ii.

A Million Candles Burning

Part Four

Hermione was dreaming, at least she was pretty sure she was dreaming.

It was a strange dream, all vivid flashes of swirling colours like smoke bombs and incense sticks.

She dreamed she was a little girl, walking slowly through a golden hall and holding the hand of a dark haired little boy whose smile was subdued and a little sad. He was like the still waters of a lake at night, infinite in its depths and glowing in moonlight. His green eyes made something curl tightly in her chest, something willful and strong and forever hopeful in a way she didn't want to acknowledge because it meant that for now everything was wrong, so very wrong.

Her other hand held onto another little boy who was the complete opposite of his brother. He was radiance and sun kissed valleys and a gap toothed smile that found joy in everyone and everything. He was the faith in the good of things and the hard, stubborn belief that everything would be okay.

Hermione walked for a long time; no one with anything to say because their differences in nature just didn't seem to allow it.

It was like on one side of her it was the dead of night; full of its own quiet kind of life. And on her other it was the height of a summer's day bursting, overflowing with obvious blunt headed vibrance.

Both were so very alive, but they never seemed to exist at the same time. For when one was awake the other would sleep, and the two little boys' gazes seemed to slide right over the other as if it was too difficult to acknowledge their brother's nature because it was so different from their own.

Hermione held tighter onto their little hands, her own tiny fingers threaded between theirs as their existences orbited her.

Eternally circling each other and her, yet never quite living in the same moment. Except for the little girl, Hermione, who stood from a place where she could watch the moon set and the sun rise until the day she realized she wasn't in a hallway at all but standing on the precipice of the universe. A nebula stretching before her with a green that was so very green and a blue so vivid it hurt to look upon it.

The colours swirled and danced but never mixed, and she only felt a deep well of sadness for it.

"'If only, if only,'" Hermione's little girl self sang to the nebula, repeating something she'd once read in a book. "The woodpecker sighs, 'the bark on the tree was as soft as the skies.' And the wolf waits below, hungry and lonely. He cries to the moon 'if only, if only'"

As dreams are wont to do, it shifted, colours curling in on themselves and melting in response to long forgotten memories.

She stood, as she knew herself to be now, upon a rolling hill with soft, tall grass that brushed across her ankles. The wind combed through it in a gentle imitation of a lover's caress and Hermione felt a brief, irrational flash of envy for the tall grasses' luck. The sky was painted with darkness in broad strokes of stars that swathed like a beautiful fabric and tangled together like the flow of a river.

Hermione looked from one horizon to the next but found no moon. She felt a little disappointed at the revelation.

"If only, if only." She sighed as the soft breeze combed through her warm brown curls next, and she turned her face into its gentle touch, feeling in that moment more touch starved than she had in her entire life. "The moon speaks no reply; reflecting the sun, and all that's gone by. Be strong my weary wolf, turn around boldly. Fly high my baby bird, my angel, my only."

"That's lovely." A smooth voice rumbled from behind her, and she turned lackadaisically to find a tall man with long black hair and soft white skin that glowed like moonlight. He wore a dark green tunic that was familiar though she'd never seen it before. It suited him; the cut and shape of the cloth.

He seemed so very real in her little dream world, so sharp and crisp in this land of smoky colours and vague outlines.

"Loki," She greeted with a tired smile, and his lips turned down slightly at the sight of her. As if he had expected one thing and had been presented with another.

"It's been a long time since I've dreamed of you." She admitted, and his expression warped, green eyes brightening and one corner of his mouth curling upwards in a crooked, ill-used smile.

It was a soft, tentative thing. Delicate like it might flee at any moment. Hermione thought vaguely that it should be a thing cherished simply because it had managed to be.

He stepped towards her, tall grass parting in his wake as if he were the mountain parting the clouds.

"Dreamed of me, have you?" He murmured in her ear once he was close enough to reach, and as if sensing the emotions coiling around her he lifted graceful fingers to touch her cheek. She leaned into it shamelessly.

Ah, it felt nice to be touched. To remember she was human, that she was real. To receive contact that didn't involve violence. There was someone, she recalled distantly, someone who had shown her this same courtesy but she was tired and it was difficult to think. Besides, this was only a dream.

Loki's skin was startlingly cool on hers, and she hadn't realized how uncomfortably hot she was until now.

"Yes, but you were always…" She eyed him beneath sleep heavy lids, wondering if her mind was presenting a rough guess on what he might look like as this older self. The last she had seen he had been a teenager, and the Loki that stood before her now was a man grown. "Much younger." She finished. His half smile didn't fade at the admission, and his green eyes seemed to dance with amusement.

It was a look she'd seen on his childish features many times, the soft spoken little boy who found joy in books and desired fun just as much as his brother. Just in a quieter, different kind of way.

"What's the rest of your song?" He murmured, and she sighed again, sleepy in this listless space.

She made a half-hearted attempt to remember what she had been singing, but it was difficult and she was so very tired, and the grass looked so very soft. Her knees bent, bringing her down to the soft smokey earth and Loki followed with a small sound of concern.

"Hermione," He said, tilting her face to look up at his even as her eyes began to slide shut. "Hermione, stay with me now." He murmured a little more urgently.

The fingers of his other hand tangled through her hair at the nape of her neck and the touch of his skin suddenly became unbearably frigid on hers.

