A/N: I'm going a bit slower than before because I'm working on this amazing fic called "In the End You Always Kneel." It's a collaboration run by the Freelancer Collaboration that you should definitely check out! It's a 24 authors/24 tributes Hunger Games/Marvel crossover, with every single named character in the "Avenger Games" as a Marvel character. Seriously. I'm talking Tributes, stylists, Escorts... President Thanos! Director of Games Nick Fury! READ IT. (Mostly you should read it because I'm District 12's Kate Bishop and it is a blast writing her and I adore my Hawkeyes.)

Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers or any Marvel related rights.

(note: We're taking a break from our regularly scheduled kiddies to catch up on what the grownups are doing so we can have a little context to our heroes' struggles and also so we can learn a little more about what the Enchantress and Loki are really up to!)

...

Phil Coulson was really very sure that babysitting impatient Asgardians wasn't in his job description, but it just kept happening to him anyway.

He watched as Thor paced the room—back and forth and back and forth—swinging his hammer absently but with grace enough that he never hit anything with it.

Thor had come to him when he couldn't get through to the Tower. Explained the whole mess. Coulson wasn't sure there was migraine medication strong enough for what he was experiencing, but the coffee Thor kept bringing him (because the big guy needed something to do to feel useful, and that was all Coulson could think to offer) was at least helping.

From what Coulson could gather—in between threats on the life of anyone who stood in Thor's way—Thor had gone to Asgard to research a cure for (and this was the weird part) de-aging. Apparently, Barton and Romanoff were shrinking down to a manageable and (theoretically) less dangerous age and size.

Coulson was stuck somewhere between wanting really badly to see that and wanting really desperately not to have to see that.

Anyway, Thor had come back with part of a solution, at least a temporary fix that would keep his teammates from getting any younger. (He assured Coulson that he had friends working on a more permanent solution that would return them back to normal, but he had come to Earth in the meantime.)

But he couldn't get in the Tower.

So he came to Coulson, and Coulson went to Fury, and that was pretty much how Coulson ended up with a very upset Asgardian in his office.

"They'll be fine. I'm sure Doctor Banner at least has them contained," Coulson offered at last, because Thor might actually be leaving shuffle marks on his floor, and he'd just had the floors redone after Stark decided to bring an experimental suit into an office meeting last month.

"Tis not the de-aging with which I am concerned," Thor said, frowning. "There are not many whose magicks could prevent me from entering, and even fewer whose power could prevent Heimdell from placing me where I want to go."

Coulson frowned. "Good point."

Then, after a few more seconds of tense silence, he added, "Still, they're the Avengers. I'm sure they can handle themselves."

Thor looked . . . well, the word panicked was not exactly a word that Coulson would associate with Thor, but he was pretty well close to it. "You did not see them as I did," he said quietly.

There was something in Thor's tone that stopped the usual "They'll be fine" routine before Coulson could say it. "That bad?" he asked instead.

Thor sighed heavily. "It is quite normal for Hawkeye to return from battle with more than his share of bruises, but . . . ." He took a deep breath. "I have not seen him in such a state before."

Coulson waited. He knew there was more coming.

"The Lady Widow," he began, then paused, as if the thought of what had happened was too heavy to speak of. "I have long considered her to be the equal of many an Asgardian warrior. I had not considered how . . . frail she could be."

Coulson frowned. The word frail was not typically something he associated with Romanoff. It was a day of firsts.

Thor finally sat down in the chair that was much too small for him. (Coulson made a mental not to get wider chairs.) "I do not like feeling helpless," Thor said at last.

Coulson nodded, staring at the coffee mug. It was his sixth, if that was any indication of how well he dealt with helplessness himself.

There was a sharp knock at the door, a mere formality, before Fury came striding in, Hill close at his heels. Fury's gaze swept over the room, taking in the despondent Avenger and the coffee-addled SHIELD agent before him. Coulson tried to at least straighten his tie, but he knew he looked frazzled.

"We've managed to find the backdoor into Stark's mansion," he announced.

"Really?" Coulson sat up a little straighter. "So soon?"

Fury frowned and almost looked embarrassed, if he could be such a thing, before he said, "It seemed like mansion security wanted us to get inside."

"The mansion itself is run by an artificial intelligence," Thor supplied helpfully. "No doubt the computer JARVIS wanted SHIELD's help as much as you wanted to get inside."

Coulson smiled. He could sometimes forget that Thor's people were technologically advanced beyond his comprehension, what with all the Shakespearian language and talk of beasts the size of buildings.

Fury didn't respond to Thor but rather pointed at Coulson. "Conference room. Now," he said.

