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Dexter has been drinking. Not much, really, not enough to push him into tipsiness, but it should be acknowledged that he isn't sober. So when he hears someone knock on the door, his thoughts aren't, 'oh shit oh fuck Serpine's found us' and are a more cheerful 'wonder if it's the milkman'.
Not that Serpine would knock - or the milkman would come by so late.
So he leaves the others laughing in the living room and pads barefoot to the front door. The townhouse they've been given is overwhelmingly large, and Dexter still doesn't know why only the eight of them are staying in it. Larrikin had been given the keys and he hadn't really answered questions, simply explained: "because we're classy", as if he himself wasn't once a mortal peasant and Dexter not much higher in status. But he's not going to complain, really. The whisky cabinet was still full, even!
"Hullo hullo," he begins saying before he even opens the door, and it swings out onto a drizzly night street. A woman is standing with a bundle of blankets at her chest. Dexter has read stories that start like this, he goes to close the door quickly.
"Is Saracen Rue here?" She asks brusquely.
"Fuck," Dexter says. No getting out of this. "SARACEN!"
The baby murmurs unhappily. Dexter waits, frowning. "Who are you?"
"A - friend of Saracen's, and a child of the spiders."
Dexter wants to leave quite suddenly but it's not like he can leave the entrance open for this strange woman with a suspicious baby. So he smiles. It's tight on his face, and she doesn't bother to reciprocate.
Saracen races down the hallway, footsteps pounding. The others are following slowly. "What's up?"
"Hello Saracen," the woman says.
"Clarissa, hey!" Saracen freezes, then leans against the wall in a pseudo-casual manner. "Sorry I didn't write back, it's just there's a war on and ..." he looks at the oversized bundle. "What's - ah - what's all this. Then."
"This is yours." And she thrusts the living breathing baby into the man's chest, Dexter stepping out of the way. Saracen barely catches it.
"Huh, I um, I don't ... why does it have SIX legs!"
"This is your child," she says. "I wrote and you didn't respond. I didn't want this, you can deal with your mess."
Saracen's eyes are so big in his face, and he's clutching the child uncomfortably to his chest. "What?"
"Do you know what my family would say if they knew?" She snaps. "I can't risk that. Take it to an orphanage, take it to war, I don't care, just ... this cannot be my problem."
Saracen squeaks. Dexter imagines that they'll have to reimagine this scene slightly, when explaining it to the kid when it's older. They? When they were older?
"Is this yours?" Erskine asks, behind them.
"The -um - the dates line up." Saracen manages.
"For fuck's sake," Ghastly mutters, leaning against the wall.
"Good bye," the woman says, all too quickly.
"Wait! What's their name."
The woman turns back and frowns at Dexter, "why would I name it?"
"I- Mainly because it's your kid," Dexter says.
She laughs and walks away.
"Okay, so, are we just letting her leave?" Erskine asks.
"You want to stop her? Be my guest," Dexter says.
"Let's get inside, out of the cold," Hopeless says, the voice of reason.
They all walk inside. Dexter's eyes are fixed on Saracen's pale, shocked face, but he glances away once to see Larrikin dying with silent laughter on the floor as they step past.
"What are we going to do?" Saracen murmurs. Dexter thinks the use of 'we' is a bit presumptuous, but it's a good question regardless.
"Are they even her kid?" Anton asks. "We rolled with that without asking many questions. Maybe it's a bomb."
"I was with you until the last part, and now I'm really confused," Saracen says. "But ah. There was, there was opportunity."
"Why do you always pick the weird angry ones?" Dexter accuses.
"Not always! Angelo was nice."
"He was a pacifist and you are soldier," Erskine reminds him. "That relationship had other massive concerns."
"Shut up," Saracen says, rocking the child.
It's amazing that the kid hasn't woken up or started screaming. Dexter steps over to look at the child - and yep, it's definitely a baby. You're probably meant to feel emotions when looking at them, but all Dexter feels is very underwhelmed.
"Saracen," he says, as a synonym for 'you idiot', "those are arms, not legs."
The baby has six chubby arms poking out from the swaddle. Dexter supposes the mother was part spider - kind of.
"What are we going to do?" Larrikin asks, still breathless from laughter.
"Orphanage?" Skulduggery suggests.
"Shut the fuck up," Saracen says, and Dexter lighting slaps the skeleton.
"Hey! Don't swear in front of baby," Hopeless says, from where they're hiding behind Erskine.
"Don't tell me how to parent," Saracen says, then, "can someone please take it. Please."
The Dead Men all take a reasonable step away from the problem.
"Anton," Saracen tries.
"I'll eat it.
"Hopeless."
"Why me?" They ask, voice higher than Dexter has ever heard it.
"You're ... emotionally aware?"
"No I'm not! I just seem to be because I can hear your fears! No. No. I am not accidentally killing a kid on my day off."
"Why is the day off important?" Dexter frowns.
"Just is." Light dawns behind Hopeless' grey eyes, for a moment they look evil. And then they look kind and calm like usual. "Skulduggery - he's the only one of us who's been a father."
"Do," Skulduggery starts slowly, "you remember how that ended?"
Saracen looks like he's half-way to a panic. Dexter steps forwards. "Cowards, the lot of you."
The baby's not even that heavy or anything. He's careful to support the head, because apparently babies are idiots and can't do that themselves? Saracen sinks onto the couch.
"So orphanage is not an option," Ghastly says slowly, "do you have any relatives..."
"...ha..."
"...that are alive..."
"Ha!"
"...and willing to adopt a kid."
There's a pause.
"Think that's a no," Larrikin says cheerfully.
"What are we going to do?" Saracen says, for the nth time now Dexter thinks.
"Take time off indefinitely," Erskine says. "If the kid has eight dads - sorry, seven dads and a parent - they should be okay."
"If any of us were at all well-adjusted or competent," Dexter says. "I'd agree. But. Well."
"True," Larrikin says. "Anyway, I'm in."
"Really?" Saracen says, now that he's started breathing again.
"Hell yeah, me and Hammerhead are going to do so many wonderful things."
"We're not calling them Hammerhead."
"It's gender neutral," Larrikin points out, as if that alone makes all the difference.
"So is Alex, or Elizabeth," Skulduggery says, "Actually, is it a boy or a girl?"
"It's a problem," Anton mutters darkly.
"Who's a little nuisance," Dexter murmurs to the sleeping baby. "Yes you! Yes it issssss."
"Let's get a midwife," Ghastly suggests, not that Dexter is paying attention. The more he rocks the kid the more he likes them. The extra arms are becoming more charming than off-putting - he could teach them how to make so many chairs! They could both be carpenters after the war! Uncle and child! Father and kid?
This probably isn't going to be a typical nuclear family, is it?
"I'll go," Larrikin darts out of the living room. A couple other Dead Men sigh, too slow to take the chance to escape.
"What's the name then?" Hopeless asks. They've been treading slowly towards Dexter and the child, like a mouse.
"Options?" Saracen asks weakly.
"Buster."
"Colin."
"Shirley."
"Larrikin suggested Hammerhead," Dexter reminds, because his boyfriend is ridiculous but he supports him in all things.
"What's a spidery name?" Erskine asks.
"Stringy."
"You're all terrible," Saracen says. He walks over to look down at the child in Dexter's arms. "I'm calling them Arnold."