fossilised | werewolves

werewolves

Pumpkin Spice.

It hits the shelves the moment the temperature dips below eighty, before the summer officially ends and the leaves give hint at changing color. It's become an American way of life. Lattes might claim it to be proof of their success and staying power but it's expanded into hand soap and e-cigarettes now. You can't find anything, really, that hasn't been pumpkin spiced these days. Pumpkin pie is too humble to try and reclaim it anyway, and has quietly retreated to Thanksgiving where it waits to mark the end of the most beloved season in New York among straight white girls.

Steve Rogers, while neither straight nor a girl, has whole heartedly embraced the trend and the moment Starbucks announced that it had come back out for a Limited Time Only, Steve had rummaged in his sock drawer for a gift card he was sure had money left on it and stood in line with the masses to claim his holy grail.

It's a comfort. It's a promise that there's going to be something else to look forward to in the coming months when holidays rear their ugly and beautiful heads to remind you that your family is dead and most of the kids you lived with in foster care and group homes have disappeared out of your life. It makes Steve's day and he's already day dreaming about boots and puffy vests the moment he takes his first, iced sip. Steve isn't really a day dreamer, but his head can get stuck in the clouds on the best days and distraction comes easily in a city where you're never and always alone at the same time.

There's charcoal under his nails and a moment of joy in his heart from the iced latte he grasps so fiercely the day he sees Bucky across the street. He'd know him anywhere, even with that long fringe of hair he hasn't seen since before he went off to basic training. The light to cross the street between them is red but Steve ignores the risks. There are two lanes each direction, and all four are packed with yellow cabs and black Uber cars. No one can go fast enough to do him any damage.

The latte gets dropped along the way and Steve doesn't care. It's been over a year and a half since he's seen Bucky. It's been six months since he last heard anything from him actually. He hadn't even gotten a birthday card this year.

"Buck!" Steve is just a skinny guy, five foot four, maybe 100 pounds if he's got art supplies and an easel on him. He has fallen arches and a heart arrhythmia, but they aren't keeping him from shimmying between cars and nearly getting run over. He's out of breath when he makes it across the street and though he's lost his drink, he needs to bend over and cup his hands on his knees to steady himself anyway so it all works out. "Hey." It's smooth and followed by a smile. Something bright and cheery and all too Steve Rogers hopped up on artificial sugar and flavorings.

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Just hearing how smug Tony was to be contacted almost made him hang up the phone in a fit of pique, but it also made a tiny smile pull at his lips. As annoying as the guy could be, he was a friend, even if a friend that Bucky had run away from. He was a bit better now than he had been, but he still doesn't think he can handle the excessive overwhelming nature of Tony's friendship in full force.

"I don't have a phone, you know that."

His voice would be as familiar to Tony, that quiet rasp that's as understated as he is overstated.

"Listen-- I need your help."

He wanted to lay it out there immediately because to do otherwise felt dishonest, and he knew Tony would know him well enough to know he wasn't the sort of person to just tap a rich friend for any favour unless it was necessary. Otherwise he would have stayed in the fancy part of New York and accepted a floor in Tony's tower as offered when he got discharged.

"You remember me telling you about Steve?" Dark nights amongst the smell of human waste and the screech of pain, telling one another about people left behind. "Something medical is-- different, but we need to be discrete in working out what it is."

Ah. Steve. The love interest. The only person Barnes ever spoke about like that. Tony isn’t one to judge. Well, he is, but usually based on intelligence, not on what someone wants to do with their life. “Still not a doctor,” Tony says.

He’d only spent a few weeks with Barnes before they had moved him to a supposedly better kept, more secure area where their captors attempted to get him to do for them what he did for the American Army. Tony had gotten really good at bullshitting them all, so well that he’d had no idea Barnes escaped and dragged those compatriots he’d been captured with to safety until after he himself had escaped and found their cell empty.

Not that he’s bitter. They had no idea what happened to him, and honestly, he’d been treated a lot better than they had after his accommodations had been upgraded.

“I mean, I’ve been dabbling with this sort of bone regeneration machine so we can live in a world where Star Trek and Harry Potter are real— Still in Brooklyn?”

Maybe he’s been checking up.

“Because I’ve got a present for you.” Dark eyes drift up and across the seamless prosthetic he’s been obsessed with. “I can come out tomorrow?”

Goddammit.

