A/N: So, today I found out that Christmas markets originated in Germany, which is cool, but then I realized I have no freaking clue how a Christmas market anywhere else would look like. So... this is basically my German Christmas market experiences in a fic. (I couldn't add everything because some words I couldn't even translate.) Let me know what Christmas markets look like where you live! Or if you have any at all!

Thank you for the comments, you brighten my day :)

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening, in the lane, snow is glistening, a beaut –

Mister Stark picks up on the fifth ring.

"I'm sorry, did you really change your ring tone to the Michel Bublé version of Winter Wonderland after I told you repeatedly that I do not like Christmas?"

Peter snickers, shrugging at Aunt May who's sending him the most unimpressed look she can muster up, complete with arms folded across her chest. Her stance is gentle, though, caring and supportive. "To be fair, I still don't think it's Christmas you hate. But you'd have to talk to your therapist about your issues, honestly."

He's so excited his voice is tripping over the words and his face is downright hurting from the grin that hasn't left it for the past ten minutes. He feels so good it almost makes him feel weird, out of place somehow, but he's trying not to worry about it too much.

Mister Stark is quiet for a bit and Peter picks up shuffling, Dum-E's faint whirring and then the clonk of a heavy object hitting the floor.

"Ah, crap, uh," he hears his mentor curse, "Sorry, Pete. Is there a point to this call? Do you need anything? Are you hurt? Is your aunt okay?"

That elicits a smile from said aunt who leans forward, chin resting on the top of Peter's head who's still holding the phone. He relaxes a little when she enters his personal space, warmth spreading through his body from the contact.

"We're both fine, Tony, thanks for asking," she responds. Her hands start absentmindedly rubbing gentle circles into his shoulder blades and the teenager leans back to rest against her, enjoying the sweet ministrations. He focusses on it and not on how his heart his anxiously fluttering in his chest.

What if he hates the idea?

Mister Stark sounds genuinely happy when he answers and both adults go off into a weird kind of parent talk that Peter doesn't really get. He tries to follow their chatting anyway.

Like most of their conversations it centers on him. How's school? Decathlon? Is he sleeping? Eating? Meeting with Ned? Every so often, though, there's a household trick or shopping tip thrown in there that just sounds odd coming from a multi-billionaire currently rewiring his superhero suit.

"Aunt May," he whispers when they get too far off track for his taste, legs jittering with barely contained nervousness, "Ask him."

"Right," his aunt nods and then laughs at how he scrunches up his nose when her long hair gets in his face. "Tony, we're going to the Christmas market. Happy will pick you up in half an hour."

He can just picture his mentor's face at the announcement. Mouth hanging open, some tool forgotten in his h – clonk – Peter tries to hide his giggles behind his hand and breathes through his nose as evenly as he can.

He loves how Aunt May can render Iron-Man speechless.

Please says yes, please say yes, please say –

"Uh, can't – I'm, uh, busy."

The disappointment comes crashing down hard and fast, leaving him reeling.

Of course Mister Stark doesn't have time for some stupid Christmas market. He has a company to run and things to invent and people to save and, apparently, Aunt May doesn't care about that at all.

He watches her with wide eyes, heart thumbing loudly in his chest, as she pats his shoulder reassuringly one last time before taking the phone from him and taking it off speaker.

He knows she's doing it to have some privacy but it's not really his fault that his aunt keeps forgetting that he is enhanced now and that he can still hear Mister Stark's voice even when she moves over to sit on the couch in the living room.

The teenager looks down at his hands, straining his ears while simultaneously acting as if he isn't eavesdropping on the conversation. He sends a silent prayer to anyone who might be listening that Aunt May could get Mister Stark to agree and immediately feels stupid for it afterwards.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He leans forward to rest his head on his forearms, trying his best not to freak out.

"I don't know what made you think that this is a suggestion, Stark, because it's not. This is an intervention, alright?"

The man is allowed to have a life outside of Peter. He doesn't have to spend every single day with him – he must surely have better things to do than looking after some random teenager from Queens.

It's just – he loves Christmas so much and what he loves most about it is spending time with his friends and family, no matter how small those numbers are. And – Mister Stark is a part of their family, isn't he? Does he even want to be? His thoughts keep turning and he knows he's overthinking but he can't stop it as hard as he tries to.

"What's your plan here, May? Babysitting me till the end of my days? Let me tell you, people have tried and they have all failed."

He likes Peter, loves him even, apparently, but mentors aren't usually also surrogate fathers and it's not fair to just jump that shit on him because it feels right to him.

