Work Text:
December 15-25
"No."
Clint's been enthusiastic about the upcoming Midwinter Feast, hanging about the tower and even SHIELD in his floppy triangular red hat, the white puff at the tip bouncing jauntily next to his head. The whole thing is shoved forward puggishly, somehow managing to make Clint look aggressive and even more stubborn than the jut of his jaw might manage on its own. He's practically grinding his teeth.
"It is not my choice," Thor starts again. Even though he looks forward to seeing his brother once more, he regrets ruining Clint's anticipation of the holiday and his general good mood. The whole team--but he and Steve especially--have been almost like children about the season, strewing fake snow and threading popcorn to hang onto the pine tree that's since taken up residence in their living room, it's branches half-obscuring the television even though the argument about too big, too small had lasted for a week until Tony had lost patience and just bought one and even if it's not as modest as Steve would have preferred, Thor keeps catching him smiling wistfully at the lights.
"I don't wish to dampen your celebration, but--"
"But your pops is snoozing and someone has to keep an eye on the family lunatic. Yeah, yeah." Tony waves the explanation away easily.
"Otherwise, I would have to return to Asgard," Thor explains. It's an offer. Clint--or any of them--can't be faulted for not wishing Loki in their home, and Thor doesn't want to be responsible for causing distress during a festive season.
"You can't go." Tony sounds scandalized, "It's Christmas! Barton, don't be so grinchy."
Now Clint's teeth do grind and his jaw tenses briefly, even though there's nothing genuinely reproachful in Tony's tone. If anything he sounds like he's placating. "Yeah, yeah. My heart's three fucking sizes too small."
That might be a comment about Loki's enchantment and Thor winces inwardly. "There will be no trouble," he assures, as Clint stabs messily at popcorn pieces, breaking more than he's getting on his string. "There is an enchantment on him to prevent his using any magic."
"Oh yeah. That'll stop him," Clint snaps, then glares when Tony grabs a handful of popped corn from the bowl and flips pieces into his mouth. "That's for the goddamn tree, Stark."
"See? Magic, Hawkeye. To stop magic. What could possibly go wrong?" His doubt is gentle, though, "And we can lock him in the Hulk room and call him Rudolph if you like."
"Can we break my brother out of prison too?" Clint crabs, "In case we're lacking in potential Chanukah murders."
Tony ignores it, "Let's rephrase. What if the choice isn't Loki or no Loki, but Thor or no Thor?"
Clint pulls the bowl of popcorn away from him. Thor's not sure what the significance of garlands of movie snack to Midwinter is, or why Clint's taking it so seriously, but it's a poor time to ask. "Fine," Clint allows, with a grudging reluctance that Thor tries not to take personally, pointing at him with his needle, "But only because we have that Central Park thing and he's a better Santa than Steve."
-----
"It is traditional to give gifts on the morning of the festival," Thor explains, riding up the elevator with Loki, who looks about as pleased to be there as Clint had been at the prospect of having him, "in accordance to one's deeds over the year."
Loki's snort is disgusted and dismissive at the same time. "As judged by whom?" The elevator pings and a woman steps in, ending their discussion until she disembarks three floors later.
"It's the custom," Thor insists, when she's stepped out and the doors have closed again, "at least attempt to be respectful," but a moment later explains, "As judged by a man from the North."
"Oh god," Loki scoffs, "This gets better and better."
The doors open onto the communal floor and Thor steps over the threshold into their lights-and-evergreen bedecked living room, leaving Loki to follow him, continuing, "He flies with reindeer and rewards moral action."
"If you leave me in prison," Loki promises, sounding sulky, "I promise to stay there."
------
The city comes up in lights and the team return from secret trips, pink faced from the cold and laughing. The whole building smells like pine trees and spices and even Loki can't come up with anything nasty to say, except to insult the calendar with chocolates inside, even though he picks every one out and eats them, all at once, like a spiteful child.
"It is a marker of days," Thor scolds, when Bruce takes his turn opening the little door and frowns slightly at finding nothing, "to celebrate patience, Brother. You--This defeats the purpose of the ritual."
"To ease impatience, really," Bruce smiles, leaving the little door open even if there was no reward inside and accepting the sugar dusted cookie Clint hands him in its place. "It's fine. It's just a kid thing, really."
Clint shoves coffee at Bruce and glares at Loki, "I hope you enjoy charcoal, asshole."
