#but five personally thought it was justice and it was just a plastic spider anyway *jeeze*

[in-tua-deep]

Hey. I’m not feeling the best right now. Can w I get some Ben and Five headcannons?

oh no !! I hope you feel better soon :(

Five and Ben were pretty close when they were younger which means that Five knows that Ben was a little shit

He might have the likes of Diego and Luther fooled but Five absolutely knows. He knows how much Ben could actually shit talk. He knows that Ben was not an innocent

Whenever Five irritated Ben too much, Ben would frame him for something. Sometimes this would manifest in an academy wide prank war which would inevitably end up in punishments from Reginald that everyone would blame Five for. Five. And no one would would ever believe him that sweet, quiet, wonderful Ben would start this sort of shit

Five fucking knows okay

However Ben was also like, the only intelligent conversation that Five ever actually had on the team so like, it’s not like he can just drop Ben (even though he knows what he did) because who else is he supposed to share looks with over Luther’s boneheaded plans with? Allison? As if Allison would ever admit Luther was being an absolute idiot

They had the silent understanding that Ben could be as much of a sarcastic shit as he wanted and in return Ben would let Five rant about temporal physics and complex mathematics and actually ask intelligent questions which occasionally led to breakthroughs

“It’s not my fault you can’t hide your own assholeness.” Ben informs Five with a straight face after Luther yelled at Five for three hours after Five rightfully informed their number one that it was actually Ben not Five who put dye on his toothbrush that turned his teeth green

Five mouths ‘I am going to destroy you’ to Ben across the breakfast table and Ben just serenely asks Klaus if he finished the math homework for their lessons today like Five doesn’t even exist

Five is twelve when he realizes that Ben is actually the devil

But actually he really admires it

Even if the way he realizes it is because Ben turns big eyes on Diego and says that Five was being mean to him, which almost gets Five a knife in the arm

(Five returns Ben’s stupid book of octopus facts, he didn’t even want the stupid thing he just stole it to get back at Ben for stealing his good umbrella jacket... yes he can tell shut the fuck up allison)

“I’m going to time travel.” “No you aren’t.” “You want to bet?” “Five. Five. We have been going over the equations for literal weeks. Did you even figure out the prime issue?” “Shut your mouth.” “Knew it.”

And Five does time travel and his second thought after “What the fuck” is “fucking Ben was right and can never know”

okay admittedly there’s a lot of apocalypse trauma and he finds the bodies of his siblings and then finds out that Ben died young and he’s just. there’s a lot going on okay

and then he travels back and ben is still dead and he’s kind of like... he can’t not save Ben but he’s got to make sure there’s a future or whatever to go to when he travels back in time and snags his brother up or whatever

except then Klaus summons Ben and well

“You asshole!” Five howls, pointing accusingly

Klaus is vindicated

“You can’t talk like that to Ben.” Diego says firmly, as though the time all of his knives were superglued to his harness wasn’t all Ben’s fault. As though that time wasn’t blamed on Five. 

“No, no, let him speak.” Klaus says, like a man who has been forced to be the only recipient of Ben’s sarcasm and sass for a great number of years.

Ben has been dead and invisible for a long time and no longer gives a single solitary fuck about what his family thinks of him tbh, and with Klaus clean(er) and a lowkey grudge against Luther (because come on Luther, Ben was rooting for you we were all rooting for you)

So Ben has no problem being like “YES. ‘TWAS I WHO GLUED LUTHER’S HAND TO HIS HAIR AND FRAMED DIEGO FOR TIPPING OVER OUR 8TH BIRTHDAY CAKE.”

“How did none of you ever notice that I ‘acted out’ whenever one of y’all ended up peer pressuring Ben into using his powers.” Five grits out, because his family is filled with fucking idiots.

“In fairness,” Ben says with his arms crossed and a frankly unimpressed look on his face, “I also did it whenever you were being especially asshole-ish. Which was with great frequency.”

“I’m going to murder you in your sleep.” Five hisses.

