Damian Wayne, Whitewashing, Linguistics and the Use of Akhi in Fanworks
ok, listen. i say this with all the love in my heart, because i know it comes from a place of compassion, but i gotta level with you all:
please stop using akhi in your batfamily fanworks.
genuinely.
i don’t know who will actually see this or even care and i'm not even the first person to bring this up, but akhi is not a familial term of endearment.
full disclosure, i myself am nowhere near an expert in all Arabic dialects and while i do not have an extensive knowledge of all the dialectical terms for “brother” that serve the purpose you're looking for, i do know there are some out there.
however, akhi is not one of them. it’s not even an nickname. so please, please stop using it like it is.
fair warning, this will be a long post because there are a lot of layers to this issue and to understand why it's even an issue at all, you have to understand all of those layers. so stick around, i guess, if you have questions and feel like being interrupted in your daily tumblr scroll by a very specific rant (though i did try to break it up into sections so it's at least somewhat navigable).
otherwise, if you’ve gotten this far, you’ve already read my main request and hopefully taken it to heart which is what i really care about, so feel free to continue on with your day if you so please.
if you happen to be sticking around, let me first outline the linguistic issue for you:
yes, akhi does mean “my brother.” that’s really the best and most literal word-for-word translation anyone could possibly give you.
in more grammatical terms, it is the first-person possessive form of the word akh, which, you could probably guess, means “brother”. the -i suffix at the end is what denotes possession and who - in this case, the speaker - is in possession of the object.
another word you might be more familiar with is habibi, which means “my beloved”. habib is the object, the noun form of “beloved” and -i is the possessive suffix, the “my”. and that’s pretty much how the suffix is used - it essentially serves the same function as putting “my” in front of “book” or “cat” or “brother” in English. only, possession is indicated at the end of the given word rather than as a separate predicate. hence why phrases like “his akhi” are a whole mess of grammatically incorrect in both languages, because you’re basically saying “his my brother.”
it is also important to note that while akh and its various forms are sometimes used in colloquial settings when talking about one’s brother, it is a word that comes from and is used primarily in formal Arabic (Modern Standard Arabic), or fus7a. fus7a is used in a number of ways - you'll find it in the news, books, speeches, official documents, formal letters and whatnot and most importantly, in the Qur’an, from which it originates. but it's not used in everyday conversation. while the dialects share many basic similarities with formal Arabic, there are entire grammatical rules, words and conjugations in fus7a that don’t ever get used in colloquial Arabic. as such, akhi takes on several different meanings across the colloquial dialects that diverge from the literal meaning in fus7a. and even if someone is using it to speak about their actual brother, it's a pretty formal way to do so and it does not have the meaning you’re all ascribing to it. if you want an actual term of endearment, you’ll have to dig deeper.
and that's where i'll leave you to do your own research, because i’m not here to give you an Arabic lesson. that’s what WordReference and Reddit threads are for (just be on the lookout for bots).
but do yourself a favor and don’t just rely on those (and definitely do not go to Duolingo, i wouldn't trust AI with George Clooney's birthday, let alone the linguistic structure of an entire language). look up language guides and forums online. there’s actually some really good and reliable stuff out there from native speakers. fuck it, even Urban Dictionary is a better resource than wherever the first of you got the word akhi from - no, really, it actually contains several entries that define how it's used in certain contexts (none of which, you will find, include familial terms of endearment). and there are plenty of other Arab users on this site who have already talked about this and have provided detailed explanations of how it’s used in formal and dialectical Arabic. there are even entire blogs on tumblr that are dedicated to teaching Arabic. if you don't trust the internet, patronize your local library's language section (though they're unfortunately more likely to have books on just Modern Standard Arabic).
i promise you, however unapproachable internet and library databases might seem when it comes to learning languages, it is not as difficult to navigate as you think it is. the information is 100% there if you bother to look for it. and it’s free.
now, why am i making such a big deal out of this?
because if you actually gave a shit about writing Damian as explicitly and meaningfully Arab, you’d recognize that Arabic is not some accessory you can adorn your characters with however you like and hope no one notices you've put it on backwards.
Arabic is a real, living language that is used by real, living people every day.
and listen, i really don’t want to discount the good intentions so many of you have in using this word. i know that a lot of you using it aren’t intentionally using it incorrectly (or at least, i assume that’s the case), that you really just want to acknowledge what DC itself is shit at acknowledging. but i need you to understand that it is not enough. it's not enough to copy + paste from Google Translate and hope for the best.
the first and most important rules of linguistics will tell you that direct, literal translation is a discrepancy in and of itself. for example: if you put the Iliad or, idk, Proust through Google Translate, what came out would be pretty shitty and incoherent. it wouldn't entirely make sense. that’s why translation exists as a profession. to make sense of colloquialisms, grammar and diction that lack cross-language equivalents.
