Hello and welcome to the fic that sat unfinished in my documents folder for months because writing it made me want to cry.
The premise of this thing here goes off the notion that Bruce ages much slower than a regular human cause of the Hulk and everything, which I'm sure has been disputed in the past for whatever reasons but let's go with it for the sake of some nice, heart-crushing angst. So that being said, I hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!
From the beginning, Bruce knew. At least, he knew that life after the accident was going to be anything but easy, and that the suffering he'd endured in his younger years was only going to escalate. And as much as he tried to avoid it and reverse the consequences, he knew he was going to end up with blood on his hands, blood of the innocent, the ones he loved, and maybe even some of his own.
But fortunately (if you could even call it that), Bruce wasn't terribly young. There was a limited number of years he had left, and that dwindling number was what he counted on, knowing that with each birthday he was one year closer to the end, and if he kept on living he way he did, that number might even cut itself in half.
Except that it didn't, and rather than cutting down, that number only doubled. It doubled his time on this planet, the number of lives he took and people he lost. It only escalated his self-loathing to a point he'd never expected any human being to be able to achieve. What happened between he and Betty was already reason enough for him to swear off any kind of closeness with another, and if anything, realizing that he would easily outlive anybody he dared become close with only deterred him even more from the sentiment.
But then Tony Stark came barreling into his life when it all seemed like a hurricane, raising the winds and overturning everything Bruce thought he knew. Tony treated him like a person, recognized him as somebody who was worthwhile and anything but meaningless; something that Bruce hadn't had in ages, something he'd sworn off and vowed to never become involved with again if he could avoid it. He'd tried to avoid it, god had he tried, knowing that what he thought they might have was probably much beyond his reach and that it would certainly meet an unfortunate end at some point – but then he'd let his mind slip and before he could catch his fall, he was undoubtedly, irrevocably in love with Tony Stark, and Tony even loved him, too.
And that absolutely destroyed him.
Being in love was one of the most undeniably amazing and tormenting things Bruce had ever experienced. Having somebody willingly touch him and kiss him and sleep beside him every night pulsed pure elation through his veins, and at times it seemed like it was only the two of them caught up in the moment, and that time was virtually meaningless. Time, however, had quickly become one of Bruce's most haunting nightmares, knowing that with each passing day, Tony was creeping closer to his end, and Bruce… well, wasn't.
. . . . .
They'd talked about it once, years before Tony had even begun to express any worry about his mortality, and much longer before he even needed to. It was something that nagged endlessly at Bruce's mind, but Tony, having lived on the edge between life and death for most of his existence, didn't see it as much of an issue.
It was a typical night for them, sometime during midsummer when the skies were littered with stars and the air was reasonably comfortable, just the right temperature for them to lounge outside with Bruce's head resting against Tony's shoulder, his body wrapped protectively in the mechanic's arms.
"Do you ever think about the time, Tony?" he had murmured, his gaze staring blankly ahead over the city skyline.
"What about the time?" Tony's reply was expectedly nonchalant. "I think it's around eleven or so if you were wondering."
"No, no, not that time." Bruce couldn't help but chuckle slightly, the motion easing his mind just a little. "I mean, well, the time we have left. Because I… age a lot slower than you do." He swallowed thickly, his gaze flickering across his partner's face for a second, admiring how the city lights cast across his features.
"You calling me old?" That typical Stark smirk wormed its way onto Tony's face, and he looked down to find a similar version of it on Bruce's features before it quickly dissipated. "But to actually answer your question, no. Not really. I try to not dwell on the future, doesn't really get me anywhere. I want to enjoy the time I have with you while I have it, you know? Live in the moment type of thing."
Bruce knew the man was right, but pangs of doubt still clouded his mind. They always did, and as much as Bruce tried to push them away, he couldn't get it out of his head that eventually everything he had was going to crumble and fade away. "But you know things aren't always going to be like this," he countered, the apprehension in his mind weaving its way into his voice. "You're going to get older, Tony, and I'm not, really. There's going to come a time where we don't have this," he gestured towards the way their bodies were entwined, "anymore."
Tony sighed gently, shifting on his side to face Bruce, catching the doctor's gaze in his. "You think too much," he murmured, his voice taking on an affectionately scolding tone despite its volume. "We have this right now, so instead of thinking about what's going to happen in thirty years, why don't we just enjoy it?"
Before Bruce could begin to respond, Tony had leaned forward and captured his lips in a kiss that started off with a slow, almost lazy pattern, one that almost seemed designed to drain the worry from Bruce's mind and clear the haze. Bruce let himself melt into the embrace, the sensation of Tony's fingers threading through his hair and running down his side a comforting source of familiarity, and even relaxation from the endless war inside his mind.
Live in the moment, he told himself, branding Tony's simple words into his memory. Maybe that'll make it easier.
. . . . .
Years had passed since that conversation, and as hard as Bruce tried, as much as he forced himself to keep living day to day as best he could, he found that 'living in the moment' like Tony had told him didn't make anything easier.
