They were on their way to Brazil when it happened.
Tony had insisted they take a plane, but Bruce always avoided them when he could and insisted that a road trip would be fun. Who was Tony to say no to Bruce? They packed and were driving down a highway when Bruce started to splutter. It was only small, Bruce brushed it off as having something in his throat, and the pair took no real notice of it. Well, until they stopped at a hotel for the night and that night turned into two nights due to Bruce being bedridden.
Tony insisted they go back to Stark Tower and get Bruce checked out, but Bruce insisted he was fine.
"You can't even get out of bed, Bruce! You're not fine!"
"I don't want to spoil the trip, Tony. It's fine. I'll be better tomorrow."
He wasn't.
"Bruce, really, I'm getting an ambulance."
"No Tony. Stay. Please."
Who was Tony say no to Bruce? He stayed by his side the entire time, as Bruce's coughing got worse and he started to bring up blood. Bruce would have freaked at that and told Tony to stay back in fear his blood would seriously harm him, but at that point he was delirious with fever. Tony ran his fingers through Bruce's hair. Usually it was so soft, but it was currently matted with sweat. It made something inside him shift uncomfortably.
"Bruce you really need to get checked out... You're never ill. The radiation in your blood stops you from getting ill - this is serious." Bruce shook his head frantically and couldn't even open his eyes to direct the disagreement properly. Tony's forehead gained numerous wrinkles from worry.
"N-No. There's no point - I'll be fine tomorrow. You just get worse...worse before you get better." He reached out a hand and grabbed Tony's shirt, the fabric cold against his flushed skin. Tony couldn't leave him like this, but he couldn't just sit there and watch. The next time Bruce passed out into a bout of flu-dreams, he called the hospital but informed them that he was reluctant to come in. Bruce hated hospitals.
The doctor visited the next day when Bruce wasn't better. They'd stayed in this hotel for a week now. They would have been in Brazil now. Before, Bruce had insisted Tony was going to dance the samba with him and, after much pleading, he'd managed to get the billionaire to agree to do it without any alcohol.
As sappy as it sounded, Tony had been looking forward to dancing with Bruce. The sand between their toes and the stars their audience. It was meant to be their one year anniversary. A year. Tony had never done that with anyone, yet the time slipped by with him and Bruce so quickly that Tony wanted to catch up with it. He couldn't slow it down. This was happening.
Bruce was dying and Tony couldn't help but blame himself. If he'd gotten him to a hospital sooner, ignored Bruce's protests then maybe...
"Tony?" Bruce choked out and he was there in an instant. Desperate to cling onto every last second he had with Bruce, no matter how much it would hurt afterwards. This wasn't about him anymore.
"I'm here, Bruce. I'm here." Tony murmured, pulling Bruce close to him. His body was warm. His heart was beating. He was alive. It calmed Tony down but only minutely. Bruce looked as though he was going to cough again, but with Tony this close he smothered it - wincing as he did. That just made Tony pull him closer so their noses were brushing, clinging onto Bruce for as long as possible.
"Hey..." Bruce smiled, and didn't that just break Tony's heart? Tony tried to smile back, but his lips were betraying him. Bruce understood. "I want to tell you something." And Tony would listen, god damn it, he would listen even if they would haunt him for forever. Bruce's last words. The fact he was here right now, listening, made it more final. This really was happening. It felt like a bad dream, a horrible nightmare, and Tony would wake up to Bruce drooling quietly on his chest.
This couldn't be the end. "I'm listening."
It was.
"I want you to go to Brazil." He put his finger against Tony's lip when he saw the protest in his eyes. "No no, you should go. We were going there. I don't want to spoil the trip for you - you still haven't tried a caipirinha." And there it was again, the lump in Tony's throat that told him he was going to cry. He wasn't going to, not in front of Bruce. He didn't want Bruce's last moments spent comforting the one he'd leave behind. Alone. Tony swallowed around that lump and bit back the tears.
"Sure... Of course I'll go. I'll have a lazy day in, too." Really, who was Tony to say no to Bruce? What he wouldn't do for a lazy day in watching crappy foreign TV and Bruce translating it badly, as Tony relaxed with his head on Bruce's lap and Bruce's fingers through his hair. He bit back a sobbing laugh. "You and your fancy cocktails, though. I might have to pass on that."
He wouldn't. Tony knew he was getting completely wasted and spending the entire time in Brazil drunk out of his mind. He would drink caipirinhas, even if they were disgusting, because they reminded him of Bruce and Tony was going to torment himself for being unable to stop this from happening. Tony couldn't fix this like his robots.
Bruce tried not to cry. He didn't know what was going to happen but he didn't care for himself. Surely death was something he wanted before, but now? Looking into Tony's face filled with such poorly-concealed hurt? He couldn't do it. He couldn't leave Tony alone. If he were honest, he didn't want to tell Tony to carry on to Brazil without him. He wanted to be overly cliché and tell him how much he loved him and that he didn't want to go, but laying that on Tony's shoulders right now was something Bruce just wouldn't do. So he kept it in and held onto Tony as he finally broke down in the middle of the night, apologising over and over and over.
The next day, Bruce was gone. Tony destroyed the hotel room whilst waiting for the rest of the Avengers to come and collect Bruce. When they got there, they were wearing masks. Steve, so used to fellow soldiers dying that he could deal with the death of another. Natasha, so intimate with death that she'd built up numerous coping methods for it. Clint, so familiar with people dying around him that he'd learnt to brush it off with a sour mood. Thor, so willing to honour the falling of a fellow warrior and knew he would have a place in Valhalla. But that was just it, wasn't it? Bruce hadn't died in a fight. The Hulk hadn't had a chance to fight back. He died in the ordinary bed of some unfamiliar hotel room with only Tony there to seek comfort in.
And Tony had been unable to give him it. Failed him.
He didn't go to the funeral. He carried on his way to Brazil. After all, a promise was a promise and who was Tony to say no to Bruce?
A/N: Just a short little drabble I felt compelled to write today. There's more, but I felt like uploading them as two separate pieces as I like this as a stand alone and think another chapter took away from the story a little. When it's uploaded, the second piece will be called Cachaça.