Dorian watched, utterly enthralled, as Frosty the Snowman led a parade of children through the town, singing and waving a broomstick. The TV was lighting up the room a cool shade of blue and white, flickering in tune with the music, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
Mom was passed out on the couch next to him even though she had promised to watch it with him, but he hadn’t been counting on it. Not really. She never stayed awake anymore. Her feet were in his lap anyway, and that was basically the same thing. And she had made him hot chocolate before turning the movie on, having brought home a packet of Swiss Miss from somewhere. Dorian didn’t ask where, as he hadn’t wanted to know.
But that wasn’t important anyway. It was the greatest thing he had ever tasted, sweet on his tongue and warm in his chest. She had hugged him tight, with bony arms, still slightly shaking and bright-eyed but real and solid and holding him. Frosty the Snowman had been her idea, she said it had used to be her favorite as a kid, and he could see why.
Dad hadn’t been home in four days either, five if you counted today, which meant the house was quiet and his ribs didn’t hurt. He was pretty sure this was what happiness was, this peace that came in the absences. He wasn't sure if his dad would be home before Christmas, his comings and goings were unpredictable, but Dorian knew his mom would smile more on Christmas morning if he wasn't here.
He couldn’t help but laugh along as the magician went tumbling through the hills, having been thoroughly berated by Santa. He tucked the blanket around his feet and went to take another sip of his hot chocolate when his mom’s foot jerked in his lap, almost knocking the cup out of his hands.
He froze, staring down at the foot. Maybe she had just moved in her sleep. People did that all the time. And she had promised she wasn’t going to use this week. She had promised. Her foot jerked again, jagged and violent, and he knew that her promises didn’t mean shit.
She was seizing before he could put his mug down, and the hot chocolate was suddenly all over his lap, the floor, the blanket. He practically fell off the couch in his haste to get out from under her feet, needing to get her on her side so she didn’t choke. She was gurgling, jaw clenched and eyes unseeing. He turned her and wedged a pillow between her and the couch so she couldn’t turn back over.
He sprinted for the kitchen phone and dialed 911 with trembling fingers. A woman answered, a distant part of him thought he recognized her from a call a while ago, and he rattled off the needed information with numb lips. She told him not to hang up but he did anyway. He went back to the living room and sat on the floor next to the couch, watching his mom seize like it was through a hazy film.
He reached out and tried to pry open her clenched palms, eventually giving up and holding her stiff hands as they jerked. Her back arched up off the couch as Frosty the Snowman started singing again, the music settling into the static noise that filled his head.
=================================================================
“Right,” Dorian said, holding up the giant-ass sewing needle. “The fuck is this?”
“A sewing needle, dumbass,” Harley muttered, his eyes squinted as he tried to thread his needle.
“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock,” Dorian said, ignoring the urge to stab Harley with said needle. “The question is why we need it for a Christmas tradition.”
“Popcorn garlands!” Pepper announced, coming back into the room with a bowl of popcorn in her arms. She had on a green skirt that swished around her ankles, and it helped remind Dorian that Christmas was actually a thing that was coming up. And properly celebrated.
Peter stared at the bowl with his mouth open. “That’s a real thing!?”
“Of course, it’s a real thing,” Pepper said, placing it down on the dining room table. “I did it every year growing up.” She reached into the bowl and pulled out a cranberry. “These go on it too.”
“Is that a cranberry?” Harley asked in amazement, leaning forward over the table to get a better look. “Is that what they look like before you dry them?”
“You idiot,” Dorian said, grabbing Harley’s forgotten needle out of his hands to thread it for him. “Montez literally had you help make the cranberry sauce last year. What do you mean is that a cranberry?”
Harley paused for a moment and frowned, a wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. Then he broke into a grin. “Oh, right! I remember that.”
Yeah, Dorian remembered it too because it had almost boiled over on the stove while Montez stepped out of the kitchen and he had been forced to conduct emergency maneuvers in order to keep everything in the pot where it belonged. Harley’s peanut-sized brain had probably pushed it out to make room for more chemical equations or something else stupid.
“Maybe you can help make the cranberry sauce for Christmas dinner,” Pepper said, giving Harley a wink.
“It was a disaster,” Jack said dryly, grabbing a piece of popcorn from the bowl and stabbing his needle through it. “He used, like, the tiniest pot in the kitchen and it was almost all over the floor.”
“I was given terrible instructions,” Harley defended, taking his threaded needle back from Dorian with a grateful smile.
“You were given a terrible brain, more like.”
“How long are we supposed to make these?” Peter asked, grabbing a handful of popcorn to deposit on the table in front of him. “Do you put them on the tree?”
“We’ll put them on the living room tree,” Pepper said, sitting down next to Tony. “So you can make them as long or as short as you like.”
Living room tree. What a crazy concept. There were four trees in the penthouse by Dorian’s counting, and it was an absurd number. He’d never seen anyone have more than one, but here there were four. And they were all huge, towering things, stretching up to the ceiling. Dorian had never seen a fir tree grow that big in real life, so Tony had to go and outsource the stupid thing. Maybe there was a farm that specialized in giant trees.
“Stop judging my garland and start your own,” Harley said to Dorian, shielding his popcorn from view with his arm.
“I was making sure you didn’t stab yourself,” Dorian muttered, but he turned his attention back towards his own garland, starting an attempt to work the needle through a cranberry.
The whole thing seemed like a weird-ass tradition, but what the hell did he know? He had never had any traditions growing up, and it wasn’t like any of his foster placements had been overly eager to include him in theirs. It was fun though, if he was being honest. He’d never thought about stabbing popcorn with a needle before.
Everyone looked so happy too, maybe this was why people did traditions. Especially Pepper, who was tucked up against Tony’s side helping him with his garland. She had a huge smile on her face, and she kept laughing whenever Tony messed his garland up on purpose.
Dorian got roped into the joking as well, and before he knew it his cheeks were aching from laughing too hard. Peter had tried to engineer a 3d tree out of his garlands that ended up looking like a giant ball of thread and popcorn, and every time one of them looked over at it they burst out laughing once more. Jack had to haul Harley back into his seat when he almost tipped out of it from laughing too hard.
