Chapter 1: Dead is a Relative Term
Howard Stark was dead to begin with. I mean dead-dead. Definitely, positively, and absolutely dead. Completely and utterly. I promise this will be important later, you just need to know, here and now, that Howard Stark was definitely dead.
Where was I?
Oh, yeah, Howard Stark. Dead. No, really, this is a Christmas story, you're not on the wrong holiday; this story wasn't mislabeled. I just have to post a warning about the Howard-Stark-is-definitely-dead thing so that everything that comes later seems more magical and less well-that-was-a-letdown-y.
Howard Stark was a man of few loves, many disappointments and even more ideas. He had next to no real friends but many funeral attendees and that's really all a billionaire genius can ask for in the afterlife, isn't it? His only real mourner, ironically, was, during Howard's lifetime, ranked first amongst his ideas, disappointments and loves. Not that Tony Stark realized any of this, of course as he stood over his father's grave, the only black-clad person in that graveyard who was genuinely sad to see the old bastard go.
Family is a complicated thing.
Howard Stark perished in a car accident two days before his son's seventeenth Christmas. His wife, Maria, succumbed to her injuries and followed him into death the next day. Christmas was never the same for Tony Stark.
Several decades, a mechanized suit of armor, an alien invasion and the advent of the Avengers have done little to change this. Yet.
…
"Tony, for the love of God, if you do not go to this one event I will make you suffer," Pepper Potts, armed with a smartphone, a planner and extreme tenacity stalked down the halls of Stark Tower after her wayward boss.
"It's one charity auction, Pep, the fate of the world does not rest on my attendance or lack thereof."
"It's the Christmas charity auction and brunch, Tony!"
"But is the fate of the world involved? No? Then I'm interested," Tony singsonged, tapping her on the nose before ducking into an office.
"Don't joke about that, please, please don't joke about that."
"Whyever not, dear lady disdain?" Tony mock-gasped, plopping into the chair in front of the desk of whatever anonymous employee's office they (mostly Tony) had just inadvertently invaded.
"The last time you joked about something like that the world literally almost ended!"
Tony smirked, "The key word there is almost," he snagged a peppermint out of the bowl sitting on anonymous-employee's desk, "You don't mind sharing, do you Tom?" Tony asked with a pepper-mint-flavored grin.
Pepper, momentarily distracted, sighed, "Tony, you can't just go taking people's peppermints."
"Pepper, I'm surprised at you! That almost sounds like a euphemism for something-" Tony raised his eyebrows teasingly and Pepper almost hit him with her planner.
"Tony."
"Pepper."
"You're going to the Christmas brunch."
"No, I'm not."
"The profits almost double at these events when you make an appearance."
"I've never made an appearance at the Christmas brunch, why stop a good trend?"
"Goddammit, Tony, it's for charity!" she sighed, collected herself, straightened her suit jacket, lifted her chin and said, painfully pleasantly, "Tom, please go on a coffee break. Now. Mr. Stark and I need to use this office to discuss this issue further."
"Don't leave," Tony mock-whispered, "She's going to beat me to death with her planner."
"Um, I'll just go now…" Tom muttered, scraping together some papers and tossing them haphazardly into his briefcase before darting out the door.
"That cad," Tony muttered, "He took the peppermint bowl."
"Tony, focus."
"But where will I get my minty freshness?"
Pepper huffed, "Tony, it's Christmastime, time for generosity of spirit, sacrifice and kindness. Please go to the brunch auction and help double the funds raised. Take the team and quadruple the funds, I don't care, I just know that you need some good press and the poor need feeding so get a new tux and get your ass to the gala tomorrow morning."
"Pepper, the brunch is on Christmas day. The team's not going to go for that."
"Then just you, I don't care at this point."
