Dick was never supposed to see you again.
It was a one time thing. He didn’t even know you, but you’d hit it off in a library of all places. You were pretty, and funny, and he’d gotten swept up in you. Maybe it’s a little foolish of him, but he’d expected you to answer the text he’d sent you. When you didn’t, he’d been hurt a bit, and then moved on.
He really didn’t think he’d ever see you again.
Now you’re both sitting in a rundown diner at 3 AM, and you’re holding a pregnancy test out for him. It’s positive. Of course it’s positive. He’s half-tempted to track down an ancient being and ask if he’d been cursed.
“Okay,” he says like he’s not about to panic. “We’ll figure this out.”
He’s saying that for his sake mostly. You’re probably already freaked out, he doesn’t need to make it worse.
“Have you seen a doctor?” There, a sensible question. He keeps a confident façade, like this is a problem he regularly deals with.
You don’t even know he’s Nightwing. In fact, you don’t know anything about each other. You’re complete strangers. He doesn’t know if you want to keep it, and he’ll support you if you don’t, but if you do, he’s not going to leave you. You’re carrying his kid. The thought leaves him nauseous, but not enough to run off. He wants to help you. It’s the least he can do.