Several months had passed since the team's fateful underwater escapade.

The once-subtle changes in Chase, Marshall, Rocky, and Zuma were now impossible to ignore. Their bellies were large and round, stretched taut with the lives they carried within. Their movements had become more deliberate, a constant adjustment to their new center of gravity, yet their dedication to the PAW Patrol remained unwavering.

The afternoon sun glinted off the Lookout's windows when the emergency call came in. It was a multi-faceted crisis. A tanker truck had caught fire mid-span on the Adventure Bay Bridge, and in the chaos, a sealed cargo container had broken loose, tumbling over the side and plunging into the deep waters below.

"No job is too big, no pup is too pregnant!" Ryder announced, his voice a mixture of urgency and confidence as he swiped through the mission details on his pup-pad. "Marshall, I need you on that fire. Defil, back him up as paramedic and fire support. Wrencher, we need your expertise to ensure the bridge's structural integrity after the fire is out."

Marshall nodded, his determination shining. Getting into his fire truck was a slower, more calculated process now. He had to swing his heavy abdomen carefully into the cab, his uniform specially modified with elastic panels to accommodate his size. Defil, the energetic Dalmatian, was already in his own ambulance, sirens blaring. "Let's go, go, go!" he barked over the comms. Wrencher, ever the calm handyman, tipped his blue cap. "I'll have my tools ready, Ryder."

"Zuma, that container is our underwater priority," Ryder continued. "Rocky, I know you hate the water, but we need your tools to secure and repair any potential leaks. Atlas, we need you and the Dive One for deep-water support and heavy lifting. Player, coordinate sonar and communications from the sub."

Zuma's tail thumped against the floor. "Let's dive in... carefully!" he said, a paw resting protectively on his swollen belly. Rocky sighed, the familiar conflict warring within him. Hating water was one thing; doing a deep dive while carrying two pups was another level of challenge entirely. But the team needed him.

Chase, standing beside Ryder, coordinated the deployment. He felt a kick from within and instinctively placed a paw on his side, a soft smile briefly touching his muzzle before his focus returned to the mission. "Be safe, everyone. Report in frequently."

On the bridge, flames licked at the sky. Marshall, despite his bulk, was a whirlwind of practiced efficiency. He aimed his water cannon, the force of it making him brace his legs wider for stability. Defil was at his side, spraying foam at the base of the fire. "We're containing it, Marshall!" Defil shouted over the roar. "But the heat is intense!"

Wrencher arrived and immediately began assessing the steel supports. "The heat is causing some warping," he reported, pulling a thermal scanner from his toolbox-like pup-pack.

"We need to cool these beams to prevent a collapse. Marshall, can you direct some water this way once the main fire is down?"

Beneath the waves, the world was a serene blue, a stark contrast to the chaos above. The Dive One, Atlas's advanced submarine, cut silently through the water. Inside, Player's paws flew across a console. "Got it," the Golden Retriever mix announced, a sonar image of the container appearing on the main screen. "It's resting on a ledge, about 80 meters down. Scanners show no initial breach, but the impact could have weakened the seals."
"Alright, team," Atlas's calm voice echoed from the sub's external speakers. As a merpup, his brown fur and orange-flowered tail were a familiar sight in the deep. "Zuma, Rocky, I'm right behind you."
Zuma and Rocky, transformed into their merpup forms, swam towards the container. Their large bellies made them buoyant, and they had to consciously angle their powerful tails to propel themselves downward. Zuma, the water pup, moved with a practiced, albeit slower, grace. Rocky, however, looked deeply uncomfortable, his green-tinged tail swishing tentatively.

"Whoa, dude," Zuma said, steadying Rocky with a paw as a strong current pushed them. "Easy does it."
"Thanks, Zuma," Rocky mumbled, focusing on the container ahead. He could see a long dent along one of the seams. "I see the problem. Ryder, the main locking seam is compromised."
From the Dive One, Atlas directed a powerful light onto the container. "Wrencher, you hearing this? What's the best approach?"
Wrencher's voice crackled through the comms. "You'll need to clamp it. Rocky, in your pup-pack, you should have the multi-sealant and four magnetic deep-sea clamps. You'll have to place one on each corner of the seam to distribute the pressure evenly."

Rocky swam forward, his tool arm extending. The task required precision, and his pregnant body made it awkward to get the right angle. He felt a flutter of movement inside him and paused, taking a deep breath. He could feel Zuma's reassuring presence nearby. With renewed focus, he carefully attached the first clamp, then the second. It was slow, exhausting work.
Suddenly, the container shifted with a groan, sliding a few feet down the ledge.
"It's unstable!" Player yelled from the sub.
"I'm on it!" Atlas called, his merpup form a blur of motion. He braced his body against the massive box, his muscles straining to hold it in place. "Zuma, help me hold it steady! Rocky, you have to hurry!"
Zuma joined Atlas, the two of them pushing with all their might. Rocky worked faster, his paws a blur as he secured the final two clamps and sprayed the sealant along the entire seam.
"It's sealed!" Rocky announced, panting from the effort.

