Because holy cow guys, I needed some fluff, and anything with a plot is hurting my brain right now.

Damian BARRRAUGH! I love it. But I don't own it.

I guess this is after Damis death. . .? yep. Before he get brought back. There'll be more.

Damian had several expectations for death and/or his afterlife.

A burning, dark chasm for one. A golden kingdom for another. He'd constructed several theories on his particular fate, each loosely based on a certain religion's lore. One of them had to be onto something.

But this blank white landscape that nearly reminded him of a fresh canvas, met none of them.

He was rather disappointed. This seemed unnecessarily social, especially for life after death.

It wasn't empty (as his preferred heaven would be). There were people milling around, and they all looked vaguely familiar, but Damian felt uncomfortable around them, and he was certain that he knew no one here.

Until, that was, a warm and unforgettable laugh broke through the sound of polite conversation.

Grayson.

His head whipped around to face where it had come from. The laugh had been extremely comforting, and it sent a warmth through him, with the knowledge that somehow, he wasn't alone.

But that meant- oh. Grayson was. . . dead? He'd be with Damian, but he still felt an extra knot form in his stomach, as he realized that not only he was dead. Dick had died too. Gotham must be in Chaos. Shivers rippled through his body as he frantically scanned the thinning crowd.

There. A tall, muscular man with dark olive skin and pitch black hair eaned against one of the blindingly white pillars, conversing with a petite red headed woman.

Damian could only see the man's profile, but it was most certainly Dick's. Of course, his choice of companionship was evidence enough.

He dashed over to man, knowing an embrace and kind words would await him. "Grayson!" he called.

The man turned around, all of two feet from Damian, large brown eyes wide with concern- wait. Dick's eyes were a bright blue. The woman in front of him smiled warmly, sapphire eyes shining. The smile and the eyes, they were just like. . . Grayson's.

He took in the frontal view of the man. He certainly looked like Dick, enough to be a clone, he thought bitterly. Damian would bet that Grayson's clone would never kill him. The differences between the man and his brother were minute.

The man was a few shades darker, features slightly more angular, and he looked years older than Dick, maybe in his very late twenties or early thirties. But his eyes, wrong color as they were, held the same genuine care that he'd never seen prior to meeting Grayson. From the laugh and smile lines, Damian could tell he kept himself in good humor.

"Grayson?" Damian repeated uncertainly, even though he was already aware that this was not the Grayson he'd been referring to.

The man knelt in front of Damian, offering a familiar reassuring smile. "You must be Damian."

He inhaled sharply. Even the voice sounded the same, this man's was just of a lower timbre.

"We've heard so much about you," the woman said softly. "It's lovely to finally meet you." And Damian could tell she meant it sincerely, too, unlike the fakes at the galas his father threw.

"Who are you?" Damian asked plainly, even as more and more suspicions wormed their way into his mind.

"My name is John Grayson," the man smiled even wider, eyes crinkling at the corners in the exact same way that Dick's did. "And, if I'm not mistaken," the other Grayson began, almost . . . teasingly. "You know my son."

"You'd probably know me as Mary," the woman - her hair looked much less red up close, in fact closer to blonde - added.

Damian wanted to hate them. They were the image of kindness and perfection and happiness that his family had never been. Not to mention they had claim to Dick. Dick, who was theirs.

But he couldn't. They seemed entirely sincere, unlike the socialites who gathered at all of his father's parties.

"You are. . ." Damian paused. "Richard's parents."

"And you," John Grayson's dark eyes sparkled mischievously, "are 'Richard's' brother. He must love you a lot to let you call him that."

Damian felt his face flush at the comment, and he made an attempt to redirect the conversation to something. . . different. "I have heard much about you as well."

He wasn't sure how to address them. He already had a Grayson, any more would be needlessly confusing, and they hadn't warranted a title of disrespect. Yet.

"I could say the same to you, Damian," Mary said, features getting even more animated as she talked and gestured wildly. "Dick's told us everything! You're quite the character!"

As far as Damian knew, his elder brother possessed no such ability to communicate with the dead. His pulse raced as he realized that he counted among them now. "How?"

Her bright blue eyes dimmed a bit, and she gestured downwards, to the steep edge of the ground they stood on. "Take a look."

He was certain the drop hadn't been there before, he would have noticed it. But it was most certainly there now.

The view was as if he was looking down, almost from a bird's perspective, and Damian saw a monument inscribed for him. He could hear the low murmurs of people that visited it, but he was quite certain that wasn't where his body lay.

"It hasn't been that long! They couldn't possibly have put up a memorial already!"

"Time passes differently here, Damian," John told him, saying his name fondly. "It could have been weeks or months already."

Damian still didn't back away from the edge, staring down as his father dropped to his knees, clutching Damian's shredded uniform.

He felt a pressure on his shoulder. "Let's not spring it on you all at once, hmm?" John reasoned. "Think of us as your welcoming committee. We've got plenty to show you."

Slowly, Damian backed away from the ledge, back into the blank space him.

TBC. . .