He had thought that he'd managed his move to Brooklyn in relative secrecy and managed to stay under the radar so that Tony hadn't tracked him. So much for that idea. But it does mean he's grateful that his friend allowed him the illusion of privacy for the sake of his comfort, even if he didn't have to. It was those moments of sensitivity and kindness that made the rest of the arrogance worth putting up with.

"I don't need a present, Tony, but I know you have doctors working for you. Ones that can be kept private, so Steve isn't paraded about like some sort of lab rat."

Come on, friend.

"You can come over tomorrow, I guess you don't need my address, but I really do need your help for this. Please."

“No need to beg.” Tony doesn’t like that. He doesn’t want some guy who he knows has had a bad run of things having to ask like he is. “I’ll bring my party tricks and we’ll see what we can do. I think I have the perfect guy for the job anyway. I just have to go and blackmail him.”

It takes exactly ten minutes once Tony’s hung up with Bucky to locate and get actually get Bruce Banner on the phone. He’s persistent. Bruce knows that. And if he wants some peace and quiet, he’s going to be agreeable to a little private jet flight up to New York.

Tony will be waiting for him, annoying grin and all.

Steve just had to wait for them to arrive the next afternoon. By then, however, he’s two inches taller still and filling out Bucky’s clothes like they were made for him.

Bruce was generally a beleaguered sort of guy, especially when he had to keep explaining to Tony that he wasn't that sort of doctor, but the man had helped him keep his identity under wraps and the story of the Hulk from spreading much outside of Harlem. He had even given him funding to check out other stories and potential incidents of people who might have gained abilities outside the norm from various reasons.

There was one potentially interesting kid in Brooklyn who might have changed from being bitten by a spider, and references to an abnormally large dog in the area, but that was it. Still, he did as he was told and came along.

When Bucky got off the phone, he had to explain to Steve what was happening, and he really hoped his friend wouldn't make a big deal of it.

"So, uh, my friend and a doctor are coming over tomorrow. Don't freak out, but it's Tony Stark."

“You’re joking.” Steve is probably the best deadpanner that has ever existed and he does it now with the most amazing of scowls. “No seriously. You’ve got to be joking. Tony Stark? That guy that makes bombs and smart phones?” Tony might cringe to know that it’s pretty much the only two things he’s really known for, even if he’s pretty much gotten away from the weapons briskness since he managed to free himself from terrorists. “How do you even know Tony— Oh my god, shut up!” Steve exclaims, sitting on the couch now only because he knows Penny wants him to stay still. “The camp in Afghanistan... you guys were together...?”

Only Steve, currently on some weird growth hormone that is making him have some sort of latent puberty spike, could still have the most innocent and awestruck look on his face.

“Buck, that’s so cool!”

Steve knows as much about Stark as most people... which is basically nothing other than he’s rich and smart. And sometimes he’s on the news or magazine covers. No biggie, right? Not until he’s about to come and visit you, of course.

“Wait. Wait a second. Uh. Why...is he coming here?”

"Believe me, it's way less cool when you've actually met him."

There's a tiny tweak of fondness to his expression, though, so Steve would be able to tell that Bucky does actually like Tony. Not as much as he likes Steve, but definitely someone that he considers a friend.

"He's a whole lot of-- everything. It's like being hit with a tsunami to meet Tony, but he has contacts to check out whatever's happening to you in a discrete way. No lab experiments, no press coverage."

It’s just after eleven when a knock comes to Bucky’s door. Penny barks to alert him, but it’s Steve that does the answering. He and Tony are the same height, though Tony is grinning in a three piece suit, arms out, and Steve looks a little like a hobo. It takes Tony aback. “Uh. Wrong unit? Banner, knock next door.”

It takes a second for Bucky to appear over his shoulder and Tony’s wilted grin grows again. He doesn’t go for a hug, nor a handshake. He just seems genuinely pleased to see an ‘old friend.’

“Oh. Is this our patient?” Tony leans close to Steve, who actually does the same before sniffing at him, as if that’s a perfectly normal way to say hello. “Uh. Okay. So. Weird. But he looks fine to me.” Healthy even. He’s almost radiating health.

“He’s standing right here you know?” Steve mentions, leaning against the door while his eyes settle on Bruce. There’s something almost kindred about that one.

Edited 2018-10-18 11:13 (UTC)

Tony would get a tiny half smile in return, which was still more emotion than he used to show. Having some time alone and then seeing Steve again had already helped him progress from what he had been when he’d first got back Stateside. He shrugged and stepped back to allow the two men in, his fingers curled into Penny’s fur to keep him grounded while his apartment was filling up .