anyway, back to your good intentions: of course it sucks that many of DC’s writers tend to avoid meaningful engagement with the cultural backgrounds of the characters they write, particularly their characters of color.
of course it sucks that they tend fall into harmful stereotypes and tropes that could be avoided with just a little bit of intentional, respectful research. hell, they have the means to hire professional cultural and linguistic consultants if they wanted - they have absolutely no excuse.
and of course it sucks ass that many don’t treat Arab stories with care or compassion, especially considering that the very origins of the al Ghuls as DC villains are deeply rooted in the orientalist demonization of Asians and Arabs. that beyond that, they are also consistently whitewashed by both writers and fans alike. Damian and Talia in particular, when they are portrayed as morally good (and sometimes even when they’re not), tend to be drawn with lighter skin, which is a whole other level of fucked up. not to mention the majority of actors who have portrayed both Talia and Ra’s al Ghul are not Arab and, in fact, the only Arab actor to portray Ra’s al Ghul is Alexander Siddig (shoutout, by the way, to an absolute legend and cinematic treasure).
and before any of you folks crawl your way out of the woodwork to inform me that “actually, white and white-passing Arabs exist, you ignorant, uncultured heathen”, i’m just gonna cut you off at the pass here to let you know that i know. i should fucking hope i’d be aware of my own existence.
in all seriousness, though, wholistic representation of Arabs cannot center only those of us who are light skinned, white or white-passing. to do so stinks of Westerners’ tendency to fetishize, aestheticize and appropriate ethnic cultures while giving less than a rat’s ass about the people they come from, like a kind of cherry picked whitewashing, if you will. like, "it's okay to celebrate and take part in your culture, but if you do it while being dark skinned, you're either primitive and barbaric or some kind of noble savage." obviously, skin color has no bearing on the legitimacy of Arab heritage. but leaving dark skinned Arabs out of the picture erases the real and immense diversity of the Arab world. and it makes representation dependent on proximity to whiteness and palatability to white audiences, which is entirely antithetical to the whole point of representation.
yes, we need representation, too - Arabs are not a monolith. but the fact remains that dark skinned people of color are consistently underrepresented across the board - fans of color on this and other hellsites have been saying this for literal years. and if you don’t believe that’s true of DC comics, i'm sorry, but you haven’t been paying attention.
so, yeah. both the current canon and fanon, in many ways, leave a lot to be desired when it comes to representation. but that is exactly why diving headfirst into the now fandom-wide phenomenon of using akhi in your fanworks doesn’t actually do anything to counteract the harm done. frankly, because many of you have no historical, cultural or linguistic context for this and other words, it often exacerbates and replicates it.
and idk, maybe this all seems a bit over-the-top for a word that literally just means “my brother.” but because so many of you forego background research entirely and just parrot each other, the way you’re using it is harmful. because you’re completely disregarding all of that historical, cultural and linguistic context in favor of portraying what you perceive to be a more accurate Damian. which is especially damaging when many of you show no inclination or desire to examine just how enshrined racism and orientalism are in many canon and fanon portrayals of Damian or how your own headcanons might reinforce the stereotypes that fuel those portrayals.
Arabic is a heavily racialized language in the West. the choice to use it in your works as non-Arab creators is one you make in a world full of stigmatization for people, languages and cultures that do not meet standards of European whiteness. the fact that the maximum level of effort English speakers are barely required to put into including another language in their work is to open the most laughable language resource on the internet and copy + paste is indicative of the imperial system that requires the rest of the world to be multilingual while the majority of those for whom English is their first language hold fluency in only one.
multilingualism is far more common outside of Western centers of imperialism because the system in place is designed to keep it that way. and the West’s xenophobia ensures that we view it as a kind of liability, rather than the strength that it is. and on top of that, the racialization of certain languages further reinforces that xenophobia by wrapping them up in a mess of simultaneous fetishization and denigration. which is how you end up with the expectation that immigrants do the cultural, intellectual and emotional labor of bridging language barriers. in other words, writing something even as innocuous as “Damian missed his akhi” in your fanfiction because you saw someone else do it without doing any research of your own is a privilege of ignorance that native Arabic speakers do not have. i wouldn’t be surprised if more than half of you English speakers using it don’t even know how to pronounce it properly because you’ve never been forced to learn the phonetics, much less the alphabet, of a language that isn’t your own.
again, i understand where it’s coming from. i understand the impulse to expand upon what DC has given us and actually explore Damian’s cultural heritage. i understand the desire to do his Arab roots justice. i wish DC was better at the job they literally gave themselves, too. seriously, i get it.
but by not doing the research necessary to understand what you're putting in your fanworks, you’re just repeating the same irresponsible mistakes that DC’s writers make. and not only is that reductive of the Arab character you’re trying to honor, but from a viewer’s perspective, it’s indicative of a lack of creative integrity. it’s just sloppy writing. it says that you’re not actually committed to creating accurate or compassionate Arab representation with Damian. you just care about making him believably Arab to a primarily non-Arab audience. and continuing to do it even after being informed tells me you don’t actually give a fuck about Arabs or our representation because you don’t respect our language enough to learn how we actually use it.