"Charcoal?" Loki raises an eyebrow in cool condescension, and Thor takes two cookies and hands one to him and doesn't tell him it's a marker of misdeed.
-----
On Christmas afternoon, still dressed in his sleep things--loose drawstring pants printed with leaping reindeer bearing red bulbous noses--and his floppy triangle hat, Clint flops onto his back among the torn mess of bright paper heaped up under and around their tree and clutches a double armful to his chest as he announces, "God, Stark. I feel like I'm hung over," and grins as he throws bits of it at Natasha, who sticks a ribbon to his hair in retaliation. Steve is similarly bedecked, red and green and pink bows clinging precariously on tired, barely-sticky tape to his back.
"Eggnog'll do that," Tony says, "Particularly that one." He's dressed equally ridiculously, in a red dressing gown that looks like it could go with Clint's hat and a T-shirt reading Be good to me, I've been naughty. He also has a sprig of some sort stuck in his hair, or clipped in that the rest of them steadfastly refuse to look at, shoving Tony away when he leans up to them saying, "Oop, look what we're under."
"It is a kissing leaf," Thor tells Loki, and shrugs before Loki can challenge or mock the sense of it, "What else is one to do in the midst of winter? It is a festival of warmth."
December 31-January 1
The Greeting of the New Year requires no explanation, celebrated much as a turning of the year is in Asgard, with music and a feast and large assembly with much drinking. Tony over imbibes and tells rambling stories that flow into each other without ever coming to a true end--or point--and Natasha and Clint talk over each other entertaining Steve, then get into an argument about which one of them is either misremembering past campaigns or else is dishonest and a liar, and nearly cause the entire team to miss the last moments of the old year and the first of the new.
'Two, One," Tony yells over them, and then whatever shouting is still continuing is drowned out by booms and crackles as large flowers of multi-colored light explode above them.
Between the fireworks, he can hear Steve turning to those around him, saying, "-ppy New Year," and the drift of Natasha's voice saying with strained irritation, "No, it wasn't, Barton."
February 12
In preparation for the day of paired lovers, the tower is decked in pink and red and white on the lower, public floors though little of it makes its way to the team's living areas. Other than a ribboned, heart-shaped box that spends ten minutes on the kitchen table and then is hidden away somewhere, the only sign of the holiday is a note from Pepper reminding them not to eat anything received from anonymous or unfamiliar persons.
Which sets off limits a vast mountain of mailed-in sweets.
"A love festival," Loki sneers, as another shipment of boxes come in, largely addressed to Tony Stark or Captain America, with Black Widow coming in a close third.
"It is traditional to share sweets," Thor tells him, needlessly, considering the amount they've been receiving and throwing away. "And flowers." He doesn't share that he's sent some of both to the Lady Jane, because he loves Loki, but Loki would mock it and her, and the traditions of Midgard.
And because the nuances of the holiday are difficult. The massive bouquet that appears for Pepper is clear in meaning and intent, but the small square box Natasha leaves for Bruce isn't, and neither is the handful of small, paper wrapped candies Clint hands Natasha, dropping them into her cupped palms like they're both children, too teasingly flippant to have any weight, too purposeful in its timing to mean nothing.
March 26
"Can we hold a press conference?" Pepper demands, coming into the team kitchen with a box with holes punched into it. She lifts its lid and releases a clutch of soft fluffy chicks on to the table where Steve is busily pouring syrup over a stack of waffles. "Because we could start a chicken farm at this point."
The birds cheep cheep and Steve has to block them with his arm to keep them from tumbling into the pool of syrup on his plate, eating a little faster, trying to finish before he's overwhelmed.
"More of them?" Clint sounds almost as thrilled as he'd been about Midwinter, aiming his phone at Steve and the chicks, taking pictures of them as they struggle to climb over his arm. "Someone keeps sending bunnies, too. Chocolate and otherwise."
"Don't eat anything anyone sends," Pepper reminds them, even though this has happened every year since New York, "unless you know who it's from. Even if it's sealed."
"Can I eat it if I know who it's from, but it's not for me?" Clint asks, raising one hand while he continues to take pictures with the other. Pepper ignores it.
"And no keeping the animals unless you're prepared for them to grow up, stop being cute, and poop all over your carpets." This, too, is an annual reminder.
"No sacrifice, I suppose? Or wine? Or dancing?" Loki sneers, watching Steve try herd the chicks gently back into their box, "This is how you hold a fertility festival?"