"Pep," Tony sighed, running a hand down his face. He brought his palms together a moment, leaning his lips against his steepled fingertips, "It will change nothing whether I go or not. There will always be rich people spending money on the idea of poor people and there will always be real poor people reaping scanty benefits from the results. Nothing I do or say or attend will change that. Fucking Christmastime will not change that. So I'm sorry, but the spirit of Christmas just isn't in the house. I don't have the brainspace to waste on hopes that will never ever be fulfilled. I'd rather just ignore the holly and the evergreens and move on with my life. Rest assured, your Christmas bonus will be just as generous as ever."
And with that little pronouncement, Tony had stood and swept off in a whirl of bitter intensity.
Pepper hugged her planner to her chest and hung her head with a sigh. It had been worth a shot. She pulled out her smartphone and tapped out a text.
No luck, you try something.
…
Tony picked up his phone on the second ring, "Why hello there, cupcake, what are you doing calling the likes of me?"
Rhodey's chuckle crackled through the speakers. He must be somewhere with bad reception. Bad reception, what a dirty word, Tony's mind recoiled at the idea. He would have to tweak Rhodey's phone again. That man really needed to stop accepting military-issued telephonic equipment, it was painful to experience.
"I can't call to check up on my best friend?" Rhodey laughed, but there was tension there. That, combined with the dreadful reception told Tony all he needed to know.
"You're not going to be home for Christmas." It was a statement. Tony wasn't really in a mood for asking questions.
A static-filled pause and then: "No, I'm not. My mom's going to my sister's house in-"
"I know where your sister lives, creampuff," Tony said, voice straining around the dumb old nicknames.
"I'm sorry, man."
"Don't worry about it," and miraculously, Tony's voice didn't shake, "But you know, merry Christmas and all that, sucks you're stuck in the dessert for it, though. Been there, done that, man, no fun. Sand gets everywhere and the sun, god,-"
"Dude, you're rambling."
"I do that, yeah, sometimes, I do that..thing…you know, Rhodey-bear, your reception sounds like shit, it's honestly painful to hear, a sort of vicarious pain you know? From one friend with excellent tech and excellent cell reception to another who is misfortunate enough to rely on the military for their cellular communciations…"
This time Rhodey just let him go on for a few minutes before cutting in, "No, man, no new phones. I don't need the military giving me the stink-eye for introducing Jarvis to their system."
"Who says my phones come with Jarvis? I'll have you know I selfishly keep my artificially intelligent friends all to myself, thank you. Other people don't appreciate them enough."
"Sure, whatever you say, man."
They bickered and bantered for a bit, Tony spinning in slow circles in his office chair, fiddling with things on his desk, doodling new armor designs in the margins of paperwork Pepper needed him to sign yesterday and trying not to think about how sometimes Rhodey would drag him home with him for Christmas and Tony could eat Mrs. Rhodes' pie and pretend she was his mom and that he and Rhodey were real brothers and that he had a real family. That wouldn't happen this year. Again. Just like it hadn't happened last year or the year before that or the year before- well, you get the picture.
Tony hung up with Rhodey and spun another lazy circle in his office chair, staring at the ceiling.
"Fuck Christmas," he snarled to whoever was listening.
…
He got distracted with something because the next thing he knew he was looking up from his computer screen (four hours later and how had that happened?) to find himself nearly nose to nose with a mildly amused, moderately annoyed, blue-eyed puppy of a super soldier.
"Gah! Steve!" was really all Tony managed to articulate before flailing his way out of his office chair and onto the floor.
"Oh, god, Tony, sorry about that," Steve apologized, looking appropriately contrite but also a little bit like he might be laughing at him deep, deep down inside and wasn't that just nice.
"What, Rogers, what?" Tony snarled; clawing his way back onto his feet, glowering at the hand Steve extended to help him up.
"Well, I've been standing here trying to get your attention for the past ten minutes."
Tony snorted, "That's not even a record. I've successfully not noticed people for up to two hours before."
"I'm not sure if that reassures me of my importance or re-emphasizes my insignificance," Steve commented wryly, an amused quirk to his lips and wasn't that just cute.
"Neither. Both. Either-or, take your pick," Tony muttered, turning back to his computer, startling when Steve closed his laptop, almost on top of his fingers, "Hey!" Tony yelped.
"Stop ignoring me."
