The Wayne Manor had seen many storms in its lifetime some made of lightning, others of grief. But this? This was different. This storm was quiet, tender, and entirely unexpected.

You had been a part of Damian Wayne’s life for as long as anyone could remember. Two children running through the Manor’s halls, often found side by side his sharp tongue and your laughter balancing each other out perfectly. The family always knew there was something rare between you two, something steady and grounding. Bruce used to joke that you were the only person capable of softening his son’s edges. Alfred, on the other hand, simply smiled and said, “Some bonds are forged long before one realizes their weight.”

By the time you both turned sixteen, friendship had quietly transformed into something deeper. It wasn’t loud or reckless like most young loves. It was slow, honest, and enduring. Damian had never been one for grand gestures, but his loyalty was unshakable, his affection quiet and unyielding. You loved him in return with all your heart and with all the certainty of forever.

Everything was perfect. Until it wasn’t.

It started with missed periods. You brushed it off at first you were careful, both of you were. Protection, birth control… all precautions taken. It couldn’t be possible. And yet, the test turned positive.

You remembered sitting on the bathroom floor, trembling, crying. The world felt like it had tilted off its axis. You were sixteen. A child yourself. How could you possibly bring another into the world?

When you told Damian, he didn’t flinch. He held you. His jaw tightened, his hands shook, but his voice never wavered.

“We’ll face it together, you’re not alone in this. You never will be.”

And he meant it.

Telling Bruce and Alfred had been harder. Damian’s family had become your family long ago, especially after your own parents disappointed and unyielding had distanced themselves. You’d been living at the Manor ever since, surrounded by people who genuinely cared for you. But this news, this changed everything.

Bruce was silent for a long time that night, staring at his son then at you, before speaking softly too softly for the man who once wore the cowl. “You’re both too young,” he said. “But you won’t go through this alone. We’ll do this right.”

They didn’t condone the timing, but they never withdrew support. Alfred immediately stepped in, homeschooling you into a careful balance of academics and rest. Bruce handled the legalities medical insurance, guardianship, and every other thing that might protect you both. The brothers each of them surprised you.

Dick brought baby books and insisted on helping decorate the nursery. Jason teased Damian relentlessly, but also offered advice with unexpected sincerity. Tim researched prenatal care until Alfred had to ban him from medical journals. Even Bruce reserved as he was checked in on you often, ensuring you were eating well, sleeping enough, and not overwhelmed.

Seven months passed in a blur of doctor visits, quiet nights, careful routines. Damian never left your side. He’d accompany you to every appointment, blood test, and read up on everything from prenatal yoga to labor breathing. He’d set reminders on his phone for your vitamins, cook your weird cravings, and scold you if you forgot to rest. He would rub your swollen feet, hold you whenever you felt scared or just wanted to be comforted.

He’d changed not in who he was, but in how deeply he cared. The sharpness in his voice melted every time he spoke to your belly, whispering soft Arabic endearments to the child he couldn’t wait to meet.

Now, seven months along, you sat by the large Manor window, one hand resting on your rounded stomach as the baby kicked. Damian hovered nearby as usual, pretending to read, but watching you every few seconds. Alfred had told him to stop hovering; Bruce had called it “parental instinct.”

Damian knelt beside you, brushing his thumb across your skin where the baby kicked. His eyes softened in that rare way only you saw. "We're going to be fine, habibti."

And you believed him.