Author's Note: *sits up in a billowing cloud of smoke* I liiiiveee! Oh my gosh, I am so sorry this update took so long. Thank you all so much for your interest and reviews! Good heavens you guys spoil me! :)

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Sorry for any grammar/spelling errors.

Chapter Five:

When they reach the messy medical lab, surprisingly more clean than Tony was expecting, he gyrates. Bucky looks mildly surprised at the gesture, but Tony ignores and walks past him, jabbing a finger into Peter's shoulder several times. "What are you doing here?" His question sounds rhetorical, and his tone furious, but he's not certain why. He's angry with Peter, yes, but he doesn't actually want to yell at him.

Peter flinches back from the touch, his face going white suddenly. "Um-un." He stutters.

"Parker," Tony forces the tone to be more calm and in control than he feels. He's a jumbled mess of confusion and dread slowly building to an explosion of a mighty capacity. "What part of 'quarantine' do you not understand?"

May is going to kill him, and it's not even his fault that Peter did the stupid thing this time. How did she even agree to this? ...Did she agree to this? It doesn't seem likely. She works in the medical field and knows the importance of keeping diseases contained, she wouldn't let Peter just wander around unless he'd been declared bacteria free or was wearing something equivalent to a bomb suit.

How did Peter get here, then?

Did he walk? No, he didn't because Tony remembers catching a quick glimpse of the Spider-Man suit tucked under his sleeve when he was calming Thor down.

Peter flushes, "I-I-I'm not-I was just-" He attempts to explain. His tongue is caught in his throat and doesn't look to be untangling itself anytime soon. Peter can be ebullient and impulsive on his best days. Tony knows he's smart, but sometimes the teenanger's ability to not completely think through his actions startles him.

First things first, then. Tony lifts up a hand to stop his jumbled mess of the English language, "Does your aunt know you're here?"

Peter shakes his head wordlessly, his hands clenching at his sides.

"Peter." Tony groans barely managing to hold back the urge to face palm.

Peter sits up a little taller and lifts his chin in defiance, but says nothing.

Tony forces himself to back up and give Peter breathing room despite his need to check Peter over and make sure he hasn't developed any symptoms that he and his team don't have. Admittedly, they haven't found any symptoms, but he'd rather be safe than Peter dead.

He chews on his inner lip for a second hands fidgeting at his sides. They need to get Peter back to May or at least contact her before she decides that her nephew is under threat and single handedly rips apart New York looking for him.

"What happened?" Steve questions behind them, and Tony nearly jumps at the sound. Honestly, he had forgotten the super soldier and adjoining assassins were present in the room. He whirls to face the captain and blinks stupidly for a second, attempting to process the question. The order of events as they transpired, that's what he's asking. Right.

"Ahhh," Tony glances at Bucky for a second for assistance, who meets his gaze, equally flustered. How do they go about explaining this? All Tony can think of is a few choice cusses he would like to exclaim.

"Where's Bruce?" Natasha asks, her eyes narrowing.

Murdered, obviously. The only reasonable explanation. Tony resists an urge to roll his eyes up to the ceiling and let them hang there. All he would really like to do right now is lay down and not move for several hours as he processes what just happened. He doesn't really have any grand desire to talk about the lost princes of Asgard having finally been found.

Asgard.

Of all the people Peter could have assisted, it was the princes of Asgard that he finds.

How the bloody heck are they supposed to get a message to them? Wave up at the sky in aggressive hand gestures and hope that their gatekeeper understands it? Shouldn't Asgard already have sent some army or another to come collect their royalty by this point?

It's been days since Peter located them...but Thor only confirmed their identities a few minutes ago.

Still.

Asgard.

He has no idea how to handle this.

Yelling—like he really wants to do—doesn't seem the best option.

He bites at his tongue until he tastes blood, then manages to catch Bucky's eye. "Can you explain? I'm going to see if I can get Happy to take Peter home, and if he can't I will."

He hears Peter shift behind him in discomfort. "Mr. Stark, that really isn't necessary, I can walk—"

"To Queens?" Clint asks doubtfully from his position next to Natasha, leaning against a broom. His head is tilted slightly, almost challenging Peter to oppose them. Tony quietly exhales in relief that Clint agrees with him. He knows that Peter has the possible germs of whatever-disease (that he's starting to doubt the existence of, honestly), but May is going to strangle him if he doesn't send the teenager home soon.