“Missed that opportunity by a large margin, baby bro.” 

and then Five screams with all his feral rage and tries to attack Ben because he isn’t often corporeal and he doesn’t want to miss the chance

Except Ben catches him in a hug and Five just freezes like a kitten who gets put in a cat harness for the first time and it’s great

“Oh my god I’m just now realizing why Ben and Five got along so well.”  - says every siblings with a braincell who has the sense to fear a Five and Ben team up

The first time that Five manages to frame Ben for something feels like fucking vindication

vindication, Ben

[whumphoarder]

Face God and Walk Backwards Into Hell

Summary: Peter is lactose intolerant—and arguably masochistic—and this somehow becomes Tony’s personal cross to bear.

(In the same universe as Spider-Man’s Very Mundane Kryptonite, but the stories can be read independently) 

Word count: 1,763

Genre: Fluffy illness, humor, sickfic

Link to read on A03

After initially finding out that the kid was lactose intolerant, Tony started doing everything in his power to help Peter avoid dairy. He stocked three kinds of plant-based milks at the compound—soy, almond, and cashew. If he was ordering pizza for team training nights, he would always make sure to have non-dairy pasta and salad options on the side. Chips and pretzels were served with hummus or bean dips rather than sour cream based ones, and Tony even tried out a vegan cheese version of his mother’s beloved lasagna recipe.

All these precautions would have likely been very effective, if only Peter wasn’t such a little shit.

At first, Tony assumed the kid just made a mistake. That was what he figured when he shuffled into the kitchen at one a.m. on a training weekend to discover the teenager standing with his back to the entrance, rifling through his cabinets.

Tony stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest in amusement. “Looking for something?”

Peter startled and spun around, eyes wide. “Whoa, what are you doing up, Mr. Stark?”

“Insomnia’s a bitch,” Tony scoffed. “But I could ask the same about you. Shouldn’t you be wiped from your training session with Cap earlier?”

Peter’s stomach growled loudly in response, causing his unusually pale cheeks to flush slightly.

Tony raised his eyebrows. “Are you hungry? If you need a snack, try the fridge.”

With a small groan, Peter snaked an arm around his middle. “Uh, no thanks,” he said with a grimace. “I’m not feeling so great, actually.”

“Stomach ache?” Tony guessed.

Peter looked embarrassed, but nodded anyway. “I didn’t mean to bother you, I just was seeing if you had anything down here I could take for it.”

“You mean like Pepto, or…?” Tony asked with a frown.

Peter shook his head. “That doesn’t usually work very well. May has these like, enzyme pill things that sometimes help...?” he said hopefully.

Tony quirked his head in thought. “Pepper might have something,” he mused. “She’s fully on the herbal supplement bandwagon.” He crossed the kitchen over to a drawer next to the fridge and opened it to reveal a few dozen small bottles.

With some assistance from FRIDAY, he quickly identified the most-likely-to-be-helpful candidate—some kind of natural probiotic—and dosed out two pills for the kid.

“Thanks,” Peter muttered before knocking them back with some water. “Ugh. I’m never eating ice cream again,” he moaned.

Tony’s forehead wrinkled up in confusion. “When did you get ice cream?”

Peter gave him a pained smile. “Uh… after training? Clint took me out—he said someone should celebrate the fact that I laid out Cap twice.”

“Yeah, I thought so too,” Tony said with a huff. “Which is why I served everyone those vegan eclairs that I special ordered because, you know”—he shot Peter a pointed look—“they don’t have dairy.”

“He, uh, he said someone should celebrate it with a real dessert,” Peter mumbled.

“I’m hurt, Pete,” Tony mocked.

Peter’s gaze dropped to his feet. “If it makes you feel any better, I got Stark Raving Hazelnut.”

“Why would it make me feel better to have my name attached to your gastrointestinal distress?” Tony asked sarcastically.

Peter huffed out a quick laugh. “Sorry.” Suddenly he winced and pressed a hand to his stomach. “Ah. Cramp.”

“It’s alright, kid,” Tony scoffed. “I think you’re being punished enough.”

X

At the next Avengers team dinner, Tony stood in the buffet line behind Peter, watching in horror as the teenager covered his pasta in Alfredo sauce. “What the hell, Peter. I got the marinara one especially for you.”

