Author's Note: "Mors Tua, Vita Mea" is a Latin phrase that translates into "Your Death, My Life." The context is that your own death is vital for your victory. In this story, someone must die to get what he wants.

The Avengers Whump & Bromance Anthology

Mors Tua, Vita Mea

Whumptober 2020

PenPatronus

Under the moonlight, and a single flickering lightbulb hanging over the garage, Bruce loaded the first crate of vials, beakers, and chemistry textbooks into the back of the Stark Industries van. Headlights suddenly streamed down the normally empty road. It was three in the morning, in rural Pennsylvania, in the middle of nowhere, so there shouldn't have been a corvette coming up the driveway. But, there was. And Bruce knew who it was. "Dammit," he cursed.

Tony pulled up beside the van, glaring at Bruce, and slowly rolled the driver's side window down.

"How the hell did you find me?" Bruce asked. "I dumped my phone, I turned off the GPS in the van, I didn't use a credit card, I avoided cameras, I even changed my clothes and shoes and – how the hell?"

"Don't change the subject," Stark snarled. He held up a piece of paper with Bruce's handwriting on it. "What the hell is this?"

Bruce harumphed and stormed back into the garage of the abandoned house. He kicked the generator he had lighting the place up and returned to the task of packing up his supplies. Tony slammed the car door shut and followed him inside. "Dear Tony," Tony said, not even reading off the letter but reciting it, "Dear Tony, I'm leaving. It's for the best. Don't come looking for me because there won't be anything to find. BB." Tony kicked the same generator Bruce did, out of the same amount of anger. "Dammit, Banner, what's going on? Talk to me!"

Bruce emptied a beaker of rubbing alcohol down a drain in the middle of the garage floor. "I figured out how to destroy the Hulk," he said without looking at his friend.

"Uh, huh…" Tony put his hands in his suit pockets and squeezed them into fists. "You mean, you've found a way to kill yourself."

"If that's the way you choose to think about it, then that's on you."

"The way I CHOOSE to THINK about it?" Tony exclaimed. "I'm THINKING that one of my best friends is committing suicide. That's what I'm thinking." Tony grabbed the beaker out of Bruce's hand and put it on a workbench next to the rest of a bunch of chemistry supplies. It was hard not to throw it against the wall. He reached for his friend's shoulders. "Hey, look at me. Bruce, I'm talking to you!"

To both of their surprise, Bruce pushed Tony away, hard enough to send him stumbling a few steps. "It's too late," Bruce snarled. He pointed at a rickety old card table and a packet of needles beside a tiny vial of liquid. "I figured it out. And I already took the injection. And… I can feel it working."

"You did what?" Tony looked around the garage. "Where's the antidote? You have to have an antidote. Where is it – tell me, Bruce – take it and stop this!"

"Tony, I didn't make an antidote, because there's no need for one!" He whirled around and started packing up his laptop. "I created nanites that bind to the cells and basically… Eat them. They're working so fast that Hulk can't heal them."

Behind him, Tony sighed and asked, "How long do you have?"

"Hours. Maybe."

"Good. That'll give you enough time to come up with an antidote."

The hairs on the back of Bruce's neck stood on end. He whirled around in time to see Tony finish injecting himself with the concoction. "No!" Bruce sprinted forward and knocked the needle out of his grip. "Tony, are you crazy?" He grabbed his friend by the shoulders and shook him. "You just killed yourself!"

"Not if you create an antidote," Tony said, his voice suddenly clear of the menace of a minute ago. "An antidote I won't take, unless you take it first."

Tears sprung to Bruce's eyes. "You complete and utter idiot! I only have hours to go because Hulk is healing me. This thing will decimate your body in less than an hour! How am I supposed to reprogram the nanites in that amount of time?"

Tony wrapped his hands around Bruce's wrists, whose hands were still on his friend's shoulders. "Then you better get to work, huh?"

"You son of a bitch!" Bruce cried. "What am I supposed to tell the team? What am I supposed to tell Pepper!"

Tony made a show of looking at his watch. "Tick, tock, my friend."

"Ugh!" Bruce went back to his desk and got his equipment up and running again. "Tony, you gotta help me with this. For as long as you can."

"All right." Stark tossed his suit jacket aside and loosened his tie. "Where do I start?"

"How's your biochemistry?"

"Subpar."

"Fan-fucking-tastic."

Tony made it a half hour. By then most of his skin was a red rash and he couldn't stand up anymore. Bruce took him by the elbow and helped him sit down with his back against the garage wall. There were words he wanted to say – so many – but there was no time. Tony started coughing up blood.

"All right… Ok…" Bruce pushed his glasses up higher on his nose. "I'm in the code, now. Now I just need to reprogram the nanites to…" Bruce punched his fist on the table. "It can't be anything complicated. Simple command to follow so they'll stop right away." Bruce went and knelt beside Tony. He cupped his chin and turned his eyes to meet his own. "Tony… I don't know what to do."

Tony's bloodshot eyes blinked at him. With bloody, chapped lips, he whispered, "You said you programmed them to eat the cells. Now you should program them to eat something else. Something like…"

"Each other," Bruce realized.

"Hmm," Tony hummed.

Bruce rushed back to his computer. Behind him, Tony slumped to the floor.


Tony wasn't sure how long he was out, but it was daylight outside the garage when he woke up. He was still lying on his side where he fell. Carefully, convinced it would fall off if he went too fast, he held his hand up to his face. The rash was gone. He curled his fingers and rotated his wrist. Normal.

"You died," Bruce said from his left. "Just for a few moments."

Tony slowly sat up with his hand against his head. There was a little leftover pain. "That happens to me a lot."

"Yeah, it does." Bruce ambled over with a bottle of water. "And it doesn't get any easier watching you die, you know?"

"Bruce… How did it feel? When I died? Every time I die?"

"Devastating."

"And you want to put me through that same feeling when I lose you? You want to cause me that kind of pain?"

"No, of course not."

"Then take. The damn. Antidote."

Bruce held up a syringe. "Already did."

A relieved Tony leaned hard back against the wall and looked up at the ceiling. "Thank you."

Bruce snorted. "Thank you for not killing myself?"

"Wasn't talking to you but, yeah, thank you for not killing yourself."

Bruce ambled over and sat against the wall beside Tony. "Do me a favor."

"Hmm?"

"Don't tell the team about this. Especially Natasha."

"Because she might kill you herself?"

"Because she might kill me herself, yes."

"Do me a favor."

"What's that?"

"Don't ever do this again." Tony looked at his friend. "Swear it, Banner. Swear it on something important."

"Something important, huh?" Bruce patted Tony's chest. "Then I swear it on you."

The End