And if things turn to further violence here, even if it only was biting, Tony doesn't want Peter present or the way of fire for that.

Steve's eyes flicker from Bucky to him then back again twice before he nods slightly, "Yeah, take him upstairs. Buck?" Steve addresses and Bucky nods moving forward, dread clear on his face. Tony is not jealous of his position.

He does not want to discuss Asgard at the moment.

He turns and wiggles a finger towards Peter, "C'mon, Parker," he addresses the teen and strides from the burned medical room towards the hallway. He hears Peter stumble after him, and Bucky's baritone beginning to explain about Loki the snake in the background.

He and Peter reach the elevator in less than a minute. "Where to, Sir?" Jarvis questions.

Oh. Happy. He needs to contact Happy. Tony glances at Peter for a second, "The garage."

"Of course, Sir." Jarvis responds cheerfully.

The doors close and Tony tugs his phone from his pocket, flipping it open. Immediately, notification fill his lock screen annoyingly, but he ignores them all, flipping the phone open after entering a quick four digit code. He scrolls through his contacts until he finds Happy and shoots a quick text off to the driver/asset manager.

Peter plays with the edges of his sleeves, tugging them up and over his fingers then squishing the ends against his palms. His anxiety is obvious, and Tony isn't sure what to do about it. Peter likely needs reassurance, but what he did wasn't acceptable and Tony doesn't want a repeat of it in the future.

This impulsiveness is going to get him killed.

Tony's phone buzzes in his pocket and he tugs it out, flipping the screen open to see the reply from Happy:

'Peter's at the Tower?'

Tony flicks his gaze up towards the teen. Unless he's hallucinating with everyone else on his team, then yes.

'Yes.'

There's a few seconds as Happy types out a response:

' =(. I really hate him sometimes. Did you get clearance about the plague?'

Oh. That. Right. Maybe having Happy drive would not be the best idea until they are all cleared. He doesn't want to get Happy sick—which would in turn get Pepper sick and them most of S.I.. Well, looks like Tony's taking a trip to Queens. Joy.

'No. I didn't. Don't bother with it, I'll take him.'

He backtracks and finds Steve's number: 'I'm taking Peter to Queens. Be back in a few hours.'

Happy nor Steve get a chance to respond as the elevator comes to a halt and Tony pockets the phone to step into the garage. It's mostly just a mess of cars he's collected, repairing and improving, and then a few vehicles from his other team members. Steve is partial to motorcycles and at least three last time he checked stationed here, while Clint and Natasha prefer less conspicuous vehicles. Bucky doesn't own a car and Sam's is some sort of brightly colored Sonata that's admittedly ugly, but he's not certain anyone has the heart to tell him.

Tony glances at the teenager walking beside him, looking at the large gathering of vehicles with surprise and awe. "Happy can't make it," Tony says, cutting through the silence. "I'm driving."

Peter nods, but he's fairly certain he saw a infinitesimal slump in his shoulders.

Is he that bad of company?

Tony herds the teenager towards one of his less flashy cars that he's fairly certain has a full tank of gasoline and turns to walk across the room and dig the keys from off a messy board of hooks stapled to the wall, stuffed with keys. They need to organize this better, but often the only transportation any of them take is through the Quinjet, so none of them care. Tony finally locates the key and tugs it off of the hook with careful precision to not pull off all the others and turns to walk towards back towards the car.

Peter is still standing next to it, his stance and expression one looking for an escape.

Tony buries a slight feeling of hurt and frustration and lightly taps him on the shoulder, "It's not going to bite you, you can get in." He instructs.

Peter lifts his gaze up to him, "Oh. I thought it was locked."

Tony huffs and leaves Peter to walk across the car and pull open the driver's seat, "It's not. We never lock them."

Avengers Tower has been attacked to many times for them to bother anymore. A quick getaway and promise of survival well over shadows any need to stop thieves. He has his doubts anyone would get far with Jarvis watching anyway. And besides that, Avengers Tower is rarely empty. The bottom half of the floors are dedicated to S.I. because Stark Tower was supposed to be an office building in the first place, but the upper floors became living space after Malekith.

Malekith and Asgard.

They have Asgard's princes upstairs.

This is just great. Swell. Amazing. Fantastic.

Peter climbs into the passenger's seat and slams the door shut with an almost careful amount of force then tugs the seat belt on. Tony follows his example and does the same, then shoves the keys into the ignition and twists them. The engine roars to life with a humming glee, as if having finally awakened after a long rest to the promise of caffeine.