Her eyes snapped open with a hiss of discomfort.

"That's a good girl," He praised easily, thumb swiping over her check. "My magic can only do so much, I need you to stay here a while longer." He encouraged her, but Hermione couldn't really seem to absorb the words. It felt like she was worlds away, drifting on a sea of nothing as the sun and the moon circled about her in an endless chase.

She wasn't even sure who was chasing who anymore.

"'If only if only' the river sighs her goodbye." She murmured, and Loki gave her and encouraging humming sound in the back of his throat. "If only all time were a knot to untie. There would be no such lie, no reason to cry. If one life is gone… give another… a try…"

Hermione's body slumped forward, Loki's arms circling around her to keep her from falling all of the way.

"Hermione." He said again, more urgently this time.

The colours of her dream place began to melt into nothing, their dreamer too gone to paint them into existence.

"Hermione!"

It sounded like her name was being called from far away, like an echo through high canyon walls in a way that sparked deja vu; but she was sure she had never heard such a thing before…

Zemo paused before the door to Barnes' incarceration room. He could see the man through the narrow window, strapped down with metal inside his little birdcage.

He shifted his clipboard to his other hand, and he felt content with the knowledge that his Russian was perfect and he would be able to speak the words of James Buchanan Barnes' subjugation without difficulty.

Everything was falling into place as it should, all his planning and machinations. It was almost ready.

He waited impatiently for another few minutes, the clipboard that hid the little red book heavy in his hands until the man he knew as Everett Ross, the Deputy Head of the Task Force, approached him at a brisk pace.

"I know you're only here to evaluate him," Everett began without preamble, pulling out a key card from his breast pocket that Zemo was pleased to see unlock the door.

Everett barred his way with a hand on the handle of the door, and Zemo did his best to not look impatient with the man. "But you're the only one that's going to get to talk to this guy for a while, and we need information on the woman he was with. His accomplice."

Zemo did frown then. He was on a tight schedule with the delivery of his EMP bomb to the electrical compound for this part of the grid. But he supposed it didn't really matter what he talked about while the cameras were rolling. His real goal in being here would begin after the lights went out.

"I'll do what I can." He acquiesced in heavily accented Sokovian, which could easily be mistaken for German. "But I make no promises, I'm not trained in interrogation." Which was a complete lie, but he was sure it was probably the truth for the dead man in his hotel bathroom.

"That's all I ask." And the Task Force deputy let go of the door, pushing it inward and allowing Zemo his long desired access to the room.

"Hello, Mr. Barnes." He began, sweeping into the room with a straight back as the door clicked shut behind him. Zemo placed his clipboard on the provided metal table and pulled his seat out to sit before the man in the holding cell that very much resembled a fish tank.

"I've been sent by the United Nations to evaluate you." He lied smoothly in a tone that suggested empathy for the man in the tank before him.

"Your first name is James? Do you mind if I call you that?" He said kindly, watching as Barnes continued to avoid eye contact and completely ignore his presence in the room.

That was fine, none of this really mattered anyways. It was just the monkey show. Zemo sighed theatrically.

"James," he said, "we need to know about the woman you were with-"

Barnes' arm jerked in its metal restraint, and he leveled an impressive glower at Zemo, making eye contact for the first time.

"I'm not here to judge you." He said truthfully. He couldn't care less about everything the Winter Soldier had done, he himself had done things just as bad- under his own free will even.

"Do you know where she is, James?"

Barnes said nothing, just glared at him.

"I can't help you if you don't talk to me, James."

"My name is Bucky." He said finally, in a tone that said he was tired of being called by his given name.

"And her name?" Zemo prompted the man. Bucky's teeth clicked shut, and he dropped his eyes once more. Zemo could see the muscles in his cheek twitch sporadically with how hard he clenched his jaw.

"We are here to help you Bucky, we want to help her too. But the longer she remains at large the worse her sentence will be."

Bucky looked up sharply at that. "Sentence?"

Zemo let a small, secret smile curl on his lips, veiled behind a guise of empathy.

"She is your accomplice is she not? She was there during the bombing, yes?" Bucky jerked in his restrains, the look on his face spoke of murder.

"She wasn't there." He spat. "She has nothing to do with any of this."

"Oh, but many seem to disagree, Bucky." Zemo said distractedly as he swiped to view the package status on his slim tablet.

Delivered.

"But don't worry," He said, voice smooth with his sure intent. Yes, everything was going according to plan. "I'm sure once we find her, we can get her the help she needs."

The lights flickered out.

"-ione!" Everything hurt.

Everything was white hot pain through every inch of skin to the point of being unbearably aware of it.

"Hermi-" There was frost on her eyelashes, she realized as she painstakingly blinked them open; and frost in her hair. Had it been snowing? So early in October?

How long had she been asleep?

"Everything will be well," A deep voice soothed, and she felt hands under her knees and around her back, gently lifting her up.

It was torture.

She gasped, eyes flying wide open with renewed vigor at the sensation of everything everywhere that was a stark contrast to her wispy nothing of a dream place.

Blue eyes framed by soft golden hair greeted her, with an easy reassuring smile.

"Look at you," She said a little nonsensically. "You have all your teeth now."

Thor chuckled quietly. It was a strained sound, full of stress and discomfort.

She reached up a hand, and wasn't that a strange sensation- to move one's hand all on your own. On purpose even.

