Author's Note: 's being a dick about the line break. Does anyone know why? It's pissing me off. Anyway, I've agonized for days over this section, because I wasn't sure if I wanted it to be longer or not. I eventually cut it, so it's in two parts. I'll probably post the second part like tomorrow or the day after; I want to go over it a few more times, figure out if I missed putting anything else in it. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything, blah blah blah.


Stiles' first foray into slumber party hosting started off horrifically. They spent the first two movies, Iron Man 1 and 2, barely eight seconds away from ripping each other apart at all points in time, but then the pizza came. Through a series of events Stiles would be revisiting in therapy (with someone who wasn't Morell, oh my god) and in therapy only Isaac and Lydia bonded over pineapple and ham, of all things, and things got surprisingly easier and easier to handle. It helped that Boyd and Allison bonded over how utterly gag-worthy and disgusting everything but pepperoni was (there words not his). Everyone else stared helplessly as a brief and stiltedly polite conversation about fashion erupted as they broke out the third case of soda, but then started the third movie and found the most common ground on the topic of Thor.

Or, it wasn't really common ground, Stiles clarified for his dad later that weekend; they argued like a couple of roosters in an illegal animal fighting ring, but it was the kind of arguing that they were supposed to have, he insisted. It was the kind of argument teenagers had every day of the week over stupid things, like- like-. Okay, so Stiles wasn't sure what teenagers argued about anymore. But he knew it was stupid and refreshing and not about who distracted which alpha so they didn't all die viciously.

"I'm not taking a side in this argument," Scott said, for the fifth time.

"Scott," Erica threatened. "Take a side or perish."

"I think you mean, Scott take my side or you will perish."

"Martin, only a blind woman would argue that Hiddleston is more attractive than Hemsworth."

"Having a brain is sometimes more attractive than muscles, Reyes."

Isaac's face scrunched up and, before anyone could stop him, he said, "Then why were you dating Jackson?"

There was a moment of silence where Stiles mourned for Isaac's inevitable death. He was so young, he thought forlornly.

"Despite popular belief, Jackson wasn't a total moron," Lydia said. Her voice was a little chilly, but she didn't lunge and rip out the blonde's throat for mentioning He Who Shall Never Be Brought Up. It was their weird bond of sub-par pizza, Stiles figured; it bought him a one-time only pass, like a Get Out Of Jail Free card. "He wasn't devious like Loki," she insisted, toes twitching against his leg, "but he was sweet."

Boyd snorted, nearly choking on his soda. "Are we talking about the same Jackson? He shoved Stiles in a locker, once."

Lydia glanced over at Stiles, then away, back to the television where Thor was wrestling with hospital staff and roaring his rage. For a second he could have sworn she looked sad and apologetic, but the expression was gone before he could determine how he felt about that. Her toes twitched against his leg again, like a liar's tell.

"To be fair, I hit Stiles in the head with a part from his own car once," Erica said. She shrugged at Lydia and popped some M&M's in her mouth, like it was no big deal. The elephant in the room was that Stiles could have knocked out a pretty mean drum solo on the taunt line of her shoulders. Or at least he would have been able to if he hadn't given up the drums when they moved up into high school. Some days he missed band class.

"I like to think of it as our moment of bonding," Stiles retorted easily, coming back from that train of thought as quickly as he could. It was a pretty much accepted fact in his life that every single one of his friends would try to kill him sooner or later. It was easier to deal with it this way, with humor and too much sugar, than to panic or waste energy to find new friends. Allison and Lydia were actually the only two in the room who hadn't done something painful and terrifying to him, but he was sure their time would come. "When we clicked, for real, and became an unstoppable duo of pure awesome."

"Like Mushu and the cricket from Mulan?" Scott wondered. Stiles shook his head at him, grinning a little bit. On the screen Thor slipped his restraints and Jane ran through the hospital, looking for her ticket to her big scientific discovery.

"Actually," Erica said, sounding oddly serious, "I think our true bonding moment was when you dragged me across town and held me while I had a seizure, despite the fact that I broke your car and knocked you unconscious." The mood shifted, small and soft, and Stiles swallowed thickly. That had been up there with the top ten horrible moments of his life, though within the last two months it had been knocked down into the top twenty. He couldn't find the words to acknowledge the depth of emotion in Erica's voice, so he did the next best thing he could. He grinned, shrugged, and rolled his eyes, shaking it all off with a joke.

"Hush, Catwoman; you're gonna miss Hemsworth's perfect abs."

She hummed, grinning a little, and the tension drained almost completely from her shoulders. There was a moment of silence as the room appreciated the view Thor made without his shirt, unfortunately tucked away in the lab bathroom where they could only bask in a small portion of all his attractive glory. He turned and the living room sighed, almost completely in sync with one another.

"I think Derek has better abs than he does," Scott said, soft and thoughtful.

