Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Two months pregnant

"I still can't believe already we're doing this again," Hana said, squeezing Baby's hand as they sat in the waiting room. "Feels like we were just here with the twins."

"Because we were," Mystery said from across the waiting room. "Two years ago. Jinu's still not over the shock of having two at once."

"I've recovered, thank you," Jinu said primly, though his smile was fond. "The twins are perfect."

"They already know how to team up against us," Romance pointed out. "That's terrifying, not perfect."
"Terrifyingly perfect," Jinu amended.

The door to the exam rooms opened and Dr. Kim appeared—their longtime OB who'd guided them through all of Hana's previous pregnancies. But instead of calling them back herself, she had a younger woman with her, probably in her late twenties, with kind eyes and nervous energy.

"Hana, everyone," Dr. Kim greeted them warmly. "Before we get started, I wanted to introduce you to Dr. Sarah Chen. She just joined our practice fresh out of her residency. I was hoping you might be comfortable with her conducting today's ultrasound? You're such experienced patients at this point, and it would be great practice for her to work with a family who knows the routine."

The younger doctor—who had insisted on them calling her Sarah—gave them a slightly nervous smile. "No pressure at all. Dr. Kim will be right outside if you'd prefer her to do it."

Hana looked at Baby, who shrugged with a smile, then at the rest of the pack. They all nodded.

"That's totally fine," Hana said warmly. "We're happy to help. We've been doing this for a while now."

"Almost fourteen years. We're basically professionals at this point." Mystery added

Sarah's shoulders relaxed slightly. "Thank you so much. I promise I know what I'm doing—I'm just still getting used to the practice's equipment."

"You'll do great," Dr. Kim said, squeezing Sarah's shoulder. "I'll be in my office. Just come get me when you're done."

The entire pack stood up as Dr. Kim left, and Sarah blinked at the sudden wall of people moving toward her.

"All of you?" she asked, her voice squeaking slightly.

"All of us," Mystery confirmed. "We're a package deal."

"Oh! Okay. That's... that's great." Sarah led them down the hallway to a larger exam room, clearly trying to project confidence. "The more support the better, right?"

The exam room was set up and waiting, the ultrasound machine humming quietly in the corner. Sarah busied herself with preparing the equipment while Hana settled onto the exam table.

"So this is pregnancy number..." Sarah checked the chart, her eyes widening slightly. "Eight? You've had eleven other children?"

"Yep," Jinu said cheerfully, taking up his usual spot on Hana's left side while Baby stood on her right. Mystery, Romance, and Abby arranged themselves around the foot of the bed. "We're a pack. We all parent together."

"That's amazing," Sarah said, and she sounded genuinely impressed. "What an incredible support system." She turned to Hana with a smile. "Okay, let me just get some gel here—sorry, I know it's cold—"

Hana lifted her shirt, and Sarah squirted the gel onto her stomach. Baby's hand found Hana's automatically, their fingers interlacing, while Jinu's hand rested on her shoulder.

"Alright," Sarah said, her voice taking on a more professional tone as she pressed the transducer to Hana's abdomen. "At eight weeks we should be able to see a nice strong heartbeat, maybe some early limb buds forming..."

She trailed off, her brow furrowing as she stared at the screen.

Baby felt his alpha stir uneasily. "Is something wrong?"

"No! No, nothing's wrong," Sarah said quickly, but her voice had gone up half an octave. "Just... let me just..." She adjusted the transducer, moving it slightly. Pressed a few buttons on the machine. Moved it again. Her eyes were getting wider with each pass. "Um. Okay. I'm just going to..."

She moved the transducer again. Then again. Then she set it down very carefully and took a step back from the machine.

"Is everything okay?" Hana asked, her own voice starting to take on an edge of panic.

"Yes! Everything looks... very healthy." Sarah's professional composure was cracking. "I just need to—I'm going to get Dr. Kim. Just... stay right here. Don't move. I'll be right back."

She practically ran out of the room.

The pack exchanged worried glances.

"That didn't seem like a 'let me get my supervisor for routine practice' exit," Romance said slowly.

"That seemed like a 'holy shit what am I looking at' exit," Mystery agreed, his voice tight.

"Maybe she just wants Dr. Kim to confirm what she's seeing?" Jinu offered, but he didn't sound convinced. His hand had tightened on Hana's shoulder.

Baby was staring at the ultrasound screen, which Sarah had left facing them. He could see the grainy black and white image, could see small blobs, could see what looked like—

His brain stuttered to a stop.

"Baby?" Hana's voice was small. "What is it? What do you see?"

Before he could answer, the door burst open. Dr. Kim strode in with Sarah right behind her, and Dr. Kim's expression was a mixture of shock and professional concern that made Baby's stomach drop.

"Hana," Dr. Kim said, her voice carefully controlled. "I need to confirm something from your chart. You said in your initial appointment that this pregnancy resulted from a distress heat during the tsunami evacuation. Is that correct?"

"Yes," Hana managed, her voice shaking.

"And you—" Dr. Kim turned to Baby, "—were in a protective rut at the same time?"

"Yes."

Dr. Kim nodded slowly, like this confirmed something she'd been suspecting. She moved to the ultrasound machine and took the transducer. For several long minutes, she examined Hana's abdomen in silence, moving the transducer methodically, pressing buttons, checking measurements.

The silence was suffocating.

Finally, Dr. Kim set down the transducer and wiped the gel from Hana's stomach. She rolled her stool closer and looked at the pack with an expression Baby had never seen on her face before.

"I'm seeing five gestational sacs," Dr. Kim said quietly. "Five distinct heartbeats. Five viable pregnancies."

The room exploded.

"FIVE?" Mystery's voice came out as a shout.

"Five as in the NUMBER five?" Romance demanded.

"Five PUPS?" Jinu's hand tightened on Hana's shoulder.

"That's—that can't—" Abby was already pulling out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen like he was trying to google whether this was physically possible.

"Five," Hana whispered. Her face had gone completely white.

"Quintuplets," Dr. Kim confirmed gently. "Sarah, in all your training, did you ever see a case of spontaneous quintuplets?"

"Never," Sarah said, her voice awed. "I've read about them in textbooks, but I never thought I'd actually see..."

The room spun.

At least, that's what it felt like to Baby. The edges of his vision went dark and fuzzy, and he was pretty sure his knees were about to give out. He groped blindly for a chair and managed to sink into it before he actually passed out.

"Five," he heard himself say. His voice sounded far away. "Five. Five babies. Five."

"Oh my god," Hana breathed. She was still on the exam table, frozen, staring at the monitor. "Oh my god. Baby. That's—we're having—that's sixteen kids."

"Sixteen," Mystery repeated faintly. He'd gone pale.

"SIXTEEN?" Romance's voice cracked on the word.

"That's..." Jinu did the math in his head, his lips moving silently. "That's Alanna, Kai, Ren, Mei and Yuna, Sakura, Silas, Callen, Lyra, the twins, and now five more. That's... oh god, that's actually sixteen."

Abby had stopped typing on his phone. He was just staring at it, his expression completely blank.

Dr. Kim held up a hand, trying to calm the chaos. "Let me explain what I think happened. During a distress heat—especially one triggered by a life-threatening situation—an omega's body goes into extreme reproductive overdrive. It's an evolutionary response to potential mortality. Your body essentially said, 'I might die, so I need to maximize my chances of producing viable offspring.'"

"So it released eggs," Hana said faintly.

"Several." Dr. Kim pulled up something on the computer screen—graphs and charts that Baby's brain was too fried to process. "In a normal cycle, you release one egg, maybe two. During a distress heat of this magnitude, your body likely released five or six eggs, maybe more. It's a biological fail-safe—if something happens to one or two embryos, there are backups to ensure at least one viable pregnancy."

"But they all took," Baby said, his voice hollow.

"They all took," Dr. Kim confirmed. "And that's where the protective rut comes in. During a protective rut, an alpha's reproductive biology becomes hyperfertile. Every sperm is optimized for conception. Your body was in full 'protect and procreate' mode." She gestured between Baby and Hana. "You had an omega in extreme distress releasing multiple eggs, and an alpha in protective overdrive with enhanced fertility. It was, biologically speaking, the perfect storm."

"Perfect storm," Romance repeated weakly. "That's one way to put it."

"Well, I mean, the circumstances were high-risk," Jinu said, and there was a slightly hysterical edge to his voice. "We survived a tsunami. Why wouldn't that result in a high-risk pregnancy?"

Romance let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. "And this is supposed to be the last time any of us are having pups with Hana. Baby really knows how to go out with a bang."

"A bang?" Mystery's voice went higher. "Romance, he went out with a NUCLEAR EXPLOSION."

"Five babies," Hana whispered, and the comment seemed to snap her back to reality. She was shaking now, her whole body trembling. "I'm going to be pregnant with five babies. I'm going to have to deliver five babies. We're going to have to take care of five newborns at the same time, and we already have eleven other children, and—"

"Hana—" Baby reached for her, but his own hands were shaking too badly.

"How are we going to—" Hana's breathing was getting faster, more panicked. "We can't—there's no way we can—"

"The house isn't big enough—" Mystery started, his usual calm completely shattered.

"Five babies," Romance said again, like he was stuck on repeat. "Five. At the same time. All at once."

"I can't—" Hana was gasping now, tears streaming down her face. "I can't do this, I can't carry five babies, what if something goes wrong, what if I can't—"

"Hana, breathe—" Jinu tried, but his own scent was spiking with distress.

Baby tried to stand up, to go to his omega, but his legs wouldn't cooperate. The room was spinning and his chest felt too tight and there were going to be five babies and they already had eleven kids and that was going to be sixteen children and—

"NO!"

The word cracked through the room like a whip.

Everyone froze.

Abby had stood up. He was pointing at Baby and Hana, his face set in an expression Baby had never seen before—something between determination and absolute fury.

"NO!" Abby said again, his voice dropping into a full alpha command that made every single person in the room go still and silent. Even Dr. Kim and Sarah seemed affected by it, both of them going quiet and attentive. "NO MELTDOWNS! NO MORE OF THIS!"

Baby's alpha submitted to the command, his panicked thoughts screeching to a halt.

"I am DONE listening to freakouts!" Abby continued, his alpha voice reverberating through the small room. "You want to know what we're going to do? We're going to handle it. Because guess what? We have a PACK. We have FIVE alphas and ELEVEN children who are going to be the best big siblings those babies could ask for. We have resources and support and each other."

He turned to Hana, his expression softening slightly but his voice still firm. "You are not doing this alone. We are going to take care of you, and those babies, and everything else. That is what we DO."

Then he turned to Baby. "And you. You protected her from a tsunami. You carried her up six flights of stairs when she had a twisted ankle. You really think five babies are going to defeat you?"

Baby opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"I—" he started.

"NO," Abby said again. "No panic attacks. No spiraling. We're going to figure this out the same way we've figured out everything else—together."

The room was silent for a long moment.

Baby looked at Hana. Hana looked at Baby.

And then, inexplicably, Baby started to laugh.

It started as a small sound—barely a chuckle—but it grew. Within seconds he was laughing so hard his sides hurt, tears streaming down his face. And Hana was laughing too, that same hysterical edge to it, her hands covering her face.

"He's right," Baby gasped between laughs. "He's completely right. We survived a tsunami. What are five babies going to do, cry at us?"

"They're going to do a lot more than cry," Hana wheezed, but she was still laughing. "But yeah. Yeah, you're right."

Mystery started laughing next, the sound surprised but genuine. Then Romance. Then Jinu. Even Dr. Kim was smiling, shaking her head at the absurdity of it all. Sarah looked completely bewildered but was grinning.

"Sixteen kids," Mystery said, wiping his eyes. "We're going to have sixteen kids."

"We're going to need name lists," Romance added. "Five more names. Do we even know five more names?"

"We're going to need to convert the garage into a bedroom," Jinu said, but he was grinning now.

"I'm making a spreadsheet," Mystery announced, pulling out his phone with the focused intensity of a man who'd found his purpose. "Right now. Actually, I'm making seventeen spreadsheets. One master sheet and sixteen individual sheets for each kid."

"Of course you are," Romance said fondly.

Dr. Kim cleared her throat, drawing their attention back to her. "I want to be very clear about something," she said, her professional demeanor returning. "Quintuplet pregnancies are extremely high-risk. Hana, you're going to be monitored very closely. Weekly appointments starting at twenty weeks, possibly more frequent as we progress. Bed rest is almost certain in the third trimester. There's a high probability of early delivery—most quintuplets are born between twenty-eight and thirty-two weeks."

The laughter died down slightly, reality settling back in.

"But," Dr. Kim continued, her voice gentle, "you have an excellent support system. You're healthy. And we're going to do everything we can to give you and these babies the best possible outcome. Sarah and I will both be closely involved in your care."

Sarah nodded enthusiastically. "I've never worked with quintuplets before, but I'm honored to be part of your team."

Hana took a deep breath, her hand finding Baby's again. "Okay," she said, her voice steadier now. "Okay. We can do this."

"We can do this," Baby agreed, squeezing her hand.

"We can ABSOLUTELY do this," Mystery said firmly, though his fingers were already flying across his phone screen, no doubt creating color-coded tabs.

"Sixteen kids," Romance said again, but this time he was smiling. "We're going to be the loudest family at every restaurant."

"We're going to be banned from every restaurant," Jinu corrected.

"We'll just have to learn to cook better," Abby said, his alpha command voice completely gone, replaced with his usual calm practicality.

