Note: Marvel has no idea what they've done casting Sherlock as Stephen Strange, have they? No idea at all…

"Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?"

"I'll kill him one of these days, I swear to Odin," Phil said, trying to squeeze his phone to death. Fury's chuckles were not helping. "I thought we had people watching Strange?"

"Don't you mean strangely?"

"You're next on the list, Nick!"

"What actually happened to the them?"

He poked his head around the corner, where his six charges were all still unconscious… and much smaller.

"They've been… de-aged, I guess. That'd be the best word for it."

"Different ages?"

"They all look about the same, and I'm freaking out."

Fury snorted. "Why are you freaking out, Coulson?"

"Because I don't know whether just their bodies have reverted, but Iron Man's arc reactor is gone, and Captain America looks pre-serum. He's skin and bone. At this age, I don't know whether the Black Widow speaks English, Thor will probably be wondering where his brother is, and most – if not all – of them will be asking for their parents."

"Only if their minds have reverted as well," Fury said.

"Not helping! I don't have a puffer, and I don't want Steve Rogers dying from asthma because we're not prepared for that. Do we know how long it's going to take?"

"Our people are still questioning Strange. Apparently his brother's coming over from the UK to talk to him."

"Brother? From the UK?" Phil frowned. "I didn't know he had a brother."

"And I didn't know that his name wasn't Stephen Strange, but apparently it isn't. I'll… send someone with an inhaler for Rogers. Just try to keep them calm."

"Keep them calm?" Phil muttered as he hung up. "Easy for him to say."

He sighed, and folded out the sofa. Carefully, he picked up each de-aged superhero and placed them all on the bed. Thor was the heaviest, having the densest muscle tone, and Natasha was the lightest, all lithe and probably underfed. Clint and Bruce were light as well, but not as much as Steve, who felt fragile as well. Tony wasn't too bad, and when Phil prodded his chest gently, there was no gaping cavity to worry about. That didn't explain the arc reactor's disappearance, though.

He tip-toed to the kitchen area and quietly poured out six cups of the juice he knew they liked. Then he poured raisins into one bowl, crackers into another, and hoped that that would be both substantial and sweet enough. Assuming Steve didn't have any allergies which would kill him on the spot. Was he colour-blind again? Phil pursed his lips, worried.

"Agent Coulson, the Avengers are stirring," JARVIS informed him softly.

"Thank you, JARVIS."

Leaving the snacks behind, he walked back into the living area, and stood in front of the sofa. Clint was the first to wake. He tensed, eyes darting everywhere, and then he sprang up.

"Where am I?" he said.

Shit, Phil thought.

"Hey, calm down," he said, holding out his hands. Clint turned large eyes on him, and Phil perched on the edge of the bed. He noticed the others also shifting around. "I'm Phil. I'll be looking after you for awhile. Something… happened, I'm not sure what, but some, uh, friends of mine are trying to fix it. You've gotta stay here for awhile."

"Why?"

Oh, a child's favourite word.

"So that you'll be safe," he said. Clint looked at the others, who were all staring at them now. Phil smiled reassuringly, and gave them a wave. Jeez, they looked to be about five years old, or thereabouts. "There's a… a big robot that runs this house. His name is JARVIS. You can't see him because he's invisible, but he's always there. If I'm not with you, or if something happens, you make sure to let JARVIS know."

"A robot?" Clint said, tilting his head.

"That's right."

"Robots can't be invisible," Tony scoffed, plonking down beside Phil. "They're things. Things can't be invisible."

"Some things can," Phil said. "And this robot was made by a very smart man."

"Who?"

"Uh… his last name is Stark."

"That's my last name!"

"So you remember… you know who you are?"

"Duh," Clint said, kicking Tony's knee. Phil frowned at him. "Why wouldn't we?"

"One, don't kick Tony, and two, you were all… asleep when I found you. I wanted to make sure you didn't have concussion."

"Where is this place?" Steve asked, trying to get down from the sofa bed.

"We're still in New York City."

"Where is that?" Thor asked.

"Earth," Phil said. "Uh, Midgard."

"Ah, Midgard! I have long wondered what it may be like. Tell me, is my family aware?"

