Chapter Text
Tony wakes up cold and alone. He doesn’t know where he is, and for a blissful moment he doesn’t remember why. Then reality comes crashing back down, and he can’t breathe.
—Oh god I shifted and now I’m alone in this field and I’m naked and there’s blood all over me oh my god I killed them I killed them I killed them—
He’s dizzied by the lack of oxygen and cold and he thinks he’s crying, but he can’t stop because the worst has happened and he couldn’t fucking stop it and there is nothing left now. Nothing left to hope for. He can’t remember what he did, and it makes it even worse because he’s coming up with all the worst-case scenarios and he knows reality won’t be pretty but at least he’ll know. At least he’ll know.
He puts his head between his knees, trying to breathe.
He can feel the restless beast under his skin shifting, rising closer to the surface as he loses control over his body. He needs to breathe. He has to breathe.
One shuddering breath, then another. There’s wetness on his face. It’s not just water.
He tries to wipe it off, but he most likely makes a bigger mess of it.
Under the overwhelming tang of metal and death, he thinks he can distinguish individual smells. He almost doesn’t dare searching for familiar smells, but he needs to know. He can’t smell a hawk or a fox, but one of his feet reeks of Rogers. He throws up when he recognises the smell.
He finds himself praying to a god he doesn’t believe in —please please please— that Rogers is still alive.
.
There’s no way he hasn’t been spotted. If he flew all the way to this backwards field from the warehouse, someone is bound to have seen him. Not to mention satellite imagery. With the hawklike way SHIELD is watching over every square meter of the US, he gives it less than an hour before someone comes to investigate. Or put him down. If he…if he really… if Rogers is gone, he knows Fury will show no mercy.
So he doesn’t move from his spot.
He stares at the sky, so clear it makes him think of that day in Afghanistan. He’d been trying to fly away before the shrapnel hit, he remembers. If he had shifted then, he would have died in the explosion. Instead, he’s alive, but at what cost?
He’s not cold anymore. He can feel the shift lurking closer to the surface, making his skin heat. He feels feverish. He curls up into a ball, closes his eyes, and waits.
Clint has honestly forgotten everything about Banner until he hears the man’s tinny voice through one of their comms. He’s frantically trying to reach them, shouting that reinforcements and medics are on the way. Clint caws a bit, hoping Banner will understand he’s fine. The doctor lets out a relieved sigh, asking Clint to confirm the others are fine too. One caw for yes, two for no.
It’s a crude system, but it works. One caw for Rogers, one for Nat. Three for Tony, because he has absolutely no idea about how the genius is faring. The questions Banner asks then are too complex to answer: “Is he conscious?” No idea. “What do you mean, three caws? Is that maybe?” Two caws. “Does it mean maybe?” One caw. “What do you mean, Stark is maybe conscious?” “Can’t you check?” Two caws. “Um… What about the enemy? Did you…” One caw. “They’re subdued?” Big screech. “So why can’t you check? Is he inaccessible?” One caw.
And that is when Clint gets tired of the guessing game and caws in Morse code: “Tony is gone. Find him. Find big bird.” Excuse him, he’s not that great at Morse. But Banner seems to understand him and tells him SHIELD personnel will arrive in less than ten minutes.
All the while, Natasha has been checking up on Steve. He’s healing, already able to stand on his own four legs. Then they check on the downed would-be kidnappers. It’s a formality, of course, because they know they’re all dead. Clint doesn’t look too closely at the vivid gouges in the bodies, and he’s very grateful that he can’t smell anything in this form. He imagines it must be reeking of blood, and by the way both Rogers and Natasha are wrinkling their snouts, something worse. He gets his answer when Natasha pauses by a body, and a closer look shows him the upper half is partially burned. Ugh. He hates the smell of charred bodies.
What is worse than any smell, though, is that this means the raven monster Stark turned into was either burning hot or could control and heighten its body temperature at will, which makes an already dangerous being even more lethal. It could burn things, for god’s sake!
Clint really hopes that Stark is getting back to his human form as soon as possible. He doesn’t want to think about the rampage that the raven could be going on right now.
He hopes the raven can turn back into Stark, because if not… SHIELD won’t hesitate. Even a superhero billionaire can’t go scot-free if he turns into a rampaging monster. Banner had almost been killed for being the Hulk, and Stark would likely get killed.
Approximately forty minutes after Tony came back to himself, he hears the tell-tale roaring of several quinjets. It only takes a minute before three quinjets land in a wide circle around him. He doesn’t move, just watches placidly as SHIELD-agents in heavy protective gear swarm around and trap him neatly between them. It’s understandable, of course. He wonders what they’re thinking. Are they waiting for the moment he’ll transform, try to fly his way out of there? He’s under no illusion that the quinjets aren’t ready to fly and take chase at a moment’s notice.
Are they afraid of him? Disgusted by him? Maybe they aren’t even surprised. Maybe they hate him, if Rogers didn’t make it. Maybe they’re just waiting for the kill order. They must have something strong enough to down the Hulk. A sleeping agent? Something to paralyse him?
He should have done something with the sonic taser. Obadiah had used it successfully on him, after all. That should be enough to keep him still long enough to kill him.
Taking out his arc reactor should work.
A figure steps closer, and he’s surprised to see it’s Director Fury himself. The man stops at a safe distance, megaphone in hand:
“Stark, are you in control?”
He needs to shout to be heard, and it’s almost too much effort, but he answers:
“As much as I can be.”
It’s not a lie. He can’t really control when he shifts, but he can try to prevent it.
“We’re taking you into custody until a threat assessment has been made. I know you understand why we’re doing this, so don’t make this harder than it needs to be. Lie down, facing the ground, hands on your head.”