Dr. Kim smiled at them—this chaotic, overwhelming pack—and shook her head fondly. "I'm going to give you all some privacy to process this. Sarah will print out ultrasound pictures for you. I want to see Hana back here in one week for a follow-up, and we'll start discussing a care plan moving forward."

She and Sarah left, Sarah still looking slightly dazed by what she'd just witnessed on her first day with these particular patients.

The pack was alone again with the ultrasound screen still showing five tiny heartbeats.

"Five," Hana said softly, staring at the screen. Her hand moved to her stomach. "Five little lives growing inside me."

Baby stood up—his legs steady now—and moved to her side. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Five miracles," he murmured. "That's what they are."

"Five little Saja babies," Mystery said, moving closer to the exam table. He placed his hand on Hana's shoulder, scent-marking her gently. "Our pack is about to get a whole lot bigger."

"And a lot louder," Romance added, but he was smiling as he scent-marked her other shoulder.
Jinu bent down and pressed a kiss to Hana's stomach. "Hello in there," he said softly. "All five of you. We can't wait to meet you."

Abby was the last to approach. He knelt beside the exam table so he was at eye level with Hana. "I meant what I said," he told her quietly. "You're not doing this alone. None of us are. We're a pack. That's the whole point."

Hana's eyes filled with tears again, but they were happy tears this time. "Thank you," she whispered. "All of you. For being here. For being... everything."

"Always," Mystery said firmly.

"No matter what," Romance added.

"Through tsunamis and quintuplets," Jinu said with a small smile.

"And everything in between," Baby finished.

Sarah returned with a stack of ultrasound photos—far more than they usually got. She handed them to Baby with a wide smile. "Congratulations," she said warmly. "To all of you. Those are five very lucky babies. And thank you for letting me be part of this appointment. I'll never forget it."

"We're the lucky ones," Baby said, looking down at the grainy images. Five tiny blobs that would become five tiny humans. His children. Their children. Their family.

As they filed out of the exam room and back into the waiting area, Baby caught Abby's eye.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "For the alpha voice. For... stopping us from spiraling."

Abby smiled slightly. "Someone had to. And I've had enough of panic attacks after twelve years of this pack's chaos. Sometimes you just need someone to tell you to stop freaking out and get it together."

"It worked," Baby admitted.

"Of course it worked." Abby's smile grew. "I'm very good at my job."

"Your job is being the pack's voice of reason?"

"Someone has to be." Abby glanced back at where Hana was walking between Mystery and Romance, all three of them talking animatedly about nursery configurations. "Besides, we really are going to be fine. Chaotic and overwhelmed and probably sleep-deprived for the next five years, but fine."

"Sixteen kids," Baby said again, shaking his head. "I still can't believe it."

"Believe it." Abby clapped him on the shoulder. "Because in about seven months or less, our lives are about to get exponentially more interesting."

Baby looked at his pack—his family—and felt something settle in his chest. Abby was right. They were going to be fine.

They'd survived a tsunami, after all.

What were five babies compared to that?

Six months pregnant

Hana stood in front of the full-length mirror in their bedroom, staring at her reflection with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

Six months pregnant.

With quintuplets.

She was enormous.

Her belly had expanded to a size she'd never experienced in any of her previous pregnancies; not even with Mystery's triplets. It jutted out in front of her like she'd swallowed a beach ball, round and firm and impossibly heavy. Her maternity dress—one of the few things that still fit—stretched tight across the massive bump.

"How are you feeling?" Baby asked from where he sat on the bed, watching her with that concerned alpha look he'd been wearing constantly for the past three months.

"Like I'm carrying five babies," Hana said dryly, then softened when she saw his expression. "I'm okay, alpha. Really. Dr. Kim says everything is progressing beautifully. All five heartbeats are strong, my blood pressure is good, no signs of preterm labor."

"Yet," Baby muttered.

"Yet," Hana agreed, because there was no point in pretending. Dr. Kim had been very clear: most quintuplet pregnancies resulted in delivery somewhere between 28 and 32 weeks. Hana was at 26 weeks now, and every day she made it further was a victory.

But against all odds, her body was handling it. She was tired, yes. Uncomfortable, definitely. But healthy. The babies were healthy. And that was nothing short of miraculous.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

"Come in," Hana called.

Mystery poked his head in, a familiar manila envelope in his hand. "Another one," he said, his voice resigned. "That's the seventh this week."

Hana sighed. She knew what it was without asking. Ever since news of her quintuplet pregnancy had leaked—courtesy of someone at Dr. Kim's office who'd apparently not understood HIPAA—she'd been inundated with interview requests.

Everyone wanted to talk to the omega carrying spontaneous quintuplets. The odds were one in fifty-five million. It was a medical miracle. A human interest story. The kind of thing that made headlines.

Hana had turned them all down.

"Who is it this time?" she asked, even though part of her didn't want to know.
Mystery opened the envelope and scanned the letter. His eyebrows rose. "Pacific Life Magazine," he said slowly. "They want to do a feature story, but..." He looked up at her, something shifting in his expression. "Hana, they don't just want to interview you about the pregnancy. They want to tell the story of our pack's experience during the tsunami. The whole story—how we survived, how we stayed together, how the quintuplets came to be as a result of that trauma."

Hana's breath caught. "The tsunami?"

"Yeah." Mystery moved into the room, handing her the letter. "They want to do a photospread with the entire family. They say they want to show not just the medical miracle, but the human one. A pack that survived a natural disaster and came out stronger."

Hana read through the letter, her heart beating faster with each line. This wasn't like the others. This wasn't some gossip rag looking for a sensational headline or a medical journal wanting to study her like a lab specimen.

This was thoughtful. Respectful. They wanted to tell their story.

"What do you think?" she asked softly, looking at Mystery.

"I think it's your choice," Mystery said immediately. "It's your body, your pregnancy. If you want to do it, we'll support you. If you don't, we'll send them away like all the others."

"But?" Hana prompted, because she could hear the unspoken word.

Mystery was quiet for a moment. "But... I think there might be something meaningful in sharing our story. Not for us, necessarily. But for other people who've survived trauma. Other packs who've been through disasters. Showing them that you can come out the other side. That life goes on. That beautiful things can come from terrible circumstances."

Hana looked down at her belly, where five babies were currently squirming around. She could feel them moving constantly now—little pushes and kicks and rolls that made her skin ripple and shift.

Beautiful things from terrible circumstances.

"I want to talk to the others," she said finally. "All of them. This affects the whole pack, not just me."

They gathered in the living room that evening after the kids were in bed. All five alphas and Hana, sitting in their usual configuration—Mystery and Romance on the couch, Jinu in the armchair, Abby on the floor with his back against the wall, Baby next to Hana on the loveseat with his hand resting protectively on her belly.

It had taken a while to get everyone settled—fourteen-year-old Alanna had helped wrangle the younger ones, twelve-year-old Kai had argued about bedtime until Ren (nearly twelve himself) had rolled his eyes and dragged him upstairs. The nine-year-old twins Mei and Yuna had needed extra tucking in, eight-year-old Sakura had demanded three bedtime stories, the four-year-old triplets had required the combined efforts of two alphas to settle, and the twenty-two-month-old twins Altan and Vian had finally passed out after an extended battle with sleep.

Parenting eleven children was exhausting on a good day. Parenting eleven children while six months pregnant with quintuplets was a special kind of chaos.

Hana explained the request from Pacific Life Magazine. When she finished, the room was quiet.

"I don't like the idea of strangers knowing our business," Romance said finally, his voice careful. "But I also understand the appeal of controlling the narrative. If we're going to be in the news anyway—and let's face it, we are—we might as well tell our own story."

"What about the kids?" Abby asked, always practical. "They'll want to photograph the children. Are we comfortable with that?"

"Only if the kids are comfortable with it," Baby said immediately, his alpha voice firm. "We ask them and we explain what's happening. Any child who doesn't want to participate doesn't have to. No pressure, no guilt."

"Agreed," Mystery said, and the others nodded.

"We'd need ground rules," Jinu added. "No questions about our intimate pack dynamics. No details about heats and ruts beyond what's medically relevant to the pregnancy or what Baby and Hana feel comfortable answering. Nothing that would make the children uncomfortable or put them at risk."

"And we review the article before publication," Abby said. "Make sure they're not twisting our words or sensationalizing the story."

Hana looked around at her alphas—her pack—and felt a surge of love so intense it made her chest tight. They were all thinking about this carefully, weighing the risks and benefits, putting the pack's wellbeing first.

"So we're doing this?" she asked softly.

Jinu met her eyes. "If you want to, then we're with you."

"I want to," Hana said. "I think our story might help someone. And I want the world to know what happened to us—not just the medical miracle, but the real miracle. That we survived. That our pack held together. That we're still here."

"Then we're doing this," Baby said, squeezing her hand.

The next morning, they sat down with the kids.

All eleven of them gathered in the living room—fourteen-year-old Alanna sitting cross-legged on the floor looking mature and thoughtful, twelve-year-old Kai bouncing with barely contained energy beside her, nearly-twelve Ren curled up next to Jinu looking slightly anxious, the nine-year-old twins Mei and Yuna on either side of Hana, eight-year-old Sakura in Mystery's lap playing with his fingers, the four-year-old triplets (Silas, Callen, and Lyra) playing quietly with blocks, and twenty-two-month-old twins Altan and Vian in Romance's and Abby's arms.

"We need to talk to you all about something," Mystery started, his voice gentle. "A magazine wants to write a story about our family. About what happened during the tsunami, and about the five babies that Mom is carrying."

"Are we going to be famous?" Kai asked immediately, his eyes lighting up.

"Maybe a little bit," Romance said with a smile. "But that's not really the point. The point is that we have a chance to share our story with people. To show them how our pack survived something really scary and came out okay."

"They want to take pictures of all of us," Hana added. "But here's the important part: nobody has to participate if they don't want to. This is completely your choice. If you don't want your picture in the magazine, that's totally fine. We'll still love you just as much."

"I want to be in it!" Kai said immediately. "I want to be in a magazine! Can I tell people I'm going to be in a magazine?"

"Yes, but not until after it happens," Abby said, amused.

Alanna was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "I think it's a good idea. People should know what happened. And... it might help other kids who've been through scary things."

Ren buried his face in Jinu's shoulder. "Do I have to?" he asked, his voice muffled.

"Of course not, sweetheart," Jinu said softly, stroking his hair. "If you don't want to be in the pictures, you don't have to be."

"What if I just want to be in some of them?" Ren asked hesitantly. "Like... maybe the family one. But not by myself."

"That's perfect," Jinu assured him. "You can be in as many or as few as you want."

"I want to be in pictures with my sisters!" Sakura announced. "Can I be with Mei and Yuna?"

"Absolutely," Mystery said, kissing the top of her head. "We'll make sure you're sitting right between them."

The twins—Mei and Yuna—nodded enthusiastically. "We want Sakura with us too!"

The triplets were too young to really understand what was being discussed, but Silas looked up from his blocks long enough to say, "Pictures?" in a questioning tone.

"Yes, pictures," Romance confirmed. "Of all of us together. Would you like that?"

All three triplets nodded, then went back to their blocks.

"So we're doing this," Baby said, looking around at the kids. "Everyone who wants to participate will. Everyone who doesn't, won't. And we'll all be there to support each other. Sound good?"

A chorus of agreements came from the children—some enthusiastic, some hesitant, but all genuine.

"Alright then," Hana said, her hand resting on her enormous belly. "Let's tell our story."

The photoshoot was scheduled for two weeks later at a private beach—not the same one where the tsunami had hit, but close enough that the setting would be meaningful.

Pacific Life Magazine sent a small crew: a photographer named Leemin, his assistant, a journalist named Miran Choi, and a production coordinator who spent most of her time wrangling equipment and keeping everything on schedule.

"Holy hell," Leemin said when he saw the family gathered on the beach. "That's a lot of kids."

"Sixteen by the time we're done," Mystery said with a grin, gesturing at Hana's belly.

"Sixteen," Leemin repeated faintly. "Right. Okay. Let's do this."

They started with the full family shot—all five alphas, Hana, and all eleven kids. Leemin spent twenty minutes arranging them, moving people around, adjusting angles.

"Mom in the center," he directed. "Alphas around her—good, good. Older kids in the back, little ones in front. Perfect. Now everyone look at me and... don't say cheese. Just be yourselves."

The result was chaotic and perfect: Hana in the center with her massive belly, Baby on one side with his hand on her shoulder, Mystery on the other. Jinu, Romance, and Abby were arranged around them with the kids scattered throughout—Kai grinning widely, Alanna smiling softly, Ren half-hidden behind Jinu, Sakura squeezed between Mei and Yuna exactly as promised, the triplets looking in three different directions, and the babies being held by Romance and Abby.

"Beautiful," Leemin said, clicking away. "Absolutely beautiful. You can feel the love here."

Next were individual groupings.

"Hana, Baby—let's do just the two of you," Leemin said, gesturing to a spot where the sand was smooth and the late afternoon light hit perfectly. "This is your story at the heart of everything. I want to capture that."

Hana lowered herself carefully to the sand—a process that took longer than it used to, given her size—and arranged herself with her feet tucked to the side. The white flowy linen maternity dress she wore caught the breeze, the fabric soft and ethereal against her skin. Leemin had insisted on white for this shot, saying it would photograph beautifully against the ocean and sand.

The dress had been specially made to accommodate her massive belly, the empire waist sitting just under her breasts before the fabric draped down and over the quintuplets. It was simultaneously elegant and impossibly maternal—there was no hiding the sheer size of her pregnancy, nor did she want to. This was their story. This was their truth.