and i hope i can trust you to know the difference between an honest mistake and willful ignorance, here. i completely understand if this is your first time learning about any of this. but again, all the information you could possibly want is available 24/7 on the very same device you’re using to write your fanfiction and create your fanart. you know, the one you’re using right now to read this post?
if you have the time to write a 100k word fanfic you have more than enough time to learn how the word akhi is actually used.
and if you did your research, you would see that there are so many actual, beautiful terms of endearment you could be using instead. Arabic has no shortage of them - there are so many i couldn’t possibly provide you with a full, comprehensive list of them all. but i will give you a tiny bit:
khayye is a Levantine term usually reserved for a close brother - i could actually see Damian calling Dick this and it means the same thing as akhi, just more affectionate. and of course, there are plenty of other terms in other dialects, but i’m not as familiar with those yet and really, you should do your own research. i also mentioned habibi before, which is a very popular term of affection and it’s often used casually even with strangers as it’s not strictly platonic or romantic, though i personally don’t believe Damian would use it towards his family, at least not frequently or without sarcasm (which is the best way to use it, imo).
and there’s also more poetic ones like 3ayouni (my eyes), hayati (my life), qalbi (my heart, though don’t get it confused with kelbi, iykyk), ruhi (my soul), najmi (my star), nouri (my light), azizi (my treasure/precious one). and hundreds of others that are dialect- and family-specific.
there is so much to work with that y’all have left virtually untouched. don’t be afraid to get creative! that’s what fanfiction is all about, right?
that said, if you do choose to use Arabic in your fan works, remember that language doesn’t exist in a vacuum. use it as a character study. use it to ask those questions DC doesn’t. like:
does Damian speak Arabic?
why does Damian speak Arabic? and what dialect(s) does he speak? because yes, there are regional and national dialects all over the place. don’t limit yourself in your research.
was Arabic the primary language he spoke back in the League? and if it was, how has living in Gotham, a predominantly English-speaking environment, changed his relationship with the language?
does he experience culture shock at all and how has that effected his experience of Gotham?
does he use it around his Gotham family? why or why not? does his Gotham family use it with him? why or why not?
does he have different terms of endearment for each of the people he cares about in his life? do they each have terms of endearment for him?
what does Talia call him? some of DC’s writers have her call him “my heart”, which i have written in romanized Arabic above. you’re welcome.
does he also speak any Chinese dialects? and what role does that play in his life and identity? you don’t have to focus on just his Arab roots. Damian’s heritage is a combination of multiple ethnic backgrounds - do better than DC and find ways to make your work reflect that. as a canonically mixed character, Damian and mixed readers like him deserve to have that respectfully represented. though, as per the main point of this post, please do some conscientious research before using any Chinese dialects.
what’s his favorite Middle Eastern dish? shoutout to that one artist i saw (whose name i can’t remember, i’m so sorry) who drew Damian and Jason sharing a pot of mjaddara, one of my personal favorite easy meals to cook when i’m missing home.
does he read any Arab poetry and who is his favorite poet? does he prefer the classic poets or the modern ones? i personally think he might enjoy Imru’ al-Qays but i’m biased because we had a cat named after him and i kinda like the idea of Damian being a fan of one of the most notoriously sappy and melodramatic romantic poets history has to offer.
has he been able to use Arabic around other Arabic-speaking folks in Gotham? and on that note, where are Gotham’s Arab populations from and what dialects do they speak?
endless avenues to explore!
or, you know, if you truly, madly, deeply do not give a single flying fuck (though if you’ve made it this far into my rant and still don't care, i'm... impressed?): how about you try this nifty thing i like to call not using Arabic in your work at all?
i can’t imagine you’re anywhere near your wits’ end if you’re using Google Translate as your linguistics consultant, but you know what takes even less effort? not using it. which is perfectly fine. you don’t have to delve deeper if you don’t want to. i’m not gonna hunt you down and force you to study Arabic grammar.
but using a language that isn’t your own, especially if English is your first and only language, comes with a responsibility to do it justice. no one is forcing you, dear English speaking fanfic writer/fanartist, to use a language you don’t speak. and i mean that quite literally. the world is already built to save you the inconvenience of having to speak other languages. so if you’re gonna go in, go all in. don’t needlessly embarrass yourself, habibi.
if doing any further research just seems a bit too daunting for you, remember that language isn’t the end-all-be-all of cultural ties. it can be a bridge, a connector, at times a vessel and often a reflection of culture. but culture is more than the language(s) tied to it. people and their relationships to their culture(s) are more than the languages they speak. it’s entirely possible to write meaningful Arab representation without using Arabic.
