A/N: Hello, everyone! Ever since last summer, there's been a thought marinating in my head: what if the Avengers were pirates? So, after a few months of trying to get together a coherent outline for that idea while trying not to be bummed out by how Phase 4 has been going, here it is! To make it work, pretty much all of the MCU characters have been born 300 years early, except the Asgardians who are just 300 years younger than their MCU selves. This will be Lokane, though it will take a few chapters to get there, and there will be plenty of Brodinson brotherly bonding.

So, if you're ready for some POTC-inspired shenanigans, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter One: Prologue

Thirty.

Jane stared at the slashing tally mark she had just etched into the wall with the pocketknife she had "borrowed" from her father's study. It had been thirty days since she had managed to slip onto the Peregrine, and no one had detected her yet. It was as thrilling as it was terrifying; though, after this long being trapped below deck, it was also disheartening.

It still astounded Jane that she had managed to pull off her plan. It was the most reckless and daring idea that she had ever had in all of her ten years. Running away from home to explore the world… it was madness. Of course, her best friend Darcy had loved the plan immediately and eagerly helped, stealing some of her brother's clothes for Jane to wear. After that, she had only needed a few weeks to practice behaving like a boy and to pack her knapsack with the essentials. Cutting through her braid on that final night at home had been a delicious act of defiance against her nursemaid's insistence that she treat her hair with near reverence. The excitement far outweighed the flicker of guilt for running away without a goodbye.

With her disguise complete, all she had had to do was climb out her bedroom window, shimmy down the tree that brushed the side of the manor, and dart through the streets of Southampton until she reached the docks. Uncle Erik's ship had just been sitting there, a flurry of movement all around as men loaded it with cargo. It really had been far too easy to duck her head like a shy cabin boy, slip down into the bowels of the ship, and hide amongst the crates.

And now, here she was, a whole month later and still undetected. Jane shivered, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. The chill of the ship and the chittering of the rats had been unexpected, but it was worth putting up with to make sure that she was not found. If Uncle Erik discovered her too soon, he might have the ship turn around and take her home, but surely it was far too late to do that now. How much longer could it possibly be before they made landfall?

Reaching into her sack, Jane sighed tiredly as she pulled out a biscuit. She had long since passed the point of developing a deep hatred of the dry and hard things, making her teeth ache as she tried to bite through the tough bread, but it was all that she had left. Feeding herself had not been easy, as trips to the upper levels of the ship – and thereby the galley – were risky, and she longed for a proper draught of water. She would never again complain about eating turnips after this.

Her stomach rolled as she choked down a bite. This would not do. This was supposed to be an adventure, not another reason for her to be hidden away. She had to do something.

Decision made, Jane tucked her knapsack and her shoes into a nearby trunk to protect them from the rats and made her way over to the hatch. Releasing a slow breath to calm her nerves, Jane mounted the stairs and pushed cautiously at the wooden door. Peering through the gap, she saw that she was alone and quickly slipped through to the floor above.

The gentle sounds of dozens of snoring men met her ears as Jane slid through the shadows, her stockinged feet not making a sound. Mercifully, the galley was not far from the crew's quarters, and she crept through to the kitchen. While there was never much food left out in the open, it was easier than trying to steal from the provisions stores. The casks were all too strong for her to open on her own.

Moonlight filtered in through a port window. After so long in the constant dark, Jane had to squint as she felt her way around the room. At last, she found it: a water barrel. Grabbing a tin cup from the counter, she eased out the stopper and filled the cup. Greedily, she gulped the refreshing liquid down, unable to stop and savor the sensation.

With the cup drained empty, Jane set it back on the counter. As tempting as it was to drink more, she had figured out by now that drinking too much would only make her sick. And yet, it felt much too soon to go back to her hideaway. The moon was still shining brightly; surely there was still time to chance a visit to the top deck?

Emboldened by success, Jane slid back out of the galley and found the stairs leading up to the deck. Already, she could see the star-filled sky beckoning her out, could taste the openness of the air above. It was all right there… if only her limbs would move to embrace it. But sanity had returned with the wind across her face. There were sailors on duty up there; they would catch her easily and lock her up for being a stowaway.

