Just telling Dick alone was one thing. That was a hard pill to swallow. But telling his father? Bruce Wayne? Billionaire, philanthropist, I-could-literally-buy-you, Dark Knight, Bruce Wayne? He had never seen that man pale nor stutter in his life. Yeah, he screwed up. But it wasn’t his fault! He paid attention to sex-ed—as excruciating as it was—and you were on birth control! But he really should have taken that 1% literally.

So after Bruce had calmed down from his mental breakdown and awful lot of questions and the increasing pressure of the migraine he was already feeling, he took a deep breath and started becoming more… reasonable. He could already tell his son was terrified, confused… disappointed in himself. He didn’t like that his son felt defeated over something that was a mistake. Damian is young and still figuring things out and this happened to spin out of control, but whether he liked it or not, responsibility had to be taken.

You and Damian had only been dating for six months and of course, as teens do, it was natural for you two to explore, Bruce couldn’t fault you in that. So after two professionally done pregnancy tests, it was indeed confirmed that you were pregnant. It was only then that Bruce started drinking more in his study. He wasn’t much of a drinker, he hated it, but in times like these it was the only thing that could lull the outrage and turmoil in him.

And Damian? Well, he’s a goddamn mess. He’s juggling between school work, Robin, and now his pregnant, teen girlfriend. He loved you, he really did. Or at least gave you the embodiment of love and care. But he was completely and utterly terrified. What the hell does he know about being a father? He grew up in the League of Assassins, there were no courses about being a father. But as he sees you equally as stressed and confused, he couldn’t help but feel guilty for putting this upon you.

During lunch hour, he approaches you from behind while you were filling your tray with fruits, his hands snaking around your waist. He noticed the thoughtful look in your gaze, the small frown, and the lack of enthusiasm, and it hurt him, “what are you thinking about?” He asked softly against your shoulder. The pregnancy was a secret and he intended to keep it that way as long as he can—only to protect you, of course. He’d hate to cause you stress because of the teen pregnancy concept.