"I imagine so," Phil said, nodding. "I believe all your families know, or will know."

Natasha started babbling something in Russian. Phil couldn't keep up, only getting a few phrases. But Thor was listening intently. Phil absently stroked Tony's hair, wondering at the please little purr he got for his efforts.

"What did she say?" he asked Thor when Natasha had stopped speaking.

"You did not understand?"

"Only a little bit of it."

"She wished to know why she was in America."

Phil winced internally, but maintained a stoic expression.

"I don't know her full story yet," he said, which was half-true. "She doesn't remember anything about that?"

"The last she remembers is being home."

"Oh." Phil was baffled as Bruce climbed past Tony into his lap, and watched anxiously as Thor helped Steve onto the ground, waiting for something to break.

"I'm hungry," Clint said.

"I'll bet you are."

"Can I have something?" Phil smiled.

"It just so happens that I've got some snacks waiting for hungry mouths," he said. "Why don't you all sit around the coffee table? We've only got grown-up furniture here."

"Why?" Tony whined. "I wanna sit on chairs."

"Because… we don't get many children around here. Not the single-digit kind of children, anyway," he added to himself. He tried to stand up, but Bruce wouldn't be shifted. He stared at Phil with imploring eyes, and the agent couldn't help melting just a little. He stood up, keeping Bruce on his hip, and waited for the others to hop off the sofa. Thor was talking to Natasha, hopefully conveying the conversation. Luckily, the sofa bed folded back with a button, so he made sure that the children were out of the way, and then returned to the kitchen.

"Is that for us?" Bruce asked, peeking at the tray.

"It sure is. Can you keep very, very still?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

"What if I don't?"

Phil nearly rolled his eyes. "Then I'll end up spilling the juice, and we'll all have to clean up the mess."

"Will you hit me?"

"What?" Phil stared at Bruce, all humour gone. "No, of course not. No. I'd never hurt you, Bruce." He squeezed him close, stroking his hair. "Just stay still. I'm pretty good at this." If he couldn't handle a tray full of snacks while a five-year-old scientific genius was clinging to his waist, he had no business being a SHIELD agent.

While the two steps initially presented a problem, the Avengers mostly stayed put, Natasha a silent statue, while he placed the tray on the coffee table. Then he deposited Bruce on the end and handed around the drinks.

"Now you have to share these," he said, putting the bowls in the middle. "You know how to share, right?" They all looked at him silently. "O… kay. I'll be back in a minute. Try not to make too much of a mess, alright? Because I won't be cleaning it up on my own. Behave yourselves and we can watch a movie."

"What is a movie?" Thor asked at the same time that Steve said, "We can watch a movie here?"

"Oh, brother," Phil muttered.

Fury glared at the screen. More to the point, he glared at the man on the other side of the screen, who merely took a sip of tea.

"How long until you get here?" Fury said. "`Cause I've got one agent dealing with a bunch of five-year-old superheroes who don't remember anything beyond that age, and your brother is responsible."

"Actually, Sherlock is quite irresponsible, you'll find," Mycroft Holmes said, tapping the head of his umbrella. He kept it with him for good reason, even on aeroplanes.

"Yeah, we've found that out for ourselves! Now, I wouldn't give a damn ordinarily, but we need a cure as soon as possible. Steve Rogers apparently has all his old health problems back, and we're not prepared for that."

"If I had known that Sherlock would decide to take on a different persona when he went to America, I would have kept him behind," Mycroft said.

"That's not good enough, Mr. Holmes!" Fury growled. "What's your ETA?"

"My estimated time of arrival at the John F. Kennedy Airport is five hours and thirty-two minutes."

"We'll have someone pick you up there."

"My people—"

"My people are in the sky," Fury said, interrupting him. Mycroft arched an eyebrow, but it had no effect on the director of SHIELD. "A Quinjet will bring you to our Helicarrier so you can see your brother."

"Oh joy."

"I'm sensing a lotta family love between you."

"Have you told Sherlock that I am on my way?"

"Not yet." Fury half-smirked. "I'm savin' that for a surprise."

"There is little point in attempting to surprise my brother, Commander Fury. However, you are welcome to try. If you will excuse me, I must prepare some documents."