How novel.

Frozen blood flecked off her skin as she reached up to touch Thor's cheek in a mirror of the way Loki had touched her only a minute before.

Ah, that reminded her.

"Loki was here." She murmured, and a pained looked crossed the man's features, but he nodded along patiently nonetheless.

The sky was beginning to gather dark clouds, lightning rippling across the sea of grey.

"I was dreaming, I think." She admitted a moment later.

"Yes." Thor agreed sadly, shifting her weight as gently as he could to rest her head on one broad shoulder. His arm came securely around her middle and he lifted the other high into the air; in his hand a heavy looking hammer. It crackled with magic against her senses.

Her skin was burning against his, despite the ice that clung about her.

"Am I dreaming now?" She asked, confused by the onslaught of sensations and the heat inside her skin. "I called for you… a long time ago…" She stopped herself. Something nagged at her, some deep seeded emotion that begged her not to talk about it.

"Hush now, Lady Hermione. All will be well." Thor assured her again in a soft tone of voice she wasn't aware he'd been capable of. It seemed a sound much better fitting to his brother.

"Heimdall, open the way."

Hermione closed her eyes.

Bucky's awareness retreated, backtracking into the recesses of subconscious until he was awake and yet asleep. His body moved, took action and followed orders, but his mind slept.

Mostly, it was dark and empty and he did everything he could to not recall the pain association that usually followed on the tail of that particular string of Russian words that would make no sense to anyone else.

For him they were the promise of a nightmare.

But this time, Bucky dreamed.

He dreamed of brown curls, framing soft features, neither stunningly beautiful nor unpleasant to look upon; but perfect all the same.

She laughed, light and airy as she had the day he met her. There was a kind of freedom in the sound, and Bucky could never be sure if it was his, or hers. Maybe it was both.

She twirled, a dress he'd never seen swirling about her legs as she took his hand and smiled for him. It was a soft, beautiful thing. Intelligent eyes shining with the promise of witty anecdotes and patient words.

She had always been good to him.

Good for him.

She spun her wand through deft fingers, and gave it a neat, practiced swish in a complicated pattern that he had seen her make before.

Bucky was always watching.

The world lit up, a million candles burning across the sky in an imitation of stars, flickering on a breeze that wasn't there.

"I could take them away." Hermione told him in a voice like an apparition, like a ghost, like a thing long past.

It made his chest ache with worry.

"Take what away?" He murmured in response. She smiled again, softer, subtler a thing full of empathy and understanding.

"Memories." She told him, bringing her wand tip to her temple with a flourish. When the tip moved away from her skin it trailed a substance not unlike smoke, and it exploded forward, spilling fog across the ground to roll heavy around their feet.

He shook his head, an uncomfortable feeling that he was forgetting something important prodding at his mind.

Something… something…

He fell deeper, until there was no fog, no candles and no Hermione.

There was only Bucky, and he wasn't even really sure who that was anymore either.

"Wake up, Bucky." Hermione's voice whispered across the dark. "You need to wake up."

Thor reluctantly gave Hermione over to the healers, and they bustled about, murmuring to one another as they lay her inside the soul cradle.

"Jotun magic." One of the more experienced healers whispered conspiratorially to an apprentice.

Thor looked up sharply from his study of Hermione's features at that, a demand on his lips, but she spoke first turning to the former prince of Asgard with hard eyes.

"Is this girl of Jotunheim?" She demanded angrily, and Thor knew Asgard's view of that particular realm wasn't a soft hearted one.

"No," He said firmly, "She's Midgardian."

The healer did a double take, both of their eyes sliding back to Hermione who lay feverish upon the table that was presenting a holographic image of her wounds in the air above her.

"She's lost a lot of blood… an impossible amount for a simple Midgardian." The apprentice noted.

But it was the snow in her hair and the frost on her lashes, the ice sheeting solidly across the hole in her leg that was stemming the flow of blood that held Thor's attention.

Could it be possible?

Could Loki still be in the land of the living? Or perhaps the healers were mistaken and it was Hermione's own magic sustaining her life? What was it she had said to him…

Loki was here…

His heart squeezed behind his ribs, and Thor, God of Thunder dared to hope.

"We'll need to undress what's left of her clothing." The head healer told Thor, and for a moment he wondered why they would bother to tell him instead of getting on with it. She needed help, he did not need a narrative on how it would be done, only that they did it.

"That would be a polite request for you to take your leave." A authoritative voice called from behind him and he whirled around, back rigid to greet the King of Asgard.

"Father." He said, a million and one things ready to tumble from his mouth to explain- to protect Hermione from his father's wrath. Odin did not enjoy being wrong, and his declaration of Hermione's nonexistence all that time ago had practically sealed her demise should she ever turn up.

Odin was not known for his leniency in the face of something that could be a threat either, nor was he known for anything resembling mercy.

"I will allow you to explain later." The elder man cut him off, a warning clear in his haggard voice. He leaned forward on his staff, his back curving as if the old King carried the burden of the world on his shoulders.

Odin surveyed the woman on the table with a cold, expressionless eye that Thor knew was hiding boiling emotions behind it.

"Father-" He tried again, only to have the older man straighten, robes swirling about his feet and golden pauldrons glinting in the candle light.

He looked every inch of the commanding lord he was.

"Leave."

With one last look to the heavily breathing Hermione, Thor did as he was bid.

