Peter Parker was currently hanging upside down from the ceiling of the Avengers Tower penthouse, a staple gun clenched between his teeth and a tangled spool of multicolored fairy lights wrapped around his left forearm.
He pressed his fingers against the cold, reinforced glass of the floor-to-ceiling windows, adjusting his grip. Below him, the sprawling concrete grid of Manhattan was blanketed in a fresh, blinding layer of December snow. Inside the penthouse, the air smelled sharply of fresh pine, ozone, and whatever expensive cologne Tony Stark was wearing.
For the first time since their roster officially expanded, the Avengers were throwing a Christmas party. And naturally, the scheduling was a logistical nightmare.
"I still don't entirely understand the Midgardian fixation on this specific date," Thor's booming baritone rattled the glass under Peter's hands.
The God of Thunder was slouched on a massive leather sofa, dressed in an oversized gray hoodie and sweatpants. He cracked the tab on a can of imported German lager, the aluminum popping sharply in the quiet room. Everyone had assumed Thor was off-world, standing guard over Odin's Odinsleep. Instead, he had dropped onto the helipad that morning unannounced.
"The calendar of Asgard functions differently," Thor explained, gesturing vaguely with his beer. "Our final month of winter aligns roughly with your late January. It is when the Frost Giants grow restless. They mass their forces and launch a seven-day siege against our borders, hoping to catch the Allfather while he slumbers."
Thor took a long pull from the can, wiping foam from his golden beard with the back of his hand. "When I first visited Midgard years ago, I assumed your tavern customs hadn't changed since the Viking age. I finished my ale, smashed the glass upon the floor tiles, and demanded another." Thor winced slightly, looking down at his boots. "Jane... was quite startled. She actually jumped."
Sitting across the coffee table, Steve Rogers paused his charcoal sketching. The Captain had a large drawing pad balanced on his knees, currently rendering a surprisingly accurate portrait of the chaotic living room.
Steve looked up, offering a warm, earnest smile. "Jane. That's Dr. Foster, right? Why don't you invite her to the dinner tomorrow, Thor? We're keeping the guest list tight since half the team is traveling for the actual holiday. We have the extra room."
Thor stiffened. His massive shoulders hiked up toward his ears. He stared at his beer can as if it held the secrets of the cosmos. "I am... not certain. This is a warrior's banquet. Though, I have seen a willpower in her spirit that rivals any shield-maiden of Asgard. So, perhaps... yes. I shall send a raven. Or an email."
Standing near the kitchen island, Tony Stark rolled his eyes so hard Peter could practically hear the friction. "Point Break, if you want to ask the girl out, just ask her out. Don't hide behind the warrior-banquet excuse. You're practically sweating."
Before Thor could boom a defensive reply, the private elevator chimed.
Tony spun around, holding a high-tech datapad. "Finally. Hank and Janet have been at the mall for three hours. Pym is probably two seconds away from shrinking a Macy's Santa into the Quantum Realm."
The silver doors slid open. It wasn't Ant-Man and the Wasp.
Stepping off the elevator was King T'Challa, dressed in a flawless, charcoal-grey tailored suit, his posture radiating effortless, predatory grace. Walking arm-in-arm with him was Ororo Munroe. Storm wore a stunning, high-collared white winter coat, her striking white hair cascading over her shoulders.
Steve instantly set his sketchbook down and stood up, snapping to a respectful posture. "Your Majesty. Miss Munroe. I... apologize, we didn't have you on the security manifest for today."
T'Challa offered a rich, quiet chuckle, stepping into the penthouse and extending a hand to Steve. "I am an active Avenger now, Captain. Tony gave me the access card. I figured I should occasionally use it."
T'Challa turned his dark, intelligent eyes toward the kitchen. "Tony. Shuri is vibrating with anticipation back in Wakanda. She firmly believes the great Tony Stark has engineered a Christmas gift that can actually impress her."
"Uh," Tony blinked, suddenly looking mildly panicked. He tapped his datapad rapidly. "Right. The teenager who designs vibranium railguns for fun. Yeah, totally handled. Definitely not actively scrambling JARVIS to fabricate something right now."
Tony cleared his throat, smoothly pivoting the conversation. He gestured to the sofa. "T'Challa, Miss Munroe, meet the guy drinking my imported beer. Thor, Crown Prince of Asgard."
"The God of Thunder," T'Challa said, dipping his head in a respectful nod.
"Hahaha…. I can feel the blessing of the Panther God Bast in your spirit, and the bearing of a true king."
Thor beamed, standing up to clap a massive hand onto T'Challa's shoulder.
"And the kid currently leaving footprint smudges on my ceiling glass," Tony continued, pointing a finger straight up, "is Peter Parker. Our resident web-slinger. His officially licensed Stark Industries lunchboxes currently outsell the rest of us combined, which is a statistic that deeply wounds my ego."
"Hey, Your Majesty! Queen Ororo!" Peter chirped, pulling the staple gun from his teeth. He fired a quick web-line to an overhead beam and dropped, hanging upside down at eye level with the Wakandan royalty. "Great to see you guys. Love the coats."
T'Challa smiled warmly at the upside-down teenager. He looked around the sprawling room. "Where is Dr. Banner? I was hoping to consult with him regarding some radiation shielding protocols."
"Yeah, Bruce isn't driving right now," Tony said, casually swiping a holographic schematic into the air. "It's just the Hulk today. He watched a marathon of slasher movies last night, laughed hysterically through the entire thing, and has been aggressively snacking ever since."