He almost wants to protest, to tell them they should just kill him already, before he shifts again, but he doesn’t really want to die, so he complies, and doesn’t move as a group runs towards him and cuffs him. They wrap a jacket around his waist, and he’s grateful for that, at least.
He doesn’t say a word as they push him towards the biggest quinjet. Fury has an unreadable look on his face, and he can’t see any of the Avengers. His steps falter, the familiar fear and guilt coming up again—What if I killed all of them without even spilling their blood? I wouldn’t be able to smell them then, would I? God, why aren’t they telling me what happened I NEED TO KNOW—but he’s strapped into a chair and sedated before he can ask anyone anything.
It takes hours before Steve can walk without feeling as if his skin is going to rip itself open again and leave him to bleed out on the floor. He’s surprised the wound closed so fast, to be honest, because the pain had been so bright, so burning when Stark (or whatever he’s turned into, anyway) slashed him, that he’d been convinced it had cut right through him.
Luckily for him, that wasn’t the case. He doubts even he could heal from being torn in two.
SHIELD came for them, letting them fly to the Helicarrier while they dealt with the mangled remains of the enemies. He almost feels sorry for them, killed in such a way. It’s a waste, unnecessary destruction. But it means that the Avengers got out, and Steve can appreciate that. Agents Barton and Romanoff were quiet during the whole flight back, huddled close together, providing each other warmth and comfort. Steve had to cram himself awkwardly in a corner, too tired to stay upright. Everyone kept their distance from him. He can’t blame them, he knows he makes an imposing figure in his shifted form, but he can’t help the jealousy that rises up in him when he thinks back to how close the superspies were to each other.
This is what a team should be like, he thinks.
This is what it was like with the Howling Commandos.
They would flock together after a battle, tend to each other’s wounds. Sometimes one or several of them would shift and lie next to each other, reassuring each other without words.
Steve hasn’t had anyone touch him in a friendly way since the ice, much less while in his shifted form.
He misses it, the companionship and easy camaraderie. It had almost felt like that, with the banter on the communication lines during the fight against the aliens, but the team had never consolidated after it was over. He thinks that with some work, the Avengers could be something good, maybe they could grow closer to each other. If the incident with Stark won’t derail it all.
He doesn’t know what to think of what happened. He hasn’t been able to talk about it, of course, since he’s still in his shifted form. He can feel the effects of the drug abating, and he thinks that in another hour or so, he should be able to shift back. If Banner and the other scientists don’t come up with an antidote earlier, of course. But for the moment, he can only replay everything that happened in his mind. He’s only sure of two things: Stark knew what would happen when they injected him, and when he shifted, he lost control completely.
Steve can still feel the weight of the gaze on him. It was completely devoid of any sliver of humanity. There was no recognition, none of the spark that always seemed to glint in Stark’s eyes. If Steve didn’t know better, he’d think Stark had been taken over.
But he does know better, because he heard that Stark has been apprehended, and is awaiting interrogation somewhere in the belly of the Helicarrier. Which means that he is back to his human form.
Steve doesn’t like that Stark is being treated like a criminal. He didn’t choose to shift. But there’s no denying he’s extremely dangerous. It’s eerily similar to the Hulk situation Steve read about when they briefed him on the Avengers project.
SHIELD is a little bit too eager to imprison human beings for Steve’s tastes.
For all he knows, maybe that’s just how the world works these days. Maybe in the 70 years that he was frozen, humanity just stopped caring about human rights in favour of safety and control.
He misses his old life.
He doesn’t get the chance to wallow in his self-pity for too long, because that’s when Banner enters with a syringe and a plastic bag. “This should negate the effects of the drug. There are clothes for you in the bag, Fury wants us all in his office in ten.”
Shifting back feels good. He feels less like an anomaly. Of course, being a supersoldier is not exactly inconspicuous, but at least people talk to him that way, and the only ones who avoid him are his enemies. He savours the feeling of having opposable thumbs and normal teeth for a while, then puts clothes on and walks to the Director’s office.
The rest of the team is present already, and they start as soon as he closes the door behind him. Fury’s poker face looks angrier than usual and he turns towards Romanoff first.
“I’m assuming none of you knew of Stark’s little secret? Because if you did, you kept vital information from me, which I don’t need to say is absolutely inadmissible.”
“We didn’t know, sir.” Steve’s firm denial is met with nodding. Romanoff looks almost embarrassed not to have found out, and Steve can understand. He’d be pretty annoyed if he were a spy, too. In fact, he’s already annoyed. Stark shouldn’t have kept such crucial information secret. The team should have been informed and would have acted accordingly. Instead, Stark panicked, then attacked Steve, and he knows the team only avoided utter destruction thanks to Romanoff’s quick thinking.
Steve doesn’t like the fact that he could easily have been dead right next to the goons, killed by his own team-mate on their second mission ever.
Which is not exactly how things are supposed to be.
They need to talk with Stark.
He wakes up, still cuffed, lying on the floor of a cylindrical room.
No, not a room. This is the Hulk-cage Loki was imprisoned in when he was in the Helicarrier. They put you in the strongest cell they have.
Good. He is dangerous.
He sits up, once again very aware of his state of undress, squinting in the lights. Somewhere deep inside, he can feel the fire curling around and getting hotter. He doesn’t like to be restrained, much less contained. He forcefully represses the fire.
There are silhouettes, barely discernible in the shadows around his cell, and he can’t smell or hear anything either through the thick glass.
Huh. Since when do you use smell to detect someone?
Since he’s a monster, apparently.
Focus.
One of the silhouettes walks into the light and he recognises Romanoff. She seems fine, which is such a relief Tony actually lets out a sigh. He’s almost too afraid to ask about the others, but she must see the question in his eyes, because she tells him: “We’re fine. You hurt Cap, but he’s mostly healed. Do you remember anything?”