He'd taken the advice with half a grain of salt, knowing that even somebody like Tony couldn't always focus completely on the present, and had to throw the future a thought at least sometimes. Bruce knew that he was right about that, too. Watching Tony over the past several years, watching how the man tried to defy the time and continue life as he knew it, was probably intended to give Bruce some sense of hope that Tony wasn't deteriorating. It was probably supposed to show him that time shouldn't have been nagging and clawing at the front of his mind like a feral, unfed animal, waiting to be set loose and tear away his stability bit by bit.
But Bruce watched, and Bruce knew better. Tony very clearly wasn't the man he used to be. His gait was slower, his bones more frail, and he unknowingly depended on his robots more than he ever had in the past. It was tormenting to watch, really, and Bruce found little relief from the sights until Tony came out with some of his classic, biting snark, and Bruce found himself thankful that there was at least one thing that hadn't changed.
That relief didn't last long, though, as it was only a matter of a few painstakingly brief moments until things reverted to the way they had been before. When he wasn't making every effort he could to turn back time and halt his decay, Tony was a phantom of his former self. As much as he claimed to, he didn't take the rapid flow of time very well, each year seeming to pass chillingly faster than the one before.
Time had worn terribly on the both of them. It had wrapped its devilish fingers around the strings of their relationship, pulling and plucking away until all that was left was the loose hanging threads of two people who so desperately wanted things to be alright, but couldn't deny the unmistakable barrier knotted between them.
"I'm transferring the company to you, you know," Tony had said one day, his fingers still over a tablet in his lap. "Just thought I'd tell you."
"Huh?" Bruce looked up from the book he was hunched over, his eyes finding Tony's frail form beside him. "Now?"
"No, not now." Tony let out a shaky sigh, lifting his head to lean it against the cushion of the sofa. Bruce could see, almost feel, the pain of the simple movement, but stopped himself from giving a sympathetic wince. "Later. In a few years, probably. You know, when I… can't do it anymore."
Bruce didn't mention the immediate thought that scampered through his brain, that even now it seemed like even the simplest tasks were fast becoming 'things Tony couldn't do anymore', and that running the company was at the top of that list. He pushed the thought back and swallowed it down, setting his book aside in favor of scooting closer to the man beside him. "You sure I'm the right person for that?" he asked. "What about Pepper?"
"She's almost as old as I am, Bruce." Tony paused to let out another small huff of breath. "She'd end up giving it to you anyway." After a few moments of silence, a slight wave of tension stirring in the air, Tony reached out and set his hand on Bruce's knee. He watched the stream of light in the room reflect off the ring he wore on the third finger of his left hand, traces of a little smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "You're the right person for it. I trust you with it."
When Tony finally looked up at him, Bruce found his eyes struggling to stay fixed on the man before him. It wasn't that he wasn't he wasn't still beautiful (Tony would always be beautiful) or that he wasn't the same man he was twenty years ago (or maybe it was, but Bruce didn't quite want to admit it). He didn't know what it was, really. Maybe it was the papery thinness of his skin as Bruce brushed his hand over Tony's, or how he'd let his hair grow out to a shade of grey that even Bruce's hadn't caught up to yet, or how the young, playful spark in his eyes had gradually dulled away over the years, leaving a lackluster glint of constant exhaustion in its place. Maybe it was just that watching the life of the man he loved so dearly slowly ebb away before his eyes was killing him, but not in the same way it was killing Tony.
Bruce finally nodded once he'd realized that he'd been silent for long enough. "Okay," he replied softly, "if that's what you want." He brought a small smile to his lips as he looked back up at Tony's face, setting his book aside in favor of scooting closer to his partner's side. Tony's arms made quick work of wrapping around him, or at least as quick as they could, and Bruce found himself leaning into the embrace a little more heavily than he should have. He laid his head over Tony's chest and listened to the dull thumping of his heartbeat beneath the low hum of the arc reactor, hoping that the reassuring sound wouldn't fail before he could even get a hold on his own heart's ill-fated rhythm.
. . . . .
For some time after that, time that Bruce tried so fiercely to view as longer than just a few short years, Tony's heart beat strong, and his will even stronger. When before it had seemed like the realization that he wasn't young and restless anymore would have been the man's downfall, he now seemed far too determined to actually let things turn down that path. It was refreshing, so much that Bruce even thought for a moment or two that maybe the painstaking rift between the two as Tony decayed could have been made a little… easier. He would have been quick to credit the constant toil of the arc reactor for Tony making it as long as he did, knowing that without it the man probably would have faded away ages ago, or at the very least ended up far more damaged.
Yeah, he would have liked to credit the arc reactor, that is until what some liked to call Tony's 'artificial heart' began to fail the real one.
It didn't take Bruce long to spot the obvious changes in Tony's health – hell, he'd been watching those 'changes' for years – nor did it take long for him to realize that there was going to come a time when Tony just couldn't sustain it any longer. Actually talking to Tony about it, though, trying to convince him to take responsibility and do what was best for him, that took… longer. One thing that hadn't changed or deteriorated was Tony's signature stubbornness, and it was at that point that Bruce realized what seemed like his strong will was probably just denial.