And find out how Sherlock gained 'magical powers', he thought as he hung up on Fury. Mycroft sighed, and opened his briefcase.

Thor managed to translate quite a bit for Natasha, and they watched movies which had subtitles in Russian, so that she could keep up with the dialogue. Phil wasn't having too much trouble at the moment, considering that their collective age – barring Thor's indeterminate years – was younger than Phil. The Avengers' friends had all been notified of the situation, and Phil was pretty sure that Heimdall had heard him yelling the situation while the kids watched the TV.

He felt like a nanny as he kept checking on them, bringing additional snacks for Thor and Clint, and checking on Steve to make sure he wasn't dying. They had a puffer for him, and an insulin kit, neither of which he knew how to use, bless his socks.

And their feet. Their tiny feet and hands and noses and Phil wasn't getting clucky, of course he wasn't. He just thought that his charges were exceptionally cute when they were younger. But then they were his kids, so naturally they were cute.

"Getting on to dinner," he said, checking his watch. "What would you like to eat?"

He received a barrage of replies, and fought the urge to cover his ears. He held up his hands, calling for quiet.

"I'll order takeout," he said. "I don't think any of you have allergies, but if you do, now's the time to speak up." They just stared at him again, in that unnerving way. He nodded. "I'll get pizza. And we've got other things in the fridge and freezer and pantry, so we won't starve."

"D'you want my dad to pay for the pizza?" Tony asked, eyes still glued to Thumper and Bambi as they slid on the ice. "He's a millionaire."

"No, that's alright, Tony."

"My father is the king of Asgard!" Thor said. Not the first time he'd mentioned it. "He can provide you with anything you require!"

"That's… very kind, Thor, but it's unnecessary. Don't you worry about things like money." He touched Natasha's hair, and she looked up at him. "I'm here to look after you, and keep the bad people away. Whatever it takes to protect you. Okay?"

They all agreed, and went back to watching the movie. Phil walked back to the kitchen and created a child-appropriate order. He wasn't sure how their immature palates would handle some of the gourmet ingredients of Tony's favourite pizza restaurant. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned around and saw Natasha there. She barely reached his knee, and it was both terrifying and adorable. Not that he would ever mention the latter to her.

"Hello," he said, trying to remember his limited Russian. "Can I help you?" He squatted down in front of her, meeting her eyes so she wouldn't have to crane her neck.

"Where is my family?" she asked.

Phil exhaled slowly. "We… we are your family for now."

She studied him with a solemnity out of place on a five-year-old. "I wish you were my father."

He wasn't sure how to take that until she held out her arms. He picked her up and let her cuddle close, standing when she wound her legs around his torso and clung on. He made himself a coffee one-handed, smiling as her red hair tickled his nose.

"I can be your father for a little while," he said. "If you want me to."

She nodded against his shoulder, and he ignored the pricking at the corners of his eyes.

Sherlock stared at Mycroft.

"You took your time," he said.

"I was in no rush."

"Not even to free your errant younger brother?"

"No," Mycroft said. "There are more important matters taking place, as you know."

"Which is why I'm in New York," Sherlock said.

"Precisely." Mycroft narrowed his eyes. "You are not here to undo years of diplomacy by pretending to have supernatural powers and using them against intelligence allies."

"Are we still calling it 'intelligence'?"

"Fix it, Sherlock. Or I'll tell Mummy."

"Our parents would no doubt find a trip to America invigorating."

"Mr. Holmes?" Fury said. Mycroft glanced at the director, and took a second look at the man beside him. Shorter, wearing a good suit, slightly receding hairline, apparently a bit stressed, no doubt a high level agent, and glaring nastily at Mycroft's brother. "This is Phil Coulson, handler to the Avengers. He's taken half an hour off baby-sitting them to be here, so make it quick."

"Thank you, director," Agent Coulson said. He ignored Mycroft and walked up to the window. Sherlock was watching him. "Do you know how to reverse what you've done to my team?"

"Not yet. I was attempting to—"

"So you don't have a solution yet?"

