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They found it tucked into one of the purple onesies.
The umbilical cord stump, dry and curled like something that had no business still being there.
Will had made a face despite himself.
It wasn’t fear exactly, just that uncomfortable twist in his stomach he got when something reminded him too sharply of bodies and how fragile they were.
Mike hadn’t hesitated. He’d scooped it up with a tissue and disposed of it like it was nothing, quick and decisive, already moving on.
Sam slept through all of it, blissfully unaware of the horrors of babyhood yet to come.
Will watched him breathe.
Watched the tiny rise and fall of his chest.
He thought - no, he knew - that Sam was the cutest baby imaginable. He looked just like Mike’s baby pictures. Same soft face, same slope of the little nose, the same serious tiny mouth.
Will wasn’t sure how that was possible. Or why it mattered so much.
Maybe it was just him. Maybe all babies looked like that if you loved them enough.
But he swore he could see Mike in him. The dark duck-fluff hair that would one day stick up no matter what, the too-big eyes, deep and black and curious.
Maybe he was projecting. Will had always been good at that.
“You ready to bathe the little guy?” Mike asked softly. He was holding Sam like he might shatter if Mike breathed wrong, one arm tucked carefully under his back. Sam answered with a gurgle, mouth working like he was trying to say something important.
Will smiled despite himself. “Is the little guy ready?” he murmured, leaning closer. Sam blinked at him, slow and sleepy, lashes fluttering. Will felt something warm and tight settle in his chest.
They’d overprepared. Will knew that. Nesting, Mike had called it, fond and amused.
They’d bought a small baby tub, the gentlest shampoo they could find, three washcloths even though one would’ve done, and a plastic cup just for rinsing.
Mike had tossed a towel into the dryer, insisting it would “make it nicer,” while Will ran the water, testing it again and again with his wrist like it might suddenly betray him.
When it was right (perfectly warm, not hot) Will placed the little tub into the bathtub and waited.
Through the door, he could hear Mike talking. Mike always talked.
“Okay, Sammy,” Mike cooed, voice dropping into that soft register he didn’t even seem aware of. “You ready for your bath? Huh? Yeah? I think you are. Yeah, you’re definitely ready. You’re just - God, you’re so cute. You know that? You have no idea.”
Sam sighed, tiny and content.
Then Mike came in, careful and reverent, like he was carrying something sacred. He set the warm towel on the toilet seat and handed Sam over with obvious reluctance, lingering just a second too long. Will took him just as carefully, cradling him against his chest.
“Okay, sweetie,” Will said quietly, pressing a kiss to the baby’s downy head. His voice wobbled just a little. “You ready?”
Sam gurgled again, utterly unconcerned.
Will glanced up at Mike, who was watching them with that familiar, open look, like his heart was just… out there. Will smiled.
“Okay,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “Let’s do this.”
Will lowered Sam into the tub slowly, feet first, murmuring without really meaning to. He kept his non-dominant arm firm beneath Sam’s head and neck, fingers splayed protectively, making sure his face stayed well above the water.
Sam wriggled at the unfamiliar sensation, a thin whimper slipping out of him like he wasn’t sure whether to complain or not.
“It’s okay,” Will whispered instinctively.
After a moment, Sam stilled. His body relaxed, the water settling around him, and the whimper faded into a soft, breathy sound that might’ve been contentment.
Mike knelt beside the tub, jeans creasing against the tile, and dipped a washcloth into the water. He wrung it out carefully, before gently patting at Sam’s face. Sam scrunched up in response, nose wrinkling, mouth pulling into a brief, indignant little pout.
Mike winced. “Sorry, buddy. Sorry. Just - hang on.”
They didn’t rush.
Mike grabbed a second washcloth, like redundancy might somehow guarantee he was doing it right, and squeezed a tiny dot of soap onto the fabric.
He washed Sam from the shoulders down, methodical but tender, narrating under his breath as he went. When he rinsed the soap away, his hands were steady despite the concentration etched across his face.
By then, Sam had settled into a rhythm: brief stretches of pouting followed by long moments of quiet, his limbs floating heavy and relaxed in the water.
“Almost done, bug,” Will murmured, eyes never leaving Sam’s face.
Mike warmed a little baby shampoo between his palms, rubbing his hands together like he was bracing himself, then gently worked it into Sam’s soft, dark hair. He shielded Sam’s forehead with one hand, rinsing carefully with the other, jaw tight with focus.
“There,” Mike said softly, relieved. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”
Sam blinked up at them, water beading on his lashes.
Will took that as the signal. He slid one hand beneath Sam’s back and lifted him from the tub, water dripping from his legs in thin streams. Mike was already there with the towel, unfolding it wide. Will wrapped Sam up quickly, snug and secure, then used the edge of the towel to pat him dry, careful to get into the little folds of skin at his wrists and neck.
“He’s a little dry,” Mike whispered, like saying it too loudly might bother him. He’d already grabbed the baby lotion.
He warmed it between his palms, rubbing his hands together before gently patting it onto the dry patches, movements slow and deliberate. He frowned slightly, like he was cataloging every detail for later.
“You wanna change him, or—” Mike paused, glancing up. “—or should I?”
Will straightened, adjusting his grip. “I can change him,” he said, more certain than he felt.
He carried Sam into the other room, laid him on the changing table, and worked through it step by step. Fresh diaper, practiced hands, steady breathing. When he was done, Will leaned down and pressed a kiss to Sam’s forehead.
Sam cooed in response, soft and pleased.
Will smiled to himself, chest aching in the best way.
Will handed Sam back to Mike, who dressed him in a little thrifted onesie, the fabric soft and worn thin in places. Sam, now warm and comfortable, had tipped fully into that hazy in-between. Sleepy, but not quite ready to let go. His face pinched, a small, insistent fuss building in his chest.
“Grumpybutt,” Mike murmured fondly.
Sam answered by fussing harder, voice wobbling.
“Michael,” Will said, mild but firm. “He’s expressing his emotions.”
Mike snorted softly, unrepentant, and bent to kiss Sam’s head. “Sorry, buddy. My bad.”
They carried him into their room together, listening to his tiny complaints echo softly in the quiet. Mike lowered Sam into the bedside sleeper, hands lingering a second longer than necessary. Sam let out a huge yawn, stretching with his whole body like the effort might knock him over.
“Ohhh, big stretch,” Mike whispered, awed.
Will’s chest tightened. God, he was cute.
“Night-night, baby,” Will murmured, crouching to press a kiss to Sam’s forehead.
Mike’s hand settled at the small of Will’s back, warm and grounding. “Long day for the little guy,” he said quietly.
Will nodded, eyes still on Sam. “See you soon, Sammy.” He said softly.