But Bruce couldn't blame him. He couldn't have blamed him years ago when he refused to even acknowledge his fast approaching decay, or when he still tried to do all the things he used to ("The suit and I are one, Bruce, I'm not just going to stop"), and certainly not now, his skin pale against the hospital bed sheets as he still, of course, tried to put off what he knew was inevitable.
The uneven beeping of the heart monitor in the corner of the room was the only thing that managed to pull Bruce out of his hurricane of thoughts. His gaze was fixed blankly on Tony, watching the shallow rise and fall of his chest and hoping, praying to some deity he barely even believed in, that none of this was real and that they'd both wake up in the coming moments, pressed cheek to cheek, young and restless as always.
"I guess this makes it real, huh?" Then Tony had said that, voice dull and hoarse with age, and whatever conviction Bruce may have had instantly vanished. Bruce looked up at him, letting his gaze wander down over his careworn, crumpled face, then over the myriad of pale blue veins that lined the papery skin over his arms until finally reaching their joined hands that lay motionless on the edge of the bed, giving Tony's fingers a gentle, half-hearted squeeze.
"No," he murmured, keeping his gaze fixed on their laced fingers, "it was always real, Tony."
Bruce kept his gaze averted so he wouldn't have to see Tony's responding expression, but the broken wheeze of a sigh that left his lungs told him enough. He could almost picture the put-out expression on Tony's face, that same one he always had when he knew Bruce was right about something he'd tried to deny. And sure enough, when Bruce shot a reluctant glance in Tony's direction, there it was, the only difference from forty years ago the wrinkles in his skin and the dullness of his eyes.
"I guess I tried to put it off for too long, then." Tony's reply was distant. "Didn't want to give it up."
"You gave it up a long time ago," Bruce said softly, absently pulling Tony's limp hand between both of his own. "You haven't been in the suit in years –"
"I didn't mean that," Tony interrupted, "I meant, well… maybe. Maybe I did mean that." He paused to take a breath, probably intended to be a deep one but ending up as what sounded like a shallow gasp instead. "I was talking about… this. All of it. I always ignored how I was getting old and how I couldn't do things anymore and that you just weren't. I tried to make it go away or put it all off and deal with it later. But now it is later, and…" Another pause, very clearly to swallow down the knot in his throat that Bruce knew was there only because it was in his own, too. "If I don't make it through this, Bruce, I…"
"Don't say that." Bruce did what he could to keep his voice from wavering even though the attempt was useless. "You're going to make it through this, Tony. Don't you dare say that you won't."
Tony was silent for a brief moment, weakly flexing his fingers in Bruce's grasp. "I was just gonna tell you that I love you," he murmured, lifting his weary gaze to the man beside him.
Bruce felt the breath catch in his throat, threatening to let loose in some kind of small, broken sound that he damn well wouldn't let Tony hear. He couldn't break, not here, not now. Not in front of somebody who was already far too broken for his own good, unable to be repaired no matter how hard anyone tried. Instead, he shifted forward and moved to close the distance between them, setting his lips against Tony's in a gently desperate kiss, one that he could tell Tony very much wanted to return but simply didn't have the energy to. He let the electrifying pinpricks of passion and tenderness he felt every time they kissed surge through him for what was probably the last time before slowly pulling away. His forehead rested lightly against Tony's, his eyes staying shut against the harsh light of the room, letting the familiar and long-missed images of them both in better days flash beneath his eyelids.
"I love you too," he whispered, "far too much."
. . . . .
Bruce had always known that the day would come. That day when everything was gone, perished, done for, that day when he was finally alone again. He knew that he would eventually find that he preferred the crushing silence over the torment of hearing his voice in his dreams, or knowing that he would never saunter back into the bedroom after a day in the shop, engine grease spattered along his arms and staining streaks in his hair.
Some could say that the pain was unbearable. But it wasn't pain. It was more than just pain; it was torment, absolute agony, knowing that he'd spent most of his life standing beside such an incredible man and fearing that he would fade into the background, yet never did. Tony wouldn't have allowed it. Tony wouldn't have allowed a lot of things, because he was selfless when it came to what he loved, and he was generous and devoted and so much more beautiful than what he was ever given credit for, or at least he was to Bruce.
Knowing those things should have comforted him. And they did, to some extent at least. They comforted him until he reopened his eyes to see the empty space in the bed beside him, and until he yet again realized that the only invincible part of Iron Man was what he built in the shop.
But those were things he tried to push away, lock up in the same internal cage he kept each of the memories and undeniable truths that constantly threatened to drown him in the same anguish he swam in for so long before Tony had barreled into his life and made things seem like they were okay. That's how he tried to think. He tried to hear Tony's voice in his thoughts, telling him that it was all going to be alright, tried to still find his comforting mingled scent of coffee and motor oil in the bed sheets at night. He tried to think of how Tony was perfect.
Well, maybe not perfect, or at least not the proper definition. That was impossible. But perfect for Bruce… that existed. He wasn't without his flaws, of course, his stubbornness and snark and secrets, but that didn't matter. They both had their flaws, and they both still loved each other dearly until the end despite them. That was what made Tony perfect.
And Bruce wouldn't remember him in any other way.