He’s so relieved to hear the news that the team is okay that he doesn’t realise she asked him a question until she starts talking again:
“You shifted, then killed the enemy when they attacked you. You hurt Rogers when he didn’t show submission fast enough, but after we showed express submissive behaviour, you flew away. From satellite imagery, you flew in a straight line until you were around 100 km from the warehouse. Then you landed and shifted back.”
It’s a perfunctory recap, but it’s enough to let the last of his tension disappear. Well. The last of the additional tension.
Thank god I didn’t go on a killing spree. Thank GOD.
But what happens now?
He stands up, staring past her at the rest of the silhouettes.
“Trust me, I’m very happy that I didn’t mindlessly murder my own team, but what happens now?”
He doesn’t want to play any mind games. He’s too tired for that. If they want him dead, let them tell him already.
Another silhouette walks forwards. It’s the Director himself, leather coat billowing dramatically behind him. The scowl on his face completes the look.
“Now, Stark, you’re going to tell us what the hell happened out there, and then we’ll see if we let you out of there or not.”
Something in him revolts at having to lay out his secrets at the feet of the spy, not knowing who else might be listening in. He can’t tell this to the world. It needs to be a secret. His reputation and standing would take a blow he would never be able to recover from. He can already see the headlines before him: “From raven to monster: Stark’s morbid fate”; “Stark: the proof you can’t escape your destiny”; “From Merchant of Death to murderous beast”. It would be devastating. He can’t—he can’t let the news become public knowledge.
“I’d like to know who exactly I’m telling this.”
One by one, the remaining silhouettes walk forward. Rogers, Barton, Banner, and… Rhodey.
Why is he here? I… what?
It throws Tony for a loop. Why would Rhodey need to be present? Or did he get wind of the news that Tony has been apprehended? How many people know that Tony is currently imprisoned in the Helicarrier? If Rhodey knows, does Pepper too?
Oh god, I’ve lied to them for years—
“Tony! Are you—are you alright?” Rhodey’s standing right on the other side of the glass, peering intently into his eyes, concern and anger warring on his face.
“I came as fast as I can. Now just tell us so that we can figure this out. Okay? I made sure Fury disabled cameras and mics. Nothing will leak out, I promise. Just let me, us, help you. Alright Tones?”
And that is exactly why Tony would die, would kill for Rhodey. He’d kiss him if he could. He doesn’t care if this is just a ploy to make him feel better, some spy manipulation game to make him more compliant, because it works, goddammit. It works, and he needs this, and if he can’t quite convince himself that Rhodey won’t turn his back on him after getting all the details, it doesn’t matter, because at least he came to see Tony.
And Tony really needed a friendly face.
Ok. Fury doesn’t want this to be known either. You and JARVIS can delete any hidden recordings later.
He tries to smile to his rhodeybear, but judging by the worried expression of said bear, he doesn’t quite manage it.
Tony looks past him, to Rogers, who’s standing a bit stiffly but seems alright. He knew from Romanoff’s little speech that he was okay, but it’s still a relief to see him standing on his own. He doesn’t know exactly what he did, but he must have hurt him pretty bad if he bled that much.
You’re stalling, Tony. Get on with it.
So Tony does. He tells them about his shift in Afghanistan, about the fear of shifting again. He tells them he never shifted because he couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t kill everyone on sight. He gives them his theory: the arc reactor changed something in him, and that something translated in him shifting into a raven-like monster when he was forced to. He doesn’t tell them that the shift rises to the surface whenever death is looming too close. He doesn’t tell them about the fear, about the disgust, about the isolation to keep other people safe. He doesn’t tell them about his darkest thoughts about himself, fate, and Death.
Rhodey knows there is something more. And of course he does, he’s known Tony for almost three decades, and he knows better than anyone how Tony feels about being a raven. Worse than a raven, now.
Banner has something like understanding in his eyes.
The others school their faces into emotionless masks, apart from Rogers, who looks stricken.
The silence lasts a while.
Banner is the first to speak up.
“Am I correct in assuming this is something close to the Hulk predicament? You have some control, don’t you? Because the only times you’ve shifted were when you were forced to.”
He’s sharp. I see what you’re doing here, Banner. Putting my shifted form on the same level as the Hulk could save me or doom us both.
“That would be correct, Dr.Banner. I have managed to keep myself from shifting in other situations.”
Now that the cards are on the table, he’s almost curious to see what will happen. If they keep him in this cage, they wouldn’t have any reason not to imprison Banner too. But they know trying to subdue the Hulk is nigh impossible. Which means they’re going to have to let Tony go. But Fury won’t let that happen without a failsafe. He’s got power over Tony, now. And it’s too good of a blackmail opportunity to let go. So what will Fury’s terms be?
Romanoff seems to have come to the same conclusion as Tony, because she shoots Fury a quick glance. He just stares right at Tony, likely trying to make him squirm in place. The image of a sparrow trying to stare down an eagle pops up in Tony’s mind, and he can’t resist a slight smirk. He hasn’t tested how much exactly he can withstand in his new shifted form, but his guess is that he’s a lot more difficult to kill now that he’s half-monster. Fury can posture all he wants, but in the end, it’s just posturing.
Show him, the part he keeps deep inside of him whispers. Show him how powerful you are, how powerful you have become.
He ignores it.
“You’re going to agree to routine SHIELD tests and check-ups regarding your condition. You’re to keep living in the tower with the other Avengers. You’re going to train and master your shifted form. Another incident like that, and I will authorize my agents to use any means necessary to stop you. Are we clear?”
In other words: Control yourself, or I won’t hesitate to get you killed. Oh, and, we’re going to experiment on you in the name of “science”.
He’s tempted to say no, just to see what happens.
He doesn’t.
