Author's note: I must admit, I don't know pretty much anything about Thor's characteristics beyond the movie, the first 20 episodes of Earth's Mightiest Heroes, and what I've read here on itself. Oh, and I gathered a bit from his segment of the Superhero Cafe HISHE youtube video. So I did my best, and if I completely mutilated his character, don't sue me, please! Also, a lot of fics I've read seem to say that Thor's addicted to Pop-tarts (Which I do not own, disclaimer). So, here you go.
"Friend Stark," Thor said loudly, entering the Room of Entertainment and looking around. Tony looked up from where he was sitting on the couch, playing with one of those "Cell phones" the Midgardians used.
'Yeah? The billionaire said absently. "What's up?"
Thor sighed. "I'm afraid I have grievous news," he said. "The kitchens were under stocked, and we are out of Pop-tarts."
Tony blinked. "Seriously?" He said. "How can we be out? I ordered like, twenty boxes last week." He narrowed his eyes and looked suspiciously at Thor. "How many Pop-tarts do you eat on average?" He asked.
Thor thought for a moment. "I eat a packet of each flavor every morning with my breakfast."
"A packet of each flavor!?" Tony exclaimed. Thor nodded. "And if I hunger during afternoons, I partake of them then as well, to whet my appetite."
"Alright, dude, you seriously have to cut back on the Pop-tarts for awhile," Tony said. "I don't know much about Asgardian physiology, but down here on earth, there's this thing called "Health," and eating 10 packets of Pop-tarts every morning for breakfast does not fall under that category."
"I do not eat the pastries alone," Thor argued. "I eat them as part of a healthy breakfast, just as it says on the box."
"Okay, what all do you eat for breakfast in the morning?" Tony asked, putting down his cell phone and giving his undivided attention to Thor, who began listing his normal breakfast of hot porridge, (here called oatmeal) six poached eggs, Sausages, bacon, cold ham, toasted bread with butter and jam, a glass of orange juice, a glass of cold milk, and a mug of black coffee.
"Geez, you're eating enough food to feed an army!" Tony exclaimed when he was finished. "If I'd known I was going to be feeding a Centaur every morning, I wouldn't have invited you to live here!"
"I do not understand; in what way am I to be compared with a Centaur?"
Tony paused. "...Never mind the Centaur, it's just a reference to a book I read when I was a kid. What I'm trying to say, Thor, is that you eat too much. At least, you eat too many Pop-tarts."
"So will you not purchase more?" Thor asked. Tony looked at him. "Maybe, maybe not," he said. "I'll think about it. But for now, I'm busy."
He returned his attentions to his cell phone. Thor knew that further discussion would get him nowhere. Or it would get him an even lesser chance of getting what he wanted, simply because Stark did not "do" discussions when he was working.
The next morning, the cupboards were stocked with twice as many as before, so Thor put the discussion from his mind and decided Tony must have changed his mind.
Three days later
Entering the kitchen, Thor made straight for the cupboard where the Pop-tarts were kept and reached in for the box of strawberry ones.
His hand felt nothing but empty air.
He opened the door wider and peered into the spacious cupboard. It was empty.
That didn't make any sense, there had still been several boxes there the day before. He had been taking Tony's words to heart, and now every morning he only ate a packet of his top 6 favorites. He was sure he hadn't finished every box.
As he was standing there, looking into the empty cupboard, Tony entered the room, followed by a smirking Clint and a reluctant Bruce.
"This," Tony said, indicating the empty cupboard, "is an intervention."
"An intervention?" Thor asked in confusion. "What does that mean? What is being intervened?"
"An intervention is when a group of concerned friends or family members get together to help someone fight an addiction or a destructive tendency," Bruce said. "At least, that's what it usually is. But in this case, it's just Tony messing with you because you like Pop-tarts."
"Hey," Tony said. "There's nothing wrong with liking Pop-tarts. Thor just eats too many, that's all. Now, have you both got your letters?"
Clint and Tony both pulled a folded piece of paper from their pockets, but Bruce sighed.
"You never gave me mine," He said to Tony.
"Oh, right!" The billionaire said, pulling out a third piece of paper and handing it to Bruce. "Just read what I wrote," he said. "Now then, I'll get started."
He opened his letter and, clearing his throat, began to read.
"Thor," he said. "This letter is to help you get over your addiction to Pop-Tarts. We are all concerned with your Asgardian health, as I have witnessed, on several different occasions, you eating twenty or more Pop-tarts in one setting."
"Twenty?" Bruce asked quietly. "Huh. That is a lot."
"Yes it is," Tony said. "Now, if I may get back to my letter?"
Bruce nodded. "Sorry," he said.
Tony took a deep breath and continued. "I am concerned that this addiction will cause you to get fat and sluggish, and will eventually cause you to be so unhealthy that you will be unable to fight or fly, or even to lift that hammer that nobody can pronounce the name of."
"It's called Mjolnir," Bruce interrupted. "And seriously, Tony, that's really a stretch of the imagination that Thor would get that overweight from Pop-tarts. Yeah, they aren't healthy, but come on, it's not like McDonalds or anything."
"Are you on my side or not?" Tony said, putting the letter down and turning to Bruce angrily. "I am trying to do something nice for Thor here. And if you're not going to help, I would appreciate it if you and your negative attitude got up and left this kitchen. Right now."
Bruce sighed. "Fine," he said. "Continue."
