Chapter 1
The quinjet hung low in the sky, casting a long shadow over the patchy grass below. The Avengers stood in a loose semicircle in the shadow of the aircraft, exhaustion etched into their faces. Another alien incursion thwarted, another city saved—but barely.
"Alright," Nick Fury barked, pacing in front of them like a disgruntled drill sergeant. "Congratulations on not killing each other this time. That's progress." He stopped, leveling a glare at Tony and Steve, who avoided eye contact like guilty children. "But it’s not enough. You’re a team now, whether you like it or not. I don’t care if you don’t trust each other, but you will work together. You hear me?"
The silence was deafening.
Fury sighed, rubbing his temple. "Figure it out, because if I have to referee one more pissing contest, I’m going to start hiring actual gods instead of mortals with oversized egos. Dismissed."
As Fury disappeared back into the jet, Thor let out a hearty laugh. “A fine speech, by Director Fury!” He clapped Steve on the back with enough force to make the super-soldier stumble forward. “Did you hear that? He called us a team!”
“I wouldn’t celebrate just yet,” Natasha muttered, brushing debris off her suit. “Four months in, and we’re barely functioning.”
“Functioning enough,” Clint added, stretching his arms. “Nobody died. That’s a win in my book.”
"Low bar," Tony snarked, tossing his helmet to the ground. "Remind me to embroider that on a team banner. Nobody died. Very inspirational."
Thor, oblivious to the tension, stepped into the middle of the group and threw his arms wide. “Perhaps what we need is fellowship!”
"Fellowship?" Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Indeed!” Thor said. “In Asgard, after a long battle, my brothers and I would feast, drink, and embrace one another’s victories as our own. You mortals call it…” He paused, searching for the word, “…bonding!”
Tony snorted. “Great. Let’s all sing Kumbaya and hold hands as we braid each other's hair.”
“Oh wow, Tony,” Steve cut in, his voice strained. “That is mighty detailed. Don't tell me that you daydream about us.”
But Thor was undeterred. “I shall take it upon myself to improve our camaraderie. Fear not, my friends!”
And so, Thor’s mission began.
Four months later, the Avengers were still a mess—but they weren’t the outright disaster Fury had initially scolded them for being.
Steve still bristled at Tony’s sarcasm. Tony still found Steve’s unwavering righteousness infuriating. Natasha still carried secrets none of them could touch. Clint maintained his sniper-like ability to vanish when emotions ran high. And Bruce…well, Bruce kept mostly to himself, his temper tightly leashed.
But amidst the chaos, Thor had become their glue.
It wasn’t just his booming laugh or the way he always seemed to bring food at exactly the right moment. It wasn’t even the strange yet endearing way he insisted on calling Hulk “a mighty warrior of legend.” It was the simple, earnest kindness he radiated—something none of them had known they needed until Thor gave it freely.
Steve found himself spending more time with Thor than anyone else. The Asgardian’s tales of battle and leadership resonated with him. Thor’s stories carried lessons—ones Steve felt the team desperately needed.
“Your people trust you, don’t they?” Steve asked one night as they sat in the common room. Thor was polishing Mjolnir, a ritual as sacred as any prayer.
“Aye,” Thor replied, his voice soft. “But trust is not given lightly. It is earned, often through hardship and sacrifice.”
Steve nodded, filing the advice away.
Tony, meanwhile, found Thor’s company surprisingly tolerable. Despite his dramatic flair, Thor was sharp—sharp enough to debate Stark on the finer points of science and technology.
“I still don’t see how your hammer generates its energy,” Tony said one evening, leaning over a notebook filled with calculations.
“Magic,” Thor said simply, grinning.
Tony rolled his eyes. “Magic doesn’t exist.”
“Then how do you explain this?” Thor tapped Mjolnir lightly against the table, sending a visible ripple through the air.
Tony groaned. “Fine. You win. It’s magic.”
Thor’s laugh echoed through the room, and despite himself, Tony chuckled too.
Natasha appreciated Thor’s quiet respect. Unlike others, he didn’t try to dissect her past or press for details she wasn’t willing to share.
One evening, as they cleaned up after dinner, she spoke without looking at him. “Why don’t you ask questions like everyone else?”
Thor paused, then said, “Because I trust you to share when you are ready.”
It was the kind of answer that made her pause, too.
Hulk, for his part, didn’t hate Thor. And for Bruce, that was a miracle.
Thor treated the Hulk like a person, not an inconvenience. He called him by name and gave him space when he needed it. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress.
Even Clint, who generally preferred solitude, found himself gravitating toward Thor’s presence.
“Nat likes you,” Clint said one day, chewing on an apple.
“And that pleases you?” Thor asked, cocking his head.
“Means I don’t have to worry about you.”