Tony backs out into the cleared path dedicated to driving that no stray parts or parking is allowed in and turns the car to start driving for the exit. Jarvis will take care of the garage, so he just focuses on going forward through the artificially lighted space. There aren't any windows on this floor mostly because Tony blowing something up on accident is more common than any of them care to admit.

Tony exits the Tower and drives into the busy street, blending into the traffic with ease. It's a little after seven P.M., so dinner/work rush hour is almost over.

"Why don't you lock them?" Peter asks, his voice curious.

Tony glances at him for a second, seeing genuine interest on his face rather than just an attempt to fill the silence, then turns his gaze back to the cars in front of him. "It's just easier," Tony shrugs, "when we get attacked." He adds on a moment later.

Peter nods, returning to his cryptic silence.

Tony releases a quiet breath between his teeth and wishes he could talk to Pepper. She's always been better at dealing with teenagers and children than he is. She had younger siblings growing up, as well as two sisters who were married with children. Tony had none of that and his skill with it is messy at best. He is terrible at this mentor-thing.

Why didn't Peter choose someone sensible like Steve? Steve is just as emotionally messy as he is, but at least he can actually talk to people about their problems. Tony feels like he's just been asked to give a speech on a subject he knows nothing about.

Nevertheless, it wasn't exactly Peter's fault that it winded up like this. Mr. Toomes didn't try to take Steve's head, it was Tony's. Steve didn't find Peter's battered and sensory deprived form in the windowless, door-less room he'd been trapped in for a week, it was Tony.

He doesn't want to be Howard, and he's terrified that he will be.

He isn't the kid's uncle, his father, or even his guardian. He's some sort of awkward teacher-friend if it can be classified as that.

"Kid," Tony says, drawing Peter's attention from where he's staring at the dashboard with more interest than is healthy, "listen. When we tell you to do something, we're not actually asking for a rebellious defiance. A team can't rely on a member like that. We don't know what's in Ter—Thor's blood and you could have spread it to someone."

He keeps his tone patient, but nonetheless Peter scowls slightly. "I know."

Tony flicks the blinker on and pulls a left, "Do you?" He challenges.

Peter nods, "I was careful. I kept the suit on and I swung to the Tower. I didn't touch anything but the webs."

"Was it that important to see them? I could have just texted you an update." Tony presses.

Peter clenches his fingernails into his sleeves and mumbles something under his breath. Tony quietly releases a breath and wishes for the Iron Man suit, which can pick up small sounds and interpret them without Tony having to ask what was said six hundred times in a row. Alas.

"What was that?" Tony asks.

Peter repeats it, less confident, but still inaudible.

"Kid." Tony presses.

"It's nothing." Peter doesn't seem to have his heart set in agreement with his statement. His lips press together assuring Tony that unless he drags it from Peter with extensive effort, it isn't going to come out. Tony bites at his tongue again.

Errgh, he is not good at heart-to-heart. He's more than happy to listen, he just wishes that offering feedback wasn't required.

"It doesn't sound like it." He notes.

Peter frowns, "Just—drop it, please? I don't want to talk about it."

This doesn't set right with him for some reason. If it had been Pepper, Rhodey or someone else from the team, Tony would have let it settle there without to much of an issue because he knows that they'll bring it up again when they're ready. Peter is a different story. The teen is set in bottling everything inside until it explodes out with mighty force. It's not very effective, or healthy.

"Kid—" Tony starts, but stops as Peter reaches up and gives his hair a tug. It's something he only does when reaching the peak of anxiety, but the gesture reminds him abruptly of Clint, who is prone to the same thing.

Tony's lips thin.

Peter groans and lets his head fall into his hands and Tony halts abruptly, surprised at the reaction. Peter doesn't look up at him. "I'm sorry. This is stupid. I swear I'm just stressed and saying stupid things. May's been freaking out and when she freaks out than I freak out and...I needed out or I was going to explode. I want to help Ter—Thor and Loki, but I don't know how."

Neither does he.

Tony eyes him, "When was the last time you slept properly?"

Peter looks up at him, his expression startled. "Slept?" He repeats.

Tony knows he's just processing the sentence, but nonetheless sees an opportunity to leap from the uncomfortable seriousness and takes it. "Yes, sleep. You know, when you lay down on and close your eyes slipping into a trance like state and communicate with your inner psyche?"