His mind falls into a familiar pattern of swirling in dark circles like it has since he first woke up.

Today is just one of these days were he's questioning everything and when May suggested going to the Christmas market with Mister Stark, as a family, he got overly excited as if all the happy thoughts that have been absent all day have come back full force and now that that's not going to happen? He just feels even worse.

He hates his mind sometimes. And he fucking hates mood swings. Maybe he should go hide in his room for the rest of the day.

"It's not babysitting, it's taking care of each other, Tony," Aunt May just says and his heart warms a little at her honest concern. He knows it's for both his mentor and him because she is just good like that. "And you've been having a rough few days. I think a day off at the Christmas market will do you good. Just," she sighs, "don't push us away because you're not feeling your brightest. We're family, right?"

There's a heavy pause in which Peter is holding his breath, eyes screwed shut, face hiding in his elbow, trying not to get his hopes up again.

"Yeah, we are. I, uh, I just haven't had a family in a while so I'll probably mess up. I – I don't know the first thing about this, May. I don't want to disappoint you… I don't want to disappoint him."

Peter's heart speeds up a little, skipping a beat when hope settles into his veins.

"That's alright. You can start by letting us take you to the Christmas market and promise me to have fun while we're there."

"Do you think he really wants to go?" Peter asks the second his aunt has ended the call, jumping up from where he is sitting to start bustling about the apartment, fidgeting with his sleeves. "I mean, we shouldn't make him do something he doesn't want to do. He probably won't like it, he hates crowds. We should call him and tell him he doesn't have to come, Aunt May. We should –"

"Peter, stop." Suddenly Aunt May is standing in front of him, holding him in place with both hands on his shoulders. "Breathe, honey. Take a deep breath."

He does as he is told and slumps in on himself a little, letting her hold him up, "I just – I don't want him to get annoyed with me or bored or – stuff."

"Stop," she just repeats, voice so gentle that he wants to cry. "Do you want him there?"

"Yes, but –"

"Do you think he'd come if he really didn't want to?"

He sighs. "No, but –"

"No buts," she cuts him off, "Tony wants to be there. He wants to spend time with you and Pepper told me what big of a deal the whole hot chocolate thing was. He loves you, Peter." She sounds so certain and, the thing is, the rational part of his brain knows she's right. It's just that – That part of him isn't currently the one on the steering wheel.

"But he has better things to do than go to some stupid Christmas market," he mumbles, leaning forward to rest his forehead on her collarbone. "I've been bugging him every day for the past four days when he didn't want to have anyone around!"

"You're not a bug. I've been told spiders are arachnids."

For a split second he's thrown for a loop. "You're horrible and I hate you," he tells her even as his lips quirk up and his chest starts to feel lighter.

"You don't, sweetie." And she's right, of course, so he tugs his head under her chin and enjoys the hug. "Do you feel better now that he's joining us?" she asks, hands running up and down his spine comfortingly.

"Yeah, I think," he nods truthfully, "Thank you."

"That's all that matters, you know? To him, too."

.-.-.

There's something about Christmas markets.

Maybe it's the almost sickeningly sweet smell of cotton candy, roasted nuts, baked apples, hot mulled wine and crêpes, or the seemingly endless hum of Christmas songs in the background, or maybe it's the nicely illuminated stalls offering the finest craftsmanship and, you know, lots of food.

What Peter loves so much about them, however, is the general feeling that accompanies them. It's kind of noisy what with kids jumping about the scene, squealing excitedly about one thing or the other but it's not overwhelmingly loud.

It doesn't happen often anymore but here he feels at ease in a large crowd of people, especially with Aunt May and Mister Stark at his side.

It just – coming here is part of the Christmas experience and has been ever since he was little.

They'd go at least twice to look at the delicately crafted goods and eat more candy than Peter was ever allowed to any other time. Uncle Ben would take him to the ferry's wheel and they'd watch all the pretty lights from the top of it.

So, maybe it's just the memories at this point, but Peter loves Christmas markets.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, toys in every store but the prettiest sight to see, is the holly that will be on your own front door

"Look!" Peter exclaims suddenly, talking through a mouthful of almonds, "They got Christmas decorations!"

Which, to be fair, almost all stalls have, but these were incredible.

He takes a few steps so he can take a closer look at the intricate details of the wooden pendants, letting his fingers trail softly over the craftsmanship.

Behind him, he senses Mister Stark and Aunt May stepping closer, too, interrupting their conversation to admire the art as well.