Then Pepper joined forces with Jack to try and make the longest popcorn garland they could, claiming that they were going to wrap it all the way around the tree from top to bottom. Dorian gave them half an hour before Harley launched a sabotage attempt.
=====================================================
“Father Groben, what are you doing?”
Groben pulled open the office door. “Is there something wrong?”
Montez put down his mixing bowl and stepped closer to him, wiping his hands on his apron. “It’s Christmas morning.”
Dorian wanted to laugh at that statement. Since when had that ever mattered to anyone in his life? He could see the small flicker of hope in Harley’s eyes at Montez’s words, and part of him hated Montez for even introducing that hope. He looked over at Jack to see only grim acceptance. He had been here too long. He knew better.
“Thank you for the observation,” Groben all but sneered. “Would you like to add anything else or may we get on with our morning?”
Montez’s face was pinched. “I don’t think this is necessary today.”
“You think they are above consequences because today is Christmas?”
Montez’s eyebrows furrowed inward. “That isn’t what I said, Father. Maybe they can simply do extra chores in the kitchen this morning instead.”
“When your opinion is required, it will be asked for.”
Montez paused, as if weighing his options, before frowning. “You are not the Head of this institution, Groben. Do not presume to be so. Was Father Farrian consulted on this?”
Groben’s hand tightened on the doorknob, the vein in his forehead standing on edge. “I am responsible for punishments. That is my duty in this establishment.”
“You are not taking those boys into that office without Father Farrian’s approval.” He pointed towards the hallway. “Release them to me or run and collect it.”
There was a tense moment of silence, and Dorian knew that Montez was hoping Groben would simply drop it, unwilling to pull Farrian into the impromptu stand-off. But Dorian knew that Groben had been looking forward to this all week, and he wasn’t about to let Montez get in the way. Stubborn bastard.
“Watch them for me,” Groben sneered, turning and stalking towards Farrian’s office.
Jack sighed and gave Montez a tired look. “You shouldn’t have done that, Brother. You know Father Farrian will just agree with him.”
Montez was looking down the hallway where Groben had disappeared. “It isn’t right.”
“It’s not a special day,” Jack said. “Not here. And Harls only has ten strikes, so that’s already like a Christmas gift.”
“Don’t say that,” Montez said tightly, turning his head back to look at Jack with a fierce intensity. “That is not a gift. This is not a gift, and don’t you ever think it is.”
Dorian probed the split on his tongue and gave Montez a sharp grin. There was a restless irritation under his skin, a settled hum that wanted to come out and land his ass in major trouble, so he tried his best to keep his damn mouth shut.
Montez seemed to understand what was behind Dorian’s grin and sighed, deflating slightly in the doorway. There were two sets of footsteps coming back down the hallway, and Dorian knew as well as Montez did that all he had done was secure more strikes for someone in retaliation.
“Brother Montez,” Farrian said smoothly, Groben trailing shortly behind him. “I was not aware that you felt today’s strikes were insufficient punishment for the boys.”
“I only recommend an alternative.”
“This is out of your expertise, Brother Montez. In the future, keep your recommendations to yourself,” Farrian said coldly, running his rosary through his fingers. “Jack will see me after lunch and Dorian will see Father Groben, and we can work on further corrective measures there to satisfy you.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Dorian said, snapping at Farrian before his self-preservation instincts could kick in. “Next time don’t even bother with the pretense, alright? Just say you wanted your own Christmas presents.”
Dorian didn’t have to look at Jack to know that he had turned a few shades paler, and he didn’t need to be looking straight at Farrian to know that his face was turning a distinct shade of red. He let himself look longingly, once, at the window and his potential escape plan before turning his attention back toward Farrian. Montez had gone back into the kitchen. Dorian couldn’t help but hate him for it.
“Fifty strikes,” Farrian hissed, his knuckles tightening around his rosary. “If you want to talk about presents, Harley can have fifty strikes as well. Let’s be generous on Christmas.”
“I’ll take their strikes, Father,” Jack said, rolling his shoulders and stepping slightly forward like the damn martyr he was.
“Fuck you too,” Dorian snarled, halfway through pushing out another insult when Jack clapped his hand over his mouth hard enough to sting.
“You will not prevent your brothers from learning their lesson,” Farrian said. “You all may take your fifty strikes alongside each other.”
“Father,” Jack started, letting his hand fall from Dorian’s mouth. Farrian turned on them in a whirl of fabric and anger, grabbing a small glass vase from the side table against the wall. Dorian had time only to widen his eyes before Farrian hurled the vase at them, trying and failing to duck away as it connected with the side of his head, a sickening dull thud before it shattered. Dorian stumbled sideways and almost went down, Jack reaching out to grab him by the elbows and keep him upright. The glass was all over the floor, shards of it were on Jack’s socks, and Dorian could already feel blood rolling down towards his ear.
“Harley, first-aid kit,” Jack said tersely, already snapping into action, the palm of his hand pressing against the side of Dorian’s head. Harley was skidding down the hallway by the time Dorian glanced over at him, his socks slippery on the hardwood floor. Dorian wanted to tell him to be careful, but he was pretty sure someone would get mad at him if he tried to talk.
“Clean this up and be in the office in fifteen minutes,” Farrian said, looking down at the glass shards with an unreadable expression on his face. “I don’t want stains on the hardwood.”
Dorian couldn’t have responded to Farrian’s asinine comments even if he wanted to, Jack was holding his head practically in a death grip, angling it away from Farrian. His hands were gently combing through his hair and brushing out any loose shards of glass, avoiding the area of his head that had started to throb.
“If I need stitches can you do a cool pattern?”
“You don’t need stitches,” Jack said. “Thank God.”
“I liked that vase.”
“Are you dizzy?”
Dorian looked down the hallway from the weird angle his head was at. Groben had left. He wondered where to. “I don’t have a concussion.”