Peter smiles lightly and Tony allows himself to relax a marginal amount. Getting someone to laugh has always been easier than actually comforting them. "It's been a few days." Peter admits.

Tony nods. "Great. When we get you back home and May is done yelling, you're going to take a nap. I'll call your aunt about any updates we get on Thor and Loki."

Peter nods, something akin to relief slipping into his posture. "Thanks."

Tony quickly does a run through of the conversation in his mind again and barely slams down on the breaks in enough time as the light flicks red suddenly. Was it even yellow? Peter lurches forward and nearly smacks his head against the dashboard at the abruptness. He's driving. He needs to be more focused.

Tony glances at him and gives a tight smile, "Yeah, don't learn how to drive from me." He is one-hundred percent self taught and it isn't something he takes great pride in. His driving has been labeled by Natasha and Sam as "akin to driving with the Grim Reaper". Didn't make his day, admittedly, but it's funny now.

Peter laughs, "May says the same thing. I swear she breaks more laws than she keeps."

Tony's eyebrows lift with interest, "Does she now?"

"Yeah." Peter agrees, his tone growing more animated, "There was this one time with the—hey, who's the worst driver on the team?"

Tony pauses. Um. Hard to say, they aren't all angels of the law. Sam is probably the best—but the worst, if not him… "Probably Bucky." Tony admits, "Then I'd wager Clint. Both drive like their on a high speed chase scene. I think they have a bet on who can collect more tickets total. So far the record is thirty."

Peter gawks. "Thirty?"

"Just since they joined the team, yeah," Tony agrees, "I can't remember exactly, I think it's higher though."

How any of them haven't died from a car crash yet is beyond him. Tony slams on the gas pedal as the light turns green then pulls a hard left and pointedly looks away from Peter, "How's school?"

Peter makes a face from the corner of his eye, "Fine."

"'Fine'-fine or fine-fine?" Tony questions.

"It's school." Peter says. "There's not much else to be said. I'm going to have to do so much make-up work from all of this."

Tony grimaces, "Yeah. That'll be lots of fun."

Peter shakes his head, "No, it will not be. I don't want to talk about school. Can we talk about something else, please?"

"Yep." Tony agrees popping the "P". "What do you want to talk about?"

Peter perks up, "Have you seen any of the trailers for Solo?"

000o000

Bruce hasn't ever been bitten by a snake before today, and though he knew to some degree that it wasn't a pleasant experience, he had no idea how excruciatingly painful it is. Even with Hulk's blood thrumming inside of his skin, the wound is still pulsing like he got stabbed with a machete, not two small teeth.

The bite was, however, thankfully simply a dry-bite, but it still aches.

His right hand can't manage holding a pencil, or barely anything at all from how much it stings. He wrapped it with gauze in an attempt to stop swelling, but the fabric is just itchy and uncomfortable against his skin.

Bruce flips through the pages of notes he's taken the last few days, working through Thor's condition as well as Loki's and quickly skims the page detailing the bloodstream oddity. Neither he, nor Tony could find a source for this, but now after knowing where they're from, Bruce is just wondering if it's simply Asgardian blood.

Asgard.

Thor and Loki, here, now.

Director Fury promised to keep a weather eye out for the two siblings to King Odin, but they didn't have much luck with finding anything. Admittedly, Bruce still isn't sure how they got here in the first place. Have they been on Earth this whole time and just came out in public finally? There's no way they could have been on another planet because there wasn't any evidence of a ship crashing, nor the Bifrost when Tony looked it over after hacking into the traffic cameras.

Where the two came from is as much of a mystery as to what happened to them.

The blood cells are slower at regenerating than a normal humans would be and don't seem to pump through the bloodstream as quickly. They wouldn't need as much oxygen as them, but twenty-twenty three minutes would be a maximum. The cellular makeup of the two of them doesn't match, however, Thor's is buoyant, but Loki's seems strangely...cold. He can't make sense of much of what he's reading, but from what he can gather: they can survive without oxygen for long periods of time, they are both have advanced healing to match Steve's, if not surpass it, and both their blood is infused with some sort of...energy he can't quite place. Loki's has more of it than Thor's does, however.

Bruce sets the clipboard down on the table with his left hand and barely catches a wince as it gently grazes his right. He's guessing he's going to be using his non-dominant hand for awhile. If only he was left handed, like Clint, or ambidextrous, like Natasha then this would be exceedingly less difficult.