Baby settled behind her, one knee drawn up, the other leg stretched out. He wore knee-length black shorts and a black tank top that showed off the lean muscles in his arms and shoulders, the body that had carried her up six flights of stairs, that had kept her safe when the world fell apart. The contrast between his dark clothing and her white dress was striking.

"Baby, put one hand on her belly," Leemin directed. "And the other... yeah, around her shoulders. Perfect. Now both of you—don't look at me. Look at each other."

Baby's hand was warm and large against the taut skin of her belly, his palm spread wide as if he could feel all five babies at once. His other arm wrapped around her shoulders, solid and protective. Hana turned her head to look up at him, and Baby looked down at her, and the world narrowed to just the two of them.

The camera clicked, but Hana barely heard it. She was lost in Baby's ocean-citrus scent, in the warmth of his hands, in the memory of those desperate hours when they'd been separated and all she could think was I need to find him, I need to find him, I need—

"Beautiful," Leemin breathed, still clicking away. "The way you two look at each other—it's like the rest of the world doesn't exist."

"That’s because it doesn't," Baby said quietly, his eyes never leaving Hana's. "When I'm with her, nothing else matters."

Hana felt tears prick at her eyes and blinked them back. The babies chose that moment to start moving, a rolling wave of motion that made her belly visibly shift under Baby's hand.

"Oh!" Leemin's camera went rapid-fire. "That's incredible. That's—keep that hand right there, Baby. Yes. Perfect."

They took several more shots—some with Hana's hand covering Baby's on her belly, some with both of them looking out at the ocean, some with Baby's forehead pressed against her temple in a moment of quiet intimacy.

"Okay, that's a wrap for you two," Leemin finally said, his voice almost reverent. "That was... those are going to be some of the most beautiful pregnancy photos I've ever taken."

Then came the other alphas with their respective children.

Mystery and Jinu posed together with their children—fourteen-year-old Alanna standing tall and poised between her fathers, twelve-year-old Kai grinning widely, and eleven-year-old Ren leaning into Jinu's side but smiling softly. Mystery's hand rested on Alanna's shoulder while Jinu had one arm around Ren and the other around Kai. The pride on both alphas' faces was unmistakable.

"You three are growing up so fast," Mystery murmured during a brief break between shots, and Alanna rolled her eyes fondly.

"You say that every week, Papa."

"Because it's true every week," Mystery replied, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Abby posed with the nine-year-old twins and eight-year-old Sakura, who had insisted on being positioned exactly between Mei and Yuna just as promised. The three girls held hands, their faces bright with happiness. Abby stood behind them, a hand on each of his daughters' shoulders, his usual serious expression softened by unmistakable love.

"Say 'sisters,'" Leemin called out.

"SISTERS!" all three girls shouted in unison, then dissolved into giggles.

Romance's shoot with the four-year-old triplets was predictably chaotic. Callen kept trying to run toward the water. Lyra decided halfway through that she wanted to be upside down. Silas was the only one cooperating, sitting perfectly still with his hands folded in his lap while his siblings created mayhem.

"This is very on-brand for us," Romance said dryly as he chased Silas away from the waves for the third time.

"I'm getting great candid shots," Leemin called out, laughing. "Don't worry about perfection. This is real. This is your family."

Finally, Jinu did a special set with just the twenty-two-month-old twins, Altan and Vian. The boys were at that adorable toddler stage—chubby cheeks, bright eyes, constantly moving. Jinu sat in the sand with one twin on each knee, and both boys immediately grabbed at his face, his hair, his ears, anything they could reach.

"They're very hands-on," Jinu said apologetically as Vian stuck a sandy finger directly in his mouth.

"It's perfect," Leemin assured him, clicking away. "This is what toddlers are. This is authentic."

"These are going to be stunning," Miran said, watching from the sidelines with her recorder. "The connection between all of you—it's incredible."

After the photos, they moved to a private room at a nearby resort for the interview. The kids were with a pack-approved babysitter (one of Jinu's cousins who they trusted implicitly), leaving the adults to talk freely.

The room was comfortable—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean, plush couches arranged in a circle, soft lighting that felt intimate rather than clinical. A low table held bottles of water, coffee, and an assortment of snacks that Mystery immediately started organizing by type.

Miran set up her recorder and opened her notebook, her expression warm and professional. "I want to start by saying thank you for agreeing to share your story. I know this can't be easy, revisiting what happened."

"It's not," Hana admitted, settling into her seat with Baby's immediate help. Getting comfortable was a challenge these days—every position felt wrong after about five minutes, her belly too large and heavy to ignore. Baby arranged pillows behind her back without being asked, his hands gentle and sure. "But we think it's important."

"Let's start at the beginning," Miran said gently, her pen poised over her notebook. "Hana, Baby—you were on the beach when the tsunami hit. Can you walk me through what you remember? What was it like to see the water receding?"

Baby's hand found Hana's automatically, their fingers interlacing like it was the most natural thing in the world. The contact grounded her, reminded her that they'd survived, that they were here, that they were safe.

"Terrifying," Baby said, his voice quiet but steady. The single word carried the weight of everything—the panic, the fear, the desperate need that had consumed him in those moments. "I'd gone to get drinks. Hana was relaxing on the beach. And then I heard people shouting, saw them pointing at the water. When I realized what was happening—"

He stopped, his throat working as he swallowed hard. Hana squeezed his hand, feeling his alpha rumble uneasily beneath his skin even now, six months later.

"All I could think was that I had to get to my omega," Baby continued, his voice rougher now. "Nothing else mattered. Not the water, not the danger, not anything. Just—get to Hana. Find her. Protect her. It was like every rational thought just... disappeared. There was only instinct."

"And you, Hana?" Miran asked, her dark eyes compassionate. "What was going through your mind?"

Hana took a breath, the memories still sharp and painful despite the months that had passed. "The same thing," she said softly. "I had to find Baby. I couldn't—the thought of not being able to find him, of the water taking him—"

Her voice broke slightly and Baby's arm immediately came around her shoulders, pulling her against his side. She breathed in his scent, let it calm the spike of remembered panic.

"It was the worst fear I've ever experienced," Hana continued, her voice steadier now. "And I've been through a lot. I've had complicated births, I've dealt with sick children, I've had moments of absolute terror as a parent. But nothing—nothing—compared to standing on that beach, watching the water pull back, and not knowing where my alpha was. Not knowing if he was safe. If he was alive."

The room was very quiet. Even the ocean outside seemed to have stilled, as if nature itself was listening to their story.

"You were separated in the initial chaos," Miran said, her pen moving across her notebook. "How did you find each other?"

"I climbed onto a park bench," Hana said, and the memory made her chest tight even now. "I was too short to see over the crowd—everyone was running, pushing, screaming. The sirens were going off. It was complete chaos. So I found this bench near the sidewalk and I climbed up on it, and I just started screaming his name."

"I heard her," Baby said, and his voice had gone rough with emotion. "I couldn't see her at first—there were so many people, so much noise. But I heard her scream my name and it cut through everything. The sirens, the shouting, the roar of blood in my ears. Just—'BABY!' And I knew where she was. I could find her."

"What was it like when you reached each other?" Miran asked softly.

"Relief," Hana said immediately. "Just—overwhelming, crushing relief. He caught me when I was climbing down from the bench and I couldn't let go. I couldn't stop touching him, couldn't stop making sure he was real and solid and there."

"I felt the same way," Baby admitted. "My alpha—it needed to feel her, to know she was safe. But we didn't have time. The water was coming. We had to move."

Miran nodded, making notes. "Baby, once you found Hana, you got her to safety in a building. Can you describe that? What was that experience like?"

Baby was quiet for a moment, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of Hana's hand—a soothing gesture that Hana wasn't sure was for her benefit or his own.

"My alpha took over," he said finally. "I wasn't thinking rationally anymore. I was just... acting on instinct. Get her to high ground. Protect her. Keep her safe. We made it to a twelve-story hotel and started climbing. The water hit when we were on the third floor."

He paused, and Hana could feel the tension in his body as he relived it.

"The sound," Baby continued, his voice distant. "It was like—I don't even know how to describe it. Like a freight train, like the earth splitting open. The building shook. Dust was falling from the ceiling. And behind us, below us, I could hear the water rushing in, filling the lower floors. We just kept climbing."

"Hana injured her ankle on the way up," Miran said gently. "Is that correct?"

"It rolled on one of the landings," Hana confirmed, her free hand moving unconsciously to her ankle—it had healed completely now, but she could still remember the sharp spike of pain, the way her leg had given out. "Between the fifth and sixth floors. I tried to stand, tried to keep going, but I couldn't walk on it. And Baby—"

"I carried her," Baby said simply. "Up six more flights. It didn't matter that my legs were burning or that I could barely breathe. Nothing mattered except getting my omega to safety."

"You carried her while climbing stairs, while a tsunami was flooding the building below you," Miran said, and there was awe in her voice. "That's extraordinary."

Baby shook his head. "No. That's just what alphas do. We protect our omegas. It's not extraordinary and it’s not just biology or instinct—it's love."

The room was silent for a long moment, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

"The quintuplet pregnancy resulted from what happened next," Miran said carefully, her expression respectful. "I want to be sensitive here, but I also think it's an important part of the story. You both experienced a distress heat and protective rut. Are you comfortable discussing that?"

Hana and Baby exchanged a glance. They'd talked about this beforehand—how much they were willing to share, where the boundaries were. But ultimately, they'd decided that honesty was important. Their story might help other packs who'd been through trauma understand what had happened to them.

"We're comfortable," Hana said. "I think it's important for people to understand the biology of what happened. When an omega is in extreme distress—especially life-threatening distress—our bodies go into reproductive overdrive. It's an evolutionary response. My body essentially said, 'I might die, so I need to maximize my chances of producing viable offspring.' So I released multiple eggs. Not just one or two, but several. It's a biological fail-safe."

"And my rut made me hyperfertile," Baby added, his voice matter-of-fact even though Hana could feel the slight tension in his body. Talking about this still wasn't easy, even though they'd agreed to do it. "During a protective rut, an alpha's reproductive biology becomes optimized for conception. My body was in full protect-and-procreate mode. It wasn't a conscious choice. It was biology responding to trauma."

"So you had an omega releasing multiple eggs and an alpha with enhanced fertility," Miran said, making notes. "A perfect storm."

"Exactly," Hana confirmed. "My birth control never stood a chance against that combination. We found out I was pregnant three days later when we were still trapped in that hotel room. Baby smelled the scent change."

"How did you feel in that moment?" Miran asked, leaning forward slightly. "When you realized you were pregnant after everything you'd just survived?"

Hana was quiet, trying to find the right words. "Overwhelmed," she said finally. "But also... grateful? We'd survived. We were alive. And we'd created new life in the midst of all that destruction. It felt like—" She paused, searching for the right words. "It felt like hope. Like proof that life goes on. That even in the darkest moments, there's still light."

Baby's arm tightened around her shoulders. "I felt the same way. We didn't know yet that it was quintuplets—that came later, at the first ultrasound. But even just knowing there was one baby, one life that came from that terrible day—it made everything feel less hopeless somehow."

"When did you find out it was quintuplets?" Miran asked.

"Eight weeks," Hana said with a slight laugh. "We went in for what we thought would be a routine first ultrasound. Dr. Kim had just hired a new doctor, fresh out of residency, and asked if we'd be comfortable letting her do the scan for practice. We said yes. And then she—"

Hana stopped, smiling at the memory despite everything. "She got very quiet. Very wide-eyed. And then she went to get Dr. Kim. When they came back and confirmed it, we were in complete shock."

"Complete meltdown is more accurate," Baby said with a wry smile. "We started panicking. The other alphas started panicking. We were doing the math—eleven kids plus five more is sixteen children. We were spiraling."

"What stopped the spiral?" Miran asked, clearly intrigued.

"Abby," Hana and Baby said in unison, then laughed.

"Abby used his alpha command voice," Hana explained. "Just stood up, pointed at us, and said 'NO. NO MELTDOWNS. NO MORE OF THIS!' He basically told us we were going to handle it because we have a pack, and he was done listening to panic attacks."

"Did it work?" Miran asked, amused.

"Immediately," Baby said. "It shocked us so much that we just... started laughing. And once we started laughing, we couldn't stop. Because he was right. We'd survived a tsunami. What were five babies compared to that?"

Miran turned to the other alphas, her expression thoughtful. "Mystery, Romance, Jinu, Abby—you were separated from Hana and Baby during the tsunami. You had all eleven children with you at the hotel. What was that experience like for you?"

Mystery leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. The memory was clearly still raw for him—Hana could see it in the tension of his shoulders, the tightness around his eyes.

"It was hell," he said bluntly, his alpha voice rumbling underneath the words. "Every instinct I had was screaming at me to find them. To protect them. My omega was out there somewhere, in danger, and I couldn't get to her. One of my fellow alphas was out there with her, and I had to trust—I had to hope—that he could keep her safe when I couldn't."

"That must have been incredibly difficult," Miran said softly, her pen moving across her notebook.

"It was like being torn in two," Romance agreed, and his usual playful demeanor was completely absent. His face was serious, his scent carrying an edge of remembered distress. "My alpha wanted to run out into that water and search for them. It was physically painful to stay put—like fighting against every fiber of my being. But I had eleven children depending on me—depending on all of us—to keep them safe. The triplets were only four years old. The twins were sixteen months. They didn't understand what was happening. They just knew the adults were scared."