“I didn’t ask you if you had a concussion, I asked you if you were dizzy.”
Harley came back around the corner with a first-aid kit tight between his hands, his face tight. Jack took it wordlessly and began to patch the side of Dorian’s face up while Harley started to sweep the glass up off the floor. Groben had disappeared alongside Farrian. “You better give me a fucking answer, Rian.”
“I’m not dizzy.”
Jack nodded and started to clean the blood out of Dorian’s hair, inching closer to the wound. “Are you done saying stupid things in front of the brothers?”
“Are you done trying to take the blame for my shit?”
“Are you done doing stupid shit that requires my interference? Shut up for once, alright?
“Fuck you,” Dorian snapped. “I told you I didn’t want you interfering.”
“Yeah?” Jack started attacking the side of Dorian’s jaw where the blood had trickled down and dried. “Tough shit. Get over it.”
Dorian batted his hand away and turned to face Jack fully. “I’m getting Groben to give me my strikes back.”
Jack grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him back to his original position. “You’re not taking that many, don’t be stupid. It would be more helpful for you to shut your damn mouth when I tell you to.”
“Harley, get a broom,” Dorian said, pushing Harley backward with his foot, wanting to get him away from where he was crouched on the floor. “Don’t pick that up with your hands.”
“Get the broom and pan from the closet,” Jack said, folding over the wipe in his hand to get to an unbloodied side. “Rian, are you sure you don’t have a concussion?”
“I don’t have a concussion.”
“Okay. You’re going to tell me if you think otherwise later.”
“Tyranny suits you.”
“I’m not entertaining that,” Jack said shortly, releasing Dorian. “Are you okay to go in?”
Dorian looked into Jack’s eyes. “Let me take the strikes.”
“You’re not taking more.”
“I’m not sitting there and letting you two take my strikes.”
“Yes the fuck you are, don’t be stupid.”
“Can you two stop?” Harley asked, the broom in one hand and the dustpan of glass shards in the other. “They’re not going to give them back to you, even if you ask, so this whole argument is stupid.”
“Yeah, well I can try.”
“They’re not reward points!” Harley exclaimed, flinging his hand with the broom outwards. “You can’t just transfer them on a whim! He’s got all three of us in that study now, there’s no way he’s going to go back to just having one.” He pointed at the two of them. “And I swear, if you keep trying to drag this out once we get in there then I’ll tell Groben to give all of them to me instead.”
It was an effective approach. As much as Dorian hated to admit it, Harley was right. Groben loved having more than one boy in the study and having all three of them didn’t happen all the time. At this point, any attempt at bargaining would likely just raise the strike count for all of them. And Dorian would be damned if he earned his brothers any more strikes today.
He let his shoulders relax, a universal signal that he was done fighting, and he felt Jack pull him into a crushing hug. He didn’t say anything, just braced him with his arms, and Dorian made sure to squeeze tightly back.
=================================================
“Rian,” Peter whispered, his breath warm against Dorian’s neck. As far as Dorian knew, they were the only two awake, Jack and Harley still asleep next to them. Peter was curled onto his side next to Dorian, his hair sticking up in the front where he had slept on it.
Dorian hummed in response, feeling Peter scoot a little closer at the noise of confirmation. “Do you think they got us presents?”
Yes. He did. He was ninety percent sure there were presents under the tree in the living room, which was almost terrifying to think about. He hadn’t gotten a Christmas present since his mom died unless you counted the hand-me-down clothes the Grendens had wrapped for him that one Christmas. They hadn’t even fit properly, so he was inclined to discount it. Wasn’t the spirit of giving supposed to count in these things?
“I bet you got a stocking of coal.”
Peter socked him in the shoulder. “Shut up.”
Dorian reached over to tousle Peter’s hair. “I’m sure there’s like a dozen for you alone.”
“We didn’t ask for anything though.”
“I don’t think that matters to either Tony or Pepper.”
Peter shifted so his head was against Dorian’s shoulder, throwing his arm across Dorian’s chest. “May always made me give her a list. So if they got us something then I have no idea what it could be.”
“You’ll have to ask Jack about that, I’m pretty sure a foster family gave him presents one year.”
“What did I do?” Jack mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
“Got presents from a foster family. Peter’s wondering what Pep and Tony did for Christmas morning.”
“You could just go out there and find out.”
“Yeah, but if there’s nothing out there then I just look stupid,” Peter muttered, his fingers playing with the collar of Dorian’s shirt. “I don’t want to look like I’m expecting them to get me anything, because they don’t have to.”
“They're not foster parents, Peter,” Dorian said. “We got adopted straight out. And all parents give their kid presents.”
“You said your dad didn't do Christmas presents though.”
“All good parents give presents.”
“Shitty parents give presents too,” Jack said, reaching over to the nightstand to turn the clock face towards him. “Sometimes.”
“Those are apology presents,” Dorian corrected, craning his neck to get a look at the time as well. “So sorry for the internal bleeding, here's a watch.”
It was 8:30. One of them was usually up by this time, which meant staying in any later acknowledged some anomaly. Someone needed to get out of bed. It would probably have to be him.
“I’ll go check for you,” Dorian said, giving Peter’s fingers a squeeze before he sat up and dislodged them.
“Aww, what the heck,” Peter said, his voice muffled into the pillow. “Then I'll just look like a toddler. I'm getting up, hold your fat ugly horses.”
“I hope you all get coal,” Harley said, sending a pillow sailing from his side towards Dorian. “Can’t a man sleep around here?”
Dorian sent the pillow sailing back. “It’s Christmas morning. It’s about time you woke up.”
There was a soft rap on the door, and Harley froze, his hand poised to send the pillow hurtling back once more. “Yeah?” Peter called, yelping as the pillow hit him in the face. The door swung open and Pepper leaned in through the doorway with an amused look on her face. “It’s good to see that you four are awake.”
“That sounds ominous,” Peter said, using the pillow Harley had thrown as a second headrest.
Pepper tilted her head out toward the living room. “I think Tony might implode if you four make him wait out there any longer.”
