Tony had been a disaster since the Battle of New York.

Plagued with nightmares and saddled with the death of his closest friend and his assistant up and leaving him in a time of need, Tony was crumbling.

It was only the day after and the shock had worn off and yet Tony was still crumbling.

Steve seemed fine, Clint and Natasha were only a bit shaken, Thor was gone with the war criminal Loki, taking him elsewhere to let him deal with Asgardian justice.

And Bruce was dead. Tony remembered it all too well.

Once the battle was over, Bruce had showered and put on his nicest suit to see Loki be taken away.

They had watched Thor and Loki leave with the tesseract, and Bruce was having trouble standing.

Concerned glances were sent his way while Bruce barely managed to stay on his feet.

Tony snagged Bruce and bid them a quick farewell before helping him into his sports car and driving full speed down the road to Stark towers.

Tony whung into his garage and helped a limping and hunched over Bruce make his way into the elevator.

Tony remembered this all too well, too.

There was no noise in the elevator except for Bruce's heavy breathing, a pattern that Tony had learned since the one day that Bruce had fallen asleep in his lab, trying to find the anecdote to fix him.

Bruce was leaning against the wall, looking up into the lights of the elevator and muttering to himself.

Maybe he was praying, maybe he was asking for forgiveness, or maybe he was just muttering about something else.

Bruce was holding his left arm and his forehead was glistening with sweat, his thick curls brushed out of his face and slicked back.

Tony watched in worry, his eyebrows furrowing at the signs of Bruce in pain or in shock.

The elevator doors opened and Tony grabbed Bruce again, helping him to the couch.

Tony laid Bruce down and stripped him of his suit jacket, popping off the buttons and tearing at his undershirt.

Bruce looked ashamed and sorrow was the only emotion that was readable in his eyes.

Tony stared up at Bruce for a moment before finding Bruce's whole body had been draped in bandages, bloodied ones.

"I'm so sorry, I just didn't want you to worry," Bruce had spoken quietly and Tony shook his head.

"No, Bruce, don't be sorry," Tony's voice was strangled and pleading.

Internally he was praying to a god that he didn't even believe in to save his best friend.

Bruce's skin was growing colder and his eyes started to flood with clouds.

Tony encased Bruce's hand in his, holding it tightly and reaching for his phone.

"Stick with me, Bruce, I'm going to call a doctor,"

"I'm a doctor," Bruce said a bit shyly and laughed weakly.

Tony looked at him, about to bark back an argument, but only seeing Bruce's eyes shimmering with what little hope he had left.

Tony offered a weak smile as hot, stinging tears started sliding down his cheeks.

His phone ringing was nearly deafening as he felt Bruce squeeze his hand, then it slowly and gradually went limp.

And that was the end of Bruce Banner.

His injuries from the battle had taken its toll on him and the Other guy so much so that it just finally broke Bruce down.

Tony didn't remember the last time he cried as much as he did that night.

He didn't cry this much when his mother and father had died, he didn't cry this much when Pepper left, he didn't remember having this much raw emotion exposed.

Within twenty minutes the ambulance had come for Bruce's body, and Tony walked with the men pushing the gurney.

Bruce had a tarp over him, but Tony held his hand like a child held onto a lollipop.

They brought him all the way out to the ambulance and it took everything Tony had to let go of Bruce's hand.

After all, it wasn't just letting go of Bruce's hand, it was letting go of his best friend, too.

That night, Tony wasn't the same.

He had stumbled back up to the elevator, knocking shoulders with Stark Industries employees who had scrambled out at the sounds of sirens.

Nearly everyone had turned to see a puffy-eyed Tony Stark with tears still falling from the corners of his eyes.

He trudged back onto his floor, refusing to even look at the couch.

Tony didn't want to work on anything like he usually did. He wanted to go upstairs, shower, and sleep until he was dead.

Tony did just that, dragging himself upstairs and into the bathroom, turning on the hot water and groggily closing the door.

He stripped down, then once he was completely nude, he turned his head slowly and upwards to look at himself in the mirror.

And Tony hated what he saw.

He glared at his reflection, seeing his five o'clock shadow was evident and his eyes were still red and puffy from his breakdown.

Tony shrugged off his reflection and watched as the fog from the boiling water slowly enveloped the bathroom while he stepped in the bath.

Tony let the hot water roll off his body, the dried blood on his cuts being blasted off by the water pressure and mended by the heat.

Some wounds reopened and there was a faint blood trail spiraling into the drain of the shower, but Tony wasn't worried about that for the time being.

Tony could only think of the blood that had been on Bruce's body and bandages.

He shuddered and once done bathing, he got out of the shower and wrapped himself in a towel before letting out a soft sigh.

The bathroom was fogged with steam and Tony peered around before walking up to the mirror.

He saw himself, covered in cuts with some still bleeding.

That's when he noticed. Tony's pupils dilated and an ungodly rage began to course through his veins.

He felt guilt in the pit of his stomach and all together is was nauseating.

Written on the mirror in a handwriting that Tony knew was Bruce's, he had written 'I love you'.

He had taken a shower and had been far too shy to admit it to Tony at all that day.

Tony stared at the message, his heart pounding in his chest from the awful twisting feeling that had arisen upon reading the message again and again.

Tony had seen it in Bruce's eyes and Tony was too naïve to admit that he loved him.

Tony's shoulders slouched and he hung his head before the spark of anger returned, making him raise his fist and shatter the mirror entirely.

All he could see now was the broken pieces of himself, and he could have sworn he saw Bruce standing behind him, reaching out for him sympathetically.