"No, but—"

"Can you find one?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Yes, if—"

"Then do it. Because each day that my team is stuck like this means another bad thing which will happen to you, even after you fix the problem. I don't like people messing with my team. The last time someone did something even approaching this level of intrusiveness towards my people, you know what I did?"

"I am sure you will tell me."

"Well, put it this way. They never found every part of her body, so there wasn't much to go in the coffin."

"Her?"

"Do you think gender matters much when it's my team which has been affected?"

"You should listen to him, brother," Mycroft advised. "He sounds serious."

"He is serious," Fury said. "Ever heard of Kay Diplock?"

"No."

"And you won't, because she went after the Avengers, and Phil found out."

Sherlock seemed paler than usual, and Mycroft could understand; both Agent Coulson and Director Fury were telling the truth.

"I'll take care of this," Mycroft said to the agent.

"Thanks," he replied, and he looked Mycroft over. "Nice umbrella."

Sherlock started choking on air, and Mycroft stared as his soulmate walked back down the hallway, followed by Fury.

"That was… unexpected," he murmured to himself.

"Mycroft, will you get me out of here?"

"Not until you have come up with a solution to this problem you have created."

"But, Mycroft." Sherlock leaned forward. "It sounds as though you being his soulmate will have no impact on how I—"

"And so it shouldn't," Mycroft said sternly. "You have sown your own seeds, Sherlock. Now reverse this, or my soulmate may never speak to me again, and I will happily ensure that you are kept in SHIELD custody indefinitely. Perhaps it will even be safer for you?"

"Mycroft!"

"Honestly? 'Stephen Strange'? It's as though you weren't even trying."

As soon as he set foot in the elevator, JARVIS took Phil straight to his floor. Phil had set up seven camp-beds in his lounge area, and Pepper had sent appropriate children's clothes and food to him. He figured that it was best to keep them all together, as long as he was there. They were all asleep when he arrived… except for Tony, who was tossing and turning. Phil touched his shoulder, and Tony gasped awake Phil sat beside him.

"Phil?"

"I'm here."

"You're…" Tony noticed him, and threw his hands around Phil's middle. "Space. There were… stars… and aliens…"

"I know," Phil said, rubbing Tony's back gently. "I'm here now. I'm sorry. I won't leave you again."

Tony sniffled. "Promise?"

"I promise. I'll just be over here. Do you… want a song?"

"Uh-huh."

They better not remember any of this, or Phil would never live it down. He glanced up, and saw Steve, Clint, and Natasha all watching him. Chances were that Thor and Bruce were as well. They could all be light sleepers; apparently being children didn't change that. Or maybe it's because they were children? Phil didn't have that kind of experience.

Natasha's wide eyes inspired him, and he shuffled onto his side, letting Tony lie down by him.

"Where the dreamy Volga flows, there's a lonely Russian rose gazing tenderly down upon her knee, where a baby's brown eyes glisten…"

He crooned softly, noticing Steve's smile as the boy recognised the Irving Berlin song.

"Nice," Tony mumbled. Phil stroked his floppy hair, reminded of Bruce. He continued to sing, anything he could think of, until all his charges were sleeping again. He detangled himself from Tony's little hands, and retreated to his cold bed.

It was another two days before Sherlock developed an antidote. Mycroft assisted where he could, between bouts of smoothing things over with the American government, and trying to coordinate everything back home.

And considered his soulmate.

Mycroft had informed Fury, who then gave him a limited file on Phil Coulson. He had read it cover to cover and back, and still found his soulmate to be a mystery, one he was looking forward to unravelling.

"You should take this," Sherlock said, handing over the bottle. "They must ingest it."

"Very well."

Now here he was, waiting in the lift at Stark Tower. He was intrigued to find that Stark's Artificial Intelligence had a British accent.

"It will be a relief to have the Avengers back to normal," JARVIS said. "They could be considered charming as children, but they may be needed at a moment's notice."

"How has Agent Coulson handled it?"

"With great equanimity, Mr. Holmes, as always."

"Indeed?"

"I believe he has found it to be easier than looking after the Avengers when they are in their ordinary forms."

