“You took the words right out of my mouth. Ahem—anyway! My brother is Benjamin Richard Parker. As for socks—” She promptly leans down, tugs the leg of her jeans up, and wallah. She’s wearing her lucky socks. As lucky as they get for her at any rate. “—Socks under a suit. Genius for cold weather, baaaad for slinging about.”
Same brother. Same lucky socks. Hoo-boy, this was getting weird, even for her. It could be a trick, but then…what if it's not? Besides, what enemy of hers actually knows her lucky socks? None of them, she hopes, ‘cause that's weird. Like, really, weird.
"Could be worse, though,” she pipes in, “we could be wearing those fluffy one’s mom thought would be super cute to get us for Christmas that time–” another subtle, or maybe not so much, fact check, “–right?”
“Yeah, again. Wait—no. No, gotta be logical here. You look like me, but are you me—”
"I’ve seen so many different timeline versions of the same people lately that I can’t really discount anything at this point. We’ve got a serious 'Mayday, Mayday’ situation going on here–Quick, what’s my baby brother's name? Wait–no, that’s too easy. What’s our favorite pair of socks?”
