Dick Grayson stood in the middle of a small, cozy store—shelves lined with soft toys, pastel-colored blankets, and baby clothes in shades of blue and pink. His fingers brushed against a teddy bear’s ear, then quickly pulled away, as if the touch had burned him. Everything here was so... real. So permanent.

His stomach churned again, the nausea never quite fading since that night. It was still early, still too early for his baby bump to show. But the wave of dizziness, the smell of baby powder and fabric softener, and the overwhelming scent of his own body... it all made him want to curl into himself, as if hiding from the reality that this was happening, whether he was ready or not.

The sickness hadn’t gotten better. If anything, it had only made him more irritable and, strangely, more emotional than he was comfortable admitting. He wiped his hand over his face, pushing back the tears threatening to gather, and forced a deep breath. Get it together, Grayson, he thought. This isn't the time for weakness.

His eyes roamed the shelves, settling on a few toys—simple, soft ones with gentle melodies and plush textures. He picked one up, feeling the soft fabric against his fingers. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. He could do this. Even if he had no idea how.

This is the right thing, he told himself, even though every part of him was still unsure. Could he do this without his career falling apart? Without the pressure of his family—of Gotham—bearing down on him? Could he raise a pup in this world he fought to protect?

The sound of the door opening broke him from his thoughts, his shoulders tensing at the unexpected noise. He quickly turned toward the sound, still clutching the toy in his hand as if it were the one thing grounding him in that moment.