, stretching his arms out in front of him with a grimace. “You did tell you siblings, right?”

“Of their birth? No. Of you carrying a child? Yes.” He hasn’t really had the time, when he does get around to it, he’s sure they’ll drop whatever they’re doing and race over to see them. Is it selfish that he wants some more time with just himself, Ryen, and their baby?

Ryen rolls his eyes. “You know what’s gonna be weird? I bet they’re gonna grow up thinking that being nephilim sized is normal and I’m just small, but then they’re gonna start school or something and be stunned.”

War can already picture it, and he laughs. “I’m sure there will be many weird things about their childhood.” Many things they’ll have to explain.

Ryen leans sideways, resting his head against War's arm. “I… I’m glad though. Even if having a nephilim and a human dad is weird and confusing. I don’t know if I could do this with anyone else.”