After he’s been poked and prodded by SHIELD scientists for the better part of a day, Rhodey whisks him away to Malibu, where they meet the very agitated Pepper and Happy. The ensuing conversation is painful for all parts. It’s heart-breaking to see the surprise and betrayal on their faces. He is more honest with them than with the Avengers, however. He tells them he wanted to keep them safe. From himself goes unsaid. He admits that his “sabbatical” was related to his shifting problem and accidentally lets it slip that he was dying at the time, which launches them into a whole different kind of outrage.
It takes hours, but after trying to explain himself and telling them as much as he can, they’re a bit mollified. They’re not happy about Fury’s terms, but Tony can always try to make a different deal. For now, he’s free, and that’s most important.
Tony leaves the place with a heart lighter than it has been in years.
The atmosphere is still very stilted at the tower. No one is quite sure where they stand. Their last mission was a disaster, and they’re all unsure as to how they’re going to continue.
Their tiptoeing around each other lasts until Fury sends them an email threatening to lock them up in a room until they start talking to each other. Tony doesn’t like the fact that Fury knows what’s happening in his tower. He suspects the spies are reporting back to him, but he makes JARVIS make a bug-sweep anyways.
So Tony walks into Banner’s lab and starts an argument about gamma radiation and its characteristics in space. They argue, and rope in JARVIS to make calculations and simulations, and what started as a purely theoretical problem evolves into something else entirely. They spend the whole night experimenting and talking and at one point they realise they both can’t remember why bremsstrahlung is relevant to the discussion, so they decide to call it a night. When Tony stumbles into bed, it’s 3 am.
It starts with a talk with Banner (“please call me Bruce.” “Then call me Tony. I hate it when people call me Dr. Stark anyways. Sounds too German.”) and it evolves into a weekly meetup to research and experiment together. Or, playtime, as Tony dubbed it.
Bruce is as sharp as Tony expected, and even smarter. He’s a genius, no contest about it, and Tony revels in being able to speak with someone on the same wavelength as him. There is a quiet aura around him, that stays even when he’s engrossed in his latest invention.
There’s the Hulk, too. They haven’t talked about any of that yet, but it’s comforting to know that he isn’t the only one with something monstrous inside of him. It’s visible in each of Bruce’s movements, the quiet and calm that is too measured to be anything but forced.
The fire inside of Tony calms, just a little, when he’s with Bruce. He thinks that might be trust.
He’s killing all of them. Ripping them into shreds, burning their flesh. Pepper, Happy, Rhodey, all fall before him, pleading with him to stop even as his claws sink into their skin. He turns to the Avengers next, intent on making them disappear too. They’re between him and the flames, and he longs to be a part of them. He longs for the bright fire he saw in space. The captain tries to stop him with ice, but he burns through it and the star on the chest melts away, revealing human skin and blood and bones and the man’s screaming and trying to escape but it’s too late—
Tony wakes up breathing hard and feeling hot all over. His hands are trembling. There is a dark feather on his pillow. He gets up and walks around, trying to forget the nightmare. He wanders around the common floors, not sure of what he’s doing there, but he won’t be sleeping again tonight. He walks and walks, and finds himself in the kitchen, where Bruce is sitting, sipping tea and staring unseeingly through the window. He nods at Tony when he sees him, and Tony nods back, makes a cup of coffee, and sits next to him. They don’t talk for a long while.
In the end, it’s Bruce that breaks the silence.
“I dream of it, of killing everyone and not realising what I’ve done until I wake up. Every time the Hulk gets out, I think: ‘this is it. This is the time you won’t be able to control yourself. This is the time you’ll wake up to see they’re all dead. And you will have done nothing to stop it.’… I don’t understand how or why I’m on this team of—of superheroes when I’m just a loose cannon, a tragedy waiting to happen. And you. You never doubted me, nor the Hulk, for a moment. When we fought together in the streets, minutes after I’d almost killed Romanoff and battled Thor, you welcomed me with open arms. And I know that they were all afraid of me, the humans on the team. But they thought I was more of an asset than a liability, and they accepted me as a part of the team. They fought with the Hulk, and he fought with them. But you, you understood me better than the others. You weren’t afraid, because you have your own Hulk. And knowing how dangerous, how unpredictable, that makes us, you still decided to trust me. You’re the only one I know who has ever had anything positive to say about him. And the Hulk likes you too. He wouldn’t have saved you otherwise.”
Tony can’t speak through the sudden dryness of his throat.
“I know how you feel about yourself, because it’s very close to what I feel. I won’t tell you to stop feeling the way you do, because that would only make me a hypocrite. But if there are people that genuinely like you, people who want you to be in their lives, why would you cut yourself off? You told me maybe I’m still alive for a reason. So what’s your reason? Why didn’t you die in Afghanistan?”
Bruce is still looking out of the window, still as quiet and measured, but the rage that simmers underneath his skin is stronger now. Tony can feel it, can feel his own fire rise to meet it.
“We’re both monsters. But that doesn’t mean we have to be killers.”
Their eyes lock, and Tony knows he isn’t imagining the green tinge in Bruce’s irises. He thinks his own eyes must be filled by darkness, but is surprised when he gets a glimpse of his reflection. His eyes aren’t black or darker than usual. No, they’re an electric blue, almost glowing in the dim light. It scares him more than he’d like to admit.
“Do you remember anything? When you hulk out?” He can’t help but blurt out.
“I didn’t, in the beginning. Now I remember all of it. I’m even present while he’s awake. I can see what happens. Maybe someday we’ll be able to communicate, that would be great. But it’s hard, it’s like being a passenger in your own body, or like there is a second consciousness that is so different from yourself you want to shrink back from it and turn away. But you—I—can’t. He’s part of me. It took me a while to admit it, much less accept. Now I try to talk to him. It takes time. Meditating helps a lot, actually. I think it would do you some good too.”
Three is a wedding
Bruce knows Tony all too well already, it’s frightening.