and let me be so, so clear: language is, for many reasons, a very important part of preserving, nurturing and restoring culture, particularly for the world’s Indigenous and diasporic communities, of which Arabs are a part. but it has also been weaponized against those very same communities by imperial and colonial powers. including a random Arabic word in your fanart or fic, the meaning of which you have only a vague understanding, is not the ultimate signifier of Damian’s Arab heritage some of you seem to think it is. and i know most of you just use it as a cute little nod to his cultural background in your headcanons, but it means nothing without the context behind it, especially the way i see it used with reckless - albeit mostly well-meaning - abandon.
honestly, it’s just really fucking annoying to see so many people constantly misuse your language and be unwilling to correct themselves. kinda feels like you’re losing your mind, sometimes. which is a bit how i feel making this post.
look, i’m not asking you to do college thesis level research on the Arabic language before you make the art you create for zero financial compensation in your own free time. that’s not what this post is about.
but i am asking many of you to examine why you want to have Damian or Talia or whoever speak Arabic in your non-Arabic fanworks in the first place. as non-Arab fans and creators, determine what preconceptions of Arabs you might hold, question why they’re there and where they come from and do your best to learn about how they might influence your portrayal of Arab characters like Damian. if you’re desperate for a jumping off point in that regard, i recommend checking out TV Tropes’s pages on the al Ghuls.
again, language doesn’t exist in a vacuum and it’s irresponsible to treat it like it does. if you want to make meaningful content of Arab characters, i encourage you to go out there and build your creative integrity by doing enough research to at least feel confident that you understand what you're putting in your fanworks.
and, lastly, if you do choose to use Arabic in your work, please use it with respect.
.
anyways here are some resources to start off with for anyone interested:
Free online dictionaries - Spanish, French, Italian, German and more. Conjugations, audio pronunciations and forums for your questions.
TV Tropes, the all-devouring pop-culture wiki, catalogs and cross-references recurrent plot devices, archetypes, and tropes in all forms of
Khallina – An open source website for teaching and studying Arab culture.
i srsly dont wanna talk about tumblr to anyone irl and idk why, but it feels like my secret lil simping universe-
Me and my lil cult of followers :3 (they prolly dgaf bout me but idc :3)
originally found on a post by a girly of the user: @sibyllebair
i apologise for the lack of updates this may. i just graduated + last bell,, and the class banquet is yet to come so i’ve had little time to write. i will say that i am slowly getting back into writing and you’ll be seeing a new work posted next week.
quarterly reminder that if i reblog something ai-generated it is 110% and always an accident and for the love of god please tell me so i can delete it from my blog
aka a week spent at Dick’s apartment when Bruce is off-world and Alfred is busy leads Damian to discover what unconditional love looks like between you and Dick.
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d. grayson x gn!reader
genre: fluff <3, hurt/comfort
no background relationships
wc: 4.0k
notes: this fic low-key tried to kill me, ngl. GOD this thing is long. it is slightly inspired by the song "The Light Behind Your Eyes" by My Chemical Romance, but also I wanted to try and give Damian's character a little more justice. HE'S A KID. Oh, the bit about the alfredo? that's something my dad does with me <3 Anyway. School has been Kicking My Ass, so I apologize for this taking forever and a half. I've also been planning my fluff-tober event!! happy reading!
masterlist
warnings: no use of y/n, mentions of ra's al ghul, nightmares, a very small scene where dick gets angry but it's very quickly resolved and not angsty, THIS IS FROM DAMIAN'S POV, Damian's childhood/lack thereof being a somewhat major theme here
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Day I
Damian, for all the love he had for his older brother, was still not particularly looking forward to staying a week in his Blüdhaven apartment. While Grayson made a good Batman, Damian wouldn’t say that home decor was one of his strong suits. While the apartment had since been upgraded and refurnished since Grayson had met you, the youngest Wayne sibling was still quite put out to not be in the Manor.
Father had already left for the week to some offshoot planet with the Justice League and Pennyworth was taking his annual vacation (forced upon him by the rest of the family, naturally), so Damian was enjoying his last few moments alone before knocking on his older brother’s door.
Grayson’s smile was bright enough to outshine the sun when he spotted Damian. “Hey, Dami! Come on in.”
And then he just left, leaving the door open behind him. Like it wouldn’t be the perfect opportunity for a surprise attack from behind. Like he trusted Damian completely, which was absurd, because Damian had been raised to kill since before he could walk.
“Just set your stuff in the guest bedroom for now. We’re gonna eat dinner soon anyway,” you shouted from the kitchen, closely followed by a, “Dick, if you make me spill this sauce I’m going to use this pan to whack you upside the head.”