As it turned out, her indecision did not matter. A large, warm hand clamped down on her shoulder, and Jane had to bite back a scream as it whirled her around.

A man towered over her, his dark eyes glinting in the moonlight. "Well, well, well, what do we have here?"

Oh, curse her inability to come up with instant lies! Jane could only gape up at the man, her lips struggling to form any words. "I, um… I'm-"

The man cut her off. "I've been waiting three nights for you to reemerge from wherever you've been hiding. Methinks the captain will want a word with you."

Without further ado, the man shifted his grip to her upper arm, dragging her along as he climbed the stairs. Instinctively, Jane tried to tear free, but it was hopeless. Uncle Erik was going to kill her.

In barely any time at all, the man was knocking on the door to the captain's quarters. Jane gulped as the man shot another glare down at her. He really was terrifying; his muscles bulged through the dirty shirt he wore, and his untamed, greying beard made him look more savage than any pirate she could imagine.

Footsteps echoed from beyond the door, and then it swung open. Jane found herself freed from the man's gaze as he turned to her uncle, and she ducked her head down. She could see Uncle Erik's shoes from beneath her lashes. Would the Almighty smite her where she stood for all this deceit?

"What is it, Mr. Klaue?" her uncle practically barked.

The grip on her arm tightened as the man shook her. "I found the culprit behind our water thefts. This little miscreant has been lurking about belowdecks."

"Have you, now?" She could feel Uncle Erik's gaze burning into the exposed top of her head. "Chin up, boy. A man does not face his accusers with cowardice."

Her heart pounded. This was it. Her adventure, as pathetic as it had been, was over. She would be sent home and then sent to a boarding school and be forced to dance and sing and do needlepoint all day long, never again to see the world beyond England's limited borders.

"Do not make me repeat myself."

Grimacing, Jane lifted her head. Uncle Erik's eyes widened for only a moment, but she saw the shock written clearly therein. It was hidden away quickly as he looked back to the man beside her, who now seemed much smaller and less intimidating compared to her incredibly tall uncle. "Mr. Klaue, leave the boy with me. I will deal with this myself."

Mr. Klaue immediately began to protest. "But Cap'n-"

"Did you not just hear what I told the boy?"

The man flinched at the reprimand. "Yes, Cap'n. I'll leave the matter to you." With a huff, he shot one last glare at Jane and stomped off to the bow of the ship.

Any relief at his departure that Jane felt was fleeting. Turning back to her uncle, she opened her mouth to explain, to say anything at all to wipe the sudden look of disappointment from his face, when he uttered softly yet sternly, "We'll talk about it inside."

Ducking beneath his arm, Jane entered the room, wincing slightly as the door thudded shut. The captain's quarters were just as he had once described them to her: a large table covered in maps and charts took up most of the left side of the small room, a desk sat in the middle, and his bed was tucked into the right side with a collection of chests and bookcases. Uncle Erik grabbed her arm – much more gently than Mr. Klaue had – and guided her to the chair in front of the desk, and he moved to sit in the chair behind it.

Jane twisted her hands together nervously while he seemed to be coming up with the right words. He leaned back in his chair, stroking the blond scruff along his chin as he finally asked calmly, "Does your father have any idea where you are, Jane?"

There was that flicker of guilt again. "No, sir," Jane uttered miserably.

"No note to tell him you were running away at all, no indication that you had not been abducted in the night?"

"No, sir."

"I see." There was a pause. "And would you mind telling me why you decided to stow away on my ship?"

Jane cowered under the weight of his glare. It had been a foolish idea; she could see that now more than ever. "I wanted to go on an adventure, sir."

His voice was still dreadfully calm. "And why is that? Surely, you could have had many adventures at home without the risk of dying from any number of maladies common amongst sailors?"

"I didn't know how cold a ship would be, sir," Jane argued back, a flare of anger at his words igniting her courage. "Neither my books nor your stories ever mentioned that part."

The man sighed in exasperation. "That's because those sorts of stories are not meant for a young lady's ears. A child does not need to know about the hardships of the open sea."

"I'm not a child!" Jane retorted indignantly.

"You are nine years old, Jane; of course, you're a child."

Further ruffled, Jane shot back, "I'm ten; that's practically grown up."