"How did you manage it?" Miran asked, leaning forward with genuine curiosity. "How did you override those instincts? Most literature on pack dynamics suggests that separation during a disaster would trigger immediate pursuit behavior in the remaining alphas."

"Practice," Jinu said with a slight smile, though his eyes were serious. "We've been a pack for about sixteen years. We've learned to trust each other. To understand that sometimes the best way to protect the pack is to stay with those who need you most, even when every instinct is screaming at you to run after those who are missing."

He paused, his fingers drumming against his knee—a nervous habit Hana recognized.

"I knew—we all knew—that Baby would keep Hana safe," Jinu continued. "He's our maknae, yes, but when his alpha perceives a threat to his omega? He becomes this unstoppable force of nature. So I focused on what I could control: keeping the children calm, keeping them safe, making sure they didn't understand how terrified we actually were."

"We compartmentalized," Abby added, his analytical mind clearly working through the memory. "We divided responsibilities. Mystery handled the older children—Alanna, Kai, Ren—who understood what was happening and needed honest information. Romance and I focused on the middle group—Mei, Yuna, Sakura—who needed comfort and distraction. Jinu took point on the babies and toddlers who just needed physical presence and soothing."

"We turned it into a game," Romance said, and there was a hint of pride in his voice despite the circumstances. "Told them we were playing submarine—that the water outside was part of the adventure, that we couldn't go out because we were underwater. The triplets thought it was the best game ever. They kept pressing their faces to the windows, pointing at the water, saying 'fishies!' and 'swimming!'"

"The older kids understood what was really happening," Mystery added, his voice soft. "Alanna especially. She was almost fourteen then—old enough to understand the danger we were in. But she played along for the little ones. She helped us keep the facade going. She was incredible."

"And when you finally heard from Hana and Baby?" Miran asked gently. "When you knew they were alive?"

"I cried," Romance said without hesitation, his voice thick with emotion even now. "Just... completely broke down. We all did. The relief was so overwhelming that we couldn't hold it back anymore."

"We'd been holding it together for the kids," Mystery explained, and Hana could see the slight tremor in his hands as he remembered. "Being strong, being calm, being the steady presence they needed. But the second we knew Hana and Baby were safe—the second we heard Hana's voice on that phone—all of that just... collapsed."

"I had to sit down," Jinu admitted with a slight laugh. "My legs literally gave out. I just sank to the floor with the phone pressed to my ear, crying and laughing at the same time because they were alive. Our pack was whole. Everyone had survived."

Miran smiled warmly. "And now, six months later, Hana is carrying quintuplets. Five healthy babies. How are you all preparing for that?"

"Spreadsheets," Mystery said immediately, and the whole room laughed. "So many spreadsheets. Feeding schedules, diaper schedules, sleeping rotations, supply inventories. We've had to completely reorganize our entire household structure."

He pulled out his phone and started scrolling, clearly ready to show examples if anyone was interested.
"We converted one of the larger offices into a nursery," Abby added. "Five cribs, five changing stations, five of everything. We've essentially created a mini hospital ward in our house."

"And we're trying to prepare the kids," Jinu said, his voice gentle. "Making sure they understand that things are going to be chaotic for a while, but that we're all in this together. That the babies aren't replacing them or taking away from them—they're additions to our family. More siblings to love."

"How have the children responded to the pregnancy?" Miran asked. "Especially given its... unique circumstances?"

"They're excited," Hana said, her hand resting on her belly where one of the babies was currently pressing against her ribs. "Alanna has already appointed herself head babysitter. She's been reading books about infant care, watching videos, asking Dr. Kim questions at appointments. She's taking it very seriously."

"Kai wants to teach them soccer," Baby added with a grin. "He's already planning out drills for when they're old enough to walk."

"Ren has been reading them stories through my belly," Hana continued, her voice soft with affection. "Every night before bed, he comes and sits with me and reads whatever book he's currently obsessed with. Right now it's a fantasy series about dragons. The babies seem to like it—they always start moving when they hear his voice."

"The middle kids are just excited to have more siblings," Romance said. "Mei and Yuna keep asking if we know the genders yet. Sakura is convinced at least one of them will be a girl who wants to look at her shell collection."

"And the triplets don't really understand yet," Mystery added. "They know there are babies in Mom's belly, and they like to pat her stomach and say 'babies!' But the full concept hasn't quite clicked yet."

"The twins are too young to understand at all," Jinu said with a laugh. "Altan and Vian just know that Mom's belly is big and sometimes it moves, which they find hilarious."

"Can we talk to some of the children?" Miran asked. "With your permission, of course. I'd love to get their perspective."

The alphas exchanged glances, then nodded.

"We'll ask them," Mystery said. "If they're comfortable, we'll bring them in."

Ten minutes later, Alanna, Kai, and Sakura were sitting on the couch, looking slightly nervous but excited. Ren had declined, preferring to stay with the babysitter, and the younger kids were too small to really participate.

"Hi guys," Miran said warmly. "Thank you for agreeing to talk to me. I just have a few questions, okay? And if you don't want to answer something, that's totally fine."

"Okay," Alanna said, straightening her shoulders. At fourteen, she was trying hard to appear mature and composed.

"Alanna, you're the oldest," Miran started. "The tsunami was only six months ago. What do you remember about that day?"

Alanna was quiet for a moment. "I remember being scared," she said finally. "We were at the hotel, and suddenly all the adults were rushing around, telling us we had to go upstairs. And then the water came. We could see it from the windows—this huge wave just... consuming everything. And Mom and Dad weren't there."

Her voice wavered slightly, and Mystery immediately moved to sit beside her, his hand on her shoulder.

"But your other parents were there," Miran prompted gently.

"Yeah." Alanna leaned into Mystery. "They kept us safe and made it feel less scary. And when we finally heard that Mom and Baby were okay—" She smiled. "That was a huge relief."

Miran turned to Kai. "And you, Kai? What about you?"

"I thought it was kind of cool," Kai admitted, then quickly added, "I mean, it was scary too. But it was like being in a movie. And then when Mom told us she was going to have a baby—" His eyes lit up. "I was so excited! And then we found out it was FIVE babies and I was like, whoa, that's so many babies."

"Are you excited to be a big brother to five more siblings?" Miran asked.

"Yeah!" Kai bounced slightly in his seat. "I'm going to teach them everything. How to kick a soccer ball, how to climb trees, how to beat the high score on my video games—"

"They'll be infants, Kai," Alanna said with fond exasperation. "They won't be able to do any of that for years."

"So? I'll wait," Kai said confidently.

Miran laughed, then looked at Sakura. "Sakura, you're eight and a half now, right? What are you most excited about with the new babies?"

Sakura thought very seriously about this question. "I want to help take care of them," she said. "And I want to show them my shell collection. And teach them about colors. And—" She paused. "I hope at least one of them is a sister. I want more sisters."

"You have Mei and Yuna and Lyra," Alanna pointed out.

"I know," Sakura said. "But more sisters would be good too. You can never have too many sisters."

Miran's smile was genuine. "That's a beautiful sentiment. Thank you all for talking with me. You're clearly a very special family."

After the children left, Miran asked a few more wrap-up questions—about how the pack planned to handle the logistics of five newborns, about their hopes for the future, about what they wanted people to take away from their story.

"I think," Hana said, her hand on her belly where five babies were currently squirming, "I want people to understand that trauma doesn't have to define you. It's part of our story now—the tsunami, the fear, the separation—but it's not the whole story. The whole story is about survival, about love, about a pack that held together through the worst moment of our lives and came out stronger."

"And about hope," Baby added. "These five babies, they're not just a medical miracle. They're proof that life goes on. That beautiful things can come from terrible circumstances. That even in the darkest moments, there's still light."

"We want other packs who've been through disasters to know they're not alone," Mystery said. "That it's okay to be scared. It's okay to struggle. But you can get through it together."

"With support," Romance added. "With love. With trust in each other."

"That's what saved us," Jinu said quietly. "Not luck. Not chance. Each other. Our pack. Our family."

Abby nodded. "We survived because we had each other. And we'll thrive for the same reason."

Miran set down her pen, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you for sharing your story. For trusting me with it. I promise I'll do it justice."

"We know you will," Hana said warmly. "That's why we said yes."

Six weeks later, the magazine arrived.

The cover featured the full family photo—all seventeen of them (counting Hana's belly as five), standing on the beach with the ocean behind them. The headline read: "The Saja Pack: Survival, Love, and the Miracle of Five."

Inside was a twelve-page spread. Gorgeous photos of their family—individual portraits, group shots, candid moments. And the article itself was everything they'd hoped for: thoughtful, respectful, deeply human.

Miran had woven their quotes together beautifully, creating a narrative that captured both the trauma of what they'd experienced and the hope of what came after. She'd included comments from Dr. Kim about the medical aspects of the quintuplet pregnancy, quotes from the children that were sweet and genuine, and a closing paragraph that made Hana cry.

The Saja Pack represents something more than a medical miracle, Miran had written. They represent the resilience of the human spirit. The power of love to overcome trauma. The beauty that can emerge from the darkest moments. They survived a tsunami that killed hundreds. They spent days separated, terrified, not knowing if they'd ever see each other again. And from that experience—from that fear and trauma and desperate need for connection—came five new lives. Five babies who will grow up knowing they were born from love, from survival, from a pack that refused to be broken.

"That's the real miracle here. Not the impossible odds of spontaneous quintuplets, but the impossible strength of a family that held together when everything else fell apart."

Hana set down the magazine and looked around at her pack—her alphas, her children, her everything.
"She got it right," she said softly. "She really got it right."

"She did," Baby agreed, pulling her close. "She told our story exactly the way it needed to be told."

And as five babies kicked and squirmed inside her belly, as eleven children played in the next room, as five alphas surrounded her with love and protection and unwavering support, Hana knew with absolute certainty that they would be okay.

34 weeks pregnant

The pain woke Hana from dreams she couldn't remember.

Not sharp—not yet. Just a deep, rolling pressure that started low in her spine and wrapped around her belly like a slow-moving wave. She lay still in the darkness, one hand automatically moving to the massive swell of her abdomen where five babies had been growing for thirty-four and a half weeks.

Under her palm, the skin was drum-tight, stretched to its absolute limit. She could feel movement—a flutter here, a push there—the constant reminder that she was never alone in her own body anymore.

The contraction peaked, held, then slowly ebbed away.

Hana breathed out and stared at the ceiling. The room was dark except for the pale blue glow of the alarm clock on her nightstand. 3:47 AM.

Beside her, Baby slept on his side, one arm stretched across the mattress toward her even in sleep, as if his alpha needed to maintain contact even when unconscious. His cyan hair was mussed against the pillow, and she could hear the steady rhythm of his breathing.

She waited.

One contraction didn't mean labor. Her body had been practicing for weeks now—Braxton Hicks contractions that tightened and released without pattern, dress rehearsals for the real thing. Dr. Kim had warned her that distinguishing false labor from true labor might be difficult with quintuplets. "Your uterus is working overtime," she'd said. "It might take a while to figure out what's real."

Another contraction built at 3:54 AM. This one stronger, more insistent. The pressure wrapped around her entire middle, making her belly visibly harden under her hand. She breathed through it, counting seconds. Forty-five seconds long.

Seven minutes apart.

Hana's heart started beating faster.

At 4:01 AM, another one came. This time she couldn't stay still—she had to shift, had to move, her body instinctively trying to find a position that would ease the pressure. The movement made the bed creak.

Baby woke instantly, the way alphas did when their omegas were in distress. His ocean-blue eyes snapped open, already focused and alert, and his hand immediately went to her belly.

"Hana?" His voice was rough with sleep but his alpha was already rising, responding to something in her scent. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I think—" Another contraction cut off her words. This one made her grip the sheets, made her bite down on her lip. When it passed, she looked at Baby and saw her own realization reflected in his face. "I'm in labor."

For a heartbeat, Baby didn't move. Then he was out of bed, reaching for his phone on the nightstand with one hand while the other stayed on her belly, as if he could hold the babies in place through sheer will.

"How far apart?" he asked, already pulling up Dr. Kim's contact.

"Seven minutes," Hana said. "Maybe six now. They're getting closer."

Baby's thumb hovered over the call button, but he stopped. Turned back to her. In the dim light from the clock, she could see the conflict on his face—his alpha torn between the need to make the call and the need to take care of her first.

"Help me sit up," Hana said, making the decision for him. "Then call Dr. Kim."

Baby moved immediately, his hands gentle but sure as he helped her shift upright against the pillows. Her belly was so large now that sitting required careful maneuvering, and she felt ungainly and awkward. Another contraction started to build and she gripped Baby's forearm, feeling the muscle flex under her fingers.

"Breathe," Baby murmured, even as he hit the call button. "I've got you. Just breathe."

By 4:30 AM, the house was awake and moving with the kind of organized chaos that only came from years of practice.

Hana sat on the edge of their bed, breathing through contractions that were now five minutes apart.

Baby was still on the phone with Dr. Kim, his voice low and urgent. Through the open bedroom door, she could hear the others mobilizing.

Mystery's voice carried down the hall: "Hospital bag. Where's the hospital bag?"

"Hall closet, top shelf!" That was Romance, followed by the thunder of feet on stairs.

Jinu's calmer tones: "I'm calling my cousin now. She'll be here in twenty minutes."

And Abby, systematic as always: "Hana's medical records. Her insurance card. Phone chargers. We need—"

"Abby." Romance's voice, gentle but firm. "We packed all of this already. It's in the bag."

