Suddenly Sam is there, chocolate strands of hair falling softly out of their position of being tucked behind his ears. His brows are furrowed lightly in the middle, causing a slight crease in his forehead, hazel eyes leaning ever towards brown scanning him meticulously.

Loki lulls his head to the side a bit to avoid the gaze, eying the now-broken arrow and trying to ignore the fact that he just snapped the carbon-graphite shaft. Adrenaline, he tells himself.

He hisses and jerks his body a bit as pressure is applied to the wound, pressing the now sticky-wet fabric against the opened flesh, bringing his poison green gaze sharply back to the man in front of him.

"Sorry," he hears Sam mumble, but doesn't pay much mind.

Loki pushes away from the wall he's leaning on, eyes sliding over to Sam as he grimaces, smirking a bit at what he assumes is probably a bloody spot on the wall. He crosses his arms about his chest, refraining from groaning against the uncomfortable sensation, his brow curling lightly as the dark complexioned man makes his appearance. He's all dark skin and darker clothing, his leather jacket creaking lightly as he folds his hands behinds his back. He wears a mask of nonchalance, but Loki can see in his eye (the eyepatch was overkill, he thinks) that he's anything but. His back is straight and his shoulders tense, mouth in a grim line that twitches upwards slightly as he meets Loki's stare.

"Are we all done acting like children here?" he asks, gaze never wavering from Loki's.

Loki bristles, back straightening taut as he tilts his head mockingly to the side. "We?" he asks incredulously.

The other raises a brow, wrinkling his forehead and pushing back the skin of his bald head slightly. Loki's lips lift in to a sneer reactively.

"We aren't acting like children. It's your damn archer that doesn't have any impulse control."

"He was only following protocol," the other dismisses.

"Fuckin' top notch protocol there, Patches."

"He. Was. Following—"

"—You can't tell me I looked hostile—"

"—Barton is one of our best—"

"—I wasn't posing any kind of threat—"

"—top field agent—"

"—he's clearly not in any position—"

"—and has been working to keep little shits like you—"

"—until he fucking shot me, for no reason—"

"—ever since the Chitauri—"

"—maybe he shouldn't have weaponry—"

At this point Loki was matching him step for step, inching ever closer to one another in slow, measured steps. Loki's light, calculated steps to the other's domineering, unmistakable stomps. The sounds echoed against the tiled floor and rang a cacophonous sound in Loki's ears over the white noise of the two trying to talk over one another, nothing really being heard or said.

"Are you trying to insinuate something?"

Fury's barking voice brought Loki to halt, peering down at the other over his nose. His pale lips pulled back at his teeth, a feral act more resembling something lupine than human as his voice dropped low, low, low. "I suggest keeping your dogs on a tighter leash," he snapped, eyes shining like sinister emeralds.

The back of a hand was pressed on to his chest, and his eyes darted down at the perpetrator, scanning up the digits, over the blackened elephant hair bracelet and up the tanned forearm, met with a thin denim covered biceps and shoulder, and up to concerned jasper-stone eyes, sandy brows furrowed.

Dean, he registers after a moment.

"Do you have somewhere we could take him to get—" and the hand is moved away from where it was pressed against his sternum, gesturing at the still bleeding wound "—that checked out?" Dean's almost gravelly voice is a lovely reprieve from the stern and stubborn and smooth that had been filling up the corners of the room to the point of bursting just moments before.

Loki likes to think, if he'd raised his voice a bit more, the pulsating vein in the other man's temple would've ruptured.

The dark skinned man takes a deep breath, single mud colored iris flitting towards the elder brother. "Coulson will show you to it." With a flick of his wrist, he turns, facing away from the two, missing the way Dean's eyes narrow just slightly at him.

Loki bares his teeth once more as Dean applies a firm grip to his shoulder, pulling him away. The elder brother eyes Sam, who in turn nods as he silently makes his way towards an empty chair at the conference table.

There is a small cough that passes through Bruce's lips as the door clicks shut, silent and calm amongst the tension that had quickly built in the room.

Tony leaned forward, arms crossed as his elbows connected with the table, a sleazy grin worming its way across his features as an eyebrow made itself seen high above his Wayfarers. "Feisty."

And he was impressed that absolutely everybody in the room could manage to give him the same deadpan expression. There should be an award for that.

Tony easily slid down in to his chair, crossing his arms across his chest as a small pout pushed his bottom lip out just barely.

There is a moment of pure silence; a beat in which an uncomfortable wave washes over the inhabitants of the room and threatens to drown them awaiting their next move.

Bruce again clears his throat.

Tony sinks further in to his chair, wanting to die of sunlight and awkward and silence and throat clearing.

"So why were we called here for this?"

It's the younger Winchester breaking the silence.

Tony's pretty sure he could kiss him.

Fury's gaze meets that of the hunters for a moment, a swift movement of his fingers bringing a large screen in to the view of all.

Sam's brows furrow slightly as the lights dim, illuminating a single image. It's almost hard to decipher, what with the brightness of the image. He glances around the room, taking in the various expressions of those around him, ranging from confusion, to boredom to, on the large blonde adjacent from him, disgust.

He turns his view back to the image, squinting a bit at the colossal cobalt creature.

Fury's lips twitch slightly.

"Frost giants."