"Ah, yes, ten. Perfectly old enough to leave behind your father and let him worry over your safety for three months."

"…Three months?" Jane questioned weakly, her courage deserting her again. She could not have miscounted the days that terribly, could she? "It's only been one month."

"Indeed, it has, but we still have at least another week before we make port, and then the return journey will double our time."

"Oh."

"Yes, 'oh.'" Uncle Erik shook his head wearily. "Why would you do this, Jane?" He gestured at her bedraggled appearance. "Why would you chop off all of your pretty hair and steal some poor boy's clothing to live as a starving orphan? If not for your eyes, I might not have recognized you."

Jane wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "I wasn't trying to be an orphan, but I might as well be one." At Uncle Erik's concerned look, Jane ducked her gaze and forced herself to continue. "Father has barely said two words to me since Mother died last spring. He probably won't even notice that I'm gone."

"Oh, Jane." Her uncle got up from his chair and stepped around the desk. Crouching down beside her, he lifted her chin with his finger. "Your father loves you, Jane, even if he can't express it right now."

"I'm not so sure he does," Jane admitted quietly, a disobedient tear sliding down her cheek. "I think he hates me for surviving the fever when Mother didn't."

There were no words at that. Instead, Jane felt herself being pulled into a comforting hug. She burrowed her face into Uncle Erik's shoulder, hiding the rapid welling of even more rebellious tears. It was the lack of eating, she decided, that was making her so emotional. Grown up ladies did not cry, as Darcy was always so fond of telling her.

Once she was sure that her tears were under control, Jane pulled back, and the grip around her loosened. "What are you going to do with me?"

Uncle Erik eyed her appraisingly. "Well, I can't send you back, so you will have to find some way to make yourself useful around here. Even stowaways are put to work to pay their debts. Do you have any ideas?"

Jane thought for a moment. She did not want to help in the kitchen; she was tired of being below deck. There was little chance of her uncle letting her climb the rigging and man the sails. What else could she do?

Suddenly, it came to her. With a sly grin, Jane asked, "Could you teach me to navigate by the stars, the way that Mother taught you when you were children?"

He chuckled at that. "I suppose it is only fair to return the lesson." He slapped his thighs before standing again, moving to pull out a quilt from one of the chests. "But while most of this discussion can wait for the morning, you'll need to come up with a good story for yourself to tell the crew. Mr. Klaue certainly won't be happy to see that I'm not throwing you in the brig."

Jane shuddered at the thought. "I'll come up with something, I promise." She grinned as she took the blanket, feeling something like acceptance pass from her uncle to her. "And I'll be the most amazing navigator cabin boy that there ever was, Captain."

Thor stuck out his lower lip and puffed air up at his blond bangs. He was bored. Capital T-E-R, um E? Then… B-R-A-V… hmm… The thought trailed off without finishing the spelling attempt. Why was Midgardian Latin so difficult to remember? It was the only language he was allowed to speak and even think in while his tutor prattled away on some subject from the tiresome realm that he had lost track of at least an hour ago.

It was strange the way that tutors made every topic boring. Father had told him and Loki all sorts of stories about Midgard only a few weeks ago, and it had been quite interesting to learn how and why the Frost Giants had invaded the realm. It had filled Thor's head with dreams of fighting the scourge of monsters, facing the icy winds of a place so very foreign to Asgard's temperate climate. But the Midgardians themselves… well, they still were not very interesting at all. In fact, he was rather sure he would forget the mortals even existed if not for these weekly lectures.

Tapping his pen idly against his journal, Thor cast a sidelong glance at Loki. His younger brother was actually paying attention to their tutor and scribbling down the information furiously. Loki always paid attention, even in subjects that Thor knew his brother cared less about than horse dung. He had been like that ever since the day Father had said that Loki was old enough to attend lessons with him.

Thor had a sneaking suspicion that Father hoped Loki's over-achieving nature would spark his own competitive one, but Thor was more than content to let Loki do all the learning. He would do all the fighting and adventuring, which was far more important than being book smart.

And yet, he did rather hate it when Loki called him names that Thor knew were mean but would never admit that he did not understand. With one last puff at his bangs, Thor tried to tune back into the lesson.

