The journey to this moment had been anything but smooth. What started as a brief fling moment during a mission turned into two pink lines staring back at you a few weeks later. You'd cursed yourself for not being more careful, but you reached out to Dick, knowing he deserved to know.

He'd freaked out, of course, pacing back and forth like a madman, running a hand through his hair. But through the panic, he promised to support you no matter what. And he kept that promise. Dick had been the sweetest, most supportive partner imaginable, even if he had no clue what he was doing half the time.

Now, your baby boy—six months old and a spitting image of Dick—was sound asleep in his crib at Wayne Manor. You'd moved in after realizing it was impossible to juggle crime-fighting and a baby on your own. Besides, Alfred's experience and willingness to help had been a lifesaver.

The Manor was chaotic but wholesome in its own way.

Bruce, the most awkward grandfather figure ever, tried his best. You'd caught him once, sitting in the Batcave with a parenting manual, flipping through it as if solving a crime.

Damian was fiercely protective of his nephew, always hovering nearby and, in true Damian fashion, probably already plotting the baby's training schedule.

Jason, may or may not have been caught teaching the baby a few curse words, claiming it was "essential vocabulary."

Then there was Tim, who had somehow become the baby's favorite. The chaotic uncle who snuck sugary snacks into the nursery and taught the baby how to swipe on a tablet far earlier than he should have.

Despite the chaos, you'd found a family here.

Standing in the nursery, you adjusted the blanket over your son as Dick stepped up behind you, his hand brushing against yours as he leaned over the crib. His voice was soft, almost hesitant. "How are you settling in here?"

His gaze flicked to yours, his usual bright smile tempered by quiet concern. No matter how chaotic things got, Dick always made sure you knew you weren't in this alone.