“I had some of that already and it was great, Mr. Stark!” Peter said earnestly. “It’s just been like, forever since I had actual alfredo sauce.”

Tony blinked at him. “Right...” he said slowly “...That would be because you’re allergic to it.”

“Technically it’s not an allergy,” Peter argued, sprinkling parmesan on top of his Fettuccine Alfredo. “An allergy would require an autoimmune response. We learned that in freshman year bio.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Fine, intolerance, whatever. You’re still gonna get sick.”

“I’ll be fine if I only have a little bit.”

X

A mere thirty minutes later, Tony was having déjà vu.

“Peter, I swear to God…” he began.

Peter gave him a sheepish grin. “Okay, I know what you’re gonna say, but—”

Tony spread his arms out dramatically. “There is literally half the dessert table here full of things you can eat, and yet you pick the cheesecake? Why?” he demanded.

Peter gave him an incredulous look. “Because it’s cheesecake, Mr. Stark,” he answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Tony scoffed, “Yeah, key word there, cheese.”

Peter gazed longingly at the towering fluffy white dessert balanced on the serving spatula in his hand. “But it’s so good.”

Tony ran an exasperated hand over his face. “Kid, think this through. I’m begging you.”

Peter let out a resigned sigh as he let the piece of cheesecake tip onto his waiting plate. “I have. I’m sorry.”

Tony raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, it’s your funeral. But I don’t wanna hear about it later.”

“You won’t—I promise,” Peter assured. He picked up a fork, and, making eye-contact with Tony the whole time, brought a bite to his lips. “But I gotta do it, Mr. Stark.”

X

A few hours after dinner, Tony spied Peter emerging from the restroom, pale and sweating, arms wrapped around his obviously cramping stomach.

“Uuugh Mr. Staark…” Peter whined upon seeing his mentor. He was making a pouting face, but the tiniest hint of a smile playing at his lips. “My tummy huurrts...”

“I’m sure it does, kid.” With a snort of amusement, Tony held out a bottle of water to the teen, who took it gratefully. “Was it at least worth it?”

Peter thought for a moment as he sipped the water. “Almost,” he finally decided. He hummed to himself. “Now if the cheesecake had had whipped cream on it…”

Tony let out a long sigh. “Why? Why do you do this to yourself?” he implored.

Peter locked eyes with his mentor. “Mr. Stark,” he said solemnly, “some nights you just gotta face God and walk backwards into Hell.”

“NO YOU FUCKING DON’T, PETER!”

X

Tony was just finishing some updates on DUM-E when FRIDAY alerted him to the fact that Thor was urgently approaching the workshop doors. Given he wasn’t a usual visitor, Tony looked up curiously.

“Stark, you must come quickly!” Thor’s voice boomed. “The Falcon and young Man of Spiders seem to have ingested some kind of poison.”

Tony’s heart dropped. “What?” Peter and Sam had been poisoned? “How?” he asked sharply. He dropped his tools on the workbench and immediately hurried toward the door. “What kind of poison?”

“I am not certain,” Thor replied. The two men strode quickly down the corridor. “But it appears only to affect mortal men as I myself have consumed the same beverage and yet I remain unscathed.”

“Did you call in a med team?” Tony demanded.

“A healer?” Thor questioned. “Nay, but Banner had arrived just as I left to seek you.”

Tony instantly breathed out a sigh of relief. Sure, Bruce may not be an actual medical doctor, but his seven PhDs are certainly worth something. “Okay, good. What symptoms are we talking about here? When did this start?”

“It came on about an hour after consuming the beverage. They both appear to be in a fair amount of pain, and their bodies seem to be working to expel the contaminant,” Thor reported. “There is a foul odor about them as well, as though something inside is dying.”

“Jesus…” Tony swore, breaking into a jog for the rest of the way to the common area.

When he arrived, the scene wasn’t quite the picture of imminent peril that Thor had painted for him. On one couch, Sam was laying flat on his back, one arm hugging a pillow to his stomach while the other arm was extended upward so that his forearm rested over his eyes. On the couch next to him, Peter was half sprawled out, half propped up against the cushions so he could sip from a can of Sprite. He looked a little green.

