Tony walked across the open field, smoke stinging his eyes as he found one body after another. An eerie stillness filled the air, as if nothing else in the world existed outside of this place. His teammates, his friends… all lying on the ground before him - beaten, broken, destroyed. And he was the lone survivor, left to pick up the pieces, somehow expected to go on without them. It wasn't fair; he couldn't do it.
He felt numb, even as he looked down, watching the blood seep through cracks in his suit. His eyes still stung, but he didn't know if it was from the smoke or the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks. He wanted to kneel down next to them, check for a pulse, stop the bleeding, but it was too late and he couldn't seem to make himself move.
Fires burned around them, smoldering pieces of wreckage from something that had crashed. Tony didn't even know if the threat had been eliminated or if it was still out there waiting. He looked around, peering through the haze, trying to remember who, or what, it was that they'd been fighting. But there was no one else there, just him.
Staring up at the sky, his mind went scarily blank, as if it was shutting down completely. After all the horror he'd experienced in his life, it would seem he'd finally found the point at which it just became too much. Tony shook his head, trying to think, knowing there were things he was supposed to be doing. But all he could do was stand there, staring and crying.
Waking up with a gasp, Tony sat up in bed, his heart pounding. Wiping at his eyes with trembling hands, he found his cheeks were wet. He stared into the darkness around him, still seeing the remnants of his dream layered over the familiar surroundings of the bedroom.
"You ok?" Bruce mumbled, stirring beside him. He rolled over propping himself on an elbow, looking up at Tony in the dim light coming in from the windows.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." He tried to sound casual, but it came out strangled and he knew Bruce wasn't fooled. The fear and pain in his voice was clear to both of them.
"Tony" Bruce said, placing a hand on his arm. The warmth and steady calmness of his touch always helped bring Tony back from wherever the nightmares left him. He took a deep shuddering breath, letting it out slowly, feeling some of the tension start to drain away.
"That's it, just keep breathing. It was only a dream, you're ok." Bruce pulled Tony gently towards him, urging him to lie back down. He did, scooting back until Bruce was curled around him, an arm thrown over his side, holding him close. Bruce's thumb ran soothingly over Tony's arm, back and forth, giving him something to focus on as his mind cleared. He eventually sighed, relaxing into Bruce's embrace as his breathing returned to normal.
"I'm sorry" he murmured when he heard Bruce yawn tiredly, his breath warm against the back of Tony's neck.
"You don't need to be sorry" he said earnestly. "I'm here for you, whatever you need."
Tony closed his eyes, feeling tears well up in gratitude, knowing that nothing he'd done or could ever do would make him worthy of Bruce. He never felt safer than when Bruce had his arms around him.
"Thank you."
Bruce placed a kiss on the side of Tony's neck, giving him a reassuring squeeze. Together they lay in the silence, waiting for sleep to find them again.
"Love you" Tony whispered, hearing Bruce's breaths become more regular as he drifted off.
"Love you too" he murmured, a soft snore following a few minutes later.
Tony's eyes popped open as the alarm blasted from next to the bed. Grabbing the phone, he flung it across the room where it smashed into the wall with a satisfying crash. He didn't have to look, he already knew, but he couldn't resist turning to the other side of the bed, which remained smooth and empty.
A choked feeling overcame him, a buried sob stuck in his chest, as Tony fought to pull himself from the dream. The nightmares he was used to, variations had plagued him most of his life, but these… The dreams that brought Bruce back to him, dropped him right back into those nights together – they were far worse.
It felt real, every time. Not like other dreams that seem real, those were different. These were things he'd heard, said, felt. He knew the weight of Bruce's arm wrapped around him, the heat of his hands. The exact words he'd say and the sound of his breath when he fell asleep.
Tony swung his legs over the side of the bed, forcing himself to sit up. His chest still felt tight as he fought back the emotions threatening to overcome him. Dropping his face into his hands, he reminded himself to breathe, just breathe, like Bruce always said. But Bruce was gone, run off to god knows where, not a word, even to say goodbye.
He couldn't even be mad, really. He wanted to be. He wanted to rage and swear and seethe at the thought of Bruce and how he'd left Tony behind like he was nothing. But he couldn't. He knew Bruce, as well as anyone ever had, and Tony knew that he wouldn't do something like this out of spite, or betrayal, or anything like that. He'd done it because he thought he had to protect everyone, to save them from himself. So Tony couldn't be mad, but he could be heartbroken.
All that got him through each day was the thought that maybe today was they day they found him. Or they day he came back. Or hell, even the day he just mailed a postcard that said Hi, I'm ok, I miss you. But as he sat there, waiting for the strength to push himself up off the bed and do it all again, Tony realized he just couldn't. Not yet.
So he laid back down, pulled the covers up over himself and closed his eyes, waiting.
Waiting for sleep, and Bruce, to come back to him again.