Jack sat up. “You guys have been waiting for us? Out there?”
“Of course,” Pepper said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. It was loose around her shoulders, parts of it stuck in her collar. “We can’t open your presents for you.”
“We have presents?” Harley asked, as Jack rushed out an apology and shoved the sheets off his legs. Dorian started to shove Peter off the bed with both hands. “They’ve been waiting for us Peter, move your ass off the bed.”
“Hey,” Pepper said, waving her hand at them with a small laugh. “It’s not a big deal, slow your roll. The presents aren’t going anywhere, and neither is Tony.”
“We were about to get up anyway,” Dorian said. “We’ll be right there.”
“Take your time, honey,” Pepper smiled, closing the door quietly behind her.
There was a moment of silence before the bed erupted into chaos, Harley using Jack to push himself out of bed while Peter rushed to the dresser before him. Harley skidded to a stop at the blockade, cuffing Peter upside the head before diverting towards the bathroom.
“I’m wounded,” Peter said petulantly, opening the drawers. “The violence in this room is out of control.”
“Talk to me when you’re bleeding,” Dorian said, swinging his legs off the bed. “Life or death situation.”
Peter simply flipped him off, not even bothering to look back over his shoulder at him. Little shit. Dorian would have knocked him upside the head as well on any other day, just for the fun of it, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it today. Not when he knew that he was probably secretly overwhelmed by the fact that this was his first Christmas without his aunt. He had been doing that spacey thing with his expression, sort of zoning out a bit, whenever the topic of Christmas morning had been broached over the last couple of weeks.
Not that Harley had been much better, his last Christmas was so shitty Dorian didn’t even want to count it, so this was his first full Christmas without his mom and sister. If asked, Harley would vehemently protest that last year had been enough to get him through the grieving process, but Dorian called bullshit. He still wanted to cry at Christmas and it had been ages since his mom passed.
“Those are my sweatpants,” Jack stated, raising an eyebrow at the rolled waistband of Peter’s pants.
Peter looked down and then back up with a grin. “It’s a communal space. I’m practicing community.”
“Uh-huh,” Jack said, reaching over to smooth down the back half of Peter’s hair. “Did you brush your hair with your eyes closed?” He stuck his hand out and Dorian placed the hairbrush in it, ignoring Peter’s betrayed glare as Jack attacked the back of Peter’s head.
“Right, are you going to head out or are you just going to stare at the door?”
Dorian blinked as he realized Harley was talking to him. “Oh, you still want me to go first?”
“You’re not getting out of it that easily.”
“You act like there’s a damn firing squad,” Dorian muttered, but he started towards the door, swinging it open with what he hoped was enough sarcasm. He knew they would all be right behind him anyway.
He rounded the corner of the hallway with only a tiny bit of trepidation, still slightly unsure as to what Tony and Pepper considered Christmas morning. The first thing he saw was Tony and Pepper on the couch, Tony with his expected mug of coffee, and Pepper with her mug of what he would guess was tea. She usually liked to have her coffee a bit later in the day.
Tony looked over at him and Dorian watched as his eyes lit up. “Rian, kiddo!”
The second thing that Dorian noticed was the presents under the tree. Many presents. He was pretty sure there was over forty. It was insanity. He had seen that many presents under the tree before at other houses, but never with the knowledge that some of them were going to be for him.
“Oh, holy shit,” Jack said, coming out of the hallway behind Peter and Harley. His eyes were wide, and it was the most off-guard Dorian had ever heard him.
“You guys are awake!” Tony exclaimed, rising off the couch. “Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas,” Peter repeated almost robotically, staring at the tree like he had never seen one before.
Harley pointed towards the tree. “Who are those for?”
Tony shrugged. “You should probably go look and find out.”
Pepper rose up off the couch as well, placing her mug down on the side table. She moved over to where Peter and Harley were staring at the tree in shock, wrapping an arm around each of their shoulders. “Tony hid a few for me under there, can you help me look for them so I can be lazy and open them all at once?”
It was enough prompting to unfreeze them, and Dorian watched as Pepper gently led them over to the tree to process the array of gifts clustered under the branches. Peter’s eyes were huge and Harley looked like he had never seen a wrapped present before, but they were talking and moving with Pepper without any tension, so he was pretty sure everything was alright.
“Jack, woah, hey,” Tony rushed, placing his mug down on the closest table. Dorian jerked his head over to look at his older brother, seeing that he was trying his hardest to stop the tears that were in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
Jack shook his head and scrubbed his sleeve across his eyes. “Nothing, honest. This is just really nice of you.” He sniffed and tilted his head back as if it could stop the emotion. “Shit. I didn’t mean to start crying.”
Tony stepped forward and pulled him into a bracing hug. He didn’t say anything, Dorian wasn’t sure there was really anything to say, and Jack grabbed him back, almost melting into Tony’s hug. Jack pulled back after a minute, wiping his sleeve across his face again to get rid of the residual tears. “I’m going to go make sure those two haven’t broken anything.”
Dorian watched him walk over and get folded into another hug by Pepper, only startling a little bit when a hand landed on his shoulder. “You okay?”
“Me? No, yeah, I’m good,” Dorian shrugged, looking up and over at Tony. “He just really needed a good Christmas.”
“I figured,” Tony said, squeezing Dorian’s shoulder. “I’m sorry if the presents are overwhelming, I tend to get carried away.”
“Yeah, well,” Dorian said, feeling the guilt already stirring in his chest. “Last year’s Christmas was probably the worst he’s ever had, so I think he needs to be overwhelmed with something positive.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize to me,” Dorian muttered. “It was my fault.”
“Rian,” Tony said, turning towards him with a pinched look on his face.
Dorian threw his hands up. “I’m not being self-deprecating, okay? Don’t give me that look. It was on a Sunday.”
Tony looked like he wanted to argue the point, but he held off. “What does Sunday mean?”
Dorian almost looked at Tony like he was stupid before remembering that Galgani’s wasn’t normal to him. Sundays were just Sundays. “The rest of the week they just counted how many strikes we had,” Dorian said, trying to clarify. “Sunday was when we actually got punished.”
