Original Idea: Sorta AU? What if Bruce didn't come back to his original time when he returned? What if he came home 60 years later? And what if all of his adventures in the past ended with WWII, something that disguised their epic battle with Darkside? Puts Bruce in our time without his Robins and a lot of things have changed. It'll be interesting to see him adapt, come back as Batman, and deal with the boys' descendants who actually care. Three or more OCs fill in the void. Just a fun idea to reboot the 52 with a more logical look. *evil laugh* Mostly me messing with everything and being overly dramatic.

Further Down the Line

Not Forgotten

1

Sixty years.

Bruce could hardly believe it. He was gone sixty years. Sixty years! The world had changed so much, and yet at the heart of it all, everything was the same.

For the dark knight, only one year had transpired. He jumped through centuries uncontrollably, participating in minor events that meant a great deal in the world's history, particularly Gotham's. He messed with a god's plans, won against metaphysical problems, and had paid the price dearly.

Looking over the graves in the cemetery, the time he lost in his journeys was very apparent. For him only a year had past. He wished beyond wish that he could go back fifty-nine years just to return to where he belonged. But those who helped him return couldn't manage it until just then, and they couldn't go back through their own time stream. Rip a hole in reality. Not even their tech could go down that road.

He just had to stay in a time far beyond his own. Sixty years beyond. And the price of time was before him.

The Wayne family cemetery was constantly filling up, and the names were becoming more recognizable by the moment. Martha and Thomas Wayne. John and Mary Grayson. Willis and Catherine Todd, Sheila Haywood. Jack and Janet Drake. Jason Todd. Alfred Pennyworth. Tim Drake-Wayne. James Gordon Sr.. Richard Grayson-Wayne. Damian Wayne. Barbara Gordon.

All dead. Most before their time.

"Tell me how it happened."

The aging Superman behind him sighed heavily, not wanting to remember it all again himself. But Bruce deserved answers. So he started with the first one after his apparent demise. "Tim… he was trying to catch an assassin aiming for the others. The burning building collapsed on him. The assassin died too, but Tim was always pretty small compared to the others. We didn't have the technology to correctly identify him back then. Told the world he died when the yacht blew up.

"Alfred died of old age really. The stress of the war, your apparent death, Tim's actual death, and Dick trying to reform Damian, we think it got to him. Heart attack in his sleep.

"Jim Gordon was caught in the crossfire between the Falcones and Marronis one night. They didn't have enough supplies to keep him alive through surgery. He was about to retire the following week, and stay that way.

"Damian," his voice wavered, "was assassinated by his ex-wife, we think. He put her in Arkham when their son was eleven and a couple weeks after he was shot through the head by a sniper at Wayne Tech. Still haven't found the sniper.

"Barbara died of a drug overdose, or so we believe. The autopsy was inconclusive. The sixties were pretty hard on all of us. Someone slipped her too powerful pain medication when she was going through a new therapy for her legs. The clinic was shut down shortly after."

Bruce turned his head slightly at the pause. That didn't explain two of his boys, or what happened to others he cared for, those who had no graves here. "What about Dick? Jason? Cassandra? Stephanie?"

The man of old steel raised a hand to silence him temporarily. "We don't know everything Bruce. We barely managed to get you back at all."

He looked away for a moment before looking at Dick's grave site. "We don't know what happened to most of them. Jason, we're pretty sure, just left Gotham one day and disappeared of his own accord. No one's seen Red Hood in over forty years.

"Cassandra disappeared shortly after you did. Tim said he was keeping track of her back in the day, but…" He fell silent once more. Their main source of information on her was long gone.

"Stephanie took over being Batgirl for quite a few years. Then I think she became Batwoman before disappearing herself, but not completely. She got married and settled down outside of Gotham. Couple kids. They had kids. I think even they have kids, not sure. Devon told me she died four years ago, old age.

"Most of the Birds of Prey either retired or fell in the line of duty. Everything seemed to fall apart after…." It was hard looking at that grave now.

But Bruce persisted. "Clark, what happened to Dick?"