It was better to choose one's battles with the King of Asgard.

But he would be back.

Odin waited with the patience of a God for the healers to finish their jobs. They flitted about nervously for a while under his unforgiving gaze, many of them too young to have ever had the honor of his presence outside of the warrior feasts.

None dared meet his eye.

He watched dispassionately as they mended her skin, and brought her fever down to manageable levels. They hemmed and clucked over the wound on her exposed hip, an odd sort of magic clinging to the fresh skin there. Before long, there was little else to do but let the mortal rest.

They trickled out of the room one by one over the course of the next few hours, leaving only himself and the young witch.

Odin's staff tapped the floor, once, twice, and a shimmer of gold rose up over the door to barricade the way. Only then did he allow his illusion to waver, and disappear.

It was Loki who stepped forward, robes unfolding into existence around him in his preferred black and green colours.

He stopped at the edge of the Soul Cradle to look down at the young woman who had been his childhood friend.

His magic had dissipated around her, the ice and frost gone from her body and Loki felt a small, distant pang of disappointment for it. There was something satisfying about seeing her covered in his magic, seeing it sustain her life.

Hazy doe brown eyes blinked open, and a slow cat-like smile stretched her lips when she saw him. The strange feeling in his belly curled tighter.

"I knew you weren't a dream." She murmured sleepily, her hand moving in a slow jerky motion to reach for his.

He let her. Her skin was soft on his, and there was a crackle as her magic jolting along his fingers at the contact. She was a powerful sorceress, as he had always known, and Loki was a powerful God.

The combined sensation of their magic made both of their eyes widen slightly.

Her hand retreated a scant second later.

She blinked again, eyes slightly clearer, but Loki could see the pain that turned the corners of her lips down.

He pulled her thin blanket slightly higher on her shoulders when it began to bare skin to his eyes with her restless movements.

"It's been a long time." She breathed tiredly.

Loki nodded, "Yes." He agreed softly. "Hermione-" He began, but cut himself off. He wanted to explain, about New York, about the Tesseract, about everything; but his silver tongue failed him.

He was too used to telling lies, not truths.

His mouth tasted sour as he searched for the right words and she waited patiently for him to give them.

The weight of his father's staff felt heavy in his hand, and he dragged his eyes from her soft features to look at it.

"All this planning…" He murmured to himself, and for a moment he felt nothing but burning resentment for the events that had brought him here; to the pinnacle of his planning. For his actions, his choices.

Because Loki had already made his choice.

He couldn't just give everything up now. Not when he was so close. Not because the one thing that had shown up in his life that had the potential to be something good had come back.

Loki wrapped himself in the ever familiar cloak of disappointment, and loneliness.

"What is it?" Her soft voice broke through but Loki didn't look at her. He couldn't.

He had already made his choice, and he despaired that this, that she, in the end, couldn't change that.

Hermione knew that expression. She knew that look in his ethereal green eyes. It was the struggle, what that was for him she wasn't sure. Too tired, too sore to really think about all the possibilities right now.

There was something nagging in the back of her mind. Something that begged for her attention, pleaded for her awareness that she couldn't seem to reach through the haze of Loki's powerful magic thrumming across her skin and the exhaustion that lay heavy in her limbs.

It was his expression that finally brought something to mind. The smoothed features that tried so hard to hide the thing that lay frail behind his eyes. Waiting, always waiting for the blow to land.

Bucky…

She moved to sit, her hair frizzing up with accidental magic and her hands clutching the white sheet to her chest.

"I need to-" She cut herself off with a hiss, pain shooting down her leg and the strange table she lay on made an urgent beeping sound.

"You need nothing." Loki intoned sharply, a delicate hand pushing her back down. She went, more out of a lack of strength than a willingness to go. He pulled the thin blanket up her shoulders, and Hermione tried desperately not to think about her lack of clothing beneath it.

He curled his black hair behind an ear in a nervous gesture, and Hermione watched the movement from her prone position. "What happened, Loki?" She hoped he would tell her.

He sighed instead, it was a heavy sound; full of burden and regret. "A great many things." He responded, the non-answer doing nothing to enlighten her.

She told him so, and his lips quirked in a lopsided smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Stay here until you are well." He deflected, "You are the only mortal in the Realm Eternal, and the others of your kind do not know the way." He assured, eyeing where he knew the healed wounds on her hip and leg were with a disgruntled look.

Hermione wished that people coming after her was the actual issue.

"There's one more thing." The slight pleading quality to his tone caught her attention.

"Please, don't mention my presence to anyone. This must be our secret." And the way his magic swirled, and the flat, emotionless quality to his eyes told her that he was attempting to manipulate her.

Maybe he had been this entire time.

Disappointment was an ugly feeling. Like heavy stones dropped into a lake to disturb the calm.

Hermione closed her eyes to hide it, and nodded because she didn't trust her voice.

What happened to you, little godling.

She wanted to know, she really did. Hermione wanted to understand what had changed him from the innocent little boy she had known; but she was afraid she wouldn't like the answer.

She didn't ask again for the same reason she didn't ask Bucky why he was the way he was. She didn't ask for the same reason she didn't like people asking her.

Because the truth hurt.

When Bucky came to, he jerked hard enough to wrench his shoulder in a direction it wasn't meant to go. He blinked open bleary eyes with a moan of discomfort as he registered that his mechanical arm was trapped between the clamps of a large industrial vice.