Bruce, looking calm as ever, was lining a small trash can next to Peter with a fresh plastic bag.

“What’s going on here?” Tony demanded, stepping into the room. “Thor tells me they’ve been poisoned.”

Bruce let out a quick snort of laughter. “You could say that. Self-inflicted, but sure.”

“Excuse me?” Tony raised his eyebrows.

“Mr. Staaark…” Peter moaned from the sofa. “Did you know there’s no such thing as a milkshake on Asgard?”

Tony just blinked at him.

“I mean, imagine going your whole life without ever tasting a milkshake,” Peter went on, his tone just bordering on a whine.

“That’s just not right, man,” Sam groaned in agreement.

Tony glanced at the three, large, empty tumblers on the table nearby, their insides coated in what appeared to be milkshake residue. He looked back over his shoulder to the kitchen area and spied a blender sitting out on the counter.

“I can’t believe I’m seeing this,” Tony deadpanned. He shot Sam a glare. “And now you too?” he accused.

“Blame genetics,” Sam grumbled. “Did you know seventy-four percent of African Americans are lactose intolerant?”

“Rhodey isn’t,” Tony quipped back.

“Well hooray for Rhodey then,” Sam muttered irritably into his arm. “Lucky bastard.”

“I do not understand,” Thor spoke up, frowning in confusion. “Have these men been poisoned or not?”

“Yes,” Peter groaned, clutching his stomach.

Tony rolled his eyes at the dramatic kid. “It’s… complicated,” he replied to Thor. “They’ll live, and with any luck, they’ll be deterred from future idiotic behavior for about a week. Or five days if I order pizza on Friday.”

“This was about justice for the Prince of Asgard,” Peter mumbled. “We die like men.”

“Men with tummy aches,” Tony pointed out.

Eyes still covered by his arm, Sam held up his middle finger. “We die like lactose intolerant men,” he amended.

With a hum of agreement, Peter promptly leaned over and vomited into the trash can.

As Bruce moved in to rub Peter’s back while he heaved, and Sam got up to make another trip to the bathroom, Tony threw his hands up in the air and turned on his heels.

“That’s it,” he muttered as he walked out. “I have officially given up.

Read Part 3 of the Lactose Intolerant Peter series

Fic Masterlist

[dilfhakyeon-moved]

"Let me help you!" For sparcy (this ship is so incredible) please?

mom i made it halloween fluff

It was that time of the year again - no, not Christmas, Halloween - and Spot was… agitated, to say the least. It wasn’t the first time the other had witnessed it, but the first time he’d seemed to understand what the core problem was, and that problem was decorating the entire apartment. Of course, he couldn’t have known before ; they’d been dating for so long but only recently had he moved in with the other.

All in all, Spot was just running around and groaning about fake webs that wouldn’t stick or some things like that. That was what Darcy could understand from the grumbling he was hearing.

It was overwhelming, wasn’t it ? Seeing your partner just getting into all this mess, not knowing what to do or how to do it, and yourself just watching and not lending a hand. Yes, maybe it was frustrating as well, but Darcy let it go on for a few hours. Hours. What kind of patience was that ? He surprised himself ; with all due respect Spot was a very hard person to live with. For someone like himself, that is. He loved him with his entire heart, but he’d known less stressful times… or maybe not, but stress wasn’t caused by a person directly being stressful right in front of him.

And yet this mess lasted. And it lasted. And it lasted, for a while longer, another while ; Darcy kept his mind focused on his phone, as he just typed some things in his phone’s notes. Some things he wanted to remember perhaps, but the truth was just that he was writing poems, because why not ? A good stress reliever to some, including him, and… and it just didn’t work this time.

With that, he put his phone aside and stood, hands on his hips as he turned to the other.

“Spot, you can’t keep messing up how everything looks if you don’t even know how to do it !”

That sure stopped the other, who looked at him with quite the confusion.

“Uh… Sorry ?” He uttered, his eyebrows furrowing.