It was so…casual. So unlike the Manor with its old walls or the Cave’s stale atmosphere. Very unlike the halls he walked with his mother in the League of Assassins. Realistically, Damian knew you were joking, even if you were fully capable of whacking his older brother with said pan hard enough to fatally injure him. That didn’t stop Damian’s body from locking up at the mere mention of a death threat. Especially from the likes of you, an ex-mercenary.
You and Grayson certainly made an odd sight to Damian. When he walked out of the guest room, you were standing at the stove while his brother put an old jazz record on. From the looks of it, you and Grayson were making pasta. Well, you were doing all the actual cooking. Grayson was being a doofus, as per usual.
Most people would find his almost-constant cheeriness annoying, but you, for some reason, fed into the banter even more and spurred Grayson on in conversations that were now legend in the Wayne household. That also meant you accepted his hand in a rather informal dance across your kitchen floor in fuzzy socks and sweatpants.
It was by no means a graceful endeavor, nor did Damian see the point of doing something so trivial with a task at hand already, but the two of you seemed to enjoy it quite well from what Damian could see. Grayson was smiling, but not the 10,000 Gigawatt smile he usually flashed; it was a private one, just for you that made his eyes crinkle around the edges and the sharpness of his face soften just a bit. You were quietly giggling, making stray comments about not letting the pasta boil over or to twist a certain way to stir the sauce so it wouldn’t separate.
Damian was confused. He was angry. Why would someone do something if it held no purpose? What was the point in dancing if the alfredo sauce would split or the pasta water could spill over? Where was the drive to complete a task? Who were you and his brother trying to impress? Dancing in the kitchen felt pointless to Damian. He couldn’t make sense of it.
When you came out of the kitchen, however, Damian could still see the joy left on your face from dancing. Your cheeks were flushed from smiling and eyes bright with mirth, Grayson much the same. The jazz vinyl still played softly in the background, but would need to be flipped soon.
The pasta you had made was delicious, naturally. You had told the story to Damian once about how your father had made it all your life and had taught the recipe to you. Despite both Grayson’s many and Damian’s few protests, you still contested that you had never managed to get it just right.
“It doesn’t matter if it’s just right,” Grayson had said once. “The memory is what counts.”
It doesn’t matter if it’s just right, the memory is what counts.
Day II
The next day was spent relaxing in the apartment, but Damian could tell something was wrong. It was in the way Grayson came walking out of his bedroom shared with you, rotating and twisting his shoulder. It was in the way your usually bright face was graced with a small frown as you padded out of the room not ten minutes later.
Damian overheard your conversation from the living room couch.
“Dick, let me see,” you said softly.
The man in question blew a puff of air through his lips. Domain could imagine the I’m-trying-to-not-make-this-a-big-deal smile that his brother always sported when something was bothering him.
“It’s nothing, sweetheart.”
“Then why are you rotating your shoulder like your life depends on it?” you asked in reply.
Damian could also imagine your perfected raised eyebrow, usually aimed at Grayson.
“Dick, love, we’ve all got scars. You’re a full time vigilante and a cop. You’ve been a vigilante since you were eight. I know you’ve been shot in that shoulder, what, three times? It’s normal for it to be agitated. Let me help, please.”
You were practically begging, which was weird, because Damian had always been taught to hide his pain and not give away any tells, not even to his own family. Why were you asking if you could help? If his older brother had a problem, Damian was confident that Grayson could handle it himself. Grayson wouldn’t need help from you, yet Damian heard the sigh his older brother gave as he relented to you.
Damian’s pride roared beneath his skin. Grayson may not be his brother by blood, but the older man had practically raised Damian for almost a year and masqueraded as Batman. And he was just…giving up?
When Damian went to put his breakfast dishes in the sink, he saw Grayson on the counter with a heating pad to his shoulder and you standing between his legs. It was a soft sight, one Damian might have seen in one of Jason’s old romance films. Sunlight gently filtered through the blinds on the window above the sink, slanting across your face and highlighting the color of your eyes.
It wasn’t fair.
Grayson was the first to be raised by Batman. He had seen the worst of him and the best. He had been through hell and back before most people even learned to comprehend basic arithmetic. But here he was, practically melting in front of someone who could have been his greatest adversary.
Damian was raised better.
He listened to your voices intertwine with each other softly, countermelodies and harmonies in the making. Damian held in a scoff. The Heir to the Demon’s Head would not falter here, in this Blüdhaven apartment, with its faintly buzzing tv and worn couch.
The day droned on, and soon a lazy afternoon was upon Damian. The biggest window leading to the balcony casted the perfect frame for a sunset and let a cozy warmth settle in over the living room.
Grayson had stolen the couch for a pre-patrol nap, even if you had argued against going out at all due to his shoulder. Damian, in a rare show of brotherly affection, sat on the couch space left over from Grayson’s shorter frame. Even from a day of doing nothing, Damian had ended up being quite tired. And with the warmth from the sun and the comforting presence of a small place, who was Damian to resist a small nap? All of Damian’s siblings napped in odd positions and places, it was only fair Damian could once—at least, that’s what he told himself.
