It works. Not that he ever would have doubted that Bruce could talk him down from a panic, but he does it with an effortlessness that immediately bleeds some of the tension from Tony’s body. His eyes find Bruce’s again, this time without that foreign sense of shame, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

Until he mentions being hungry for blood.

“What?” Tony flinches at the suggestion, recoiling slightly and grimacing in disgust. He’s not stupid, even if he’s emotionally unstable at the moment, and he’s seen too many movies not to make the connection. Vampire. Bruce thinks he’s a vampire. Which is ludicrous and stupid and impossible since he hasn’t been bitten by something that doesn’t actually exist.

His body missed that memo, though, and even if Tony consciously has no clue what’s going on, the rest of him recognizes the action of lips skimming back from teeth and fangs he never had before lengthen his canines into sharp points. He feels it, though he doesn’t know what prompts it, and slaps a hand over his mouth in horror.

“Oh no. No, no no. No, this isn’t happening.” Or at least, that’s what he tries to say behind the palm muffling his mouth.