(it isn’t, not really. Tony is just grateful to have made a friend he won’t be able to hurt.)
He knows the spies and Rogers have been spending time together, mainly during workouts and sparring. And if they can connect while punching each other, good for them. Tony doesn’t want that, he can train on his own or with a personal trainer, thank you very much. But the Avengers need a real team cohesion, so Tony approaches Barton one day while he’s practising archery. It feels safest. There is still the occasional surge of anger when he thinks of Romanoff, and how she almost infiltrated his company, and he isn’t really on the best of terms with Rogers. Between their disastrous first conversation on the Helicarrier and the fact that Tony almost killed him, they aren’t really talking. Which Tony knows he’ll need to change, but he doesn’t want to do it just yet. So he approaches Barton, with whom he has no grievance.
“So. A Hawk, huh?”
Barton huffs, still shooting arrow after arrow and hitting bullseye in every target.
“Believe it or not, I was 9 and needed to come up with a cool stage-name in the circus I had joined. So, of course, I decided that my codename was going to be Hawkeye. Not my fault it stuck. Also, it’s pretty accurate.”
Huh.
“Are you telling me your eyesight is that good? Is that why you never miss?”
“A magician never reveals his secrets.” And is that a grin? That Barton guy is not half-bad, actually.
“Oh, I see. Speaking of magic, want to see a cool trick?” Tony pushes a button in a panel on the wall, and the targets get swapped for moving ones instead. It had taken Tony quite some time to get the algorithms right, but the end result is pretty great. Barton is suitably impressed, at least. He turns towards Tony, abandoning his shooting.
“That wasn’t an option three days ago.”
“A lot can change in three days.”
Barton looks at him, his gaze piercing, and Tony understands what it feels like to be watched by a bird of prey.
“I guess you would know.”
This is straying into dangerous territory.
“Sure. My brain moves so fast that even I have trouble keeping up with it sometimes. Anyways, my time is limited, important stuff to do, gotta go.”
Great, Tony. That will surely convince him you’re not the asshole everyone thinks you are.
It’s only when he’s back in his workshop that he asks himself why he cares what Barton thinks of him.
What happened to keeping everyone at arm’s length?
They’re in the lab, working on genetically modified apples and how to make them able to grow in extreme weather conditions, when Tony asks something that has been on his mind for quite some time.
“What kind of animal were you hoping to shift into?”
It’s a brutal question, tactless and out of the blue. But Tony knows (hopes) that Bruce won’t take it the wrong way.
He hums, finishing his line of coding before glancing at Tony.
“My theory was that I’d turn into the animal that matched me the most personality-wise. I didn’t really know what to expect, although I think I wanted it to be a dog. Maybe a Pitbull? I tried to avoid hoping for a specific animal, as I thought I wouldn’t have the choice. In the end, it’s a bit of a moot point, since I didn’t shift into an animal at all.
Or maybe the Hulk is my shift. Could be I really am that ugly inside.”
This is something that Tony admires in Bruce. He can be so vulnerable, so open to Tony, for seemingly no reason at all. He just decided to trust Tony. And Tony tries to be worthy of that trust. For every piece Bruce shows him, Tony gives a bit of himself in return.
“If I could choose, I don’t know if I would want to be a shifter. It’s—It’s like a cage around me, of expectations and stereotypes that people have of me, just because of the damn animal I turn into. And the worst is that I can’t be sure they aren’t right. I look around myself, and I see death, and destruction, and war, everything that a raven stands for. And I try to make it better, to act like a hero, but I’m even more monstrous than before, and I—I—I feel like I can’t escape it.”
“I guess the popular two-bit psychologist bullshit theory of your shifted form being your “true self” isn’t really the thing we want to hear, is it?”
Heh. The embodiment of death and ill omens and a mindless green rage monster? Not really what they want to be.
“You can say that, Tony. I prefer the theory that our shifted form is an aspect of our personality, that it reflects a part of us, instead of our whole being. It’s a more nuanced approach. I had some time to explore that when I was in hiding. It’s interesting to see how the same animal can have vastly different imagery tied to it, depending on the culture. Or even within the same culture. Did you know that in the Tlingit culture, there are two distinct raven characters? One is the trickster, selfish and sly. The other is a creator. He’s said to be responsible for bringing the world into being and is sometimes considered to be the individual who brought light to the darkness. In Haida mythology, the raven is seen as the trickster and the creator, the provider of mankind.”
By the way Bruce is so carefully casual about it, Tony knows that he hasn’t picked that particular example by accident. But even then, it makes him feel better. Of course, he knew there were other mythologies and meanings associated to ravens than death and destruction, but he’s never really bothered to read further. He wishes he had, now.
“Thanks, Bruce.” And that’s the end of the conversation.
Bruce’s words make him think of Yinsen, who told him to choose the meaning of his shifted form.
One month after Tony’s shifting, he’s once again wandering around the tower, fleeing from his mind, when he stumbles across Barton, reclining on the sofa, watching a second-rate action movie. His eyes are a little too vacant, his frame a little too tense, but Tony doesn’t bring it up. There is only one reason they are both awake at this hour, after all. Instead, he sits down next to him, and watches the movie with him.
One and a half movie later, Romanoff slides in, silent as a shadow, and perches herself on the armrest next to Barton.
Slowly but surely, the night creeps by, with Rogers and Bruce joining them in the early morning hours.
Around 7 o’clock, it strikes Tony that this is the first time the whole team (sans Thor) has spent time together outside of missions.
They should do this more often, watching movies in companionable silence. Preferably when they aren’t still haunted by their nightmares.
“We should do this again,” Tony surprises himself by saying, ”What do you say, weekly movie night ?”
The quiet murmurs of agreement are almost as surprised as he feels.
