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It’s almost the end of the month when the familiar feeling of uneasiness starts to rear its ugly head in Tony’s gut. Or head. Or his non-existent heart— whatever, he doesn’t know where the feelings abide, he isn’t that well-versed in the squishy sciences. The main thing is that it is coming. Right at the end of December, too, perfect fucking timing.
It’s fine. He should be used to it by now. It’s not like he has enough responsibilities for the next couple of weeks to warrant many, many troubles in case of his mysterious disappearance.
He manages. Of course, he manages. He finds a day less busy than others and makes up some excuses, some of which work and some of which he masks with incessant talking. He clears up his schedule. The most painful thing is, of course, to change the plans he had with Bucky — not anything big, just a small outing, watching a movie together away from crowds and Christmas chaos. It should have been fun. Mutually beneficial, too. Bucky, annoyed by Christmas because a, Jewish, and b, potentially triggered by the celebrations, would have gotten a quiet evening.
Tony would have had, well, Bucky.
But now? Nope, now Tony has to deal with a supersoldier Sad Face, who clearly doesn’t buy his excuses, and he has to feel like shit. Still; better than the truth.
With that taken care of and feeling like the worst person on Earth, Tony hides in his workshop.
“Blackout, J,” he sighs and, as JARVIS dutifully activates all the privacy settings, he starts the shifting.
It’s not a nice process. It was never something Tony enjoyed, and while it’s not particularly painful, it’s off-putting. Strange. Uncomfortable. The feeling of your body rapidly changing in mass is— something. Something he still can’t get used to, even after all those years.
It’s said that you feel better if you change more, if your form is healthy, if its needs are met. Well, Tony’s doing all he can. He shifts regularly. Just enough to stop himself from going mad (the three months of his captivity were— not fun, you can say that. Still, it’s nothing compared to Bucky, and his gorgeous wolf who’s still skittish, still wounded after being lost for decades). The point is, Tony’s fine.
He’s doing everything right. There’s just no reason for anyone to know.
After shifting he stays frozen for a while, disoriented, carefully avoiding looking at anything with his own reflection, what with the way he looks now still waking old memories of the reactions he had— his mother’s, surprised, tight-lipped, silent, and Howard’s. He’s never shown anyone else, afterward. He learned this lesson.
But as he adapts, his new shape asks for action. Thus, Tony walks, his slow pace changing to fast, then — to clumsy running, and JARVIS is ready with his form’s preferred entertainment, and it’s fine. All is well. With his instincts taking over for a while, Tony might even find it fun.
Until, of course, his instincts take over a little too much, too long, and Tony follows a very captivating movement of light, and suddenly he’s fuck knows where; alone, lost, with his shitty weird vision, and there are too many smells, and— oh fuck.
People.
In hindsight, doing this around the team might have been not the best idea. But, well, it was a while since he managed to run off, and he was home. It was getting weirder to hide somewhere outside of it just for the regular shifting. He’s grown too comfortable. Fuck.
Tony does what his body screams at him to do and hides. It’s mixed results: on one hand, he’s not very good at it. On the other, he’s small enough. It should be fine.
It’s fine.
The sounds cease—
“Hey there, little guy.”
The new voice is too loud, and too close, and Tony panics, but there’s no escape. Something warm and big embraces him and he’s suddenly in the air. Running all known expletives in his head, Tony stifles the urge to scream (just because in this body it’d be too undignified) and gives in to his fate.
His fate, which suddenly looks like Bucky’s face. Only ten times bigger in size.
“You okay?” And, oh, the big warm thing is Bucky’s hand, and of course, he was the one who found Tony. Of course, he couldn’t walk away. “Don’t worry, ‘m not gonna hurt you, precious.”
Precious?
“What’s with your eyes?”
Tony scoffs. It probably comes off ridiculous, high-pitched and weak. All of him is weak, like this: the eyes that barely see, the ears that itch and have a shitty hearing, the tail too short, the paws too clumsy.
“Oh, you’re just dirty,” Bucky mutters, and excuse you, Tony’s perfectly clean, thank you very much, but then a finger comes to his eyes, closed in trepidation, and its movement is so tender, and suddenly Tony can see.