"I'm not ignoring you! See, talking, conversation, not-ignoring!" Tony defended.
"You're trying to ignore me," Steve's voice was patient and truthful and surprisingly gentle considering the fact that Tony was being actively rude towards him in the (slim) hope that the other man might give up and leave.
"Fine, I'm trying to ignore you," Tony fidgeted, twitching irritably whenever Steve shifted his new object of fidgety fixation away from him before he could become deeply engrossed, "But you're making that very- give me my Rubiks cube back! –difficult."
Steve raised an eyebrow and did not return the Rubiks cube. "We're having a team Christmas celebration tomorrow, you should come."
Tony groaned and flopped back in his (traitorous) desk chair, slapping hands over his eyes dramatically, "Not more Christmas shit!"
Steve's brow furrowed, his hands beginning to dance over the Rubiks cube, apparently unable to resist the allure of those little multi-colored squares, "What's wrong with Christmas?"
"Everything!" Tony huffed, throwing his hands in the air theatrically, "It's loud, it's noisy, it's all about getting shit anyway but there's still a million and one sappy movies trying to shove lies down your throat about how it's all about family and love and whatever. But really, it's just an excuse for the lonely to get drunk, the people with family to resist the urge to murder their annoying relatives, the rich to get richer, the poor to go into debt paying to keep up with a consumerist society and no one to have fun but everyone to say they're having fun. THERE IS NO MAGIC TO CHRISTMAS, ROGERS!"
Okay, so that was a bit more vehement than Tony might have liked, but it got the point across… or not. Steve was looking a lot less fazed than Tony had hoped. In fact, he was still standing there, perfect and golden and blue-eyed and all full of hope and Christmas cheer and… fascination with that damn Rubiks cube. Tony would have laughed about that if he wasn't still to tied up in his disgust for Christmas to devote time to needling Steve.
"Tony, that's not Christmas at all."
Tony sighed, shoulders sagging as he rolled forward to prop his elbows against the desk. "Rogers, please don't give me the speech, I've got it memorized, dammit. 'God bless us, everyone' and all that jazz. But please don't waste your time, I'm not going to believe it."
Steve's eyes were so damn gentle and it made Tony's heart hurt a little to look at him so he didn't. "Well, if you change your mind, the team would love to see you. You've been in your workshop or here pretty constantly for the past few months. Please come to the Christmas celebration, you don't need to bring gifts or food or anything. Actually, if you come, please don't bring anything, ok? I want to prove my point about Christmas to you."
Tony did what he did best, he deflected, "Haven't seen me? Your little band of misfit toys lives in my tower. If you had anything pressing you needed to ask me you could always just hop the elevator to the penthouse or to my office here."
"It's not about pressing questions, Tony, it's about wanting to see your teammates, your friends."
Tony's mouth curled into a sardonic smile, "Capsicle, people like me don't have friends."
Steve's lips compressed into a thin line, "You could if you wanted to."
Tony snorted, "Rogers, I have work to do, if you're done here, please skedaddle."
Steve turned to leave, realized he was still toying with Tony's Rubiks cube (one of the fancy zillion-sided ones, thank you very much, only the most complicated for Tony Stark's desk), tensed with embarrassment and halfway turned back to return the not-really-a-cube to the desk.
Tony sighed, not looking up from the file he suddenly found very, very interesting and said, "Cap, keep the stupid thing. Call it a Christmas gift if it makes you feel better."
He could feel Steve's stupid-kind smile, like a wave of warmth and sunlight and puppies and whatever other nice things you can think of. Tony didn't look up to see that mega-watt smile. He didn't care. He really didn't. Nope.
…
Apparently Steve took his comment seriously. The rest of Tony's day was spent warding off the unwanted attention of his teammates as they filed down to his office one by one to behold him in all his grinchy glory and ask him (with varying degrees of niceness) to please come to the team Christmas thing.
"Brother Stark, why do you insist upon isolating yourself upon this, the most glorious of Midgardian feast days?" Thor boomed.