“Yeah, that’s kind of the point. Steve’s has a lot of incurable health issues since he was born, but his spine has straightened and he’s put on about 20 pounds in the last day.”

Bruce returned Steve’s look blandly and when he spoke it was in a deceptively calm and mild voice.

“Tony, my instinct says all is not right here.” Which meant the Other Guy was stirring in his head, aware of another predator in the room. “But it is nice to meet you both, I’m Dr. Bruce Banner. You must be the famous Bucky and his friend Steve.”

Tony sets down the clarinet sized case he’s been carrying on the coffee table but he doesn’t immediately make himself at home. The place smells like dog and while some people might not hate that smell, it makes Tony think of lack of cleanliness and he’d just rather keep on standing. Thank you very much. He even slips his hands into his pockets. Just in case. Besides, he’s not the star of this show.

Mild mannered, instinct-laden Bruce Banner is the guy with the headlines here, even if Steve seems equally torn between staring them both down.

“Buffet yesterday?” Tony jokes, but no one laughs. Banner just gives him a little look.

“You don’t believe us?” Steve counters, only to have Tony pull out his phone and somehow make whatever is on the screen suddenly appear on the television. Steve isn’t going to question it. Apple has those sorts of capabilities. He just didn’t know that Tony could do those things without all of the run arounds Apple products have. On the screen is a photo of an X-ray of his spine. Twisted. He’d know it anywhere and it makes him feel like he’s on the verge of growling. “How’d you get my medical records?”

Tony’s answer is a wink and that really does make Steve growl.

Bucky sets his hand on Steve's shoulder, even though he's surprised to hear the growl. Even when Steve is being confrontational, which happens more than most people would think to look at him, he's never overly violent or vicious with it. He feels oddly like he's holding back Penny and calming her, rather than setting a hand on the shoulder of his oldest friend.

"I told you, Steve, Tony is kind of overwhelming and he always knows what he's doing."

He steps up close to Steve and turns deep blue eyes from Tony to Bruce, who also feels the wariness that comes from another dangerous person. But nothing like Steve, the Other Guy is actually murmuring about that one, and that very rarely happens.

"Tony, can you guys help us? Steve got bit by a dog, got a rabies shot, and then-- this."

“Oooh! Werewolves? Please be werewolves!” The guy is in his forties, twice the age of the two young men who were born and raised in Brooklyn, but he’s acting like the youngest of them all. “Banner, I will fund whatever your next research project is in it’s fullest if you can tell me we have a real life werewolf here.” It won’t even be the strangest thing he’s heard, either. He’s pumped a few million dollars into rebuilding Harlem the first time he and Bruce met. And that was almost seven years ago. Tony’s relationships don’t usually last that long, though it probably helps that Bruce vanishes for a year or two stretch of time between their encounters and Tony is strangely respectful about that.

Standing next to Bucky now, Steve is only two inches shorter than his friend. For Bucky to put his hand on his shoulder is probably an odd sensation for him. It certainly is for Steve too, glancing furtively at Bucky. He barely even needs to look up, which makes this whole situation that much more surreal.

“Do you…could it be some sort of latent gigantism?” Steve asks, after apologizing under his breath for the growling.

Tony scratches his beard, and Bruce sets his case beside Tony’s. “I’ll need your blood. I can run a few tests here and give you an exam.”

Steve isn’t eager about that but he’ll do as he’s told.

Bruce and Bucky both rolled their eyes at the idea of this being werewolves, but both of them showed that they knew Tony well enough to just ignore that outburst. It was always better to let Tony run himself down on his mad theories on his own, because he got worse if people engaged with him.

"It's okay, Steve, they're here to help. I'll take Tony into the other room and leave you with Bruce, you can shout if you need me."

He gestured Tony towards the kitchen.

"Come on, they don't need us distracting them. You can tell me what's in that box and I can tell you that I don't want it."

Bruce smiled reassuringly at Steve, pushing the Other Guy down firmly. "I must admit that I'm interested, and I want to try and help you get to the bottom of this."

Snatching up his case, Tony makes a face at Bucky. “How do you know you don’t want it until you see it?” Tony asks, following Bucky into the kitchen. Penny is quick to take up the rear, ignoring Tony the way that Tony is ignoring her. He hasn’t gotten out the Purell at least, so that’s a plus. It leaves Bruce and Steve alone and the determined, but bashful blond removes Bucky’s shirt and sits on the couch so that the doctor can take the samples he needs or poke and prod him.

