Chapter Text
Tony woke up and immediately knew something was wrong because everything was too quiet.
Usually, JARVIS would start rattling off coffee temperatures and the morning news. Instead, he was met with heavy velvet curtains, a bed that felt like it cost more than a small country, and the distinct smell of... old money and repressed trauma?
He sat up, rubbing his face. Except his face felt wrong. His jaw was heavier. His hands were huge.
"Uh, FRIDAY?" Tony croaked. His voice was an octave deeper. It sounded like gravel hitting a cello.
"Master Bruce?" a British voice came over an intercom. "Is everything alright? You’re up surprisingly early."
Tony froze. He scrambled out of bed and ran to the nearest mirror. He didn't see the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist he usually saw. Instead, he saw Bruce Wayne. Tall, brooding, and currently wearing silk pajamas that Tony would never be caught dead in.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," Tony in Bruce’s body muttered.
Meanwhile, in Avengers Tower, Bruce Wayne (in Tony’s body) was currently staring at a very confused Steve.
"Tony?" Steve asked, tilting his head. He was standing in the kitchen, wearing an 'I Got This' apron and holding a spatula. "You're... early. And you're not wearing your shirt inside out. Are you feeling okay?"
Bruce blinked. He looked at the high-tech kitchen, the glowing blue circle in his chest (which was very alarming, scientifically speaking), and the Captain America currently offering him a plate of blueberry pancakes.
Bruce didn't do pancakes. Bruce did green tea and brooding.
"I am fine," Bruce said, his voice coming out as Tony’s quick, snarky tenor. He tried to mimic Tony’s posture, slouching a bit. "Just... caffeine. Need it. Now."
Steve laughed, that warm, annoying sound that Bruce usually associated with Clark. "Okay, okay. Sit down, Shellhead. I'll get your mug."
Steve walked over and pressed a lingering kiss to Bruce’s temple. Bruce stiffened, his entire brain short-circuiting. Right. Tony and Steve are a thing. This is a problem.
Back in Gotham, Tony was trying to figure out how to use a Bat-Computer when the door to the study opened.
"Bruce, honey? Alfred said you were awake."
Tony turned around to see a massive man in a flannel shirt walking toward him. It was Clark Kent. He looked like a giant, handsome farm boy, and he was currently looking at Tony with so much love it made Tony’s actual teeth ache.
"Hey, big guy," Tony said, trying to sound dark and mysterious. He failed.
Clark paused, squinting. "Bruce? Why are you... fidgeting? And why is your heartbeat doing that weird rhythm you only do when you're lying about eating the last of the cookies?"
"I'm not fidgeting," Tony lied, leaning back and accidentally knocking a very expensive-looking bust off the desk.
He caught it with Bruce's surprisingly fast reflexes. "I'm just... vibing. Do people in Gotham vibe? We’re vibing."
Clark walked closer, hovering just a few inches away. He put a hand on Tony’s shoulder. "You’re acting weird. Even for you. Do you have a concussion? Did the Joker use gas again?"
"No gas! No Joker!" Tony held up his hands. "I'm just Bruce. Normal Bruce. Doing Bat-stuff. Go... do farm things, Clark. It’s fine."
By noon, both Steve and Clark were in a group chat they didn't know the other was in (it was the "Support Group for People Dating Disaster Billionaires").
Steve: is it weird if Tony didn't mention a single project today? he just sat in the lab staring at a screwdriver for three hours.
Clark: Bruce just tried to make a joke. A pop culture joke. It wasn't even a good one. He quoted Star Wars. Steve, I'm scared.
Steve: Wait... Tony just asked me where the "meditation room" is.
Clark: ... Bruce just asked me if I could 'fly him to New York real quick' because he missed the bagels.
Steve: ...
Clark: ...
Steve: Switch?
Clark: Switch.