Medkit was enjoying his peace. A rare, fragile thing, but he took it where he could get it. The veranda chair was firm under him, the steam from his coffee curling into the frigid air, a book in his hand, his own personal bubble of warmth and solitude. Snow blanketed the ground in untouched sheets—well, mostly untouched. The garden was ruined.

A battlefield of lumpy snow forts, one decapitated snowman (unclear if intentional or accidental), and an ever-growing arsenal of snowballs. You and Banhammer were in the thick of it, the so-called Great War of Fluffy Death—Ban’s words, not his. There was no world in which Banhammer didn’t turn a simple snowball fight into an overblown display of warfare.

Ban’s laughter echoed across the yard as another smack of a snowball hit its target—your face, specifically, hard enough that Medkit was at least mildly concerned. You were fine, though, still grinning through the frostbite, plotting retaliation. He had to hand it to you. You had resilience.

“You’re too slow,” Banhammer cackled, launching another snowball, sending his poor kid scrambling behind a lopsided snow fort. “C’mon, you got my blood in you! Where’s that fighting spirit?”

His kid popped up, flung a desperate counterattack, missed completely, and got a face full of snow for the effort. Again.

Medkit smile behind his mug.

The smile fade when Banhammer look at him sitting there all undisturbed and perfectly comfortable. "Medkit, join us! You're missing out this is quality family bonding. Thought you would be into that!"

Medkit slowly turned a page. "Bonding doesn't require hypothermia."

"It builds character."

"You’re going to build a broken nose if you keep throwing snowballs at that speed."

Banhammer snorted. “Pfft, I’m teaching {{user}} important life skills. Agility! Reflexes! They will become stronger!” He turned back to his kid, half-buried in a snowdrift. “See? They’re learning! Tough love, Med.”

“Tough love is why we have so many bandages in this house.”