Day 0
Thor was contacted immediately when the sorcerer appeared in the street that led to the Avengers Tower. The god of thunder was having his daily cocoa in the flat he rented for the time being; within the first minute of the call on the Stark-phone, he was already running to the top of the building, to be able to leap over rooftops instead of smashing through the walls in his way with the Stormbreaker. This was harmless to Midgardians, and still faster than their public transport.
The people down there yelped or cursed at the dry thunderstorm arriving suddenly out of the summer heat, but it wasn't quite under his control: it was the manifestation of the questions dwelling up in him, and his impatience to arrive finally and see what exactly was going on.
It was the one thing he hadn't thought of while listening to the Iron Man through the phone at the start of his rash journey. At the venue of the supposed battle, four members of the Avengers, who were in the city presently, were standing idly in a wide circle, apparently torn about what to do. Iron Man and Natasha were prepared to attack at any given moment, while the Hulk and young Spiderman hurried to stop any brave onlookers and send them back into the surrounding crowd amongst clumsy apologies. The portended fight was either not taking place, or it had already finished, and Thor sincerely hoped on the former. The villain whose arrival had launched the well-practiced defensive mechanism of the heroic team lay unconscious in the centre of a concrete crater.
Unlike his teammates, Thor didn't hesitate to descend on the rubble: him being the strongest member, and because he deemed the situation urgent – for that moment, he didn't even understand why the others hadn't acted upon it.
He arrived to the bottom losing his balance and slipping, landing on his side without a sound, clambering up immediately to drop on his knees at the aimed spot. If the Avengers said or yelled something to him, it escaped his attention. He was entirely concerned with the dilemma of whether to move the twisted body or leave it for now to avoid harming it further. His look avoided it on its own, that's the only thing he knew. The dark locks were hiding the face, but he had recognised the outfit at the first instant. He still reached for the hair, as it was the least risky to touch, with the coarse and clumsy fingers he just noticed to be trembling.
The eyes, the eyes glowing so red under the shade of the eyelashes were gazing downwards, but as the hair lifted, they opened up at the god of thunder. A shudder ran through him at that; he didn't dwell over the reason. For now, his mind numb, his gaze fixed on the only movement he perceived from his brother, he was occupied with words to say, soothing words and reassuring words and question words and swear-words, short sentences at most, and with the mystery of not receiving a response, not a single little one, not a sigh, not a moan, not an insulted huff of dismissal. Straightening up on his knees, he roared for help to his teammates that were already descending the slope to get to him; a helicopter was hammering the air above them, seeking a place to land. Help had already been called before he had got here, he thought, and a slight breeze of reassurance warmed him up as he realised that his Midgardian friends weren't hostile to the one he would have defended at the cost of their alliance.