"Fertility--?" Steve starts, then thinks better of it and goes back to his waffles without finishing.
Clint starts with, "Fuck off y--" but is interrupted by Pepper's,
"No. No killing anything. Even for seasonal sacrifice reasons. I'm sure the geese will keep laying and the stars will keep--migrating, or whatever just fine without it. They're going to a shelter like almost every other fluffy cute thing people are buying and gifting and sending to my office in boxes this week. Raise your hand if you're willing to appeal to the public to beg them to stop sending eggs and bunnies and baby chickens."
"I like the bunnies," Tony says, sauntering in and commenting without bothering to catch up on the conversation, "Bruce will back me up on this. The big guy likes fluffy things, too. And what's wrong with the candy eggs? It's not like we can't scan them down in the lab."
"Why do I only get the chickens?" Clint demands, "I like bunnies. Why doesn't anyone send me bunnies?"
"I've suggested appropriate celebration in the past," Thor tells Loki, a little belatedly perhaps, with a perplexed shrug as Pepper repeats her they grow up and stop being cute lecture, "It was not met with enthusiasm."
"I like my enthusiasm to keep its pants on," Tony says, then amends, "Well, mostly." Then amends again, "I mean, it really depends on the context."
April 1
"A feast for fools?" Loki asks, turning from the news announcement with a look that is as good as a sneer. A smooth, superior arch of one eyebrow, barely raised like he thinks himself to be above casting more obvious aspersions than that, "How very appropriate." And then he casts a look around, like he's peering at someone's hovel but attempting to hide his judgment. Clearly suggesting that the team should be marking this, of all days, with some sort of festivity, but isn't. Clint, uncharacteristically but to his credit, says nothing, and changes the channel to a discussion of the game called baseball with nothing more than a roll of the eyes.
"A day for tricksters," Bruce pipes up, and checks his watch before adding, "Guess you missed your window."
Tony raises his glass, sloshing his drink a little, and announces, "I didn't!"
"Are you sure about that?" Bruce says, "It's eleven fifty-four"
"Oh, I'm sure."
Both Clint and Bruce do a strange peer-around, checking ceiling and floor and even the cushions beside them, suspicious-eyed and utterly still as Tony smirks into his drink.
June 21
On the longest day of the year, there is no celebration, even though from this day on the days will be getting shorter. "Depending on your latitude," Tony agrees, when he's questioned, "It's not that practical to make it a holiday," then adds, "We can do something if you want. Is this an Asgard thing? Pepper won't let us sacrifice any animals and-or virgins and-or do anything involving volcano gods. And I just put in new carpets. Just eff-why-eye."
"The asinine festivals of this--" Loki mumbles, but lets it trail away. Tony ignores it and keeps poking at his computer.
"And we probably can't set anything on fire. Not big fire, anyway. It's kind of short notice for a permit, but other than that anything else should be a go."
July 4
"It's not a Midgardian festival," Natasha explains, "just an American one. And just this part of America," and makes a little circle with her finger to indicate an area on the floor just in front of her, slightly smaller than a saucer. "So please don't lump us all in with this idiocy," and nods at the large cooling box Tony is dragging through the room to take upstairs.
Midgard's mixed cultures and disjointed celebration zones are fascinating, and they should be to Loki too, but his face is cool as he considers that, not saying anything that might be construed as interest. Natasha interprets his continued presence as such anyway, or else just disregards his silence, and adds seriously, "I'm Russian. We don't celebrate."
Loki's eyes narrow like he thinks he's being mocked--a thing he's loath to tolerate--but Clint breaks in to call, "You don't barbeque, either, so come on. I'm giving Stark lessons."
"Hey! I think that's the other way around. But nice try, Fireball Barton."
Natasha moves out of the way as they come into the kitchen to squabble for cooking implements, saying, "The patriotism in here is noble and humbling," but takes the apron Clint dumps over her head, and the drink Tony presses into her hands.
"So the schedule is going to be booze, food, booze, cake, food--do you see the pattern here?"
"A proper celebration," Thor approves.
-----
Proper proper celebration has to wait until much later, because Steve is gone to honor injured warriors and to speak for the television, and nobody will do anything without him, as the day coincides with the marking of his birth. By the time he returns, it is near dark, and Bruce and Pepper have taken over the creation of the feast called barbeque, Clint and Tony distracted with something and wandered onto the launch ramp, walking up and down it without concern for the height.