Another contraction hit and Hana doubled over, her hands pressed hard against her belly. This one was stronger, pulling a low groan from her throat. Baby was beside her instantly, the phone abandoned, his hands on her back.

"That's it," he murmured, his alpha rumble soothing even through her own distress. "You're doing so well. Just breathe through it."

"We need to go," Hana gasped as the contraction eased. "Dr. Kim said—"

"She said to come now," Baby confirmed. "The surgical suite is being prepped. She'll meet us there."

Hana looked up at him and saw the barely controlled panic in his eyes, the way his jaw was clenched tight. His alpha was fighting the instinct to pace, to growl, to do something when there was nothing to be done except get her to the hospital and trust the doctors to keep her safe.

She reached up and cupped his face, feeling the slight scratch of stubble under her palm. "We're okay," she told him. "The six of us are okay."

Baby's hand covered hers, pressed it harder against his cheek. "All six of you better stay that way."

The drive to the hospital was a blur of streetlights and contractions.

Hana sat in the back seat between Baby and Romance, unable to wear a seatbelt properly over her massive belly. Every bump in the road made her wince, made the babies shift and press against already-strained organs.

Mystery drove with his hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel, his eyes flicking constantly to the rearview mirror to check on her. Jinu sat in the passenger seat, turned halfway around, his phone in his hand in case they needed to call Dr. Kim again. Abby had stayed behind to wait for Jinu's cousin and brief her on the children—who needed what, who had to be where, the carefully coordinated schedule that kept their family of eleven functioning.

Another contraction hit halfway to the hospital and Hana couldn't stop the cry that escaped her. Baby's hand tightened painfully around hers, and Romance's went to her knee, both alphas trying to ground her through touch.

"Almost there," Mystery said, and his voice was rough. "Five more minutes. You can do five more minutes."

Hana wasn't sure she could, but she nodded anyway.

The hospital appeared like a beacon—bright lights, the emergency entrance, people in scrubs already waiting outside with a wheelchair because Dr. Kim had called ahead.

"We've got you," one of the nurses said as they helped Hana out of the car. "Quintuplet delivery, thirty-four weeks. Dr. Kim is in the OR already."

The wheelchair felt both ridiculous and necessary. Hana's legs were shaking, her whole body trembling with the effort of staying upright through contractions that were now three minutes apart.

Baby walked beside the wheelchair, his hand never leaving her shoulder. She could feel his alpha's distress in the tension of his grip, in the way his scent had gone sharp and urgent.

"Sir, you'll need to gown up before you can go into the OR," a nurse told him, and Baby looked torn between following Hana and following protocol.

"Go," Hana told him. "I'm fine. I'll see you in there."

It was a lie and they both knew it. She wasn't fine. But she would be. She had to be.

The OR was bright—too bright—and full of people.

Hana counted at least fifteen staff members, maybe more. The anesthesiologist, Dr. Kim and her assisting obstetrician, surgical nurses, the NICU team with five warming beds lined up against the far wall like tiny spaceships waiting for their passengers, respiratory therapists standing by with equipment Hana tried not to look at too closely.

"Hana." Dr. Kim appeared beside her, already gowned and gloved. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I'm about to have five babies," Hana managed, and Dr. Kim smiled.

"Good answer. Let's get you on the table."

Moving from the wheelchair to the surgical table was an ordeal that required three people and left Hana gasping. Her belly was so enormous that lying back felt like drowning, the weight pressing on her lungs and making it hard to breathe.

"We're going to tilt you slightly to the left," Dr. Kim explained, and the table shifted. "Better?"

Hana nodded.

Her alphas arrived then—four of them, gowned in sterile blue, masks covering the lower halves of their faces. But Hana would know them anywhere. Baby by the desperate intensity in his eyes, Mystery by the careful way he moved, Romance by the gentle touch on her arm, Jinu by the calm he projected even though she could smell his anxiety underneath.

"All here," Baby said, taking her right hand. Mystery took her left.

"Abby?" Hana asked.

"On his way," Jinu assured her. "He's briefing my cousin and then he'll come straight here."

Another contraction hit—the strongest yet—and Hana's back arched off the table. Baby's hand tightened around hers and she heard his breath hitch, felt his alpha's barely leashed panic.

"Eight centimeters," Dr. Kim announced after checking her. "Moving fast. Everyone ready?"

A chorus of affirmatives from around the room.

"Hana, I need you to listen to me," Dr. Kim said, moving to where Hana could see her clearly. "All five babies are still head-down. That's excellent. We're going to try for vaginal delivery, but if anything changes—if any baby shows distress—we go straight to C-section. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Hana gasped.

"You've done this before," Dr. Kim continued. "Your body knows what to do. Trust it. Trust yourself. And trust us."

Hana nodded, unable to speak as another contraction built.

Time became strange.

Contractions came in waves that pulled her under, made her lose track of everything except the pressure and the pain and the desperate need to push that she had to fight because Dr. Kim kept saying not yet, not yet, almost there.

Baby never let go of her hand. Even when she squeezed hard enough that she must have been hurting him, even when she growled at him through clenched teeth to do something, he stayed steady beside her.

"You're doing so well," he kept saying. "So strong. I'm so proud of you."

Mystery stood on her other side, his hand gripping hers almost as tightly as she gripped his. She could see his eyes above the mask—dark and worried and completely focused on her.

Romance kept a cool cloth on her forehead, wiping away sweat.

Jinu murmured soft words in Korean that she didn't understand but that soothed her anyway.

"Ten centimeters," Dr. Kim said—Hana didn't know how much time had passed. Five minutes? An hour? "Hana, with the next contraction, I want you to push."

"Finally," Hana gasped.

The next contraction built like a tsunami—appropriate, she thought with near-hysterical humor—and when Dr. Kim said "Push," Hana bore down with everything she had.

Pup A - 7:43 AM

The first pup came fast.

Three pushes and Hana felt the pressure release, felt something slide free from her body, and then—

A cry.

Not a weak, tentative cry, but a full-throated wail of outrage that filled the OR and made Hana's eyes flood with tears.

"It's a boy!" Dr. Kim's voice was full of joy. "Pup A is a boy!"

Hana tried to lift her head to see, but she only caught a glimpse—a tiny, red, squirming body, impossibly small, before the NICU team whisked him away to the warming bed.

But she could hear him. Crying. Strong. Alive.

"He's breathing on his own," one of the NICU doctors called out. "Good tone, good color. Weight is 2.1 kilograms. Four pounds, ten ounces."

"Hair," Baby said, and his voice cracked. "He has hair. Dark hair."

"Like Mom," Romance added, moving to where he could see the warming bed better. "And— wait. Dr. Kim, come look at this."

Hana's heart stuttered, but Dr. Kim was still between her legs, examining her. "What is it?"

"His eyes," Romance said. "They're— they're green. Bright green."
Like Hana's.

"Dark brown hair and green eyes," Dr. Kim said with a smile. "Your firstborn son looks like his mama."

Pup B - 8:02 AM

The second pup took longer.

Hana could feel the contractions building again, could feel the pressure as the next pup descended. Her body felt strange—empty and full at the same time, so much space where the first pup had been.

"Pup B is still head-down," Dr. Kim confirmed. "Another boy, from what I can see. When you're ready, Hana."

This pup didn't want to come. Five pushes, each one leaving Hana shaking with exhaustion. Between contractions, she could hear Pup A still crying in his warming bed, and the sound gave her strength.

One more pup out meant one more pup safe.

On the sixth push, she felt the release again, and another cry joined the first.

"Pup B!" Dr. Kim announced. "Another boy!"

This cry was different—lower, more measured, as if the baby was testing out his lungs before committing to full volume.

"2.0 kilograms," the NICU team reported. "Four pounds, six ounces. Breathing well. Apgar scores excellent."

"This one has cyan hair," Jinu said, wonder in his voice. "Actual cyan. Like Baby."

Hana tried to look, tried to see, but she was so tired. Baby pressed a kiss to her temple through the mask. "He's beautiful," he murmured. "He looks like both of us. Your nose, my hair. Hana, he's perfect."

Pup C - 8:34 AM

The third pup took its time.

Hana lay on the table, her body trembling, feeling the remaining three pups shift inside her. It was the strangest sensation—her belly was still enormous, still heavy, but there was space now where there hadn't been before. Room for the pups to move.

"Pup C is transverse," Dr. Kim said, her hands pressed against Hana's belly. "Give me a moment. I'm going to turn them."

Hana felt pressure—firm, insistent—as Dr. Kim worked from the outside, manipulating the pup into position. It was uncomfortable, a deep ache that made her breath hitch, but it wasn't painful.

"There," Dr. Kim said with satisfaction. "Head-down. Ready?"

The contractions came back with a vengeance. Four pushes, and then—

"It's a girl!"

The cry was different this time—higher, more indignant, as if the pup was personally offended by being born.

"Baby C is a girl!" Dr. Kim repeated, and Hana heard the collective intake of breath from her alphas.
"First daughter," Mystery said, and when Hana looked at him, she saw tears streaming down his face. "Our first daughter from the quints."

"1.9 kilograms," came the report. "Four pounds, three ounces. Strong respiratory effort. This one's a fighter."

"Hair color?" Baby asked.

"Dark brown," one of the NICU nurses called back. "But— wait. Dr. Kim, you need to see this."

Dr. Kim moved to the warming bed, still connected to Hana by monitoring equipment. She looked at the newborn and smiled. "Her eyes are blue," she reported. "Ocean blue. Like Baby."

Hana felt something crack open in her chest. Dark hair and blue eyes—a perfect combination of both of them.

"She's beautiful," Baby whispered.

Pup D - 9:18 AM

The fourth pup made them wait.

Hana dozed between contractions, her body taking a break to recover. Around her, she could hear the quiet sounds of the NICU team working—soft voices, the beep of monitors, three tiny cries that would start and stop and start again.

"This is normal," Dr. Kim assured them when Mystery asked if something was wrong. "Hana's body is doing exactly what it needs to do. She's pacing herself."

Baby never left her side. His hand stayed locked with hers, his thumb rubbing small circles over her knuckles. She could smell his scent even through the clinical smell of the OR—ocean and citrus, sharp with anxiety but steady underneath.

When the contractions picked up again forty minutes later, they came hard and fast.

"Pup D is ready," Dr. Kim said. "I can see the head already. One good push, Hana."

This one came in two pushes—the easiest birth yet, as if the pup was eager to join their siblings.
"Another girl!"

More crying, this one higher and more insistent than Pup C.

"1.8 kilograms," the NICU team reported. "Four pounds, one ounce. Good respiratory function. Active and alert."

"Hair?" Hana managed to ask, her voice hoarse.

"Cyan," Romance said, moving to look. "Bright cyan, like Baby. And her eyes— they're opening, just a little. They're... they're green, Hana. Green like yours."

Cyan hair and green eyes. The inverse of her sister.

"Two girls, two boys," Jinu said softly. "One more to go."

Pup E - 10:01 AM

The last pup took the longest.

Hana had nothing left.

Her body was shaking uncontrollably, tremors that she couldn't control even when Baby pulled a warm blanket over her chest. Her belly was still impossibly large with one final pup inside, and she couldn't understand how there could still be another one, how there could possibly be any more room.

"Just one more," Baby kept saying, pressing kisses to her temple, her cheek, her forehead. "Just one more, omega. You're doing so well. You're so strong. Just one more."

Hana couldn't respond. She could only breathe.

The contractions felt weaker now, her uterus as exhausted as the rest of her. Dr. Kim's face had taken on a more serious expression, and Hana saw her exchange a look with the surgical team.

"Pup E is head-down," Dr. Kim said. "But small. The smallest one. If you can't push them out in the next few contractions, we're going in surgically. Okay?"

Hana nodded. She didn't have the energy to be scared.

When the next contraction came, she pushed with everything she had left. Every reserve, every last bit of strength she'd been hoarding. She felt Baby's hand crushing hers, felt Mystery's grip on her other hand, heard all her alphas murmuring encouragement.

Three pushes.

Four.

Five.

And then—

A tiny cry. So much smaller than the others, quieter, but there.

"It's a boy!" Dr. Kim said, and Hana heard the catch in her voice. "Pup E is a boy. The youngest. The smallest."

"1.6 kilograms," the NICU team called out, and Hana heard the urgency in their voices now. "Three pounds, eight ounces. Respiratory effort is weak. We're providing support."

"Is he—" Hana couldn't finish the question. Couldn't make herself ask if her pup was okay.

"He's breathing," Dr. Kim said quickly, moving back to Hana's side. "He's breathing, Hana. He's just small. The NICU team has him. They're helping him."

Hana tried to lift her head, tried to see, but she couldn't. All she could hear was the quiet bustle around Pup E's warming bed, voices speaking in medical shorthand she didn't understand.

And then—another cry. Weak, but there.

"He's okay," someone said. "Sats are coming up. He's okay."

Baby's forehead dropped against Hana's shoulder and she felt his whole body shake with a sob he was trying to hold back.

"Five," he said. "All five. Hana, you did it."

After the placentas were delivered—five of them, Dr. Kim carefully examining each one and declaring them all healthy. After the bleeding was controlled and Hana was cleaned up and covered with warm blankets, the NICU team finally brought the newborn pups over.

One by one, they appeared at Hana's side—five tiny bundles, each one wrapped in a standard-issue hospital blanket, each one wearing a tiny knit cap.

Pup A—four pounds, ten ounces, with dark brown hair peeking out from under his cap and eyes that had opened briefly to reveal startling green irises before closing again. His face was round, his cheeks fuller than his siblings', and even sleeping he looked indignant.