Dorian watched as Tony processed the information, looking slightly over Dorian’s shoulder as he parsed what Dorian was saying. “And Christmas was on a Sunday last year?”
Dorian nodded, looking away and towards the tree. A tree couldn’t judge him for what he had done. “Yeah. Jack only had thirty and Harley had none, but I kept running my damn mouth and we all got fifty.”
“On Christmas?”
Dorian shrugged again. “I got pissed off, I don’t know. Wasn’t like I meant to make everything worse.”
“I meant the brothers. And how they decided they were going to beat you on Christmas day.”
“Montez tried to argue against it,” Dorian said, wrinkling his nose as he remembered the futile attempt. “Just sort of pissed Groben off though.”
“Hell, kiddo. I’m so sorry.”
Part of Dorian’s chest caved in. He wasn’t mentioning how it had been Dorian’s fault, how he shouldn’t have antagonized or pushed. He always pushed. You’d think he would have learned.
“Tell it to those two,” Dorian huffed, ignoring Tony’s eyes. “They’re the ones who had the rough go of it.”
“You said all three of you.”
“I earned mine, they didn’t.”
“Bullshit.”
“You weren’t there.”
Tony hummed. “So if I ask Jack and Harley about it, they’ll say it was your fault?”
“That’s cheating, they’re biased parties.”
“So are you.”
Dorian opened his mouth and then closed it again, Tony’s stupid rebuttal rendering him speechless. He was not a biased party, was he? He had known that running his mouth was just going to anger Farrian, which meant that he was responsible.
“It probably wasn’t the smartest thing you’ve ever done,” Tony continued. “I wasn’t there, obviously, but I can imagine you not wanting to stay silent. And that definitely wasn’t the smart choice.”
“So you agree.”
“But,” Tony interjected, giving Dorian a poke on the shoulder. “That does not excuse anything that was done to you or your brothers. And you thinking that it’s your fault takes away the responsibility from the bastards who hurt you, which I am not okay with.”
“We can both be responsible then,” Dorian said weakly, his argument already fading.
“Nope.”
“I’m partially responsible.”
“No.”
“I have some responsibility.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You suck at bargaining.”
“Tony Stark doesn’t bargain,” Tony said, turning and pulling Dorian into a strong hug. “How do you think I ended up with you four?”
“Bribery, I thought. Or blackmail.”
“Semantics.”
Dorian took a deep, slow breath, soaking in the smell of coffee and a woodsy cologne that only shone through when Tony hadn’t been in the lab. This morning didn’t feel like Christmas in the best way possible. He gave Tony a tight squeeze. “Okay, let’s go see what you got me.”
===================================================
“Look, baby,” the man said, pulling the toothpick out of his mouth. “If you sit out here all night you’re going to freeze. I’ll feed you and give you somewhere warm to sleep. Promise.”
He should say no. If he got a prostitution charge on his record again it might ruin his chances of being put in a better home in the future. But he could see the heat curling out of the car window and he could see the rich leather of the passenger seat. He was so hungry and so fucking cold.
And he couldn’t go back to the Bryans, not even if he got over his pride. They weren’t going to feed him more than the streets would, what with that stupid lock on the fridge. Besides, Mr. Bryan had promised to teach him a lesson the next time he laid eyes on him. Dorian’s wrist still ached from last week, so he knew what that lesson was going to look like. He needed to lay low for a few days until the man’s temper cooled down. Whatever this new man wanted, at least there was food and warmth and no police to drag him back to where he came from.
Something bright lit up in the man’s eyes when Dorian staggered to his feet, stiff from the wind that was blowing down the alley. On a better day, he would have run in the other direction. But he knew he could survive whatever this man wanted to do to him, and he wasn’t sure he could survive the night.
“Good boy,” the man said, sliding the air vent towards Dorian. Dorian practically gasped at the warm air, holding his hands in front of the heat. The man turned on the radio station as they started driving, something low and crooning in a different language. The man didn’t try and make conversation, but instead placed his hand on Dorian’s thigh about five minutes into the drive. Dorian was tempted to push it off but he didn’t want to get pushed out of the car in return. Besides, he was going to be doing much worse later on that night, what was a hand on the leg in comparison?
It had started to snow by the time they pulled up to the man’s apartment, a light dusting that had just begun to settle onto the leaves of the trees. His jacket had never felt so thin. The man walked him up the front steps with a hand on the back of his neck, possessive in an unspoken way.
“Hungry?” the man asked, tossing his keys onto the counter as he shrugged out of his coat. Dorian kept his on, desperate for any level of warmth.
“Yes, sir,” Dorian said, looking over at the kitchen.
“The whore’s got manners,” the man drawled with a smile, flicking on the kitchen light. “You keep that up in bed?”
A loaded question. He widened his eyes. “If you want me to.”
The man’s smile was slippery. “I think I want to see if I can fuck those manners right out of you.”
Nausea. Something he was pretty sure was fear. He tamped them both down. He didn’t have the space for either of those right now. The man was assembling a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, slapping thick gobs of peanut butter onto cheap white bread, and the sight alone was enough to make his knees go weak from hunger.
He practically snatched it out of the man’s hands when it was offered to him, taking almost half the sandwich in one bite. It might have been the best thing he had eaten in his entire life. The polite thing would probably be to sit down and eat it slowly, but he was pretty sure picking up children for sex work violated all laws of polite society anyway, so he didn’t care.
“You got a name?”
Dorian looked up from his food, halfway through chewing. He shook his head in response. He doubted this man was going to report him, it would raise too many questions, but he wasn’t about to give away any information regardless. If there was an alert out for him, no way in hell was he going to get caught.
“Fair enough,” the man said, flicking the cabinets back open. “Whore works just fine for me.” He pointed towards Dorian’s chest. “Take off that jacket, it’s not snowing inside.”
Dorian swallowed his bite. “It’s cold.”
“You’re about to take more than just that jacket off. How about you start acclimating.”