Next week, they find themselves in front of the television again, this time at a more human time, with popcorn and snacks.
The week after that, they’re still all there, and the week after, and the one after that too.
Four is a birth.
Romanoff is running alongisde Tony, her evening dress not hindering her movements in the slightest, and Tony is jealous, already planning to design a combat-fit tux when they get out of this disaster of a gala. It’s a hostage situation, with the villains of the week barricading themselves with the panicked upper echelon of society that attended the charity event. Tony and Romanoff were supposed to be the face of the Avengers, supposed to schmooze and get people to donate for a good cause. Instead, they’re running for their lives, trying to dodge the bullets flying over their heads.
They manage to slip into an empty room, barricading themselves with an armchair and scouting the room for anything that could be used as a weapon.
There are two rapiers crossed over the extravagant fireplace. Tony doesn’t think, he just jumps forward and takes one of them, not even surprised when Romanoff takes the other.
She quirks an eyebrow at him, taking in his fencing stance.
He huffs a reply: “I was a rich kid with a competitive streak, what did you expect?”
She shrugs, fair enough.
Between Romanoff’s incredible skills and Tony’s quick fighting style, they defeat the three villains that thought barging in through the door would be a good idea. The remains of the door are a good shield against bullets, and Tony realises they’re fighting like knights against goons with firearms and winning.
Tony almost wishes his old teacher could see him now, disregarding etiquette blatantly, hitting his adversaries in the face and legs, even slicing instead of only thrusting.
Although he supposes the teacher would only have eyes for Romanoff, who is combining frightening ninja techniques with more classical fencing moves. She kills and incapacitates in a gracious dance, moving to a beat heard only by herself. Tony thinks he recognises ballet moves, mixed with several martial arts and other techniques he’s never seen before.
She’s stunning.
.
After what feels like hours, reinforcements have arrived, and Tony can finally remove his aching feet from his narrow shoes. He watches Romanoff as she takes off her heels, wincing slightly at the bloody ankles and toes.
“Why didn’t you take these off earlier? It can’t have been easy, fighting in them.”
“I know how to fight in heels. Besides, these heels are special.” She shows him then, the tiny needles jutting out. It’s a paralyzing substance, Tony realises. Brilliant.
“That’s amazing. But SHIELD could give you shoes that are more comfortable, couldn’t they? No, no, forget it, just let me take a look at those. I’ll design some better shoes for you, I’m sure Pepper would appreciate them as well.”
Her sharp intake of breath makes him realise what he just said.
I offered to build her better equipment.
It doesn’t feel him with the same guilt as the other times he wanted to create and build stuff for the Avengers. They’ve seen him at his worst, and yet he’s still part of them. Surely that means that they’ll accept to use things he built.
Besides, ravens are also considered as creators. And what is Tony if not someone who creates, who invents, who builds and makes?
They’re sitting in a bar somewhere downtown, just Clint and Tony, drinking beer and talking about nothing and anything. It’s been a slow week, and they both needed to do something, to get out of the tower for a while, so they decided going out and drinking would have to do.
It’s not bad, actually. And after a few beers, their tongues have loosened enough to broach a subject Tony usually doesn’t talk about. Namely, flying. He supposes it’s inevitable they talked about it, since they’re both bird shifters. And flying is one thing almost all bird shifters agree on: it’s amazing.
“Do you miss it? Flying?” Clint asks him, toying with a napkin.
“Very much.” Tony finds himself answering truthfully.
“I know, you’re going to say I can still fly in the armour, but you know nothing can compare to flying on your own, having the wind in your feathers, feeling the strain in your muscles. Even the view is different. I’m—I’m closer to everything when I’m a bird, there isn’t a metal suit cutting me off from the sky.”
“Yeah. I used to fly all the time when I was a kid. Still do, now, but less. It’s actually mandatory for us SHIELD agents to shift at least an hour a week, something about maximum performance and mental stability, which, well. I could use. I usually drive off to the nearest forest and fly around. Sometimes with other agents, sometimes alone. You could come with us, if you want. I know you can’t…you know, but maybe you’d like some company flying in the suit.”
It’s a very kind offer. Maybe Tony will even take him up on it. But not this month. Or the next. It’s still too painful, after all these years, to see other bird shifters. He can’t help but see everything he’s missing, everything he’s lost.
Tony can’t believe it. Somehow, somehow, he managed to get stuck in an elevator with Captain America of all people. In the Helicarrier no less! He’d complain about sub-par SHIELD facilities, but something tells him this particular situation isn’t an accident. He’s seen the looks Natasha and Clint shot Rogers and himself when they walked out of the meeting.
He shouldn’t have mentioned his tentative intention of talking things out with Rogers to Clint.
SHIELD support tells them they’re terribly sorry, but that the malfunction can’t be fixed remotely, that they need a team of experts, that it could take up to two hours, sorry, we’ll do our best, toodeloo!
After fifteen minutes of awkward silence, Tony tells himself to quit being ridiculous, and swallows his pride.
“You know, it occurred to me that I never really apologised for what I said on the Helicarrier. I don’t think you’re…outdated, or a fossil, or anything. On the contrary. When I was a child, I was obsessed with palaeontology, so imagine how elated I was when I learned you were a Machairodus Kabir. I couldn’t believe it. Captain America, a prehistoric feline? It was a dream come true.”
Rogers has a look of surprise on his face, and is that…sheepiness?
“I’m sorry for what I said, too. It was very rude of me to insinuate you weren’t a hero just because you were born a raven shifter. If anything, you proved me wrong when you flew the nuke into the portal.”
Tony stamps down the urge to smile giddily.
“It’s all water under the bridge. Plus, the Loki staff influenced us. Now that I think of it, we haven’t had a real first meeting, have we? Allow me to introduce myself: Tony Stark, genius billionaire and part-time superhero. Please call me Tony.”