Pup B—four pounds, six ounces, with cyan hair so bright it almost didn't look real and a calmer expression than his older brother. When they brought him close, his eyes opened briefly—ocean blue—before he yawned and settled back to sleep.

Pup C—four pounds, three ounces, their first daughter, with dark brown hair and ocean-blue eyes that stared up at Hana with surprising alertness. Her face was more delicate than the boys', her features fine and precise.

Pup D—four pounds, one ounce, their second daughter, with cyan hair that stood up in tiny spikes and green eyes that blinked slowly in the bright lights of the OR. She was smaller than her sister, but her grip when she wrapped her tiny hand around Baby's finger was surprisingly strong.

Pup E—three pounds, eight ounces, the smallest, the youngest, with cyan hair and a tiny oxygen cannula in his nose. His eyes were closed, but when Baby stroked his cheek, they fluttered open briefly—ocean blue, just like his father's—before closing again. He was so small that he fit entirely in Baby's two hands, his whole body barely longer than Baby's forearm.

"They're perfect," Hana whispered, tears streaming down her face.

"They're a mix," Dr. Kim said with a smile. "Three with dark hair, two with cyan. Three with blue eyes, two with green. It's like they split your features right down the middle."

"They'll need to stay in the NICU," one of the neonatologists said, coming to stand beside the warming beds. "Probably three to four weeks, until they're bigger and feeding well. Pup E will likely need the most support—his lungs are immature and he'll need help with feeding. But all five of them are in remarkably good condition for thirty-four-week quintuplets. Ms. Saja, you did an incredible job."

Hana couldn't stop looking at them—five tiny faces, five perfect babies, each one a miracle.

"Can I—" Her voice broke. "Can someone stay with them? I don't want them to be alone."

She felt Baby tense beside her, knowing what she was asking. Knowing that she needed him to be with the babies even though it meant leaving her side.

"Go," she told him before he could protest. "Please. I need you to watch over them."

Baby looked torn, his alpha clearly warring with itself—stay with omega or protect the pups.

"I'll go with you," Mystery said quietly. "You're going to need support, Baby. Those pups are so small."

Baby looked at Mystery, and something passed between them—an understanding, alpha to alpha.

"I'll stay with Hana," Abby said, moving to her side with Jinu and Romance close behind. "We've got our omega."

Baby leaned down and pressed his forehead against Hana's. "I'll stay with them," he promised. "Every second. I won't let them be alone."

"I know," Hana whispered. "Go."

They wheeled Hana to recovery, and Abby, Jinu, and Romance stayed with her as promised. But part of her—the omega part, the mother part—was in the NICU with Baby, Mystery, and their five tiny pups.

She could picture them there, Baby and Mystery standing between the warming beds, Baby's hands hovering over each pup in turn, unable to choose which one needed him most because they all did. Mystery beside him, understanding, supporting, knowing exactly what his brother was going through.

Against impossible odds, they'd survived a tsunami. They'd carried quintuplets to thirty-four and a half weeks. They'd delivered five healthy pups.

Five little miracles.

Hana closed her eyes and let herself rest.

Their family was complete.

The NICU Vigil

The NICU was quiet except for the rhythmic beeping of monitors and the soft whoosh of ventilators. Baby stood between the five warming beds, his eyes moving constantly from one tiny bundle to the next, unable to settle. His alpha was a live wire under his skin, desperate to protect but helpless to do anything except watch.

Pup A was sleeping soundly, his round face peaceful.

Pup B had one tiny fist near his mouth, occasionally sucking on his knuckles.

Pup C was alert, her blue eyes tracking the shadows on the ceiling.

Pup D was curled on her side, her cyan hair sticking up in spikes.

And Pup E—the smallest, the youngest, the one who worried Baby the most—lay very still with the oxygen cannula in his nose and a forest of wires attached to his tiny chest.

"They're doing well," Mystery said from where he stood on the other side of the warming beds. His voice was low, pitched not to disturb the sleeping babies. "All of them. Look at their monitors—everything's stable."

Baby nodded but couldn't make himself relax.

His hands hovered over Pup E, wanting to touch but afraid. The pup was so small. Three pounds, eight ounces. Barely longer than Baby's forearm. So fragile that it felt like breathing too hard might break him.

"I know what you're thinking," Mystery continued, moving closer. "That if you take your eyes off them for even a second, something will go wrong. That if you're not watching, you'll miss—"

Pup E's monitor alarm went off.

The sound was shrill and immediate, cutting through the quiet of the NICU like a knife. Baby's head snapped toward the warming bed, his heart already racing, his alpha already screaming danger-protect-fix it-

The pup wasn't moving.

"No," Baby said, and his voice came out strangled. "No, no, no—"

He reached for Pup E but his hands were shaking so badly he couldn't make them work. The monitor kept screaming. The oxygen saturation numbers were dropping—95, 92, 88—and the pup's lips were starting to turn blue and Baby couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't—

"He stopped breathing," Baby gasped, his alpha taking over, panic flooding his system. "Mystery, he stopped—I need to—Hana needs—I'm supposed to protect them and I can't—"

His hands hovered uselessly over his son's tiny body, torn between the desperate need to do something and the terrified certainty that he'd make it worse.

What if he touched wrong?
What if he hurt him?
What if—

"Baby." Mystery's voice cut through the panic, firm and commanding. "Listen to me. You need to let the nurses help. Call for help. Now."

But Baby couldn't move.

His alpha was screaming at him—protect the pup, save the pup, don't let the pup die—but his body was frozen, his mind white with terror. This was his son. His baby. The smallest one, the one who needed the most help, and Baby couldn't—

Mystery moved fast. He hit the call button on the wall, then physically grabbed Baby's shoulders and turned him away from the warming bed.

"Look at me," Mystery commanded, his alpha voice resonating through the words. "Baby, look at me right now."

Baby's eyes snapped to Mystery's face. Through his panic, he saw his pack brother—calm, steady, in control.

"The nurses are coming," Mystery said, his hands firm on Baby's shoulders. "They know what to do. They're trained for this. But you need to let them work. Do you understand? You have to step back and let them save him."

"I can't—" Baby's voice broke. "Mystery, I can't just—what if he dies? What if Hana—I promised her I'd watch them, I promised I wouldn't let them be alone, and I'm failing—"

"You're not failing," Mystery said fiercely. "You noticed. You caught it. But now you have to trust the medical staff to do their job."

The NICU nurses arrived at a run, three of them converging on Pup E's warming bed with practiced efficiency. One was already reaching for the ambu bag, another checking the oxygen cannula, the third grabbing the suction equipment.

"Apnea episode," the first nurse said, her hands moving with swift precision. "Sats at 85 and dropping. Starting positive pressure ventilation."

Baby watched them work, his whole body shaking, his alpha howling inside him. He could see his son's tiny chest—so small, so fragile—and the nurses' hands moving over him, and all he could think was please, please, please—

"Come on, little one," the nurse murmured as she squeezed the ambu bag with careful, measured pumps. "Breathe for me. Come on."

Baby felt Mystery's hand on his back, grounding him, but it wasn't enough. Nothing was enough. His son wasn't breathing and Baby couldn't fix it and Hana was going to—

"I've got a heartbeat," one of the nurses said. "Strong. Good. Keep going."

But the baby still wasn't breathing on his own.

The monitor was still screaming, the oxygen saturation still too low, and Baby's vision was starting to narrow at the edges, his alpha threatening to take over completely, to make him do something stupid like rip his son away from the nurses and run—

"Wait," the first nurse said, and her voice carried a note of hope. "I've got respiratory effort. Shallow but present. Come on, little guy, come on."

Pup E's chest hitched. Once. Twice.

And then the tiny body shuddered and suddenly the baby was breathing again—weak, rapid breaths that made his whole body move, but breathing.

"There you go," the nurse said, relief clear in her voice. "That's it. Good boy. Keep breathing. That's it."

The monitor's alarm silenced as the oxygen saturation started climbing. 86. 89. 92. 95.

Baby's legs gave out. He would have hit the floor if Mystery hadn't caught him, strong arms wrapping around him and holding him up.

"He's breathing," Mystery said, and his voice was thick with emotion. "Baby, he's breathing. He's okay."

But Baby couldn't stop shaking. His son had stopped breathing. Had turned blue. Had almost—

"Is he—" Baby couldn't finish the question. His voice wouldn't work right, his throat too tight.

One of the nurses turned to face them, her expression compassionate. "He's stable now," she said. "His oxygen saturation is back up to 96%. Heart rate is good. Color is improving. He's going to be okay."

"What happened?" Mystery asked, and Baby was grateful because he couldn't form words.

"Apnea of prematurity," the nurse explained, still monitoring Baby E closely. "It's not uncommon in newborns this small. Their nervous systems are immature and sometimes they just... forget to breathe. The monitor caught it, and your quick response—" She looked at Baby. "You calling us immediately made all the difference. If you hadn't been watching so closely, if you hadn't noticed right away, this could have been much worse."

Baby stared at her. "But I didn't do anything. I just—I panicked. I couldn't—"

"You noticed," the nurse said firmly. "You saw that something was wrong and you got help. That's exactly what you were supposed to do. A lot of parents freeze or try to handle it themselves. You did the right thing."

Mystery's arms tightened around Baby. "You hear that?" he said, and now Baby could hear the tears in his voice. "You saved him. You were watching and you caught it and you got help and he's alive because of you."

Baby felt something crack open in his chest. All the terror, all the panic, all the desperate fear came pouring out and suddenly he was sobbing, his forehead pressed against Mystery's shoulder, his whole body shaking with the force of it.

"I thought he died," Baby gasped between sobs. "I thought—Mystery, I thought I lost him. I thought—"

"I know," Mystery said, and his voice was rough. Baby looked up and saw tears streaming down Mystery's face too. "But he's okay. He's right there, breathing. Look."

Baby turned his head and through his tears he could see Pup E in the warming bed, his tiny chest rising and falling with steady breaths now, the monitor showing strong, stable numbers. The oxygen cannula was still in place but his color was good, pink and healthy.

"He's okay," Baby whispered.

"He's okay," Mystery confirmed, not letting go.

The nurses were moving around the warming bed now, checking all the equipment, adjusting settings, making notes on their tablets.

"We're going to increase his monitoring," the lead nurse explained. "Add a couple more sensors, maybe adjust his oxygen flow. Just to be safe. And we'll be checking on him more frequently. But this was a single episode, it doesn't mean he'll have another one. Many preemies have one or two apnea events and then grow out of it as their nervous systems mature."

Baby nodded mutely, unable to trust his voice.

The nurses finished their work and documented everything. Before they left, the lead nurse paused beside Baby and Mystery.

"You two are doing great," she said warmly. "I know that was terrifying. But you handled it exactly right. Keep watching them. Keep trusting your instincts. And don't hesitate to call us for anything. That's what we're here for."

When they were alone again, Baby moved back to Pup E's warming bed. His hands were still shaking but he reached out and very gently placed one finger against his son's tiny palm. The pup's hand closed around it reflexively, the grip surprisingly strong for someone so small.

"I've got you, little man," Baby whispered. "Daddy’s here. I won't let anything happen to you."

Mystery stood beside him, one hand on Baby's shoulder. "That was the worst moment of my life," he admitted quietly. "I've been through a lot, but watching that happen—thinking we might lose him—"

He stopped, his voice breaking.

"Thank you," Baby said, not looking away from his son. "I would have—if you hadn't been here, I would have completely fallen apart. I wouldn't have known what to do."

"That's what pack is for," Mystery said simply.

An hour later, the NICU door opened and Jinu slipped in carrying several bags.

"I come bearing supplies," he announced quietly, keeping his voice low. He moved to where Baby and Mystery stood—neither had moved from their positions between the warming beds—and started unpacking.

Thermal blankets. A container of what smelled like jjigae. A large thermos of coffee. Energy drinks. Protein bars. Phone chargers.

"I figured you two weren't planning on sleeping anytime soon," Jinu said, handing Baby an energy drink and Mystery the coffee. "And you need to eat. You won't be any good to anyone if you collapse from low blood sugar."

Baby took the energy drink automatically but couldn't make himself open it. He couldn't stop watching Pup E, couldn't stop monitoring every breath, every movement.

"Hana?" he asked, his voice hoarse from crying.

"Resting," Jinu said immediately. "She's doing well. The bleeding has stopped completely, her vitals are all stable, and she's eaten. Abby and Romance are with her."

"Does she know about—" Baby couldn't finish.

Jinu's expression softened. "No. And she doesn't need to. Not yet. The episode is over, Pup E is stable, and there's no reason to worry her when she needs to recover."

Baby nodded, grateful.

Jinu pulled up a chair and settled in, opening the container of jjigae and handing out spoons.

For a few minutes they ate in silence, the warm food helping to ground Baby back in his body. His hands had stopped shaking. The tight band around his chest had eased slightly.

"Do you remember," Jinu said eventually, his voice carrying a note of nostalgia, "how this all started?"

Mystery looked up from his coffee. "What, the pack?"

"Meeting Hana," Jinu clarified. "That night at the concert venue."

"I hit the stage wrong during that drop in the bridge." Mystery’s mouth curved in a small smile. "Thought I'd broken my wrist, actually. I was convinced my performing career was over."

"You were being dramatic," Baby said, and realized it was the first time he'd spoken without his voice shaking since the apnea episode. "It was a sprain."