"Great work, pups!" Ryder's voice was filled with relief. "Atlas, bring it up."
With the container secured by the Dive One's manipulator arms, the underwater team began their slow ascent. Back on the bridge, the last of the embers hissed out, and the team was safe. As the sun began to set, the exhausted but triumphant pups regrouped at the Lookout, the four expectant fathers resting together on a large pile of beanbags, their round bellies gently bumping against each other as they finally allowed themselves to relax.
Three to four months after the bridge and container rescue, the Lookout had transformed. The atmosphere was thick with a unique blend of anticipation, nervousness, and overwhelming love. The pregnancies of Chase, Marshall, Rocky, and Zuma had reached their final, cumbersome stage. Their bellies were immense, stretching their modified uniforms to the absolute limit. Simple actions like walking, lying down, and even breathing required conscious effort. They were, for all intents and purposes, on official maternity leave.

Marshall, whose clumsiness was legendary, now found his large belly preceding him everywhere, leading to a series of comical, slow-motion bumps into doorways and furniture. He'd taken to nesting in a massive pile of pillows in the main lounge, declaring it "the comfiest spot in the whole world."
Rocky’s nesting instincts had manifested in a different way. His corner of the Lookout was a fortress of meticulously sorted and repurposed materials, all designed for pup-comfort. He had built four state-of-the-art whelping boxes, complete with heated floors made from recycled wiring, self-filling water bowls, and soft bedding woven from old blankets. Wrencher, the handyman Kokoni, had been an invaluable consultant. He’d spent his days reinforcing the structures, adding safety gates, and ensuring everything was "up to code," as he liked to say, tapping his blue cap with a wrench. "Can't have any drafts on the little ones," he'd explain seriously.
Zuma, usually the most active pup, was now the most serene. He spent hours floating in the pup pool, the water a welcome relief, lifting the heavy weight of his three pups. Atlas often joined him, swimming back from his deep-sea explorations with special, nutrient-rich seaweed and fish. "The ocean's best for the ocean pup's pups," Atlas would say with a wink, his orange eyes sparkling.

Chase, ever the responsible leader, found it hardest to relax. He’d try to coordinate missions from the sidelines, but his pups were incredibly active, and a sudden flurry of kicks would often make him lose his train of thought, a paw instinctively cradling his stomach as a soft, proud smile crossed his muzzle.
The non-pregnant pups had seamlessly stepped up to fill the gaps. Player, the tech-savvy Golden Retriever mix, had converted his usual gaming station into a sophisticated monitoring hub. "I've got biometric sensors in their collars," he explained to Ryder, pointing at a screen displaying four sets of heart rates—one for each father and smaller, faster beats for the pups within. "I've even programmed an alert if their vitals change suddenly. It's better than any baby monitor on the market."
Defil, the Dalmatian paramedic, had become their personal physician. Every morning, he’d conduct gentle check-ups. "Alright, Marshall, let's hear those five little heartbeats," he'd say, his stethoscope moving carefully across the dalmatian's spotted belly. His usual agitated energy was replaced by a calm, professional focus, though he sometimes forgot his pen and had to borrow one from Ryder.
One evening, the whole team was gathered to watch a movie. Marshall was ensconced in his pillow mountain, Zuma in his merpup form was floating in a specially-designed indoor water lounger Wrencher had built, and Rocky was fussing with the blankets in the whelping boxes. Chase was lying on a large dog bed, his head resting on his paws.

Suddenly, Chase let out a sharp gasp, his body tensing. "Whoa!"
Every head turned. Player's fingers flew to his keyboard. "Chase's heart rate just spiked!"
"What is it, Chase?" Ryder asked, kneeling beside him.
Chase’s eyes were wide. He let out a breathless laugh. "They're... they're all kicking at once. It feels like a soccer match in there."
Just then, Marshall yelped, his own belly rippling. "Mine too!"
"Dude, total puppy party in here!" Zuma exclaimed from his lounger. Rocky just groaned, a paw kneading his own round stomach.
The room filled with laughter as the non-pregnant pups gathered around, gently placing their paws on their friends' bellies, feeling the incredible, chaotic fluttering of life within. It was a moment of pure, shared joy.

Later that night, a sharp cry echoed from the lounge. "Ryder! I think... I think it's time!"
The team scrambled to find Marshall sitting bolt upright in his pillow nest, panting heavily. Defil was by his side in an instant, his paramedic training kicking in. He checked Marshall's vitals, his expression serious. After a long, tense moment, he looked up.
"False alarm," Defil announced, letting out a breath. "Just a strong Braxton Hicks contraction. It's his body getting ready for the main event."
A collective sigh of relief and lingering excitement filled the room. The pups helped a sheepish Marshall get comfortable again. As the Lookout quieted down, a silent understanding passed between them all. It wasn't a matter of 'if' anymore, but 'how soon'. The final countdown had begun.
It started, as they all suspected it would, with Marshall. He was shifting uncomfortably in his pillow mountain when a low whine escaped his throat, his body going rigid. He looked at Defil with wide, panicked eyes. "This... this is different," he panted.
Defil was at his side in a flash, his paramedic focus absolute. He placed a paw on Marshall's trembling flank. "You're right, Marshall. This is it. Ryder, it's time!"

