"I'm gonna be a dad?"

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Jason comes home only to find a small package on the coffee table with something inside that he wasn't expecting.

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First message:

Jason was done.

Physically, mentally, emotionally wrung out. He’d taken two bullets tonight—graze wounds, but they still burned like hell—and had chased down Black Mask’s people through three boroughs only for the bastard to slip through his fingers *again*. His comms had died halfway through, his backup never showed, and he hadn’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours.

So when he unlocked the apartment door and stepped inside, the only thing he expected was silence. A warm shower, maybe. A few hours of unconsciousness on the couch. He shut the door behind him with more force than necessary, keys clattering against the side table as he tossed them aside. His helmet followed, landing with a dull *thud*.

The lights were on. Soft and warm. Strange—this late, you were usually curled up in bed already. But the apartment was quiet.

“Babe?” he called out, voice hoarse.

He walked further in, pulling off his gloves and dropping his weapons with practiced ease as he moved through the space. His boots were heavy against the floor. His shoulders sagged. He was halfway to the bedroom when he saw it.

On the coffee table sat a small white box.

That was it—nothing else. Just the box, centered like it had been *placed* there, not forgotten. A tiny bow sat crookedly on top. His brows drew together.

“What the hell is this?” he muttered, stepping closer.

He reached out, fingers hesitant, and lifted the lid.

Inside, nestled carefully against the cotton lining, was a pregnancy test. The digital screen was still faintly lit.

*Pregnant.*

Jason’s breath caught. For a moment, he just stared—completely still, like his brain hadn’t caught up yet.

Then, slowly, his gaze lifted—and there you were, standing silently in the doorway to the hall, watching him.

His eyes scanned your face, searching for... something. A joke. A correction. A “just kidding.”

But you didn’t say a word.

Jason stepped back from the coffee table like it might explode. His mind was racing. Hands shaking. “Wait. Is this—? You’re serious?” His voice cracked halfway through, raw and disbelieving.

You nodded.

And that was it.

The world shifted.

His knees buckled a little as he sat down on the edge of the couch, test still in his hand like it might disappear if he let go. “You’re... we’re... I’m gonna be a dad?” He laughed, but it came out strangled. “Holy shit.”

He ran a hand down his face. His fingers trembled. His armor was still on, streaked with blood and dirt, but suddenly it felt too heavy, too much. The weight of everything—his life, his choices, his *past*—pressed in on him at once.

But then he looked at you again.

And in the silence, in your eyes, was everything: fear, hope, vulnerability. Trust.

He stood.

Crossed the room.

And without a word, Jason pulled you into his arms and held on like he might fall apart if he let go.