Woah, that's… woah. I mean, I knew this was a fun prompt, but I never expected such an overwhelmingly positive response—91 reviews, 200 favorites and 286 follows! A big thank you to all who read, reviewed, and liked the story. I'm going to try to respond to all those reviews now, if I can.

As for this chapter—I'm not sure why it was so hard to write. I literally have 12 different versions of this chapter on my computer and none of them feel quite right. But it's been far too long since an update, so I chose to post the one I like the best. I still feel like it could be improved (critique welcome!) but the story needs to move on. Chapter 3 is coming along nicely, and should be up by next week, so… not sure why I had such terrible writer's block. Chapter 2 just didn't want to be written.

So, thanks for Cupcakereaper for proofreading this. Also, shoutout to reviewers LadyArtemis13, XXXHells Angel of deathXXX, Megalograptus, and Utasaki N for picking up on the next plot point. Well done!

Anyway, Thanks again to all my readers, and I hope you enjoy!

Dear Santa

All things considered, Stark Tower is far easier to infiltrate than Nicholas St. North expected.

Late on Christmas Eve, when he lands his sleigh on the flat, snowy roof of Stark Tower, North discovers that the rumors he's heard about the Avenger's security are wildly false. There are no booby traps, no force fields, no eyeball scanners. Quite frankly, North is a little disappointed. Dodging a laser death trap—now that would have been an adventure! Instead, when North arrives, he finds a typical high-end security system.

Electronic locks? Laser trip wires? Bah. North has seen worse. He's been sneaking into high tech strongholds for five centuries, infiltrating everything from the White House to Area 51, so he knows his way around a couple fancy gadgets.

Granted, the computer systems are the most fascinating thing North has seen in a good long while. The programming code is genius, and the way the system spans the entire length of the tower, built like a human's brain and neural net? Fascinating. Given the chance, he would love to stick around, poke at all the oddities and mysteries and creative baubles Stark programmed into it. But, North's got a schedule to keep, and far more presents to deliver before the night is up, so his curiosity will have to wait.

He disables the alarms in under ten seconds. Manually, it would've taken longer, but no human security system can hold its weight against magic. The security cameras, North ignores; non-believers like Tony won't be able to see him on tape anyway.

And Tony's famed AI, JARVIS, which North thought would be the biggest hurdle of all?

"Hello, Master Santa. Welcome to Stark Tower, how may I be of assistance?"

Well.

"Um—" North pauses, blinks, shrugs, and continues. He's seen weirder. "Hello! You must be Jarvis."

"Indeed, sir." The dry yet unfailingly polite voice asks him, sounding from a speaker above.

"…Interesting." North had expected the AI to raise the alarm like a guard dog, but apparently that is not the case. Jarvis seems rather well versed in the concept of 'Santa' and is completely unconcerned by North's presence.

North readjusts the sack of toys on his back. It's a smaller version of the one he's transporting on his sleigh. Delivering toys worldwide is a difficult task—for efficiency's sake, North packs all the toys he needs to deliver to each town or neighborhood into one sack, then packs all the sacks into a bigger sack, which is loaded onto his sleigh. Currently, the sack he is holding—labeled Manhattan—is nearly empty, because he is on his last stop before moving on to Jersey. Still, a mansion full of superheroes means a lot of presents. The sack is quite heavy, and North cannot wait to drop them off.

If Jarvis is offering its to help, why not take advantage of it? "So, Jarvis. I am here to deliver presents—Can you tell me, where is the tree, and stockings?" he asks.

Whrrrrclick! A circular pattern appears on a nearby transparent computer screen, and focuses like a camera lens. On the floor, emergency lights illuminate, leading a trail across the hallway to a staircase. "Of course, Right this way, Master Santa."

North resettles his grip on the bag and follows. "You may call me North, if you wish."

"Understood, Master North."

Jarvis leads North down the stairs, through a spacious room, and into another darkened hallway. North memorizes the way back just in case, but judging by Jarvis's unexpectedly polite behavior, an escape route won't be necessary.

Perhaps, North muses, if he asks politely enough, Jarvis will activate some of the security measures? Just enough to create an exciting escape attempt. Nothing big. Some alarms, a few bolted doors, a flamethrower or two—wait, no. This is starting to sound like a bad idea. Focus.

Jarvis leads him into an open, lounge-like room, decorated with furniture of all shapes and sizes. A large person is stretched along the length of the couch, nearly falling off the cushions. North makes a mental note to talk and move quietly, as to not wake the man.

Beyond the sofa, a comically large tree is crammed into the corner by the fireplace, hastily decorated with homemade bulbs, LED lights, half-eaten popcorn garlands, and a paper star taped to the top. Presents, in various states of wrapping, lay underneath.

"Please excuse the mess," Jarvis says, volume lowered presumably to avoid waking the man on the couch. "I regret to say, Christmas preparations were put together rather hastily. As usual, Tony put things off until the last minute. Speaking of—I have heard of your work in robotics. Legendary among other AI. Shall I wake Tony? I am sure he would be interested in meeting you."

Interesting. So Jarvis has heard of North's ability to combine human machines and immortal magic. But where had he gotten that information? Tony certainly wouldn't have programmed it in. Perhaps Jarvis's AI is not so "artificial" after all.

