Bruce's hands were shaking, almost too badly to hold the gun. His heart pounding three times faster than it should, he shoved the cartridge into its cold metal chamber. As it clicked into place his glasses fell from his face, hitting the ground with a shattering of glass. Tears streaked down his face as he slowly turned the gun to face himself. With a second hand to steady the first, Bruce opened his mouth and bit down on the metal. He closed his eyes. Count to three, he muttered to himself, desperately seeking reassurance. Count to three and it'll all be over. Here we go… He tightened his sweaty palms around the handle of the gun.

One... his knees felt weak. He could barely support his own weight.

Two… he took one last desperate, gasping breath.

Three.

Bruce woke with a start, his shirt soaked through with a cold sweat. He was clinging onto his pillow so hard his knuckles had turned white, and his breathing was frantic and shallow. Slowly loosening his grip on the pillow, Bruce sat up. He closed his eyes, trying to slow his breathing. Nightmares like this used to be a regular occurrence, and although he hadn't had one in nearly a year, he assumed it was his stress about Tony that had triggered the frightening recount of his own suicide attempt. Looking at his bedside table, Bruce saw that it was already 5 o'clock. Nearly morning.

Bruce pushed himself to a seated position, clumsily shoving his glasses onto his face. He dragged his feet over to the curtains, pushing them open and flooding the room with light. The warm morning sun revealed a cheap, sparsely furnished motel room. The room was painted an ugly brown-yellow, with molded water stains dotted across the ceiling. Luckily, this motel was only temporary accommodation, just until Tony was well enough to leave the hospital. When he was released, Bruce was staying in Stark Tower for a week or so to keep an eye on his friend. Bruce pulled his sweat-soaked shirt over his head, carelessly flinging it onto the bed. He pulled a worn black suitcase out from under his bed. Bruce had been in the process of moving houses when he found Tony, so everything was packed away expect for a few changes of clothes he'd hastily shoved into his luggage. His new apartment was luckily much closer to Tony, so he'd be able to stop by and check on him.

After finally finding a clean shirt and pants, Bruce had taken a quick shower and gotten dressed. The clock now showed 6, giving him enough time to stop for breakfast and be at the hospital by seven. He stepped outside, and was immediately greeted by a burst of warm LA air. The sun shone down on the lush green palm trees, the rays lazily rolling off the long leaves. It was early enough in the morning so that the streets were relatively empty, save the regular flow of businessmen reluctantly making their way to the collection of dull office buildings on the next block.

It was a beautiful, relaxed morning, but Bruce barely even noticed. He was too wrapped up in his own thoughts, of the alarming news he'd received from Pepper a few days ago. Discovering that his best friend was schizophrenic had come as a huge shock. After all he'd been through, it seemed impossible that something like this could happen to a man like Tony Stark. He'd always seemed intangibly strong, the way he moved and lived with such ease, never showing any sign of weakness. Always light hearted, always ready with a joke or snarky comment. The man he'd seen in the hospital yesterday barely even seemed like Tony. The whole experience was too surreal.

When Bruce snapped out of his haze, he saw he had arrived at the hospital. He pushed through the big glass doors, stepping into the welcome coolness of the waiting room. He stepped up to the counter.

"Hi, I'm here to see Tony Stark?"

"Sorry, he's not currently speaking to any reporters or fans." thee nurse spoke without even looking up.

"I'm his friend." The nurse looked up, immediately recognizing his face from the night he had arrived with Stark.

"Oh, of course." She laughed apologetically. "Right this way, Mr. Banner." The nurse, a tall, tan woman in purple scrubs and black heels, led him down a series of corridors to Bruce's room. "Go on in, he should be awake around now." As the nurse's shoes clicked down the empty hallway, Bruce took a breath, mentally preparing himself. In the span of a day or two, he'd realized he had romantic feelings for this man, then that he had a serious mental condition. Acting anywhere near normal was going to be a challenge. He pushed the metal door open.

As the nurse had said, Tony was lying in his bead awake. Bruce approached his friend slowly, almost cautiously. The bedridden man smiled, quickly sitting up to greet Bruce. Bruce smiled back, dropping into the chair beside his bed. "How're you feeling?" Bruce asked, the concern in his voice obvious.

"Better. I'm healthy enough to sit up and talk, so that's something." Tony answered, letting out a small laugh. Bruce smiled, looking down at his hands. He was glad to see Tony acting a little happier, but he couldn't help but think it felt a little forced. "The Doc thinks I should be out of here in about a week." he continued. Bruce tried to smile, but was too anxious. He was worried, worried for Tony. Not just the shock of his illness, but what had caused him to become so desperate? Bruce saw no easy way to ask, but he had to know. He cleared his throat.

"Hey, uh, Tony, what-" he coughed, trying to think of the best way to ask. "What, uh, happened the other night? What made you…?"Bruce gestured vaguely. Social skills had never really been his thing, and he fidgeted anxiously as he spoke. Tony looked at him, hints of pain and confusion dancing across his face. He opened his mouth as if the speak, then closed it. After several long seconds, he began again.

"I don't think I can really explain it. It's like you said, I just didn't see an end. I mean I've- I've killed so many people, aliens too; it's the same thing really. I just- how can I live with myself, knowing that there are people out there, families out there missing someone because of me? I ruined their lives." Bruce was shocked by the sudden outburst of emotion, considering Tony Stark was usually a master at concealing his true feelings. Bruce sat there for a minute, at a loss for words. Finally, slowly, he replied.