"Actually, that was it," Tony said. "I'm finished. Clint? Would you like to go next?"
"Sure," Clint said, smiling as he opened his letter. "Thor," he said. "I also would like to express my concern for your well-being. This addiction to Pop-tarts has ruined many lives before, and I care too much to let the same happen to you. Wow, this was written really well, Tony. Nice and emotional."
"Thank you," Tony said smugly. "I do try."
Clint turned back to the letter. "I too have struggled with addictions in the past. Wait, what?"
He looked back at Tony, who raised his eyebrows. "Clint, you're never going to help Thor with his problems if you don't open up and share your own."
"But-"
"Clint, just keep reading."
"Oh, um, okay." Clint looked back at the letter. "I, Agent Clint Barton, was once addicted to purple spandex and head gear shaped like a bird's head. Tony, this doesn't make any sense! I've never worn anything like that."
"I beg to differ," Tony said. "Everyone knows Hawkeye wears purple spandex and a stupid mask shaped like a bird's head. It's your common costume in the whole comic book world. You know they're making a whole series about us, right?"
"And that's how they drew me?" Clint asked. Tony pulled another piece of paper out of his pocket. It was a photograph. "Here it is right here," he said.
Clint took it and stared. "Okay," he said. "I don't know who designed this thing, but I look nothing like that."
"At any rate, you haven't finished your letter," Tony reminded him. Clint looked down.
"Although this addiction is admittedly stupid and only a complete freak would ever even consider dressing like that, I simply could not give it up. But with the proper help and an intervention of my own, I managed to overcome my addiction to looking ridiculous. Tony..."
"Well, now that that's finished, there's only one letter left," Tony interrupted.
"Bruce? Would you do the honors?"
Bruce let out a deep breath. "Fine," he said. "Let's get this over with."
Pulling his glasses out of his pocket, he placed them on his face, opened his letter and took a moment to look at it. "...Tony, I'm not reading this," he said.
"Oh come on," Tony said. "Just read it. It's not that bad."
"Alright... here goes..." Bruce looked around at Tony, Clint, and Thor. Then he looked down at the letter and sighed again before reading.
"Dear Thor," he said. "I completely agree with everything Tony and Clint said. 100%, whole-heartedly, all the way. Tony is right this time. Tony is right most of the time. Tony is right all the time. Tony is always right. For goodness sake, Tony, this sounds like I'm trying to brainwash someone."
"Well..." Tony said, cocking his head and thinking for a second. "It's true. I am. At least in this case. Now then," He said, turning to Thor, who had been watching in confusion. "Now that the letters have all been read, time for the demands."
"Demands?" Thor asked. "What demands?"
"Well, in most interventions, the people staging said intervention withhold funds, support, or access to the addicting items until the addicted person agrees to seek professional help in overcoming said addiction," Tony said. "In this case, since there are no psychiatrists who specialize in toaster breakfast pastries, my demands are as follows: You will promise to have no more than one packet of Pop-tarts each morning, and only one packet of Pop-tarts in the afternoon if you feel a bit peckish."
"And if I refuse?" Thor might not be up to date on all Midgardian customs, but he understood what Tony had meant when he'd said he would withhold funds and addicting items.
Tony smirked. "You will never see your precious Pop-tarts again. And, might I add, I will never buy a box of Pop-tarts again as long as you live in my tower and eat my food."
Thor sighed. "Well, Man of Iron," he said. "It would appear I have no choice. If you swear out an oath to return the stolen Pop-tarts, I shall swear out an oath to partake of only two packets a day."
"Whoa, there's no need for swearing," Tony said. "You said you'd do it, that's enough for me. The Pop-tarts will be in the cupboard tomorrow morning. Don't forget your promise."
With that said, Tony turned and left the kitchen.
"Well, glad you're finally going to get help for that Pop-tart problem," Clint said with a smirk before following Tony out of the kitchen.
Thor looked at Bruce. "So," he said. "How did he convince you to come along on this "intervention" scheme?"
Bruce scoffed. "Threatened to sell my lab equipment, kick me out of the tower, and ban me from all the bathrooms on the top thirty floors. In that order."
Thor let out a hearty laugh and he gave Bruce a firm pat on the back, causing the poor scientist to stumble forward, his glasses falling to the floor.
"That is an excellent joke," He said.
"Yeah?" Bruce said, picking up his glasses and dusting them off. "Well, I'm glad you think so, buddy," he said. "I, for one, think he could've done better. "Tony is right, Tony is always right..." That was seriously messed up."
Thor laughed again and sighed, thinking of Tony Stark. "Well, you've got to admit," he said. "It certainly seems like something he'd say."
Bruce laughed. "Yeah, but he'd never mean it," he said. "You remember that, next time he says something really stuck up. He doesn't really mean it."
"Do not worry, Friend Bruce," Thor said. "I've known for some time, now. He never really means it."
Bruce smiled. "Good to know," he said. "Just... don't tell Tony. He still thinks we all don't know he's soft."
Thor smiled. "Your secret is safe with me," he said. Life was good, it was a beautiful day, his friends were all here, and there would be Pop-tarts in the morning.
When Thor woke up the next morning, he was startled to find box after box after boxof Pop-tarts, all stacked up around his room, making a maze out of the boxes. Tony must have restocked.
Thor sighed, but decided to look on the bright side. With the new two packet a day rule, he would never run out of Pop-tarts again.