Dorian put the last bite into his mouth and reluctantly began to shed his coat, missing the feeble warmth it had provided the second it was off. It wasn’t that it was cold in the house, there just seemed to be a permanent chill that had followed him inside.
“I’ll make us hot chocolate. Go sit on the couch and wait for me.”
That sounded better than the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Maybe drinking something hot would chase away the cold hiding in his bones. There was something about New York City winters that bit deeper than anything else. Sitting down sounded nice as well, now that the aching hunger in his stomach had faded he had come to realize how tired he was.
The couch was out in the living room, a brown, sprawling, cushy fixture. He didn’t take his shoes off, losing your shoes was a horrible thing to do when you were on the lam, and he kept his jacket tucked close to his chest. It was warmer in the living room, the draft from the front door having petered out before the threshold, and he couldn’t help but sink back into the cushions.
His eyes had started to droop when the man came back out of the kitchen, a steaming mug in each hand. He smiled at Dorian and then passed him the blue one. “This is my own special recipe.”
Dorian blinked a couple of times to try and pull himself fully awake again, accepting the offered mug. The man sat down on the couch next to him, close, but not so close that their legs were touching. He took a sip of his mug and then gestured towards Dorian’s. “Drink.”
Dorian lifted the mug and took a cautious sip. Thick chocolate and an almost overwhelming taste of peppermint. It was hot and deeply rich, like it was homemade. The way the man was looking at his reaction, he was guessing that was the case.
“It’s good,” he said, bringing it back up for another sip. He wanted to make sure the man was in a good mood, and complimenting his drink couldn’t hurt.
The man smiled and they proceeded to sit there in silence, drinking the peppermint hot chocolate. The taste got cloying as he continued to drink, coating his throat with a sickly sweet taste. The peppermint was too much, and he placed it gently down on the side table next to the couch.
The man lowered his own mug. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Dorian said, shaking his head. “I’m just full.”
“Finish it,” the man said, his gaze hard. “You were just hungry a second ago.”
“I drank most of it.”
“Fucking finish it,” the man snapped, and Dorian picked up the mug instantly. He really hoped this wasn’t drugged. That would ruin his evening.
He choked the rest down as fast as he could, gagging on the taste of the peppermint when it rose up again in his throat. The man watched him silently, taking slow sips of his drink. He wasn’t hungry anymore, which was the only upside of this whole encounter.
He set the empty mug back down on the side table with a shaky hand. The man set his own down, and Dorian noted that the man hadn’t drunk all of his. Asshole.
The man stood up and then reached down to grab Dorian’s arm, yanking him up and off the couch with a force that startled him. His shoulder ached as the man jerked him towards a hallway to their right, manhandling him like he was a prisoner.
“I can walk,” he said, trying to pull his arm out of the man’s grip.
The man released Dorian’s arm only to swing around and backhand him soundly across the face. “If you’re not begging with those pretty manners of yours, keep your mouth shut.”
Dorian swallowed his reply. So this was how it was going to go. The man didn’t want Dorian to give anything, he just wanted to take. He hated bastards like that, but he couldn’t escape this now even if he wanted to. The second he had stepped foot in that car he had given his consent for whatever the man wanted to do.
He started to retreat into his mind as the man pushed him into a bedroom, his thick hands already pawing at Dorian’s pants. He let the static start to creep in, allowing his body to go limp enough to be pliant.
“I want to hear you scream,” the man breathed into his ear, hot air and peppermint.
It was less of an order and more of a promise. The screams came easy that night, and so did the blood. He could vividly recall how red it had looked against the man’s sheets. There were parts he couldn’t remember too, blank bits interspersed within the pain, but he wasn’t too keen on trying to recall them.
He awoke the next morning before the man did, extracting himself from underneath the man’s arm to leave the room. He gathered his clothes off the floor and limped to the kitchen, raiding the man’s pantry for granola bars to take with him. The man’s wallet was on the counter and he only hesitated for a few moments before raiding it for cash. If the man wanted to press charges he could have fun explaining why Dorian had been in his house to begin with. He left before the man had the chance to wake, stumbling and foggy-headed but no longer pressed underneath the weight of him.
=======================================================
There had to be literal icicles on his eyelashes. He could feel his face freezing.
“I don't think I have feeling in my fingers,” Dorian told Tony, his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets. “Whose idea was this?”
“Yours,” Tony grinned, tugging Dorian’s hood farther down his head. “And it was a pretty good competition, you have to admit.”
The elevator doors slid open and Dorian gave Tony a shrug of agreement. It had been a pretty good competition. One of Peter’s friends had told him about a snowman-building competition happening in the nearby park, some sort of unofficial event that had gained traction over the last week. Except Pepper had taken the other three to get haircuts, so Tony and Dorian had been the only ones free to go. Jack had cut his hair last week in the bathroom, so it wasn’t even like he needed one.
Though maybe he should have gone with them so that he didn’t end up freezing his extremities off in the stupid park. Because on second thought, he wasn’t sure he could feel his toes either. And he was pretty sure he needed those. He turned to let Tony help him shrug out of his puffer jacket, the coat rack by the elevator often looking like a deformed Christmas tree with all the jackets that were hanging off of it. It looked a bit sad at the moment, however, with its arms missing four other jackets.
“Hot chocolate?” Tony asked, tossing his scarf onto the kitchen counter. “Bernie has some on the stove for us.”
“Oh, I love that man,” Dorian said enthusiastically, tossing his scarf next to Tony’s. “Do we have marshmallows?”
“Duh,” Tony slid the mug towards Dorian and placed the bag of marshmallows next to it. “Should we save some for Pepper and your brothers?”
“It’s almost New Year’s,” Dorian said, dumping a handful of marshmallows onto his cup. “We have to be nice.”
He grinned and lifted his mug to take a sip.
Peppermint.
The taste of it was everywhere, thick and cloying and clogging his throat. He could feel hands on his lower back. On his neck. Rough and painful. He gagged, spitting it back into his cup. His hands were shaking, he could see the cup shaking in his hands.
