On Asgard a young imprisioned prince sat. Focusing, focusing on the mysterious force that compelled him to return to Midgard. There were flashes of memory. A beach. A forest. Floating lights. Dying.

There was another being but he couldn't place her name. But it wasn't her who made him forget.

The sorceress, he sneered at the thought of her. How dare she take his memories? He was a king! And she was probably some low scum that had been left to rot.

He strained against her barriers, the memories so tantalising close. He could almost grasp them.

But in his weakened state, the sorceress was stronger and he was abruptly thrown from his progress.

"Scum," he swore under his breath. Then it came to him, not a memory, nor a place, not even, more useful, a reason. No, the memory of a female came to mind. The sorceress. Becky. A young face, framed by waves of dark hair and bright blue eyes that shifted with her abilities.

"Mark my words scum," The Disgraced prince of Asgard swore, "I will find you and seek my revenge,"

...

I was about to open my mouth to reply when, conveniently, the Avengers, minus Bruce, burst in all gun ho. Captain America sent his shield flying at David. Whilst Stark sent plasma blasts heading my way. I ducked and scrambled behind the bed as temporary cover.

I searched for exits of escape other than barging through the wall (which was Castor's suggestion).

The window genius. She suggested sarcastically. I saw the it, a large convenient exit. But it just so happened to be one the other side of the room, with the Avengers in-between.

David, the Hydra agent picked himself up and began firing at the Avengers. A bulled grazed Clint's left arm and he hissed in pain.

"Not nice," I grumbled, "they're mine,"

I sent the gun flying away from David's grasp, Steve quickly took him down as Natasha advanced towards me.

Cursing the hotel architecture, I ran at the window, sending a telekinetic blast at the Avengers. I ran through the glass, shattering it with my abilities and used them to slow the fall.

I ran, down the street, cuts littering my body. My connection to Castor's abilities was fading with my increase in fatigue. I would have to use my own raw abilities, even if it exhaughsted my energy supply.

My feet made a slapping sound as I ran through the dark street. The shouts of agents pursued me, ahead a figure stepped out of a SHIELD van. In my moment of disarray I ran into him. Bruce.

I scrambled away from him but he helped me up and his words formed a sorry. It didn't take him long to realise who I was. I bit back tears, images of a recent dream forming in my mind.

"Please, I know what your going through, we can help you. I can help you,"

I stood there stunned, my arm caught in his firm grip.

It was enough time for Iron Man to take me out.

A/N: It's like a supa short chapta. Sorry, I just watched some girl imitations of exaggerated faces.