He’s been through it all before, though he has to admit that he’s not really minding being shirtless right now. No one is looking at him with pity. He appears normal for once and that’s a big deal. For the moment, he keeps his questions about Bruce to himself. Something here isn’t right. He just doesn’t know how to bring it up respectfully.

Tony, however, is the epitome of lack of respect. He shoves things aside on the counter and pops open the case to reveal what appears to be the Terminator’s severed arm. It’s strangely perfect, if metallic, representation of an arm. “Don’t say a word. Let me show you.” He picks up a small, white metal band-aid shaped device and then undoes his shirt. “Don’t get too excited,” he teases, and sticks the white metal device to his shoulder. Two minutes later and that metal arm moves, fingers curling and uncurling as Tony’s own hand does.

Bruce found it interesting that Steve seemed cautious of him in return. After all, most people who didn't know about the Other Guy treated him as though he were a complete non-threat, and that was totally by design. He was calm, softly spoken, and not particularly physically threatening. But Steve was looking at him just as warily as Bruce felt like looking at him in return.

"It might help me if you were to tell me a bit more about what you're thinking and feeling, and if any of that is different to usual as well."

He went about setting up to get samples, take readings, and so on.

Bucky, in the other room, stared at the arm and then at Tony as he attached that weird suction cup thing to himself and then flailed his extra limb around. He must have worked almost solely on this to get it to this standard of design, and Bucky felt a mixture of tearfully grateful and wary.

"...Tony, I told you that I'm not interested in being part of any more experimental trials, even if they're for the right reasons."

“It’s a gift,” Tony replies with calm assurance. “It’s not an experiment. I don’t want you to take it for a trial run and report back your findings on if it turns into a rogue, murderous appendage or anything. It’s yours. Use it or don’t. And call me if you need tweaks. I keep meaning to come out to New York more anyway.” Like most rich men, Tony is fine with giving away potential millions to his friends without blinking an eye. He hasn’t worked on this arm to revolutionize the quality of amputee life. This isn’t some next big thing in Stark Technology. He just wants to help someone that helped him.

And that can’t be wrong.

Steve’s sitting on the sofa as Bruce goes about his unpacking. His knees are together and his hands are folded on top of them. He watches Bruce carefully, trying to read each stride and what it might mean for him.

“I’m thinking that there’s something wrong with me. And that there’s something wrong with you too. I’m thinking it has to do with the attack because I was bleeding when I went to the hospital. Bad. And now I’m actually losing scars, not gaining new ones. I’m feeling... hot. Really hot. Like I want to lay on the hardwood floor without clothes on. Normally that would give me a kidney infection for just thinking about it.”

Bucky ran a cautious finger over the cool metal of the arm in the box, before shutting the lid and pushing it slightly out of the way. He didn't push it back towards Tony though, which was an indication that he would at least think about using it and he wouldn't argue about being given it any more.

"I'm sorry I left."

That needed to be said. Tony had relied on him for friendship, even if he had hidden it beneath bluster and hyperactivity, and Bucky had just bailed in the middle of the night and gone to ground.

"Everything was too much, and I needed to hide from it for a while. But-- I did miss you, god help me, so maybe we can keep in touch now."

It was the best olive branch he could offer.

Back in the other room, Bruce finished taking a blood sample before he replied, giving himself a moment or two to think. "What makes you think that there's something wrong with me too?" It's a very neutral question, he genuinely is interested in what Steve has managed to pick up on and if it could be an issue in the future.

With a huff, Steve tilts his head at an angle Bucky is probably the most familiar with. It’s Steve’s usual ‘I smell bullshit’ stance, and the upturn of his lips probably give that away. His smile is soft, though, and never falters even when Bruce takes his blood. “You smell sour. Not body odor sour or sick sour. Just— You’re not human.” He doesn’t know why he’s put it that way but it’s slipped out already and he can’t just take it back. It feels right on his tongue anyway. Bruce Banner isn’t human. Or not entirely so.

That should scare him, but it doesn’t. It makes him want to puff up his chest, stand, and try to fight for dominance. He doesn’t, he still had his faculties about him, but his posture’s shifted towards Bruce. Knowing, sure, but annoyingly smug too.

“I’ve always thought that there’s got to be aliens here. The universe is too big... I just didn’t think I’d meet one.”

"I'm not an alien."