“It’s peppermint,” he said, staring down at it. He was suddenly furious, angry at the taste and that man and the world. “Who the fuck puts peppermint in hot chocolate?”
“Shit, sorry,” Tony said, placing his mug down. “I forgot to let you know. We’ll get you some regular hot chocolate.”
“Whose fucking idea was that? It’s fine by itself, nobody wants fucking peppermint. It ruins the whole damn thing.” He could remember the pain all of a sudden, red-hot and vivid, and maybe he was just angry at himself.
Tony was saying something, his tone alarmed, but Dorian needed to get the cup away from him. He took a few jerky steps toward the sink and half-threw the cup away from him, watching as it bounced once against the bottom of the sink and then broke, large shards of mug mingling with the hot chocolate.
The taste was on the back of his tongue and in his throat. His throat was raw, wasn’t it? From all the screaming he had been doing? He reached into the sink to scrape the shards together, as they needed to be thrown away. His palm burned as he swept a chunk of ceramic together, and a streak of red began to seep into the hot chocolate.
“Rian, stop,” Tony said, grabbing Dorian’s arm to tug him away from the sink.
“Fuck you,” Dorian said, jerking back and out of his grip. He reached out and shoved Tony’s chest, hard, needing him to take a step back. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
Tony stumbled back with his hands up, watching Dorian stand there, breathing hard, like he was watching a caged animal. There was a streak of blood on his white shirt from where Dorian had shoved him, ever so slightly in the shape of the heel of Dorian’s palm.
“You don’t just put shit in people’s drinks,” Dorian said, his voice breaking at the end.
“I know,” Tony said, his hands still up. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you.” He tilted his head towards Dorian’s bleeding hand. “Can we patch you up?”
Dorian looked down at his hand, the blood now dripping down to his fingers. Right. He had cut himself on the mug. He looked back up at Tony’s raised hands and the bright red bloodstain on Tony’s shirt.
He had bled that night too. The stains had been bigger. Louder. They had hurt more.
“Afraid I’m going to ruin your fancy shirt?” he sneered instead, wanting Tony to counter the anger pushing at his chest. “It’s probably worth more than I am, isn’t it? Don’t want my dirty blood getting everywhere?”
The blood was dripping down his arm now, slipping beneath the hems of his sleeves. Tony took a step forward and Dorian took a step backward, holding up his hand in a threat or a defense, he wasn’t sure. Tony just widened his own hands and then gestured to his chest.
“Alright, kiddo. Give me another shove.”
Dorian blinked and then narrowed his eyes at Tony. Was this some sort of bait and switch? Was Tony just trying to claim self-defense when he swung back on him? Was he trying to swing on him?
“You’re angry,” Tony said. “And we’re not going to be able to fix your hand with you angry, so go ahead and get it out. I can take a good shove, trust me. Let me have it.”
Dorian didn’t move. His hand was still floating in the air, and the blood was now at his elbow. He’d heard this line before, with an old foster father. He’d told Dorian to take a swing, that he could tell he was frustrated. And Dorian had been hungry and stupid and angry. So he had. And then he had learned that anything the man did afterward fell under self-defense. The officer had been infuriatingly sympathetic, giving the hospital room soft looks and little frowns.
The corners of Tony’s mouth tugged downward ever so slightly like he could read Dorian’s mind. “No catch. I’m not going to shove you in return, and I’m not going to retaliate later. Hell knows I deserve far more than a shove for all the shit I’ve pulled on you boys, so go for it.”
Dorian looked down at the blood stain on Tony’s shirt and then over at his raised hands. He then had the startling realization that he believed Tony. He believed that if he shoved Tony as hard as he could then he would walk out of the interaction unscathed. It was a sobering thought.
A wave of clarity hit him like a truck. He had just freaked out over peppermint in his hot chocolate. He had broken Tony’s mug and then shoved him over fucking peppermint in a mug of hot chocolate.
Dorian’s shoulders slumped. “Aw, shit. Shit. I’m sorry.”
Tony unfroze at those words, falling into motion before Dorian had time to process he had moved. “No, no,” he said, grabbing Dorian’s hand. “No apologizing, kiddo. We’re okay.”
Dorian blinked down at his hands and didn’t bother thinking up an answer to that. He didn’t have it in him to argue the point. He watched in silence as Tony pulled out the first aid kit and patched up the gash, a butterfly bandage holding him together.
Dorian’s fingers twitched. “I can clean my hand up myself, you know. I don’t need you to do it for me.”
Tony nodded. “I know.”
“Okay.”
“Alright,” Tony said softly, placing his hand over the bandage to get Dorian’s attention. “Talk to me, kiddo. Was it the peppermint?”
Shame rose up. He shook his head. “No, sorry. I shouldn't have freaked like that, everything is fine.”
Tony frowned. “I don't think it's fine. Was it the fact that you didn’t know the peppermint was in there?”
“Just drop it, please,” Dorian said, wanting Tony to stop searching for the bloody wound inside his chest. “It's not a big deal.”
Tony shook his head. “I don't want to do this again, bud. We're not going to sit here and repeat this and let you get hurt for no reason.”
Dorian screwed up his face and looked away over Tony’s shoulder. “When I was like thirteen I ran from a foster family and I was stupid enough to let this guy pick me up ‘cause I was freezing. He gave me hot chocolate and it had peppermint in it or whatever. Sorry for pushing you.”
“When you say he picked you up…” Tony pressed, his gaze level.
“I fucked him, alright?” Dorian spat out, suddenly feeling caged. “Or he fucked me if you want to be specific. Is that what you wanted to hear? I couldn't feel my fucking hands it was so cold and he said he would let me spend the night. I didn't think he was a fucking sadist. And I know it was my own stupid decision, so I don't need you to tell me it was wrong.”
“Woah, hey,” Tony said, grabbing Dorian’s head with both hands and forcing him to look at him. “I am not judging you for what you did to survive. Do you understand? Not ever.”
“I don’t fucking care if you judge me for being a whore.”
“Hey,” Tony said, his voice sharp. “You are not a whore.”