Thor clapped him on the shoulder. “A fine endorsement, archer!”
Despite their differences, the team found themselves orbiting Thor like planets around a star. He was the constant—a source of light and warmth in their chaotic lives.
And when Thor hugged them, each of them secretly relished the feeling, even if they’d never admit it aloud.
Steve’s pencil glided over the page, the faint scratch against paper the only sound in the otherwise quiet common room. He rarely let himself relax enough to draw, but tonight had been a rare reprieve. The team was scattered around the tower, each doing their own thing, and Steve had taken the opportunity to find a moment of peace.
He had just finished shading the jagged exoskeleton of one of the Chitauri soldiers when something caught his eye—a small object lying on the pillow beside him.
Frowning, Steve set his sketchbook on the coffee table and picked it up. It was a compact device, smooth and lightweight. Turning it over in his hand, he saw the engraving: C.B. and S.H.I.E.L.D..
It took him a moment to realize what it was—a hearing aid.
Steve froze, the realization settling over him like a heavy weight. Clint’s deaf? That was something Steve hadn’t expected.
Why wouldn’t he tell the team? Steve thought, his brow furrowing. This wasn’t something small. They needed to know about it—adjust for it in the field.
After a moment, Steve stood, the hearing aid still clutched in his hand. He walked to Clint’s quarters, where he hesitated briefly before knocking.
The door opened a crack, and Natasha’s sharp green eyes appeared. “What?” she asked, unimpressed as always.
Steve glanced down at the nameplate on the door: HAWKEYE: CLINT BARTON. He held up the hearing aid awkwardly. “Uh, I think Clint dropped this. Thought I’d return it.”
Natasha’s expression didn’t change as she took the device from his hand. “Thanks,” she said curtly, before slamming the door in his face.
Steve blinked, the abruptness catching him off guard. He could hear her voice through the door, though. “Steve found it,” she said.
There was a muffled response from Clint that Steve couldn’t make out. Not wanting to eavesdrop, he turned and made his way back to the common room, his mind still turning over what he’d learned.
He sat down and glanced at his sketchbook. The image of the Chitauri soldier stared back at him, its alien features frozen in graphite. He exhaled sharply, setting the sketchbook aside, and decided he needed something to drink.
In the kitchen, Steve found Thor, an apron tied around his waist, humming a cheerful tune as he worked at the counter. The Asgardian was carefully measuring out ingredients, consulting a recipe card in Pepper Potts’s neat handwriting.
“Evening, Thor,” Steve greeted.
“Ah, Captain Rogers!” Thor boomed, his grin wide. “You are just in time to witness the creation of a culinary masterpiece. Lady Pepper has entrusted me with her most sacred of recipes—chocolate chip cookies!”
Steve chuckled, leaning against the counter. Thor’s newfound passion for cooking had been a surprise to everyone, but it was a welcome one. The Asgardian’s enthusiasm for the task was infectious, and his natural talent in the kitchen had earned him high praise from the team.
“Smells good already,” Steve said.
Thor nodded solemnly. “Indeed. I have learned much from Lady Pepper. The art of the stove is not unlike the forge—it requires patience, precision, and an understanding of fire.”
Steve couldn’t help but smile. “Well, good luck with that. I’m going to head downstairs.”
“Farewell, my friend!” Thor called as Steve left the kitchen.
Steve descended the staircase to the basement level, passing the Olympic-size pool, the sauna, and the steam bath. Stark Tower—or Avengers Tower, as it had come to be known—was as luxurious as it was massive.
Eventually, he reached the gymnasium. The space was quiet, the overhead lights casting a soft glow on the rows of equipment.
Steve walked over to the rack of punching bags and selected one. He wrapped his hands methodically, his mind still buzzing with unanswered questions about Clint.
Why wouldn’t he tell us? Steve thought as he delivered the first punch, the bag jerking under the force. Was it pride? Distrust? Or something else entirely?
It just makes him a bit angry because he never had such problems, especially not with communication, back with the Commandos and they didn't even have all this fancy technology. All of it is just rotting their minds and making them so much less than Steve's generation.
The sound of his fists striking the bag filled the room, steady and rhythmic, as he worked out his frustration. The team was full of secrets—Natasha’s past, Bruce’s struggles, Tony’s insecurities. But this felt different.
Steve struck harder, the chain suspending the bag rattling with each blow. He didn’t like being in the dark, especially about something that could affect the team’s safety.
Still, he reminded himself, it wasn’t his place to force Clint to talk. That wasn’t how trust was built.
With a final punch, Steve stepped back, his breathing steady despite the effort. He wiped the sweat from his brow and looked around the empty gym.
The team was a long way from perfect. But they were trying.
And Steve knew that mattered.
He just wants it to be faster.