A Dash Of Sarcasm, A Sprinkle Of Chaos

Chapter Nine

The Hammer Incident

It was supposed to be a quiet day at Stark Tower.

Well, "quiet" by Avengers standards, which still involved at least one loud debate, three snarky comments per minute from Tony, and the occasional sound of Thor laughing like someone had told him the funniest joke in the nine realms. But for the most part, things were relatively calm.

Stiles, of course, wasn't used to calm. Calm made him itchy, like something was lurking around the corner, waiting to pounce. So when he wandered into the living area and found Thor's hammer casually resting on the coffee table, his brain immediately went, Oh, this is a bad idea.

Which, naturally, meant he had to touch it.

"Uh, is no one going to talk about the literal mythological weapon just sitting here?" Stiles asked, pointing at the hammer like it might jump up and bite him.

"That's Mjolnir," Clint said from his spot on the couch, not even looking up from his tablet. "And no, no one's going to talk about it because no one here can pick it up."

"Except Thor," Natasha added from the corner, where she was doing some kind of terrifying assassin stretches. "And Vision. But Vision's… Vision."

"Wait," Stiles said, holding up a hand. "You're telling me the magical murder hammer is just sitting here, completely unattended, and no one thinks that's a little bit insane?"

Tony strolled in from the kitchen, a mug of coffee in one hand and an expression that said he was already tired of this conversation. "Relax, Stilinski. It's not like anyone can walk in here and steal it. Unless you're worthy, that thing's not going anywhere."

"Worthy?" Stiles repeated, raising an eyebrow. "What does that even mean? Worthy of what? Is there some kind of mystical checklist? Do I need to donate to charity or save a puppy or something?"

Thor appeared from nowhere—seriously, how did a guy that big move so quietly?—and clapped Stiles on the shoulder with enough force to almost knock him over. "It is not so simple, young one. Mjolnir chooses who is worthy based on the strength of their heart and the purity of their purpose."

"So basically," Stiles said, steadying himself, "it's a magical hammer with trust issues. Got it."

Thor frowned, clearly unsure if that was an insult. "Mjolnir is far more than that."

"Sure it is," Stiles said, smirking as he stepped closer to the coffee table. "But humor me for a second. What happens if I try to pick it up?"

"You can't," Clint said flatly. "None of us can. Believe me, we've all tried. Well, except Natasha, but that's because she's too smart to embarrass herself."

Natasha didn't even glance up. "True."

Stiles tilted his head, studying the hammer like it was some kind of puzzle. "Okay, but if it's impossible, what's the harm in trying? Worst-case scenario, I look stupid. Best-case scenario, I prove that your magical hammer isn't all that special."

Thor's eyes narrowed. "You will not succeed."

"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence," Stiles said dryly.

Tony grinned, clearly enjoying the show. "Go ahead, Stilinski. Give it a shot. I could use a good laugh."

Stiles rolled his eyes but reached out, wrapping his fingers around the handle. He expected resistance, maybe even some kind of mystical backlash, but instead—

Nothing happened.

The hammer lifted off the table like it weighed nothing, the leather grip warm and solid in his hand. For a second, Stiles just stared at it, his brain short-circuiting.

"Oh, come on," Clint groaned, his tablet slipping out of his hands.

"What," Natasha said, her voice uncharacteristically sharp.

Tony actually choked on his coffee. "Wait. WHAT?"

Thor, meanwhile, looked like someone had just slapped him with a fish. "Impossible," he whispered, his blue eyes wide with disbelief.

Stiles blinked, staring at the hammer before lifting it slightly and then setting it back down on the table with a loud clunk. "Huh. Neat."

"Neat?" Thor repeated, his voice rising with every syllable. "NEAT?!"

"Well, yeah," Stiles said, shrugging. "It's a hammer. It's heavy, it's shiny, and apparently, it likes me. What do you want me to say? That it changed my life?"

Thor gaped at him, completely at a loss for words.

Clint was the first to recover, pointing a finger at Stiles and laughing so hard he nearly fell off the couch. "Oh my God, you broke Thor!"

Tony set his coffee mug down carefully, his eyes still locked on Stiles like he was trying to figure out if this was some kind of elaborate prank. "Okay, Stilinski, spill. What's your deal? You secretly a god or something?"

"Nope," Stiles said, popping the "p." "Just your average, everyday mortal with no clue why this thing decided to let me pick it up. Maybe it was feeling generous. Or maybe it just knows I'd look amazing swinging it around."

"Mjolnir does not make mistakes," Thor said, his voice firm but still tinged with shock. "If it allowed you to wield it, then it has deemed you worthy."

"Well, obviously," Stiles said, smirking. "I mean, have you met me? I'm the definition of worthy."

Natasha snorted quietly, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall. "If worthy means sarcastic and reckless, then yeah, you're a perfect fit."

"Hey, sarcasm and recklessness are highly underrated qualities," Stiles said, pointing at her with exaggerated seriousness.

Thor stepped forward, his expression somewhere between awe and suspicion. "Stiles Stilinski," he said slowly. "You are… unexpected."

"Yeah, I get that a lot," Stiles said, flashing him a grin. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go process the fact that I just picked up Thor's magical hammer and probably broke half the laws of physics in the process."

"You're not going anywhere," Tony said, stepping in front of him with a wicked grin. "You just became the most interesting person in the room, and I have questions."

Stiles groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Great. Because nothing says 'fun' like getting interrogated by Iron Man."

"Hey, don't knock it," Tony said. "You might even enjoy yourself."

"Doubtful," Stiles muttered.

Clint was still laughing as Stiles flopped back onto the couch, the weight of everyone's stares making his skin prickle. This was going to be a long day.