"… and that's why the trade routes were so…"

Thor's attention slipped to the window. He had made an attempt! No one could accuse him of not trying. Professor Svenson's dry voice just made Midgard sound even more boring than he already knew it was. And what was the point of thinking about boring things when he could be challenging Hogun to another duel? The boy had only been visiting his aunt on Asgard for a month so far, and Thor hated to think of him returning to Vanaheim next week without at least a dozen more swordfights. Having a variety of opponents was vital to learning swordplay, after all, and there were only so many times that he could crush Fandral into the sand before getting tired of it altogether.

"Psst! Thor!"

Snapping free of his distracting thoughts, Thor turned toward the source of the hushed whisper. Loki's grey-green eyes were wide, his head jerking toward the projected image of a map of Midgard at the front of the room. Professor Svenson was nowhere to be seen.

With a frown, Thor asked, "What did I miss?"

Loki rolled his eyes. "A page called Professor Svenson out of the room, but he'll be back soon. You need to start paying attention; he said he'd quiz us on this until we both pass. And so help me, if we have to spend any extra time talking about Midgard because of your inability to stay focused, I'll turn all of your pillows into bilgesnipe while you're asleep."

Ha! Thor was right – Loki cared just as little about this topic as he did. But Loki's threats were very rarely idle, and the idea of finding himself sleeping on the scaly, vicious creatures sent a jolt of fear down his spine. "You wouldn't."

"Try me."

Thor swallowed sharply at Loki's glare before Professor Svenson walked back into the room. "Apologies, young princes, but it seems we will have to cut today's lesson short. We will pick up tomorrow with a topic that will hold even your interest, Prince Thor."

The professor's pointed look had nothing on Loki's, and Thor harbored no guilt at disappointing the man. Only his family could induce that feeling. "Everything you teach us is interesting, Professor," Thor offered sweetly. He might not have Loki's ability to lie convincingly, but he knew how to charm his way out of trouble… as long as he kept his temper.

The man had the decency not to snort at Thor's words, though Thor could tell he wanted to. "Thank you, my prince. But as I was saying, tomorrow's topic will be on Midgard's pirates. These sailors rebelled against king and country all throughout history to steal, kill, and engage in all sorts of vile behavior. But it was not without consequence."

Thor shot a glance at Loki, the slowly spreading grin on his brother's face matching his own. There was no way he would be bored during a lesson on that.

Loki tossed aside his book in irritation, wishing he could throw the thing across the room and at least get the satisfaction of it clattering against the wall instead of it just flopping higgledy-piggledy on his bed. But that would be childish, and he was trying very hard to be on his best behavior. The healers were already annoyed with him as it was.

It had been four days since his disastrous duel with Thor. Very few of their duels ended with someone needing the healers anymore; they had certainly gotten enough practice fighting each other over the years to know how to not truly hurt each other. But Loki's magical studies had been going so well that he had given into temptation and tapped into his power to get the upper hand in the fight.

It had been a mistake. Thor had called him a cheater and stopped fighting fairly, forcing Loki to use even more magic to fend off the dirty moves. His mother had warned him against relying too heavily on magic while fighting; she had said that it took a great deal of practice to sustain the energy needed for both physical and mystical combat, and his pre-adolescent state was not strong enough for that yet. Sure enough, Loki had collapsed before long, and it had taken two days for him to wake.

Loki winced at the memory of waking up in the healing room. Mother had not been at all pleased.

Eager to think about literally anything else, Loki shook off the memory and held up his hand, trying to summon his magic. He would not be allowed to leave the healers until he could produce a full illusion once more. But it was being stubborn, refusing to manifest anything more than a few sparkles. At this rate, he would be stuck here for a month.

A knock sounded at the door, and Loki let his hand drop. "Come in," he called out, not really wanting visitors but still welcoming the interruption of his boredom.

Thor slipped into the room and shut the door quickly, his face bright with a smile. "Hey, Loki."

Loki felt himself sink back with shock. Thor had never visited him in the healing rooms unless he was being forced to apologize, and that was always accompanied by either Mother or Father to ensure that he followed through. "Hey, Thor," he managed to choke out.