His head was pounding.

It's not that this was the worst he had ever felt, but it certainly wasn't a picnic either.

"Hermione?" He murmured. The sensation of moving tongue and teeth in his mouth to sound out her name was a strange thing. Uncomfortable, a distant sort of recollection on how to make sounds that came to him before he even realized he was going to call for her.

His witch, however, did not respond. Instead there was a masculine call in response, one Bucky was sure he vaguely recognized as a voice he had heard before.

"Hey Cap!"

Bucky used his free hand to grip the edge of the vice machine and lift himself into some semblance of a sitting position instead of being draped across its surface like a rag doll. He grunted with the effort, feeling like he'd just gone a few rounds in a boxing ring.

Two people came into the tiny room and stopped in front of him with anxious expressions.

One he knew was a man named Sam, Steve's friend. He had probably been the one to call out a moment before.

Beside him stood the man he was more familiar with. They both looked about as haggard as he felt.

"Steve." He greeted raggedly. Bucky was having a hard time getting his thoughts in order. One thing was abundantly clear to him however, as his eyes swept across the room in search of the woman who he had become accustomed to being around when he woke.

Hermione wasn't here.

"Which Bucky am I talking to?" Steve brought his attention back around.

He shook his head in an effort to order his stringy thoughts.

"Your mom's name was Sarah," The words came unbidden to his lips, and he paused for a moment to register them. "You used to wear newspapers in your shoes." He added with a small tinge of laughter.

The only reason he even remembered that was thanks to the missing woman.

"Can't read that in a museum." Steve said in relief. The slight jab at the words he'd told Steve in his and Hermione's apartment wasn't lost on him either.

"Where's Hermione?" The tone of his voice betrayed the intensity of the emotion behind it when he asked.

Steve and Sam looked at each other for a moment, and back to him.

"We've been looking for her." Steve told him carefully, but Bucky could hear what wasn't being said behind it.

We don't know.

Well, that at least meant she wasn't dead. They would have found her body by now if she was. Bucky knew if Hermione didn't want to be found, then no one, save maybe himself, would be able to track her down.

He only estimated himself at a 'maybe' because he was familiar with her habits.

It was also due to this familiarity that Bucky's concern grew. She would never leave him behind. She was too loyal, too invested in his well-being to up and leave without at least attempting to find him first.

Something had waylaid her. He was sure of it.

He trapped a sigh behind his teeth, and forcibly reined in the building stress inside his gut. Perhaps he was also a little too invested in her well-being in return.

"What did I do?" He murmured a moment later, wanting to know but at the same time dreading the response.

"Enough." Steve gave a non-answer, and Bucky felt grateful for it. It did nothing for his building apprehension though.

"I knew this would happen." He had been resigned to the knowledge for as long as he had been free of Hydra; all anyone had to do was say the damn words. "Hermione was only thing keeping everyone safe from me." He admitted to the two men into the quiet that was pressing down on them. It felt odd to finally say it out loud. He hadn't even told Hermione his reasons for wanting to stay near her at the beginning, though he strongly suspected she probably knew by now.

Bucky saw the two of them share another look from behind his curtain of lanky, unwashed hair.

"So she's, what, your handler?" Sam muttered reproachfully. Bucky didn't really like the term, it was entirely too close to what he had had under Hydra, but he couldn't ignore the parallels either.

He decided not to dignify the man with a response.

"We'll find her." Steve said firmly a moment later, and Bucky really wanted to believe him. Another part of him entirely said that she would be finding them; not the other way around. And right now he had to trust that she would, because he didn't really have any leftover emotional stability to imagine what it would mean if she didn't.

"How did you know about her Steve, back at our apartment." Bucky questioned, and he watched as his tall blond friend made a small wincing gesture, like he had hoped that wouldn't come up.

Fat chance.

"A friend of mine has been looking for her." Steve told him with a steady blue gaze despite his apparent hesitance. Bucky's brow furrowed.

"I'm looking for someone…" Her voice slid through his thoughts with perfect recollection of how she sounded. He suppressed a shudder.

"Who?" Steve did look away then, and it was Sam who answered.

"One of the Avengers. Thor."

Bucky blinked, startled. Hermione had been looking for an Avenger? A God? Well, he supposed that answered why she never told him exactly who it was. People didn't tend to think well of others who went spouting off about fictional things. And he was well aware that she didn't follow the news enough to know that it was a readily accepted truth in this day and age.

Still, this whole time she had been looking for someone so well known. The God of Thunder. That… explained a lot actually.

"What did the evaluator want?" Steve changed the subject.

"I don't know." Bucky replied with the negative on reflex, keeping his information close to his chest in his distracted state.

"People are dead, Buck." Steve reprimanded, and Sam shifted his weight; uncomfortable beside the taller man. "The bombing, the setup. That doctor did all of that just to get ten minutes with you."

Steve shook his head, and his tone shifted to something slightly softer. "I need you to do better than 'I don't know.'"

It was quiet in the abandoned factory for a moment as Bucky chewed his words and ordered a proper response.

"He wanted to know about Siberia." He admitted, giving a valiant effort to shift his thoughts to the subject at hand. "Where I was kept, he wanted to know exactly where."

"Why?" Steve pressed.