The alien's eyes shifted uncomfortably. "No one knows. One day he was patrolling the east side of Gotham as Batman and then never returned. No one knows what happened to his girlfriend back then either. Damian was full grown then and took the mantle, but he couldn't bring people together the same way Dick did. Your eldest just… vanished. No warning, no explanation. Everyone's looked for him. The Green Lanterns have his face on their watch list but…"

He didn't want to say it. But it had to be said. "Bruce, even if they found him now, he'd be nearly ninety. Most people who lived during the war haven't lived that long. We've told the lanterns to stop looking for a living person now and start looking for a body we can bury."

Bruce's emotionless face trembled for a moment before looking back to the graves. His eyes locked onto one in particular. His own. Declared dead seven years after his disappearance. In 1949 rather than 42.

All those he cared about most fell within thirty years of his disappearance. Batman and his family were nothing more than rumors and myths made after the First World War, covering the depression, and helping end the second one. This was the cost of him killing a god. To lose all that time. To lose all of them. For them to lose him.

Inside he became hollow, an emptiness he couldn't compare to. Losing his parents, losing Jason, neither of these instances combined compared to what he felt now. There was nothing left for him. Nothing. Only a handful of people he knew were alive, and they were ailing because of age. None of his family was left.

He fell to his knees helplessly, just staring at the rows of graves. He couldn't stop the tears from forming in his eyes, dripping down his face almost like waterfalls. The heart wrenching pain within him couldn't be expressed in any other way. Listlessly he just stared at the headstones, thinking of all those he loved and lost because of his endless fight. He had realized in his time traveling he didn't have to fight alone. He never was really alone at all. Not until now.

Time slipped past him as he sat there, motionless at the gravesites. Superman kept watch over him, sorrowing in his own way. Hours seemed to pass in minutes, the night turning into day before he spoke again. "Do you want to come back to the League with me?"

The youthful knight closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself before shaking his head. "I can't. Kent I just can't."

"You need time, I know that," he whispered, his voice telling him plainly that he did understand. Lois had died in Bruce's absence as well. Lois, his parents, Jimmy, Perry, Lana, Pete… "But Wayne Manor isn't yours anymore. Bruce Wayne is dead. Been dead for over fifty years. You can't come back from the dead now, and your great grandkids aren't about to claim an unknown 'uncle' all the sudden. They don't even believe in Batman anymore. There hasn't been a Batman since Damian."

"I know that." Bruce did know that. Dick would have kept fresh flowers on his parents' graves, along with everyone else's. If he raised Damian, he too would have continued the tradition. Jason may have even visited once in a while to help. But these graves were bare of everything but grass. No one but the caretaker had visited them in years. There was some damage on his parents' headstone in particular. A Batman in that era would have to pay respects to his predecessors and motivators at the least.

"But I can't go back with you."

"Why?" The softness in the Leaguer's voice only reminded the knight how much older he was now. "Why can't you come back? There isn't a place for you here anymore."

"There isn't a place there either." He closed his eyes and tried to breathe. It wasn't easy. All his reasons for living were underground now.

"But—"

"Times change Kent," he murmured lowly, convincing himself at the same time. "Can't stop that. Things move forward whether we like it or not. I can't go back to the League. Not yet.

"I have to find my way again on my own." Completely on his own.

Pain and worry filled his friend's face. "Bruce…"

"Just tell me," he looked over his shoulder to his friend beside him, "what did you do when Lois died? How did you keep on living after that?"

Desperation filled the man's voice, making Superman's chest fill with pain. Thinking of Lois, then how much this man had suffered and lost, nothing would ever make it easier. He only had one answer.

"One day at a time."

He slipped his hand into a hidden pocket and took out a JLU communicator, passing it to his friend. "When you're ready to talk, just press the center. I'll be there in a heartbeat."

Bruce nodded, though no energy was in it. His eyes were more lost than he had ever seen them. He took the small Star Trek like com and put it in his coat pocket, not arguing like he used to. "Still saving the world."

"Kryptonians seem to age slower than humans," his friend murmured. Bruce looked back to the graves, still not ready to leave them. The alien sighed heavily, knowing the man wouldn't have left them in the first place if he had a choice. His hand returned to the hidden pockets and he took out a credit card and some cash. "Here. Use this until you can get back on your feet. Clark Kent had to die of old age about ten years ago, but his beneficiary still has some money left over."