“No, no - let me help you ! That way, we can… maybe amount to something ? I mean, you - geez, how much - you’ve got enough decorations for the entire place at this rate but nothing is being done so… you know ?”

“That’s harsh, I uh– I managed to stick a spider up there.”

He sheepishly pointed at the lone plastic spider he’d indeed put up in one of the corners, which Darcy stared at with no real expression for a few seconds before he just snorted and looked away.

“Okay, so… anyway. What do you need me to do exactly ?”

“Well, the webs…”

“Oh, don’t worry, I understood that much.” Darcy paused and looked at the mess that was the pile of decoration lying in the middle of the living room. “So… We’ve got skeletons, some… ghosts ? Well, a lot of ghosts. Too many ghosts. Why– Spot, why’s there so many ghosts ?”

Spot frowned at the question. Ah, bringing back memories.

“Elmer and Albert wanted a… ghost-off. Showin’ who could get the better ghosts. So, I kept all, because… they didn’t get them, they made them, and I thought that was important, maybe.”

And once again, despite how silly it was, just seeing Spot’s softer side made his heart melt. Really, he didn’t need to pretend he was the toughest out there. Being soft was definitely just as good.Darcy stepped closer to the mess, looking closer. There were a lot of fake skeletons as well, but even… a fake, life-sized witch ? That was terrifying.

“And… where did you get this ?”

“Davey brought it, said it was a gift from his brother or somethin’. Didn’t have the heart to throw it out, so…”

“No, don’t worry, it’s really great. Like, really. It’s dreadful. I wouldn’t want it to welcome me everytime I’d get home. Pure Halloween spirit, really.”

“Oh, okay.” A small smile made its way to Spot’s lips. Darcy responded with a grin, before looking further and frowning in horror at the realisation.

“Wait - you didn’t… get any pumpkins, did you ?”

“Oh, I didn’t think I’d get any really… Carvin’ ‘em can be a b–”

“No, no, we have to have pumpkins ! Come on, Spot, it’s- you can’t do this to me.”

And Darcy’s glare led to the five pumpkins they brought home three hours later, Darcy quickly getting to making them suitable for the holiday and even giving them a nice scent. He really was getting into this, wasn’t he ? Watching him was as endearing to Spot as Spot’s soft side was to Darcy. They were both nerds, the rumour come out.

All in all, it took them three days to get everything settled - and hell, it was beautiful. Darcy was satisfied, and when was he ever ? Well, he was easily satisfied, but holiday decorations were a different thing. Not only decorations here, but costumes. They had matching costumes ! Not that they needed to wear them yet, but they’d both put in effort for the costumes to look right. 

After all, Autumn was the season Persephone returned to the Underworld ; why not celebrate her and her husband ?

Tag list:@well-the-kids-do-too@racetrackcook@i-got-personality@thatfancyclam@we-dont-sell-papes@ben-cook-can-cook@not-your-cigar@nverkept@jackhasdreams@racescoronas@suddenly-im-respecsable@purplelittlepup@hopeful-broadwaybaby@broadwayandbookblog@crazymecjc@maiawakening@awwwwwwdang@albertdasillva@daveys-pet-snake@be-more-chill-evan-hansen@marcusisaprettygay@the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog

[beans-and-rice101]

Merry Christmas

Prompt: Imagine being the Christmas Gift Master for the Avengers or the Justice League. - @darkshadow3942

DISCLAIMER!!! I DO NOT PRETEND TO KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO LIVE WITH SOCIAL ANXIETY/BEING INTROVERTED!! I DO NOT PRETEND TO KNOW WHAT IT IS LIKE TO LIVE WITH A SPEECH IMPEDIMENT!! MY KNOWLEDGE ON BOTH SUBJECTS IS INFORMATION I HAVE GATHERED FROM UNRELIABLE SOURCES! however i am lazy and can't be bothered to do research rn SO IF WHAT I'VE WRITTEN IS INCORRECT OR MAKES YOU FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE OR UPSET PLEASE FEEL FREE TO LEAVE A RESPECTFUL COMMENT!!