It was the first time they'd brought up Derek since the he left and the room froze a little, not sure how to handle it. Boyd, Isaac, and Erica were kind of his werewolf children and after months of being pestered Scott and Stiles felt like the guys' only friends; the idea of being left behind made them all feel a little bit like baby birds screaming in a knocked over nest. But then Boyd nodded, like they were talking about serious life and death matters, and said, "I think so too," which had the whole room laughing, even Lydia, thought they weren't really sure why they were laughing.

"Brains and brawn can be equally attractive," Lydia said finally, when they were all done giggling and the movie's scene had changed to the diner. "But can we talk about how brilliant Jane and Darcy are?"

"I kind of want to marry Darcy," Allison confessed.

There was a chorus of agreements and they shared another laugh. Isaac mumbled something about having a crush on Jane when the movie had first come out and Stiles had yelled here, here louder than was probably necessary. By the time Captain America was finished they were arguing over who would be which Avenger.

"Allison's Hawkeye," Scott announced, like anyone was going to argue that point. Allison preened under his attention, though, which made the cuddle pile that she and Isaac were in a little bit weird, Stiles wasn't going to lie. (He was also not going to lie; he had wondered where the hell those three were going, relationship wise. He had contemplated the teenage angst and confusion that would come from a threesome relationship and, honestly, it was half fascinating and half horrifying. He was so glad he was probably going to be single forever when he looked at them.)

"Then you're Captain America, buddy," he pointed out. Scott made a face like he wanted to protest, but everyone else in the room was nodding enthusiastically, so he fell back on the couch with a grin and a shrug.

"I think Boyd would make a good Coulson," Erica said, from somewhere inside the blanket fort she had constructed during the break between Thor and Captain America. She had wrestled everyone's blanket away from them to build it and Stiles was kind of impressed. He was weighing the pros and cons of inviting Erica early next time, so they could turn the entire living room into one huge blanket fort. The pros were outweighing the cons, that was for sure.

"Seconded," Isaac chimed in.

"Can I be Iron Man?"

"No, Stiles, you cannot."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm Iron Man," Lydia answered, prim and proper, like it was the obvious answer. He made a face at her and she smiled, turning to curl her toes under his legs on the couch. She jerked the only blanket that Erica hadn't gotten further away from him, pulling it up to her shoulders and preening a little bit. "But you can be my Pepper Potts if you want," she promised, like it was a gift. He paused, imagined it, and snorted.

"No offense, but I am never going to be able to pull of heels like she can, no matter how many drag queens I befriend."

Scott perked up from where he was trying to build his own pillow fort. He was doing a pretty poor job of it, but if anyone said anything about how terrible it was Stiles was going to cut them. No one bothered his bro's pillow fort. "How are the queens, anyway?"

"Good," Stiles answered. He hadn't talked to the queens much since school started, but they were fine last time he had chatted. There was a thought bothering him in the back of his head, though, something about the Hulk and his guilt. He was trying to figure out who the Hulk would be, because the queens had reminded him of something, the way they described someone. "They," he started, before trailing off in his own head.

The room glanced over at him as he trailed off. On the menu screen for Captain America popped back on the television and he got up, mechanically, to change DVDs. It was almost four in the morning and they were starting to lag, but only just barely. They would probably make it through the entirety of the Avengers before passing out, he was sure. He picked up the Avengers case, still trying to pin down the thought in the back of his head, only to stutter to a complete stop when he glanced down.

That man is tall, dark and muscled as hell, Miss Mosey said in his memory. They had been talking about Derek, because Derek was rude and had kept Stiles away from a coffee date with the drag queen one afternoon to do research for him. Miss Mosey had demanded photographic evidence of the rude goddamn asshole throwing you around like a doll and he had snapped a picture of Derek's profile before the werewolf could argue and flash his laser eyes at him. Good thing too, though, right? You said he's got problems. Looks like he's got the strength to pull that sack of problems around.

"Guys," he said, turning to face the living room. He felt a little off balance, but he took a deep breath and grinned. "I know who the Hulk is."

"Isaac," Boyd guessed. He gave the blonde curled around Allison a shit eating grin and Stiles liked to imagine that if Boyd had been a lesser man he would have added in a kissy face. Boyd was no lesser man, however, and his deadpan voice and grin was not coupled with an over the top air kiss. Isaac shot a glare and a growl at the other boy, but Stiles shook his head, heart in his throat.

"It's Derek," he said.

Derek had all the guilt, the unstable past, the rage and the pain bottled up in him. Not to mention how he avoided detection, staying away from renting a real apartment because it would get him found faster. The more Stiles thought about it, the more sure he was that Derek Hale would make the perfect Bruce Banner.

"Then who am I?" Isaac wondered. He was pouting a little bit and Allison clucked her tongue at him, patting him on the head. Stiles glanced at Scott, but his best friend didn't seem to mind that his new roommate was getting cooed over by his ex-girlfriend. Stiles made a face of confusion in their general direction as he turned around to put the DVD in.

