Upon downing another shot of vodka, Agent Natasha Romanoff placed her glass down on the table and gave Tony a serious look. He returned her stare, an expensive bottle of scotch gripped tight in one hand. They were judging each other with such tension that Clint swaggered over and flopped down into a chair, staring into his bottle and slurring, "Should I get the two of you a condom?"

"That won't be necessary," Tony shot back, only to receive a kick to a more sensitive area of his anatomy by Natasha's dainty feet. As he dropped to the ground with a howl of pain, the two assassins began laughing so hard they ended up joining him on the floor. The two shared a goofy smile as Tony whimpered behind them.

Bruce was watching the three of them, having appointed himself the unofficial designated driver of the night, despite nobody intending to leave the tower. He pulled the still-whining man off the ground where the drunken man promptly rested his head on his friend's knees. Petting Tony's dark hair like one would a cat and looking as though he thoroughly despised every inch of his life, Bruce sighed at the spies still laughing on the floor. "Natasha, do you really think you should be drinking with a head injury that hasn't completely healed?"

"Bite me," was her mumbled reply as she crawled back to her bottle of vodka. It was real vodka, the expensive kind, shipped over from Russia because their dear rich friend would let none of them touch what he called that cheap, nasty shit. The man groaned as Tony wrapped his arms around his lower legs and grinned up at him.

"Bruce, I love you."

"Yes, Tony." Bruce sighed. This was the third time he'd been told this that night.

"Don't you love me?" He whined, tugging at Bruce's shirt like an impertinent child. Bruce pushed his hand away with as little force as he could.

"Yes, Tony. Of course I love you."

"You're my best friend, Brucie. Never leave." Tony climbed up onto the chair beside Bruce, burying his head into the man's neck. Bruce closed his eyes and grumbled quietly to himself. Tony was in a constant state of drunkenness, but when he really went on a bender, he got clingy. Usually it was Pepper on the receiving end of this clinginess, but she had wisely opted to go to bed early. When Tony spoke again, he was stumbling over his words heavily, but his friend managed to decipher most of it. "I mean it. You're my science buddy. Who else am I supposed to talk to about the theory behind quantum physics and the Higgs particle?"

"I'm not planning to, Tony."

He excused himself, leaving the drunken man on his chair and the two on the floor still laughing. Tony sat up straight, glaring at Natasha and her vodka once more. "Tasha. Hey Tasha. I dare you to put some of that in Bruce's drink." He held out Bruce's half-empty glass temptingly, and the spy glared at him for a few moments before grinning. Making her way over to him she tipped as much into the glass as she could.

When he returned, he threw back his glass and downed a good few mouthfuls before he realised there was something wrong with it. Coughing and spluttering, he set it down and gave the three a reproachful look. "Are you trying to poison me?"

"Lighten up, it's just a little vodka." It was obvious over the next few minutes the three shots worth of alcohol was beginning to have an effect on the man. He was relaxing, beginning to get that loose, buzzed look. When Clint used the side of the table to pull himself upright, exclaiming that he had 'the best idea ever', Bruce didn't immediately shoot it down. He listened intently.

"Let's go carolling," Clint laughed, leaning against his hand. The others stared at him in confusion until Tony's face cleared.

"That. Is the best idea. I have ever heard." He paused unnecessarily between every couple of words, standing somewhat unsteadily and helping Natasha off the floor. His vendetta over his injured balls was forgotten in light of this amazing idea. Bruce followed somewhat unwillingly, knowing he couldn't leave them all alone outside in Manhattan while they were in this state.

After a while of wandering through the streets, unaffected by the chill in the air despite being underdressed, they found a house Tony deemed acceptable. He leaned forward and pressed against the bell with as much enthusiasm as he could. When no one answered, he pressed it again and again, until a light flickered on and a frazzled-looking woman pulled open the door. She went to snap at them but upon seeing who it was she stilled and gave them a puzzled look. "Are you Tony Stark?"

"I don't know," Tony said indistinctly, faking a look of horror as he turned to his friends. "Guys, guys. Am I Tony Stark?"

"You're too short to be Tony Stark," Clint replied haughtily with a wink to the woman in the doorway. Tony glared at him before catching his reflection in a nearby window. He stumbled backwards, gaping at his appearance.

"Oh my god! I'm Tony Stark!"

As the three fell about themselves in laughter, Bruce slipped the woman a twenty and asked her to humour them for a few minutes. Accepting the money with a shrug, she listened patiently through an painfully off-key rendition of Silent Night. This went on for about six more houses until all he had left in his wallet was a couple of tens and a five. These too were parted with and by the end of the night, he was somewhat sheepishly handing over a handful of dimes, the only money he had left.

More than one house recorded the drunken singing on their phones. Some met the four avengers with delight; others told them in some very rude language to leave. The house that got the coins was one of those.

Approaching 2AM Bruce started to drag the three back to Stark Tower, ignoring their protests. As much as he hated to admit it he had enjoyed himself in their little escapade. He had a throbbing headache caused by hearing all the greatest Christmas carols being butchered, there was vomit on his shoes, and he was short over a hundred dollars, but Tony had an arm thrown around his shoulders, Clint was clinging onto him, and the long legged spy that was Natasha was strolling ahead of them barefoot with heels in hand. It was just enough to convince him it had been the best Thanksgiving night of his life.

Once they were back upstairs Natasha fell onto the couch, pushing Clint off when he tried to join her. The archer didn't even complain, just lay face down on the carpet and mumbled something about her being mean. When he was certain there was no way they could die of alcohol poisoning or somehow suffocate during the night, Bruce took Tony back up to his room and allowed him to fall onto the bed.

Plucking the wallet from the back pocket of the man's jeans, Bruce counted out the money he figured he was owed for the night before leaving it on the bedside table. As he went to leave, he was stopped by a slurred call of his name.

"What's up?" He turned back to the bed, where the semiconscious Tony had rolled over and was grinning at him.

"You're my best friend, Bruce."

He laughed. "I know, Tony. You told me."

"I love you!"

Bruce shook his head and rolled his eyes as he tucked the money into his pocket. "You told me that too. Get some sleep, okay?"

"I'm sorry we made you lose all your money," he mumbled into the pillow.

"Ah, don't worry about it, buddy." Bruce laughed again and shook his head, walking out and closing the door behind him. It really had been the best Thanksgiving of his life and that was a little sad. He didn't mind that, though. It was good to be with family on Thanksgiving instead of all alone, and right now he had the best family he could ever hope to have.