He pretended not to feel it when you draped a blanket over his curled frame, or Grayson’s hand ruffle his hair softly before leaving the couch to get his gear on. He listened to your quiet words of love and warning before Grayson slipped off the balcony and into the night. Damian didn’t think he’d get used to it.
Day III
Early into Damian’s third day at the apartment, he witnessed his first “fight” between the two of you, if he could call it that.
Predictably, Grayson’s patrol was somewhat quiet, but he had managed to acquire a few scrapes anyway. When Damian’s brother slipped back in through the balcony, he knew something was wrong. Grayson always went for the inconvenient door. Always. It was the First Robin Special. But when the man had walked, rather limped, back into the apartment, it became clear why.
There was a line of dark, sticky red dripping down his back as he slipped through the door. Damian could imagine the dark circles, bruised knuckles, and probably swollen knee on the leg he was limping on. Despite the brave façade Grayson put on for a lot of the world, the man had more chronic injuries than he let on.
More than the injuries, Damian could tell that his brother was angry. He would know that emotion better than most. It floats around the Manor like a noose, ready to strike and hang. Grayson’s steps were heavy and intentional, but his shoulders were still tight and his breathing was labored. While scaling a multi-story building to sneak in the balcony door would wind most people, the Waynes were hardly most people.
Damian watched as you walked out of the bathroom to see Grayson stagger across the floor. Your eyes widened, then set firm again with a press of your lips. Damian remembered the times where he had watched his face do the same thing in the mirror.
“Dick, what happened?” you asked, somewhat stern.
“What happened?” Grayson almost snarled with a dramatic flair of his hands, then a wince. He was leaning against the wall now, back carefully angled to avoid blood getting on the paint. His injured leg was propped out while he rubbed his thumbs over his knuckles. “I was sloppy, is all.”
You crossed your arms and jutted your hip to the side. “Well, it’s obviously more than that if you’re this upset.”
“I—shit.” Grayson rubbed a hand down his face.
Damian watched, strangely, as your face turned from one of casualness to one of softness. If Damian had said that instead of an actual explanation to someone in the League, he would have been slapped, at the least. It was different to see the tension in the room fade away rather than simmer.
“Come on, Boy Wonder,” you said as you helped Grayson to the bathroom, where Damian presumed a med kit was set up.
Damian could only hear mumblings between the two of you from his spot on the couch, except for a handful of moments where his older brother got heated enough to raise his voice a bit. Damian had never heard Grayson’s voice get heated but immediately go back to normal volume.
Bruce and Grayson’s fights were no small secret in the Manor. They happen rarely now, but Damian—along with the rest of the family—have seen the video recordings from the security cameras. The most infamous would have been the post-Crime Syndicate/pre-Spyral, where both Bruce and Grayson had knocked each other across the Cave quite a bit. Grayson always tried to tame down his notorious anger for his siblings, but it leaked out at times like this.
When you and Grayson came out of the bathroom, Damian was already pretend-asleep.
“You know,” Grayson started, “I doubt he’s actually asleep. But we’ll leave him be.”
“Sounds good to me,” you whispered quietly, which was quickly followed by a yawn.
Damian listened as the two of you walked to your bedroom. His older brother had finally gotten some sense knocked into him it seems, by the quiet sound of Grayson’s old knee-brace.
Damian didn’t see either of you until past noon later that day, but he didn’t mind.
Day IV
The next night was spent in, much to your apparent relief. Grayson had scheduled a movie night with Legally Blonde as his choice. Popcorn was passed along the couch, with both you and Damian using Grayson as the middleman.
To Damian’s confusion and partial amusement, the two of you copied and acted out almost the entire movie by memory, adding extra flair to Elle Woods’ most famous lines. Laughter bubbled out of the two of you and bounced off the walls, a complete 180 from last night’s patrol. Movie lines ricochetted between you and Grayson, along with frequent “boos” whenever Warner was on the screen.
You were able to recite the entire courtroom perm scene from memory with perfect emotion as Elle while Grayson got stuck as Chutney. You gleefully shouted “I object!” when Grayson jokingly wolf-whistled at you, to which Damian’s older brother genuinely pouted at.
Aside from the usually rescheduled movie nights at the Manor, Damian hasn’t really spent time watching movies. To see the passion the two of you shared for a collection of fictional characters was jarring. Damian supposed it was a bit like his drawings. You and Grayson cherished movie characters like Damian did his drawings.
As the movie drifted on, you and Grayson had eventually shifted positions on the couch so that your body was laid on top of Grayson’s. There was—miraculously—still enough room on the edge of the couch for Damian’s rather small frame. You and Grayson’s legs tangled together, your head on his chest. The two of you quietly cheered as the accomplishments of Elle and lack thereof of Warner came on the screen, but quickly fell asleep as soon as the credits started to roll.
