I don't own anything Batman, just this story.

Please let me know what you think.

Enjoy.

Retirement.

The cops had arrived at the old hanger where Bunny Vreeland had been held captive. The young girl had been released and the escaped member of the gang was now being arrested. In a shadowy doorway leading into the hanger, clutching his chest as the last echoes of pure agony from the minor heart attack wore off, stood a tall, well-built man with a massive and imposing stature. He wore was black bodysuit with a grey utility belt circling his waist.

On his chest was a big red bat while the eyes in his mask were a glowing white that gave him almost a spectral image, while two bat ears rose above the cowl.

A thin trail of blood led from the mouthlike of the cowl, trickling down to the chin, but he paid it no mind as he leaned against the doorframe and tried to catch his breath.

Batman panted as he slipped off his cowl, revealing the aged features of Bruce Wayne, wincing with pain from the beating he had received - in the past, he had been able to shake off similar beatings and get back to work.

I was a young man then, he reminded himself as he panted harshly, his chest shaking from the minor heart attack he'd just suffered during the fight.

He lifted his hand when he realised his fingers were curled around a familiar object, and he hoped that he was wrong, that the last few minutes where he had desperately lifted that gun up off of the floor had been nothing more than a terrible dream. But as he lifted his hand and the light from the inside of the aircraft hanger caught the silvery finish of the gun, Bruce felt physically ill.

For years as Batman Bruce Wayne had refused to even contemplate picking up a gun to fire at his enemies even if the situations were sometimes so tempting because a gun had been responsible for the murder of his own parents, and he had never given in to that temptation. Instead, he had relied on the non-lethal weapons supplied to him by the resources of his family's business along with his own brute strength to make up for the lack of an easy alternative. Ever since he was eight, he had developed a very strong, very understandable loathing for guns and he had never once imagined a moment during his career as Batman that he would even contemplate using one.

But now… Bruce's hand shook with the disgust he felt at having to use it against that thug who'd been part of the gang who'd kidnapped Bunny Vreeland, breaking his vow completely. Bruce dropped the gun on the ground and walked away with his head bowed while he held onto his mask without putting it back on, though he instinctively stuck to the shadows; he was a long way from the GCPD cars who'd pulled up to deal with the gang and take Bunny home. Although he still had a reasonably good relationship with some members of the GCPD, with Jim now dead he had started distancing himself away from the GCPD so then they didn't get ideas.

And even if they did notice him, Bruce felt sure that he could at least get back to the Batmobile before they tried anything stupid.

Batman had returned to basics over the last few years, retiring more and more from the kind of life he'd once had, as a part-timer with the Justice League, but ever since that mess with the Joker where Tim had been taken and tortured, Bruce had realised he just wanted to be left alone and his relationship with Barbara had fizzled out.

Now he was alone.

Dick, Tim, Alfred, Andrea, Selina, Barbara, they had all left him at some point and now he was on his own, but the loss of Barbara and Alfred hurt the most though all of them did.

Bruce pushed those thoughts aside as he reached the Batmobile and he jumped into the car and drove away as quietly as he could and he decided to head straight back home.

But as he drove home, Bruce decided to make a sharp detour and he instead headed to the cemetery. After finding a private place to park the car, Bruce hesitantly reached for the Batman cowl and stared at it deeply for a moment.

His new Batsuit was relatively new, it had been designed to help Bruce handle the rigorous strains of crime-fighting and the technology which made it up were based mostly on the cybernetic systems used by Mr Freeze, whose armour tripled his strength, though it was more sophisticated than what Freeze had used. Bruce had begun using exoskeletons ever since his ageing body had begun to deteriorate, and the less said about the original prototype which had only made things worse than they needed to be, the better. But while there was a stark improvement to using it such as the lack of a cape to hold him back slightly - he knew now why Dick had never particularly liked capes, and the increased strength and the stronger body armour than the original tri-weave suit he'd originally worn had certainly given him a boost, it hadn't stopped him from suffering heart attacks.

Nor had it stopped him from picking up that gun.

