• falling--
    that’s the last thing i remember. CLANG with a numb impact. my body to metal.
    that- and the faint hum of something…like an engine; soft yet a bit uncontrolled…
    then…black-
    cold darkness occupied by throbbing pain and that strange, somewhat rhythmic hum-
    slightly soothing to my unconscious mind…
    --------

    An armored body of heavy red and gold painted steel moved slowly towards the ground of the city below.
    It’s metal boots hit the pavement, being careful not to jostle the limp body in it’s arms.
    It’s ‘package’ was clad in black armor. The now tattered black cape that would have normally fluttered from his shoulders was now wrapped around him as sort of a makeshift blanket, protecting his broken body from the cold air.

    The eyes began to open, showing a slit of their brown color from behind the mask, met only with the emotionless stare of the mysterious being that held him.
    One gauntleted hand reached up. Dust and blood covered fingers touched the light blue blur in the center of the ‘robot’s’ chest. It’s soft light eased his dazed and frightened mind.

    “…w-who are…you..?” the masked man asked, barely a whisper.

    The other either couldn’t or wouldn’t respond. It looked down into the closing brown eyes, silent except for the faint whir of the ‘robot’s’ mechanical body.

    “…p-p…please..” he begged.
    He wanted, needed reassurance that he would not be harmed any further.

    Still the being would not respond.

    The hand on the odd blue light lashed out weakly. It banged against the light and grabbed at the chest plates in anger and in fear. But he was too drained to grip the smooth surface.

    Finally, his savior spoke. To ease the man’s mind.
    A strange mechanical voice rang through the young man’s ears,

    “I. am. Ironman.”

    The costumed man strained to smile, his strength leaving him and unconsciousness returning.
    “…ironman…”
    The gloved fingers slid down the smooth surface, grazing over the housing of the blue light. His arm dropped and hung limply like a lifeless doll’s arm.
    -------

    the darkness is returning-
    it makes the pain go away…
    wha- where are we going-
    --ironman?
    up, like a rush…so sudden…a jerking motion…
    the hum…it’s louder now, a faint roar. makes my ears ring…
    Down again--
    clang Clang CLANG--
    --ironman…--------

    The young man slept, more like he was in a coma.
    His black armor and horned cowl had been removed, revealing several broken bones, deep gashes and a wounded body. It was as if he hadn’t been wearing any armor at all. But had that been the case, he’d surely be dead, and not in a death-like coma.
    His brown hair was a bloody mess. Stuck together with dried blood and mud.
    He hadn’t moved since the red and gold automaton-- Ironman, saved him.

    The young hero laid in a hospital bed, gauze and bandages covering his numerous wounds. An IV was in his left arm. Bruises were forming all over his toned body.

    It was a depressing sight for the older man that sat at the bedside, watching the other look so helpless.
    Never in all his years serving his young master had the elder British man seen the other in such a way.
    “Master Wayne….Bruce…please wake up…” The man begged. He wiped his grey eyes of tears before taking the man’s seemingly lifeless hand in his own.
    He choked back a sob. The older man had no idea what he would do if he lost Bruce. He had practically been the boy’s father since his parent’s untimely demise, raising him and watching him grow up into the philanthropist, play boyish, young vigilante that he is today.

    The young billionaire wasn’t aware of anything. He could faintly hear a familiar voice, but as hard as he tried, Bruce couldn’t respond.
    He desperately wanted to let the man know he could hear him. But it was all in vain.

    “So…how’s the Dark Knight?”
    The Brit’s head shot up when he heard another voice, “Master Stark…”
    Master Stark, or Tony Stark, walked over to the bed where Bruce lied.
    His eyes were saddened at the sight, just like the elderly man’s.

    “Alfred…I’m sorry..”

    “Don’t be…you-you saved him…I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”
    Alfred gently stroked Bruce’s hand and sighed. His face was worn and tired.
    He hadn’t left the young Wayne’s side since he got to the hospital.

    And Tony saw this. He put a hand on the man’s shoulder, “Alfred, you’ve been here for hours. Go down to the cafeteria, get something to eat and some coffee…I’ll watch Bruce..”

    He gently led the man out and closed the room door.
    His dark eyes stared at the motionless form.
    The only sound was the beep of the heart monitor.

    Tony’s hands trembled as he touched the large metal object in the center of his own chest. It’s blue light shown faintly through his t-shirt.
    He remembered the weak hand against it, touching it for comfort and in anger.

    “Oh Bruce…you can pull out of this…you’re a fighter…you’re the Batman for Christ’s sake..”

    The hero took Alfred’s seat beside his fellow ally and sighed.
    “Heh, maybe you’d wake up if your prince kissed you, like Snow White or Sleeping Beauty..”

    Even though Tony laughed, he saw how handsome Bruce looked, even bruised and cut up.
    But the Ironman never saw himself as gay, but really- could ONE little kiss make a man gay?

    The black haired inventor looked around the empty room and leaned in, willing to try anything to bring his new friend back from the brink.

    His lips gently touched Bruce’s, then more until he was finally kissing the young man.
    He felt a surge of warmth through his own body. A wonderful feeling he had never gotten before.

    Stark was tempted to deepen the kiss, but restrained himself. The man was unconscious, he couldn’t take advantage of that now could he?

    But then he heard it.
    That somewhat new, yet familiar voice.

    “…tony…”