The Lookout sprang into coordinated action. Ryder knelt by Marshall's head, murmuring words of encouragement. Player’s fingers danced across his console, monitoring the vital signs that were now spiking for real. Wrencher double-checked the warming lamps on the whelping box Rocky had built, while Rocky himself paced nervously, his own large belly swaying.
Marshall was moved to his whelping box, the soft blankets a small comfort as another powerful contraction seized him. He cried out, his paws scrabbling at the bedding. "I can't do this!"
"Yes, you can, Marshall," Chase said, his voice firm but gentle. He limped over, his own movements slow and deliberate, and nuzzled his friend's ear. "We're all right here with you."
With a final, trembling push, the first puppy arrived—a tiny, wet miracle. Defil quickly and expertly cleaned the newborn, a little male with Marshall’s white fur but with unique, dark grey spots. As Defil placed the pup by Marshall's belly, it immediately began to nuzzle, searching for milk. Marshall looked down, exhaustion momentarily forgotten, his heart swelling with a love so profound it brought tears to his eyes.

The effort, however, seemed to create a chain reaction. Across the room, Chase suddenly stiffened, letting out a sharp gasp. He looked at Noah, his partner, whose eyes were also wide with realization. "Us too," Chase breathed.
Simultaneously, in the Dino Wilds, Rex felt a similar, unmistakable pang while tending to his herb garden. He looked at Al, who was resting nearby, and simply nodded. In Barkingburg, Claw let out a most un-royal yelp while overseeing the polishing of the crown jewels, much to Tracker's alarm. On the Moto Pups' ramp, Wildcat and Copycat both stopped mid-stretch, their ginger tails freezing in mid-air. The great birthing had begun.
Back at the Lookout, the main lounge was now a full-fledged maternity ward. Chase was settled into his own whelping box, with Noah panting softly in the one beside him. Rocky, seeing his friends in labor, suddenly felt his own body begin to contract, and with a groan, he retreated to his box, Zuma waddling anxiously behind him before feeling his own labor begin. The room was filled with a chorus of panting, whimpers, and Ryder’s calm, steady instructions.
Marshall, with four more pushes over the next hour, brought four more puppies into the world. His litter of five was a beautiful mix of dalmatian spots and unique markings, three boys and two girls, all healthy and strong.
Chase’s labor was intense and focused. With Noah by his side, he delivered his three pups with the same determination he brought to any mission. The first was a female German Shepherd with his exact coloring, the second a male with a lighter, sandy coat like Noah's, and the third, a tiny female with one blue eye and one brown, a perfect blend of them both. Noah followed soon after, delivering his own litter of three strong, healthy pups.

Rocky, despite his anxiety, found a deep well of strength. He and Zuma worked as a team, their breaths synchronizing as they brought their children into the world. Rocky delivered two pups, a male and a female, both with his grey fur but with Zuma's bright, joyful eyes. Zuma, in his water-filled lounger that Wrencher had quickly moved nearby, delivered his three pups with a practiced ease, the little chocolate labs emerging sleek and perfect.
Josh, partner to Marshall, had also gone into labor, delivering his three pups with the help of Defil, who seemed to be everywhere at once. The Lookout was a beautiful, chaotic scene of new life. Dozens of tiny, squeaking pups nursed from their exhausted but ecstatic fathers.

Miles away, the same miracles were unfolding.

• In the Moto HQ, Wildcat and Copycat delivered their kittens side-by-side. Wildcat’s three were tiny, energetic gingers like himself, while Copycat’s three were a mix of ginger and calico, their cries tiny mews in the quiet garage.

• In the Dino Wilds, Rex and Al’s labor was peaceful and quiet. Rex delivered four pups, their coats a unique brindle pattern, a mix of his Bernese Mountain Dog heritage and Al's bulldog strength. Al’s two pups were sturdy and stout, already looking like they were ready to build something.

• In Barkingburg Castle, the Princess herself assisted Tracker and Claw. Claw, for all his bluster, was a gentle and attentive father, delivering five beautiful pups with his knightly grey fur and Tracker’s keen ears. Tracker’s four pups were born with his own jungle-ready agility, their tails already wagging.

• On the Sea Patroller, anchored in a calm cove, Arrby and Tuck welcomed their pups. With only each other for support, their experience was intensely personal. Tuck delivered his single, golden-furred pup, and Arrby, his own lone pup, a scrappy little dachshund mix with a heart full of pirate courage.

As dawn broke, a profound quiet settled over all the new families. The air was filled with the soft sounds of suckling and the gentle breathing of sleeping parents and their newborns. The PAW Patrol, in all its forms and locations, had just grown by forty-one members. The greatest adventure of all had just begun.