"So now you're paying for me."

"Yeah," Superman agreed in bitter amusement. "I guess I am."

He left the items on the ground next to Bruce before floating up for take off. The world didn't know Superman still lived. Half of them believed he wasn't real anymore. He was determined to keep it that way. "I'll be around."

No response this time. The once millionaire hadn't moved an inch towards the money. Internally the alien cringed. "Take care of yourself Bruce. It's what all of them would have wanted."

"I know," was barely whispered when the hero was barely within hearing range. Tears reappeared on the lost man's face as he remembered each of these people's smiling faces. Faces he'd never see again. "Believe me, I know."

2

He had no where else to go. The manor was clearly off limits and the guest house would also be suspicious. Old hideouts were likely found in these sixty years, so they were off limits as well. There was only one place left for him right then.

The cave underneath his family home.

Bruce lit a lamp off to the side of the cave entrance leading from the graveyard. He stayed there the better part of the day and would have probably wasted away there if the grounds keeper hadn't shooed him away. Part of him was grateful to the man while the rest wanted to strangle him. He made him move again, move forward. Move on.

He didn't really want to of course, but he had no choice. Bruce wouldn't do any good if all he did was brood in front of his family's graves. They wouldn't want it that way either. His mind drifted for a moment to when he comforted Tim after his father died. He took him to an island celebrating the Day of the Dead. The young man was devastated and couldn't understand why others could act so happy when someone they loved was taken from them like that. The only answer Bruce could really give him was to live in a way that the dead would be proud of him. To keep busy.

Now he needed to follow his own advice. Bruce had to keep busy. And the best way for him to do that was to learn what the world had turned into. Then he would know if there was a place for him still in it.

Slowly he drifted through the dark caves, wondering if his boys had updated it to the times until each of their deaths and/or disappearances. The ventilation system they developed to remove the methane gas from the bat guano was still working. Crude probably, but working none the less. He could survive down there safely.

As he worked his way down the damp walkways, he looked around best he could. Wiring was attached to the walls, indicating updated electricity. Probably from the sixties or seventies. The flooring was still smooth, though sticky at the moment. He came in near the trophy displays, and saw many additions since his time there. His first and favorite ones were still in their places thankfully, making him feel a little comfort. Each of the boys had delighted in playing with them. But it was the rows of display cases that really attracted his attention, calling him over to look.

Bruce stopped before the first one then jerked his head around to see briefly what was in store for him. In each case was a costume. Their costumes. Pain consumed him once again, but he chose to bury it a moment longer so he could get an idea what his family had become before their deaths.

The first case he saw had his old uniform, sharp ears and all. He smirked at the ridiculous design back then, wondering idly where his other suits now were.

Next to it was a bluer updated version of it with the label 'Dick Grayson – The Second Batman' on the outside. His hand lingered on the glass for a moment, imagining how his eldest had looked in the costume. Honestly he was initially surprised the boy actually took the mantle. Dick stopped wanting to be Batman when he was a teenager. He only wished he was there to see it.

Bruce forced himself away to see the next one, a Batman suit sporting a trench coat instead of a cape. 'Damian Wayne – The Third Batman' was written above it. For a moment he thought of the boy he barely knew, the one he actually sired. What kind of Batman had he become? What kind of man was he? He shook his head painfully. He never really got to know his son. Never had a chance to raise him. Yet he took on the mantle, turned against his mother. He must have been an amazing child.

Reluctantly he moved on to the next case, featuring Nightwing. He smirked slightly, thinking of how he said in his will for Dick to not become Batman, that Nightwing and the others were enough. Apparently it wasn't. Only something extreme would make him put on the uniform, and usually only at Bruce's request. Back then Batman must have been sorely needed.

Again it was hard to pull away. So many memories, so many thoughts. His next pull became a stab as he saw Jason's Robin uniform. It was exactly as he left it. On the glass was a note in Dick's handwriting.

In honor of what he was and what he could have been.

And what he still is deep inside.

