AUTHOR'S NOTE: I honestly don't know where I am going with this, but I read this fic called 'Never the End' on this site on the BMWW shipfic collections and it inspired me to do this and my brain turned this out to be a multiparter and I hate myself for it but... you know. You can't let a plot escape. So, here is yet another story by me.

Every night and every morn,
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night,
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to...

— — —

Death was a virtual certainty.

Bruce Wayne had always known that. He had been taught of the cold suddenness with which death could crash into lives when he was very young. When, in front of his eyes, he had watched his mother and father killed.

He had been aware that he may die in his endeavors when he had first taken up the mantle of the Bat, despite Alfred's various protests.

Throughout his years as the silent protector of the night, as Batman, Bruce had felt death looming behind him. Hovering right behind the span of his night-black capes, always reaching… always waiting for that one mistake that would cause the Batman to go down.

But against all odds, Batman had lived this long.

His sons had grown old, had their lives. Dick Grayson, who had once taken the mantle himself, was now dead, leaving behind his legacy at the hands of his daughter. Tim Drake had gone, too, died protecting his children. Jason Todd… he had gone away, never returned. Damian Wayne, Bruce's only biological son, had had his time as the Batman of Gotham City and then gone missing. Alfred had died years earlier, leaving in peace after a life of serving Bruce, as a father figure and a mentor.

His other son, Terry McGinnis, had started a family of his own with his wife – something that Bruce never managed to do and was balancing a life as the new Batman and a father and a husband, and had seen Gotham City through some of the toughest times – in between all that, Terry rarely had time for Bruce.

Most of Bruce's family was gone. One way or another. Either dead, or lost, or missing, or simply grown apart.

He had a very long and colorful life, and by default, he had had some great loves. But even they weren't around anymore. Talia al Ghul, the daughter of the demon and the mother of his son, killed by Ra's' foolhardiness. Silver St Cloud, his first true love, killed right in front of his eyes by a man he had seen fit to trust. Andrea Beaumont, another woman he had given his heart to, turned out to be a misguided supervillain. Selina Kyle, the master thief and the woman he had married, had also died, years ago. The one other woman he had loved… It mattered not.

Bruce was just an old man now, with no one at his side.

His colleagues and friends, members of the Justice League… most of them were humans, too. Barry Allen, disappeared into the Speed Force in a fight against the Black Racer. Oliver Queen, tortured and killed by the worst of his enemies. Hal Jordan and John Stewart, the two Green Lanterns, lost in space in an intergalactic war. The only two left now were Clark Kent, who last was seen somewhere in the remote reaches of Japan and Diana Prince, Bruce didn't know where she was, but he did hear from her once in a while.

The alien Son of Krypton and immortal Princess of Themyscira were the only friends of Bruce who remained undying and youthful.

But he, a mere mortal amongst gods, had managed not to die, not until now.

Not for a lack of trying, Alfred had said once.

But now, he was. Of all the things that might have gotten to him, the Joker, bombs, fires, explosions, the crash of the Watchtower, alien invasions, Vandal Savage, Lex Luthor, infections, mind control, Ra's al Ghul… out of everything, in the end, Bruce was now dying of – he could almost laugh if every muscle in his frail body didn't hurt so much – old age.

The last few weeks, Bruce had been skirting in and out of consciousness. Every facility of his was working at peak to keep him aware, grounded. Not that it did much, he couldn't see much and he couldn't hear well. He didn't know why he was clinging on to life. No one had come to visit him. No one would. No one knew where he was… Unwilling to be a burden to anyone, he had removed himself from civilization. Hidden himself well. Away from Gotham City, Metropolis, Coast City, Central City… away from the places that held meaning to him.

Now he was dying as he had truly lived.

Alone.

— — —

The last thing Bruce heard before his consciousness slipped away for the final time was a woman's voice, accompanying the rapid beeps of the heart rate monitor attached to him. The same woman's warm voice whom he had heard and the comforting presence he had felt over the last few days, or was it weeks?

Bruce believed it was his mother. Come to accompany her son in his last moments.

I am not scared, mother, he wanted to tell her.

I am not the little boy you left behind, he'd wanted to say.

But he couldn't. Speaking hurt. When he had tried, the woman would simply hold his hands and whisper to him. Or she would sing, but Bruce never knew what she was singing. He didn't understand the words, or maybe he did… but it wasn't the lullabies or the songs that his mother had sung to him as a child. It was different. Ancient.

And now, as he slipped away for the last time, content, unafraid and willing, he heard the same song. He heard her voice. He felt her presence. And then, nothing.

— — —

Bruce had never been a believer.

He met some gods and fought some gods… and taken down some gods, but he didn't believe in that one ultimate power that presided over all and everything in creation. He didn't believe in a supreme being.

So he had never known what to expect in dying.

Now, he knew. The first thing it felt like was waking up after having fallen asleep following a long and tiring mission and having overslept. His body felt rusty, stiff. His mind felt like it was doused in slime and covered in strings. His head hurt, and he was painfully aware of every single thing that was going on in his body.

His muscles ached, but not the kind of ache he felt after being beat and bruised. No, this felt like the kind of ache that accompanied a very strong massage that was taking care of knotted muscles. He was covered in a warm liquid that he felt inside him, lining his lungs, but he didn't have trouble breathing. It went on that way for a long while and little by little, he felt his strength return. He felt his entire body tighten and his bones reset and regrow and repair themselves. His heart beat strong in his chest.

Somewhere in the distance, through a murky haze, the woman's voice was speaking to him.

Come, it said.

Was it a sob he heard? Was she–Why was she crying?

And then his pain stopped. A chill took over him, helped along by a soft breeze but directly overhead, Bruce could feel the beating warmth of the sun. He was naked and shivering and when he tried to move, he could, very easily. Blinking, splashing the surface of the pool he seemed to be on Bruce stood up.

The woman was still crying somewhere behind him.

He turned and saw…

"Diana?"

The Amazon nodded through her tears. She was the one crying and Bruce had rarely seen her cry, throughout all their time together in the Justice League. Why is she crying? What had he done to hurt her? He wanted to ask, but before he could say anything, she ran towards him. Jumped into the pool with all the grace of an Amazonian warrior and crashed hard into him and then, she hugged him. Held on tight, feeling him, whispering to herself.

He did the only thing he could do.

He hugged her back.

What was going on?

Diana had buried her face in the crook of his neck, and didn't seem willing to let go. So he ran his hand over her back, trying to console her as he examined his surroundings. His own hands drew his attention first. They were strong, smooth, new… young. Something is wrong. He looked down at the sparkling, boiling, frothing waters of the pool. He looked around him for the first time. Endless piles of rubble and debris, large chunks of earth and stone, he was standing in the ruins of someplace ancient. The last remnants of…

Bruce stiffened at the realization.

Diana seemed to feel it. Slowly, she unclasped her hands and stood back. Tears streaked her face, and Bruce still didn't understand why she was upset but he understood something else. And the something else took priority now.

When he spoke, his voice wasn't his own. It carried a venom he never knew he could display towards the beautiful woman standing in front of him. "What have you done?"

— — —

...endless night.

A/N 2: As always, tell me what you think. Should I continue this? Or not? Am I stealing someone else's idea? Is that a bad thing? Anyway, hope you enjoy this. And follow me on Tumblr at quivorian (same name, peeps) where I'm recently not very active, but it's cool. I'll be.