Rotten trio falls asleep in a car ride, what's the vibes for each dad? (obsessed with the oneshots btw)

the drive home was quiet, the soft hum of the engine blending with the low murmur of the radio. Will glanced sideways and saw Mia curled up in the passenger seat, legs tucked beneath her, head pressed against the window. Asleep.

Will exhaled through his nose. He kept his hands steady on the wheel, careful with every turn, every stop. The road stretched ahead in the dim glow of the streetlights, and for once, the silence didn’t feel empty.

When they pulled into the driveway, he cut the engine and sat there for a moment. Mia didn’t stir.

Will sighed. He leaned over, hesitating just a second before brushing a few strands of hair from her face. Her breath was slow, deep, mouth slightly parted.

“Come on,” he muttered, undoing her seatbelt. She made a quiet, content sound but didn’t wake.

Will got out, moving to her side. He opened the door and crouched down, resting a hand on her arm. “Mia.”

She grumbled something unintelligible and buried her face deeper into her arm.

Will huffed a quiet laugh. “Alright.”

Carefully, he slid his arms beneath her, lifting her with ease. She mumbled again, curling instinctively toward his warmth, her forehead pressing into his shoulder.

Will carried her inside, his grip firm but gentle. By the time he laid her down in bed, she was already half-awake, blinking drowsily.

“You could’ve just left me,” she muttered, voice thick with sleep.

Will pulled the blanket over her, ignoring that. “Go back to sleep.”

Mia hummed, already drifting again.

Will watched her for a moment longer before turning off the light.

-

Amara, always sharp, always watching, had grown quiet beside him in the car, answering in low hums and slow nods. He had known even before glancing over—before seeing the way her head lolled slightly with the movement of the car, eyes half-lidded, lost in that weightless space between wakefulness and sleep.

By the time they reached home, she was completely gone.

Hannibal parked with smooth precision, then turned to her, taking in the softened lines of her face, the slow rise and fall of her breath.

There was no need to wake her—not yet.

Instead, he reached over, adjusting the scarf around her neck, smoothing down the edge of her coat. His fingers brushed lightly over her wrist, checking the steady, slow rhythm of her pulse.

She shifted slightly at the touch, a barely-there murmur slipping from her lips, but did not wake.

Hannibal allowed himself a small, private smile.

Then, with the same quiet care, he unbuckled her seatbelt and, without disturbing her further, lifted her effortlessly into his arms.

-

He had noticed the way Savannah’s words had grown slower, her voice softer. He had seen her head dip forward once, twice, before finally resting against the window, arms tucked close to herself.

He didn’t say anything. Just kept driving, careful with the turns, slowing at every bump.

When they arrived, he hesitated.

He could wake her. She would grumble, probably swat him away, drag herself out of the car half-asleep.

Instead, he reached over, nudging her shoulder lightly. “Savannah.”

A small, muffled noise. She shifted, but didn’t wake.

Francis sighed. He reached for the blanket in the backseat, draping it over her.

Then he leaned back in his seat, settling in for a while longer, watching the steady rise and fall of her breath in the quiet of the car.