Bruce gave a small smile at the note. Trust in Dick to see the good in people, regardless of actions. Jason may have returned from the dead, but he never really returned to them. It was the hardest series of events they ever had to face. He only wondered how things went with him after his death.

He turned to the next one over, featuring the original Batgirl uniform. On it was simply 'Barbara's'. She always did want to keep herself separate from the others in one way or another. Like Jason's old clothes, hers were in the same condition as when he personally put them away.

Next to hers was a female Robin's uniform. 'Stephanie's' was written clear across the outside. 'Fatgirl' was an added note in unfamiliar handwriting. Must have been Damian's. Sounded rude enough. For a moment he thought of her time as Robin and again regretted it. He never really did give her a chance to prove herself. And from what Clark had said, she stayed in the game the longest after his 'death'. A real soldier.

He pulled away once more and stopped in front of a nearly all black Batgirl costume. 'Cassandra's' was above this one. Bruce's hand lingered on the one daughter he really had. He was hesitant for the longest time to officially bring her into the family, but she proved her worth and loyalty more than most. He should have been with her more, helped her more. Tim was there for her more than he was. Tim and Barbara. And yet her undying loyalty was probably why she left this uniform behind. She did exactly as he instructed her in his will. He had an idea where to start looking for her, if she was still alive.

Bruce rested his head for a moment against the glass before moving on to the next heartbreaking sight. An unknown uniform to him rested there, but the name above it was one he'd never forget. 'Red Robin – Tim Drake'.

"Red Robin is it?" He murmured quietly to himself. "Had to make your own name after Damian took your role?"

Bruce shook his head and thought about what the kid had gone through, and how he died. According to Clark, Tim had opened up the theory of him being lost in time when everyone else believed he was dead. It wasn't until after these black lantern rings came to Earth and started some kind of zombie apocalypse did anyone start believing him. Tim had searched endlessly for proof, finding little and only making enemies along the way. Bruce would have to look up the case files to get the details later, if there were any remaining. But it was the kid's journey to find him that led to his demise.

"Of course you would look for me," he continued after a moment. "Dick had Gotham and Damian to keep him busy. You lost everything. Everything."

Tears threatened to come out again, bringing on more exhaustion than he was ready for. Now he was the one who lost everything. If only they could return him to his original time! But they couldn't. He couldn't go back to the forties. It was the new millennium and he had to accept that.

With a great deal of effort, he pushed away from the very different uniform to the Robin one Tim also wore. Back when he had everything. Family, friends, love, a purpose. It was so very different when he started out than when he…

Quickly this time Bruce moved on. He stopped in front of the last Robin suit, marveling at the differences between it and the one Dick and Jason wore. This one was Damian's. Even had brass knuckles in the gloves. Slowly he shook his head, guessing Dick had his hands full raising his boy.

Finally at the end of the row he saw his last Batman suit again. The kind he wore the day he 'died'. Back then it was the peak of human ingenuity for self defense and preservation. Now, it was probably just a costume piece. Yet this one was in the best case money could have at the time. There even appeared to be lighting set up within the glass, quite the novelty in his time. A plaque laid at the base.

To fight against crime and corruption

and never swerve from the path of justice

A sad smile peaked out of the man's worn face. The oath. The oath he had every one of his protégés, his partners, his family, make when they started fighting at his side. Dick never forgot it. It was what he lived by. And he made sure the rest of the crime fighting community did as well.

Sitting at Batman's feet, it was clear he wanted future generations to know what Batman stood for. What he always believed in. Yet it only seemed to survive for three generations. Bruce's initial belief was right it seemed. When he died, so did Batman.

He looked back to all the uniforms, lined up neatly and preserved for future generations. No one had seen them in years. Near forty or so if Damian's headstone was any indication. His son wanted no part in this.

Bruce found his way to the prototype computer he barely installed before the war and near flopped into the chair there, sending dust in all directions. He coughed a little then just relaxed into it, thinking things over while still trying to suppress the overwhelming emotions within him.