He looks up at the hospital bed in the center of the room, and is slightly surprised to see Loki sitting up, in his human form. He's cross legged on the end of the bed, and the tip of his knee is touching Thor's ankle as his gaze squints, attempting to read a long documented page of nonsense on the far wall. It's something that Clint put together a year and a half ago when he kept getting bored in the medical room. He took strips from newspapers and strung them together to create a large page of tiny text that makes little sense to understand and a great deal of effort to read.

It's more entertaining than staring at white paint, though.

He doesn't know when Loki changed, he didn't even see it from where he was focused on the papers. Thor's eye is closed and his breathing is rhythmic, but not deep enough to indicate sleep. Bruce frowns and leans back against the desk from the stool he's perched on.

"To your knowledge," Bruce starts, receiving a slight jolt from both of them, "are either of you sick?"

Thor's eye opens and he and Loki share a glance, before Loki murmurs a few words in a language he doesn't recognize. His voice is different than Bruce was expecting, it's deep, but not like Thor's and it's softer. Bruce isn't as well versed in languages as Natasha or Clint, but he can pick out about twenty from each other and this isn't one he can place.

It's likely their native tongue.

Bruce can't come up with any other explanation, and it makes sense. Asgard is another planet, why would they not have their own tongues there? Earth has over six thousand languages, why should Asgard be limited to only English? Now that he's thinking on it, he does vaguely remember King Odin speaking to a few soldiers in the dialect.

Thor murmurs an answer in return to Loki's question, then asks something.

Loki's face twitches, but he answers in turn and both turn to look at him. Both of their gazes make him feel strangely uncomfortable, but he does his best to shove it to the side. Hulk rumbles quietly in the back of his mind, warning of the snake again.

"No, we are not with anything but a fever." Thor answers at last, in English; now Bruce can see the accent of their tongue in his voice, as well as the odd structuring of his sentences.

"Okay," Bruce agrees, nodding his head. No plague, just a misconception about blood. That's great. Good. Excellent. Bruce's shoulders lower in relief and the knot of anxiety building in his chest relaxes a minuscule amount.

"Might...might I inquire as to why?" Loki questions.

Bruce blinks at him in surprise for a second.

They don't know about the guessed-plague. He doesn't have a clue how much the two understand what is going on around them. Judging by their expressions, not much. Bruce inclines his head to the question, "Of course. We...we've never seen Asgardian blood before—" Loki's fingers tighten "—and we thought it was some sort of sickness. We've met with your people before, but-"

"You have?" Thor interrupts, then looks mildly horrified with himself.

Bruce lifts a hand to reassure him it's fine. He has no idea what happened to them, but judging from the scars their continuous paranoia and over correction of simple actions, he's not guessing anything pleasant. It disgusts him that someone would do something like this to people until they snapped like this.

"Yeah," Bruce answers, he's not sure how much information he can divulge or how much they're prepared for. "They helped us with a battle when things got out of hand."

"Our father assisted you?" Loki questions, his eyebrows furrowing with what Bruce is guessing is confusion.

"Yes." Bruce answers, "It was against a guy named Malekith, you heard of him?" King Odin mentioned him being some great enemy to Asgard, it's probably safe to bet that as the princes of their Realm, Thor and Loki have heard of him to.

The two share a look. "Only in stories." Thor admits, "He died over two thousand years ago."

"Yeah, no, not really." Bruce says. Malekith's destructive force as he whipped through England wasn't a story, it was real and ugly. Without Asgard's assistance, Bruce doesn't know if he would still be alive right now. Or any of the other Avengers. "They mentioned you were missing—How did you two get to Earth?" He asks.

As quickly as it came, the spark of ease is destroyed. Loki tenses and Thor's lips thin. Bruce mentally kicks himself. He can't tell what subjects can be spoken on and the ones that need to be avoided. He needs to gain their trust so they can help them until Asgard sends someone. Hopefully, it will be soon, given their gatekeepers all seeing abilities.

Admittedly, he's looking forward to that and it makes him squirm. He has no idea how to help either one of these men and Asgard should. He wants to help them as best he can, but he isn't sure how.

"I creat—we walked between Realms." Loki answers, his tone careful. His lips thin with discomfort before he blows out a breath and squeezes his eyes shut.

'Between Realms'.

'I created'

Loki pulled them between worlds?

How?