"The only two left are Black Widow and Thor," Erica said. She glanced between Isaac and the ground, her nose scrunching up just the barest bit like she didn't know which one she wanted to be. There was definite possibility for both, Stiles realized, perking up a little bit at the challenge. He took a moment to imagine Erica in the Black Widow suit, glad he was facing the television when he did so.

"Isaac's Black Widow," Boyd said. Lydia glanced at him, calculating, and then nodded. Stiles stared at him blankly over his shoulder before accidentally imaging the blonde boy in the Black Widow suit. Which… Wasn't a terrible image? Stiles made a face at himself, because there was no way he was touching that strange love triangle bullshit they had going on. The first step was admitting he was hot, then wham he would be macking on Scott. Or something. And no, just no. "Which makes you Thor, Erica."

"I accept your decision, Son of Coul," the blond said, mock grave. Stiles pictured it and then nodded, seeing the appeal. Erica had to have been taught a lesson in power and the responsible way to use it, after all. Stiles wished she had a sassy handsome-as-fuck adopted brother he could drool over, but oh well. And Isaac had the terrible past abused, which wasn't spot on with Natasha Romanov's, but it was close enough. Allison had also kind of brought him over to the right side as well, and Scott and Isaac had a thing going on, just like Black Widow and Captain America. Erica had been mimicking a royal bow toward Boyd, but she paused, eyes snapping to Stiles, and they both froze awkwardly, staring at one another like a couple of deer in headlights.

"But what about Stiles?" She blurted out. She looked small and unsure, like she had when she woke up to find they had just barely saved her life, and Stiles hated that look on her.

Oh, Stiles thought. He tried to think on his feet, but everyone but Nick Fury was taken. Which, uh, no thank you.

"He's Peter Parker," Scott said, blinking at Erica like this was common knowledge. One of his pillows fell from its precarious position, but he didn't seem to notice. He then followed his declaration up with a drawled out, "duh," that proved he thought the conversation on which super hero Stiles would be was idiotic. Like Stiles would always be Peter Parker, the great Spider-man, with so much responsibility on his shoulders, all alone. It didn't really escape his notice that Spider-man wasn't really an official Avenger, helping the gang but always alone to face his own demons. Peter Parker, with the huge brain, small muscles, and big mouth, nothing but a danger to everyone he loved.

For a small moment it felt like Stiles was having another panic attack. But after the moment of morbid consideration and small sea sickness Stiles let it go, grinning at his best friend as he returned to share the couch with Lydia. Spider-man was one of the coolest super heroes ever created. He could live with the decision.

"Long as I'm not Nick Fury," he said. Lydia planted her feet in his lap like he was her human shaped stool and he curled a hand over her ankle, squeezing. She kicked at him softly, but then smiled. He wanted her to be his Mary Jane or something (not Gwen, Siper-man killed Gwen, so anything but his Gwen), but she was too good for that. Iron Man was perfect for Lydia, because he was brilliant and she was brilliant, plus they were both haunted and they used the way society viewed them to get the upper hand. Also because they were both classy and sassy and couldn't really give two shits for the way authority was supposed to work. The only startling difference between those two were their tastes in music and alcohol. Stiles turned from his contemplation of Lydia Martin's status as Iron Man and focused on Joss Whedon's Marvel masterpiece, for what was probably the tenth time since it had come out o DVD.

They ended up breaking a lamp, clearing out the fridge of all the food in it (even the stuff that was weeks old), and ordering two rounds of pizza, one a nine and one at two am. The Sheriff found their bodies sprawled across the living room the next morning when he got off shift, each of them curled around pillows and each other in a way that might have had him worried if he hadn't been so tired, Stiles figured. His dad cooked them bacon, having the werewolves hold his son down when he protested. It was an okay trade off, he figured, because Stiles got to listen to his father's laughter as the other teenagers piled on top of him and smacked him with pillows. It was past noon, but the bacon tasted delicious and the way Scott's elbow pressed against his ribs while Erica held a pillow against his face and shrieked was the closest thing to perfect that had been achieved by mortal beings in months.

"Next time," Lydia said, curled up on the kitchen counter. She was sitting like a queen, despite her rumpled clothing and tangled hair. She paused as the Sheriff handed her a cup of coffee, both of them smiling softly at each other as she accepted it and brought it to her lips. She took a sip, purposefully keeping them waiting, and Stiles grinned at her from his position at the bottom of the puppy pile. "Next time we're watching Disney movies."

Stiles watched as Erica narrowed her eyes at the red head, dread coiling in his chest.

"Original Disney?" Erica asked, sounding like the answer would decide if she tried to claw Lydia's limbs from her body or not.

"Of course," Allison answered airily. The three girls then exchanged pleased smiles, which sent chills down Stiles' spine. Dangerous females should not be friends with other dangerous females, he thought, though the protest inside of him was feeble despite the way it raised the likelihood of Lydia and Allison accidentally (or purposefully) trying to kill him.

At least they were happy, he thought fuzzily. He grinned at the ceiling, laughing a little when his father rolled his eyes and muttered, mock forlornly, about his poor house being destroyed by teenagers.