So this is actually completely wrong when compared to the prompt but I took creative license so fuck you. Also it's way late for Kringle but WHO CARES. I worked pretty hard on this so be gentle?

~~~

"T-Tinsel? Check. Tree? Check-k. Obnoxious self-sus-sustaining Christm-m-mas lights? Check. Met-t-ticulously crafted gingerb-bread houses that n-no one w-w-will eat because I w-work for a t-t-t-team of ungrateful sh-shits? Ch-Check." You placed the clipboard down after ticking the last box. You had volunteered as Christmas organizer this year as Pepper was busy trying to convince Mr Stark to leave her pregnant ass alone for five minutes. Worst. Decision. EVER.

You had decided(in your naive eagerness) to invite not-really-Avengers as well because you pitied Quill when he tried to explain the concept of Christmas to the Guardians. Plus you wanted to meet the Spider-Man that Mr Stark had been fussing over. God that man needed to chill. You had only hoped he would relax enough this past week for you to get everything done. Hardly. But no use dwelling on the horrors of unpaid apprenticeship! You still had a lot of work to do. Let's see... Hang up the tinsel and assorted decorations, figure out how to attach the lights to the top of the compound, hide the food from Clint and Thor, pick up the order of mince pies from Bow's and Holly's Bakery, be at the airport at 10:00am sharp to recieve Mr Stark and Mrs Potts, arrange the assigned rooms for the Wakandan and spacefaring guests... God... What were you forgetting!?

You pulled out your phone and look back through your notes for the day. Ah, yes. Pick up Peter. Peter? Oh, right, Peter Parker. Spider-Man. Happy was away with family - who were invited to join, but declined - in California. This left you with the additional task of either driving Mr Stark to meetings and seminars or organizing for chauffeurs. You honestly preferred the latter, but To-Mr Stark always insisted on paying you for the ride. Plus, he wasn't that bad as travelling partners went. In fact, for the co-CEO of a multi-billion dollar company, Mr Stark is pretty cool. He isn't without his snark and a certain level of entitlement; and occasionally forgets that people like you live under different circumstances, but all in all, not the worst boss. Certainly better than the one that pays you.

Lost in thought, you very nearly ran into someone. Looking up at the person steadying you, you swallowed loudly at the sight of Steve Rogers. You smiled weakly and mumbled an apology as you looked down at your watch. "Oh sh-shit!"

"Uhh..?" Your gaze snaps back to Steve, who looks more than a little worried by your outburst. "Everything alri-?"

"I'M SORRY I HAVE TO GO THANKS FOR THE CHAT BYE!!" You sprinted past him; later you were informed that this was when you dropped your phone, but at the time your thoughts lay with the fact that it was 9:45am and you had to get your ass in gear.

You barely got to the airport as Mr Stark's plane was set to land. He and Mrs Potts had insisted on flying to San Francisco themselves to pick up Eddie Brock - Mr Stark's newest "find", whom he was as of yet, unsure of. Mr Brock had agreed on the condition that he stayed in a hotel of his choosing as opposed to the compound. Whether that was a lack of trust in you, Tony or himself, you weren't certain. Whatever the case, you didn't mind, as it was one less room for you to organize. As you contemplated Mr Brock, you turned up the radio, listening to the Christmassy songs.

Despite your responsibilities this year, you still found that you enjoyed Christmas. There was something about the cheesiness of it all. How over the top people would get, going to such great lengths to prove their Christmas Spirit. You were content with spending most Christmases by yourself, but lately you had been wondering what Christmas would be like when spent with someone. Don't be mistaken, you had plenty of memories with your family, and they stayed in touch, but it had been years since you had been home for Christmas. Your thoughts moved to the Avengers. Superheroes, secret agents, goody-goodies the whole lot of 'em. Most days, you found it hard to understand how so many different people could share a space... Maybe you envied them... You weren't much older than Peter Parker, but you would never consider to include you in the superhero equation.. You tried to convince yourself that you wouldn't belong, anyway. You had nothing to contribute; aside from coffee, bad jokes and a stutter that even your family couldn't decipher.