He holds out his hand with a smile, a clear peace-offering. Rogers takes it.
“Steve Rogers, a boy from Brooklyn, occasionally Captain America. Pleased to meet you. And please call me Steve, Tony.”
Something inside Tony loosens at that. This is good. They might even become friends.
“While we’re at it, I’m also, uh, very sorry for hurting you when I…shifted.”
“I don’t hold it against you. You were scared, and stressed, and saw me as a threat. Besides, you didn’t attack us after that.”
Tony stares at Steve.
He can’t mean that, can he?
Steve stares back at him, brows furrowing.
“I mean, when it happened, I was confused and hurt, but then I realised I had been aggressive towards you, and you just reacted. You told us yourself you weren’t in control, which means we should see your shifted form as a wild animal. In your case, a predator. Of course you would attack someone showing hostility. It’s just like the Hulk. If you look closely at the fights between the Hulk and the military, you see how he only attacks them after they’ve started firing. And he’s never hurt civilians intentionally. You just need to learn to be more in control, and this kind of situation won’t have to happen again.”
When he says it like that, it seems so simple. Tony wants to believe him.
He wants to—he doesn’t want to repress his shift.
.
Two hours later, they’re still talking, and Tony realises Steve and him may have more things in common than he originally thought.
“When I knew you were alive, after almost seventy years in the ice, I immediately thought of your shifted form. Seems fitting, that an animal from the ice-age survives such a thing and joins us. I think you’re the only known shifter with a prehistoric shift.”
Tony knows it, actually. He’s scoured every single registry. Steve being a sabre-tooth isn’t just a lucky coincidence, Tony is sure of it.
“It’s strange. I always thought I was a cat, and when I got the serum, and turned into this beast, I was so surprised. I never really thought of why, but when I knew I was going to—to crash into the ice, I thought of that too. Thought it’d be a fitting end. In the end, I didn’t die. But I could just as well have ended up like one of those mammoths they’ve found in Siberia. Did you know about that? I read it in the papers about a week after waking up, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Couldn’t stop thinking about meanings behind shifters. Couldn’t stop thinking about fate.”
A silence.
“I’ve had my fair share of thinking of fate. Before and after Afghanistan. It always seemed to pursue me, to force me into a mould I didn’t want. When I came back from Afghanistan, turned into this—this new thing, I thought a lot about it. About what it meant. Why my shifted form changed, while it shouldn’t have been possible. But it happened to you, too. Do you think you really were a common cat before the serum? Or that you’ve always been a sabre-tooth tiger, just not fully developed yet?”
And what would that mean for Tony? Has he always been a monstrosity, just waiting for the right moment to reveal itself?
.
Four hours in, and they’re still in the elevator. They’re still chatting away, about their childhood, comparing times, comparing their lives.
“I’ve always loved Greek mythology. I could spend hours, when I was lying in bed with a cold or some other sickness, reading all about their gods and their myths. My mother always asked all our neighbours if they had any book on ancient Greece lying around. I must have read dozens of them, over and over again.”
He eyes Tony, then.
“Each god has their sacred animals, and I used to regret not being an owl, because Athena was my favourite amongst the Greek deity. No god had a cat as sacred animal, of course. None have a saber-tooth tiger either. But there is a god with a raven. Apollo, the god of prophecy. I felt it fitting, when I first saw you.”
Tony hears the hidden meaning. It is kind of fitting, in its own twisted way. Steve, the man out of time, is a prehistoric animal. Tony, followed by death and destruction, but self-proclaimed futurist, is a prophetic bird.
Three months after the shifting incident, Tony wakes up to a raging thunderstorm. He’s barely out of his bed, half-heartedly asking JARVIS about how the tower’s lightning rods are holding up, when Thor appears on his landing pad in a flash of colourful light.
Half an hour later, the team is gathered, listening to Thor clamouring about his brother’s imprisonment, the time he spent on Asgard, his “lovely lady Jane”, and how happy he is to be a part of this team of fine warriors and mighty mortals.
Tony smiles along and realises this was what the team needed to be complete.
“How are things with the Hulk?”
“It’s good, Tony. We talk, sometimes. He really liked petting the tigers from the zoo.”
“Do you… do you have any, uh, tips for communicating with your other self?”
“Why don’t you join me on my next meditation and yoga session?”
“Sure! Sure. Yeah. Thanks.”
Tony is standing in a field, far removed from any kind of civilisation, the Avengers standing in a circle around him, armoured up and ready. There are SHIELD quinjets hovering just out of sight, but Tony doesn’t mind. He isn’t doing this for SHIELD.
For the first time since he became something else, he reaches inside of him, reaches until he feels the fire, and lets it take over. He resolutely doesn’t think of anything as the shift rises to the surface, enveloping him in darkness.
He has to trust his team.
The shift is much smoother than last time, and Natasha is grateful for that. Tony doesn’t scream, doesn’t contort himself in pain. Instead, he looks up, and grows smoothly until he’s the same ink-black beast as the last time they saw him like that.
There is a moment of tension as Tony ruffles his feathers, flaps his wings in three powerful strokes, then settles.
He’s as impressive as last time, but she can’t feel the same cruelty emanating from him. Instead, he seems content, almost at peace. She lets herself hope that maybe Tony is conscious, but when an electric eye settles on her, she knows he’s not in control. But he’s calm, at least.
She looks down anyways, not wanting to risk showing hostility.
The same process happens with each Avenger in turn. Tony looks at them curiously, croaking softly, no sign of hostility, and the Avengers make sure they show deference. Thor in particular strikes Natasha’s attention. He gets down on one knee and mutters something, to quiet to hear, but raven-Tony seems to hear it and even acknowledge it, if that is indeed why he gurgles.
Thor knows something more. She makes a mental note to ask him about this later.