Dread weighed heavy on Bucky's shoulders making them sag slightly.

He really wished Hermione was here.

"Because I'm not the only Winter Soldier."

Loki had stayed until sleep had once more claimed her, and even in unconsciousness Hermione would swear she felt the moment his fingers threaded through hers, giving a slight squeeze before slipping away.

It felt horribly like it would be forever.

So when she blinked her eyes open again to a dawn lightened room that oddly resembled the hospital wing of Hogwarts to the feeling of a large, masculine hand holding hers, her thoughts immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion.

"Loki?" She murmured. Her head lolled to the side, brown eyes glowing amber in the golden light streaming in from a high window above them.

Brown met unearthly blue, and Hermione knew then that Loki was long gone; but there was a calculating look in Thor's eyes.

A suspicion that Hermione hoped would lead the God of Thunder to his wayward brother; even if she had promised the mischief maker that she would keep his secret.

"You should be resting, Lady Hermione." Thor murmured quietly, despite the expression on his face that said his thoughts were elsewhere.

Thor was no Slytherin; he had always been a straightforward kind of boy.

Not that he was a boy anymore.

She couldn't help the smile that brightened her features at the sight of him, and he returned it with sincerity.

"I've been looking for you." She told him tiredly, and he nodded as if he had known the whole time.

"And I you, Lady Sorceress. We have a great many things to discuss." Hermione's mind distantly registered the similar verbiage that Loki had used before, and it made her smile widen to hear the similarities.

Thor's fingers untangled from hers, and his large hand came up to sweep her dirty hair away from her face.

"There are things I do not yet understand happening here." He admitted, his voice lowering another octave. She knew he meant here on Asgard rather than her own situation.

The swirl of heavy, cloying magic all around her was an easy indicator for the realm she currently inhabited.

"I would wish to return you to Midgard personally, as it is my responsibility that you are here, but I am afraid I may not have the option to leave the Realm Eternal under these circumstances."

Hope bloomed behind her ribs, it made her breath swell with an odd comforting sensation. Out of all her troubles, this one between the brothers at least seemed to be working itself out.

Thor would figure things out with Loki.

Bucky though, Bucky needed her.

So she nodded in understanding, and forced herself into a sitting position with a groan of effort. Thor's head turned away with a snap and swish of golden hair. He stood even as Hermione looked down at herself, remembering her lack of dress too late. She pulled the sheet up to cover herself as Thor made quick strides towards a door across from the foot of her bed.

"I will return with proper raiment for you Lady."

"I would really prefer pants." Hermione admitted, looking down the length of the white gown the healer had forced over her head. It was a sleeveless affair that clasped at one shoulder with a golden emblem that looked suspiciously like a stylized version of Mjolnir. The fabric swathed about her legs in loose folds, plain and unassuming but as soft as dove's feathers. Hermione looked at it, and thought it would be a terrible thing to try to fight in. She wasn't keen on the way the pearly white scar spelling out Mudblood across her arm was exposed either.

Her leg twinged as she put her weight on it, even with the tightly wrapped bandages that kept the skin from stretching too much. Her hip, as well as her leg, would be delicate for a while even with the advanced magic working to pull the bits of her back together. No healing magic was perfect enough to heal instantaneously- barring phoenix tears. Unfortunately Hermione didn't keep a bottle of the extremely rare stuff on her.

She spared a moment to wonder where her hoodie and blue jeans had ended up, the depth enhanced pockets containing the last vestiges of the magical world. At least she still had her wand, Hermione had no idea what she would do without it.

The healer tisked at her disapprovingly, and Thor rumbled a deep laugh from where he leaned against the wall. His arms were folded across his broad muscled chest and a flowing crimson cape bunched behind him.

"It's not proper for a Lady." The healer reprimanded her softly, and Hermione frowned at the words.

"The Lady Sif would disagree." Thor boomed laughingly, and the healer could only nodd in agreement though it looked like it left a sour taste in her mouth to do it.

"Come, Lady Hermione," Thor held out an arm for her to take, and she stepped forward, white dress swishing, to do so. "I will see you to Heimdall." He assured, and once they were traversing the golden hall Hermione had not seen in many years Thor began to speak.

"I will not attempt to dissuade you from returning to Midgard, as I am somewhat aware of the situation there." He began, and Hermione nodded because she could only assume he would have never suggested her returning if he didn't at least have an inkling.

"But I must caution you against becoming any further involved with the mortal's bickering." He continued at length, the words sounding unamused. "Many will seek to control you, as they do a good number of my friends already. I fear if they realize the extent of your capabilities a parallel might be drawn between yourself and my brother."

Hermione's steps faltered, and she slowed before coming to a stop altogether. Thor stopped with her, his arms dropping to his sides as he stepped away so he could better look at her smaller stature.

"What did Loki do?" She dreaded the answer, she couldn't look at him, her eyes skittering away from his gaze and down the hall, looking for anything else to settle on.

"I am surprised you have not heard." He murmured softly, regretfully. "Loki fell from the Bifrost some time ago, and we all thought him dead. When he did return-" A ragged exhale that had Hermione's eyes snapping up to look into blue eyes darkened with heavy emotional burden. "-It was with an army, and the aid of magical artifacts that he sought to bring all of Midgard under his heel. My brother's mind had become twisted during his time in the void, and he wished to bring order to Midgard under his subjugation."