"A bad sprain," Mystery protested. "It hurt like hell. And when they brought the medic over—this tiny omega with the sparkling eyes and a comforting smile… but I thought she was going to tell me I was done."

"But she didn't," Jinu said, his smile widening. "She wrapped it, gave you ice, told you to keep icing it and avoid heat—"

"Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off," Mystery recited, clearly remembering. "She was so thorough. So professional. And when I thanked her, she just looked at me like I'd said something strange."

"Most people don't bother thanking medics… or omegas," Baby pointed out. "Especially not idols."

"Exactly," Mystery said. "But I meant it. She'd taken care of me, made sure I was okay. That deserved thanks."

"And then we invited her to be our live-in medic," Jinu continued. "Best decision we ever made."

"The point is," Jinu continued, "that if Mystery hadn't injured his wrist that night, we never would have met Hana. We never would have asked her to be our live-in medic. None of this—" He gestured at the warming beds, at the five sleeping babies. "—would have happened."

Mystery was quiet for a moment, his eyes distant. "I remember the first time I realized I wanted her as pack," he said softly. "It was about three months after she'd moved in."

"You and Abby both went into rut at the same time," Baby said with a grin, even though it felt strange to smile after what had just happened. But the story was familiar, comforting. "And she had to help you through it."

Mystery's ears turned red. "That was... complicated."

"You attacked Abby over his rut partner," Jinu said, laughing softly. "I swear we could hear you growling from downstairs from Hana’s place."

"I wasn't thinking clearly," Mystery said defensively. "The rut-haze was bad. And then Hana—" He stopped, his expression softening. "She tackled me. This tiny omega medic threw herself at a rutting alpha to protect Abby and Sylvie."

"She got hurt doing it too," Baby remembered. "Hit the kitchen island."

"When I heard her cry out, when I smelled her pain—the rut-fog just shattered," Mystery said quietly, and even now, all these years later, Baby could still hear the pain in his voice. "All I could think was that I'd hurt an unclaimed omega. That I'd failed to protect her."

"But you took care of her," Jinu said gently. "You brought her to your den, made sure she was taken care of… and afterward—"

"Afterward, I was high on rut hormones and told her I wanted pups," Mystery finished, burying his face in his hands. "Just blurted it out before I'd even officially courted her."

Baby nearly choked on his energy drink. "I forgot about that part."

Jinu was grinning. "You literally announced to the entire pack that you wanted Hana to have your pups, and now," he said, gesturing at the warming beds again, "you have sixteen children. Sixteen, Mystery. When you said you wanted pups, was this what you had in mind?"

Mystery looked up, his eyes moving from Pup A to Pup B to Pup C to Pup D to Pup E, then over to where he could just see the photos of the other eleven kids that Jinu had brought and taped to the wall near the warming beds.

"No," he said quietly. "Not exactly what I was thinking… I was thinking maybe two or three kids? A nice, manageable family?"

Baby snorted. "We're well past manageable."

"But you know what?" Mystery continued, and his voice was thick with emotion now. "This is so much better. Every single one of them—" He gestured at the sleeping quintuplets. "—every child we have is a miracle. Alanna, Kai, Ren, Mei, Yuna, Sakura, Silas, Callen, Lyra, Altan, Vian, and now these five. Our sixteen miracles."

He looked at Baby, then at Jinu. "When I said I wanted pups, I was thinking about blood. About biology. About creating something with Hana. But what we actually have—it's so much more than that. These babies?" He nodded toward the warming beds. "Biologically, they're yours and Hana's… but they're also mine. They're Jinu's, Abby's, Romance's. They're our pack's. Just like Ren, Silas, Callen, and Lyra are mine biologically, but they're also yours. We don't divide our children by who contributed what DNA. We're all fathers to all of them."

Baby felt tears prickling at his eyes again. "When I was carrying Hana up those stairs," he said quietly, "when the tsunami was flooding in below us and I didn't know if we'd survive—all I could think was that if I died, at least Hana would have you. That she wouldn't be alone. That our children wouldn't lose everyone."

"But you didn't die," Jinu said firmly. "Neither of you did. You survived. And you brought five more miracles into our pack."

Baby looked at his five sons and daughters sleeping peacefully in their warming beds.

Pup A was snoring softly.

Pup B had both fists near his face now.

Pup C was still tracking the lights with her alert blue eyes.

Pup D had shifted in her sleep, her cyan hair even more spiky now.

Pup E's chest was rising and falling steadily, the monitor showing strong numbers.

"Not for anything," Baby said. "Not for a single thing."

"Good answer," Mystery said, squeezing his shoulder. "Now drink your energy drink and eat your jjigae. It's going to be a long night."

Jinu stayed for another hour, the three of them talking quietly about logistics (they needed to order more bottles, more formula, more diapers—so many diapers), about the other kids (Alanna had already group-texted asking for photos of the babies, Kai wanted to know if he could visit tomorrow, Ren had drawn a picture for each baby), about Hana (she was sleeping now, but she'd been asking about them, wanting updates).

Eventually Jinu stood, gathering his empty containers. "I should get back to Hana," he said. "Abby and Romance need sleep too, and someone needs to coordinate with my cousin about the kids."

"Thank you," Baby squeezed his hand. "For the food. For being here. For—everything."

Jinu pressed a kiss to Baby's temple, then Mystery's. "That's what pack does," he murmured. "We take care of each other. Always."

After he left, Baby and Mystery settled into their vigil. Baby pulled his chair as close to Pup E's warming bed as possible, his hand resting gently on the plastic side. Mystery positioned himself where he could see all five babies at once.

"We're going to be okay," Mystery said into the quiet. "All of us."

Baby watched his youngest son breathe—steady, strong, alive—and let himself believe it.

"Yeah," he said softly. "We are."

Two hours later, Pup E's monitor alarm went off again.

This time, Baby didn't freeze.

His hand was already reaching for the call button before his conscious mind had fully processed what was happening. Muscle memory from two hours ago, his alpha instincts sharpened by experience.

"Not breathing," he said, his voice steady even as his heart hammered. "Mystery, he's—"

"I see it," Mystery said, moving closer but not interfering. "You've got this."

Baby hit the button, his eyes never leaving his son. The infant's chest was still, the oxygen saturation numbers already starting to drop. But this time, Baby's hands weren't shaking. This time, he knew what to do.

"Stay with me, little one," Baby murmured, his finger gently stroking Pup E's tiny palm. "Come on. You can do this. Breathe for Dad."

The nurses arrived within seconds, the same team as before. They moved with practiced efficiency, but Baby noticed they were watching him too—assessing whether he was going to panic again, whether they'd need to manage both the newborn and the alpha father.

But Baby stepped back without being asked, giving them room to work while staying close enough to see everything. His alpha was screaming at him to do something, to fix it, to protect—but he channeled that energy into watching, learning, being present without being in the way.

"Apnea episode," the lead nurse confirmed, already reaching for the ambu bag. "Second one tonight. We'll need to adjust his protocol after this."

Baby watched as she began the careful pumps, providing breaths for his son who'd forgotten how to take them himself. He counted the compressions, memorized the rhythm, noticed how she checked the monitor between each squeeze.

"Come on," the nurse murmured. "You did so good last time. Do it again for us."

Pup E's chest hitched. Once. Twice. And then—

The tiny body shuddered and suddenly he was breathing again, weak but steady.

The monitor alarm silenced as the oxygen saturation climbed back up.
88. 91. 94. 96.

Baby let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

"There he is," the nurse said, relief in her voice. "Good job, little man. That's exactly what we want to see."

She turned to Baby, and her expression was warm, approving. "You did great. You noticed immediately, called for help, gave us space to work. That's perfect crisis management."

"I just—" Baby's voice was rough. "I couldn't freeze again. Not after last time."

"You didn't," she said firmly. "You were calm, efficient, exactly what we needed. Your son is lucky to have you watching over him."

After the nurses finished their checks and documented the second episode, after they'd adjusted Pup E's oxygen flow and added another monitoring sensor, they finally left with promises to check back in fifteen minutes.

Baby sank into the chair beside the warming bed, suddenly exhausted. His adrenaline was crashing, leaving him shaky and drained.

Mystery moved to stand beside him, one hand on Baby's shoulder. He was looking down at Pup E with an expression that was half fond, half exasperated.

"Little trouble maker," Mystery said softly, and there was affection in his voice. "Just like his bio dad."

Baby's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing into a glare. "I was never this much trouble."

Mystery's laugh was quiet but genuine. "Oh really? Never?"

"Never," Baby said firmly, crossing his arms even though the position made it harder to keep his hand near Pup E's warming bed. "I was a model trainee. A model idol. No trouble at all."

"No trouble," Mystery repeated slowly, and Baby could hear the amusement building in his voice. "So I'm imagining the time you decided to 'test the acoustics' of the practice room by singing at full volume at three in the morning and woke up half the building?"

"That was research," Baby protested immediately. "I needed to know if the sound insulation was adequate for late-night practice sessions."

"You were singing the Digimon theme song," Mystery deadpanned. "In English. While doing the choreography to our debut single."

"It was a creative exercise in mixing genres and languages," Baby said with as much dignity as he could muster. "Very innovative."

"The building manager threatened to evict us."

"He was overreacting."

Mystery's grin widened. "What about the time you decided to dye your hair bright orange the night before our music video shoot? Without telling anyone?"

"That was—" Baby paused, trying to find a defense. "That was a bold artistic choice."

"The stylist cried," Mystery said. "Actual tears. She had to completely redo the color concept for the entire video in four hours."

"She told me later it was her best work," Baby countered. "She won an award for that video's styling."

"Because she's a miracle worker who managed to fix your disaster," Mystery said. "Also, you looked like a traffic cone."

"I looked avant-garde," Baby insisted, but he could feel a smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

"You looked like a highlighter," Mystery corrected. "Our fans called you 'Tangerine Baby' for six months."

Baby scowled, but it was half-hearted. "That nickname was affectionate."

"It was mocking," Mystery said cheerfully. "Lovingly mocking, but still mocking." He wasn't done. "Oh, and let's not forget the time you decided to 'improve' our choreography by adding backflips thirty minutes before we went on stage."

"I successfully executed those backflips," Baby pointed out. "Multiple times. They looked amazing."

"You also nearly kicked Jinu in the face, crashed into Abby, and completely threw off Romance's timing," Mystery said. "We had to literally hold you down backstage and make you promise not to add any more 'improvements' for the rest of the tour."

"I was innovating," Baby grumbled. "Pushing boundaries. Keeping things fresh."

"You were being a menace," Mystery said, but his tone was fond. "A lovable, talented, incredibly frustrating menace."

He settled into the chair beside Baby, his expression softening even as amusement still danced in his eyes. "Remember when you decided we needed a pack bonding activity and signed us all up for that extreme wilderness survival course?"

Baby winced. "How was I supposed to know they didn't provide food?"

"It was literally in the description," Mystery said. "Week-long primitive survival skills training. No modern amenities. Forage or starve."

"I thought that was exaggeration for dramatic effect!"

"Romance ate a bug," Mystery said flatly. "A live bug. He cried."

"He survived though," Baby pointed out weakly.

"Jinu got poison ivy in places poison ivy should never be," Mystery continued. "Abby stepped on a snake—thankfully non-venomous. I fell in a river and lost our only fire-starting kit. And you—" He pointed at Baby. "You somehow managed to befriend a family of raccoons who then followed us back to the parking lot and tried to get in the van."

Despite everything—the stress, the fear, the exhaustion—Baby felt laughter bubbling up in his chest. "They were very friendly raccoons."

"They were rabies vectors with thumbs," Mystery scowled.

"Okay, that one maybe wasn't my best idea," Baby admitted.

"Maybe?" Mystery's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. "Our manager banned you from planning pack activities for six months after that."

"But I learned valuable wilderness skills," Baby said. "Which came in handy during the tsunami."

Mystery's expression immediately softened, the teasing fading into something more serious. "You did," he said quietly. "You kept Hana alive. Carried her up six flights of stairs. Protected her when it mattered most." He reached over and squeezed Baby's shoulder. "All those ridiculous, chaotic, trouble-making instincts of yours—they saved your omega's life."

Baby felt his throat tighten. "Mystery—"

"So yeah," Mystery continued, glancing down at Pup E. "If this little guy is half the trouble maker you are, we're in for a wild ride. But he's also going to be brave, and creative, and fiercely protective of the people he loves, just like his dad."

Baby looked down at their youngest son, at the tiny chest rising and falling with steady breaths now, at the cyan hair that matched his own, at the little face that was unmistakably his mini-me.

"He's going to be so much trouble," Baby said, but his voice was full of love.

"The best kind of trouble," Mystery agreed. "Just like you."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the five babies sleep.

Pup A snored softly.

Pup B had moved both fists to his mouth now.

Pup C's eyes had finally closed, her breathing deep and even.

Pup D shifted in her sleep, making a tiny squeaking sound.

And Pup E...

Pup E's hand curled around Baby's finger, holding on tight even in sleep.

"You know what the worst part is?" Baby said eventually.

"What?"

"In about sixteen years, when he's a teenager doing ridiculous things, I'm going to have to discipline him. And he's going to look at me with those ocean-blue eyes and say 'But Dad, you did way worse stuff when you were my age.'"

Mystery's laugh was quiet but genuine. "Oh absolutely. All your chickens are coming home to roost. This is karmic justice."

"I'm going to have to be the responsible parent," Baby said with mounting horror. "I'm going to have to say things like 'think before you act' and 'maybe don't test that' and 'no, you cannot build a rocket ship in the garage.'"