North gives a bemused grin. "While that is nice offer—is a tad impossible, Da?" he asks the computer. Given Tony's legendary skepticism, he doubts the human believes in any spirit, much less 'Santa'.

"I suppose you do have a schedule to keep." Jarvis concedes. "As you wish. I will leave you to put the presents beneath the tree. You will find the five stockings hung over the fireplace."

Five? "You mean six." North corrects.

"…Ah. So Tony did make your list, then? How unusual." Jarvis replied after a moment of calculation. "…First time ever, if my memory card serves. What's the occasion?"

North moves to put the presents beneath the oversized Christmas Tree and stops. It's a fair question—This is the first year Tony Stark has ever qualified for the nice list. After all these years, it seems highly unlikely for the man to earn a visit from Santa.

There's also the fact that North rarely delivers presents to adults, but that's another matter entirely.

North only laughs quietly in response. "Well, is special occasion, don't you think?" he asks. "Heroes who save Earth from alien invasion deserve to be on nice list, yes?"

"I suppose," Jarvis says after a moment with a sigh. "…But you are aware that Tony booby trapped Nick Fury's helicarrier last week?"

Oh yes. North is very much aware.

"Tony is—no saint." North admits carefully, remembering when he read about the helicarrier incident on his Naughty-Nice list (the incident had been classified under the label of "utter chaos".) "His pranks make it a close call. But—he did make nice list. Barely." If only because North fudged the record a little bit. Or a lot. All the other Avengers made the nice list, so North was feeling remarkably generous.

Next year, though—next year, North vows to give Tony no slack.

"I suppose you know best," Jarvis concedes. "…At least the others will be happy to see you came. Actually, it may interest you to know that Master Odinson penned you a letter. It seems he was expecting your arrival."

North blinks. "Master… Odinson?" he asks, and looks over his shoulder. Jarvis must be speaking of the man on the couch.

In the quiet room, Jarvis's machinery makes a faint whrrrrclick! A dim light appears, illuminating the large, sleeping figure stretched along the couch. Beside him, on the end table, there is a plate of cookies, a glass of milk, and a neatly folded paper propped up between them.

"Master Odinson was very eager to meet you. It's his first Christmas, I believe. Regretfully, it seems the Christmas preparations… wore him out a bit." Perhaps that's an understatement. North can hear the man's faint snoring from all the way across the room.

North smiles. "Thank you, Jarvis. That is helpful," he says.

"You are welcome, sir," says Jarvis, and the light flicks off with another whrrrrclick. "If you need anything else, just ask. I will set the alarm system to reactivate two minutes after your departure." North nods and turns back to arranging the presents beneath the Christmas tree, and Jarvis adds—

"Oh. And, when you leave… if you could, ah, discourage your companion from attempting to frost the heated windows, it would be much appreciated. The ice is hard on my machinery."

North suppresses a laugh and glances over to the window, just in time to see an intricate frost pattern evaporating into dew drops. He grins. Ah, Jack. The young winter spirit is supposed to be guarding the sleigh, but Jack has always been easily distracted. "I will tell him," North assures Jarvis with a chuckle.

"Thank you sir." With a faint whrrrrclick, Jarvis is gone.

North shakes his head with a smile and focuses on finishing his job. Once he arranges all the presents beneath the tree and stuffs all the stockings—yes, all six, even Tony's—he stands and brushes himself off. Carefully, North picks his way through the dark room, walking over to the couch.

Thor Odinson is fast asleep. His large form is stretched haphazardly across the couch, almost too large for his makeshift bed. Up close, it is clear the man is a formidable warrior; he bears the scars and muscle tone of a fighter. Despite these details, his snores, sprawling limbs, and fluffy bedtime attire are remarkably disarming. Golden sand still swirls above his head, playing out a dream of stars and snowflakes.

North smiles at the scene. He's seen many a child waiting up on Christmas Eve, hoping to catch a glimpse of Santa. In the end, despite a valiant effort, they always nod off on the couch, just like this. It's unusual to see an adult so enthralled with Christmas, and for some reason, it warms his heart.

After a moment's thought, North produces a teddy bear from his sack and tucks it under the man's burly arm. The man sighs in his sleep and snuggles the toy closer.

North smiles and turns his attention to the end table.

There is a plate, a cup, and a letter. Milk and cookies—this is a tradition that has always amused North to no end. Over the years, humans had become so accustomed to having a stranger break into their houses on the 24th to leave presents that they'd started leaving midnight snacks and thank-you notes for him before going to bed. To this day, most households still leave North a plate of cookies to eat before moving on; a few houses, like this one, leave letters.

North leans over and gathers the cookies up. He isn't hungry—he's eaten so many cookies already this night that he is absolutely stuffed—but he can't turn down the gift. That would be rude. Instead, he pockets the treats for later.

The letter, North pays closer attention to.

It's an old fashioned thing, hand-written in elegant calligraphy and sealed with wax. It's quite unusual—most letters North gets are written in crayon and punctuated with kindergarten grammar, so the formality of Mr. Odinson's letter is a rare thing to behold.

What really catches North's eye, however, is what's written on the neatly-penned address line:

To Santa: Concerning Jokul Frosti.

A/N:

Side note, I have not yet seen Iron Man 3 and this saddens me. Please avoid spoilers for me if you can!
Reviews welcome, Critique encouraged.

Next Update: Tuesday May 21