Even Asgard needs the Bifrost to accomplish this task and Jane Foster's efforts from Earth have not been successful to Bruce's understanding. Foster. Thor wanted them to call Foster. Right. It's strange to bend his mind around the fact that this Thor is the one that Foster became the leading scientist in astrophysics for. They seem like two entirely different people.

"Oh." Bruce breathes, surprise clear in his tone. "I didn't realize that was possible."

Neither answers.

Awkward silence stretches between them for nearly a minute before Bruce notices Loki's posture slumping. It wouldn't be perceptible if Bruce wasn't looking at both of them so intensely. He clears his throat, "Loki, you should rest. Now that we know neither one of you is contagious, we can move you back into a single room, but for the moment—"

"No." Loki's voice is quiet, but there's a terrified note attached to it. "Please don't make me leave."

Bruce pauses, flabbergasted. Anxiety is clear on both siblings and Bruce relents. "Fine, let me go get someone to help me move Thor and we can do the transfer right now. Don't move." He commands and rises from the stool to exit the room, glancing back at them as he does.

His hand pulses with pain at the sudden movement, and Bruce thins his lips.

Probably two people, then.

He's not going to be very useful like this beyond directing.

He quickly treks the space between Thor's room and the destroyed medical lab, spotting Natasha, Clint, Steve and Bucky talking quietly. Tony and Peter are absent. He stands in the doorway for a second before all four look up at him. Their sudden attention is stifling and words catch in this throat and refuse to be released.

He's not one for being the center of attention and Thor and Loki's constant stares have not been welcomed.

He forces out a breath. "Hey, I need two people to help me move them."

He doesn't bother explaining them, there isn't a point, and Steve and Clint step forward. Bruce nods his thanks and turns to exit the room.

"Is your hand okay?" Natasha calls.

Pulsing, aching and twisting with pain in a way he's never felt before, even when transforming into the Hulk, but yeah, fine. "It stings a little." Bruce answers, glad she can't see his expression. He doesn't want to elaborate further and continues to walk forward, Steve and Clint stepping into pace with him a moment later.

"Why are we moving them?" Clint asks, wringing his hands in front of his stomach. It's a gesture of confusion and not one he makes often. Bruce doesn't really want to divulge on the separation anxiety issue, it seems strangely private.

Bruce blows out a soft raspberry, "There isn't a plague and it's easier to watch both of them when they're together."

"Ah." Clint voices.

Steve hums in agreement.

When they get onto the hall with Thor's room, Steve stops suddenly, his expression furrowed. Bruce turns to look at him, confused and opens his mouth to ask what he's doing, but stills. One of the additions of Hulk is an increased sense of smell and hearing, it isn't something he often notices anymore, but suddenly it's bright in contrast to everything else.

He can hear the low murmur of Thor and Loki's voices speaking in a soft English.

"—hunting us. I took the scepter, Thor, you know what's in that." Loki's says, voice is sharp and breathless. The scepter. The glowing spear? Is that what he means? What is it anyway?

"Yes, but-Loki you need to rest. We can't leave now." Thor insists.

"We don't have time for sleeping," Loki hisses, "we're going to get all of them killed if we stay here."

"What are you doing?" Clint's tone is soft, but Bruce and Steve lift up a hand to silence him.

"You don't even know if you actually pulled them in with us." Thor demurs, "Loki, please, you cannot go another step right now and neither can I. My eye is still bleeding, I don't think the infection was drained out completely. You—"

"Shh."

"What?"

"Shh. Someone's in the hall."

Bruce blanches at having been caught, and is startled on what to do next. Eavesdropping is not something he regularly indulges on and his stomach twists at the realization of what he was doing. What are they talking about? Bruce mentally replays the conversation in his head. Hunting. Something is hunting them. What?

The difference between how they speak to each other and how they speak to everyone else just shows how their unease with them vastly. When they talked to Bruce, Loki stumbled over his words, was careful with his tone and Thor hardly said anything that wasn't a brisk question. What happened between to them?

Who's hunting them?

Does Asgard know about this?

Where is Asgard?

Bruce forces himself to continue walking forwards, placing more weight into his feet so their arrival is fairly obvious. They've already been caught, there's no need to pretend otherwise. Steve and Clint follow after Bruce with equal hesitation before they arrive to the entrance of the room.

Loki is twisted around to look at them, but Bruce notes that as far as he can tell, neither shifted even the slightest bit from where they were positioned beforehand. Bruce told them not to move and meant "don't leave the room."