Mycroft chuckled, cutting himself off when the doors opened. He walked through, past a kitchen, until he found his soulmate reading to a group of six juvenile superheroes. The look on Coulson's face as he read… it sounded like The Magic Faraway Tree, judging by the original names of the characters. Mycroft remembered the Nanny Squad when they were pushing for the children's names to be changed. Enid Blyton, regardless. Coulson looked like he was having fun, the timbre of his voice changing with the characters. The Avengers were watching him, rapt, as he occasionally gestured with his hand. When he came to the end of a chapter, Mycroft cleared his throat, and Coulson looked up.

"Mr. Holmes, isn't it?" he said.

"Yes. May I have a word, Agent Coulson?"

"Of course."

"Can't you read us some more?" one of the children asked. A boy with messy hair and glasses, like a very young Harry Potter. Of course Mycroft had read the books; part of his job was keeping abreast of huge tourist draws, as greater influxes of people were to be noticed. And of course it was imperative to read all of them. (As long as Sherlock didn't know, nobody knew.)

"Soon, Bruce," Coulson said. "I just have to speak with Mr. Holmes. I won't be long."

When they were in the kitchen – how utterly domestic, Mycroft nearly shuddered – he pulled the bottle out of the bag he was carrying. Coulson's expression fell.

"They must ingest it in equal measure," Mycroft explained. "My brother has promised not to experiment on super humans again."

"Only super humans? And not all of them are enhanced."

"My brother likes to experiment on anything for the sake of his work, and sometimes for the sake of his own amusement. He wished to see whether there were differences in the results between the… unique people in your team. That my brother is the type to take a riding crop to corpses must give you some idea of his character."

Coulson raised an eyebrow, but didn't reply to that. He stared at the liquid, and sighed.

"It's nice for them to be kids for awhile, without having to worry about taking care of the world whenever trouble comes a-knocking in the form of aliens or supervillains or whoever the Big Bad of the week is. When they're not being superheroes, they're doing other work, usually life-saving work. They don't get many opportunities to relax, and it's been… nice seeing them like this." He placed the bottle on the kitchen bench. "I'll miss it."

Mycroft touched his shoulder. "What will you do if they do not remember this?" he asked.

"Get JARVIS to wipe the footage of anything particularly embarrassing."

"For them?"

"Yes."

"And… for you."

Coulson rubbed his eyes. "Yeah."

Mycroft could have 'deduced' any number of things about his soulmate, but chose not to expose that particular skill of his just yet. He leaned his hip against the bench beside Coulson, and cleared his throat.

"Do you remember my first words to you?" he asked.

"Not really. Sorry."

"Because these were your first words to me." He rolled up the sleeve of his left arm, revealing 'Thanks. Nice umbrella'. Coulson straightened up, nearly knocking the bottle.

"That's my writing," he said.

"Is your soulmark 'I'll take care of this'?"

"Yes." Coulson blinked. "Holy shit."

"Quite," Mycroft said, steadfastly not reacting to the profanity.

"Um…" Coulson glanced away, then back to Mycroft. "I'm not… terribly interested in sex. Not that you're not attractive, because you are, I can see that, and I'm not aromantic, or at least I don't think so. I've just never really enjoyed sex, and never had a real relationship because of it. I don't see the point to it other than procreation, and science has made that unnecessary—"

"I have no expectations in that regard."

"The procreation?" Coulson asked, with a twitch at the corner of his mouth. Mycroft fought a smile.

"I have never engaged in any relationships before, either. I would, however, like a friend. Sherlock worries – he doesn't say it, but I know that he does – that I will end up alone. Emotionally. As you and I work in different countries, perhaps phone calls and emails will suffice? And visits?"

"We could still bond. It'd be nice to have someone to depend on when everything else goes to hell. I think… if we made that connection, and talked to each other at least once a week, then maybe things wouldn't look so bleak."

Mycroft smiled, truly smiled. "That is a very sound solution. Speaking of solutions…" He gestured to the antidote, and Coulson grinned ruefully.

"I guess I should administer it," he said. "Don't know what the hell to tell them. I've been honest but evasive so far, tried so hard not to lie."

"You know them better than anyone," Mycroft said. "That is why you were chosen to look after them, rather than professional child-minders. And you appear to have done a wonderful job so far."

"They're my team. My people."