Bruce didn't look offended, more a mixture of resigned and curious. This was like a canine instinct, and the way that Steve had smelled Tony when they entered the apartment and the knowledge he had been bitten by a strange dog was only adding to this. Why not? If someone could get some powers by being bitten by a radioactive spider, or so said his research so far, then why not a dog?

"I'm pretty much human, mostly. And I don't intend you any harm, so you can relax, it wouldn't be a good idea for us to get into a fight. Nor is my condition of any relevance here, so why don't we focus on you?"

He recognised that stance, the need for dominance. He'd seen it before, though usually just from macho types who wanted to be seen as the biggest and baddest around.

"I think we need to see if we can get hold of the dog that bit you."

“I had my the first of my rabies shots.” Steve doesn’t mean to be defensive, especially because he knows that rabies doesn’t present like this. He does try to relax, sitting back in Bucky’s couch. There’s a whole lot of comfort here and he sinks into that calming scent.

Blue eyes flick towards the kitchen. An unfamiliar laugh is coming from around the corner and he doesn’t like it. It’s the first real hint that something is wrong. He’s being far more possessive of Bucky than he ought to be and it makes his shoulders drop.

A sigh escapes Steve’s lips. “How are we supposed to track down a giant dog in Brooklyn?”

Leave it to Tony to make an appearance right there, causing Steve to tense again. “You know who I am, right?”

Bruce glanced over when Tony came back in and snapped off the gloves to dispose of. He didn't technically need them himself, he couldn't get infections, but it was still good practise when doing anything medical.

"If this dog is somehow unnatural, I think that I should probably assist in bringing it in."

Not an offer made lightly.

Bucky, stood just behind Tony, kept his eyes on Steve. He was tense and generally unhappy, worried about Steve and stressed by all of this shit going on in his life when he had just wanted a quiet time.

"It's rabies?"

Bucky’s worry is detectable, which only leaves Steve even more on edge. He gets up quickly, the muscles he never had before rippling under the skin of his abdomen, biceps flexing as his fingers curl into fists. “Don’t think so. Pal,” Steve says gravely, feeling his jaw muscles clench.

“Told you. He’s a werewolf,” Tony replies easily, one hand in his pocket as he heads to the door. “Banner, we don’t need to issue a code Green. Pretty sure I can handle a supernatural doggy.” Tony also thinks he can handle his alcohol addiction too, so take that for what it is.

“I’m not— Even if what bit me did this I don’t think...” Steve looks uncomfortable and shifts to slink around the table and stand beside Bucky. He’s somewhat taller than before. Whatever’s happening to him seems to be speeding up.

It's strange to see Steve almost of a height with him, and it makes his breath feel like it keeps getting arrested in his lungs. He wants this to be a good thing for Steve, that this health continues, because god knows there's nobody who deserves a miracle quite like Steve Rogers.

But he doesn't think that. Nothing comes without a price, and what if this doesn't stop? What if it keeps going until Steve is gigantic and misshapen? Or if it overloads his body and kills him like a fever burning through his veins?

"Right. Dog. I'll help."

Probably a bad idea, but he has to do something to help.

Tony’s first reaction is to deny everyone. He doesn’t need the help. It’s not something necessary for him. A few satellite images and a tactical capture, test and release somewhere harmless is easy for a guy like him. These people all seemed hellbent on staying with him, though, and as much as it makes him roll his eyes, Tony finally agrees to it.

“You’ve got a spare room I could set up in?” Tony asks, pulling the laptop out of his shoulder bag. He needs to recode some satellites to track big, lumbering dogs in Brooklyn. His Shareholders are gonna love that.

Once Tony has gone off to do his work, Steve sits back down across from where Bruce is packing some of his own things up. “Do you think you can stop it? What’s happening to me? Maybe reverse it?”

Steve is okay with his body the way it’s always been. This one is better, but this one feels so wrong.

Bucky doesn't exactly have a spare room that he can devote to Tony's research, he lives in a tiny little one bedroom apartment that his pension cheque just covers, so he'll just have to make do with Bucky's bedroom while the rest of them stay in the pokey little living room.

He takes up a position behind Steve at his right shoulder, almost like a bodyguard. Bruce notices that, but he chooses not to say anything, as long as they don't team up against him then he's pleased that they have each other.

The doctor sighs and shakes his head. "I wouldn't want to say, I don't know. Perhaps there would be a way to reverse it, but there's no way of knowing currently. Unfortunately, sometimes changes are permanent."

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