Bruce shoves the observation to the side as best as he's able and gives the most plastered smile he can manage, striding into the room. Sincerity isn't something he's certain he can muster at the moment. Loki's eyes narrow slightly as Steve and Clint follow, but he makes no vocal noise. Thor merely frowns slightly.

"Loki, Thor," Bruce address and turns to Clint and Steve, "this is Clint Barton and Steve Rogers."

Both nod when addressed, and Steve gives a slight wave.

"We can manage without their aid," Loki says, stubbornly. Bruce withholds a pointed comment about how exhausted they both are and instead nods with disbelief.

"Right." He agrees.

Loki throws his feet over the edge with clear annoyance and rises to his feet, he manages to hold his balance for about two seconds before he tips forward. Steve moves across the room to fast for Bruce to really track with his gaze and catches Loki before he can smack his face against the ground.

Loki's entire body tenses at the physical contact, but he keeps his lips thinned and says nothing, embarrassed, if Bruce were to guess.

Bruce looks at Clint who turns to him before Bruce tilts his head towards Thor slightly. Clint moves across the room and smiles brightly at Thor with far more sincerity than Bruce can bother with. "Good afternoon!" He says cheerfully. Thor stares at him as if he's grown a second head. Clint doesn't back down. "Are you ready?"

Thor does not look prepared, but nonetheless sits up completely and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Sometime soon Bruce needs to force them into hospital scrubs or at least find them both a change of clothes. He'll have to talk to Tony about that latter, though, but he's not entirely certain where the multi-billionaire went.

As Clint moves to take Thor's arm and swing it across his shoulders, Loki twitches slightly from his position of being aided by Steve. Bruce quietly exhales in gratitude that in the midst of his panic attack earlier, Thor had ripped the medical equipment out and Bruce doesn't have to do it now. Speaking of which, there was an IV, his arm should be bleeding.

Bruce flicks his gaze to the Asgardian's right arm and spots a thin trail of it leaking across his forearm. He purses his lips together and decides not to comment before leading the two groups out of the room, towards the original space Thor and Loki were placed.

When the siblings are settled, re-hooked to IVs, Thor's eye-bandage re-wrapped, and Loki's fingers reset, he, Clint and Steve exit the room. Bruce flicks the main overhead light off and closes the door with a soft click. He rubs at his eyes several times and represses a groan of frustration.

He is exhausted, a headache is thrumming in the back of his mind and he's fairly certain he hasn't eaten anything since breakfast. He attempts a step forward, but stumbles and Clint's arm wraps around his shoulder, "Hey, you okay?" He questions.

Bruce waves a hand, "Tired." He admits.

"There's nothing else we can do for them, right?" Steve says, then appends: "Right now, anyway."

"Yeah." Bruce agrees, "I can't remember if I told you that the 'plague' is just their blood. It's different than ours is." Bruce says, and forces himself to take several more steps forward, "Where's Tony?"

"He took Peter home." Clint supplies, "I'll text him and let him know about the plague not being a plague. You should go get some rest."

Bruce hums in disagreement. "Food. Then rest." He corrects. "Will one of you guys stay behind and watch them? I don't feel comfortable leaving them by themselves. I think…" He pauses and bites at his tongue for a second. Loki mentioned hunting. "Steve, you heard them about the hunting thing."

"The what now?" Clint demands, and Bruce looks to him. His eyebrows are meeting in his confusion and his blue eyes are flickering back and forth between them.

Bruce waves a tired hand, "They were talking about it. It's why we stopped in the hall. Loki thinks something is hunting them."

"Oh." Clint breathes, "What?"

"We don't know." Steve answers, "He didn't say."

Bruce wishes he had. He's admittedly getting a little flustered with all the questions and no answers thing. Clint gives his shoulder a pat, "Alright. Tasha and I will stay behind and watch them. The rest of you go get some food and sleep."

Bruce complies happily.

Author's Note: About the language thing: it's one of my headcanons that Asgard is linguistic. They have their own set of languages (about ten) and English is common tongue among the cities. Asgardians structure their sentences differently than modern English does, but I don't think its because they only use Shakespeare lingo. Grammar gets weird when it goes between languages. All-Speak is great and all, but not something I'm super fond of because it sort of feels like cheating, ;D. Anyway, just wanted to explain that.

I have no idea when the next update will be, but hopefully soon! :) Thank you all so much for your support, I am beyond words with my gratitude!