There were probably more convenient things to have thrown, TTony mused, as he snagged the projectile shoe from the air and set about returning it to his foot. Something from Danny's room; perhaps a shoe of his own. But these were Danny's things. Perhaps it was something he could blame his parents for: some notion instilled in him once his younger brother was born, that the two brothers' belongings were sovereign and sacred, not to be stolen or borrowed without permission. Perhaps it was something from Unclemos or Grampam, some Mandalorian or Jensaarai teaching about forging one's own lightsaber, living within one's own armour, getting cosy with the feel of your own personal blaster in your hand. Whatever the reason, it had to be TTony's own shoe. Had to be something familiar; had to be something he knew the weight of, and the shape of, to be sure that it would land just right.

Equally just right was Danny's observation. Their upbringing had been a strange one: Grampam's Jedi and Jensaarai wisdom mixed with Mom's Nar Shaddaa street smarts and a few Mandalorian notions here and there, sprinkled with dash of second-hand Republic Commando junk that Dad learned from his Dad approximately seventy-three million years ago - or however long it was since Dad was actually young. The one thing they all had in common, though? Unity. Togetherness. You are never alone: not with the Force in your heart, and your brothers by your side. Sure, so everyone had their own wonky definition of brother - brothers in arms, clan-brothers, and all that junk - but Danny was all of them; and he was the most important kind. It wasn't just that Danny could be trusted, it wasn't just that Danny could be relied on to help spin together a convincing lie: Danny was his brother, and if TTony was going to suffer the prospect of facing the most terrifying thing in the universe - otherwise known as angry Dad - there was only one way to do it; only one way to survive.

TTony straightened up - still grinning - a hand reaching to the zip fastener of his jacket, whipping it open with a flourish. The shirt beneath beamed out loud and proud, selected because it was the absolute bluest item of clothing that TTony owned. He wasn't sure why the Blue Ranger was his favourite: maybe he felt a certain kinship, being the forgotten elder son - the original - usurped by the arrival of someone younger and cooler. Maybe it was because of how friggin' cool Scanner's Delta-7 was, with it's stripes, and it's built-in astromech and stuff. Maybe it was just because it made Dad super cranky that he didn't like the dumb Red guy the best, and when he rolled his eyes when Dad told them yet again about how he'd met Ceto Rübezahl for reals one time. Whatever the reason, it didn't matter: what was important was that the Blue guy was the best, and Dad was totally wrong.

"Get your colours on, El Tee," TTony commanded, in his best Scanlan Yahto impression, hands resting heroically on his waist. His eyebrow quirked as he approximated Scanner's trademark winking head nod and smirk. "We don't have much time."