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Christmas has never been something the Johnsons particularly celebrated. As a child, Anders had wondered why, but never asked. Their parents fought enough as it was, and a family sort of event would doubtlessly only make it worse. And then he turned twenty-one and realized that, oh, that might explain it.
Regardless of their personal family traditions, Val enjoys having the annual barbeque, and Axl grew up with that. It's a cozy thing, Anders imagines, Mike, Val, Axl and Ty, sitting around the picnic table, the grill smoking merrily. He wouldn't know though, having never been invited.
It doesn't bother him at all.
Honest.
In any case, Anders has always done the same thing since he'd left to live on his own. He goes to a club on Christmas Eve, finds a nice (or not-so-nice) girl who may or may need a little bit of cheering up, and takes her home for a long, steamy night. The following morning (or noon, whenever he wakes up), he goes for round two (three, four, five) before he cheerfully says goodbye. A shower, a quick meal, and then he's well on his way to being dead drunk.
It's the best way to spend Christmas Day.
This year, though, Ty seems determined to change things. He'd come over right as Anders was showing the girl (what was her name? Lindsey? Lisa? He's reasonably sure it started with a L, at least, though it might have been Courtney) the door and had given Anders the stink-eye while waiting for her to leave before elbowing his way in, putting the bag he was holding down.
"You've got to stop doing that," are the first words out of Ty's mouth, pinched and disapproving, and Anders rolls his eyes.
"Happy Christmas to you too, bro. I am way too sober for this."
But Ty snatches the bottle out of Anders's hand, refusing to give it back, and even though Ty's only about an inch taller than Anders, his arms are longer and Anders doesn't think he'll ever get over being annoyed about being the shortest of the four.
"No, Anders. You're not doing this. It's Christmas."
Anders gives up the cause for lost and scowls, glaring at his younger brother. "What, you turn twenty-one and you suddenly know best? We're Norse gods, dumbass. We don't celebrate Christmas."
Clearly, Ty doesn't care since he keeps playing with the bottle and Anders makes a mental note to drain it later. Out of spite, if nothing else.
"Look," Ty sighs, and he suddenly sounds so young. It weirds Anders out as much as it makes him concerned. "I just came over from Mike and Val's and—"
"What? Pitying the estranged brother?" His tone is caustic, Ty's expression twisting at it, but Anders is too suddenly angry to care. "Look, I was perfectly fine and I'll be perfectly fine and I really don't care—"
"You don't know how it is when—"
"And you've never—"
"SHUT. UP."
Silence.
They did this when they were younger, talking over each other, interrupting and getting louder and louder until they dissolved into fists and kicks. When they were younger, though, the room didn't suddenly plunge in temperature, Anders's breath visible when he slowly exhales.
Ty takes a shaky breath, "Just. Shut up and let me talk, okay?" and the room slowly warms again. Anders very deliberately doesn't mention the goosebumps that have risen up on his bare arms; Ty keeps his eyes fixed where frost has bloomed over the bottle he's still holding. Now that he has Anders's attention, though, he doesn't seem to quite know what to say. "I just wanted to... I don't know. Didn't think you should be alone."
"You never cared before."
"I cared, Anders. I just didn't know why you left. I still don't, but I'm guessing it has something to do with your," Ty wiggles his fingers, "Bragi-powers."
Not taking his eyes off Ty, Anders shrugs. "Something like that. What of it?"
Ty doesn't say anything but finally moves, and it's as though a spell's broken, the both of them looking away. Anders sits down on his couch, deliberately turning his back to Ty. He can hear clinking, the rustling of plastic and paper, and he guesses that Ty's doing something with whatever he brought.
To Anders's great surprise, he hears the sound of his stove clicking on. His stove is almost never on, and he turns to take a look. Ty's standing over it, stirring something in a saucepan with a long wooden spoon; there are two mugs sitting on the counter-top.
He recognizes them. They're the mugs they used to use when they were still young and living in Norsewood. Anders had thought they'd been thrown away a long time ago.
"What are you doing?" he asks, suspicious.
Ty shrugs, not stopping the steady stirring. "What I came to do."
"What's that?"
"You'll see." And Ty flashes him a small, mischievous smile.
It isn't long before the room starts to fill with the scent of chocolate, rich and spiced, and Anders furrows his brow. "You know it's the middle of summer, yeah?" Again, Ty shrugs, carefully lifting the saucepan to pour the contents into the mugs. He brings them over and sits next to Anders, and suddenly Anders is grateful for the surprisingly hot liquid. There are even little marshmallows bobbing about. "Right. I've got Mr. Freeze with me."
"Don't start," Ty says warningly, and brings his mug to his lips.
They sit there for a while, lost in thought and taking small sips of the sweet liquid, until Anders opens his mouth again. His voice is quiet, more pensive than it usually is.
"When we were little," he says, and it's so rare for Anders to speak of the past that Ty turns to look at him, eyes wide and surprised, "I used to wonder what a white Christmas is like."
That's just so...Anders that Ty is startled into laughing aloud.
"Shut up," Anders grumbles, embarrassed now. "It's just, all the songs, you know."
"Yeah," Ty smiles into his mug. "I know."
There's silence again, this time comfortable and companionable. In his living room, snow quietly begins to fall.