The party raged on.
For Rin, it felt like being caught between worlds—one filled with flashing lights, unrelenting music, and people who didn't know how to stop celebrating; the other filled with memories of scarlet skies, broken timelines, and a voice whispering, "Run."
But today was not about that. Today was about the now.
Her classmates were ecstatic. Most of them had never been inside the Stark Tower, much less attended a birthday party hosted by Tony Stark himself. And certainly not one where the guest list included actual Avengers.
Rin sipped her soda, standing near a decorative cluster of holographic balloons shaped like arc reactors. MJ and Ned were deep in conversation with Bruce Banner, trying to understand how the Hulk's metabolism could process an entire tray of shawarma in under five minutes. Peter, meanwhile, had been cornered by Flash, who kept alternating between awkward questions about Tony Stark and bragging about the time he shook Rhodey's hand at a charity event—completely oblivious to Peter's increasingly desperate attempts to escape the conversation.
Kids. Heroes. Chaos.
"I still think it's weird that you're actually Iron Man's daughter," Cindy whispered to Rin, eyes wide with a mix of awe and disbelief. "Like, do you get to fly the suit?"
"No," Rin deadpanned. "Not unless I want to get vaporized."
Cindy laughed, and Rin smiled faintly. For all the awkwardness, it was oddly grounding.
On the far end of the room, Pepper Potts was trying to keep things from spiraling out of control—not that it was easy. Especially when Thor Odinson had taken it upon himself to hand out small vials of glowing blue liquid as party favors.
"Thor!" Pepper hissed, catching up with him as he was trying to slip another vial to a very impressed Flash. "What is that?"
"A modest offering," Thor said cheerfully. "Aged twelve hundred years in the cellars of Alfheim. Very rare. Very spirited."
"It's Asgardian wine," Pepper deadpanned, hands on hips. "You brought magical alcohol to a high schooler's birthday party."
Thor's face scrunched in confusion. "It is tradition. A celebration without spirits is no celebration at all."
"They're children!" she hissed, yanking the flask out of his hand. "You are literally giving minors a drink that could fell a frost giant."
"Ah," Thor nodded slowly. "A fair point."
Behind them, one of Rin's classmates was already turning unusually red in the face after taking a suspicious sip.
Pepper groaned. "I swear, you gods are worse than the kids."
Thor chuckled, clearly not offended. "Perhaps. But we do throw excellent parties."
Despite the chaos, the energy was infectious. Rin found herself laughing more than she expected—at Peter awkwardly dodging questions about his science internship with Stark Industries, at Natasha subtly terrifying her math teacher into not asking about grades, and even at Tony attempting karaoke in the suit.
For a moment, it felt almost normal.
Almost.
But normal was a luxury Rin knew never lasted long.
And somewhere in the back of her mind, something waited.
Not anger.
Not sorrow.
Just the weight of after.
But tonight?
Tonight, she could pretend.
And the pretending felt like breathing again.
...............................
Meanwhile, without anyone's notice, a black-gloved hand emerged from the shadows and retrieved a few small bottles from a high shelf. With silent steps, it carried them to a dimly lit table where two figures already sat. The table, tucked away from the party's raucous heart, may as well have existed in another realm entirely. Nobody noticed the third figure's arrival, nor did they acknowledge the strange gravity the table exuded—as if it had been cloaked from the eyes of reality.
The candles on the table flickered solemnly, casting long shadows and making the surface gleam. The table itself was carved from something old and dark—perhaps something that had once whispered secrets to Odin himself.
A single goblet shimmered in the black-gloved hand, filled with liquid the color of dying suns. It was lifted slowly, reverently, to unseen lips. A long, savoring pause followed.
"Tastes like Thor's armpit… if his armpit had a cherry aftertaste. Aged oak… maybe hints of cosmic disappointment."
The voice was flippant, American, irreverent. The kind of voice that didn't care for rules, or walls—fourth or otherwise.
Across the table sat a slender man in a sharp black suit. His black hair curled just slightly, and his icy blue eyes gleamed with amusement and knowledge far beyond this moment. He raised his own goblet, gazing into its depths as though it held something more than drink.
"Asgardian, you said?" he mused, his tone smooth and mocking. "Hmm. Slightly too proud. Like drinking the ego of a thunder god distilled into oak and regret."
He sipped—slowly, deliberately.
The third figure looked like a boy, though no one wise would dare call him that. His golden hair gleamed like sunfire, his crimson eyes bored and ancient. He held his goblet delicately, like a ruler toying with the fate of a kingdom.
"It's... quaint," he said with a lazy smirk. "Not fit for Uruk, but mildly entertaining. Like watching ants with swords play at empire."
He didn't ask how he got there. He didn't need to.
The gloved hand set the goblet down, revealing a red sleeve. The figure leaned into the candlelight—mask, white eyes, and a utility belt that definitely included at least one taco.
"Okay, so, Asgardian mead gets a 7.5 for flavor, 10 for making me see double versions of my own thought boxes. But c'mon, can we just agree Earth booze is... like, depressingly sobering?"
The boy scoffed. "Your world is filled with weak men and weaker wine."
The suited man chuckled, low and melodic.
"I quite like Earth's wine, actually. It's honest in its mediocrity. This stuff?" He held up the Asgardian bottle. "This is divine delusion in a bottle. A drink for those who believe themselves gods."
"Hey, I am a god, thank you very much," the red-suited man declared. "God of sass, death, and unauthorized time travel. Speaking of, I borrowed—I mean, acquired—the multiversal sippy-pass from a guy who builds machines with tragic backstories. Name rhymes with... Schmurfenflirtz."
He leaned in, mock-conspiratorial. "Don't tell Perry the Platypus."
The boy tilted his head. "This realm's laws bore me already. Who allowed you to bring this rabble here?"
"Hey!" the red-suited one pointed at himself. "I'm the glue holding this madness together. I broke the fourth wall before it was cool. And I brought Mister Tall, Dark, and Sinful here 'cause I thought someone should balance out all the explosions of self-worth."
The man in the suit smiled faintly.
"Flattered. Though I suspect you brought me because I know good drink, better company, and how to keep secrets… unlike some."
He raised his glass.
"To theft, then. The sincerest form of flattery."
"To sin," said the boy, voice dripping with mirth and malice.
"To me," declared the masked man. "And tacos."
Three goblets clinked.
The air shimmered. Time may have paused—or twisted. Somewhere across the multiverse, someone suddenly felt the urge to write a ballad about three madmen toasting in a place the universe forgot.
And the party raged on.