Still grinning, Thor awkwardly clambered his way up onto the bed near Loki's knees. Despite being a couple of decades or so older than Loki, Thor was still nearly as short as him, making it one of the few things that kept their fights somewhat equally matched. Watching Thor struggle to make it up without tumbling over at least made Loki feel slightly better about his own current state of weakness.

"How much longer are you going to be in here?" Thor questioned as he got himself settled, looking around the room with distaste. Not that Loki could blame him – the healing rooms were incredibly bland with their grey stonework and lack of windows.

"A few weeks, I think," Loki admitted, hating the prospect even more now that it had been said out loud. He would go mad being stuck in here without anything to do.

To his surprise, Thor lit up again at that. "Perfect!"

"Perfect? How could that ever be considered perfect?" Loki questioned incredulously. He and Thor did not always get along, but he would never wish several weeks of being stuck on bed rest on his brother. It would be cruel.

Thor did not answer right away, rummaging in the sack that had been slung across his back. After a moment, he pulled out a sheet of parchment covered in his sloppy scrawl before finally turning back to Loki. "It's perfect because I have decided on your dare, and it's going to take you a while."

Loki groaned, dropping his head back on his pillow. Since betting with money lacked excitement, it was their standard agreement that whoever lost a duel had to perform a dare of the winner's choosing. With all the misery of being stuck in bed, Loki had forgotten that that would not be his sole punishment. And if Thor had needed to write out the dare, it was going to be very punishing indeed.

"Come on, Thor," Loki whined. He was in no mood for this, not now. "I think you gave up your right to issue a dare when you put me in here."

"Nuh-uh," Thor shot back, yanking the front of Loki's tunic to force him to sit up again. "Mother told Father that we were equally at fault, so you still have to do as I say."

Grumbling under his breath, Loki pried Thor's hand off of him and glared. "Fine. What's your price?"

The grin returned. With a dramatic wave of the scribbly paper, Thor announced, "I want you to create a fountain of youth."

"A what?" Loki asked, confused. The term sounded vaguely familiar, and it seemed rather self-explanatory, but Thor clearly had something very specific in mind.

"A fountain of youth," Thor repeated eagerly. "You know, like the one Professor Svenson mentioned a while back."

The memory clicked into place. Not that it helped with explaining why Thor was talking about it now, but he did at least remember the tale. "You mean, the Midgardian myth of water that could turn back age?"

"Yes, exactly!" Thor proclaimed, evidently excited that Loki had caught on. "And I want you to make a real one on Midgard."

Loki felt his jaw drop. "Why?"

"Because it'll be fun." Thor sighed wistfully, his gaze settling somewhere unseen as his imagination took over. "We can make all sorts of challenges, make the mortals prove their worthiness of gaining immortality while punishing the ones who are unworthy. We'll be like those Geek gods."

"Greek," Loki correctly automatically, still stunned by the words coming out of his brother's mouth. Thor had actually paid attention in their lessons? And one on Midgard, at that?

Finally, Thor seemed to snap out of his daze, and he held out his paper. "I've come up with some ideas for the tests, but since you're the one who knows magic, I need your help."

Weakly, Loki accepted the list and skimmed it. Riddles, deadly traps, moral tests… Thor really had spent a lot of time thinking about this. Should he be more alarmed or impressed by his brother's sudden ability to be creative?

"It's not bad," Loki offered, looking up at last. Thor was still grinning with anticipation. "But I don't know how to make a fountain of youth. I don't even know if it's possible."

Thor shrugged off his concern. "Oh, I'm sure you'll come up with something. It's not like you have anything else to do while you're in here."

With that, Thor jumped down from the bed. "It's going to be amazing, Loki. I promise."

Loki only nodded, his mind already running through ideas while Thor left the room. He might not know how to turn back aging, but extending a lifespan for a non-Asgardian… that he knew was possible. All one needed was one of Idunn's apples… and to not get caught stealing it.

Perhaps Thor was right. This would be amazing.

A/N: It was really fun to write our trio as 10-year-olds (or 10-year-old equivalent for Thor and Loki), but don't worry, this won't be a kid!fic. BTW, I don't have many actual chapters written yet (just an extensive outline), so if there is ever anything along the way that you want to see happen in this story, I'd love to hear it! Other than that, I hope you enjoyed this foray into a completely ridiculous idea.