"You're going to be so bad at it," Mystery said cheerfully. "Because you're going to see him doing something completely unhinged and think 'that's kind of cool actually.'"

"Hana's going to kill me," Baby said.

"Probably," Mystery agreed. "But at least you'll die doing what you love—enabling chaos."

Baby snorted, then covered his mouth quickly, glancing at the sleeping babies to make sure he hadn't disturbed them. But they all slept on, peaceful and perfect.

"Thanks," Baby said softly. "For being here. For making me laugh when I want to cry. For—everything."

Mystery bumped his shoulder against Baby's. "That's what brothers do. We hold each other up. Remind each other who we are. And occasionally roast each other about our past disasters to keep things interesting."

"My past disasters are numerous and legendary," Baby said with mock pride.

"They really are," Mystery agreed. "And I can't wait to tell all five of these babies every single story."

Baby groaned. "You're going to be the one who tells all the embarrassing stories at family dinners."

"Oh absolutely," Mystery said. "I'm going to have slideshow presentations. Annotated timelines. Guest speakers."

"I hate you."

"No you don't."

Baby looked at his pack brother—his friend, his family, the alpha who'd helped him through one of the scariest nights of his life—and felt overwhelming gratitude.

"No," he admitted. "I really don't."

They settled back into their vigil, watching over five tiny miracles, and Baby found himself actually looking forward to the chaos ahead.

If these babies inherited even a fraction of his trouble-making tendencies—combined with Hana's stubborn determination—their household was going to be absolutely chaotic.

And he couldn't wait.

Serveal hours later

The commotion in the hallway outside the NICU was impossible to ignore.

"Ms. Saja, we really must insist that you remain in bed for at least another twelve hours—"

"And I really must insist that you go fuck yourselves," came Hana's voice, sharp and absolutely done with nonsense. "I've just pushed five babies out of my body. I've earned the right to see them whenever I damn well please."

Baby and Mystery exchanged glances. Baby felt a grin tugging at his lips despite his exhaustion.

"That's our omega," Mystery said with fond amusement.

"Ms. Saja, you've just undergone a significant medical event. Your body needs rest—"

"My body needs to see my pups," Hana snapped. "So you can either get me a wheelchair, or I will have Abby carry me there himself."

There was a pause, then Abby's voice: "Uh… I never agreed to that."

Another pause.

Baby could almost picture the look Hana was giving Abby right now—the one that could make alphas twice her size back down.

"...Fine," Abby muttered. "I'll carry you."

"WAIT," the nurse said quickly. "Okay, okay. Let me get a wheelchair. Just please don't make your alpha carry you. You could tear your stitches."

"That's what I thought," Hana said with satisfaction.

Baby stood, moving toward the NICU entrance. Mystery followed, both of them grinning now despite the exhaustion and stress of the night.

A few minutes later, the door opened and Romance wheeled Hana in, with Abby walking beside them looking both amused and exasperated. The nurse followed, clipboard in hand and resignation in her expression.

Hana looked pale and exhausted, dark circles under her eyes, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. She wore a hospital gown and had a blanket draped over her lap. But the moment her eyes landed on the five warming beds, her entire face transformed.

"Hi little ones," she whispered, and her voice cracked with emotion.

Baby moved to her immediately, kneeling beside the wheelchair so he was at her eye level. "Hey, omega. How are you feeling?"

"Like I just gave birth to quintuplets," she said, but she was smiling through the tears already streaming down her face. "But I needed to see them. I needed—"

"I know," Baby said softly, taking her hand. "They're all doing well. They're perfect."

Hana's eyes moved from baby to baby, drinking them in. "Tell me about them. Tell me everything."

Baby hesitated, glancing at Mystery. They'd agreed not to worry her unnecessarily, but they also couldn't lie to her. She'd know.

"Pup E had two apnea episodes last night," Baby said carefully, watching her face. "He stopped breathing twice. But the nurses were amazing, and he's okay now. They've adjusted his oxygen and added more monitoring. He's stable."

He braced himself for panic, for tears, for Hana to demand answers or blame herself or spiral into worry.
Instead, she cupped his face with both hands and pulled him in for a kiss. When she pulled back, her eyes were steady and sure.

"There was no doubt in my mind that you would look after them," she said firmly. "Not for a single second."

Baby felt something tight in his chest loosen, replaced by overwhelming emotion. "Hana, I—I'm not exactly known for being the responsible one."

"You carried me up six flights of stairs during a tsunami," Hana said, her thumbs stroking his cheekbones. "You kept me alive when everything was falling apart. You've been watching over these babies since the moment they were born. You're exactly the alpha I know you are."

Baby's eyes stung with tears. He pressed his forehead against hers, breathing her in—rain and stone and home.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," she whispered back. "Now help me see my babies properly. I can't reach them from here."

Romance wheeled her closer to the warming beds, positioning her carefully so she could see all five at once. Hana's hands went immediately to Pup A, her fingers gently stroking his round cheek.

"He looks indignant," she said with a watery laugh. "Even sleeping, he looks annoyed about being born."

"He's been like that since the beginning," Baby confirmed. "Very judgmental for someone who's less than twelve hours old."

Hana moved to Pup B next, her touch feather-light on his cyan hair. "And this one looks so peaceful. Like he's already figured out meditation."

"He's the calm one," Mystery added. "Barely cried at all. Just yawned and went to sleep."

Pup C was still awake, her ocean-blue eyes tracking Hana's face. When Hana stroked her cheek, the pup made a soft cooing sound.

"Hello, beautiful girl," Hana whispered. "You're so alert. You want to see everything, don't you?"

"She's been watching everything since they brought her over," Baby said. "Curious about the world already."

Pup D had her tiny hand curled into a fist, even in sleep. When Hana gently touched her fingers, they flexed, showing off that surprisingly strong grip.

"Strong," Hana murmured. "This one's going to be a fighter."

"Already is," Baby agreed.

And finally, Pup E, the smallest. The one with the oxygen cannula and the extra monitors and the cyan hair that matched Baby's exactly.

Hana's hand hovered over him, almost afraid to touch. "He's so tiny."

"He's perfect," Baby said firmly. "And he's a fighter too. Two apnea episodes and he came through both of them."

"Little troublemaker," Hana said softly, and there was so much love in her voice it made Baby's chest ache. "Just like his dad."

"That's what I said," Mystery announced. "And Baby claimed he was never any trouble."

"Baby was always trouble," Hana said without looking away from Baby E. "Creative, brave, ridiculous trouble. The best kind."

Romance cleared his throat. "So... have you two thought about names? We can't keep calling them Pup A through E forever. It's going to get confusing."

Baby and Hana looked at each other. They'd discussed this during the pregnancy, had talked through dozens of options, but they'd ultimately landed on one idea that felt right.

"We have," Hana said, turning to look at all four alphas. "And I wanted to talk to you all about it first. There are five Saja Boys and five Saja babies. We thought—and this is only if you're all comfortable with it—I'd like to name them after you… or at least inspired by each of you."

The room went completely silent.

Mystery's mouth opened slightly. Romance's eyes went wide. Jinu covered his mouth with his hand. Abby looked like he'd been punched.

"You want to name them after us?" Jinu finally managed.

"You're pack," Hana said simply. "You're their fathers just as much as Baby is. These babies wouldn't exist without all of you—without the life we've built together, without the family we've created. It feels right to honor that."

Baby pointed to Pup A. "This one—we were thinking of naming him after Romance. He already has a daughter, so we thought we'd give him a son to match."

"Rowan," Hana said softly. "Rowan Saja. Romance's name means a love story, and we thought Rowan had that same feeling; strong but romantic."

Romance made a choked sound, his hand pressed against his mouth. Tears were already streaming down his face. "I’m.. I don’t… it’s perfect!"

Baby moved to Pup B. "This one we'd like to name after Abby. He also only has biological daughters, so we wanted to give him a son too."

"Aiden," Hana continued. "Aiden Saja. It means ‘little fire’, someone with controlled inner strength, like Abby. Someone who stands firm and provides shelter for those who need it."

Abby's jaw was clenched tight, clearly fighting to keep his composure. He nodded once, sharply, but couldn't seem to speak.

"This one," Baby said, moving to Pup C, "we'd like to name after Jinu. She looks a little like Alanna did as a baby, that same delicate face, those alert eyes."

"Jia," Hana said. "Jia Saja. It means good and beautiful in Korean. And it starts with the same sound as Jinu's name. We thought—"

Jinu made a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. "I love it."

Baby moved to Pup D. "This one we'd like to name after Mystery."

"Min-ah," Hana said, and her voice was soft with affection. "Minah Saja, it means clever and elegant, a quiet intelligence, just like Mystery."

Mystery's hands were shaking. He'd pushed his lavender hair back from his face, and Baby could see tears streaming down his cheeks. "I’m… honored."

"And this one," Baby said, moving to Pup E, his hand resting gently on the warming bed. "We'd like to name after me. Since Baby was the Saja's maknae, and he's the maknae of the Saja pack."

"Bodhi," Hana said. "Bodhi Saja. It means a joyful spiritual energy. Sounds like Baby, right? That same energy and unstoppable joy."

Baby looked around at his pack brothers and saw them all completely undone. Romance was crying openly, not even trying to hide it. Abby had turned away, his shoulders shaking. Jinu had his face buried in his hands.

And Mystery—

Mystery crossed the distance between them in three strides and pulled Baby into a crushing hug.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Then Romance was there, and Jinu, and Abby, all of them pressing close, hands on shoulders and backs and heads, a pack embrace that wrapped around both Baby and Hana's wheelchair.

"You're going to make me cry," Hana said, but she was already crying, laughing through her tears as she was surrounded by her alphas.

"Too late," Romance said, pressing a kiss to her temple. "We're all crying. It's a whole thing."

"Rowan," Romance said wonderingly, moving to look at Pup A. "A beautiful name for a beautiful baby."

"Aiden," Abby breathed, his hand hovering over Pup B. "Hey there, little man."

"Jia," Jinu whispered, stroking Pup C's tiny hand. "Hello, beautiful girl."

"Minah," Mystery said, and his voice cracked on the name. He touched Pup D's cyan hair gently. "Hi there sweet thing, I’m one of your Appas."

"Bodhi," Baby said softly, looking down at Pup E, his mini-me, his youngest son, his little troublemaker. "Welcome to the chaos, kid. You're going to fit right in."

They were all crowded around now, around Hana in her wheelchair and the five warming beds, all touching someone—each other, the babies, Hana. A tangle of pack and family and love so overwhelming it was hard to breathe.

"Careful," Hana said suddenly, wincing. "I just gave birth, remember?"

Everyone immediately stepped back, apologetic, but she was smiling.

"I didn't say stop," she clarified. "Just be gentle. I'm a little delicate right now."

"A little?" Baby said with a grin, kneeling beside her again. "Silly omega, you just brought five babies into the world. You're allowed to be a lot delicate."

Romance positioned himself on her other side, his hand resting on her shoulder. Jinu stood behind the wheelchair, one hand on her head, stroking her hair. Mystery and Abby flanked the warming beds, each keeping a hand on their namesakes.

"Rowan, Aiden, Jia, Minah, and Bodhi," Hana said, testing the names out. "Five little miracles. Our family."

"Our complete family," Mystery corrected softly. "Sixteen children. Five alphas. One incredibly strong omega who we don't deserve but who we're keeping anyway."

"Damn right you're keeping me," Hana scowled, crossing her arms and glaring at him. "I've given you sixteen babies. I'm not going anywhere."

"Good," Baby said, pressing a kiss to her hand. "Because we're not letting you go. Ever."

They stayed like that for a long time—crowded around the warming beds, hands touching babies and each other, tears drying on their faces and smiles replacing them. The nurse who'd tried to keep Hana in bed stood by the door, watching with a soft expression.

"Fifteen minutes," she said eventually. "Then we need to get Ms. Saja back to her room. She needs rest."

"Fifteen minutes," Hana agreed. Her hands moved from pup to pup, touching each one like she couldn't quite believe they were real.

"Our six little miracles," she whispered finally.

"Six miracles," Baby corrected, looking at her. "You're the biggest miracle of all, omega. You carried them, you kept them safe, you brought them into the world. None of this happens without you."

Hana smiled, tired but radiant. "We did it together," she said. "That's what pack means."

"That's what family means," Jinu added softly.

"Alright," the nurse said, and her voice was gentle but firm. "Time to get you back to bed, Ms. Saja. The babies will still be here when you've rested."

Hana looked like she wanted to argue, but exhaustion was clearly catching up with her. She let Romance turn the wheelchair around, but not before touching each baby one more time.

"I love you," she told them—all five of them. " I love you all so much." Then she looked around at each of her alphas, and smiled. "I love all of you too. Thanks for giving me a family."

As Romance wheeled her toward the door, with Abby walking beside them, she looked back at Baby and Mystery. "You two get some rest too," she ordered. "You've been up all night."

"We will," Baby promised, knowing it was a lie. He wasn't leaving his babies. Not yet.

Hana seemed to know it too, because she just smiled—tired and knowing and full of love—and let Romance take her away.

The door closed behind them, leaving Baby and Mystery alone with five sleeping babies. Mystery moved to stand beside him, both of them looking at the five warming beds. Five tiny bodies, five pieces of their hearts existing outside their bodies now.

"We're going to be okay," Mystery said quietly.

Baby looked down at Bodhi, his little troublemaker, his mini-me, and felt that certainty settle in his chest.

"Yeah," he agreed. "We really are.