According to Clark, Damian had married and had a single son around the time of Dick's disappearance. His son also married and had a boy. That one followed the pattern too, and his only child was in high school. It was hard for Bruce to believe once that he had a literal son, now to know he wasn't just a grandfather, but a great grandfather and a great great grandfather was near impossible! The math didn't quite add up in his head, especially since Bruce himself was still in his early forties. The Wayne name hadn't died though his legend seemed to.

He still had some family out there, though very estranged now. It wasn't much, but it was something to latch on to. Maybe after he managed to push past his overwhelming emotions again he would look up his descendants and see how they were doing. Maybe he'd spend the rest of his days making sure they were alright, while going over every clue possible to find out what happened to his missing family members. It was something. If he couldn't have his old life back, he'd have something to protect.

But right then… He cast a weary look back to the display cases, showing him once again everyone he was missing. Everyone who's lives had past without him. Heart wrenching pain filled him again, harrowing what little support he had away from him. Tears ran freely as he buried his head in his hands. The same thoughts kept filling his head as he remembered each person's face, every one of their voices.

'I'm sorry. I didn't come back when I should have. I'm sorry. God I am so sorry.'

Only the bats could hear his cries, and even they were silent for his sake. For he was a man outside of time, broken not from his travels, but by returning home.

3

He gave himself only a month to mourn. Any longer and he probably would have died. Bruce ventured out of the cave only a few times during that month, mostly to buy supplies or visit their graves. His shopping mostly consisted of minimal food, clothes, and cleaning supplies. The cave needed a good scrubbing and it gave him time to remember his time there and see what his family had done before their ends.

Scrubbing down nearly every area of the cave with only the bats and rats for company helped numb his thoughts and keep his hands busy. Every night he slept in the old infirmary, or whenever he ventured actually going to bed instead of collapsing on the floor. Exhaustion made mourning less daunting, and helped him ever so slightly to move forward. He needed his mind to stop going over everything when he cleaned the display cases.

Throughout that month, Bruce said little and learned little. The communicator was left forgotten on the computer, ignored for the most part. Strange little device that one. He had much to catch up on if he was to be useful anywhere. But right then all he could focus on was what he lost and what he could clean.

When the month ended, so did the scrubbing. All the displays, work areas and equipment were free of dust and grime, perfectly clean to the touch. He had decided to wait until he could update the technology to even attempt repairs on the machinery. The whole time he worked by lamplight, making it difficult to be certain if everything was perfectly clean. Seeing most of the cave still wrapped in darkness was fine by him. The dark was soothing and kept things he didn't want to be reminded of at bay.

The following months started his education anew. First thing he needed to know was what his boys had done since his 'death'. Idly Bruce had wondered if the computer was used to keep personal records like they hoped it eventually would before he retreated to the file room and immersed himself in old case files, none of them he wrote.

As he persisted to read each case, each record of their actions, Bruce fought back tears and bitter smiles. He heard Dick and Tim's voices in every one of them. He could almost imagine they were in the room with him as he read their handwriting. As always, Dick's reports were entertaining, filled with commentary and anecdotes to make it more interesting. Tim's were all about the facts, with the occasional bit of irony and sarcasm. Dick's displayed concern for others in their family, mentioning more than once that Damian and Tim wouldn't get along unless their lives, or his, depended on it. Tim's displayed his misery with how things had gone over the years, how tired he was starting to feel.

Dick's report on Tim's death brought a change in the man's future writings. It was covered in scribbles, tears and wrinkles. The hardest piece for the man to write. Barbara had to finish it. Bruce could barely make himself read it. He set it aside to look at a later date, when he thought he could handle it better.

After that point, he started seeing Damian's writing. Dick still did his reports dutifully, but he gave the new Robin, the last Robin, a chance to improve. Bruce struggled to hear his son's voice in his mind as he read it, but could only hear his own. He didn't know the boy well enough.

His reports were a snarkier version of Tim's to tell the truth. Facts filled with gruesome commentary. Damian didn't walk around how someone died or how badly someone was injured. The kid didn't seem to care about bystanders or his enemies when he started, but slowly it changed. The reports stopped being snide entirely after Dick's disappearance. Damian seemed truly crushed by it. He persisted in finishing the report to the best of his abilities, but Bruce knew the last few paragraphs were written by someone else. Maybe Damian's mysterious wife.