"Am I one of your people now?" It was strange, but Mycroft wished to hear a positive answer. He was relieved when Coulson nodded.

"Of course," he said. "Or you will be. I'll call you. Can I get your phone number?"

Mycroft slipped a business card into Coulson's suit pocket. "Anytime you need to chat. I am used to odd time zones."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Good luck, Agent Coulson."

"Call me Phil."

He inclined his head. "Call me Mycroft."

Phil brought out a tray of juice. The liquid inside the bottle smelled sickly sweet, and he hoped the children… the Avengers didn't choke on it.

"Juice!" Natasha said. She'd learnt some words and phrases of English, thanks to Thor, and she seemed content just to listen to his voice. It was sweet, that they took pleasure from such simple things.

"Don't drink up yet," Phil said. "It's not just juice. There's… something else in it."

"What?" Tony asked suspiciously.

"Something which'll help you all grow up."

"I want to grow up!" Thor said, raising his hand as though he was clutching Mjolnir.

"Do we have to grow up so soon?" Bruce asked, blinking up at Phil. His heart clenched.

"Not right away," he said. "Not if you don't want to. I can go put the juice away."

"Juice," Natasha said, tugging on his trouser leg.

"If you want a cup of juice, just help yourself," Phil said, placing the tray on the table. Thor took a cup, and so did Clint and Steve. Natasha helped herself as well. Tony sniffed his first, and Bruce reluctantly picked up his cup.

"Aren't you gonna have some, Phil?" Steve said.

"I'm already grown up," he said.

"Will it make me big and strong?"

I hope so, he thought. "Only one way to find out, isn't there? Wait." He took Natasha's hand. "Why don't you drink it in the bathroom?" She tipped her head. "Come with me."

He led her to the bathroom and left her there. Then he asked JARVIS to make sure they were alright as he grabbed them replacement clothes. By the time he was back on the common level, he found his Avengers back to normal, if unconscious again. He placed a pile of clothes next to each of them, and waited outside the bathroom for Natasha.

"Agent Romanov is stirring, sir," JARVIS said. After ten seconds, Phil knocked on the door.

"Natasha?" he said. "I mean, Agent Romanov?"

"I'm okay, Phil."

"I'll leave your clothes out here." He placed them on the floor. "How do you feel?"

"Alright."

"You remember English?"

"Clearly."

Short answers. He smiled sadly.

"Join us when you're ready," he said. "I'll make sure the others are dressed."

"Thank you, Coulson."

The men were already clothed by the time he got back to the area, chatting and laughing over something or other. Phil coughed, and they looked over at him.

"Feeling more like yourselves?" he asked.

"Yeah," Clint said. "Thanks, Coulson."

He'd been getting used to 'Phil'. He grinned through his hurt.

"Yes, you're back to normal," he said. "I'll be at SHIELD making my report."

He was nearly at the elevator when someone came running. He looked over his shoulder, and Steve nearly ran into him.

"Uh…"

"Yes, Captain Rogers?"

"I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?"

"For lying. We knew… We were just disoriented at the start."

Phil had a sinking feeling. "You knew who I was the whole time."

"Yeah."

"So… I didn't have to butcher the Russian tongue."

"That's what you take from all of this?"

He cleared his throat again. "I'll, uh… be at SHIELD, as I said."

"Phil—"

"Very good joke. But you should have told me, instead of letting me treat you like…"

"Like children?" Phil nodded. "But… Memories aside, our instincts and reactions were child-like. Because that's what we were, physically."

"And now you're not."

"Did you think we'd forget?" Tony asked.

"More like hoped you would." Phil pressed the elevator button, and stepped in when the doors opened. "I won't be more than a couple of hours."

"Promise?"

The doors closed on Phil's fake smile. He rested against the wall.

"Did I screw things up, JARVIS?" he asked.

"I do not believe so, sir," he said.

"Did you know that they knew who I was?"

"No, sir. They must have taken physical cues from each other."

"Great. Of all the times for them to start communicating silently."