Hermione blinked, stunned by Thor's words.

"That doesn't make any sense." The words fell flat from her lips too soon to think them over, and Thor looked slightly taken aback for a moment.

"I promise you, Lady Hermione, that I speak only the truth."

Hermione worried her lower lip between sharp teeth and turned her head away with the swish of freshly cleaned brown hair. Her brain was working overtime to try to reconcile this information with the Loki she knew, and the Loki of the Norse tales she had read as a younger girl.

"I don't think you're lying, Thor." She placated taking a quick step to match the large man's pace as he resumed his stride down the corridor. "It's just, Loki is the God of Mischief isn't he?" She questioned aloud, hoping to lead Thor to the odd conundrum she had only just reached herself.

The God of Thunder nodded gravely, mouth set in a firm line that didn't suit his features. "That is the title he was bestowed."

"Well," She continued. "Why would he have any interest in bringing order to Midgard if his whole personality is dependant on chaos…" She trailed off, murmuring things to herself that Thor didn't catch. He did not, however, miss her use of present tense while speaking about his brother.

As if Loki was still alive.

He gave her a wary look from the corner of his eye and wondered if she wasn't telling him something.

Thor's suspicions grew, slowly forming a larger picture in his mind.

Hermione didn't know what to think of the Aesir Heimdall, but she gathered from the way magic clung to his golden eyes and from the massive sword his hands casually rested on that he was an immortal not to be trifled with.

"So this is the Arcane Mortal." He rumbled, a smile teasing the edges of his lips. Thor's hand settled heavily on her shoulder with a proud look in his eyes.

Heimdall nodded down at them from his high vantage point atop the dais that crowned the center of the rounded room. "You have been searching for as long as my eyes have watched you, Lady, have you found what you seek?"

Hermione blinked at the strange question, and she spun her wand between her fingers in a fidgety gesture as she turned the words over in her mind.

She glanced up at Thor, only to find his gaze already resting on her; an expectant look on his face.

It felt like a question beneath a question, as the obvious one had an obvious answer. Thor stood right beside her, and one would have to be blind, deaf and dumb to miss his presence in a room.

So, what then, was this Aesir asking her? What was missing that she was looking for?

Hermione squinted up at Thor and he seemed to register her scrutiny warily.

When the answer came to her a moment later, she felt silly for not realizing it sooner.

Of course. Loki. She was looking for Thor and Loki. Where one would be, surely you would find the other.

"I have." She answered firmly. Heimdall and Thor shared a quick look, and that was all the help Hermione knew she would be able to provide without outright giving Loki up. She could only hope that Thor would find him, and whatever it was that Loki Fair of Face had planned that it wouldn't lead to bloodshed.

Although she seriously doubted that.

Several expressions filtered across Thor's open features, and Hermione's brow quirked upwards as he seemed to settle on resigned determination.

"I wish that I could be of service to you on Midgard, my Lady, but I am afraid I must remain here for a while yet." He paused, his blue eyes flicking up to meet Heimdall's disconcerting heavy golden gaze, and then back down to her. She waited patiently for him to continue.

"I hope that our paths will cross again soon."

Hermione reached up to gently pat a large muscled forearm with an easy smile.

"I've come all this way, and you think I'm going to let you off with a few measly hours of company? I'll climb this bifrost if I have to, Thor Odinson."

"That would not be a pleasant endeavor for a mortal to undertake." Heimdall monotoned, apparently having no sense of metaphor.

Hermione blinked at him, momentarily sidetracked. Thor rumbled a quiet laugh, probably used to the dark skinned Aesir's manner.

He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and not for the first time she felt incomprehensibly small standing next to the fully grown Thunder God.

"It is better to stand and fight, if you run, you will only die tired." Thor advised morbidly, Hermione nodded in agreement though; it was good parting advice.

With that, Heimdall turned his massive sword inside its pedestal and a rounded stone arch carved with runes rumbled omonously. A swirl of colours and light shot out into the depths of space, curving down and off until Hermione could no longer see where it led.

"I'll see you soon." Hermione promised, taking a step towards the portal. One hand gripped her wand with white knuckles, and the other reached up to touch the golden broach on her dress that proclaimed Mjolnir's likeness to anyone who cared to look. Thors blue eyes watched the movement with a pleased smile and an easy nod of his head.

"Nice to meet you Heimdall," She called over her shoulder, brown hair frizzing up over her shoulders with the touch of strong Aesir magic; and with that she stepped into the Bifrost.

Steve jogged out onto the airport runway, making a quick beeline for the helicopter that had been prepped by someone before undoubtedly being shuffled off during the mass evac.

They weren't planning on using it, but they needed someone to stall and call attention to themselves. They wouldn't have evacuated the airport if the authorities weren't expecting a fight after all.

Steve was vindicated when an EMP mine shot from the sky to thunk onto the exterior metal and scatter off arcs of electricity, rendering the helicopter unusable. Steve skidded to a halt, one foot forward to slow his momentum as Tony followed only a second behind the mine.

He hovered in the air above him and Steve had to crane his neck and squint to look up at his friend. The repulsors in his hands and feet flicked off long enough for the man to land heavily to the ground, Colonel Rhodes coming in quickly after him to stand at his side.

Steve rolled his shoulders in an anticipatory reflex. Two against one, okay, he could handle this. He just needed to stall long enough for Sam and Bucky to locate the Quinjet.