"Did you guys wait?" Steve asks, frowning like he thinks they shouldn't have. Bruce waves tongs at him.
"It took this long to burn the lighter fuel smell off the coals anyway," he says and Natasha adds,
"Thanks to Pyromaniac and Bigger Pyromaniac. Birthday drink?"
Steve blinks, then smiles, then shuffles his feet almost like a boy and eventually shrugs and comes over to join them, accepting the large, fruit-ornamented glass that the Lady Pepper hands him.
"Man of the hour," she says with a smile, as he turns it incredulously, looking for an uncovered section of rim to drink from, "And Tony built it, so don't look at me."
Across the city, flowers of light burst over the water and elsewhere, rising from stadiums or parks, and Tony comes back, yelling, "We're going to beat that one," and points out towards the launch sites, "And that one, too. But first, cake."
"And will that be on fire, too?" Loki asks, in the dry tone that's not really a question. "Is that the purpose of this festival? Burning things?" There's perhaps some symbolism in that, but Thor isn't informed on it, and no one seems to be in a mood for serious explanation, either. Busy advising Bruce, or sticking yet more sparklers into Steve's cake and arguing over the count.
"It's American," Natasha repeats her earlier information, in dry but not unamused tone.
"It is how they celebrate liberation," Thor adds on. It's perhaps not the kindest feast to hold with Loki being held a prisoner, but it's perhaps a little awkward both ways, considering what he'd attempted. At least, if there's anything to smooth over, both sides are at present ignoring the need.
And because a drink to mark days of birth is also Asgardian tradition, Thor takes the glass of tall fruit when Steve offers it and lifts it to him in casual salute.
October 31
The weather turning cold again brings the festival of ghosts, which should be to Loki's enjoyment, considering it is also celebration of trickery, deceit, and magical concealment, but that's also perhaps why the team decides to steer clear of it this year. The crowds and confusing dress of Tony's traditional masked dance too tempting an opening for not only Loki, but others. Unexpected trouble while they are watching his sly brother is the last thing any of them want, even Thor.
Clint, however, intently sticks to his own tradition, as stubborn as he is about the triangle hat of Midwinter.
"This is the holiday," Clint says, shaking rubber spiders out of a plastic tube onto the dining table, "I mean, it's the holiday. When we were kids, we used to get so much candy. It lasted forever." He hasn't explained the connection between the spiders and the candy, or what the purpose of the graveyard and sorcerer's hut that's appeared downstairs in the tower lobby are. "If you ever need a reason to have a kid, Halloween is the reason."
"It requires having a child?"
"There's an unofficial age limit," Clint says with a frown, "For some activities. Unless you're Tony or a hot chick, for some reason. Otherwise you need conspirators."
Thor decides not to question that further, picking up a handful of Clint's spiders and letting them fall back through his finger to the table, where they lie in a heap, rubber legs wobbling unrealistically. "And these?"
"Ammunition."
"For tricks," Thor guesses, "to use as threat in the demand of spoils and reward."
Tony raises his eyebrows. "And you wonder why we've got the kibosh on the tricksing and treatsing?" he asks. "Particularly the tricksing," said with a meaningful and unsubtle sideways look at Loki, "if you know what I mean. And don't tell him there's spoils."
November 28
The feast of giving thanks is straightforward, as Midgardian holidays go, and Thor doesn't find anything to explain about the idea of an autumn feast. The harvest festival is pretty similar in concept across the realms, even down to the decorations symbolizing crops and game, even if those hung now don't really seem of a sort to anything eaten the rest of the year, except perhaps for on other holidays, which is a bit odd.
"So the point is to eat to bursting," Loki says to him, surveying the dining room table, "You must feel right at home."
He does, actually, despite the difference in the wine and the cakes and the game animals. He doesn't say so, and he's interrupted anyway by Tony chiming his fork against a glass.
"Speech, speech," he calls across the table, then accepts his own invitation with a mock-humble little bow and waves Steve back into his seat. "No. Short speech, Cap. I'm starving." He clears his throat, then starts solemnly, "This year, our longest streak without technical disaster, including building falls, shield loss, accidental Hulk-out, accidental self-poisoning, suit malfunction or unexplained magical interference was seven weeks, five days, and twenty-two hours. Almost made it to a solid eight this time. For personal stats, please refer to the team bulletin I've sent around, and thank you for not being dead, maimed, or kidnapped."
He lifts his glass in salute. "Dig in."
To honor the tradition of the realm, Thor does.