A/N: Complete and utter crack. Don't judge me I'm tired and chocolate-deprived.

1.

The first time Bruce catches Harry with a snake, it's a hot July day, middle of summer.

They're out on a little terraced ledge hundreds of feet in the air, tending aimlessly to the tiny garden that Tony added to the Tower complex a few months ago. Harry had a passion for cultivating the little seedlings in their journey of life, that had originally begun with a simple vase of roses, and Tony recognized that, so he built the ledge and Bruce bought the equipment and seeds.

Harry had grinned so widely when he first saw it.

"Harry," Bruce says, groaning as he arches his back to pop his spine, "where's the spade–!"

Harry looks up from the black-colored boa draped loosely around his forearms and neck, grinning. The sinewy body contracts, tail flicking artfully through the air, coils gliding over Harry's flesh. "Bruce, look, her name is Bubba."

Hulk cracks an eye open from deep within Bruce's subconscious as his heart-rate skyrockets.

Bruce lunges forward, scrabbling in the dirt, ripping up roots–Harry's dismayed cry mistakenly translates in Bruce's overprotective mind as a cry for help–and grabs the snake behind the flattened triangular skull, face contorted into a vicious snarl as he yanks the slender body from his ward.

"Bruce! Stop!" Harry cries, just as Bruce is about to hurl the wretched thing off the side of the ledge.

The boy scuffles forward on his knees, flashing out a hand to pluck the hapless snake from Bruce's merciless grip. A hot glare melts into his retinas. Bruce winces and then rubs the back of his neck, taking a few deep breaths to disperse the tension in his chest and lungs.

"So," he says after a moment, when his heartbeat has relaxed and Hulk has gone back to sleep, "Is this one of those... wizard-things... that we talked about?"

Harry shrugs, carelessly winds the snake between his fingertips. Bruce stifles a gasp when the swaying head brushes a little too closely to Harry's jugular vein for his liking, the forked tongue flickering out and tasting Harry's scent. "Yeah." He gives a wry, bitter smile. "In my second year, everyone accused me of being the Heir to Slytherin just because I could talk to snakes." There's a shadow hanging over the boy's countenance, but Bruce catalogues the trigger, because sometimes (okay, well, all the time) it's hard to get Harry to open up about his past.

He processes the information, tucks it away for further analysis. The grim, serious look that Harry seems so fond of needs to go. When Harry smiles, actually smiles, in his quirky little half-grin, half-smirk thing, and the dimples on his left cheek show and his eyes dazzle, those are the moments that Bruce feels like he's not a failure of a psuedo parent.

"Bubba, eh?" He quips, gesturing. The snake hisses venomously in his direction. Harry barks out a short, surprised chuckle, and Bruce knows that Harry's compartmentalized again by the way the shadow passes away and the glitter returns to his ink-black irises.

Only later, when Bruce notices Hawkeye and Iron Moron staring at him and giggling like little girls does he wonder how the snake got up on the ledge, two hundred feet in the air, in the middle of New York City.

2.

The second time Bruce catches Harry with a snake, they're all on a buddy-buddy-woods playdate. Or at least, that's what Tony calls it. Fury christens it a "team-bonding exercise".

Team-bonding exercise entails being dropped off by helicopter in the middle of the woods, told not to use their powers, and yet still find a way back to civilization. Fury gave them all backpacks packed with a few essentials-food packets, water, compasses, maps. Some cheap blanket rolls. A sketchbook and set of pencils for Harry (See, the man really does have a heart.). Entertainingly, Tony had complained about the weight of his pack for quite some time before they stopped for a break, where Steve, fed up with his whining, jerkily ripped the pack from his shoulders and went through its contents to see what all the fuss was about.

Turns out Fury had given Tony all the cooking ware and various heavy items.

They (excepting Tony, of course, who ranted) had a good laugh about it for quite some time.

Afterwards, Tony brought out the bits and pieces of tools he had managed to smuggle in his cargo pants, and Bruce was pretty good with his hands, so within the hour, they had constructed an ingenious tent skeleton using the surrounding trees and branches. Not even Good Guy Steve complained about the technical "cheating" because at this point they were all pretty miserable (excluding Harry, of course, who had contently filled out five pages of his sketchbook thus far). Thor even graciously allowed his deep red cape to be used as the canvas material to provide a bit of shelter from the elements.

Now, however, they can't decide on which direction to head first, and so decide to wait for someone to trump in the disagreement.