Bruce finally slipped the mask on, though he didn't know why he was bothering since it was very unlikely someone would be there in the cemetery at his hour, though a part of him wished - dearly wished - that he would once more encounter Andrea Beaumont, talking to her mother's stone while laying down flowers, but he knew it wasn't likely. Andrea was long gone and Bruce had given up hope of finding her again even after finding that locket in the Batcave after that mess with the Phantasm and the Joker. Bruce had no idea if Andrea had married someone else, but he had long since stopped himself from trying to think about it - the thought was too depressing as it was.

After getting out of the Batmobile he slowly walked the familiar path towards the Wayne gravestone.

When he reached the familiar gravestone, clad in his new Batsuit, Bruce Wayne shivered from more than being simple cold. "I let you down, mum, dad," he whispered and when he started there was no stopping the flood, "I swore, long ago, I would never pick up a gun or use one in my Mission, but now I've betrayed you."

Betrayal. That sounded like just the right word in this context.

"I can no longer be Batman. I am getting too old, and I am suffering from heart attacks when I'm under extreme stress, and even if I did remain as Batman, how long will it be before I need to use a gun properly? Would it happen tomorrow, since it came so close tonight? Or would it be some time during the week? Tonight was bad enough, but the thought of using one….," Bruce paused and bowed his cowled head. "I can't go on. I hope you can forgive me."

He looked beseechingly up at the gravestone, not for the first time wishing there was some response from the couple who'd been buried here long ago, but there was nothing. Bruce closed his eyes sadly. For many years and instances during those years, he had been told that he was still under his parent's thumb, the implication being that he simply could not move on. Bruce knew they were right, but his vow had been all which had kept him going as a child.

But now he knew he couldn't remain as Batman.

Walking around the gravestone, he found himself looking at the familiar sight of the grave of Andrea's mother. It was bad enough Andrea had disappeared so mysteriously for ten years before he had gotten the full story of what Carl Beaumont had foolishly done with that branch of the mob, but it was incredibly painful for him to come to the cemetery, especially after meeting her again during that mess when she had donned a costume of her own and became the Phantasm which had caused more harm than good since everyone believed he, Batman, had been responsible for a string of murders of known mob bosses which meant the support net he'd come to rely on from the GCPD had been pulled away from him, and see the grave still there.

Over the course of the decade since her original disappearance, Bruce had come to the graveyard as frequently as he could - his role at Wayne Enterprises meant he found it sometimes hard to get away, never mind when he had become Batman, hopeful that one day he could catch Andrea once more laying flowers on her mothers grave, and get a straight answer beyond the mysterious and cryptic note she'd sent to him along with the engagement ring. But over the years that hope had died, and even after he'd seen her again he hadn't bothered trying to look.

As he thought there was no-one standing by the grave of Andrea's mother and was about to start speaking to the woman who had been buried long ago. And there were no flowers there, at least nothing that he could see.

With a long drawn out sigh of both age and loneliness, Bruce walked back to the car.

The drive back to the Batcave was uneventful, but since he had turned off the radio in the car which was tuned to the police bands so he wouldn't be tempted by any more calls to prevent the risk of him using a gun or suffering another heart attack after the pain of the last one, Bruce just wanted to get back home.

He wanted to return home, take off the Batsuit, close down the cave, and try to move on with his life after seeing that he couldn't be Batman anymore after he picked up that gun. When the Batmobile pulled into the cave, Bruce waited for the turntable to turn the car around, though truthfully he didn't know why since he wasn't going to be using the Batmobile again, but he suspected the routine feeling, the reassurance all was not all bad was the reason or something psychological like that.

Too bad it didn't work.

The moment he was out of the Batmobile, Bruce paused and looked around the cave, listening to the sound of the bats and then he walked to the computer station, thinking about all of those times he had updated, renovated, and used the computer to solve the cases before he cast his eyes on the museum section of the cave along with all the other features which had been inspired by the Grey Ghost series that he'd loved as a kid.