"But think of all the deaths you've stopped. You've saved so many people." Bruce paused for a second, before adding, "Including me." He turned to Tony, and for one second, their eyes met. There was a message in that look, a silent 'thank you' passed both ways, just a fraction of a whisper of what Bruce wished he could say.

They both hastily looked away as Annie walked in, beaming her usual brilliant smile. "Hi, Mr. Banner! So nice to see you again!" she gushed, walking forward to shake his hand.

"Please, call me Bruce." He replied. Annie nodded cheerily, turning to Tony.

"How're you feeling today, Tony?"

"I'm getting there." He replied. Annie giggled, turning to the machinery next to his bed and checking some numbers.

"Well the good news is your vitals are all stable, so I think we should be able to unhook all these big machines now. Are you still feeling pain anywhere?" Annie asked, as she began to unplug some of the whirring boxes.

"A little in my head and ribs, a little more around my stomach. A lot less than yesterday, though." Tony informed her, shifting himself to a more comfortable angle. He didn't like anyone seeing him weak like this, even in Bruce was his best friend. He felt vulnerable, exposed, weak. He didn't like it. Annie finished with her work, and turned to Bruce.

"Mr. Banner, Bruce, could I speak to you outside for a minute?" Bruce nodded, reluctantly rising from his position by Tony's bed. Annie finished some last minute adjustments, and pulled the door open. "We'll just be a minute, Tony." She reassured him, stepping out into the pristine white hallway. Bruce followed after her, swinging the heavy door shut.

"So, I just wanted to give you an update on Tony's condition. He's healing really fast, so he should be ready to leave in around a week, maybe a little less. Of course he'll still need to come by once a week just to check up, but he can finish his recovery at home. Now, on to the serious stuff. The doctor's done some tests with Tony, and he says Tony has a mental illness. It's called paranoid schizophrenia." Bruce nodded, fighting back the lump in his throat. "Yeah I know, um, Pepper told me a couple days ago. The day she found out, I guess." Annie nodded sympathetically, clasping her hands together tightly. Bruce hesitated for a moment, before asking, "Does Tony know?" Annie shook her head.

"No, not yet. That's why I wanted to talk to you. I thought maybe he'd like you to be there when he found out, for moral support." Bruce was surprised, that really didn't seem like normal medical procedure.

"If you think it'll help him…" Bruce said doubtfully, unsure of whether his being there would make things better or worse. Annie breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you. I'll go get Dr. Mitchener; you can go back in with Tony. Trust me, he'll feel better with you there." With that, Annie turned and headed purposefully down the hall, the clicking of her shoes echoing through the hall.

Bruce reentered the room, once again finding a place of the hard plastic chair by Tony's bedside.

"What was that about?" Tony asked, quickly noticing Bruce's reluctance to make eye contact. "Is there something you're not telling me?" Bruce quickly shook his head.

"No!" he replied at once, his voice breaking. "No, uh, I'm not. The doctor's gonna come in and talk to you in a minute though, just to tell you what's going on."

"Oh, okay. Cool." He answered, although he immediately saw through Bruce's lie.

Just then, Dr. Mitchener and Annie walked into the room.

"Doctor Banner! So nice to finally meet you." Dr. Mitchener greeted him warmly, giving him a firm handshake. Annie pulled a chair from the corner of the room, passing it to the doctor and making a quick exit. He sat down, pulling the chair closer to Dean's bed, trying to collect his thoughts. Tony looked at him expectantly. The doctor smiled back, but the smile was clearly only half hearted. "Tony." He began. "You remember a few days ago when I asked you some questions about medical history, your family, and how your thought processes work?" Tony nodded. "Well, I had a look at those answers, and the results from your physical examination, and I have a diagnosis. Now remember, with things like this, the signs can be very easily misinterpreted in the early stages, so we're not a hundred percent sure, but it's more than likely that you're living with a condition known as paranoid schizophrenia."

Tony's grip on his sheet tightened, his knuckles turning white. His entire body felt numb. Any hints of colour that had been returning to his face were quickly flushed away, leaving his features pale and drained. Tony's initial reaction was disbelief. This can't be happening. It's a dream, or a hallucination, or a joke. Maybe they got it wrong. His vision began to spin and blur, shapes and colours flitting in and out of his field of sight.

"Mr. Stark?" Tony heard a voice, somehow distorted, as if it was coming from the other side of a wall.

"Tony?" this voice was closer, right next to him. It was clear enough to him that this voice was Bruce, who he could vaguely make out standing over his bed. "Tony, focus on me. Hey, come on, look at me." Tony felt his friend's hands on his shoulders, their warm touch reawakening his shoulders, the heat slowly spreading up as Bruce's hand moved. He lightly touched Tony's face. "You okay?" as Bruce asked this, Tony's vision cleared. He could see Banner's face over his, his concern apparent. Tony shook his head, a lump forming in his throat.

"No, no I'm not okay." He muttered, trying not to let his voice break. Bruce settled back into his chair, moving his hands to the bed, near Tony's.

"It's perfectly natural to have this kind of reaction, Tony." Dr. Mitchener assured him. "But it's important for you to know that with the proper help and guidance, you can still live a happy, healthy, fulfilling life." Tony nodded again, not speaking out of fear that he'd start crying. Hesitantly, Bruce lifted his hand and settled it over Tony's. He stroked his thumb reassuringly across Tony's hand.

"I'll help you through this. Anything I can do, I will. Promise." The doctor went on talking, but Bruce wasn't listening. He was too focused on the feel of Tony's skin on his, the rough calluses on his palms, his stubby, dirty, fingernails, and the intricate patterns of the veins lacing the backs of his hand. In that moment, Bruce knew he would do whatever he could to save his friend.