This report as well was set aside, on top of Tim's death and Dick's statement about Jason just leaving. The rogue bird had said goodbye to his older brother, and good luck. Dick had decided to keep it quiet since Jason was just choosing to move on. He was probably the only one who completely had.

The reports following were purely facts in the end, only to be used later should he need the information. Damian wasn't as great a detective as his predecessors Bruce learned quickly. Keeping the company running was mostly his wife's job at that. From the stray comments the man found in these, this wife was strictly for breeding and convenience to Damian. She must have felt overworked and underappreciated. No wonder she went crazy in the end. Their son, Thomas, must have had it rough.

It took weeks for Bruce to close the last file his boys wrote, finding particular cases of interest and setting them aside. He had an idea of how they changed after his death, and the deaths of others.

Dick was still how he remembered him, and responded the way he predicted, trying to hold everything together. Still overly happy and determined to do what's right. Even Tim's death didn't stop him from doing his best and being the greatest non-powered hero the world had known. Bruce couldn't help but to be proud of him.

Tim had fallen into a depression and an obsession. If he didn't have his search for Bruce to hang on to, he would have been locked away in Arkham or somewhere similar in a few more years. Apparently Tamara Fox, Lucius' girl, and Stephanie had both tried to lift his spirits for a while, and with Dick's never ending help he was slowly becoming who he once was. Had he lived past the mess his search had created with Ra's, he would have become a man more than worthy to take up the batmantle next.

Jason, from the reports, had become violent and confused for a long time before eventually coming to some epiphany. He had no reason in the end to keep fighting his family and decided to move on after Bruce's 'death'. He even had a begrudging respect for the next dynamic duo. Helped he too had a young partner for a time and now understood what Bruce had gone through with him. Leaving Gotham seemed like the best course of action for the man, giving him a chance to really start a new life once again. The old Jason and the new one seemed to have a meeting of the minds, and made a choice to change. To that, Bruce was pleased.

Damian though… Recalling his few hours he had with his son and what he learned from these reports, Bruce could only be resigned. Dick's reports told him of the struggle he had to change from an assassin to a Robin. Slowly the kid learned to follow orders and to become more humane. By the time Dick disappeared, Damian didn't kill anymore, even by accident. He could be civil with people. He even regretted trying to kill Tim so much. But he was still cold and hard to deal with. Seemed like how Bruce once was in some ways, but where he learned to thaw out into spring, Damian was in constant permafrost, never completely changing. His relationship with his wife was merely an arrangement to ensure Wayne never was short of heirs. The child he once met couldn't love, not the way most people did.

It worried Bruce to think the only one who bore his blood was the only one he couldn't be proud of in the end. Maybe if he had returned to his time instead of far past it, things would have been different. Very different. Batman would have prevented Tim's death. Dick would have been found within a year. Damian might have had a fuller life, a real life. The only one of his boys who benefited from his 'death' really, was Jason. Everyone else suffered, some became stronger while others fell further

And That's where I stopped

Maybe that's what I should have titled this series of shorts...

Anyway, this one... Well... it was more like a book series than a single fic. Basically when Bruce pulls a Captain America on us (you know they defrost him every time they want to reboot his story) and subtly comes back into the world as Batman. He takes the name... Calvin Drapper I believe. Anyway, he turns himself into a history prof at the local university and meets his kids descendants. Tim actually faked his death and had a real life on the other side of the country. Jason settles down in Gotham and takes care of Dick's offspring. Dick "disappears" (whole epic story involving that later). And the girls establish a new order on their own (the Birds of Prey still exist). Oh and Damian eventually took over as Batman, but was such a jerk that he and his descendants keep getting assassinated. The last Wayne, Grayson/Todd (they intermarried eventually), and Drake, find their way to him and somewhat start a new batfam. There's so many details, I'd have to tell them to the person who wants to continue this idea.

Funny, I thought I stopped this one after chapter 1. wow... Anyway, this one is a huge duzy of a story. The OCs are major characters and I have one of them on my DA page. Up for grabs! Whoever wants it though better be ready to go all out on it.