Bruce smiled as he remembered that adventure with Simon Trent, and he wondered briefly if Simon had felt this lost as though his life had been ripped out when the series had ended, but he pushed that aside as he looked around the trophy room, dominated by the mechanical, the massive coin which Two-Face had used to try to kill him and the bank had allowed to be taken as a souvenir… All surrounded by the weapons and other souvenirs taken from numerous enemies and adventures.

Bruce had never planned on having enemies like the Joker, Two-Face, or Killer Croc, and it reminded him of that mess when his enemies had taken hold of Arkham Asylum and put him on trial. That moment along with hundreds of others had made Bruce ask himself if his actions were responsible for the rise of those enemies.

Maybe Janet Van Dorn was right with both of her arguments, that Gotham hadn't even needed someone like Batman though she had changed her mind during the trial about him being the cause of those same supervillains appearing like a plague, because she realised that his influence was actually purely peripheral.

A few years later, when Barbara had been exposed to some of Scarecrow's fear toxin, she had told him and the others about a terrifying and unsettling fear she had that her father would go to war about Batman because she had died. Barbara had told him about how Jim had gone mad with anger and revenge, and had learnt the truth of Batman's identity and then laid siege to the Batcave after storming the manor, arresting Alfred and then Dick, and forcing Tim to go on the run before letting out Bane, of all people, to bring the Batman down.

Bruce had asked Barbara a few more questions in order to get an idea what else had happened in this nightmare, and she had told him that Bane betrayed her father, who had wanted to send him to Arkham to reside with the countless monsters Batman had created.

Bruce had often wondered if a part of Jim, his friend, resented him for causing so much damage, but Bruce had never intended for super villains to appear in the first place.

He had wanted to just deal with ordinary criminals, not deal with homicidal clowns like the Joker, or eco-terrorists like Ra's Al Ghul and Poison Ivy, or even deal with friends who became monsters like Harvey Dent did when he became Two-Face. Thinking about Harvey made Bruce look down at the ground with sorrow. He had never accepted the fact he had failed there.

When he looked back up and walked through the museum, taking in the souvenirs he'd taken during his long career, Bruce paused as he came across an old Thanagarian mace. Seeing that weapon made him remember that mess when the Thanagarians, Hawkgirl's own people, had occupied the planet and planned to destroy it. While it was certainly a Machiavellian move, one Bruce could understand since he had often used the ideals of the ends justifying the means, he didn't like the thought of an advanced species destroying a less advanced species simply because they couldn't find a better solution.

Seeing the mace reminded him of the Justice League, which was rather the point. Like everything else after that final mess with the Joker, Bruce had slowly but surely departed from the League because the Joker's actions had hit him hard especially after what had been done to Tim.

Bruce sighed and walked back to the costume cases, his eyes picking them out one by one. Thinking about the Joker and what he had done to Tim made him think about what Joker had said about him being a little boy in a playsuit crying for mommy and daddy had seared him all the way through.

Bruce had often heard himself being called a freak and a weirdo because he dressed as a bat in order to fight crime, and after that night he had changed his image again to make the Batman suit's design to be more practical which meant no more capes.

Bruce pushed those thoughts aside as he went into the changing room and slowly took off the suit, unable to believe that this was the last time he would be taking off this suit for the last time. During his career, Bruce had never allowed himself to think about his future as Batman because the possibilities were too numerous and too depressing.

On one hand, someone might discover his identity and overpower him and shove him into a straitjacket for being crazy. On another, he might be killed by someone who got lucky enough to get a lucky shot in, though it had occurred to him once upon a time he might be forced into retirement.

When he was back in his own clothes Bruce slowly put the new suit in the case, numb that a good part of his life, the role he had dedicated himself to for so long was over.

Finally, Bruce slipped the cowl into the case and turned around and walked slowly up the stairs that would take him back to the manor. Pausing on the threshold he turned to take one last look around the cave, the memory of the gun tonight making him say the words although a part of him just wanted to forget the shameful event and keep going.

But he could not.

It was time to end this.

"Never again!" he vowed before turning off the lights in the cave, putting closure on a part of his life that had been there since he was eight years old.

One by one, the lights turned off, swallowing up the cave in pure darkness.

Batman was no more.