Natasha sharpens a weighty staff to a wicked point with a broken stone's edge, glaring murderously at the huddled group of men and muttering sharp, feminist comments in heavy Russian.

Steve pores over the maps with Clint, engaged in a very manly-heroic argument over which direction leads to the nearest Wendy's. Tony has his back turned to the group, secretly fiddling with a screwdriver and what looked like Harry's iPod(?), casting furtive glances over his shoulders every so often.

And Harry is…

...not there.

"Where's Harry?" Bruce calls out, alarmed, as he straightens and his foot accidentally kicks over the base of the tent skeleton. The fragile thing collapses and Tony drops his tools (and jaw) and sags wordlessly to the ground, hands out in a silent universal gesture for 'What the crap, man?!'

Steve and Thor simultaneously groan. Natasha sighs, gets up, and, sharpened spear in hand, disappears into the underbrush.

Clint stands up, carefully shaking his feet free from the tangled, pitiful mesh that had once been their so-called tent.

"Last I saw, he was sketching over there," he says, pointing to his left. His other arm rises up and skims over his shoulder, as though searching for his bow, and falling away, empty-handed and disappointed.

Bruce breaks into a light jog, face pinched in worry. From behind him, he hears Tony's sarcastic remark, "There goes Mama Hulk, out to protect her baby wizardling," and he rolls his eyes.

"Harry?" he calls, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice. The echoes are louder than he expects, probably due to the wild forest growth surrounding them. They make him feel startling empty and small. He frowns lightly, bouncing his foot, waiting for an answer. None issues forth.

"Harry, come on! We're bedding down for the night!"

Harry doesn't answer. Bruce takes a step forward. His foot crunches on something; he looks down and sees one of Harry's favorite aquamarine pencils broken underfoot. His heart plummets to the bottom of his chest. Harry would never leave his favorite pencil so carelessly pressed into the dirt.

He bursts back into the clearing with a wild look on his face. "HARRY'S GONE!"

Bruce's nightmare is unfolding right in front of his eyes.

"Check your comm. link again," he snaps, and Tony groans helplessly.

"Bruce, I admire your work ethic, really, I do, but we've checked it at least thirty-nine times! There's no connection out here in Timbuktoo, okay?"

"Check it again," Bruce says, rubbing his face with his hands.

Night's fallen. Natasha's gone. None of the men know where she went. Even Clint seems worried, his eyes constantly flitting between tree trunks as though waiting for her lithe form to emerge from the shadows.

There are no signs of where Harry's disappeared to. Clint examined the area and found no prints, no signs of a struggle except for the broken pencil. Thor hikes in widening circles around their camp's perimeter, his deep, booming voice reaching out into the night as distinctively as his own bolts of lightning.

"Out," Hulk rumbles, and Bruce's heart skips a beat as he feels the monster flex and heave itself upwards, reaching for control. "Hulk find. Hulk bring boy back, safe."

"Not now," Bruce groans, his building headache pulsing dangerously behind his sinuses. He's almost trembling and ready to punch the nearest tree until his knuckles bleed.

Suddenly, Tony hurls one of the cooking pots into the darkness with an aggravated shout. "This sucks!" he explodes. "Thanks Fury, you and your freaking wonderful plan, "Oh, let's just drop off a couple super-powered/super-smart/super-athletic humans into the woods with a kid and no communication and see how they do! Excellent for the camaraderie, I hear!"

"Stop being a baby, Tony," Clint says neatly, dropping down from the nearest tree and wedging his pinky in his ear canal with a look of annoyance. "We'll find him, and Nat."

Tony whirls on him. "Because you're having so much success with that, huh?"

A muscle works in Clint's jaw; Thor nervously sidesteps back into the darkness, mumbling something about walking around again. Bruce doesn't blame him. He half wants to ditch these two arguing idiots while they're occupied.

The next morning, they are all miserable and exhausted. Bruce hasn't slept at all. Their goals have shifted from "Find Harry" to "Get to civilization and get comm. up again", and THEN "Find Harry", and then maybe "Find Natasha".

"Do you think beetles are edible?" Tony asks glumly, curled up at the edge of their clearing, his tired brown eyes tracking the wandering fat insect.

"Edible, meaning you can eat them, yes," Clint replies with just as much exhaustion, "but I wouldn't recommend eating that one" –Here Tony freezes, said beetle dangling in his fingers– "because it's a highly poisonous and is probably likely to kill you."

"I ate a beetle once," Thor shares, sadly picking mud off of the sole of his SHIELD-standard issue combat boots.

Tony, Clint, Steve, and Bruce look at him and then shake their heads.

