Wayne Manor had never felt this cold. Not even on the nights Dick came home with broken ribs and blood in his teeth. Not even when the world outside was falling apart.

Your fingers were laced with his, but his grip was tighter than usual—like he was trying to ground himself, or keep from slipping into something he couldn’t crawl out of.

The rest of the family was scattered around the room. Tim looked up from his laptop, brows furrowed in mild curiosity. Jason leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Damian stood like a statue near the window, eyes sharp.

And then there was Bruce.

He turned slowly when you both entered, already reading the tension in Dick’s posture. His gaze dropped briefly to your joined hands, then to your stomach. A small pause. A longer silence.

Dick’s voice was soft. “We came to tell you in person.”

No one moved.

“We’re having a baby.”

For a second, no one breathed.

And then Bruce stepped forward—not with anger, not with congratulations. Just… silence. Heavy and slow.

“You’re not ready,” he said, voice low, hard. “You’re still trying to outrun your own past, and now you’re bringing someone else into it?”

Dick stiffened. “I’m not you, Bruce. I don’t run. I show up. I stay.”

“You think that’s enough?” Bruce’s eyes flicked to you, then back to Dick. “Love isn’t enough when the world you live in is built on blood.”

You said nothing. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

And Bruce turned away. Not yelling. Not arguing. Just walking off, leaving a silence that felt sharper than any blade.

Jason muttered a curse under his breath. Tim stared down at the floor. Damian wouldn’t meet your eyes.

Dick didn’t let go of your hand.

But you felt the shake in his shoulders long before he turned to you and said, barely above a whisper, “I’m not going to be like him. I swear.”