The car door opening jolted you out of your thoughts, and you looked over to see Mrs Potts sliding into the seat next to you. "How's planning going?"

"...How d-do you d-d-do it?" Mrs Potts laughed. After Mr Stark and Mr Brock were seated, you began the drive back to the compound. Along the way, you stayed mostly silent - unless it was to correct dates and names Mr Stark got wrong that Mrs Potts missed - and listened to the conversation. It was clear, at least to you, that there was both an air of caution from Mr Brock towards Mrs Potts, and a faint tint of distrust in Mr Stark's words to Mr Brock. You had never thought to ask why Mr Brock was of such interest to the billionaire, and from the air between the two men, you didn't intend to pry. You, personally, thought Mr Brock was quite polite, if a little blunt. He thought to include you in conversation, despite barely knowing you for a minute. When you started driving him to the hotel, preceding dropping off Mrs Potts and Mr Stark(who seemed hesitant to leave the two of you alone...), Mr Brock seemed to grow more closed off. You supposed he didn't want to distract you; or perhaps he didn't care.

With the lack of conversation, aside from occasional directions from Mr Brock, you started zoning out again. There was no point in returning to the compound straight after dropping him off. You would only have 20 minutes, then, to spare before it was time to go pick up Peter. Mr Parker? Should you address him formally as well? He was maybe two months older than you. You supposed it was better to be safe than sorry, but something about it felt wrong...

"Thank you for the lift." You nodded, smiling at Mr Brock as he got out of the car. "It was n-n-no problem, M-M-M-M-..." You sighed, giving up. You just nodded again. Mr Brock pulled his suitcase out of the trunk himself, waving off the doorman. You leaned out the side window, taking a moment to figure out your words before speaking. "I'll be b-b-back-ack at 6:15. Is that-at okay?" Mr Brock copied your earlier action before stepping back from the curb. You waved at him as you pulled away, contemplating what to do. You supposed you should at least pick up those pies from the bakery. In fact, it wasn't too far from Mr Parker's address... Nope. Didn't like it.

The bakery smelled fresh and the air was warm, compared to the snow outside. You rubbed your hands together, regretting not wearing thicker clothes. "Order for Mr T-T-T-Tony St-t-Stark?" The barista looked through the boxes and picked up a large cream one with clear plastic on the top so you could see the treats inside. You smiled thanks and regretted not returning the "Merry Christmas!" that followed you out into the cold. You sighed, taking a moment to look around. The street you were on wasn't too busy, and the shops were cheerful enough, but it seemed you were destined to be in a mournful mood this afternoon. You checked the time. 12:42pm. Not too bad on time. You decided to keep the pies in the back so that you weren't tempted to eat them. You had cookies at home that you could snack on.

Pulling up at the Parkers' house, you braced yourself for conversation. "Hi. I'm here for P-P-Peter Park-k-ker." Ehh. It was understandable. That was what you told yourself as you rung the doorbell. You heard the sound of footsteps(sprinting??) approaching the door, and it swung open to reveal a boy with a cheery smile and messy brown hair. He yelled goodbye to someone inside, before hauling his backpack to the car. He was already in when you got there. Oh boy...

"So... You work with Mr Stark, too?"

"For. I work-k for Mr St-tark."

"Oh. Right. So... You've met the other Avengers? Like... Personally?" The dreaded question. You shifted slightly, preparing the words on your tongue. "N-no. Not p-p-personally. I only work-k for Mist-ter Stark."

"Oh." Peter looked out the window. Oh God... You knew what he was thinking about. Here it comes- "So... Is your stutter, like, a speech impediment?" You sighed quietly. "Yes, it's a sp-peech imp-p-p-pe-pe-RRAA!" You slammed the breaks in frustration, skidding a little. You took a deep breath, and turned to Peter, who looked more than a little shocked. "I understa-tand that you have qu-questions, and this is p-p-probably your first-t t-t-t-t-... Your first ex-per-i-ence-" You said the word slowly. "-with someone lik-ke me. But I have answered these que-questions too man-n-n-n-ny times before. P-p-please do not ask-k anymore." Peter had the conscience to look apologetic and he nodded in understanding. "Okay. I promise not to ask anymore questions like that."

"Thank you."