Damian got up to put away the popcorn bowl and the mugs of hot chocolate (Alfred’s Special Recipe) that you had made halfway through. He made sure his feet missed the creaky boards in the floor and that the dishes didn’t clink loudly against the sink’s bottom and walls.
He closed the balcony door, which had been propped open by Grayson when you had complained you had gotten too warm under the blanket. When Damian shot you a questioning look, seeming to convey the then why didn’t you remove the blanket? question that was sure to follow, you shrugged and said it was too comfy. No one was going to argue about that.
Said blanket was now draped over the two of you, courtesy of Damian. Before he made his last rounds, he closed the balcony door as well. Damian curled up on the couch, grabbed a blanket of his own, and drifted off to sleep as well. He just hoped that the two of you weren’t too warm in the morning.
Day V
As it turns out, Damian hadn’t needed to open the balcony door again; you had done it yourself. In fact, the door was wide open.
That was weird.
Damian knew you to be a stickler for the Balcony Door Rule™: If it’s nighttime and there isn’t anyone on patrol, close the door.
It was on nights like this where Damian was reminded why.
Due to your time as a mercenary, you had your fair share of nightmares. Ones that ranged from skeptical paranoia at best to memories that had been replayed like an old tape at worst. Finicky fate vs unchangeable destiny. You and Damian had bonded over that small constant.
Grayson, who somehow had an internal sensor for these sorts of things, was up in the next five minutes. It was baffling, like Grayson had somehow reworked his entire nervous system and emergency response to put you as the top priority.
Damian was expecting a situation similar to a couple nights ago. Anger. Adrenaline. Briskness. There was the other option of what Damian would have done, which was something Timothy liked to call “brooding”. But, of course, Damian was wrong once again.
He watched as you, one of the world’s most well-known and feared ex-mercenaries, practically melted into the touch of one Dick Grayson. The hug was tight and comforting, like the two of you had been starved of each other, even if you had been standing outside for maybe ten minutes. Grayson rubbed a hand up and down your back while your arms tightened around him.
The strangest thought occurred to Damian: he wanted a hug, too. Damian had wanted a hug exactly two times that he could remember. Once, when he was leaving his mother for the first time to join his father in Gotham. Again, when he had been doused with fear gas so badly he was nearly mad. (And many times more than that, but none that he would let himself admit, even to himself).
The breeze simultaneously carried in and swept away the sweet nothings Grayson whispered to you from your head’s place buried in his shoulder. I’ve got you, nothing’s going to hurt you here, I won’t let them take you again, no one is out there, it’s safe it’s safe it’s safe i’m here i’m here i’m here. Incoherent mumblings that seemed to make sense to you as your crying dissipated, even if Damian was left reeling at the amount of affection Grayson was pouring towards one person.
Grayson started to rock you back and forth, as if to dance off the nervous energy on your body. When was the last time someone had held Damian like that, like he was the only thing tethering the other to the Earth?
Damian watched as Grayson picked you up with almost laughable ease and carried you inside. On his way past the couch and towards your room, Grayson lifted his hand to ruffle Damian’s hair with a sad smile. It wasn’t for you to see, either, as you had already fallen back asleep in the safety of your lover’s arms. As Grayson walked away and through the door, Damian had two striking thoughts.
If he witnessed one more domestic event between the two of you, he was going to either cry or throw himself off the nearest cliff, and;
He had leaned into Grayson’s touch, instead of away from it.
Day VI
Unfortunately, Damian was not given a chance to regain his honor. The following night brought nightmares of his own, most regarding the topic of his grandfather. Ra’s al Ghul was a man of political and social greatness, but that didn’t mean the man didn’t have his faults. Not that Damian would say that to his face. In the League of Assassins, any amount of disrespect—no matter how deserved—would get you beheaded. An eye for an eye. Guilty until proven innocent.
Somehow, you and Grayson had managed to start to dismantle the very foundation of Damian’s rules for himself in only a few days. Maybe, just this time, his fear would not be regarded as a weakness. Maybe, just this time, Damian al Ghul-Wayne, Heir to the Demon’s Head and Son of the Bat, could allow himself to feel a shred of the sadness he dragged around, day after day.
Damian had found himself on the balcony a few minutes later, staring at the faint crescent of the moon in the sky. Grayson, like clockwork, found Damian not even five minutes later.
“It’s a good spot, isn’t it?” Grayson asked him, also staring at the moon.
“I suppose it’s…adaquate,” Damian tested. “Your balcony serves its purpose.”
Grayson knocked his shoulder against his. “And what purpose is that?”
“Thinking. Remembering. Forgetting. Things like that, I suppose,” Damian answered. His hands fidgeted against the rug tassels beneath his fingers.
