Double Trouble (Sequel to Baby of the Band)

Thirteen

By the Time Richie was deemed well enough for discharge four Days later–on Týr's Day Morn–he was still sleeping quite a bit. Even compared to his norm as a toddler, he seemed to sleep almost twenty-four/seven, and it'd honestly started to worry the blonde posing as his daddy. The pediatrician who'd been put in charge of his care after he'd been brought up from the ER'd laughed and assured him that it was actually perfectly normal behavior. Considering the body did the majority of its Healing and growing during sleep, his lil body was demanding even more rest than normal to put toward Healing that concussion.

        Upon arriving back at the drummer's house, Rikki wasn't surprised to find that Mishy'd stayed once she'd brought the other boys back. After all, the pint-sized bassist still needed supervision, and while she coulda taken him to their front man, it made more senseta keep him in his home. Not to mention it allowed her to stay past when his weekend with his son was up, which gave them more Time to spend together.

        Holding his finger up to his lips when said boys ran up to greet them when they got home, he mimed laying his head on his hand like it was a pillow. Nodding, Rob looked at his son and mimed laying his head down to sleep, somehow managing to bite back a giggle as he feigned a soft snore. The third lil boy giggled softly as he nodded and looked back up, now getting that they were trying to tell him that the third toddler was still asleep from the ride home.

        "Him's been seepin' a loooot," he told them, settling Richie on the couch so he could finish his nap. "But teh doctor says dat's a good thing."

        Zak pouted and whimpered as he looked up at his would-be uncle.

        "Teh doctor says dat seepin' a lot after whacking chu noggin likey Richie did helps it Heal faster," Rikki explained with a reassuring smile.

        "Ohhhh." The youngest toddler nodded again as his frown quickly–and quite literally–turned upside-down.

        "So, if teh doctor's not worried enough to keep him in teh hop-sickle anymore and says him seepin' a lot's normal, I'm willing to believe her," the drummer concluded, catching sight of the boy's mother joining them outta the corner of his eye.

        "So, he's gonna be all right?" Mishy asked softly, unable to help a yawn.

        "Eh, it'll take Time," he chuckled, tucking a throw blanket around him. "I'm just putting him here on the couch for now so he won't try to come downstairs on his own and wind up hurting himself worse."

        "At least he's on the road to recovery," the young woman said. "I'm just glad these other two goobers're all right since they weren't in that massive toddler bed when I got up just now."

        "They were actually playing the greeting crew," Rikki snickered. "They're prolly ready for food, though, unless Bobby managed to get into my Pop-Tarts for them."

        The pint-sized bassist giggled mischievously as he licked his chops, and they weren't sure, if that was supposed to mean that he had, or that he wanted one now.

        "Bobby, ya Blessed chocoholic!" he laughed. "Do I need to take ya to the Hershey factory and just drop ya in a vat of molten Chocolate so you'll leave my goodies alone?"

        Rob seemed all too happy with that idea, even though he knew he'd quite literally drown in Chocolate–whether he was a toddler or an adult–as he flopped back in the arm chair he'd claimed. His ex-wife snorted into her hand as she bit back laughter that no doubt woulda been loud enough to wake the sleeping toddler sprawled out on the couch. Even their son was giggling up a Storm where he'd flopped over to face-plant in his daddy's lap, most likely merely at said daddy's expression.