"These are German," Mister Stark tells him, eyes on a huge four- story pyramid with angels and lambs and Nutcrackers. "It's original Ore Mountain folk art, I think it started out in the 16th century or something as a side project to mining and became increasingly popular in the 17th century. We used to have one of these when I was a kid."

Peter stares at him, mouth hanging open in awe, both at how amazing these look and that Mister Stark willing shared something about his childhood with them.

"I love the hangers," he tells him, pointing out the moons, stars, Christmas trees, angels, snowflakes and even a shooting star, all incredibly detailed and beautiful. "Imagine how amazing they'd look on a Christmas tree! Imagine a Christmas tree just with these! That'd be so beautiful!"

"Do you want them?"

Peter gapes at his mentor who just frowns in confusion. "What?"

"What? You like them. Do you want them?"

"No, no," he shakes his head rapidly, "I like them but I don't need them, ya know? We have loads of stuff to put on our Christmas tree and –"

Aunt May interrupts his rambling, "And Peter actually loves putting all the colors and lights on the tree."

Mister Stark laughs softly. "Yeah, that seems about right. Still, if you want anything, just say the word, okay?"

He wouldn't but his heart swells at the offer. They're so expensive and he knows that the price doesn't really matter to a billionaire but it does to him and knowing that he'd buy them just because Peter liked them means the world.

They wander about the market for a bit, drinking non-alcoholic punch and eating some more until Peter's shivering gets too much.

He's wearing a hat and a scarf of course but his cheek are bright red with cold and not even clutching his hot hug of punch does much to warm him up anymore.

"Maybe we should head back," Mister Stark says more to his aunt than to him but Peter shakes his head.

"Noooh," he whines through clattering teeth, "Please, I- wanna go to the fair, too." He's begging, fluttering his eyelashes at both adults, "I-I ju- just need to warm up a- a little a- and I'll b-be fine. Promise."

Mister Stark is already shaking his head but Aunt May sighs and moves closer to him and it's all he can do not to victory jump in the air.

"Fine. We'll get you a little warmed up and then you can choose one ride but after that we're going home," she tells him firmly.

"Yes, yes, yes. Thank you!"

"Come on, Tony," she pulls on both their sleeves until they're standing in a small circle, the fog of their cold breaths mixing in the air in front of them, "Let's get our kid warmed up."

It's hilarious, really, how dumb- struck Mister Stark looks. He's blinking and his usually witty brain seems to have come to a complete standstill as he stutters. "Wha- What?"

"You know how penguins warm up?"

His eyes are shooting question marks at both of them and, snickering into his punch, Peter moves closer, tugging himself into his aunt's waiting arms and nudging his mentor until he curls an arm around his other side.

"They cuddle," Peter tells him, voice muffled into their embrace, "To block out the cold."

"And here I thought you should keep moving when you're freezing not standing."

The teenager sticks out his tongue, earning himself a slap on the back of his head by his aunt, "Cuddling 's better, though," he says, "'S warms from the inside, too."

Eventually Mister Stark warms up (ha!) to the whole idea and pulls May and him impossibly closer until Peter assures them that he's feeling better again.

Not that he wants to leave the group hug – he loves group hugs – but there's one thing he's been looking forward to ever since they got here and when the cozy Christmas village turns into buzzling fair, he finds it immediately.

Peter is buzzing with excitement – and sugar, probably – when he sees the bumper cars.

"Mister Stark, Mister Stark," he all but yells, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he tucks on the other man's jacket. "Can we go for a ride? Please!"

He sounds like a child but he can't bring himself to care. Not when he's feeling all warm and fuzzy with love and cuddles and punch and sweets.

"Think you can keep up with me?" his mentor grins as he pulls out his wallet and goes to buy tickets, May having removed herself from the conversation to watch from the sidelines.

The teenager scoffs, "Keep up with you? Please, I can beat you. When I'm done with you, you'll be too scared to drive a normal car anymore."

And yeah, obviously he doesn't have the best memories of driving but this? Shit talking with Tony? It comes naturally and it feels right and easy and fun.

Mister Stark's eyes gleam with mirth when he hands him his chip.

"Oh sweet, innocent child," he winks, "I have nothing to live for and I drive like it."

Peter gasps audibly. "Mister Stark! You're gonna die for that comment!"

"Kinda the point, kiddie," the man laughs but it doesn't feel burdened, just happy and at ease. "Come on. Let's make you cry in your bumper car so we can get you back home."