Heavy, floor-shaking footsteps echoed from the residential hallway.
The Hulk lumbered into the living room. He wasn't wearing torn purple pants; he was wearing a custom-tailored, XXXXL pair of gray sweatpants and hoodie. He held a plastic bucket roughly the size of a trash can, completely filled to the brim with buttered popcorn. He shoved a massive green handful into his mouth, chewing loudly.
Hulk stopped. He looked down at the King of Wakanda. A wide, toothy grin split his green face.
"Little black cat is here," Hulk rumbled, his voice vibrating Peter's teeth. "Haha."
T'Challa didn't bat an eye. He simply offered a polite nod. "It is good to see you as well, my friend."
"Hey, big guy!" Peter called out, twisting on his web-line. He pointed to the massive, twelve-foot-tall Douglas Fir standing near the windows. "I can't get the angle right from the glass. Could you put the star on top for me?"
Hulk grunted. He set his popcorn bucket on the reinforced coffee table, scooped up the glowing, mechanical Stark-tech star from a pile of ornaments, and plodded over to the tree. With surprising gentleness, the green behemoth reached up and settled the star perfectly onto the highest branch. He turned back to Peter, offering a proud, dopey grin. Peter shot him a double thumbs-up.
The elevator chimed a second time.
Hank Pym trudged into the room, looking like a pack mule. He was completely buried under an avalanche of designer shopping bags. Janet van Dyne trotted out right behind him, holding a single, tiny boutique bag.
"Ororo!" Janet squealed, instantly abandoning Hank to run over and pull the Wakandan Queen into a fierce hug.
Hank dropped the bags onto the floor with a heavy, exhausted sigh. "I am a theoretical physicist," he muttered to no one in particular. "I mapped the Quantum Realm."
"Alright, let's finalize the headcount for the dinner tomorrow," Tony announced, clapping his hands together. "Rhodey is flying in from D.C. Don't let his Military-spy status fool you, the guy has nowhere else to be. Cap, who are you bringing?"
Steve rubbed the back of his neck, looking slightly embarrassed. "I asked Natasha and Clint. But Nat said she thinks you're still mad at her for the S.H.I.E.L.D. data leak, Tony. And Clint is running black-ops training for a new recruit. Phil Coulson is off the grid."
"Great," Tony sighed. "So, I'm spending Christmas Day managing a Norse god, a green rage monster, and an incredibly deadly Wakandan strike force. Fantastic." Tony turned his sharp gaze up toward the ceiling. "What about you, kid? Are you bringing a plus-one? The blonde? the Cat? Or the Spy?"
Peter felt a sudden, intense heat flush his cheeks. He dropped from the web, landing lightly on his feet.
"Uh, actually, I'm riding solo," Peter stammered, desperate to deflect the incoming interrogation. "But I do have to make a quick pit stop tomorrow. Scott called me. He said he has a Christmas gift waiting for me at the Xavier Institute."
"Oh, perfect," Ororo smiled, her eyes lighting up. "We was planning to fly up to Westchester to visit Scott and Hank tomorrow as well. We can travel together, Peter."
Before Peter could agree, a blaring, high-pitched klaxon shattered the festive atmosphere.
The overhead lights shifted to a harsh, tactical red. JARVIS's crisp, British voice echoed from the ceiling speakers.
"Pardon the interruption, Sir. The NYPD dispatch scanners have just flagged a localized 10-30 in progress in the Diamond District. We have a confirmed superhuman hostile actively destroying property."
"Who the hell is stupid enough to rob a jewelry exchange the day before Christmas?" Tony groaned, tapping his wrist console. A holographic feed materialized over the coffee table.
The street camera footage showed a man in ridiculous, heavily armored metallic armor, terrorizing pedestrians. The bizarre part was his legs. They were mechanical, telescoping stilts currently extending over forty feet into the air, allowing him to casually step over a city bus.
"Is that...?" Peter squinted at the hologram, completely baffled. "Is that guy seriously robbing a bank on hydraulic stilts? Please tell me his name is Stilt-Man."
"Wilbur Day," Steve said, his tactical mind instantly snapping into gear. He closed his sketchbook and reached for the heavy circular shield leaning against the sofa. "He's a low-level mercenary. He relies on height and Collision to shatter structural vaults."
Tony summoned his armor. The gold and hot-rod red plating began crawling rapidly up his arms and torso.
Steve stepped forward, looking around the room. He looked at the billionaire, the Wakandan King, the weather goddess, the shrinking scientist, the Hulk, the thunder god, and the kid from Queens. It was the first time the fully expanded, absolute powerhouse roster of the Avengers was standing in the exact same room.
A slow, determined smile spread across Steve Rogers' face.
"Alright, team," Steve said, sliding his arm through the straps of his vibranium shield. "One last operation before the holidays. Objective: aggressively humble the Stilt-Man. Avengers... Assemble!"
PS:
The Infamous Stilt-Man: Yes, Wilbur Day (aka Stilt-Man) is a 100% real, canonical Marvel villain! He first debuted way back in Daredevil #8 (1965). His grand, super-villainous master plan really just boils down to "put on ridiculously tall hydraulic legs and step over bank vaults." The King and Queen of Wakanda: If you're primarily an MCU fan, seeing T'Challa and Ororo Munroe (Storm) casually walking into Avengers Tower as a married couple might be a surprise! But in the classic comic lore, Black Panther and Storm are one of Marvel's ultimate power couples. They had a massive, highly celebrated royal wedding during the 2006 Civil War event, officially making the X-Men's weather goddess the Queen of Wakanda.