"This film makes no sense."
Tony looked over at Loki to find him picking through the popcorn bowl, pulling out any unpopped kernels, and tossing them at Steve, who was automatically catching them without taking his eyes off the movie screen.
"What is it you don't get?" Bruce asked from his position on the floor, back against the bottom of the couch in Tony's home theatre room. "Is it the legal system? It's not like you're from around here, so it's normal it you don't understand—"
"That is not the problem," Loki said, shoveling a handful of popcorn into his mouth. "The problem is the man is obviously not mentally well."
"But that's the whole 'miracle' part," Pepper said. "Mr. Gailey is able to prove Kris really is Santa."
"But he's not," Loki pointed out.
"Yeah, well how do you know that?" Clint said from his position perched on the back of a reclining chair and somehow making it look effortless.
"Because my father was Santa Claus," Loki said off-handedly while licking butter off his fingers in a way that made even Natasha get a little pink.
"Wait, what?" Tony asked. "Thor? Little explanation here?"
"Loki is technically correct," Thor said as he balanced half a pumpkin pie on his lap and added yet more canned whipped cream to it. "Father did indeed contribute to the Midgardian legend of Santa Claus by acting as the bringer of winter gifts."
Every face in the room swiveled towards Thor with identical looks of disbelief except for Loki, who continued pelting Steve with kernels and finally managed to nail him right in the forehead in his shock.
"Your dad is Santa?" Clint said.
"In a manner of speaking," Thor said. "On the winter solstice, he would ride forth on his eight-legged horse Sleipnir along with several others on a wild hunt through the night sky, slaughtering monsters and great beasts. Sometimes children left their shoes by the hearth, filling the with hay for Sleipnir, and my father, pleased with their thoughtfulness, would put toys and candy in the shoes in return."
"And then he went back to killing things with his friends for the next twelve days," Loki said, rolling his eyes. "Such a peaceful, quaint holiday it always was."
Clint looked back and forth between Thor and Loki, his eyes flicking back and forth.
"You're Santa's kids?" he finally spat out.
"Hey, does this explain the whole thing with you guys dressing in green and red?" Bruce asked, grinning like he'd figured out a particularly troubling equation.
Loki nodded while Thor shook his head.
"Also, Sleipnir is not my foal. Let's all get that settled now," Loki said, setting the empty popcorn bowl down on the coffee table. "Anyway, as to my original point, the old man is obvious unwell. He is suffering from delusions, and while he shows no signs of violence, I don't see his working in a department store tending to screaming mortal brats for long hours ending well."
"But… the thing with the little Dutch girl was nice?" Steve added, sounding a little desperate.
"If one likes base sentimentality and a very large plot hole, certainly," Loki said, shrugging. "The most logical explanation is Kris, whoever he really is, is an old, abandoned, lonely man who has convinced himself he is a beloved image from his own childhood in an effort to keep his soul-crushing depression at bay."
"Merry Christmas?" Tony said uncertainly.
"But the kid," Steve said, looking like he was grasping at straws.
"Which one? The Dutch one suffering from the after effects of the horrors of war as an innocent or the child who eventually plays Maria in West Side Story despite being about as Puerto Rican as a cheeseburger?" Loki asked.
"Susie," he said. "She's happy at the end. She gets her house, her mother and Fred get married, and they live happily ever after just down the street from Kris."
"You'll notice he never said anything about marriage," Loki said with a leer.
"It's 1947. That's a given," Steve said, folding his arms.
"Fine. The child lives happily ever after thanks to illegally breaking into a house and someone leaving a cane next to a fireplace beside a stack of old newspapers," Loki said. "Are all Midgardian films this nonsensical?"
"You already mentioned West Side Story," Natasha said, raising an eyebrow, "so this obviously isn't your first one."
"If everyone in a film starts singing and dancing in perfect unison, I accept that the usual rules of reality do not apply," Loki said. "Besides, that's Sondheim. It's different."
The room was quiet again.
"Well, I liked it," Steve said.
"You would," Loki mumbled.
"As did I!" Thor said. "I am happy that the senile man can live out his dream of Christmas happiness in peace and with the love of his friends!"
Pepper nodded enthusiastically while handing Thor another can of whipped cream, which he sprayed directly into his mouth.
"I always liked this one myself," Bruce said. "It's a nice opener to the holiday season."
"Yeah, me too," Tony said. "Jarvis—the human one—and I used to watch this every year on Thanksgiving while the turkey was in the oven when I was a kid."
"That's nice," Clint said.
"Yes, except for the implied parental emotional absence," Natasha said with a shrug, then popped the last of the brownies in her mouth.
"People, shut up about the plot holes and eight-legged freak horses and people's childhood trauma and just enjoy the damn movie, alright?"
Everyone turned to stare at the back corner of the room where Nick Fury was sitting, eating a turkey and cranberry sauce sandwich.
"When the hell did he get here?" Clint said.
"I've been here the whole time, farm boy. I just don't run my mouth while a movie's on, unlike some people I could mention," he said, glaring at Loki in particular.
"Friend Tony, I thank you for hosting this feast for us, and I wish you a happy beginning to your holiday season!" Thor said, rising and clapping Tony so hard on the back that he nearly fell out of his chair.
"Yeah, okay, see you for the next movie night, Claus Jr." he said.
"The popcorn was enjoyable," Loki said, casually dumping the remaining butter in the bowl over Steve's head before teleporting away in a shower of green sparks.
"Nick, are you sure I can't kill him?" Steve said, butter dripping over his forehead.
"I'll think about it," Nick said, taking another bite out of his sandwich.