Scott Lang, also known as Ant-man was on stand-by while Clint and Wanda waited for the go-ahead on the Quinjet. Hopefully, if everything worked out, they'd be on their way to Siberia with minimal issues. He knew it wasn't to be the second Tony lifted his visor and he got a good look at the man's expression.

He was furious.

"Wow, it's so weird how you run into people at the airport, don't you think thats weird?" Tony snarked, words spilling from his mouth in a rapid-fire sentence.

"Definitely weird." Rhodes agreed as if they were having a casual conversation.

A thick cloud rolled past the sun, temporarily blocking out the light as a shadow fell over them. Steve didn't miss the way a storm seemed to be gathering in the sky quicker than what would be considered a natural occurrence.

"Hear me out Tony." Steve stuck to the plan. Keep them talking, keep them distracted. If he could manage to convince them somehow it would only be for the better, but he was willing to force the issue if he had to. "That doctor- the psychiatrist. He's behind all of this." And he lamented as soon as the words left him, that they didn't really make a whole lot of sense out of context.

He suppressed a huff of irritation and stuck to his guns, pressing forward anyways. Before he could get another word in a black blur shot through the air from behind him, and Steve's head snapped to the side to see T'Challa land on Tony's right with dexterous feet.

"Your Highness." He greeted, trying not to sound too sarcastic.

The Black Panther tilted his head in polite greeting, like they weren't all standing around getting ready to tear each other to pieces. "Captain." He returned smoothly.

"Anyway." Tony said quickly. Steve didn't miss the way everything the man said seemed to be rushed. "Ross gave me thirty-six hours to bring you in-"

Thunder rumbled across the sky, finally catching the other's attention. Tony and Steve both had first hand experience with this kind of phenomenon, and neither one of them questioned what it heralded.

Tony's expression darkened right along with the thickening clouds. "Nice time to turn up Thor." Steve heard the man grumble under his breath.

"-That was twenty-four hours ago." Tony continued hurriedly as if he hadn't been interrupted. Lightning rippled across the sky, and the first drops of rain began to fall; darking the concrete where it became wet.

"Can you help a brother out?" He sounded almost desperate.

"You're after the wrong guy." Steve shot him down without remorse.

"Your judgment is askew!" Tony shot right back with hard eyes. "Your old war buddy killed innocent people-"

"And there are five more super soldiers just like him." Steve interrupted as the rain began to fall with more vigor. No one moved to get out of the heavy sheets of water, and the sudden change in weather only seemed to spur Tony's aggression and frustration further.

Lightning arced across the sky once more, and thunder boomed in his ears like drums of war.

"Steve." Once again he turned to find a soaked and measured looking Natasha boxing him in on his other side. She held her arms at her sides just so; and Steve recognized the stace as a ready one. "You know what's about to happen." She had to speak up to be heard over the storm.

He wondered if she was talking about the Aesir's impending arrival or the fight as a whole. He suspected it was the latter.

"Do you really wanna punch your way out of this one?" She finished, confirming his thoughts aloud.

"Alright." Tony snapped, "I've run out of patience." He held up armor clad hands to his mouth to shout, but whatever it was he called was drowned out by the loudest clap of thunder yet. A new figure landed at Tony's side, and Steve dimly registered a small man- boy? Dressed in bright red and blue with spider webbing patterns across his suit.

White light flashed, Steve's ears were ringing even as he brought up his shield on instinct to protect himself from the bolt of lightning that struck the ground behind Tony, Rhodes, and the newcomer.

For a split second it was chaos as everyone leapt backwards, inadvertently moving closer to Steve to get away from the smoking, charred ground where electricity had lashed across it.

"What's going on! Did we do that?" The newcomer yelled over the howling wind, confirming a young man's voice.

And just like that the weather died down, the wind coming to a soft breeze, the rain easing up to a light pitter patter.

"I don't think that's Thor." Natasha commented out loud as they all watched a small figure come to their feet inside the smoke. The runes that always marked the ground with Thor's arrival burned bright red on the tarmac and Steve let out a breath of surprise as a decidedly female figure stepped forward. The wind carried away the smoke leaving their line of sight clear.

She looked ethereal, truly a magical being in that moment and Steve recognized then what Bucky seemed to already know.

She seemed every inch the powerful sorceress that Thor had always claimed. Her posture and expression spoke of the ability Bucky had confessed to believing to be the only thing that could keep him under control.

Her unforgiving doe brown eyes found his, and his breath caught in his throat. In this moment, Steve truly thought for the first time that Hermione wasn't a creature to be crossed.

Her arm rose slowly, smoothly, and a ripple of movement went around him as weapons were brandished in preparation; but Steve's eyes were locked onto the dark wood of her wand as it came up to point at them.

"Where is Bucky." She demanded in a clear, concise voice that made him feel much too young.

AN: Sorry for the long wait. So here is part four, I hope you all enjoyed it! Thanks for sticking with me, just one more after this and it should be a wrap.

Please shoot me a review and let me know what you think.

Also as a side note- Its been pointed out to me (several times) that Buck's apartment was located in Romania, not Germany. This is a misunderstanding on my part mostly from lack of understanding with the quick pace the move set. So for the sake of this fic and the sake of my sanity we are gunna pretend like it was Germany and all move on with our days.