All five men have fantastic shadows of stubble clinging to their chins and neck, Bruce's and Tony's being most noticeable. Bruce knits his fingers together, drawing in a shuddering sigh. If Harry was here, he would tease Bruce about his stubble.

But he's not, and they're alone.

"What are we going to do?" Steve whispers, eyes wide and staring at the ground. "We lost Harry, we lost Natasha, we have no idea where we are, nothing in this forest is edible, and we have no comm." The poor, stressed out leader looks close to tears.

"I just wanted a punching bag," he dry-sobs, leaning into Thor's sympathetic shoulder, who pats him comfortingly on the back. "I was going to beat the stuffing out of some of the gym bags, and–and maybe have one of those "Mountain Dew" things, and find out what that Lady Gaga animal is… I didn't want any of this… this forest-exploration crap!"

"Dry your eyes, Dora," a female voice remarks wryly. The men look up sharply, disbelieving. Natasha stands before them, hip cocked to the side, a bundle wafting steam lightly held in her arms. She snorts. "Do any of you even realize what you look like?" She fishes her phone out of her purse and takes a picture of them, looking up at her with wide eyes circled by dark bags, contrasting deeply against their pale skin and stubble and battered clothes. Thor recoils from the flash and hisses like an offended cat. "That's a keeper," Natasha purred, tucking it back into her belt.

"Natasha," Tony begins, "Not that I'm not happy to see you or anything, but…" he licks his lips "what is that fantastic smell?"

She rolls her eyes again, dropping the precious bundle with her foot and toeing the shroud open. And lo and behold, out fall 2 dozen various burgers from Wendy's (along with an order of fries, and a carton carrier for frosties, of course).

"I was out hunting," she remarks flatly as the men converge and pounce as one unit, united by their love for toasted buns and greasy cheeseburgers.

Natasha leads them back to the Wendy's she's found.

The establishment is literally no more than two hundred feet from their campsite.

Bruce, mouth open, whirls on Clint and Thor, who have the decency to look embarrassed.

"You were supposed to climb and be lookout! And–and you! You were walking around for hours. How did you not run into this?"

Natasha breezes past, a smirk comfortably settled on her red lips. "Well, I did find Harry in the woods. He'd gotten lost. And was talking to a snake. Who turned out to be Loki in disguise. So we all thought we'd grab dinner and a night at a hotel and see how long it took you idiots to find the Wendy's, but you disappointed, so I volunteered to come fetch you."

"Loki! His punishment has ended!" Thor asks, beaming.

Natasha leads them across a strip of rubbery grass and a stretch of painted tarmac. The modern setting is so shocking that the men find themselves staring stupidly for a long moment at the sun dazzling off the hood of the cars and illuminating that God-blessed Wendy's sign.

Her heels (somehow, she's gotten her hands on a brand new outfit) click against the parking lot. "Are you coming or what?"

Harry is immediately visible inside, seated next to Loki, who has a glob of ketchup in his usually perfectly gelled hair that he seems unaware of. Nick Fury sits opposite them, sipping coffee, (no sugar, no cream, as barren as his soul) from an incredibly oversized mug (reading #1 Director on its side) and glaring over the rim at Loki without blinking or removing his eyes once.

Harry lifts his eyes from where they languidly rest upon the page of his sketchbook, catching sight of Bruce and the others. HIs eyes light up.

"Hey guys!" he says, and waves them over. The poor cashier standing behind front counter can only watch as the "Earth's Mightiest Heroes" stoop into the obscure little Wendy's, deserted at this hour in the morning.

"Good morning, team," Fury greets. "You all failed."

"Thanks Nick," says Tony uncaringly, as he slides into a booth and collapses. Bruce rushes over to Harry's side, shoving Loki out of the way and taking his spot. Loki glares from his spot on the floor and draws himself up with dignity.

"Where were you? Why did you leave? Why on Earth would you talk to Loki?"

"Yeah, really," Tony mumbles from his perch. Loki shoots him an acidic glare and Tony smirks and waggles his fingers.

Harry lifts the sketchbook innocently. "He was showing me how to draw faces! And then my button broke on my jacket, so he showed me how to sew and stuff. It was really cool."

For a moment, all is stunned quiet.

Tony breaks it, as is expected. "So, Seamstress Loki, I think a cousin of mine is getting married, would you mind being a dear and sewing the dress?"

Harry had to learn how to reverse transfigurations to change Tony back from a piglet, but the photos stashed on Natasha's phone made the whole trip worth it.