Dorian met Tony’s eyes with a challenge. “You can't change what defines a whore just because you adopted one.”
Tony breathed in sharply and Dorian almost looked down to see if someone had stabbed Tony in the gut, so stricken was the look on his face. Damn. Now he just felt like a piece of shit for making Tony look like that. Tony’s hands were still on the side of his face, which meant he couldn't even look away in shame.
He wasn't sure why he felt so bad about what he had said, it was true. Tony's moral outrage couldn't erase what he had done.
“You are not allowed to call yourself that,” Tony said, dropping one hand so it was on Dorian’s shoulder. “I don't want to hear that word come out of your mouth.”
“I didn't realize we censored the truth around here.”
Tony shook his head. “That’s not the truth, Rian. That's a derogatory name. If you want to speak truth then we can sit and discuss it without insulting you.”
“I think I prefer calling it what it is,” Dorian retorted. “If you didn't want to hear it then maybe you shouldn't have taken in a whore in the first place. Never too late to make a return.”
Both of Tony’s hands were now on his shoulders. “I’m not kidding, I want that word out of your mouth.”
Dorian grinned at Tony, something sharp and fake, and he could taste peppermint still in the back of his throat. “Yeah? I can’t call myself a whore anymore? Or what?”
“You’re grounded until you write down five compliments about yourself.”
Dorian’s brain restarted and the anger he had been holding on to escaped like air out of a balloon. He wasn’t sure what to make of that sentence. The hell sort of a deterrent was that? Grounded? He understood grounded, he’d been locked in his room more times than he could count. What he didn’t understand was the opportunity to get out of it. It completely defeated the point of punishment.
Tony’s lips twitched at the dumbfounded confusion on Dorian’s face. “Would you like the piece of paper now?”
“You’re serious?”
“Dead serious. Five good things about yourself.”
Dorian opened his mouth and then closed it again. And then he had to open it again to answer Tony. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Tony shrugged. “I mean, if you’d rather be grounded just say the word.”
Dorian narrowed his eyes. Was this some sort of test? To see how long he could last in his room until he caved and wrote the stupid thing? It was a horrible test, his room here was the nicest thing he had ever lived in. Getting locked in wasn’t really that bad of a punishment.
“Do I get lunch and dinner while I’m grounded?”
Tony sobered a bit. “Of course.”
That didn’t make much sense either. “Do I come out to the dining room and eat with everyone or does someone just bring me my food?”
Tony reached up to scratch his head. “I think we have different definitions of grounded here.”
“Grounded means I’m not allowed to leave my room.”
“No, grounded means you don’t get to play video games or use the computer or go shopping with Pep when she goes out. Things like that. You still go to class and hang around with the rest of us.”
Dorian’s eyes almost bugged out of his head. “You call that being grounded?”
“That’s what normal people call being grounded, kiddo.”
Dorian rocked back onto his heels and blew out a breath. “Well, shit.”
“Shit indeed. Let’s focus on the no video games part because you just made the rest of it sound like a vacation.”
Dorian let out an aborted laugh. “Yeah, well I think I’d rather give up video games than sit and write some sappy compliments about myself.”
Tony hummed. “Fair point. How about this: If you don’t write me those five things, then I’ll program Friday to recite them for you whenever you enter a room.”
Diabolical asshole. He had a twisted mind. A twisted, twisted mind. He shouldn’t have acted so surprised about the grounded thing. He shook his head. “You know, I actually think losing the video games is the worst thing that could ever happen to me.”
Tony’s amusement returned. “Nice try. Would you like that paper now?” He reached over to the counter and pulled over a tablet. “I’m excited to see what Friday comes up with if you’d rather take that route.”
“You’re a sadistic bastard,” Dorian said, narrowing his eyes. “Do you even have paper on hand?”
Tony grinned and pulled open a drawer by his hip. He pulled out a sheet of paper and placed it on the counter in front of Dorian before procuring a pen from his pocket and placing it on top of the paper. Dorian glared at him and snatched the pen off the counter. “Are you going to sit and stare at me the whole time?”
Tony just shrugged and Dorian rolled his eyes, pulling the paper over to get it over with. He wasn’t entirely sure what Tony was looking for, but the man hadn’t been specific so it gave Dorian more freedom in what he wrote.
- I have the best hair out of everyone
- I can run the fastest
- I can escape from anywhere that isn’t law enforcement related
- I’m not allergic to peanuts
- I give great hugs
He made sure to smirk as he handed the list back over to Tony, capping the pen with a click.
“Well, I guess that’s on me for not being more specific,” Tony muttered, reaching over to pluck a magnet off the fridge. “At the very least, you’re not allowed to use the same reasons twice. So don’t do it again or you’ll actually have to think of some good ones.” He reached over and stuck the list on the fridge with the little metal magnet, turning back to Dorian with a smile.
“You’re putting it on the fridge?”
Tony’s smile grew wider. “Absolutely.”
“Sicko,” Dorian muttered, tossing the pen back onto the counter. “Are these universal rules or do they just apply to me?”
“Universal,” Tony said. “If you snitch on your brothers I’ll make them add their own lists to the fridge.”
“You’re mentally twisted.”
Tony tilted his head. “I’ve been told. Can I have a hug?”
Dorian nodded before his brain even processed what Tony was asking, leaning forward so the man could catch him. And catch him he did, swooping in to engulf him in an embrace tight enough to settle Dorian. “I’ve got you,” he said quietly, one hand tangled in the back of Dorian’s hair and the other across his back.
Dorian breathed and grabbed onto the back of Tony’s shirt like it was a lifeline. He knew that Tony wouldn’t let go unless Dorian pulled away first, and it was an assurance he had never known he could have. He could stand here forever if he wanted to. Or at least until something came up that was somehow important enough to pull him away.
Tony dropped a kiss onto the top of Dorian’s head, painfully casual. “How about we microwave some cheap Swiss Miss hot chocolate instead and throw a shit-ton of marshmallows in them?”
Dorian laughed and let his grip loosen. “Deal.”