Grayson didn’t provide him with another talking point, just stared up at the sky a bit more. The older man was dressed comfortably, like he had rolled out of bed quickly. A Gotham Knights sweatshirt, some old and faded pair of grey sweats, and fuzzy socks Damian was almost convinced were yours.
“When did you start getting them?” Damian asked, his voice soft but sharp against the night air. “Nightmares, I mean.”
Grayson turned to him with a raised brow. “Are we talking night life specific, or…?”
“Tt, just answer the question.”
Grayson raised his hands in mock surrender with a smirk on his lips, but the tone of his voice was the opposite of his body language. “My first real nightmares started after I had fallen off the trapeze seriously for the first time. If I didn’t know how to fall, I would have dislocated my shoulder that day. Obviously, nightmares about my parents’ deaths haunted me for almost a year straight after I had moved in with Bruce. They still come back, sometimes.” Grayson paused and looked up at the stars again, as if he was looking for something. “I get some of my own bad accidents, either as Robin or Nightwing, but a lot are about other people I love getting hurt.”
It went without saying that Grayson’s list of the people he loved was extensive. The family, the Titans, the Justice League, any team he had ever had or led, you. Drake had tried to list them once as a freetime activity and hadn’t even gotten through half the list before calling it a quits.
“Dames, what’s really bothering you? I know we’re not just out here at two in the morning because you felt philosophical. That’s more up Jay’s alley,” Grayson asked.
Damian’s older brother’s voice was warm and inviting, but Damian couldn’t get past the feeling of a lump in his throat, like something was blocking the truth from spilling past his tongue. That didn’t mean he couldn’t bend it, though.
“My grandfather, he’s not a good person, is he?”
Damian almost sneered at the sound of his own voice. He sounded weak, scared. Most people would have sneered at the sheer terror Damian had for Grayson’s reply.
His reply wasn’t one of words, not at first. Grayson scooched closer to Damian before putting a hand on his shoulder. Damian met his older brother’s eyes for the first time that night, acid green to cobalt blue.
“Ra’s al Ghul is a lot of things, Dami. A good person probably isn’t one of them, but that doesn’t mean your feelings are black and white. You’re allowed to be conflicted about how you feel, it’s part of life. Gods only know I’ve been conflicted about feelings, especially at your age. Hell, we’re vigilantes trained by Batman. Nothing is ever simple.”
When the two of them came back inside, two mugs of hot cocoa were sitting on the table.
Day VII
The end of the week brought Bruce back to Earth and Alfred back from his (made mandatory) vacation. It also meant the chaos of a Wayne family dinner, featuring most of Gotham’s vigilantes. Damian was thrilled.
The car ride to the Manor was filled with off-key singing to what you described as “white girl pop”, even if Damian had zero clue what you actually meant.
Even Alfred commented on it upon your arrival to the Manor. “Breaking out the old CDs again, Master Dick?”
Grayson shot him a wild grin. “You know it, Alfred.”
The rest of the siblings were all crowding around the parlor and waiting for their arrival, much to the amusement of Grayson. Naturally, it devolved into a spectacle.
“One Damian, returned safe and unharmed,” Grayson announced as he walked in.
Todd scoffed from the corner, but it held no real heat. “Are you unharmed, Dickface?”
“Well, I don’t see any bite marks, so I’m going to assume he’s actually somewhat alright. Emotionally scarred maybe, but all of us have a little of that,” Brown said while circling Grayson like some sort of shark.
You rolled your eyes and spoke up once it became apparent Grayson was going to do nothing to help the situation. “Damian was a perfect house guest, I’ll have you know. We even showed him Legally Blonde.”
How any of them would survive dinner would be a miracle.
But when Grayson threw an arm around his shoulder and Damian tucked into his side, even just slightly, he wouldn’t have it any other way.
fin.
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Damian got up to put away the popcorn bowl and the mugs of hot chocolate (Alfred's Special Recipe) that you had made halfway through. He made sure his feet missed the creaky boards in the floor and that the dishes didn't clink loudly against the sink's bottom and walls.
He closed the balcony door, which had been propped open by Grayson when you had complained you had gotten too warm under the blanket. When Damian shot you a questioning look, seeming to convey the then why didn't you remove the blanket? question that was sure to follow, you shrugged and said it was too comfy. No one was going to argue about that.
Said blanket was now draped over the two of you, courtesy of Damian. Before he made his last rounds, he closed the balcony door as well. Damian curled up on the couch, grabbed a blanket of his own, and drifted off to sleep as well. He just hoped that the two of you weren't too warm in the morning.
This whole little section is my favvvv. The way they all care for each other and show it by doing these little acts of service throughout the whole fic🥹. The way Damian put everything away when they fell asleep and did his best to be quiet so he won’t wake them up. And the way he closed the balcony door because of the Balcony Door Rule™ while also covering them up with a blanket😣. And the way he chose to stay on the couch with them and sleep there instead of going to sleep in his guest room🥲.
NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.