On the drive to SHIELD, he considered Mycroft Holmes. Excellent taste in suits. A mad scientist for a brother. Apparently about as interested in a sexual relationship as Phil, which made a nice change. He'd tried, he really had, because he figured that his soulmate would want that. He should've trusted Fate to know what she was doing. He didn't have a problem with love, of course not; he loved the Avengers on some level, because they were his… no, not children, not anymore. His responsibility, though. Whether he could fall in love with Mycroft was another matter.

"How is your soulmate faring?" Sherlock asked. Mycroft made no moves to unlock the chains binding Sherlock to the chair.

"Well."

"Did you talk?"

"Of course we did."

"You know what I meant," Sherlock said, giving Mycroft a significant look. Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"We hold the same expectations, or lack thereof," he said. Sherlock smirked.

"Good," he said.

"We spoke on the drive here."

"Did he get a shock when you pulled up beside him?"

Mycroft cocked his head. "If he did, I didn't notice it. He appears to be the unflappable type."

"What has been decided?"

Finally, Mycroft unchained his brother.

"He will remain in America, where he is needed," he said. "I will return to England with you, where I am needed, and where you are safe from my soulmate. He is terribly upset with you."

"Is that an understatement?"

"Yes."

"Ah." Sherlock hummed as he rubbed his wrists. "Will you maintain contact?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Will you bond?"

"We did, in the back of the car." Mycroft touched the outside of his arm, where his soulmark was. There was still a gentle throbbing, but it would fade by the time they arrived at the airport. "He suggested that we be each other's beacons of sanity. As we are both used to travel, we will meet when we can, to commiserate and to renew the bond."

"I suppose you will need the occasional break from looking after Great Britain," Sherlock said. Mycroft snorted delicately.

"You mean a break from looking after you?" he corrected. Sherlock's eyebrows drew together. "We compared our respective problems. I only have one. Were I to be faced with six of you?" He shook his head. "God help my soulmate."

Phil was unaccountably nervous as he brought takeaway home to the tower. When he arrived on the common level to head to the kitchen, he could hear the television, set to one of the news channels. He began to take out small plates, when he remembered that he was looking after adults again, and took out the normal dinner plates with a heavy heart.

"Come get your food when you're hungry!" he called. "JARVIS?"

"Yes, Agent Coulson?"

"I'm gonna get changed. Make sure they leave something for me, yeah?"

"Of course, sir."

"Thanks."

When he got back downstairs, now in mufti and much more comfortable for it, he went through to the kitchen and saw a plate of his favourites. He smiled, and carried it through to the living room, where they all ate while the sports news played in the background.

"JARVIS told us that was your soulmate," Tony said.

"That's correct."

"Are you going to live with him?" Steve asked.

"No. Neither of us are interested in pursuing a relationship of that nature. As long as you want me, I'll be here."

There were no more questions after that. Bruce helped Phil carry the dishes back to the kitchen and put them away. He disappeared back to the living room while Phil made sure that all the garbage had been packed away. He followed the scientist, intrigued when he realised that the television was off. The Avengers were all seated in front of the armchair where he'd read to them before bedtime the last couple of nights. Natasha held out The Magic Faraway Tree.

"Read?" she inquired in Russian.

Slowly, Phil made his way over and settled into the armchair, cracking open the book to the right page. He gave them all a warning look.

"If this is just a joke, I'm resigning," he said.

"You promised you wouldn't leave us," Clint said.

"That's because—"

"Can we save the touchy-feely conversation until after the book's finished?" Tony grumbled. "Don't ruin the momentum."

Phil relaxed back into the armchair, and resumed reading.

Daw! I wanted to write something where Phil thinks the de-aged Avengers don't know who he is, and goes all Papa-Phil on them. Then I decided to incorporate it as a soulmate thing, saw that Zyrieen had suggested Mycroft/Phil at some point, and decided to drag him in as Sherlock aka Strange's brother. Because the idea amused me, and we know what happens when an idea amuses me.

Also, at one point I was chatting with a reader about soulmate lore, and what happens if someone is asexual or aromantic. So that's what happened here as well. (I apologise to anyone who wanted/expected suit porn.) I've written a number of platonic soulmate pairings along with the non-platonic ones. My take is that everyone (well, mostly everyone) has a soul, and that if they have a soul they have the capacity to have a strong connection with someone else. They decide for themselves what that connection will be.

Please review!