Coulson glanced briefly at Thor, who looked more than a little lost. He thought for only a moment before he said, quietly, "Sir, Thor—"

"—can come to the briefing after."

Coulson shot Thor his best apologetic look before Hill half-dragged him out of his office. As soon as the door was closed and they were in what Coulson considered was at least close to pretending to be out of hearing range, Coulson asked, "That bad?"

Hill pursed her lips. "Has Thor ever mentioned a woman named Amora the Enchantress to you?"

Coulson racked the mental files of all the weird things he'd experienced in his job before he settled on, "No, I don't think so."

Hill's lips twitched at the corners. "She's a piece of work. And she's working with Loki."

Loki. Coulson didn't mean to, but he did skip a step. Funny how a mere name could make his whole chest hurt, like the old wounds were inflamed again.

He hurried faster after Fury.

"I've asked for proof that our people are still alive in there," Fury explained as he walked, never breaking his brisk pace. "To buy us time."

And to make sure your pet projects are okay, Coulson thought but didn't say out loud.

They arrived in the conference hall to find that the screen was already lit with a security camera's view of the Avengers' Tower—a meeting hall, it looked like.

No one seemed to be in the room, but then, very suddenly, a small boy was thrown into their view. His hands were bleeding, and he seemed to be rather scratched up and bruised, but he looked to be at least not-dying, so that was something.

He pushed himself up, leaving handprint-sized smears of red on the floor and muttering curses that kids that age probably shouldn't know. Lots of threats, too.

And then, the boy noticed the screen.

It took Coulson a while to recognize that look. The way his gaze swiftly passed over the scene before him, taking everything in within seconds. It probably wouldn't have taken him as long to identify one of his top agents if Barton hadn't been wearing what looked like one of Stark's old tee shirts—and nothing else.

"Barton?" Coulson asked despite himself. This scrawny kid with that much fight in him was certainly a lot like the just-barely-not-a-teenager-anymore Coulson had found years ago, but Coulson had always assumed Barton had been less . . . Barton-y when he was younger. That kind of fight had to be learned.

Coulson almost wanted to look away. Barton definitely wouldn't like the idea of SHIELD knowing just how early on he'd had to fend for himself. Childhood traumas were generally taboo, considering just how many SHIELD agents had their own stories to hide.

But Amora the Enchantress was now on the screen as well. "Your proof, Nicholas," she said breezily. She seemed too familiar with Fury, and Coulson wondered just how long the two of them had talked before he was called in.

But then Barton-good old Barton—broke the tension when he burst out with, "Are you a pirate?"

It wasn't fair. That was cute, and SHIELD agents were definitely not supposed to be that adorable. Even Hill laughed at that.

Coulson swallowed around the lump in his throat as Barton was manhandled out of the room. The kid didn't even look scared, just annoyed, and Coulson didn't want to think about what that meant.

He was getting too attached, too invested. That had always been his problem, and now his heart was in his throat because a little boy was in trouble and there was nothing he could do about it.

Fury and Amora exchanged the usual threats before Fury demanded, "And what, may I ask, are you planning to do? Start up a superhero babysitting service?"

Coulson smiled. That was Fury's trump card. He was good at this. Pretending the supervillain's plans were so beneath his notice that they almost always had to prove him wrong by spilling more than they meant to tell him.

Amora was no exception. She snorted derisively. "I suppose to you a child is but a child," she said self-importantly. "But to so many of your enemies, a child is a malleable mind—one that can be influenced and can influence the future."

Fury leaned forward. "But these aren't children, Enchantress," he snapped.

"I assure you they are." She even sounded pleased with herself. "My enchantment will not wear off with time. They have reverted entirely. Even their memories of their former lives have been erased, leaving only what they can recall until this point."

Oh. Oh.

Coulson felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.

He could already see the problem. Captain America raised by HYDRA to be their greatest asset rather than their greatest enemy. Barton and Romanoff back in the rogue assassin business. Stark's mechanical mind set to work on weapons of mass destruction on a greater scale than anything they'd ever seen.

"I still don't see why you care at all. What have the Avengers got to do with you?" Fury demanded. He was doing surprisingly well keeping his cool, considering.

Amora smiled sweetly. "Oh, my dear Nicholas, can you begin to comprehend? With the Avengers gone, why would my dear Thor return to your precious Earth when he can remain in Asgard, with warriors of his own caliber by his side?"

Fury crossed his arms. "That explains you. But I have a feeling your partner—"

"Loki's plans are of no interest to me," Amora said sharply. "You have your proof. Now, if you want your precious Avengers to remain undamaged, you will leave us alone."

With that, she cut off the transmission.