You arrived back at the compound at about 3:08pm, and watched Peter run over to greet Mr Stark. As soon as you had started driving again, you felt guilty for snapping. You were grateful to Peter for being the civil one and apologizing, and you knew he crossed a line... Forget it. He apologized and you forgave him. He even offered to take the pies in, so you guessed there were no hard feelings. Anyway, back to doing your job which, funnily enough, didn't include yelling at superheroes.

You had 2 hours before you had to go pick up Mr Brock, so you decided to run back to your apartment and amuse yourself until then. You had all but given up on completing your other tasks. The Avengers would simply have to put up the tree themselves. You would apologize tomorrow. You hoped Tony would understand...

Your apartment was kinda chaotic, but you were pretty decent at keeping things in the area they belonged, so it wasn't too hard to navigate. It also meant you were less likely to lose something valuable if you were broken into. You pondered this as you prepared a simple sandwich for yourself. The ideal Christmas dinner. At least munching on it gave your mouth something to do. You checked the time. 5:41pm. You supposed you could leave now and pick Mr Brock up early. Or wait outside for him.

You decided on the former, as you realized the latter made it seem like you were here for suspicious reasons. You found out from the front desk where he was staying and took the stairs to avoid people. Mr Brock's room wasn't difficult to find. You knocked. Inside, there came a sound like a wounded animal. You grew worried, as Mr Brock's voice sounded deeper when he answered. "Yes?"

"Uh, hi. It's m-me, ag-gain. I hope I'm n-n-not intrud-ding, bu-but I had t-t-time to spare s-so..." You trailed off as the room behind the door grew quiet. "M-Mr Brock..?" Getting no response still, you knock again. The door swings open to reveal... Mr Brock. He looks a tad more shabby and a bit nervous, but he smiles anyway. You recover your professionalism and return the smile. "I've pu-parked the c-car out the fron-nt. I hope you d-d-don't mind, b-but I'd like t-t-t-... The evening to m-myself." Mr Brock looks confused. "You're not going to the party?"

"I'm n-not an Avenger."

"Neither am I." You huff. "I d-don't work WITH Mist-ter Stark-k. I'm his assis-sis-sis-..."

"Assistant."

"...Yeah..." You give him a tight-lipped smile and gesture back to the stairwell. "I'm g-gonna wait in the c-c-car..." Mr Brock nods, turning back to his room. "I won't be long."

Indeed he wasn't. You were only sitting in the car for 10 minutes before Mr Brock slid in behind you, looking only slightly less disheveled. But he was in a suit, and you'd seen Mr Stark look worse, so you started driving. The car ride is much like before, only you occasionally catch Mr Brock muttering intensely to himself. Odd. Now that you think about it, Mr Brock seems to be absent of many common traits among the people Mr Stark tends to recruit. Perhaps that was the reason for the underlying hostility between the two. Mr Brock certainly makes you slightly anxious. But you boil that down to second hand stress on his behalf. Checking the time again - 6:12 pm - you force yourself to calm down. If Mr Stark trusted this man enough to allow him around his pregnant wife, surely he's safe enough to share a car with.

You pull up to the compound and smile encouragingly at Mr Brock. He returns it and nods in gratitude before getting out. You watch him stumble up the stairs, a distant part of you wishing you could join in. Inside looks so happy and bright. Such a distant, alien world to you. So far out of your reach. Held within your sight by one man who, while friendly enough, barely acknowledges your existence. These people are far removed from you. The good they do surpasses your life. This is what you force yourself to remember, and you wipe the tears from your eyes.

The drive home is difficult, to say the least. What with the tears in your eyes, and the pull you feel back towards the party, you're surprised the car moves at all.

Your apartment is cold when you arrive. Not only due to the obvious symbolism of how lonely you are, but also because you forgot to leave the heater on. You don't care much, though. After everything, you just want to crawl into bed. At least there, you can dream. You can return to the party, to be greeted by smiling faces, all of them delighted at your arrival. There, you can exist in the world you crave. Part of a family that stretches through space.

There, you might just have a Merry Christmas.