A/N: My brain had some downtime and this came out of it. I'm just as confused as you are... I know there are high school AU's out the wazoo, so I decided to go for something a little different this time and stick 'em all in elementary school. XD This is also the first time I've dipped a writing toe into the Avengers fandom, so hopefully I don't blow it. Reviews are very much appreciated, and enjoy! ^-^

To say that Tony Stark was bored would be the understatement of the current geological era. He was more than bored- he was bored, mind-numbingly, bone-crushingly, can-we-please-have-an-alien-invasion-or-something bored. He didn't see why he had to go to fourth grade anyway; he already knew everything he was learning. But here he was, stuck in math class surrounded by idiots and 'learning' his multiplication tables for the next hour. He sunk into his desk with a scowl. He couldn't wait for this day to be over with.

Sitting a row behind him and a seat to the left, Bruce Banner couldn't make time move slow enough. It wasn't as though he was really learning anything either- he'd known his multiplication tables by second grade, let alone fourth- but the longer he was in school, the longer he wasn't home. And in Bruce's book, that was a very good thing. At least when he was at school he could go somewhere to get away from the bullies. Subconsciously, he rubbed a hand over his ribs, wincing as he pressed just a little too hard on the still-healing bruises peppering his back.

He didn't know that he was being watched by one Natasha Romanoff, who had already finished her assignment and relaxed back into her desk in the back right corner of the classroom. She had chosen that spot deliberately; it gave her a view of everyone in the class, and if there was one thing Natasha liked, it was knowing what was going on around her. Her green eyes narrowed as she caught the flinch. It was the fourth one she'd seen him make this week. She sat up a little straighter and pushed her red hair back, catching a pair of sharp eyes across the room.

Clint Barton was Natasha's best friend and partner in crime, so to speak. He had taken the back left corner for the same reason she had, and the two had mastered the art of silent communication. He saw Natasha sit up and nod her head towards Bruce and he glanced at the quiet boy, raising his eyebrows questioningly. She poked her ribs and mimed wincing, to which Clint raised an eyebrow. She pointed to Clint, her eyes, then Bruce, and the blond boy nodded quickly. 'I'll watch him.' When they had finished their conversation, Clint turned his eyes to the ceiling. He wanted to find a new way into the vents.

At his seat in the middle of the front row, Steve Rogers was trying very valiantly not to sneeze- again. And he failed- again. His skinny shoulders sagged in defeat as he once again stood up to grab a tissue from the teacher's desk. Friggin' allergies… He kept his back up ramrod straight as he walked past a group of kids sniggering and trying to trip him. No doubt they were laughing about his sneezing, or his old clothes. That was one of their favorite topics- but it wasn't his fault that all his parents could afford was clothing from Goodwill. He ignored them like he always did. It didn't matter what they thought; he had his honor and that was good enough for him.

At that exact moment, two children, a pair of brothers, waited in Principal Fury's office to get a tour of their new school. The grumpy principal had gone off to find someone to show them around, leaving the pair alone for a moment. The older one looked to his pale younger brother and smiled. "Er allt í lagi með þig, bróðir?" The dark haired boy nodded.

"Yes, I'm fine. Remember, Thor, pabbi wants us to practice English now." Thor smiled at his younger brother, reaching over and ruffling his smooth dark hair while Loki squirmed in his seat, giggling under his breath. The two children straightened up with unrepentant looks as the door opened and Vice Principal Hill came in.

"Loki, come with me and I'll take you to Mr. Sitwell's class, okay? Thor, you go with Principal Fury and he'll drop you off at Mr. Coulson's class." The brothers squeezed hands once before they went separate ways.

Phil looked up as his classroom door opened, sparing him from having to organize the most unruly group of fourth graders he'd ever had for at least a couple more minutes. He let out a wide smile upon seeing Fury. "Ah, hello Principal." He spotted the towhead looking around the room curiously. "I take it this is my new student?" Fury nodded.

"Mr. Coulson, this is Thor Odinson. Thor, this is Phil Coulson, your teacher." Phil was moderately surprised when the boy shook his hand; most kids just stared at it like he had the plague, or something worse, like cooties. The only other exception was the Stark boy, who did whatever he wanted to, along with anything and everything that popped into his head. Phil smiled down at the boy, who he noticed was tall for his age.

"Hello Thor, it's nice to meet you. I'm looking forward to having you in my class. Now why don't you follow me up to the front and you can introduce yourself?" He tried to settle the kids politely, but after ten seconds of complete failure he simply resorted to drastic measures and whacked his ruler on the chalkboard, startling the group into silence. He smiled at them. "Thank you. Now if you'll all pay attention, I'd like you to meet your newest classmate, Thor Odinson."

"That's a weird name," Tony piped up, earning himself a glare from the teacher. "Where are you from, Thor?" If the blond boy was offended by Tony's bluntness, he didn't show it, giving everyone a beaming smile.

"I am from Iceland. And my name is not so unusual there." Okay. So maybe he had been a little bit offended. Fortunately, Tony seemed to receive the message and didn't ask any more questions. When it became obvious that their Q&A was going exactly nowhere Phil gave up on the idea and sent Thor to the desk to the right of Bruce, the only one left open in the classroom.

"Okay everyone, hand in your multiplication tables please," Phil instructed them. Hypothetically, they had an orderly system for handing in assignments. But realistically, he was dealing with a roomful of nine year olds, most of whom didn't really get along. He sighed to himself as he shuffled the papers into the closest semblance of a pile he could manage, thinking over the situation. Most of the children had already formed a circle of friendships, and then of course there was Tony, who even at his tender age could charm birds from trees. But there were a few he was worried about. The ones that never seemed to have anybody to fall back on or just be with. He could see something in them, but for the life of him he didn't know how to bring it out.

There was a way to bring those kids together. He just needed to find it. He shook his head quickly, ridding himself of his thoughts. He would think of something. He hoped.

Just FYI, the Icelandic sentence is 'are you ok, brother?' and pabbi is the word for 'daddy' (as opposed to the more formal word for 'father').