At first, he’s just surprised to stillness with the clarity of his vision. Then he tries to imitate Bucky with his paw and fails. Because who needs the ability to fix a problem that majorly affects your life, right?
“Here you are, baby,” Bucky murmurs, and it’s ridiculous. Tony’s a grown man, and just because his other shape refuses to change from a tiny kitten to something less shameful, it’s not a reason to call him that.
Not even if it does make him feel all gooey inside. Which it does not.
“You’re very cute,” Bucky informs him, and Tony almost falls from his hands.
How dare he.
“Well, I guess I will hang out with you for tonight. Would you mind? Oh, you probably don’t wanna be held for long, sorry,” and he puts him down, which is a shame— ahem, which is what Tony wanted him to do, clearly, for his dignity to be reclaimed. “I could use some company. Had this— ah.”
And now Bucky looks sad. Which is obviously Tony’s fault, and this is just— unacceptable. Tony comes to him and, all pride forgotten, headbutts him in the leg.
Ankle.
Okay, foot.
He doesn’t even fall! It is a success story.
“Thanks, honey,” Bucky laughs — see? mission success! — and leans to pet Tony behind the ears. “I’m being stupid, anyway. It’s not like it was a real date or something.”
Wait.
“I mean, I would’ve liked it to be, but I kinda chickened out? To ask for that? Probably for the best. He wouldn’t have said yes, would he.”
What?
“I mean, it was stupid to hope for anything, right? He’s… Tony. Why would he even like me?”
At this, Bucky lets out a quiet sad laugh, all resigned sorrow and self-deprecation, while Tony’s just. Astral projecting to the orbit.
There’s so much he could have answered to that. Why would he— Jesus, has Bucky even seen himself?
Apparently, he hasn’t, for the sad expression doesn’t leave his face, and Tony is immediately heartbroken. And needs to fix it. Happily for everyone involved, he is the perfect person for the job.
He takes a deep breath. And— Bucky’s already said he liked him, right? If not outright, the implication was definitely there. And he called Tony’s shifted form cute. That shouldn’t be so scary. And all worry aside, Bucky is kind. He won’t be too repulsed. It will be fine.
It will be fine, Tony says to himself, repeats, repeats, repeats, and his paws are shivering with worry, with old anxiety, with his own aversion to his form. But never it was said that Tony Stark runs from his problems.
He’s more of a running toward them and blowing everything up, himself included kind of guy.
Tony closes his eyes. Tony shifts to human.
Tony breaks a kitchen chair in the process, and, as he opens his eyes, Bucky is staring at him, mouth agape, but he’s determined. He’ll see it through. So he opens his mouth and says:
“There’s a very, very long answer to that question, but it can be summarized to for a lot of fucking reasons, and, um, yeah, he definitely likes you. A lot. Also, the date thing can be a real date, although I do need to be shifted for, eh, at least six more hours or I’ll feel like shit?”
His hand feels kind of numb. It’s fine. They will be fine.
“Oh,” Bucky says after a while, and then pauses again. It’s a little awkward. Tony shuffles in place. “Um. Wow. Yes. Okay. Will you stay with me as a cat?”
Bucky’s face is a little red. It’s very distracting.
“Uh, I can? But you don’t need to, I know I’m not—” strong? beautiful? useful?
Tony winces, trailing off, but Bucky, eyes still on his face, suddenly smiles a wide, warm smile.
“You’re very pretty.”
The blush is now more prominent on Bucky’s cheeks. Tony fears Bucky’s not the only one to wear it.
“I mean,” Bucky stammers, “I’d like it if you’d stay? I can shift, too, if you’re okay with it. Or pet you. If you want to. I want to?”
Tony gulps. It’s all suddenly too much, his body’s overwhelmed and tingly, and he cannot move or talk for a second, two, three. For Bucky to accept so easily his shifted form— he’s never even dreamed of it. Even in his fantasies, he’s never thought of that.
In the end, Tony comes to himself and nods. Bucky’s answering grin is soft and joyful, and oh, it is a vision to behold.
“I’ll stay,” Tony says, and shifts, and somehow, it’s not strange at all, not painful, not sad, no bad memories following him.
And, as Bucky gets to the floor to pet him, hand impossibly tender, Tony thinks: it might not be such a bad idea to show people, after all.