"I'm not going to bother running that through my mental Shakespeare-to-real-world translator and just go with my standard response: I don't like Christmas, I don't celebrate, with or without other people."
"Segregating yourself from those who wish you well will only do you harm."
"Good thing I like myself, warts and all."
"I fear this is yet another phrase lost in 'translation'."
"You would fear correctly."
…
Clint came in specifically to make paper airplanes of varying design and efficiency with the sole purpose of testing both them and Tony's patience.
"So why won't you go to our Christmas party?" Clint asked after a half hour of paper-cut silence.
Tony snatched Clint's airplane out of the air and stuck it in his desk drawer just to be spiteful. (Yes, it was childish, yes he was a bit childish, Tony owned it.) "I don't like Christmas. I'm not celebrating Christmas. Now leave before I kill you with a stapler."
Clint snorted and released another airplane "Please, as if you could get anywhere near me with that thing."
Tony hefted the stapler, pondering how aerodynamic it might be under the right circumstances.
…
Bruce, oddly enough, asked nicely.
"Please come to the party."
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"I could Hulk-smash your office?"
"Threats don't work if they have question marks attached to them."
…
Sam almost convinced him to go just by the sheer force of the awkwardness of the conversation.
"So Steve is really set on the whole team celebrating Christmas together. And that includes you."
"Yes, man-I-have-never-met-before, apparently that does."
"You've met me."
"Well yes, but guy-I-barely-know-who-is-feeling-as-awkward-about-this-as-I-do sounded dumb and had too many hyphens in it."
"Fair enough."
…
Natasha and Bucky just stared at him, which admittedly was unnerving and of the lot of them, came the closest to convincing Tony to show up.
Because Natasha was scary (Bucky too, a little bit, but not nearly as much as Natasha).
But hatred of stupid holidays won out over fear of deadly gingers and their one-armed sidekicks.
…
It was no wonder Tony passed out at midnight on top of his keyboard. It had been a long day full of weird people.
…
Tony awoke to the clink of ice in a glass and the scent of cigar smoke drifting through the room. Every muscle in his body tightened convulsively. He knew that smell, he knew that sound. Tony had never smoked cigars, had tried to avoid having acquaintances who did. It was a nasty, disgusting habit that did nothing but make him think of following trails of lingering scent through empty halls, trying to find someone to love him and never succeeding.
"Son, I know you're awake, stop faking."
Tony eased himself into a seated position and eyed the man across the desk from him. "Loki, fuck off, I'm not in the mood to deal with your shape-shifting shit right now."
Not-Howard chuckled and swirled the scotch in his glass, "Well now, I seem to have missed quite a lot the past few decades. Shape-shifting shit? Is that really any way to talk to your father, Anthony?"
Tony curled his lip, "A.) Loki, cut the crap, this isn't funny, B.) Yes, you have missed quite a lot, what with the whole dead-by-drunk-driving-two-days-before-Christmas thing, and C.) How would I know how to talk to my father, when he never bothered to talk to me?"
"You're certainly cruder with age," Howard looked irritatingly unruffled.
"I'm not afraid of you anymore, old man, and I was never afraid of Loki, so if it is his royal tricky-ness in there, I'm not exactly bothered by these new shenanigans," Tony rose and walked over to the liquor cabinet (yes, his office had one, shouldn't everyone's?), turning his back to Not-Howard.
"How should I prove my existence to you, Tony?" Howard spun in his chair, tracking Tony's movements.
"By not existing."
"Impeccable logic as usual, son," Howard said sardonically.
"There we are, the same routine, 3, 2, 1 action!" Tony swung around, armed with a gin and tonic and a sarcastic smile.
Howard huffed and set his drink on Tony's desk. It's image fizzed and blurred like a bad cable connection when it came in contact with the polished wood. "I didn't come here to argue with you, son," he said tersely.
"Then why are you here, haunting my subconscious?" Tony took a gulp of his drink, feeling the burn as it slid down his throat.
"You doubt your senses?" Howard arched a brow in that condescending, disdainful way he always did when he was about to make Tony feel very small and very foolish. Goddamn Tony hated that old man.
