This is set a week or two after the Bartons arrived.

It was maybe two hours after sunrise. Days were still getting longer, thankfully. If they were lucky they'd have some of the stuff they'd planted here ready for harvest. They had Barton now, his bow would help them, but they were also nearly seventy people now. That was a lot of mouths to feed. It was going to be a very lean winter, and they still had work to do with the buildings. Rogers drove his spade in to the dry ground again. They were trying to sort out at least basic water treatment, which at the moment amounted to filtering it and boiling it. Both Banner and Hayley, the veterinarian, had warned of massive disease outbreaks if they didn't get this sorted. Not MRYP, but things that could still debilitate the entire settlement for over a week and kill the young and the old. Stark was working on electrical generators. At present, power was scarce, clean water was scarce, and food was getting that way. And Rogers didn't see how things were going to get better fast enough to get them through the winter, particularly if people kept turning up and asking to join the group. They'd had nine people now, in a four, a three and a two. They'd set up a quarantine protocol for new arrivals, Banner had volunteered to run it.

As things were, they were going to starve. Not all of them, not right now, but over winter they'd run out of stored stuff and all get so weakened they wouldn't be able to sort out enough crops for the year to follow, or they wouldn't be able to fend off the armed bands when they came, which they inevitably would. So they prayed. They prayed for something to change.

Rogers kept digging, with five of the other strongest men in the settlement, until the sun was high in the sky and they were running with sweat. Then somebody rang a gong (a repurposed bin lid) and called them for food. They didn't say much to each other as they went, until something bright, something vast, appeared in the sky. Rogers looked up, shielding his eyes. A lot of people ran for cover. Stark emerged from one place, Romanoff from another.

It landed. A vast, red cloaked man suddenly stood in the street. In his hands, he held the ends of six pieces of rope, each was tied to the head of a cow. The cows were panniered like pack ponies. But Rogers's attention was held by the man.

"Thor." Stark said behind him.

Thor dropped the ends of the rope - the cows didn't move - and strode forward to throw his arms around Stark. "My friends, it is good to see you alive." He released Stark and put his arms around Rogers instead – he was really very strong.

"Where were you?" Stark asked coldly.

Thor released Rogers and sighed heavily. "Asgard. I am truly sorry that I could not come before, the Allfather forbade it. He would not suffer any person to risk bringing disease back to Asgard. I begged him to send healers to try and stop the outbreak, but he would not risk them against the plague."

"Do you know how many of us died?" Stark asked.

"I know it numbers in billions."

"Was that-"

"Stark." Rogers said quietly. "What's done is done."

"I do not ask you to forgive it." Thor said quietly. "Only that you accept what help the Allfather would let me offer you." He looked over his shoulder. Most of the settlement had gathered round to look now. "These beasts." He said, speaking to everyone in earshot now. "They are not chosen for beauty, not for tenderness of meat or richness of milk. I chose them because they are gentle in spirit and hardy to hunger and disease. Each of them gives milk and carries a calf within her, they will be born in your next Spring. They carry milled grain on their backs, fit to feed man or beast, the beast with the white face carries seed grain that should grow well in your soils."

Rogers's mouth fell slightly open as he looked at the animals, still standing quietly in the middle of the road. They might be enough. Six cows and that much grain… he didn't have a very firm idea of how far that much food would go, but it would certainly help. "I… Thank you."

Thor nodded once. "I would esteem it a great dishonour to see such mighty warriors as you fight off a Chitauri armada, lead a people to safety to start a new life then faint with hunger. I do not know if I will be able to help you again. If I am able, I will return." He squared his feet and looked skyward, as though preparing to go back.

"Thor." He looked back at Rogers. "Is Jane okay? Did she survive?"

Thor looked down. "Yes. Yes, Jane Foster lives. Heimdal!"

As ever, please review.
If anybody here reads MI-5/Spooks (long shot, I know), please look up my new fic 'Lost and Found'