When they’re done with the greeting, they start following courses of action they had decided on beforehand. Talking to Tony, watching closely for any type of reaction, training around him, even touching him. Assessing how much they can do before he feels threatened or irritated.
He’s surprisingly serene, all things considered. He doesn’t seem bothered when they spar around him, they can even touch him briefly. Petting his feathers is okay, but putting anything on his back ends with him shrugging everything off. The area around his arc-reactor is off-limits too, as Clint discovered when he tried to get a closer look and found himself pinned under a very sharp claw during a few tense seconds.
The most important is that there is no ill-intent, which is comforting.
Natasha knows Fury will be happy.
She’s happy too, but for different reasons. She’s grown fond of Tony, and she knows it’ll be an immense relief for him.
Now to the next part.
They haven’t really been able to communicate in words with Tony, but they hope that if they shift, they can use other languages.
One by one, they shift, Thor retreating to a distance. Tony watches intently and turns towards Steve first, looming closer. Steve doesn’t move. Natasha has half a mind to tell him to show his belly but stops when she sees that Tony lowers his head to the ground, feathers smooth.
He’s showing signs of submission. This is very good. He’s trusting Steve!
Steve recognises it as well, because he inclines his own head, and Tony crows happily.
The same dance happens with Natasha and Clint.
With the Hulk, it’s different. They stare into each other’s eyes for a long while, then Tony crows and the Hulk grunts. As if on cue, Tony grows and grows and grows until he’s 40 meters high, then he jumps in the air with a powerful thrust and flies a lazy circle in the air. She can’t help but notice that the red and gold feathers of last time are nowhere to be seen. On the contrary, Tony is so dark that he could be mistaken for a gigantic shadow. It’s breath-taking, watching such an immense being flying around. Tony flies towards one of the quinjets, almost hovering while he examines it. Natasha is glad she’s not in it. She would feel very small, faced with a being the size of Tony. When he’s done with his examination, he flies back to the Hulk, then decreases in size until he’s roughly the same height as the Hulk.
So our theory was correct. He can decrease in size as well. How small can he become? And how tall?
Tony starts to pick at the Hulk’s shoulder then, hopping around the Hulk and crowing softly. The Hulk bats his beak away, then roars and jumps into the air. Tony follows him.
It takes longer than Natasha would like to admit for her to realise that they are playing.
“Friend Tony, what brings you to my chamber at this late hour?”
“I’ve been getting back memories from when I shifted with the team, and when I looked at you, you said something, something Nordic?”
“I called you eldfågel, yes. Bird of fire, I believe is the literal translation.”
“…”
“You are a truly unique individual, Tony Stark. It’s remarkable that during all my years being alive, a being such as yourself would manifest now. I am honoured to be a part of your team, and I must thank you for going easy on my brother during the Battle of the Chitauri.”
“…Going easy? Thor, what do you mean by going easy—”
“Did I tell you about my father, Odin? He’s got two ravens, Huginn and Muninn, that serve as his eyes and ears. They fly over the lands of Midgard and bring back information to the all-father. Do you know the translation for Huginn and Muninn? It means thought and memory.”
“Thor, would you please—”
“You do not seem to have all your memories, nor your thoughts, Tony. I will let you find out in time.”
“What—”
“You’re a raven and an eldfågel. Fascinating things will happen in this lifetime, I’m sure of that. Now, I’m going to see my fair lady Jane. ‘Til we meet again, brother in arms!”
“Thor, wait!..... Damn it.”
It has been months since Tony first shifted into his beast raven form (Clint tried to dub it “Bulk”, for Bird Hulk, but stopped very quickly when Tony and Bruce glared at him), and he’s made slow but steady progress, with the help of Bruce and the other Avengers. He’s been lucid and conscious a couple of times now, but never during the whole time he was shifted. This time, Tony hopes it’ll be different.
He’s in the penthouse, Rhodey and Pepper already shifted, waiting for him to shift. He takes a deep breath, and lets the fire consume him.
The world warps before him, taking on a blue tinge, details sharper and smells muted. He can feel the slight breeze coming from the open window, caressing his feathers. He is warm, and calm, and a bit too big for what they had in mind. So he concentrates, and slowly shrinks until he’s a little bit bigger than Rhodey, who is huffing and grunting excitedly. Pepper is more cautious, pacing around the kitchen, her tail flicking back and forth.
Tony crows, in the short four-note melody he used to sing when he was in MIT, just to annoy Rhodey. It comes out an octave too low, but it’s worth seeing Rhodey roar in approvement.
He did it.
He’s in control of his shift.
He knows his control isn’t absolute, and they haven’t been in combat situation yet, and he hasn’t managed to control his body temperature, but he’s conscious. He knows what he’s doing, he understands what is happening, and he controls his actions.
It’s better than he could ever have dreamed.
He lowers himself to the floor, letting his wings spread a little over the wood. Soon enough, Pepper slides under one of them, curling into a small ball of warmth next to his chest. Rhodey lays down under the other, and Tony revels in the feeling of having them close to him, warm and safe and happy.
Eleven is for love
Tony is the size of a human, but he’s got wings, and he’s soaring through the night sky. Next to him, a familiar falcon is keeping up, occasionally diving down in a free-fall. He crows loudly into the night, the answering screech resounding in the silence.
They fly, and play, and dance in the sky, and Tony feels the wind on his feathers and the sky in his bones, and he dares to feel joy.
He thinks of his mother, of his father, of Jarvis, of Yinsen, of all the people that were in his life but aren’t anymore, and he knows they’re alright.
He thinks of Bruce, of Clint, of Natasha, of Steve, of Thor, his fellow Avengers, reliable and caring and courageous and kind.
He thinks he can create a better future with them by his side.
No, he knows.
Twelve - joy for tomorrow.