"I doubt a lot of things. Fact of life, I've been poisoned, knocked unconscious, and drugged before, sometimes all at once and really it's twelve times more likely that you're just a lucid dream from a bad fight."
"You don't believe in ghosts?"
"No."
"I didn't either."
"Great, we can bond. Forgive me if I don't break out the friendship bracelets."
"ANTHONY EDWARD STARK! For once in your life stop being glib about serious matters!" Howard barked and there was the Howard Tony remembered growing up with.
"Fine, fine, talk, talk." Tony flapped a hand in his general direction, seeing how far he could push the Not-Howard (who Tony was beginning to suspect was more Real-Howard than he was truly comfortable with).
"Stop being an ass."
"Yes, yes, we covered that, get to the good stuff."
"That's the message, boy, stop being an ass. For the love of god don't grow up to be like me."
"Grow up? I'm a little past the growing-up part of life, father dear," Tony snarked.
Howard sighed, steepling his fingers and resting his lips on top of them, the exact same gesture Tony had used to dismiss Pepper earlier and wasn't that painful to see. "Tony, I wasted my life. I wasted every Christmas I ever had and I destroyed every relationship I ever made."
"Do tell, do tell," Tony said sarcastically, "It's not like I was there or anything."
"Don't interrupt, boy," Howard glowered at him but there was something softening his features, something that looked a lot like regret, "You have a chance at being better than I was. Yes, I know you've made it something of your life goal to surpass me, you irreverent whelp," and was that teasing, gentle, smiling, light-hearted teasing? From Howard Stark? What the actual fuck. Tony shook his head, tying to dislodge the uncomfortable encroaching presence of feelings.
Howard was still talking. Of course he was. "I want the best for you, boy. I always have although I was absolute shit at showing it. You are my greatest-"
"Creation, yeah, I know. My tinker-toy status in your eyes brings me the warm and fuzzies every time."
"I meant no offense by that statement, Tony." And there it was again, the regret. It was almost enough to make Tony feel… something towards the old man. He knew what it was like to relate to everything and everyone in mechanical terms rather than human.
Howard sighed, leaning his elbows on his knees, "You're getting a second chance, son. Don't screw this one up. You'll be visited by three spirits. Expect the first one in oh," he glanced at the clock where the digital read out flashed a steady 12:52 am, "Eight minutes. Don't be like me, don't wear my chains."
"Wait, what? No, you did not just Ebeneezer Scrooge me!" Tony snapped, aghast.
"Expect the first ghost in… seven minutes now," Howard's image had begun to fade like the ink from an old photograph.
"Stark! Howard! Dad!" Tony leapt out of his chair, gin and tonic sloshing onto his hand.
"I forgot to tell you…" the color and substance were leeching out of Howard, fading him into mist.
"What the hell?" Tony said a little desperately.
"…I was always…"
"Dad?" Tony's voice hadn't been that small and sad since he was eight years old.
"…proud of…"
And he was gone. There was a moment of stunned silence. Then Tony burst out, "You did not just The-Doctor-and-Rose-on-the-beach me!" He paced the office, muttering irritably for a minute, opening all the windows, welcoming the cold air as it poured it, trying to erase the lingering scent of his father's cigars. He was in the middle of a rant that had somehow segued into planning some sort of new AC system for the Helicarrier when someone softly cleared their throat behind him. Tony turned around, ready to start in on the new interruption when the flash of blue digital numbers spelling out the time cut him short. 1:00 am. His gaze drifted down from the wall clock to see…
What?
"Hello Mr. Stark, I'm here to talk about Christmas Past."
Author's Note: Happy Holidays everybody! I'm sure this has been done before but I couldn't resist the urge to write an Avengers Christmas Carol (tis the season, am I right?) and who better to play the part of a modern Scrooge than the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist? This little thing should run about 5 chapters and I'm hoping to finish it by New Years.
Well, that's about it for me… thanks for reading and if you have a little bit of time, please let me know what you think. I adore reviews.
